Master Apprentice Archive Quick search:

Nothing in the Dark - continued

(continued from part 18)

To Mekall it looked as though Obi-Wan was lashed to the bed by the tubes, monitor lines and IV's attached to him. Obi-Wan was struggling against a healer and a med droid who were attempting to restrain him. Mekall's old friend, the healer Tae Brathe, stood at an awkward angle between the IV stand and the bed seeking a position from which he could deliver an injection without impeding the other healers.

"Stop," Cas Lon pronounced with authority as he strode into the room. Although he had only meant to delay Brathe, he succeeded in causing everyone except Obi-Wan to cease what they were doing. "Mekall." He ushered Mekall in.

Being near Obi-Wan again was a mind-boggling combination of grim and sublime. Mekall's mind calmed and cleared for the first time in days. The throbbing behind his eyes subsided. The chill in his bones - which he had become so accustomed to that he no longer noticed it - was ebbing away; not being cold felt unnatural.

The healers had resumed trying to quiet Obi-Wan. Depleted as he was, he quickly began to weaken, but continued attempting to shake them off. Mekall took a measure of pride at Obi-Wan's refusal to surrender and the bond pulsed.

Enjoying the small victory, Mekall looked directly at Keyden Zhy, the man the Council had assigned to shore-up Obi-Wan's damaged shields. Zhy, who stood across the room, was almost the same pale color as the wall he was holding up. Under Mekall's gaze, Zhy straightened up self-consciously, then walked toward his side of Obi-Wan's bed as though Mekall's glance had granted him leave. Normally, Mekall would have vented a storehouse of pent-up wrath. Instead, he felt a sort of kinship at seeing Zhy's weariness. "Long night?" he inquired.

Zhy exhaled a grudging laugh. "Master Cas Lon's briefed you?" he asked.

"As much as he could, I suppose," Mekall answered.

The barest tilt of his head and a slight raising of one eyebrow passed for Zhy's opinion of that.

"He asked me to come down here," Mekall said, "to see what I - if I could do anything. Can you . . . communicate with Obi-Wan?"

Zhy, who had not received even a semi-coherent thought from Obi-Wan in more hours than he cared to count, took a moment. "Not for some time," he responded, after unsuccessfully trying to tap into the link. "Are you receiving anything from him?" "Besides a pounding headache?" Mekall responded.

Zhy suppressed a smile. He had walled himself off from as many vagaries of the soul bond as he had been able to research, but there had been no provision in the background material about finding Mekall charming.

With neither Keyden Zhy nor Mekall shielding properly, Qui-Gon had been privy to Mekall's initial mix of pleasure and foreboding. Now he sensed that Mekall's proximity was having repercussions for Zhy for which the knight was less than prepared. Qui-Gon had the urge to intercede, but he held off. He would step in only if Mekall called upon him.

The master-apprentice bond was dispiritingly stagnant. Qui-Gon needed no more than his eyes for his newfound imperturbability to be undermined. His padawan looked small and deathly pallid amidst all the wiring and machinery, even as he continued to writhe ineffectually beneath the hands of Sollas and a droid.

Determined not to become embroiled in the overflow from Obi-Wan's distorted bonds, Qui-Gon applied himself to the practical, crossing the room to get a chair for Mekall to use.

Running his tongue across his lips, Zhy stared into Mekall's eyes too long. He wanted - with an acuteness approaching need - to be nearer to Mekall. Stay on point, he chastised himself. He was having no luck releasing an abundance of tempestuous emotions into the Force. Turmoil, a splinter of resentment and anger - all usually dispensed with before having the chance to manifest - were vying with desire and . . . lust, if the sensation between his legs was anything to go by.

Had his preparations been inadequate? Zhy wondered. Or were his resources simply too diminished? Whatever happened, he was determined to keep the bed between himself and Mekall.

Mekall could not characterize Zhy's response to him. He knew infatuation when he saw it, but the very idea was too farfetched. Wasn't it?

Mekall stared openly back at Zhy, attempting to get a read on him. The severity that usually marked the Jedi's features had been softened by his arduous night. Mekall's heart began to beat faster, a flush suffused his face and perspiration broke out over his upper lip as he found himself adrift in the previously unyielding brown depths of the other man's eyes.

"Are you -" Zhy heard a stranger's voice emanate quietly from his own mouth. "That is, I don't think it's you."

