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Nothing in the Dark - continued

(continued from part 12)

Another day passed quickly for Qui-Gon. By the time he noticed he was hungry, it was evening. He insisted his padawan stop to eat. Obi-Wan acquiesced, though he returned to the rooms rather than accompanying his master to the dining hall.

Mekall was sitting in a chair in the corner of Obi-Wan's darkened bedroom. Across the room, a lone candle burned.

Reality had been playing a tricks on him all day. The walk, the dining hall, the confrontation with Windu. Meeting Leb and Thash had been the limit of his endurance. He had no recollection of how he had gotten back to the rooms.

Six of them. Himself, Leb, Jyr-Eth, Pak Uhl Natan, Fiain and Thash. He and Thash had been closest. One was rarely seen without the other. If they had not been Jedi, it would have been a passionate puppy love. But, of course, there is no passion. Which was how Thash saw it; they were close friends, no more. Thash had been sure of the rightness of being Jedi in a way Mekall had begun not to be.

Leb was the oldest of their group and, accordingly, had been the first picked to be a padawan. Thash was a year younger, but he had been picked next. He blossomed at eleven while Mekall lost sight of his goal the closer he got to the deadline. He lived in dread of thirteen.

Mekall's birthday passed. He moved out of the Temple. In illicit late night consolation sessions at the Engineering Corps complex, Mekall and Thash had talked until there was no more to say. Then, together, they had learned how to drink, how to nullify the effects of being drunk and how to heal one another on the occasions that did not work.

One night after Thash sneaked back to the Temple, Mekall kept drinking and walked away and never looked back.

Obi-Wan watched Mekall from the shadows as candlelight flickered across his features. He looked so haunted, Obi-Wan felt as if he was seeing a distorted mirror of himself. Mekall was totally lost in his thoughts. It was not like him not to know someone else was in a room. As time passed, he became more expressive, his face by turns agitated and vulnerable. Obi-Wan wanted to see Mekall's eyes and the ambient light was too dim, so he ended his observation and approached.

"Didn't hear you come in," Mekall claimed. He dragged himself to his feet, pulling himself together as well as he could. He brushed his hands under his eyes so swiftly, Obi-Wan was not sure he had seen it.

"What time is it?" Mekall asked. He checked his shields. They were solid enough. Amazing, he thought. They felt like the only substantial part of him left.

"Not late," Obi-Wan answered hesitantly. "Time for nightmeal. Are you all right?"

"Wonderful," Mekall asserted, the facade of defensive blankness reestablished. "You?"

"Great," Obi-Wan responded, removing his cloak and draping it across the bottom of the bed.

Mekall came up to him and swept his hand over Obi-Wan's cheek, then pulled him in for a quick but intense kiss. Obi-Wan wanted to offer an embrace of reassurance, but Mekall was already across the room.

"Mekall, what . . . Are you really -"

"Let's not start that again," Mekall said, blowing out the candle. "What do you want for nightmeal?"

"I didn't say I wanted it," Obi-Wan pointed out. "I said it was time for it."

"You have to eat, Obi-Wan," Mekall said, going toward the kitchen.

"So you keep telling me," Obi-Wan responded to no one, taking a few seconds more in the bedroom to ponder what Mekall was not sharing. What had happened? Shields met shields when he tried to survey Mekall's thoughts.

"At least have some chai or -" Mekall's voice drew him out.

"Chai would be nice," Obi-Wan called, picking up his robe. He wanted to sigh, but a sigh would have had to turn him wrong side out to sufficiently express his weariness. He breathed in slowly, deeply, drawing on what energy he could summon, released the breath and left the room.

Mekall had closed the kitchen door. Obi-Wan started to go in, then decided to give Mekall whatever time he needed to collect himself and went to hang up his cloak instead.

After setting the kettle on the heating element, Mekall attempted to oust the afternoon's ruinous sentiments from his mind. Using the Jedi to expel the Jedi, he brooded. He opened the kitchen door, craning his head around the corner to locate Obi-Wan.

"Kahn black or the green?" Mekall asked.

"Black," Obi-Wan answered as he walked to the sofa. "The stronger the better. I have to go back to the archives yet tonight."

