With or Without Consent III

With or Without Consent III - The Resolution

by Rushlight (n_sanity75@hotmail.com)

Author's Webpage: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight/

Pairing: Q/O

Series: sequel to "With or Without Consent" and "With or Without Consent (Mirror Version)"

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Rating: R

WARNINGS!!: Ambiguous consent.

Summary: They say that only the one who causes the hurt can make it go away...

Feedback: yes, please <whimper>

Series Summary (or What Has Happened Thus Far): In a fit of unrequited passion, Qui-Gon has given into temptation and raped his beloved padawan. At the end of With or Without Consent, we are left with Obi-Wan leaning heavily on the crutch of denial and Qui-Gon immersed in guilt for what he has done. Both are struggling to find an acceptable means of dealing with what has transpired between them.

Disclaimers: Not mine, never will be, not that this is going to do me a bit of good if George ever decides to go postal on us.

Author's Note: Some people are going to be very mad at me for the way this ends, and some people are going to be really, really happy. Realizing that I cannot please everyone, I decided to follow my heart on this one. You have been warned.

More Notes: Special thanks to Knight Smeg for encouragement and support, and to Emu for the idea to involve Yoda in this (beware of casual comments made to impressionable writers!). Thanks also to Waldo for the words to the Jedi Code. As always, thanks to my wonderful beta Darry Willis. And last but not least, a very big thank you goes out to all of you who gave feedback on the first two fics. Without you, this sequel would never have come into being.

"Silence is consent."
-Pope Boniface VIII

As a child, Qui-Gon had never been afraid of the dark. As an adult, he even welcomed it - cooling after a day's heat, softening the blunt lines of nature in shades of overlapping silhouette. The world seemed so much more peaceful when it was draped in shadow, shielded in some way against the stress and bustle of the tyrannical day.

Now, for the first time in his life, he feared it.

He stood on the balcony overlooking the Temple courtyard and gazed down at the darkening gardens below. There was an insidious cast to the shadows as they crept between the delicate trees, as if they sought not only to conceal, but to consume. Darkness, he had learned, was a remorseless predator.

Behind him, a figure stirred, and he felt cool hands touch his shoulders, a face nuzzle against his back. "Come inside, Master." Warm voice, softly pleading.

Qui-Gon ignored the intrusive presence for the moment, not taking his eyes from the gardens below him. The sun was an incendiary sliver at the horizon, and the darkness was moving with the swiftness of an assassin as it chased across the land.

An image then. In bed with his padawan, naked bodies intertwined, gasping, needing, moving together in the delicate dance of passion, taking what they needed from each other and giving nothing in return...

...Another image. In bed again, his cock buried deep in his padawan's mouth, holding on tightly to that golden head as he moved himself in and out, knowing he was hurting, not caring, wanting only to ram himself deeply into that moist warm cavern and erase the look of utter forgiveness in those startlingly blue eyes...

...Again. Warm hands reaching for him, pulling him down, soft kisses pressed against his face, pleading, begging, wearing down his resistance until he was nothing more than an animal in heat, wanting only to claim what was being so blatantly offered, as if this could somehow erase all that had passed before.

The sun passed below the line of the horizon like a candle flame being extinguished, and the darkness was complete. He closed his eyes against it, feeling the unexpected sting of tears, but then the hands on his shoulders were tugging gently, drawing him back into their room.

"Come, Master." Soft touch of lips against his neck, and a warm sigh of breath caressed his skin. "Come inside."

Strong arms closed around him, hands burrowing under his robe and tunics to rub against the heated skin of his chest. Qui-Gon arched into the embrace, any resistance that he might yet have raised crumbling as he felt that familiar body press up against him, the evidence of its need igniting the fires within him. He turned with a low groan and bent to capture those decadent lips with his own, deliberately keeping his eyes closed so he did not have to see the expression in the shattered crystal of his padawan's eyes.

He drew the young man into the bedroom with him, ready to return to the ritual of pain and pleasure, pleasure as punishment, that had become the focus of their lives.

It was late summer at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and the air was faintly sweltering. The time had come for the annual Padawans' Saber Competition, and the bleachers around the training arena were bustling with life, filled with the expectant hum and buzz of conversation. It seemed that the entire population of the Temple had turned out to watch this long-anticipated event.

Qui-Gon observed it all through slitted eyes, irrationally irritated by the laughter and gaiety of the press of bodies around him. Beside him, Obi-Wan also looked uncomfortable. The boy was holding himself rigid, staring out over the crowd.

"Relax, Obi-Wan." He lifted his hand to the back of his padawan's neck and started to massage lightly, striving to ease some of the tension in those tautly held shoulders. Obi-Wan flinched slightly under his touch but recovered quickly. "You don't have anything to be worried about. You've taken the winning trophy for the past four years now, haven't you?"

"Yes, Master." Quiet voice, vaguely distracted. He did not take his eyes from the crowd.

Qui-Gon was grateful; eye contact was not something they indulged in much lately. Obi-Wan's muscles were only growing more tense under his stroking fingers, so he stopped massaging, instead smoothing his hand over the satiny skin as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal. "Relax, Obi-Wan," he said again, putting a note of command in his voice.

A slight tremor then, barely detectable. Obi-Wan seemed to fold in on himself and abruptly lost interest in the surrounding crowd.

Qui-Gon sighed, feeling guilty. What was wrong with him? It seemed that he'd lost all empathy with his student lately, lost all ability to commune with him on anything other than a sexual level. Ever since they'd made the decision to pursue this stage of their relationship, every other aspect of their partnership seemed to be suffering.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." Attempting to mollify. "Just do your best, and you know I'll always be proud of you."

"Yes, Master." This was barely a whisper. Obi-Wan seemed suddenly very interested in the hands that were folded tightly together in his lap.

Qui-Gon studied the edge of the young man's profile, caught for a moment by the way those long lashes were gilded by the sunlight. Smooth brow, strong nose, gentle swell of lips, rounded chin. Could any other Master claim to have a padawan of such exquisite beauty? He could smell the boy, sitting there next to him, a subdued, spicy scent that was uniquely Obi-Wan, and it filled him with a sense of warm familiarity even as it excited him.

He became aware that someone was watching them, and he felt a flash of guilt even though he knew he was doing nothing wrong. Looking up, he caught sight of Mace Windu standing at the edge of the arena, looking darkly forbidding in his thick brown robes. The Council Leader was staring at them, his eyes hooded.

Qui-Gon realized suddenly that he still had his hand on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, and that his thumb was stroking lightly along the underside of his apprentice's jaw. Obi-Wan was leaning his head into the caress, ever so slightly, his eyes half-lidded.

Qui-Gon abruptly dropped his hand down to his lap, clenching it into a fist as his heartbeat escalated rapidly. Feigning nonchalance, he let his gaze drift over the faces of the assembled padawans, as if sizing up the competition his student would be facing today.

He refused to look back to see if the Council Leader was still watching them. His new relationship with Obi-Wan was by necessity a well-kept secret between the two of them, and he had no illusions as to what kind of a reaction the Council would have if they were ever found out. Even though their copulations were often fraught with darkness and deep emotional pain, Qui-Gon had no desire to see their illicit liaisons come to an end. His time with Obi-Wan had become the single, shining beacon in a life otherwise consumed with endless night.

When Obi-Wan's name was called to take his place on the sands, Qui-Gon gave his apprentice's hand a gentle squeeze and offered a few parting words of encouragement. Obi-Wan looked grim, detached somehow from what was going on around him, and said nothing in reply. After one glimpse into the featureless planes of his eyes, Qui-Gon slid his gaze away.

This time, when he looked down toward the edge of the arena, Mace Windu was gone.

Obi-Wan was subdued as they returned to their quarters. Qui-Gon let out a heartfelt sigh as the door closed behind them, barring them from the outside world.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Padawan."

Obi-Wan skinned off his outer tunic and flopped down in the overstuffed armchair in front of the empty fireplace, giving every indication of settling into a massive sulk. "I lost, Master."

"Twenty-eighth place, Obi-Wan. Hardly an exemplary ranking, but still commendable." Silence then, as he gave his apprentice an appraising look. "You don't appear particularly broken up over it."

Obi-Wan shrugged, without lifting his gaze from the cold ashes on the hearth. "It's only a silly contest."

Qui-Gon crossed the room in three long strides, swung Obi-Wan around in the chair to face him, and found startled blue eyes gazing up at him. "Don't ever say that!" His voice was thick with emotion. "You've always been so proud of your trophies, your accomplishments, all these years..."

Obi-Wan was quite obviously trying not to cower. His small, pink tongue flicked out to moisten suddenly dry lips, as he struggled to hold his Master's enraged gaze.

Qui-Gon was infuriated. His padawan, who had always been the shining star of the Temple, always striving to perform to the very best of his considerable ability, was telling him that his performance no longer mattered? "Do not sell yourself short like that." Low, fierce words, and suddenly he was pulling that lean body into his arms, raining kisses along the tender neck. "Don't ever, ever say that again, my Obi-Wan. You're better than that. Better than all of them."

Obi-Wan had stiffened when Qui-Gon's arms first closed around him, and he made no move to return the older man's fervent kisses. But neither did he make any sign of protest. These bouts of self-absorption had become increasingly common lately, and Qui-Gon was equally appalled and enraged by it. It gave him a helpless feeling, as his normally confident and effusive padawan retreated into a shell of self-imposed isolation.

The young man in his arms smelled intoxicating, a breathtaking combination of sweat and exertion from his recent saber match, mixed with the boy's own heady scent. Unable to stop himself, Qui-Gon fell to his knees between his padawan's legs, letting his fingers knead into those strong thighs, and caught Obi-Wan's mouth under his own.

Oh, rapture, the delectable taste of his padawan, and he moaned low in his throat as he plunged into that embracingly warm mouth with his tongue, stroking deeply, claiming what was his. His hands clawed their way up to the heated juncture between Obi-Wan's legs, scraped his nails across the pulsing hardness that he found there - yes - and bent his head to lap at the salt-slicked skin of his padawan's throat.

Obi-Wan arched under him, giving a sharp intake of breath. Quick, abortive shake of his head, but then he was moaning as Qui-Gon pulled at the laces of his trousers, freeing his erection from the constraining fabric. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, grounding him as the wave of intense sensations flooded through him.

Qui-Gon felt his control slipping. A part of him cried out at this harsh usage of his padawan, but as always lately, such concerns were relegated to the back of his mind where they could not bother him. Perhaps a part of him wanted to punish Obi-Wan, for being so damn seductive, for withdrawing into this shell of silence and self-condemnation, wanting to force some reaction past that placid exterior. He already knew that a part of him wanted to punish himself.

Down then, smoothing his hands over the skin at the V of the younger man's tunic, sliding the fabric slowly open and bending to nip at one newly exposed nipple, hard enough to hurt. Immediately soothing the abused flesh with his tongue, closing his ears to the cry of mingled protest and passion that Obi-Wan made, gently caressing the quivering body under his arms.

He wants this, Qui-Gon told himself fiercely.

-Don't be a fool. Look at him, shaking like a newborn kitten. He's terrified.

He hasn't told me no. All he has to do is tell me he doesn't want this, and I'll stop. I will.

-As if he'd ever tell you no again...

Angrily, he clamped down on his inner argument and concentrated on sliding his tongue over Obi-Wan's chest, letting his beard scrape against the overly sensitized skin. Obi-Wan shuddered, moaning again as Qui-Gon's hands closed around his cock, and he lifted his hips shamelessly into his Master's touch, silently begging for more.