Obi-Wan stilled suddenly, sending Sollas and the med droid into a brief flurry of new activity which jolted Mekall back to reality.

What the hells? he thought. Mekall cleared all the debris of the misdirected desire from his mind before saying, "And I know he hasn't turned." He kept the bitterness he felt from reaching his voice. He hated Zhy for what he had just experienced, but this was not the time or place to act on it. All that mattered was Obi-Wan, he reminded himself, not the moonstruck Jedi who stood across from him.

"What's wrong with him?" Mekall asked.

"Drained," Sollas said after completing a few readings. He turned to look at Mekall with undisguised sadness in his eyes. "He can't take much more."

"What's happening?" Mekall implored Zhy.

Zhy tried to reach into Obi-Wan's mind, but found it difficult to make any contact; Obi-Wan had receded even further. "What's left of the soul bond is disintegrating." Mekall sat down, hoping it covered the fact that his legs had almost gone out from under him. Disintegrating? Could reinhabiting even a fraction of the bond kill Obi-Wan? Mekall did not feel as if the soul bond was disintegrating; he felt as if he was.

Okay, stop it, Mekall admonished himself. You have to concentrate. Cas Lon said there wasn't much time.

With a half-formed idea that physical contact might provide sustenance to his bondmate while he worked, Mekall opened his eyes and moved his chair closer to the bed so that he could take Obi-Wan's hand.

Mekall centered and closed his eyes. He focused on the ambient noise in the room and outside in the halls to counter his fractured thinking. He started by separating out individual sounds, then eliminated one at a time until all he could hear was Obi-Wan's breathing.

Matching his breathing to that of his bondmate, Mekall took himself deeper. An image of the soul bond rose up in his mind. Overtaut, translucent threads extended from Obi-Wan to him, while the attachment between Zhy and Obi-Wan appeared too well-formed. And an aggressive offshoot from Zhy's connection with Obi-Wan was making its way in Mekall's direction.

Zhy's aegis over Obi-Wan's shields should have evolved to a grid of protection and guidance, a framework within which Obi-Wan could work toward recovery. Instead Zhy's Force signature blanketed Obi-Wan's like a heavy shroud, eliminating any chance of spontaneous regeneration. That would explain Zhy's enervation and why Obi-Wan, terrified of any further encroachment into his mind, was fighting against the Force rather than allowing it back in.

Cas Lon, working only within the differentiation, would not have seen the bonds Zhy's had begun to forge.

Mekall was wary. While Zhy's natural contentiousness was momentarily held at bay, there was no predicting what Zhy would do if he felt an overt threat to his dominion over Obi-Wan. Instead of risking it, Mekall decided he would use whatever channel existed between himself and Zhy to find his way through this toxic maze.

Fabricating a sense of total acceptance towards the knight, Mekall swathed their burgeoning link in anesthetic tenderness. Zhy swayed as if he had been physically pushed.

Mekall seized on the weakness to breach Zhy's connection to Obi-Wan. He set to work dismantling Zhy's hold, taking the burden of defending and shielding for his bondmate onto himself.

Zhy began to sense Mekall's incursion. Instead of concern about the repercussions for the Order and the Temple, he found himself gripped by a streak of raw possessiveness for his charge. He wanted to cross the room, hoist Mekall up by his shirt front and punch him in the face.

Stunned by the depth of his passion, Zhy was thrust into unequivocal awareness of his violation of protocol. How had he become too caught up to see he had gone from protecting Obi-Wan to co-opting him? The emotion which had been overtaking Zhy scattered like so much ash.

As he released his humiliation into the Force, Zhy understood at last how consuming soul bonds could be. He felt sympathy for Obi-Wan and respect for Mekall. It was only Mekall's intervention which had staved off a debacle.

Zhy would have left the premises, but he could not, as he was still responsible for Obi-Wan. He steadied himself and walked to the back of the room where he took a seat, slowly, carefully. Endeavoring to pick up the pieces of his shattered composure, Zhy razed the pathway between himself and Mekall and then set about reconfiguring his ties with Obi-Wan.

Mekall was relieved to feel all but the last tendrils of Zhy's influence reced from the soul bond, but there was no corresponding increase in participation from Obi-Wan. He was frighteningly still. The medics moved aside; they could do no more for him.