Mekall came into the door way as Obi-Wan sat down and stretched out so that his head was resting against the back of the sofa. Several thoughts went through Mekall's mind. He winnowed an array of commentary down to, "Duty first."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Obi-Wan joked softly.

"You say that like you have options," Mekall remarked.

Obi-Wan raised his head, giving him a rather imploring look. Mekall belayed further comment, going back into the kitchen. He prepared a snack to go with the drinks. When he came out, he found Obi-Wan's eyes were closed. Mekall put the tray on the dining table and went to the couch.

"Obi-Wan, go lie down on the bed," Mekall suggested.

"Not sleepy," Obi-Wan murmured, mostly asleep.

Mekall scooped him up. The fact that Obi-Wan did not protest in the slightest let Mekall know he was doing the right thing. He carried him into his room, laid him down, stripped him to his underclothes and put him into bed.

Mekall stepped back to appreciate the view. There was something about watching him sleep.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, what have you done to me? Mekall mused. A smile accompanied the shake of his head.

Even as he scoffed, standing there, immersing himself in Obi-Wan, Mekall reconnected with the rightness of the soul bond, a welcome reminder of why he had made this tumultuous journey.

His deliverance was interrupted by the sound of the outside door.

Hells. Jinn's back.

Masters and padawans, the connecting cord, Jedi to Jedi across countless generations. The Temple and its teachings. The order and the code. Crechelings becoming Initiates. Initiates, padawans. Padawans, knights and knight masters . . . What might I have -

A harsh sound of denial dislodged from Mekall's throat. Oh, no you don't, he thought. That isn't happening. I can't. I will not.

Maybe I went insane on Larral and this has all been a hallucination, he reconsidered, counting on bitter humor to repel encroaching vulnerability. It only fed his loneliness.

If I open my eyes, I'll be back in my house with Hilty fretting beside me on the bed. Yls will be standing next to him, concern etching lines in his forehead. Lure'll be over there, lurking in the corner.

Dream on, Mekall mocked his delusion. Add some more pretty details. Stand here and stare at him all night. Imagine yourself in padawan's vestments. Enjoy.

A shudder went through Mekall's entire frame when he tried to release his fractious emotions into the Force.

"Is Obi-Wan all right?" Qui-Gon asked as Mekall emerged from the bedroom, carefully closing Obi-Wan's door though he did not think anything short of a thermopod blast under the bed could wake him.

"He's exhausted," Mekall responded.

"You've looked better yourself," Qui-Gon commented, hanging up his cloak. He crossed to the desk to check his messages. "He pushes himself too hard. There is time enough."

"Yeah, I'm sure Obi-Wan thinks he has that choice," Mekall said.

"He has and he can make his own decisions."

"Maybe under normal -"

"However," Qui-Gon interrupted, "I'll see if I can postpone this evening's session."

Mekall held back any further acidity as Qui-Gon's gaze rose to him. The eyes of the two protectors locked and Mekall had the oddest thought.

Those eyes are the deepest blue I have ever seen.

He sat down now fairly convinced he was hallucinating. Though too depleted to work up a decent tirade, he was not going to leave the room. It would have been too much like retreat. He poked unenthusiastically at the food on the tray to have something to do with his hands.

Qui-Gon made a call to Henet Ga'uun and left a message for the Council regarding the schedule change. He began to review his mail and comm messages, wondering about the cause of Mekall's apparent reversion to form. He could feel the belligerence wafting across the room.

"Mekall, when we spoke last night -"

"My fault for being gullible enough to listen to you," Mekall muttered.

"I don't understand."

"Master Jinn -"

"Once again, your formality is unnecessary."

"Old habits die hard," Mekall said, "like dreams."

"Your destiny -"

"Is my business. We're not talking about me."

"Perhaps we should," Qui-Gon suggested.

"No."

Qui-Gon drew a calming breath before continuing. "Mekall, while Obi-Wan needs support and understanding regarding what's happened to him -"

"Being shot, being beaten and . . ." Mekall stopped before he gave away too much.