Qui-Gon took a moment to glance up at the writhing man above him and felt as if he were in some kind of erotic dream. Obi-Wan's head was tipped back over the top of the chair, braid trailing haphazardly across one arm, lips parted in a soundless sigh. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his cheeks, and his skin was lightly flushed with budding arousal. The tunic lay open across his chest, and Qui-Gon couldn't resist the temptation to swirl his tongue into the smooth concavity of his apprentice's navel. That got a very good reaction; he did it again.

He was just bending his head to take the tempting length of Obi-Wan's erection into his mouth when the front doorbell chimed.

Panic exploded out of Obi-Wan then, and Qui-Gon instantly moved to soothe him, calmly pulling the tunic closed across his chest. "Relax," he murmured, as Obi-Wan's hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches. "Go into the bedroom. Get dressed. And calm down." He pressed a quick kiss to the young man's cheek. "Go."

Only when Obi-Wan was safely out of sight did Qui-Gon move to answer the door. His own heart was pounding madly, both from unconsummated passion and shock at the interruption, and he took a few seconds to get himself under control before opening the door.

And found himself staring at Mace Windu.

Mace smiled politely as Qui-Gon ushered him inside the apartment, letting his eyes sweep over the comfortable living room. It was the same layout as his own quarters, but there was a lived-in quality to it that had been missing from his home since he'd last taken on a padawan. "How are you doing, old friend?"

"Fine." Was there the slightest touch of frigidity in Qui-Gon's tone? If so, it was gone in his next words. "This is a pleasant surprise. Hasn't the Council been keeping you busy enough?"

"Oh, they let me off my leash every once in a while." He watched as Qui-Gon moved to pick up the tunic that had been discarded across the back of a chair, folding it carefully and laying it aside with practiced ease. "Where's Obi-Wan?" Casually. This had to be handled very delicately. It was his instinct to discount what he'd seen - what he thought he'd seen - at the arena that morning, but it was his duty as a Council Member to investigate. Even so, the need for subterfuge dismayed him.

"In his room, sulking." Wry twist of humor to the words. "I'm afraid he's a bit embarrassed by his performance at the Competition this morning." He emerged from the kitchen bearing two glasses of palaia juice and, offering one of them to Mace, indicated they should sit down.

Mace settled himself comfortably, adjusting his robes around him and resting one arm along the back of the couch. The palaia juice was sweet and nicely chilled. "I was rather surprised at that myself. He's been our resident champion for four years now."

"Yes, I know. That makes it sting all the more, I suppose."

Subdued empathy in the words. There was nothing in Qui-Gon's demeanor to make the Council leader at all suspicious. He decided to be more direct. "It's not only his saberform that's been suffering lately, is it? His grades in all of his classes have been dropping steadily, and he's barely pulling by in a few of them."

A heartbeat of silence then, as Qui-Gon regarded him coolly over the rim of his glass. "You've been checking up on him." It was not a question.

"I'm worried about him, Qui-Gon." Time for at least a little honesty. "He's been so ... subdued. Not like his usual self at all." He remembered how the young man had looked that morning on the fighting sands: almost lifeless, untouched by the excitement that surged around him, with a faint look of apprehension as if he felt threatened by the pressing crowd.

"And since when do the personal problems of my padawan warrant direct intervention by the Council?"

Mace heard the low note of challenge in the words and winced inwardly. So much for subtlety. "It's not a Council matter, my friend." Yet. "I'm just concerned, that's all. I care about him, too."

Qui-Gon was mollified not at all. "Obi-Wan is going through a rough time right now. I assure you that I am handling the situation."

Mace dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. "My apologies, Qui-Gon. I certainly didn't mean to question your bond with your padawan."

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting the apology, but it did not quite erase the line of irritation between his brows. "He just needs time, Mace." Softly pleading.

"I know." He tried to interject some humor into the conversation. "At this stage in their education, a lot of padawans decide that there's more to life than books and training. I wouldn't worry too much; he'll come around." Qui-Gon seemed to relax slightly at that. "May I see him?"

Instantly, Qui-Gon tensed, his eyes narrowing to sapphire slits. "I hardly think that having his failures thrown in his face by a Council Member is what he needs right now, do you?" There was a low growl of threat underlying the words.

Mace kept his gaze deliberately bland. "I only want to talk to him, Qui-Gon."

For a moment, he thought his old friend was actually going to refuse. The waves of fierce protectiveness emanating from the man were impossible to miss, but why he felt the need to protect the boy at all was a mystery.

Looking decidedly unhappy, Qui-Gon called for Obi-Wan to come join them. When almost a minute passed and nothing happened, he called Obi-Wan's name again, putting a touch of steel in his voice.

Mace heard the door down the hall open, and after a few seconds, Obi-Wan appeared in the archway of the living room.

He was thinner than Mace remembered, even from a couple of months ago. There was a disquieting pallor to his normally animated face, and he didn't seem to know quite what to do with his hands; they flitted around him uncomfortably for a moment before finally clasping together in front of him. His eyes flickered from Mace to his Master and then back again, uncertain.

"Hello, Obi-Wan," Mace said quietly.

"Hi, Master Windu." The boy's eyes moved to Qui-Gon again, then back to Mace. He looked frightened.

"How are you feeling, son?"

The endearment caused Obi-Wan's eyes to narrow slightly. "I'm fine." He straightened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze finally came to rest on the Council leader. Mace wondered if the lad sensed somehow that he was on trial. It amused him that Obi-Wan would use the same word to answer this question as Qui-Gon had.

"I just stopped by to say hi to your Master, and I thought I'd check on you while I was here. I've missed seeing you around the school lately." Oftentimes, Obi-Wan would hang around after his classes, spending time in the many learning centers, attending study groups with his friends. The young man had a bright and inquisitive mind, and he was forever soaking up new knowledge wherever he could find it. Until recently, when he had become a ghost to the halls of the university, appearing just before his classes began and then vanishing again just as quickly.

"I've been busy." Another discreet glance at his Master, almost hidden behind lowered lashes. Mace filed this observation away for future reference.

Obviously, he wasn't going to get anything useful out of the boy while his Master was here. Mace just wasn't cut out for this discreet investigative crap; give him an ignited lightsaber and a foe he could battle openly any day. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time." Mace tossed back the rest of his juice and stood, taking shielded interest in the way Obi-Wan almost shrank away from his sudden movement. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Qui-Gon took the empty glass from him and walked him to the door. "Thanks for stopping by, Mace." It was an obvious effort to be civil.

The Council leader forced a smile. As Qui-Gon moved to open the door for him, Mace let his eyes flutter closed for a brief second so he could focus on the lingering Force energies in the room. There was a very definite Force signature here ... nothing he could put his finger on ... elusive ... sinuous ... It left a sour taste in his mouth. It frustrated him that he did not have the leisure to identify it further.

As he took his leave, he was very much aware of Obi-Wan's eyes on him from where the padawan still stood at the far end of the living room. That searing gaze would haunt him for a very long time.

There was something seriously wrong with this Master/padawan relationship. He refused to believe that Qui-Gon might actually be abusing his apprentice; he'd been friends with the man for years, ever since they were padawans together here at the Temple. He'd found no evidence that there was any abuse taking place, none at all.

But it still frightened him. More than he cared to admit.

Qui-Gon closed the door with a feeling of relief so strong it nearly choked him. When he turned back to the living room, he found his arms suddenly full of trembling padawan.

"Shh," he soothed, smoothing back the bristled hair. "It's okay, he's gone now, shh..."

"Don't let them take me away from you, Master." This was practically a sob.

Interesting how Obi-Wan had immediately relegated Mace to being part of the infamous Them. Qui-Gon wondered where his apprentice had learned such paranoia. "Easy, Padawan. No one's going to take you away from me." He cupped his hand at the back of Obi-Wan's neck and snuggled the boy against his chest; Obi-Wan nuzzled into him obligingly. "It's okay now, shh..."

"Love you, Master." Fiercely. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Obi-Wan." Sudden tears stung his eyes then, as he acknowledged his own fear for the first time. "You'll just have to be more careful now. You have to pay special attention to your classes, your grades. We can't give them any excuse to-" He realized suddenly that he was also referring to the infamous Them and wondered what this said about his own state of mind.

Then Qui-Gon felt those velvet lips press against his throat, the barest flicker of a tongue across his skin. "Obi-Wan," he sighed, a long exhalation of purest contentment. This was his Obi-Wan, his, who loved him and wanted him, and called him Master. The warm presence of his padawan instantly pushed all other concerns into the distant corners of his mind.

Obi-Wan melted like sugar against his mouth when Qui-Gon kissed him. The strong, young body was unconscionably yielding in his arms, molding to him with the brazenness of an inner-city whore, but there was something uniquely Obi-Wan about it. An innocence, a light, that called to Qui-Gon like the siren song that it was, and he found himself drowning in the pull of his padawan's kisses, stripped defenseless in the heat of the passion that surged between them.

As they moved into the bedroom together, he dared to hope that this would be one of the rare times of communion between them, an equal sharing, pleasure for pleasure, untouched by the darkness that had been growing around them these past two months. Joined together by their fear, they might yet find a way to beat this thing that threatened to consume them both.

Love - if that's what this was, and he was beginning to have his doubts - was a journey, and they had yet to see its end.

"Obi-Wan."

The young man looked up with a cornered expression as he stepped out of the dining hall, schoolbooks in hand. "Master Windu." There was a decided lack of warmth in his tone.

"I hope I didn't upset you last night by coming over to visit your Master." Mace fell into stride easily beside the smaller man as he started down the hall, refusing to let Obi-Wan retreat from him.

"Not at all." Careful lack of eye contact.

"You know, Obi-Wan, if there's some problem, you can always come to me with it. I'm always glad to listen."

That stopped him, and he turned to look at Mace incredulously. "What problem?" He seemed honestly perplexed.

Mace sighed. "I'll be honest with you, Obi-Wan - I'm worried about you. It's not just your grades and your performance a> Obi-Wan shrank back as if he'd been burned, a wild look clawing its way into his eyes, quickly subdued. Mace could feel the sudden panic pouring off of him and snatched his hand away quickly. "What is it, Obi-Wan?" he asked, alarmed.

"N-Nothing." The boy was clearly shaken. He took a step away from Mace, not taking his eyes from the older man. "I ... I've really got to be going. I have a class in five minutes..." And with that, he fled, pushing open the door at the end of the hall and disappearing outside.

Mace tried to calm the sudden pounding of his heart, not sure what he had just witnessed. Obi-Wan did not want to be touched. Damn Qui-Gon anyway! What had he done to the boy? Mace found that he was actually shaking in rage, and he took several deep, calming breaths, reaching out to the Force to soothe his turbulent emotions. He could no longer pretend that there was nothing going on between Qui-Gon and his padawan.

It was time to talk to Yoda.

Obi-Wan berated himself harshly as he walked home from his afternoon class, eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of his feet. What had possessed him to lose control like that in front of Master Windu? And after Qui-Gon had cautioned him about being careful, about not drawing suspicion to their relationship! Obi-Wan felt faintly disgusted with himself and knew that his Master would be, too. Even if he didn't show it.

He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself and tried hard to ignore the occasional passers-by on the way to their own classes. He couldn't wait till he got home, where he could block out the entire clamoring world and sink into anonymity once again, safely closed away behind locked doors. That was the story of his life lately; he felt like he was no more substantial than a shadow, and only when he was with Qui-Gon did he feel at all alive. Even if it did hurt sometimes, even if it meant he had to give himself over to being wholly possessed, heart, mind, and body...

He loved Qui-Gon. He did. And he did not regret this intimacy in their relationship. Of course not. And Qui-Gon loved him, needed him. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that there might be anything wrong with what they were doing. Okay, so at times it frightened him, consumed him, but dammit, he loved Qui-Gon...