Mekall took his free hand and cupped Obi-Wan's cheek. It was cold and clammy. His body's ability to function was ebbing away along with his mind. Mekall brushed the sweat-soaked bangs from Obi-Wan's forehead. They had gotten long . . .

Mekall put Obi-Wan's hand down and poured himself a drink of water. It was tepid; all he could taste was the bile in his throat. He had thought he would address Obi-Wan silently - speaking would do nothing to re-ignite the bond - but when he tried, Mekall encountered only barriers, the extant parts of the differentiation and a hazy impenetrability which he suspected was the last of the soul bond. Desolate, he took Obi-Wan's hand again.

"I've lost my love speech, Obi-Wan. Left it in my other robes," Mekall began, more to let his audience know he had not forgotten them than it was for his partner. He rubbed an over-dry hand across his face. "I can't get it clear in my head, you know, why this, why we, ended up . . . like this. I've done everything I know how to do to save you any more pain."

Pain seemed to be all Obi-Wan wanted. Punishment. Mekall, who was somewhat of an expert in that area, had seen few people as bent on self-flagellation as Obi-Wan had been of late. Pain . . . and sex. Not that either of them had had much choice about the latter.

"I know you blame yourself," Mekall went on, "which is ironic because I thought the whole thing was my fault. Even what happened before we - I was going to say met . . ."

They hadn't exactly met, had they? Collided more like.

Mekall thought back to their first coupling and sought to project the fondness and need that it sent through him to Obi-Wan. It got no flicker of recognition.

"I told you I'd be there for you," Mekall said, "but I don't know how. You have to give me some idea of what you want me to do." Mekall looked from Nollon Cas Lon - alongside the wilted Zhy - to the two droids and the other healer. He knew Brathe and Qui-Gon were behind him, the only two he would have chosen to have there, if the choice were his to make. He was cross with himself for caring that the Jedi were watching. As if speaking his heart in front of a roomful of overdressed monks was the most inadvisable thing he had ever done.

"Your master's here, the healers, Master Cas Lon . . ."

Brathe took that as his cue and came up to Mekall. "I don't think you need this many of us in the room," he opined. "If you want me, have them let me know. I'll be nearby."

Mekall nodded his thanks. Brathe bent close to Mekall's ear. "Tell him what's in your heart." Tae unknowingly evoked Yls' advice of weeks before. "Remember, in the end, it's about you and him." He gripped Mekall's arm briefly. "You can do this." Brathe left, taking one of the droids with him.

You can do this, Mekall replayed in his head, as if to convince himself Tae was right.

"Gods, I'm tired." He had not meant to say that aloud. "I - I can't think anymore, I just . . ." Mekall paused before his voice broke. He felt useless, inept. Expelling a short, loud breath, he shifted in his seat. His emotions were chaotic where he needed to be concise.

Moving Obi-Wan's hand between both of his, Mekall closed his eyes to try to coerce his battered psyche into meditation. Several minutes passed and he remained inundated by his feelings. He attempted to reach Obi-Wan's mind, but was neither embraced nor rebuffed. He was simply outside.

"I'm a selfish man, Obi-Wan," Mekall said, fixing his eyes on Obi-Wan's face for any hint of reaction. "You've probably picked up on that. But . . . I'd trade places with you if I could. I've wished I could shut down a time or two. Stop and have it all be over. Funny thing, a Jedi upbringing. Gives you strength you don't know you have, that you sometimes don't particularly want."

Mekall sat forward. Though Obi-Wan was right in front of him, he could barely see or feel him. All his talking seemed to be pushing Obi-Wan farther away, not bringing him closer.

Concentrate, Mekall berated himself. Why can't you simply concentrate?

What little was left of Mekall's energy continued to flood into the bond as it fought to reestablish itself; Mekall was beyond the point where he was aware of it. Freeing his right hand, he lifted a leaden arm to gingerly touch Obi-Wan's cheek as if to reassure himself Obi-Wan was still there. Nothing was quite real. Not Obi-Wan or the chair Mekall was sitting in; the four walls around them appeared to be losing their definition.

"I gave up hope, a long time ago," Mekall said. "They took it away from me in one day and I spent the years in between here and you denying ever having had any.

"I never could shut down," he went on in a hushed voice. "I had to keep on, had to be sharper, quicker, tougher. Making deals and making do. Thinking five steps ahead of everyone. It was out of the question to let anybody get close."

No one else in the room moved or spoke. Mekall may have turned away from the Jedi path, but that did not change the boy's sense of betrayal or the man's loss.