Qui-Gon, who had waited on the off chance Mekall would finish, took the short interval to gird himself for the explosion he expected to cause before saying, "Being bonded."

The phrase sent a rush of adrenaline into Mekall's system and he shot to his feet. "I knew it. How dare you."

"Mekall, I do not mean that as an indictment of your joining. Only as a . . . caution. Obi-Wan needs our support, yes, but you are in this equation as well," Qui-Gon proclaimed.

"Whether you like it or not," Mekall derided.

"That is irrelevant and beneath you. My point -"

"And there always is one."

Qui-Gon took another calming breath before venturing, "The other night -"

"Is between me and Obi-Wan. I didn't ask for your help."

"Nevertheless, it is being offered. I am no threat to you. Obi-Wan is - You must not allow him to use you."

"Use me!" Mekall shouted. "What do you know about him using me?" Even as agitated as he was, he could not defend what Obi-Wan had done.

"I know. When I was talking with him while you were doing the dishes, he was so distracted. I meant to determine his trouble through the Force. I could not, but I sensed yours clearly."

"Stay out of my head," Mekall threatened.

"It was entirely unintentional," Qui-Gon assured him.

"You don't do anything unintentional."

"Mekall, where is this renewed vitriol -"

"I've had it with your hypocrisy."

"Why do you think I am not telling you the truth?" Qui-Gon asked. "I don't expect you to accept it in your current state of mind, but I do care what happens to you."

"If you cared about me," Mekall asserted, "about us, then you would do something to help Obi-Wan not send over- qualified errand boys to chastise me in the meditation Gardens. Oh, and thank you."

"For what? I don't -"

"You don't? It would be best for you to keep to yourself, Mekall. The Council requests that you refrain from tainting our oh so pristine palace with your unsavory -"

"Who -"

"Mace Windu."

Mace. There were several messages from him in Qui-Gon's queue, along with one from the Oversight Committee and three from the healers' wing. All had the subject line Obi-Wan Kenobi. Poor Mace, Qui-Gon thought. Still, he should have come to see me first.

"I had no idea," Qui-Gon told Mekall. "I shall speak to him. I imagine he is being put in a bad position."

He raised his hand to stop Mekall's riposte.

"I did not ask anyone, much less the Council, to intervene. This matter is between ourselves. However, as we're back on opposing sides, let me be blunt as well. As long as I do not know what you and Obi-Wan are hiding, I cannot in good conscience support your relationship's -"

"You can't support -" Mekall huffed. "I'm not yours to command. I will go where I please when and how I please. As for Obi-Wan and me, I saved his life. It wasn't pretty or altruistic, but it happened and I'm here because it's where I'm meant to be. With him. All your vaunted Jedi protestations won't change the fact that I'm not going anywhere."

"Nor do I think you should," Qui-Gon declared. "I'd not have you change your hearts or your minds. I'm only suggesting that your connection to Obi-Wan, at this exact space in time might be -" "Essential, Master." Obi-Wan's sleep-roughened voice ended Qui-Gon's sentence. "With respect."

Though he had not felt Obi-Wan enter, Qui-Gon did not miss a beat. "That was not the issue, Obi-Wan," he corrected him curtly, his attention remaining on Mekall.

"Master, please. I think Mekall and I are the only ones suited to determine where and how we should be."

"Obi-Wan, there is much to discuss, but now -" Qui-Gon stopped short as he turned to face his padawan.

Obi-Wan had not looked that dreadful during the day, Qui-Gon was sure of it. He was terribly drawn, impossibly pale. When Qui-Gon reflexively touched his shields, he encountered jagged streaks of emotion all the more unsettling after days of Obi-Wan shielding so stringently. Qui-Gon's brow knotted.

"You look tired, Obi-Wan. Have you had anything to eat?"

"I'll dress." Obi-Wan ignored his concern. "We're due back at the Archives." The fact that one or the other of them was constantly attempting to stuff food into him was quite irritating. "I've called to postpone this evening's reading, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, the understanding in his voice that much more noticeable contrasted with Obi-Wan's chilly professionalism. "Eat something, get some sleep. We will reconvene in the morning."

"You needn't - Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, sounding chastened.