He realized he was close to tears and pressed his lips together angrily. Why did it all have to hurt so much? That was why he'd found it easier lately to retreat behind a front of non-emotionalism. If he didn't feel, he couldn't hurt. He knew it frustrated Qui-Gon to no end, and it pained him to do injury to his lover this way, but what was one more hurt in a world that had come to be defined solely by the suffering it gave him?

His thoughts were distracted by a subtle pressure against his mind, a slowly dawning sense of urgency that underlaid every thought in his head. He stumbled to a startled halt, closing his eyes in dismay. It was a Summoning, calling him to the Council chambers in the central tower of the Temple.

And it came from Master Yoda.

Resolutely, he clamped down on his panic. It could be anything. The diminutive Jedi Master was an old-time friend of Qui-Gon's, and he, like Master Windu, may just be taking an inordinate interest in his colleague's wayward pupil. Obi-Wan cursed himself fluently for ever allowing his grades to slip the way he had. It was just so hard to concentrate lately, and the things that had once interested him now paled next to his relationship with his Master.

He could probably stop by his quarters first to drop off his schoolbooks, but he was so nervous now, he just wanted to get it over with. He turned around and started back towards the center of the Temple grounds, towards the gleaming spire that rose like a silver needle against the cloud-wracked sky.

He kept his mind deliberately blank as he rode up in the elevator to the topmost floor of the tower, unwilling to speculate about what Yoda might want with him. Obi-Wan had always enjoyed the company of the ancient Master, respected him, revered him, even. But now, the thought of facing Yoda terrified him. There was something almost creepy about the way he could tap into the Living Force, and the thought of trying to hide something from the elder Jedi was faintly petrifying.

When the elevator doors slid soundlessly open, the first thing Obi-Wan saw was his Master, standing off to one side by the towering windows, flanked by Mace Windu. Oh, this was not good at all. Qui-Gon's face was grave, his eyes hooded. And Windu looked more intense than even he was usually known for.

Tentatively, Obi-Wan stepped forward into the room. He could feel the eyes on him like heated brands, and he felt his face color under the scrutiny. Feeling suddenly lost, he fixed his gaze on his Master, silently begging for reassurance, but Qui-Gon was impassive.

"Padawan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan let his eyes follow the familiar voice, even as his mind screamed at him to flee this place. His heart was beating rapidly, but he schooled his features to show nothing of the distress he was feeling. It was something he'd become rather good at lately, concealing his true self behind a mask of enforced serenity, but he had his doubts whether it would be good enough to fool Master Yoda.

No. It had to be good enough.

"Yes, Master?" he queried politely, turning to face the diminutive Council member.

Yoda was standing in the center of the room, looking strangely regal in his coarse brown robes, his long, graceful ears sagging a bit with what Obi-Wan would almost call sorrow. Those inquisitive, dark eyes were fixed unerringly on him, making him feel like all of his shields had been seared away in a heartbeat, even though he knew Yoda would never disregard his privacy by invading his mind. Obi-Wan kept his gaze steady, but inside he was shaking.

"Have concerns about your relationship with your Master, we do."

Yoda had never been one to beat around the bush. Obi-Wan clamped down hard on the panic that flashed through him. "I don't know what you mean."

Slow tapping of the waking stick as Yoda moved toward him, and he had to steel himself not to shrink back as the venerable Jedi Master approached. Yoda's eyes were kind, almost pitying, as they looked up at him.

"Need the truth from you, I do. Thick around you the Dark Side is. Thicker still around your Master. Become enslaved to it, you must not. Tell me, young Obi-Wan, what is the nature of the darkness that troubles you?"

Obi-Wan stared at him, not knowing how to answer. His throat ached, freezing the words in his throat, and he felt suddenly dizzy, flushed and chilled at the same time.

"Confessed to having a sexual relationship with you, your Master has."

It was like being punched in the gut. Obi-Wan felt tears of betrayal sting his eyes, and he looked at Qui-Gon sharply, an outraged exclamation singing through his mind. Qui-Gon would not even look at him; he was gazing down through one of the broad windows at the Temple courtyard below.

Yoda was watching him closely. "Has your consent, this relationship does?"

Now Obi-Wan turned to the Council member with a shocked stare. "Of course. How can you even ask such a question?"

"There are specific rules prohibiting this kind of union between Masters and padawans." It was Windu who spoke. "And there are very good reasons for it. I'm guessing that this relationship started around two months ago. Am I right?"

Obi-Wan felt his face flush. "I am aware of the rules pertaining to Master/padawan relationships." He was rather proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake when he said it.

"Yet you pursued this relationship regardless." Windu's eyes were unfathomable.

"I'm not a child!" Why didn't his Master say something? Why was he leaving him to face these accusations alone?

"No one said you were, son." Now Windu's face was vaguely pitying, and it was enough to snap Obi-Wan's fragile control.

"I'm not your son!" He realized he was shouting and clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the growing wave of panic that suffused him, panic as he felt the roar and thunder of emotion that had been successfully kept at bay these past months pressing to the surface. Instantly, he clamped down on it, struggling to keep the lid in place. More quietly, he said, "I admit we were wrong. We disobeyed the Code. I have no excuse to offer." The words crackled like ice between them.

"The excuse is not yours to make, Obi-Wan." Windu sounded sad. "It's your Master who is responsible for the direction this relationship has taken."

At that, Obi-Wan felt the floor drop out from under him. "No," he whispered, darting a quick glance at his Master's back. Qui-Gon still steadfastly refused to face him. "It's not his fault; he's not to blame for this. It was me - I'm the one who pushed it on him, you can't blame him..." He realized he was babbling and forced himself to stop, taking a deep breath to calm his jangling nerves.

"Discussed this, we have." Yoda was regarding him with a contemplative frown, and Obi-Wan felt the hairs along the back of his neck prickle as he wondered what thoughts were going through the wizened little Jedi's mind. "Think it is best if you and your Master separate for a time, we do. Time you need, to think this through, to heal." Heal from what? Obi-Wan wanted to scream at him, but he kept silent. "Talk about this, we will. Later, after time you've had to absorb what has happened here."

This was a nightmare, it had to be, and he had just discovered a whole new level of suffering with which to define his existence. He knew his eyes must be the very picture of anguished betrayal, but he didn't care. He didn't care what they thought of him. Any of them. "Does Qui-Gon agree to this?" he asked quietly, ignoring the tears as they slid down his cheeks.

"Qui-Gon has no say in the matter." Windu was very firm. "His actions in this matter are being placed under review by the Council, and he is suspended from all duties until further notice." His eyes narrowed then, and Obi-Wan felt as if he were a bug being dissected under that searching gaze. "I suspect that there is a great deal more to this issue than either of you is telling us. It would make this much easier if you would just tell us the truth, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan regarded him with an icy stare. "You said I could trust you. That I could feel comfortable talking to you about anything. And the first thing you do is run off to the Council and have my Master taken away from me." He felt a perverse satisfaction as he saw the blow hit home. "I never knew what a damned hypocrite you are."

That being said, he turned on his heel and walked back to the elevator, ignoring the pleading voice that called after him. So Mace was hurt by what he'd said - good. There was betrayal, and then there was betrayal. Obi-Wan wondered if he could ever find the heart to trust again.

It wasn't until after the elevator doors had closed that he allowed the sobs to overtake him.

He had handled that very badly. Mace sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes, feeling wretched. Intimidating the boy was obviously the wrong way to go.

"Blame yourself, you cannot," a sorrowful voice said.

Then who was he to blame? Immediately, his thoughts turned to the man standing next to him, who had said not one word through the entire ordeal and still stood staring out the damned window like he was looking for bloody absolution in the drift of the mists across the horizon.

Mace sighed. "Tell me I did the right thing."

"You did the right thing." This was barely a whisper. Qui-Gon's eyes never left whatever transient point he had focused on outside the window.

"Then tell me what Obi-Wan wouldn't. If you're so sure that I'm right, then let me know what happened between the two of you."

"What makes you think that anything happened?"

"Damn it, Qui-Gon." Never had he felt such an urge to strangle another sentient creature and wring from it the answers he wanted. Qui-Gon could be as obtuse as a rock when he wanted to be. "What is he protecting you from? What did you do to him?" He couldn't keep the heat from his words, but it was like holding up a candle flame to a glacier. Qui-Gon didn't even seem to notice his ire.

"Just let it go, Mace." There was a low note of pleading to the words. "It's over now. Let that be enough."

Mace shook his head. "Tell me you didn't do anything to hurt him." Please.

Silence then, thick as blood between them. Mace was very much aware of Yoda in the background, watching them, listening, but keeping his own counsel for the moment.

"You'll report to the Healers first thing in the morning." Brittle words, trying to mask the misery he felt. "For psychological evaluation."

Perhaps he'd wanted the words to wound somehow, but Qui-Gon only nodded his acceptance of the Council Leader's edict, and Mace was left with nothing but the sour taste of frustration swirling in his gullet. Tightening his robes around him, he clung to whatever composure he had remaining and stalked out of the Council chamber. He could feel Yoda's eyes on him as he left.

It was peaceful here in the garden. The sky was that unconscionable shade of azure blue that poets moon over, dotted here and there with perfect white wisps of cloud. Obi-Wan gazed up at it dreamily, trailing one hand in the water next to him. The grass was softly cushioning under his back, tickling his ears and neck. The smells of loam and growing things surrounded him, weaving a subtle yet all-encompassing tapestry of sensation that was a welcome distraction from the bitter thoughts wrecking havoc in his mind.

The funny thing was, it was all a lie. There were no growing things on Coruscant, not naturally, anyway. All of these trees, the grass, even the soil, had been imported from off-world. This pond, whose waters felt so nice and soothing against the skin of his hand, was man-made. None of it was real.

He was beginning to learn that a great deal about life was not at all what it appeared to be. Friends could turn into enemies, dreams turned out to be shadows, and the ones who said they loved you the most were the ones who ended up wielding the scalpel with the greatest skill. It was true that with the sharpest blades, you sometimes didn't even know you'd been cut until you started to bleed.

A shadow fell across his torso then, blocking the sunlight. Blinking, he turned his head and saw a tiny, green figure leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick, peering down at him with a cautiously questioning expression.

"Hello, Master Yoda."

Yoda seemed to take this as an invitation and settled himself on the grass beside Obi-Wan, making a great show of arranging his robes just so, huffing mightily as he set his walking stick down on the ground beside him. Obi-Wan watched the theatrics with a great deal of amusement, as he always did, and earned himself a scolding poke in the shoulder.

"When 800 years old you reach, work as well your bones will not."

Obi-Wan felt himself smile, and was faintly surprised by it. "You're not old, Master Yoda. You'll never be old."

"Hmph." Finally arranged to his satisfaction, Yoda turned to him with solemn eyes. "Heard disturbing tales from your Healers, I have. Talk to them you must, Obi-Wan. Only then will the darkness within you lift."

Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath. "There's nothing to talk about. I love Qui-Gon. If that's a crime, then punish me and have done with it." He knew he sounded petulant, but could not bring himself to care.

Yoda regarded him for a long moment, unblinking. Obi-Wan began to twitch under that watchful gaze, uncertain of the thoughts that spun behind those enigmatic globes.

Finally, Yoda said, "Worried about you, your Master is."

Obi-Wan forced himself not to flinch. It had been three days since the disastrous confrontation in the Council chamber, and he had not seen Qui-Gon since. "How is he?" he asked quietly.

There was silence for a moment, as if Yoda were considering how to answer. "Lost, he is," the ancient Jedi said at last. "Troubled, his feelings are. Talks to his Healers, he does not. Much in common, you two have." He ended the statement with a drawn out "hmm" that sounded faintly exasperated.