"What were the chances that all my running would end up being a straight line to you. Imagine what the odds were . . . that I'd meet my - other half when I went to Dharuje's that night and that you - you would be . . . "

Had it all been for nothing? He could have stayed on Larral and just kept dying slowly without ever having known . . .

"Hells, Obi-Wan," Mekall cursed weakly, "I can't do this. I won't. You never asked to be . . . savaged. Or bonded.

"I wish I'd told you," he continued, his voice quiet and strained, "I hope you knew . . . I didn't trust anyone, but Force help me, I trusted you. All those feelings . . . hopes . . . for a future that you made me think could be possible. You let me . . . trust you. Trust, trust -" Trust the Force, he thought. Trust the fucking Force . . .

Mekall closed his eyes, drawing and releasing a deliberate breath. Let it go, he counseled himself, let all that go. He surrendered a jumble of plans and dreams into the Force and reached to gather its solace around him.

Trust the Force, Mekall repeated to himself, the vehemence and animosity gone from the sentiment. Trust that there is some reason for all this. Some point to a soul bond beyond the detritus of two lives which littered this room.

Mekall again clasped Obi-Wan's hand between both of his. He could not hold his head up anymore. He wanted to climb onto the bed next to Obi-Wan, curl up and . . . stop . . . just stop. He gave his bondmate's hand one last kiss.

"If you've had it," Mekall resumed, "If this is your body going on because it's been trained to and you really want to let go, then let go . . . and I will too. You won't be alone."

The room, along with everyone in it, faded away as Mekall's head came to rest atop his arm. His other hand came free from Obi-Wan's and fell to the bed.

Horrified, Qui-Gon lunged forward to wrest Mekall from his padawan's side. Cas Lon stepped in front of him, blocking the way, contravening Qui-Gon's agitation with a shake of his head.

This is wrong! Qui-Gon railed silently. How could this be why Obi-Wan had endured all that he had and made his way back to the Temple? Would the three of us have been put through the anguish of the last few days for this? The physical tension between Qui-Gon and Nollon Cas Lon was broken when Keyden Zhy slid almost noiselessly to the floor. As Nollon would not stand down, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the knight his padawan's lifeforce was tethered to. In doing so, he did not see Obi-Wan's hand move minutely, blindly seeking Mekall's.

Sollas was already tending to Zhy. The knight was semi-conscious, seemingly trying to ward Sollas off. Qui-Gon knelt beside them, holding Zhy still so that Sollas could work. Cas Lon's plan had gone disastrously wrong and all Qui-Gon could do was watch. Why had neither Mekall nor Obi-Wan reached out for help?

A stirring in Qui-Gon's mind was accompanied by a harsh glare. He closed his eyes and a spark of Force sense, fragile, but solid at its base, drew him toward it. It was small but markedly alive. Some instinct told Qui-Gon he must not go closer to it but must let it come to him, so he concentrated on fortifying himself and extending that outward. The spark responded and flowed toward him.

As the two entities joined, Qui-Gon felt his fears breaking apart. Days of worry and regret fell away and lineations within his mind began to work more freely. Filled with strength, he was able to supplement the Force entity's power with his. A small light blossomed now, tinged with blue. It became more substantial, rising like a dawn. A golden light appeared, gravitating toward the pale blue one. When they combined, they did not blend but intertwined, the blue aspect growing steadily brighter as they twisted together until it became a sunburst.

For a time everything went white. Then Qui-Gon was called back by a nudging at his consciousness. He saw his padawan's force signature, now a steady blue animated by a pulsing flow, a myriad of combinations of Force and bonds extending from it, the blue-green master-apprentice bond shining noticeably strong among them. When Qui-Gon came to, Zhy was no longer beside him. Another member of the Shalon Vittran had taken his place. It was Errave Ar, with whom he was acquainted.

Errave was a strong, striking woman of middle age who had sharp, inquisitive eyes. "Are you with us?" she asked.

"Yes," Qui-Gon said, bracing an arm beneath himself in order to get up.

"Take your time," Errave said. "Obi-Wan's all right, but you may not have your land legs for a minute." There was the hint of a smile on her lips as she directed Qui-Gon's attention to the bed.

Mekall, unconscious, had been placed on it. Beside him, Obi-Wan was speaking to Nollon Cas Lon.

to be continued