Qui-Gon got up. He felt a need to be closer to Obi-Wan; he had much he wanted to say to him. When Qui-Gon walked toward him, Obi-Wan went the other way. He stepped behind the chair Mekall had been in. Mekall straightened protectively in front of him. Obi-Wan's eyes met his master's for the briefest moment, flashing what Qui-Gon would have sworn was triumphant contempt.

Qui-Gon's sharp intake of breath belied his otherwise neutral demeanor. He leveled his chin, drew himself up to his full height and cast what he hoped would be a cool gaze at Obi-Wan.

"I do want to help, Obi-Wan. No matter what you - Take some time to recoup tonight. While you are doing so, it would serve you to meditate on the effect the bond may be having on y - on both of you."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan repeated. What else could he say?

After sparing Jinn the requisite glare, Mekall followed Obi-Wan into his room. Obi-Wan was just standing there, as if he had no idea what to do next.

"I thought you'd sleep through the night," Mekall remarked. "I heard voices," Obi-Wan explained.

"Raised," Mekall added.

"The tension was -"

"Mounting. How offended will you be when I punch him in the nose?"

Obi-Wan almost grinned at the incongruity of the image. "You wouldn't be the first."

"Clearly."

"Mekall, do you think the bond is adversely affecting us?" Obi-Wan queried in all seriousness.

Mekall took his time before replying, "I think he means you when he says us and I'm in no mood to agree with him, but, well, I've been in a tailspin since before you woke up on Larral. Of course, I didn't know what was happening and you do. Plus you have all this technology and these fine educated councilors."

Obi-Wan shook his head at Mekall's sly smile. "Don't be so cynical."

"Way too late," Mekall informed him.

Obi-Wan yawned, covering him mouth with his hand.

"Wanna sleep?" Mekall asked.

"Not particularly, but I don't think I'd be much good for anything else," Obi-Wan replied.

"We'll see," Mekall said, taking off his shirt and tossing it to the floor. He slipped his pants and underwear off together, kicking them aside, then sidled across the room, stopping close to Obi-Wan. He pulled his bondmate to him, drawing Obi-Wan's tongue into his mouth while sliding the sleep leggings Obi-Wan had donned down over his hips. For a few seconds, everything was fine, then Obi-Wan jerked away violently. "Sorry," Obi-Wan gasped, embarrassed. He had had the sensation that he was falling.

Mekall looked worried, but joked, "Or we could actually sleep."

Obi-Wan smiled a little despite his alarm.

Mekall climbed into bed. Obi-Wan got in beside him slowly. Mekall tried to put his arm around his unreceptive partner.

"Relax," Mekall said, "It'll be okay." He did not really think so, but worry a lot did not seem like the thing to say. "Is there something I can do?"

"No," Obi-Wan answered, voice faint, "I'm fine."

Qui-Gon reviewed his mail with a heavy heart.

Could he have seen what he thought he had? He was starting to think anything possible. Obi-Wan had missed his followup appointment with Oversight. He had missed his second healer's appointment as well. There was a post from the scheduling droid in the med center and another from Healer Sollas offering his services if Obi-Wan had the need for an intermediary. The third was from Master Tront, the psychiatric administrator, stating Obi-Wan had made no attempt to schedule an appointment with anyone on the psych staff.

Qui-Gon was going to have to force him; there were no two ways about it. He was going to have to treat him like a child. Obi-Wan could not be more set against accepting his help and had not sought the help elsewhere.

Meanwhile, there was still Arcan 3 to deal with. The work, reading the texts and compiling the report, would require another day or two.

Qui-Gon felt the distinct stirrings of a headache at the base of his skull. He got up to get a pain reliever. Some headaches required medication not meditation.

"Were you dreaming?"

A hoarse exclamation had rended Mekall's sleep.

"No," Obi-Wan denied brusquely. He was sitting up in bed as if startled by the drama of his own waking.

Mekall winced watching him repeatedly tug his overgrown padawan cut back from his forehead with damaging vehemence while he strained to catch his breath. Thinking to stop him and provide comfort, Mekall placed his hand on the sheet over Obi-Wan's thigh. Obi-Wan jumped away as if Mekall were electric.