"Maybe we don't need to talk to the Healers," Obi-Wan offered.

"Then talk to me."

Obi-Wan stared at him, feeling a sudden constriction in his chest. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Only the truth." And now there was a sharpness to his tone that brought Obi-Wan's head up in surprise. Yoda rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it was usually because someone had done something stupid to put themselves at risk. The ancient Master had no patience for self-destructive behavior. Even so, there was compassion in his eyes as he looked at Obi-Wan, compassion and a deep, searing sorrow.

He knows, Obi-Wan thought suddenly, feeling panic grip him. But he put aside the emotion carefully. He could hear the low ebb and roar of his own repressed memories, surging quietly just behind his conscious thoughts. Panic would only make this harder to deal with. As would "talking about it."

"No, Master Yoda," he said, with a low note of apology in his tone. "I don't think that would be a good idea." Oh Force, had he just admitted that he wasn't telling the whole truth about his relationship with Qui-Gon? "I mean, there's nothing to talk about. Period."

Yoda sighed sadly. "Time this will take, young one. Trust someone, you must."

"I trust Qui-Gon." Stubbornly.

Again, Yoda sighed, shaking his head. But he let the subject drop, and turned to gaze out across the lake, drawing serenity around him like a cloak. Obi-Wan wished that he could do the same.

He missed Qui-Gon. It hurt that his Master had made not even the smallest effort to search him out, not even for the briefest of greetings, not even to inquire how he was. Obi-Wan was sleeping in one of the Temple's guest apartments now, and he was homesick on top of everything else. He'd been offered the chance to stay with Yoda, but had flatly refused. The last thing he needed was to spend any more time around this walking, breathing conscience than he already did. It irritated him that they wouldn't just leave him alone.

His daily appointments with the Healers were worse. They asked him questions, encouraged him to "open up" about his feelings for Qui-Gon, to hold everything inside of him up to the light so it could be brutally dissected between them. Thank you, but no. Obi-Wan had no intention of confiding in any of them; besides, what was there to confide?

(Harsh hands, holding him down, while he writhed and cried beneath them)

(A sharp blow to the side of his face, hurting, ripping out his tender heart and leaving him lost in the whirlwind of his own emotions)

(Pleasure, dark and twisted, wrenched from him against his will, as his body was used to bring satisfaction to another)

Obi-Wan felt tears pool in his eyes and turned aside quickly, horrified that Yoda would see them. He felt alone suddenly, more alone than he had ever felt before in his life, as if he were separated from the world around him by a pane of frosted glass. It was a cold feeling, empty, and he ached for the life he had once known, before this nightmare began. He couldn't help it as the tears overflowed his quivering lashes and spilled down his cheeks, and he bit hard on his lower lip to keep from making any sound as the by-now-familiar sobs rose in his throat.

"Blame yourself, you cannot."

Obi-Wan sniffled, curling up on his side and staring out across the lake. "Blame myself for what, Master Yoda?"

"For that which troubles you." Low, knowing voice.

Oh, Force. He couldn't know, couldn't have guessed, but gods, what if he had, what in all the worlds was Obi-Wan supposed to do? Struggling to keep his voice steady, he said, "I've been trying to release my feelings into the Force-"

"No!" Sharp thwack of the walking stick against his shoulder, making him jump. "To purge all emotion, the Jedi way is not. But control it, you must, lest it control you. Focus, young Obi-Wan, and feel the Living Force around you. Guide you, it will."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling the tears slide down his cheeks. At least Yoda was still sitting behind him; he wouldn't be able to see. "I can't. I've tried, but I- I just can't."

"Help you, I can, if confide in me you will."

The sun caught on the surface of the lake in sheets of liquid radiance, hiding what lay beneath, dazzling with its display of sheer luminosity. Like life, you couldn't tell by looking what murky depths existed within. "Qui-Gon loves me," Obi-Wan said at last, quietly. He could sense Yoda's slow swell of disappointment at the words.

Qui-Gon loved him. He did. And nothing Yoda or any of the others could say would make him change his mind.

Qui-Gon was sitting on a bench overlooking the Temple arbor, the gentle shadows of the enclosed glade caressing as they fell around him. Mace stood and watched him for a long minute, disturbed by the way the man seemed at home in the darkness, as if he had become a part of it.

Red-hued paving stones led him forward to the ornate bench, where he seated himself casually, not bothering to ask permission. The gentle chatter of birdsong echoed around him, muted in the serene tranquillity of the chamber. Filtered sunlight fell lazily on the twisting paths between the trees, encouraging the sense of peace that was always so prevalent here.

A sense of peace that was obviously eluding his oldest friend. Mace sighed wearily. "Talk to me, Qui-Gon."

Silence. Qui-Gon might not even have noticed that he was there.

This all-encompassing depression was beginning to worry Mace. It was much more than disappointment at having his relationship with Obi-Wan discovered, or sadness because he missed the boy. Something was eating away at his friend from the inside out, and Mace was afraid that by the time it was through, there would be nothing of Qui-Gon left.

"Obi-Wan has been suspended from his classes," he prompted, hoping to break through that damnable shell.

Qui-Gon stirred at that. The look he fixed the Council Leader with was blistering. "I thought I was the only one to be punished for our ... transgression."

"It's not a punishment." Mace felt irrationally satisfied to have provoked this much of a reaction from him. "He'd stopped attending them altogether before we stepped in. Instead of letting him flunk himself out of school, we decided that it would be best if he were to take some time off."

"Of course you didn't ask him if he approved of this decision."

"We asked. He isn't talking to us any more than you are."

Qui-Gon almost smiled at that, but there was a bitter cast to it.

Mace sighed again. "No one's telling him he can't love you, Qui-Gon."

"Just that he can't fuck me, right?"

"Yes." Mace refused to be cowed. "It's obviously not having a very good impact on your relationship. Or on him personally." And now he let the frustration seep into his voice. "Have you looked at him lately? I mean, really looked? He's changed, Qui-Gon, and not in a good way. He's frightened of his own shadow. He doesn't eat. He doesn't care about anything." Slight touch of anger now, and his voice roughened without his conscious volition. "What did you do to him? And don't tell me it was just a pleasant fuck between two consenting adults."

Now it was Qui-Gon's turn to sigh, and his gaze drifted away to stare out at the trees. "What do you want me to say, Mace? You want to hear me say that I raped him?"

The admission rocked Mace to the core, even though he'd already suspected. He'd known, ever since he'd seen them together at the arena, but even that was not the same as actually hearing the words. He closed his eyes against the shock of pain that lanced through him, unable to think of anything to say in response.

But Qui-Gon wasn't through yet. "You want to hear me say that I hit him? That I tied him down, and fucked him, and forced him to feel pleasure from it? Do you want me to describe the words he used when he begged me to stop, or the way his tears tasted when I kissed him? Or maybe you want to hear how I forced him down on his knees and made him-"

"Stop." Mace's voice was hoarse. He stared at his friend in unconcealed horror, feeling as if there were a thousand ice-sheathed knives trying to slice their way up from his gut. "Sweet gods, Qui-Gon. Why?" He was close to tears.

Qui-Gon dipped his head slightly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. But it was a bitter smile, twisted, filled with pain and self-loathing. "Does it matter? I am guilty of raping my padawan." He sounded almost relieved to have it finally out in the open. "I offer myself up for judgment to the Council."

Mace shook his head, still trying to take it all in. "I don't understand, Qui-Gon. How could you do this? You ... you've always loved the boy. He-"

"I've confessed to my crime, Mace." Chill, angry words. "All that remains is for you to see that I am suitably punished. I believe the dictates of the Code on this matter are quite clear."

Yes, they were. The penalty for rape among the Jedi was that the perpetrator be cast out, stripped of all rank and privileges, and fitted with neurologically implanted suppressers that would nullify the midichlorians in his cells so that he was unable to call on the Force again, ever. It was their harshest punishment, considered greater even than death. Doubtlessly, this was what Qui-Gon felt he deserved.

But Mace did not like the feeling of being manipulated into a decision that he was not prepared to enforce wholeheartedly. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at his longtime friend. "Perhaps. But first we will talk about this. Will Obi-Wan corroborate what you're telling me?" Knowing perfectly well that the boy would not, no matter what had transpired between him and his Master.

Now Qui-Gon looked angry. "Damn it, Mace, it doesn't matter what Obi-Wan would say. I'm telling you it happened, and it's your duty to-"

"I know what my duty is." Deliberately calm, to countermand the fury rising in Qui-Gon's voice. "But I think we both need time to think, to talk..."

"There's nothing to talk about!" He was actively furious now. "It happened, and there is no greater crime than what he did to me-"

Mace blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said there's no greater crime than what I did to him."

"No, you didn't." For some reason, he felt quite certain that his friend had not been referring to Obi-Wan. Slowly, the last of the pieces clicked into place. "Who did it to you?" he asked quietly.

The expression in Qui-Gon's eyes at those words was horrified, trapped. Mace thought for a moment that his friend was going to flee from him, or lash out at him, or something else equally damaging, and he felt a deep and shuddering empathy for the pain he saw in that blue-crystal gaze.

"Who was it, Qui-Gon?" Softly. He reached one hand out to touch Qui-Gon's wrist lightly, offering mute comfort.

Qui-Gon took a deep, quivering breath and let it out explosively, seeming to fold in on himself. For a long moment, he just stared off into the trees, and Mace began to despair that he wasn't going to answer. Then, very quietly, Qui-Gon said, "Master Dorian."

Mace closed his eyes in disbelief. "Your own Master." He remembered Dorian well, even though the Jedi Master had gone on to become One with the Force more than thirty years ago. Mace had practically grown up at Dorian's house, as he was best friends with the man's headstrong young padawan. He and Qui-Gon had been like brothers in those days. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" Anger, compassion and misery. He tried to remember Dorian as he had last seen him, tall and strong, inky black hair falling just to his shoulders, with laughing green eyes. One of the greatest Knights the order had ever known.

"The first time, he tied me to the bed in my own bedroom. I ... I remember crying. It hurt. I think I hated him then, but afterwards, he held me, and kissed me, and told me how much he loved me." Now the bitterness had a much sharper edge. "He told me we had to keep this a secret, because the Council would take me away from him if I let anyone know what had happened.

"It was our missions that I dreaded the most, when we were alone together on some gods-forsaken planet without the Council anywhere around. Oh, I believed at the time that I loved him, and a part of me very desperately came to depend on the time we shared together. But it still hurt; I think a part of him actually enjoyed causing me pain. He took to hitting me when I disobeyed him, or even when I stood up to him in any way. He made it quite clear whose property I was." More bitterness, practically spilling over the words.

Mace was horrified. He remembered Qui-Gon as a young padawan, faultlessly obedient to his Master, unerringly polite, without any of the rebelliousness that had characterized his age-mates through the middle stages of their apprenticeships. Qui-Gon had been the golden child of the Temple, adored by the Masters for his servile nature, respected and secretly envied by his peers.

"After a while," Qui-Gon continued, "I think I began to realize that there was something seriously wrong with the way he treated me. But by then, it had become habit, and I didn't know how to make it stop. I actually wanted him to hurt me, because it helped me forget for a while that I was hurting inside." His voice caught, and although his eyes were dry, they glittered harshly in the muted sunlight.

"Qui-Gon..." Mace wasn't quite sure what to say to ease his friend's pain, or even if there was anything he could do to make it easier. He took one of Qui-Gon's hands in his own and was relieved to feel those fingers tighten around his.

"After I was Knighted, I left Coruscant for a while. You remember? I had to get away from him. I took that two-year-long mission on Duurha, and while I was gone I received word that he'd been killed in a border skirmish off Tantavian. And, Mace, when I heard that, I..." He trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.

"You were glad." Mace's voice was soft.

"I was glad." Vicious heat behind the words.

"It wasn't your fault, Qui-Gon." This much, at least, he could assure his friend of. "What he did to you, what he made you do to him... You were a child. He was your mentor, and you trusted him. If the Council had known, if they'd had any idea..." Now it was his turn to trail off, as his emotions became too strong to be contained in the words.

Qui-Gon looked grimly amused. "I guess I was much better at prevarication than Obi-Wan is." He shook his head, his humor fading. "I promised myself that I would never, never do to my padawans what Dorian did to me. And I was never tempted, not with the first two. I really thought I'd put it all behind me, that he no longer had any power over me. I thought I was free. But then I found myself noticing Obi-Wan more and more as he grew into a man. Gods, Mace, I spent so many hours on my knees in the gardens, meditating, trying to purge these desires from my soul. Nothing worked. He was all I could think about; I found myself trying to imagine what he would smell like, what he'd taste like. It was obsession, pure and simple. He's grown to be the center of my existence, and when I realized he'd be taking his Trials in the next few years, I ... I knew I had to have him. Just once, before he was out of my life forever."

"But it didn't turn out to be that way."

"No." Harsh snort of laughter then. "Because, Force take it, he forgave me. And he wanted to continue loving me, making love to me. I felt so guilty for what I'd done, and all he wanted to do was comfort me. I wanted him to hate me, the way I hated myself. But when he came up to me, asking for love ... or at least for sex ... there wasn't any way I could say no to him."

Mace didn't respond to that immediately. The two friends sat in silence together for a long while, listening to the gentle rushing of the breeze through the branches of the trees. It was almost like music, and Mace used it to center himself, distancing himself from the horror of the things that Qui-Gon had told him. He was struggling with his own feelings of guilt, for not seeing the evidence of the abuse his friend had suffered, for not having been able to do anything to stop it.

"You found yourself falling in love with Obi-Wan," he ventured at last. "And you didn't know any other way of expressing it."

"Nice try, Mace." Qui-Gon sounded amused. "There's nothing that can excuse what I did. I hurt him, I humiliated him, I forced him to do something that he very obviously did not want to do. I raped him."

"I'm not saying that this excuses anything. But the darkness was already there, Qui-Gon. You didn't give birth to it. I think your feelings for Obi-Wan started out as something wholesome, something pure, but they were distorted somehow by the shadow of Dorian that you still carry around inside of you." He realized he was still holding the other man's hand and squeezed it tightly. "We'll work through this, my friend. Somehow, I don't know how, but we'll make it right."

Qui-Gon turned to look at him directly for the first time since Mace had come into the arbor. His eyes were full of uncertainty and pain, but at their depths flickered the first dawnings of hope. "Can it be made right?"

"I don't know." He couldn't lie to him. "But we're going to try. Force help us, Qui-Gon, we're going to try."

Yoda's apartments were smaller than most of those in the rest of the Temple, proportioned as they were for his smaller frame. Qui-Gon always felt monstrously oversized whenever he ventured inside, a cruel illusion for one who had always been much taller and larger than his peers, even in youth. He had to bend almost double to pass through the low doorway, but once he had seated himself on the rug in the large common area, he was comfortable enough. Mace complained lightly as he settled himself next to his friend, a familiar habit that brought a fleeting smile to Qui-Gon's face.

There were a lot of memories wrapped up in this room. Qui-Gon could remember countless evenings sitting on this same rug, a fire flickering softly in the hearth, listening to Yoda's low voice as he recounted tales of the Old Republic, before the days of the Uridiian reform and the founding of the Senate. Despite his small size, Yoda had always seemed impossibly huge to young Qui-Gon, wearing his power as a birthright, cloaked in kindness and age and mystery.

The years fell away in a heartbeat as Qui-Gon watched the diminutive Council member putter around in the kitchen. Yoda looked ridiculously graceful here in his own environment, a fact that never ceased to amaze Qui-Gon. For a moment, he felt that he and Mace could have been the gangly, awkward teenagers they once were, and all of the old fears came rushing back to taunt him.

"Much to discuss, we have." Yoda's voice pulled him back to the present, and he focused on the conversation at hand. Yoda was pressing a cup of something thick and steaming into his hands.

"What's this?" Even as he asked the question, he was bringing the cup to his lips and sipping cautiously, wary of scalding his tongue. The mixture was surprisingly smooth, with just a hint of spice.

"Deltarian ch'rak. Drink it, you will." Yoda's tone brooked no room for argument. After Mace was presented with a similar offering, the elder Jedi moved to the room's only chair, seating himself carefully. There wasn't much in the way of furniture here, as most of his visitors would be too large to use it. Instead, the predominant feature in the room was its many colorful rugs, arranged decorously around the chamber to accommodate visitors of virtually any shape or size. Yoda was nothing if not hospitable.

Qui-Gon lowered his eyes to where his fingers picked idly at the worn rug under him, a nervous habit he had never quite been able to rid himself of. What was it about Yoda that always made him revert to his childhood insecurities? "I ... I am guilty of committing a terrible crime, my Master," he said with difficulty.

"Yes."

Surprised, Qui-Gon glanced up to see Yoda gazing at him with cool solemnity. There was a sense to the elder Jedi of an impending lightning storm waiting to strike, and it occurred to Qui-Gon that he had never seen Yoda lose his temper, not once in all the years that he'd known him. He swallowed thickly.

Drawing courage from Mace's presence at his side, he forced himself to continue. "I have abused my padawan, and in so doing I have caused him grievous emotional injury." He could not bring himself to say the word "rape." But even as he struggled to find the words to describe the depth of his betrayal, he sensed that he did not need to. Because Yoda already knew.

"More to this story, there is," Yoda prompted, when he failed to say anything further.

Qui-Gon was stunned. "You knew about Master Dorian?" he said hoarsely, unable to keep the note of wounded betrayal out of his voice.

Yoda shook his head sadly. "Suspected, I did. Proof of this I did not have. Go to the Council with groundless accusations, I could not."

Qui-Gon took another sip of his ch'rak to mask the sharp pang of agony he felt. And suddenly he remembered the strange animosity that had always existed between Yoda and his Master, which he had written off at the time as yet another example of Dorian's jealousy. All those evenings spent in Yoda's company, lounging together in front of the fire, laughing, talking, learning. It occurred to him suddenly that there must have been a reason for the old Jedi to take him under his wing the way he did.

He remembered one chill morning, the day before his seventeenth birthday, when Yoda had pulled him aside and asked him point-blank if he had any problems with his Master. Panic-stricken, Qui-Gon had muttered a hasty rebuttal and fled, and it had been several months before he felt safe enough in the elder's presence to even be alone with him, much less to resume their normal, friendly routine.

Yoda had never asked him again.

But he was always there for Qui-Gon, supporting him, encouraging him, filling the emotional vacuum that his Master could not fill. Subtly hinting that Qui-Gon could trust him, the he could be confided in, never so blatantly that he pushed Qui-Gon away again, but always leaving the door open for Qui-Gon to walk through if he chose. More than once, Qui-Gon had been tempted, but Dorian had trained his apprentice well. Feelings were something to be wrapped up tightly and stored away deep inside where no one could ever touch them, leaving him to face his suffering alone.

There were tears in his eyes as he met Yoda's compassionate, knowing gaze. "I should have told you," he whispered.

"Waited many years to have this conversation with you, I have." There was a weight of pent-up mourning in those words.

"Is that why you opposed Dorian's petition to take a seat on the Council?"

The sense of an impending lightning strike grew more pronounced, and Qui-Gon realized with some surprise that it was directed not at him, but at Dorian. "Allow that man to ascend to the Council, I could not."

Qui-Gon wondered if Yoda had ever confronted Dorian, and what might have transpired between them if he had. There was absolutely nothing to back up Yoda's accusations, as he had to know full well that Qui-Gon would deny any charges raised against his Master. Had Dorian been intimidated by the elder Jedi? Had he mocked him? Had he denied everything?

"What do I do, Master?" Qui-Gon was at the end of his rope; there was nothing left in him to fight this battle. So he turned to the being that he trusted most in all the galaxy, the being who had been Master to him in every way that truly mattered.

Yoda let out a long, drawn-out sigh, releasing his anger with the control won through long centuries of practice. "Time to heal, you need. Remove this darkness from you, we must." His tone was grave. It was a delicate process he sought to undertake, but one that the Council had gone through before - helping a fallen Knight come back to the Light. Sometimes they were successful, and sometimes not. "Difficult it will be. Prepared to make this journey, are you?"

"Yes, my Master." There was no hesitation.

Yoda regarded him narrowly, as if weighing his resolve. Then, without warning, he turned to Mace. "Prepared to help him, you are?"

Mace blinked, startled at being drawn into the conversation so abruptly. "Yes, of course."

"Hold yourself accountable for this you will not."

Now Mace's fists clenched where they rested on his thighs. "I know I'm not to blame for this-"

"For not seeing the truth of Dorian's deception? For not being there to help your friend through this suffering?" The words lashed out like a whip, making Mace flinch under the onslaught. "Know you well, I do. Better, perhaps, than you would wish."

For a long moment, Mace said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly as fierce emotions surged through him. Then he bowed his head to Yoda in defeat. "I must meditate on this. I can't help but think that I ... that there should have been something I could have-"

"Not all tragedies can be averted, young one." Yoda's voice was gentle.

And not all stories have happy endings, Qui-Gon couldn't help but add, although he had the sense to keep the thought to himself.

"It's not your fault, Mace," he said instead. The realization that his friend blamed himself for what had happened, at least in part, was sobering.

"Meditate together, we will." Yoda was always swift to form a plan of action. It was rather like having a martinet, a den mother, and an oracle all in one small package. "Seductive the Dark Side is, but give into it we will not. The Force will guide us."

Qui-Gon understood well the things left unspoken. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. This was not a battle he would ever be able to stop fighting; the darkness was there, inside of him, and he would probably never be able to excise it completely. But he would not give in without a fight.

He only hoped that it would be enough.

There was a feeling of transcending peace running rampant through the gardens that afternoon. Qui-Gon found himself taking joy in things that he had not truly noticed in uncounted years - the way the sunlight gleamed on the spires of the Temple buildings, the soft buzzing of the insects in the grass, the sinuous wave and flutter of the garden trees as they bent to the wind. It was as if confessing his past to Mace and Yoda had opened him up to the point where he could see the Light again, and it was an awe-inspiring experience. He felt happy, almost giddy, in a way that he had not experienced since he was a child.

That was when he saw Obi-Wan walking with one of the Temple Healers, not a hundred yards off across the glade.

Qui-Gon stumbled to a halt, feeling a rush of heat rise in his face. Obi-Wan's hands were folded serenely in the sleeves of his robe, his expression impassive as the Healer at his side unsuccessfully attempted to engage him in conversation. There was an aura of quiet tolerance around the boy, making him appear almost angelic in his silence, and Qui-Gon's heart ached at the beauty of him.

He felt Mace's hand on his arm, subtly trying to urge him away, but he stood fast. He just wanted to look at the boy, to see him here, surrounded by the peace of this place. The guilt that ripped through him like bestial claws felt somehow like penance as he drank in the sight of him.

"Come on, Qui-Gon." Mace's voice was soft. "You're not ready for this yet."

Qui-Gon ignored him.

Then Obi-Wan's eyes met his, and the contact sizzled like lightning between them. Qui-Gon found that he couldn't breathe. He was afraid suddenly, afraid of his own padawan, and he knew with crystal clarity that Mace was right; he wasn't ready yet to have this encounter. His palms were slick with sweat where they hung at his sides, and he smoothed them across the fabric of his robe absently.