"I said no," Obi-Wan half whispered. He threw the covers off, got out of bed, located his sleep leggings and slid into them as he left the room.

Stuck half way between 'sod off ' and 'how can I help', Mekall thought long and hard about whether to go after him. By the time he did, Obi-Wan was on the balcony. He could see him through the open door, intermittently awash in the reflected lights from the traffic.

A strong set of headlamps flashed by, illuminating the common room. Behind the sofa, Qui-Gon was instantly cast back into darkness. Mekall wondered if Qui-Gon had seen him; he had not seen Qui-Gon before. Had he been standing there all this time?

Obi-Wan did not have to close his eyes to experience it again. The scene insisted on replaying itself against the semi-darkness of the Coruscant night.

He is naked, on his side in an opulently oversized bed. An arm encircles his waist. Another set of arms slides along his shoulder blades coming to rest draped languorously over his shoulders. Possessing him. Claiming him.

Behind him, Mekall, naked and serpentine, undulates against the sweat-slicked flesh of his back. It is Mekall's arms which enfold and clutch at him. They and Mekall's hands are everywhere - unremarkable, as he has countless arms and hands. Hands carding through Obi-Wan's hair. Hands skimming over his hips. Hands stroking the insides of his thighs. One hand toys with his braid, one with his balls. A hand encloses one side of his buttocks, giving another easier access to the crease between. Mekall's fingers glide in and out of Obi-Wan alternating with pointed wet probes of his tongue.

But the tongue is not Mekall's.

Qui-Gon's face looms up in front of Obi-Wan. It is his tongue which trespasses into Obi-Wan's mouth, his tongue on which Obi-Wan tastes himself.

Qui-Gon's body presses tightly to his chest. The normally grounding solidity of his master is overwhelming. An eldritch stillness stifles Obi-Wan's instincts of flight. His breath chokes out in ragged gasps. His perceptions are muddled, but not so much as to spare him. While his master's tongue still cleaves to his, other mouths lave his nipples and a tongue trails heavily along the line between thigh and groin. These mouths too are Qui-Gon's; silken touches of his long hair feather trails of arousal over Obi-Wan's legs and chest. Four heads, each extending from an eager, craning neck.

Obi-Wan attempts to wriggle free but is far removed from any actual ability to extract himself from their imprisonment. He grows rock hard under Mekall and Qui-Gon's control. Distantly he thinks that he should scream, but his mouth, his voice, are not his own to use.

Mekall's hand delivers Obi-Wan's erection to a newly revealed pair of Qui-Gon's all-too-willing lips, then Mekall sheathes himself in Obi-Wan, sliding in slowly, his heated, liquid member filling Obi-Wan with equal parts pleasure and hatred. Qui-Gon swallows Obi-Wan greedily to the base, the muscles of his mouth and throat executing deft fluctuations, bringing Obi-Wan repeatedly to the brink of climax without allowing him to go over. Obi-Wan is mesmerized. A combination of oily, choking fear and thought-annihilating lust consumes him. Obi-Wan finds his own reactions abhorrent. Qui-Gon does not share his revulsion. Anything but. His cock juts willfully into Obi-Wan's stomach.

Mekall has been pumping into Obi-Wan with callous leisure all the while. Now, he nuzzles his neck and burns Dharuje's voice into his ear.

His excitement building, Qui-Gon abandons his teasing. The leering mouth which had seized Obi-Wan's lips frees them at last and grazes luxuriantly over them before growling, "Come for me, my padawan."

Compelled over the edge, Obi-Wan comes with a strangled cry of renunciation.

Obi-Wan's skin rippled in the cool night air as he returned to reality. He could not categorize the noise which accompanied each of his strained attempts to normalize his breathing. His knees longed to give out, to let him sink to the deck. Having Qui-Gon touch him so, speak such words to him. A month ago it had been his dream; now it was his damnation. But so much since he had come back to the Temple had been. Painful, twisted, soul-numbing.

His master and his lover, both wanted access. He could sense their eyes on him; their mental touches jabbed pinprick explosions into his tattered shields. What did they want him to do? Why did their needs hurt so? Why did everything?