It was too late; Obi-Wan was coming towards him. The firelight of joy in those eyes was painful to see, and it cut through to the heart of him. How many words had he thought of over the years to describe those eyes? Sultry, crystalline, radiant ... beautiful. It wasn't enough; nothing could be. The sight of them now sent him through a gamut of emotion that left him breathless: he wanted to turn around and run away, he wanted to take Obi-Wan up in his arms, he wanted to scream, he wanted to beg forgiveness, he wanted to ravish the boy right here on the grass until he was weeping from passion.

"Master." There was a depth of feeling to that one, simple word. Qui-Gon closed his eyes against it, but Obi-Wan was pulling at his sleeve now, demanding his attention. "Master, I've missed you."

He could hear the subdued longing in his padawan's voice, a throaty undertone to the words that might be completely indistinguishable to anyone else. But Qui-Gon heard, and remembered. Master, please... Warm hands, smoothing his fevered skin, leading him gently to their bed. A struggle, a promise at once given and then broken, as he gave in yet again to the tender heat of his padawan's kisses.

Obi-Wan was growing agitated from his lack of response. The words poured out of him now, asking when he would be allowed to come home again, pleading with Qui-Gon to talk to him, to bring an end to this, to let them go back to the way that they were. Such steadfast faith in his Master, to believe he could even now influence the Council in this matter. What must it be doing to his tender pride to make himself beg like this, and in front of witnesses?

Suddenly Qui-Gon was angry. Obi-Wan should not beg; Qui-Gon was not worthy of such mindless devotion.

"Obi-Wan," he said quietly. He looked over his padawan's shoulder at a neutral point halfway across the glade, unwilling to meet the pleading look in those adoring eyes. "Go back to the Healers."

Obi-Wan shook his head stubbornly. "No. I won't. You have to listen to me, Master. You have to-"

Qui-Gon took a sudden step closer, startling him; Obi-Wan stumbled back slightly. Qui-Gon smiled grimly at this reaction. "Don't you understand, Obi-Wan? I raped you." His words were a low growl, spoken just between the two of them.

Obi-Wan's eyes went wide. "No, Master!" Vehement denial in the words. But there was a slow swirling of panic in his expression that cut like a knife into Qui-Gon's heart. His padawan was afraid of him. As much as he might not want to remember, he knew perfectly well what his Master had done to him. Qui-Gon could see it, like a cancer eating away at the heart of him, shielded carefully away behind screens of denial and forced passion, given power by the very fact that Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge it. It would take something completely unprecedented to break through the shell he had so carefully built around himself.

Qui-Gon hit him, an openhanded blow that caught his padawan alongside the head. He heard Mace's startled shout, saw the surprise and hurt blossom across Obi-Wan's face. Qui-Gon held himself perfectly still, his heart pounding. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but there was no way he could allow Obi-Wan's illusions to continue. Qui-Gon was an animal, a monster; better to get this fact out in the open now between them, before any further damage could be done.

It was enough. Obi-Wan went down in a billowing of robes, caught off-balance by the unexpected attack, but a moment later he was up again, lunging at Qui-Gon with a terrible cry. Qui-Gon braced himself as the smaller body pummeled against him, kicking, tearing, trying to beat out the sudden flood of anger and hurt and betrayal that had at last been unleashed. It was an explosion that was long overdue, and the grass around them rippled under the onslaught of raw emotion that poured from this wounded and very powerful Force-adept.

Mace started forward immediately, no doubt seeking to intervene, but Qui-Gon warned him away with a glance. The Council Leader nodded slightly, his expression agonized; there were tears in his eyes. Perhaps he understood that this was what they both needed.

"I hate you! I HATE you!" Obi-Wan's cries cut through the air, each word sinking like a dagger into Qui-Gon's soul, but he made no move to defend himself, either from the words or from the physical assault. He took the punishment as Obi-Wan gave it, and when it was over, they both collapsed onto the grass, exhausted.

Qui-Gon lay quietly, feeling empty and lost. Obi-Wan was huddled in a ball beside him, trembling and sobbing bitterly. Qui-Gon reached out a hand to soothe that golden head, but stopped himself, pulling back quickly as if he had been burned. He wanted to give comfort to the boy, wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything before in his life, but he knew that he did not have the right.

Obi-Wan's Healer drew him gently to his feet, deliberately failing to make eye contact with Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon watched with a feeling of detachment as his padawan - his former padawan - was led away. Obi-Wan looked broken, drained, as if the emotional storm that had swept through him had taken with it some vital part of him. Qui-Gon went cold at the thought of it; had there ever been a time when he hadn't been hurting, when he knew what it was to feel warm inside?

Mace suddenly appeared at his side, nonintrusive but letting his friend know he was there nonetheless. Qui-Gon was grateful for his calming presence.

"You did the right thing, Qui-Gon." Mace sounded sad. "It may not seem like it now, but he needed to have his eyes opened. He can't really begin to heal until he begins to accept what you ... what happened between the two of you."

Qui-Gon said nothing. The one thing that had given his existence any kind of meaning had just been lost to him, irrevocably, and while it may have been the right thing to do, it still hurt like hell. As if a vital organ had just been forcibly removed from his body.

"We'll explain to him about Dorian," Mace continued. "Once he understands what you went through, I'm sure he'll-"

"No."

"What?" He was honestly perplexed.

"I said no. I don't want him to know about Dorian."

He could feel Mace staring at him for a good, long minute, though he refused to meet that darkly judgmental gaze. Finally, Mace said, "You still want him to hate you, don't you?"

Again, Qui-Gon found solace in silence. He didn't answer.

A few heartbeats passed between them, as Mace weighed how he was going to respond. Then, very quietly, he said, "You can only do penance for your own sins, Qui-Gon. Don't try to carry Dorian's burden, too."

The words hung glistening in the air between them, and Qui-Gon tried to hear them, but for now there was only the pain. He lay curled up on his side in the grass of the garden, much like the child he had once been, and mourned for the loss of innocence that had befallen his padawan. He mourned also for that younger version of himself, for a childhood lost, and raged against the fear that had kept him confined within his prison for so very long. Through it all, Mace sat with him, and grieved with him, and let him know that he wasn't alone. The garden around them seemed strangely nurturing in its silence, as if it too sought to comfort the broken soul in its midst, as if the entire world held its breath in wordless sympathy, and grieved.

Jedi are the guardians
of peace in the galaxy.
Jedi use their powers
to defend and protect,
never to attack others.
Jedi respect all life,
in any form.
Jedi serve others rather
than rule over them,
for the good of the
galaxy
Jedi seek to improve
themselves through
knowledge and training.

Meditation had always been a habitual part of Qui-Gon's life, but now it became the central focus of his existence. He sparred with Mace in the seclusion of the inner Temple, working off his frequent bouts of anger and self-hatred in an orgy of pure physical exertion. He spent his evenings with Yoda, sitting on the rugs in front of the fireplace, sipping fragrant tea and talking about the things he could not bring himself to discuss during his youth. At Mace's insistence, he continued his appointments with the Healers, and although he did not feel as comfortable talking with them as he did with Yoda, he found the process of opening up to be easier as time went on.

Almost two months passed before he saw Obi-Wan again. He was on his way to the dining hall when a commotion in the practice yard caught his attention. There, surrounded by a light crowd of spectators, was Obi-Wan, engaged in a saber match. Qui-Gon stopped, watching from a distance, admiring the fluid grace of his former padawan's movements, as thrust molded into parry and then back again seamlessly, a perfect dance of balance and skill. He stayed long enough to see Obi-Wan disarm his opponent, victorious, before turning away. Qui-Gon blinked back tears, feeling an inexpressible wave of sadness at what had been lost to him, and left quickly before anyone could notice him watching.

That afternoon, his own saber match with Mace was unusually fierce, and he could tell by the line of consternation between his friend's brows that his over-exuberance had been noted. Afterwards, they collapsed together on the bench at the side of the practice room, breathing hard and rubbing at aching muscles.

Mace said nothing as he blotted the sweat from his face and neck with a light towel, but Qui-Gon could feel his curiosity, bright as a small sun. The Council Leader was wary, perhaps wondering what new misery was afflicting his friend.

Qui-Gon appreciated that Mace was giving him the chance to speak first on this matter. It gave him a few moments to at least marshal his thoughts. This was a subject that he had carefully avoided since the scene in the garden, under the pretense that he did not have the right to inquire after his former padawan's well-being. In actuality, he was afraid to learn that Obi-Wan was not healing from the trauma inflicted on him, that he had been done irreparable damage.

"How is Obi-Wan?" he said at last, before he could change his mind about asking.

"He's doing fine," Mace replied, watching him closely. Qui-Gon could almost see the wheels turning, wondering at this sudden interest where before there had been none. "He's back in his classes now, and he's excelling at them. Impressing all the Masters, as usual." The words were proffered cautiously, as if he were afraid they would wound his friend.

Qui-Gon was honestly pleased to hear this, although he could not deny the feeling of clinging sadness it invoked in him. Mace seemed to sense that there was more he needed to say.

"What is it, Qui-Gon?" Mace set the towel down and turned his full attention to his friend, offering the mute comfort of his presence.

Qui-Gon could not meet his gaze. "Which Master has taken over Obi-Wan's training?" he asked at last.

For the briefest of moments, Mace did not answer. Then, "He's refused to accept another Master. He joins in practices with the other padawans, and so far he's not falling too far behind in his studies. He's been sleeping in the initiates' barracks, helping Dame Witthliu with the kids. I think he's more comfortable with the children than with his peers, though he seems well-adjusted."

Qui-Gon was stunned by this revelation. After much internal debate, he found the breath to ask, "May I see him?"

"Why?" Mace's eyes were narrowed, coolly appraising as they raked over him. No doubt his friend believed this was yet another attempt to find fault with himself, and was not pleased Leader across the quad to the building where the initiates were housed, the autumn air sharply cool against his skin. He huddled deep inside his robe as he walked; it would not snow in this part of Coruscant, but as the winter months drew nearer, the weather would grow considerably more chill.

His heart was racing. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but it was something he had to do. Even if Obi-Wan only yelled at him, attacked him again, spat out vicious words of rage and hate ... he just needed to see for himself that his padawan - his former padawan - was all right.

Inside the building now. All of the children were out for the afternoon, training, and the halls were indescribably empty as they passed through them, as if the very spirit of the place was elsewhere at the moment. Obi-Wan was waiting in the middle of the common room at the heart of the building, surrounded by plush couches and scattered toys, looking slightly scared, slightly lost, and heart-breakingly beautiful. Qui-Gon was heartened that the young man had opted to meet with him alone, with only Mace to stand as chaperone between them.

"Are you well, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Yes." Obi-Wan did not meet his eyes. He sat lightly on the arm of one of the couches, holding his hands in his lap, fidgeting.

Silence then, stretching between them. Qui-Gon cleared his throat uncomfortably. Mace had wandered off to observe the child-drawn artwork displayed on the wall at the far end of the room, seemingly unaware of what was going on behind him. Qui-Gon smiled slightly at his friend's attempt to give him and Obi-Wan some privacy.

"I hear you've been quite a godsend for Dame Witthliu, helping out with the children," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan shrugged, still not looking at him. "I enjoy it, and I like working with the initiates. They're so..." He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

Innocent, Qui-Gon finished it for him. And is that why you're here, my dear one? Are you trying to recapture some of the innocence that you lost, that I took from you? The thought filled him with a deep and biting sadness, but the gnawing self-hatred was all but gone. Perhaps he had finally begun to make his peace with the darkness within him.