How am I supposed to be as I am now and what they want me to be?

Obi-Wan felt as if he was being pulled apart slowly, becoming less than a whole. There was so little of him left, he hardly knew himself. His thoughts, his emotions, his actions, even his image were distorted. He was running from everything, some part of him thinking that if he avoided confronting his demons they might go away. There were times when he was clear enough to know they would not, that the way he was acting did not make sense, was not rational. But more often than not endeavoring to think things through only led to mortifying fear and intractable hopelessness.

So he lived minute to minute and ratcheted up his defenses, keeping out anyone and anything he did not absolutely have to let in. Shields upon shields upon shields. Not that that felt anything less than awful.

Intermittently, Obi-Wan was aware he might be doing damage to himself, was in all likelihood hurting Qui-Gon and quite possibly destroying Mekall or their bond or both. The premise held oddly little resonance when factored in with everything else. He had no mechanism left for sorting out what was happening to him. Any shreds of logic he managed to dredge up were impaled by the talons of his fear. When he tried to analyze and expunge his dark thoughts, rather than give way to acceptance and resolution, they metastasized, becoming bigger and blacker and taking deeper root.

As his eyes readjusted in the darkness, Mekall could make Qui-Gon out more clearly. He was slouching slightly, his shoulders slumped. His face seemed older than it had a few days ago.

Couldn't be, Mekall reconsidered. Just a trick of the light.

He had been infuriated earlier, but it was anger born of uncertainty. He wanted to believe Qui-Gon was sincere the night before. The riot of emotions he had experienced over the course of this day had left him unable to. But what if it was true? It was worse if Qui-Gon was in earnest. All that left Mekall was how sad Qui-Gon looked standing there, how lonely. It was easier distrusting him. Then he did not have to give a thought to what Qui-Gon was going through.

"Did he have another nightmare?" Qui-Gon inquired.

Should've known he'd seen me, Mekall thought. "No," he said, "he said not, but I don't think -"

"Were you aware he has not made an appointment to see a psych healer?"

"The two of you have been so busy he -"

"I see," Qui-Gon cut him off again.

"The -"

"I understand," Qui-Gon retired the avenue of discussion.

"I suppose you do," Mekall conceded, unsure if he was annoyed or placated.

Qui-Gon paused, taking advantage of a certain amount of leverage he felt he achieved each time Mekall admitted Qui-Gon might be right. In some cases, one took one's victories as they were presented.

Hoping Obi-Wan was taking this time for some serious meditation on his actions, Qui-Gon decided he would not force his padawan to the healer's in the middle of the night. Morning and its harsh necessities would come soon enough.

"He has left me no option. Tomorrow I will insist he see the healers," Qui-Gon informed Mekall, expecting the declaration to start he and Mekall arguing anew. When Mekall said nothing, Qui-Gon went on, "For tonight, I believe it would be best for us to leave him alone with his meditations."

Mekall did not agree, but he did not have the wherewithal for a fight with Qui-Gon just now. He nodded mute acceptance and walked off. When he turned around in the bedroom doorway for one last look, Qui-Gon had not moved.

Mekall shut the door although it was pointless; he could not shut the scene in the common room out of his mind's eye. He did not know who he felt sorrier for, the master or the padawan. He refused to feel sorry for himself. He did not know a more useless emotion.

Longing for the oblivion of sleep, but knowing the folly of thinking it would come, Mekall opened the blinds. He could see Obi-Wan, hollow-eyed and shivering, on the terrace. He thought of him on Larral, warm and willing beneath him, light to his darkness, feeling to his heartlessness, life to his . . .

Death, Mekall thought dourly.

Mekall attempted to invoke the bond. Obi-Wan was shielding with a vengeance. Mekall knelt down to meditate, to try to find some way to absorb his day, his night and his rejection.

Obi-Wan stood all but unmoving; his master stood watching him, feeling in some vague sense he was guarding Obi-Wan. Against what? That was exactly the problem. Qui-Gon still had no idea and he was again cut off from any knowledge of Obi-Wan through their bond. Qui-Gon made himself accept that Obi-Wan would not be coming in and went to bed.

Hours passed. Obi-Wan stood dazed and defeated by the revolting images, unable to block their recurrence. He simply waited, knowing it would happen over and over. They would take him and he would give in. Hostage again. He felt like he needed to wake himself to make it stop, but he knew he was awake. He was awake. This was reality. The mental violations, the intrusions, the dread. This grinding, eviscerating desire to run screaming into the night. The paralysis he was suffering instead.

No. It's not. I know it's not all there is. I'm still . . . I can . . . What? Ask for help? Ask who? Which of my saviors? My mentor or my soulmate. Which version of the great cosmic joke my life has become shall we enact tonight?

It was obscene. He wanted to be ill. What choice did he really have other than to hold it in and go on? For he could not speak the truth. That eyes opened or closed, mind clear or involved in work or medi - no, failing to meditate, that nothing, nothing stopped the void that was overtaking him. Nothing arrested the darkness in his heart, the cacophony in his head. The power of it was frightening, this thing growing inside him. It felt like it would tear him apart, or, more precisely, like an urge to tear himself limb from limb. Unfathomable. Unstoppable. Bottomless.

Bottomless.

Obi-Wan took a step closer to the balcony railing. The wind bit at his skin. He hugged his arms to his chest and looked over the edge to what lay below. How many levels were beneath them? Countless number. He would never feel it. The velocity and the gravity would cause him to black out long before he struck surface anywhere.

He chanced looking behind him. Qui-Gon had at long last given up and gone to his room.

Turning to close the balcony door, Obi-Wan saw Mekall kneeling before the window in his room.

Perfect. He was meditating.

Obi-Wan was cognizant of an impulse to chuckle, but the ability was absent. He trembled, put his hand to his mouth, then brought both hands to his temples and rubbed. He wiped his palm across his brow. He was sweating. Freezing cold and sweating. Why did he keep wanting to laugh? There was nothing funny.

Oh, but there is, the interior voice answered. Think about it. If you tap the bond, Mekall will be out here in seconds.

To do what? Talk me out of it? Stop me? Cheer me on? Hells, if I recreate the scenario of two nights ago, I might well be able to talk him into jumping with me.

No. That - No. Besides stumbling over me in a darkened hellpit what had Mekall done wrong? Other than trying to become a Jedi. Well, here was where that would serve him one last time, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Hope he's meditating enough for two. He'll have lots more to meditate on in a minute.

The hysterical laughter started to bubble out again.

Obi-Wan put both hands on the railing. It was as cold as he was. He used it as a focal point, drawing in and releasing a breath. He closed his eyes and wondered what happened to the surviving half of a soul bond.

On the Tavin, when he had attempted to sever the bond, Mekall had nearly died. In that case, Obi-Wan supposed, it would only be humane to bring him out here, but for the life of him -

The life of him?

Whose life? His life or his life or his . . .

Qui-Gon's unwelcome image came to Obi-Wan's mind and, very tentatively, Obi-Wan risked grazing his bond with his master.

Qui-Gon too was meditating, agitated but determined, convinced the answers were to be found, that anything was surmountable. Even with the barest touch, Obi-Wan felt it. The calm depth of him. His clear, shining presence, his surety, his passion, his commitment. His . . . love

Obi-Wan felt a silent sob wrenched from the deepest part of him. For that was the life of him.

To be Jedi.

And that man, the man who had made him, who had taught him what it was to be a man and what it meant to be a Jedi. That was not a thing to be discarded in the night. It was not. He was not.

Obi-Wan's breath came out of him as if it too were being broken by his anguish.

If Qui-Gon could have imparted only one of his strengths to him, Obi-Wan knew, it would have been his ability to live in the moment.

Could he? Live just this moment. And the next.

If he could . . . Maybe he could.

Obi-Wan swept his hand across his forehead again as a sound with no kinship to laughter escaped him. He backed slowly from the railing until he was against the rough textured surface of the outer wall.

Madness. Living like this was madness. Dying was madness. Standing here was surely madness.

Rubbing his over-dry eyes, marshaling his last reserves, Obi-Wan left the balcony.

(continued in part 14)