If only Obi-Wan could do the same. Qui-Gon hated to think that this bright soul might have been irreparably damaged by what he'd done. Fighting back the sudden sting of tears, he said quietly, "I just had to see for myself that you're okay, P-" He stopped, flustered, and finished, "Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan made no response. His gaze did not lift from the hands in his lap.

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting. "I'll leave you alone now. Just please ... don't allow what I did to ruin your life. I-" He stopped, knowing that further words would only exacerbate the rift between them, but could not stop himself from saying, "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I just wanted to tell you that. I won't bother you again."

He glanced pointedly at Mace and then turned to leave, but Obi-Wan's voice stopped him in the doorway. "I didn't mean it, you know. What I said in the garden."

Qui-Gon turned, looked at him quizzically. Obi-Wan was gazing at him openly now, his expression carefully neutral.

"I don't hate you."

Qui-Gon nodded, feeling his throat constrict, and turned to leave, not trusting himself to speak. He could feel Obi-Wan's eyes on him as he walked out the door.

Mace walked up to Obi-Wan and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "That took courage to say."

Obi-Wan shrugged. And now the tears began to fall, silent and uncompromising as they slid down his cheeks. Mace squeezed his shoulder, offering what comfort he could, and Obi-Wan stared off into the distance, expressionless, as if the tears were something quite apart from him, and held no power over him.

"It also took courage for him to come here, you know."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know."

Silence then, as Mace considered his next words. "He really does love you."

Another nod. "I know." Calmly accepting.

Mace just stood with him for a while then, being there with him, and slowly Obi-Wan's tears ran out. The younger man wiped at his cheeks absently, unashamed.

"So why haven't you accepted another Master?" Mace asked, watching Obi-Wan closely, not sure if he was pushing too hard.

Obi-Wan laughed, a short, bitter burst of sound that startled Mace where he stood next to him. Wiping at his eyes one last time, Obi-Wan replied, "Because, Force help me, I love him, too."

Qui-Gon was in his quarters later that night, washing up what few dishes he had used during his evening meal. It was raining outside, a steady drumming against the windows that was oddly soothing as he listened to its gentle melody. Autumn was his favorite time of year on Coruscant, because it generally tended to encompass the full range of weather available on this part of the planet. He was an outdoors man, and he loved this subtle reminder of the power of the Force.

There was a chime at the door, and he went to answer it, wiping his hands dry on a towel before leaving the kitchen. It was probably Mace, coming to check on him after his meeting with Obi-Wan today. He truly loved the man - they could very well have been brothers - but his overprotectiveness could be a bit overbearing at times.

He was shocked to open the door and find Obi-Wan standing on his doormat.

Water droplets clung like jewels to the fabric of the younger man's robe, his hair dampened with rain. He met Qui-Gon's dumbfounded stare and favored him with a faintly ironic smile. "May I come in?"

Qui-Gon stepped back, giving him room to enter, and closed the door behind him, still not believing his eyes. Obi-Wan was alone. Finally finding his voice, Qui-Gon managed to say, "Obi-Wan..."

His former padawan was standing in the middle of the room, slowly looking around at this place that had once been his home. Qui-Gon could not even guess what the man was thinking.

Finally, Obi-Wan turned to look at him. Qui-Gon had to force himself to stand his ground as his former padawan came toward him, with the slow, sensual glide of a panther stalking its prey. There was nothing threatening about the young man's posture or his stance, but his deeply provocative eyes were uncommonly intent as they stared up at his former Master.

"I've been thinking," Obi-Wan said, stopping a hand's breadth in front of Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon met that sharply felinoid gaze and felt his heart thump wildly in his chest.

"What have you been thinking, Obi-Wan?"

"I've been thinking that there are a lot of things we need to discuss." Low voice, softly challenging.

Qui-Gon could feel the nearness of Obi-Wan's body like a heat on his skin, and it burned him. He felt himself begin to respond to the younger man's proximity, and he hastily stepped back, turning away to hide the flush that he knew was rising to his face. "What is it you want to discuss?"

"You still want me, don't you?"

The words halted him in mid-step, and he turned to see Obi-Wan staring at him with slitted eyes. Qui-Gon felt as if his heart were trying to thud right out of his chest. "Obi-Wan-"

"Don't you?" And the expression in those eyes shifted, became softly pleading. Begging him to answer.

It couldn't have been more painful if Obi-Wan had reached into his chest and pulled out his beating heart. "Please," Qui-Gon whispered, shaken. "Don't ask me."

Obi-Wan turned away then, and Qui-Gon could see by the taut line of his shoulders that the young man was deeply troubled. Slowly, Qui-Gon got his breathing back under control.

"Why did you come here, Obi-Wan?"

The darkly golden head bowed slightly. "Because I want..." He trailed off, obviously struggling to find the right words.

"Want what?" Qui-Gon prodded gently.

Low snort of laughter, directed inwards. "I don't know. Closure, I guess. Something."

"Do the Healers know you're here?"

Obi-Wan turned at that, and the chill amusement in his eyes was all the answer Qui-Gon needed.

It made him angry, irrationally, unconscionably angry. "What do you think you're doing, coming here when we have been expressly forbidden to-"

Obi-Wan chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, and took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. "I learned from my Master that some edicts of the Council are best left unacknowledged." Before Qui-Gon could think of an adequate response to that, Obi-Wan was kissing him.

The shock of it stunned him to silence. Warm, soft lips caressed his own, breath shared between them, barest flicker of a tongue across his teeth before retreating again. Instantly, Qui-Gon's cock was rock-hard, and he moaned, feeling the room spin around him.

"You do want me, don't you, Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan whispered against his Master's mouth, his breath hot as flame. "You can tell me. Admit it." One hand snaked into Qui-Gon's robes, brushed fingers across his achingly hard cock. Qui-Gon shoved the hand away, shaking. "Come on, Qui-Gon, I know you want this. You want me. Just take me. Use me. Your little whore..." Teeth sank into Qui-Gon's lower lip, startling him with the sharp stab of pain.

Qui-Gon backed away abruptly, an expression of horror on his face. Obi-Wan's eyes were half-closed, his cheeks lightly flushed ... the very picture of prurient lust. Qui-Gon's blood raced as he turned away, digging his nails into his palms. Oh Force, was the boy trying to drive him mad?

"No." He barely recognized his own voice.

"You could take me, right now, and I wouldn't be able to stop you."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes as if he'd been struck. "No."

"You don't want me?"

"Not like this."

"So you do want me, then."

He had to choke back the sob that rose in his throat, feeling the wet warmth of a tear escape from between his tightly shut eyelids. "I don't know what you want me to say, Obi-Wan-"

"I want you to admit that you want me, that you still think about taking me, that I can never, ever be alone with you because I'll never know when that beast inside of you is going to escape again..." He was crying now, and despite the brittle anger of his words, there was a vulnerability to him suddenly that tore at Qui-Gon's heart.

"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was quiet. He wanted nothing more than to scoop this traumatized young man up in his arms and soothe all of the hurt out of his trembling body, but he didn't move. "I could never hurt you like that again. I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth. I ... I'm so sorry that I..." He broke off, not knowing how to continue.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, his eyes glittering like mirrors behind his tears. "I trusted you."

"I know you did." And that was the worst pain of all - that of all the things that had been lost and broken between them, trust was the one thing that could never be replaced. "I know you did, Obi-Wan." Fierce heat of self-recrimination in the words.

"Master Windu told me about your Master Dorian." This was said matter-of-factly, even as the words blazed deep into Qui-Gon's heart, scalding him in the flames. "After you left this afternoon. He told me everything. I think maybe he wanted me to feel sorry for you."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes in sudden shame, his hands fisting at his sides. Why, Mace? he screamed silently, trying not to feel wounded by this act of betrayal. Doubtlessly, Mace had believed he was doing the right thing by betraying the confidence Qui-Gon had entrusted him with.

"You know what gets me?" Still Obi-Wan's voice was smooth as ice, chilling the air between them. "I could have become you. If Master Windu hadn't stepped in when he did, I could have been the one, all those years from now, explaining to my weeping padawan that all I ever knew about love I learned from my Master..."

"Stop it." Qui-Gon met that frigid gaze with pleading eyes.

But Obi-Wan was relentless. "And the cycle would have gone on, unending. I think we both owe him a debt of thanks." He stared at Qui-Gon for a long minute, with all the demons of hell trouncing across the glacial planes of his eyes. His face remained expressionless, however, as he slowly turned and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Qui-Gon watched him go, feeling his heart constrict within him. He felt wrung out, drained, and it didn't surprise him to find that his hands were still shaking.

Brave little padawan. The thought held a note of quiet admiration in it. You came here, alone, and offered yourself to me ... set yourself up to be used like that again ... just so you could put it straight in your own mind whether you can trust me or not.

And I failed you again.

Because, Force help him, he did want his apprentice. His former apprentice. And even stronger than the lure of that beautiful body was the lure of that beautiful soul. Obi-Wan Kenobi possessed all of the qualities that Qui-Gon felt he himself lacked: strength, courage, honor, generosity, and above all, light. That light was shadowed now, but it still burned fiercely, uncompromisingly, and it would not go out without a fight. It could not go out.

Force help me, I love him.

Qui-Gon sank down to his knees on the carpet, buried his face in his hands, and cried.

"Why, Mace?"

The sunlight streaming in through the beveled netting over the Temple arbor was brassy with evening's coming, giving the secluded pathways a fiery sheen, as if the trees themselves were alight from within. Qui-Gon watched it all through tired eyes, wondering at the darkness that was even now seeping into the more shadowed recesses of the glade. For some reason, he no longer feared the coming of the night, as if he had at last accepted the presence of the darkness, both within and without. And that was a victory of sorts, he realized.

Mace was pacing agitatedly at Qui-Gon's side, his strong form huddled deep inside the concealing dimensions of his robe. He looked shrunken somehow, smaller than he had once been, and Qui-Gon mourned at this sudden vulnerability in his friend. But there were things that needed to be faced between them before any healing could begin.

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Mace tried to find the words to explain. "I thought that if he knew what you went through when you were a padawan, that maybe he would..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Maybe he'd pity me?" Qui-Gon guessed, with just a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"No. Forgive you. I thought that he might be able to find it in himself to forgive you, if he knew the truth."

Qui-Gon sighed. "It's far too late for that, my friend. And yet ... I think maybe it's good that he knows. I was ashamed to admit to him what had been done to me, and it was just selfish pride that I didn't let you tell him sooner."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Not because of Dorian."

"I know. Inside, I know, but it's still so hard..."

They walked in silence for a while, letting the calm peacefulness of the arbor seep through them. Qui-Gon reached out to touch one of the branches in passing, admiring the intricate pattern of living veins in its leaves.

"He told me he loves you." Mace's soft voice was loud in the stillness.

Qui-Gon carefully did not allow himself to respond to that. After a few moments, he said, "You can't blame yourself for anything that's happened. Not between Obi-Wan and me, or for what happened all those years ago with Dorian. You couldn't have known, and I doubt there was anything that you could have done, even if you had. Sometimes, you just have to let it go."

Mace shook his head, a stubborn line appearing between his brows. "I can't do that, Qui-Gon. And neither can you. There needs to be some kind of resolution to this, some kind of ... closure." He fell silent then, no doubt thinking of how a wounded Obi-Wan had gone to Qui-Gon asking for this very thing, just before attempting to whore himself to his one-time Master.

The memory was still fresh in Qui-Gon's mind, and it shamed him. "I should have been stronger, Mace. I should have been able to resist him."

"But you did resist him."

"No. I still wanted him. Gods, Mace, I wanted him." The words were rough with remembered pain.

"But you didn't take him."

Qui-Gon gave a frustrated sigh, not sure what his friend's point was. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does, Qui-Gon." Mace turned toward him, halting abruptly in the middle of the path, leaving Qui-Gon no choice but to stop walking or leave him behind. "That is the point. Obi-Wan put you in a position where you could rape him again, and you didn't do it. That's got to mean something to him."

Qui-Gon almost smiled at that. "Are you trying to play matchmaker, Mace?"

Mace was not amused. "You love him. He loves you. If you both weren't so Force-damned stubborn, you'd be able to see that. But you're so convinced you're not worthy of love that you refuse to even entertain the possibility that he might still have feelings for you."

"It's not that easy-"

"Love him, Qui-Gon. Love him, or tell him good-bye. You owe him that much."

Qui-Gon couldn't answer for several minutes. He stood there, listening to the muted chirping of the birds around him, and tried to get his rampaging emotions under some semblance of control. When he spoke next, his voice was hoarse. "What about the Council?"

"You mean the prohibition against Masters engaging in romantic relationships with their padawans? That's a rule, Qui-Gon, not a law."

Qui-Gon heard the unspoken declaration behind the words: if Qui-Gon chose to pursue this relationship, Mace would support him in it. He felt a rush of gratitude suddenly for this man who was his friend, despite everything.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted softly.

"What does your heart tell you to do?"

Qui-Gon thought about that question for a long, long time.

Obi-Wan heard the steady tapping of Yoda's walking stick on the floor long before the wizened figure came into view. It was chilly here in the northern reaches of the Temple, and he huddled deeper into his robe, waiting. These buildings were older than those in other parts of the Jedi stronghold, built at the dawning of the Jedi order, and no one ever came up here much anymore. He'd thought it would be a good place to be alone, but obviously he'd failed to take into account the legendary tracking talents of Master Yoda.

He felt a surge of quiet affection as Yoda approached, and surprised himself by actually being glad to see the little Jedi Master. Maybe he'd gotten to the point finally where he was tired of the cold, tired of being lost and scared and alone, and was once again craving the presence of his friends. This was an important step in his healing. It was something of a shock to realize that he was healing, slowly, painfully, but healing nonetheless.

It would be so much easier if he could hate Qui-Gon.

Yoda sighed deeply as he stood in front of Obi-Wan, gazing at him with wise, dark eyes. They were practically at eye-level with each other here, with Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. "Much distress I sense in you," the Jedi Master said without preamble, leaning forward on his stick as if he sought to find the truth of things written clearly on the young padawan's face.

Obi-Wan wondered if the Council Member could hear the troubled nature of his thoughts all the way across the Temple in his own apartments. He winced, ducking his head slightly in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Master Yoda. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Yoda gave a mighty "humph" and regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Disturbed me you have not. Disturbed yourself, you have."

Obi-Wan could not refute the statement. Sighing, he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. "I think ... I think I'm trying to find myself, Master."

"And seek to find yourself here, you do?" There was a note to Yoda's voice that suggested he found the logic of Obi-Wan's statement to be highly questionable.

Obi-Wan looked around at the bleak, dusty corridor and laughed shortly. "No, that's not what I mean. It's just that I ... I'm handling this whole situation so very badly. I don't know what anyone expects from me anymore, or what I'm supposed to be doing. Master Windu told me something yesterday that really struck me hard. And then I went to talk to Qui-Gon about it, and I handled that badly, too." A feeling of pure misery rose in him at the memory.

Yoda was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Wish to reconcile with Qui-Gon, do you?"

"I want this put behind us. But I don't see how it can be."

"Hmmm." This time, the silence was more pronounced, and Obi-Wan began to think that this was the sum total of the aged Jedi's advice on the matter. At last, Yoda said, "When look into your heart you do, what see you of Qui-Gon there?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling his breath catch. It was an ultimatum of sorts, albeit in a very understated, Yoda-ish way. It was time to make a decision in this matter, one way or the other. For Qui-Gon's sake, and for his own, he had to decide what it was that he wanted.

The clouds overhead were shedding rain as if the sky itself were weeping. Qui-Gon stood alone on the sloping hill of the Temple memorium, buried deep inside the heavy folds of his robe, but his head was bare to the elements. It felt cleansing somehow, to have the rain strike him this way, to feel the cool wetness slide down his cheeks like tears.

The Jedi did not bury their dead. At the end of a life, the mortal shell was returned to the Force, and all that remained to those still living was memory. Memory, and a small square of black stone with the name of the deceased engraved on it. The hillside around Qui-Gon was peppered with such monuments, set flush with the ground they lay in, arranged in neat, impersonal rows for as far as his eye could see.

It used to amuse him, when he was a child, to think that he could pass from one end of the memorium to the other without ever touching the ground, just by hopping from stone to stone, name to name, life to life. He never did, of course; it seemed wrong to treat these stones with such disrespect, as if it would somehow to take something away from the lives they were intended to represent.

He wondered where his own stone would be when it came time for him to join the ranks of those who had gone before. He wondered what people would think when they looked at it, what memories its faintly reflective black surface would bring to mind.

He sensed the presence approaching behind him long before the brown-robed figure appeared at the periphery of his vision. They stood together in silence for a while, shoulder-to-shoulder, drinking in the heady fragrance of the rain.

"I didn't expect to find you here," Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon didn't respond. He could feel Obi-Wan's gaze caressing the stone at his feet, and almost against his will, his eyes were drawn to it once again. The elegantly sculpted letters looked ephemeral under the thin layer of rainwater that covered them.

"I've been thinking a lot lately." Obi-Wan did not seem at all discouraged by Qui-Gon's lack of response. "Master Yoda says I need to be mindful of my feelings. It's hard sometimes, isn't it? Feeling, I mean."

Qui-Gon had to smile at that. "Yes. Yes, it is."

More silence then, but there was an amiability to it that surprised Qui-Gon. His eyes blurred as he stared down at the memorial stone in front of him, as if the words engraved in it were being forcibly imprinted on his retinas.

"Do you hate him?"

The suddenness of the question startled Qui-Gon. He looked up, found Obi-Wan still looking down at the stone. The younger man's short hair was dark with rain, his long braid hanging limply against his chest. His brow was drawn together in a light scowl, the same expression he would wear as a child when he was faced with a particularly insurmountable problem.

"No." Qui-Gon was surprised that this wasn't harder to talk about than it was. "I ... I did, for the longest time. But it doesn't really do any good. It was all so long ago. I think I've finally realized that the only thing I can do about it is ... let it go."

Obi-Wan was quiet for a while then, but Qui-Gon sensed that the silence was filled with heavy thoughts. His own thoughts were pooling somewhere around his feet, and his attention was drawn once again to the name on the stone. Dorian el Raharim. He wondered how many others of these simple black markers held such dark secrets buried within them.

At last, Obi-Wan spoke. "I don't hate you, either."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes then, and he strongly suspected that the wetness on his cheeks did not come entirely from the rain. "Obi-Wan," he said, and coughed as his voice caught hoarsely. "Obi-Wan, I can't even begin to tell you how ... how sorry I am. I don't have any right to even ask for your forgiveness, to expect that you might-" He broke off, unable to continue.

Obi-Wan continued talking as if there had been no interruption. "I'm still trying to understand. I want to know why you did it. I think I want to know if you'll ever do it again. Or if I will..."

At those words, Qui-Gon felt his control snap. He turned on Obi-Wan, cursing low under his breath, and grabbed hold of the younger man's upper arms to shake him lightly. "Don't you ever say that. Don't even think it. You are good, Obi-Wan, you're light incarnate, you could never, ever harm an innocent soul, never."

Obi-Wan's eyes were wide as they gazed up at him, but he kept talking as if he hadn't heard a word of Qui-Gon's frantic rebuttal. "Did you feel so completely unlovable that you couldn't imagine I would ever come to you willingly? Is that what Dorian taught you? Or was it that you couldn't see yourself actually giving love, real love, to another person? Maybe you were afraid? Maybe you thought we were getting too close and this was the only way you could think of to keep yourself from falling in love..."

Suddenly Qui-Gon was crushing that strong body to his, anything to make the torrent of words stop, and his lips found Obi-Wan's before he knew what he was doing. Except that Obi-Wan was kissing him now, fingers twining in his long hair, pulling his head down into that cavern of warmth and life that was his padawan's mouth, and there was nothing obsequious about it, nothing but a matching primal heat and need.

They pulled away from each other simultaneously when the need for air became too great, although their arms remained around each other, bodies pressed tightly together as if one could not exist apart from the other. Qui-Gon clung to his padawan as if he were the giver of life itself.

"Forgive me, Obi-Wan," he murmured, rubbing his cheek across the bristled hair at the top of his padawan's head. "There's no way I can prove to you that I'm telling the truth unless you trust me. I know I have no right to ask-"

Obi-Wan nuzzled closer against his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was very soft. "Ask me."

Qui-Gon caught his breath. Inhaling deeply, he said, "Will you come back to me, Obi-Wan? Can you find it in yourself to trust me again?"

Obi-Wan's arms tightened around him. "I'll trust you."

Qui-Gon had to resist the urge to throw his head back and laugh giddily up at the sky. With those words, the last of the darkness lifted from him, and Dorian's memory was left clutching futilely after a heart that was no longer within its reach. He pressed a loving kiss to the side of Obi-Wan's face. "I think it's time we talked to Master Windu about you coming back home."

Epilogue:

It was my Master who told me that dreams want to be real.

I look at you, lying there, the blue moonlight caressing the naked contours of your skin, and I am amazed. Your body has the graceful beauty of a cat, its every curve perfectly sculpted by the dedication that holds you to this life that has been chosen for you. You will be a Knight, my young one, my own one. You will be the greatest Jedi of them all, and I am humbled that the Force has granted me the opportunity to take part in your creation.

It is my hope that history will judge me by my achievements, and not by my failures. By the lives I have enriched, and not those I have destroyed. But more than that, I hope to find approval in your eyes. You are my god, to whom I come for absolution.

And you love me. This fact fills me with wonder, although I cannot doubt the truth of it. You have proved it to me in the tenderness with which you brought me to the edge of ecstasy and then beyond, sheltering me in the light of your passion. Your love surrounds me, fills me, and through it I am reborn. If only I had an equal gift to give you in return. For while I love you, my dear one, it is not near enough to repay what you have given me.

My Master told me that dreams do what they must to insure their reality, despite all opposition. Perhaps this explains the fact that you have found it in yourself to forgive me for the wrongs I have inflicted on you. Perhaps this explains the fact that I have been able to forgive myself. I cannot promise you that I am capable of the depth of love that you require from me, but for your sake, I will try. I will learn from you, beloved, and in this you will be my Master.

Your skin feels soft next to mine, and once again I marvel at the silken beauty of your form, which fits so snugly inside my arms. I can taste you on the air as I breathe, feel the rhythm of your heart beat through our bodies with every second that passes between us. I never want to leave this place, this bed, this altar on which the power of our love has been invoked. I never want you apart from me, not ever, ever again.

Obi-Wan. I love you.

I understand that come morning, I will have to let you go, will have to share you once again with the whole wide clamoring world that adores you. But for here, now, in the spaces between our breaths, you are mine. Mine to love, mine to cherish, just as all that I am or will ever be belongs to you.

In passion, we have found the absolution that we both desire. This darkness will always be a part of me, my love, but you are the light that keeps it at bay, keeps it collared in the distant, quiet places where it can do no further harm. You are my salvation, and for this I owe you everything.

Thank you, my Obi-Wan. Thank you for loving me.

I am content now, perhaps for the first time in my life, as I lay here holding your tender strength in the circle of my arms, and await the coming of the dawn.

The End.

Feedback, please? Loved it or hated it, I'd love to know! Please send any and all comments to me at n_sanity75@hotmail.com or post on-list.