IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

By LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Plot taken from a lovely plot bunny offered to me by the even lovelier shanobi. I'll forever be in envy of your creativity, shan, but thanks for letting me use a little of it here. I guess this is a warm up for the other one you gave me. I hope I actually survive that one! I'm giving this its own thread instead of adding it to Phantoms because it's just not a vignette—geez, it turned out much longer than I'd expected! I apologize for the summary, here and now. Sometimes they're harder to write than the actual story.

For a soul hesitant of attachment, it is simple to lose faith…but not so simple to endure that loss. Qui-Gon comes upon his Padawan, who is suspiciously lacking in equilibrium, and feels the entire base of their relationship begin to crumble.

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Dusk.

On Coruscant, the light was melting slowly, creating a watery tableau of sultry, molten tones seeping into a graying horizon, and within the Jedi Temple, shadows began to lengthen. Qui-Gon Jinn strode through the polished corridors, watching a dark twin emulate his every movement, stretched out against the floor and walls. A perfect impression, save the absence of weathered lines on the shaded visage, that would have indicated the supreme exhaustion battering the Master as he made his way through the levels.

So much of himself was linked to this place, to the grace of the rooms, the comfort of his peers, the sweet abundance of Force. As each year peeled another layer from his defenses, he realized he was growing vulnerable to the same separation he had endured for decades, one that every Jedi experienced. Sometimes, it felt ceaseless, that he was always bound to duty, never to the familiarity of his own quarters or bed. In his youth, it was easy to be swept away, in adventure and moral purpose, and certainly he still longed for those things.

But more and more, the order of his desires was jumbled, with the Code and the Council's dictations low on the totem. When he was granted a moment of peace and clarity of mind, it was not an aspect of an assignment or some antiquated tenet to which he would drift. Very often, it was his apprentice he thought of. And the reflections were not limited to the progression of the young man's training. In the quiet instances, when he was alone, he wondered what his student was doing, if he was safe--if he was happy. Though attachment was something prohibited, by the Jedi and by himself, it was only when his awareness was drenched in the unique light of the Padawan that he could achieve serenity.

He had been a Master of the Order for decades, and from the first years of his mentoring career, he had known that the essence of a teacher was joined to their pupil's. In the midst of peril and battle, obligation decreed that the Master be the protective screen, and guard their charge from harm. But what had developed in Qui-Gon surpassed the cords and chemistry of instinct. His waking thought belonged to Obi-Wan; the final ripples of diluted consciousness reflected that gentle face. And while it was difficult for him to accept, he was beginning to understand that, ultimately, it was beyond his control.

Obi-Wan was barely a child anymore, but he would ever be Qui-Gon's child. There were no biological ties, but enough of their blood had been shed together that it didn't matter if it wasn't the same. The pride that swelled in his chest like a sweet ache whenever Obi-Wan succeeded, and the sharp sympathy that accompanied his failures, was that of a father's.

He hadn't planned any of this. The unpredictability of this life confounded him, for here he was, approaching winter, while still marveling at the surprises of seasons long passed. Although, he supposed he'd spent recent years already in a chill, frozen in his ways, locked in the lonely frost of his fear. But now, all had melted away, his spiteful bones remembering as his heart strove for the warmth. Obi-Wan was the candle lighting his way, and spilling illumination over Qui-Gon's soul, allowing him to see what was hidden. He had held himself apart from his student. In eyes of emerald-cerulean crystal, he had searched doggedly for the cold shards, the splinters that would imbed themselves in his soul's flesh.

But the betrayal he believed to exist there was only a ghost. Yes, he had been betrayed, but Obi-Wan's fingers had never touched upon that blade.

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon found himself smiling as he rounded the final corner. He started to settle in the welcoming aura of home that contoured around his weary mind. Obi-Wan would replenish him, would make him forget. Obi-Wan was the present, every second that unfolded, the NOW that banished bitter yesterdays and uncertain tomorrows.

The injustices of the Universe and its vast capability of cruelty threatened to overwhelm him, as he labored through one torturous mission after another. His body-and heart-hurt. But the person who always stood beside him, steady and quiet, bright and quick to smile, could cleanse him. His Padawan would renew his tired soul, with one gleam from eyes devoid of deceit, and a soft, accented word.

Qui-Gon breathed out, already edging towards contentment as he palmed the console. The door slid away, and a rush of sweet air braced him. Even his own vivid recollections could not rival the lively beauty of the apartment as it stood now, bathed in the hues and shadows of sunset. The beaten, sunken couch, with cushions perfectly aged and grooved to fit his lumbering form. The table, stacked with the usual assortment of holoreaders and bound paper books. The kitchenette, spotless, more from lack of use than either of the residents' fractured finesse for cleaning.

The Master stepped further inside, shrugging out of his cloak. He extended a weak probe throughout the rooms, and concluded, with great disappointment, that his Padawan wasn't there. His return from Malvihaad was premature, however, so Obi-Wan had no reason to remain within the quarters in anticipation of his Master's arrival. Posture degrading to a slight slouch, Qui-Gon wandered down the hall, coming to a stop in front of the first doorway.

Measured against normal standards, the room looked barren, bereft of personal effects, possessions. The walls were stark, the bedclothes plainly colored, the humble desk polished with a too-clean surface. From a glance, it would seem no one lived there at all…that, perhaps, no one had ever lived there. But if one allowed their eyes to stay, they would see that as soon as the sole inhabitant entered the space, it would ignite to a glow and stretch out in a sheltering embrace, warm, placid and inviting. That was the rare miracle his apprentice so often inspired—what Obi-Wan had beckoned to stir and awaken within the older Jedi.

While the sky absorbed a darkness that would come to dominate it, Qui-Gon felt akin to the bed quarters, bland and empty. Suddenly sad, he turned on his heel, foregoing a visit to his neglected chamber, and cut across the living area.

He came to stand on the balcony, hands resting on the cooled railing. The twinkling cityscape offered a wealth of enjoyable scenery, as the spindly buildings speared wraith-like clouds, and the window lights grew brighter with the fading day. But he was restless, and after mere moments, had grown disinterested with the twilit panorama. His entire being was caught up in waiting. His mind was full, and paced rapidly on the same hearth of impatience and curiosity. Where is he? What is he doing? And then, most importantly, When is he coming back?

Qui-Gon snorted at his own loss of control. How pathetic he was, standing here, useless and antsy, waiting for his young Padawan to return! Then something flexed and twisted in his chest, something old, and he smiled, knowing it was far better to watch the evening come while waiting for someone, than to witness the unfurling night, and know that you will meet it in solitary.

No, he wasn't alone anymore, and he wouldn't be hostage to his memories. He would make new ones…but above all, he would not dwell. He would cherish what he had today, at this moment, and leave the analysis to those with the time for it. His hours were already claimed because, truly, he just wasn't alone anymore.

Obi-Wan was coming home. Qui-Gon could sense him approach, closer with every brisk inhalation. He was back from wherever he'd been, and he was seconds away, his Master's redemption while oblivious to his healing power. He was---

Qui-Gon frowned. Not right. He had begun to reach for the young man's presence within their connection, but was startled by a twinge of…wrongness. The mental bond he shared with Obi-Wan was polluted, and he couldn't get a firm grasp on the other's mind. Clogged. That was it. The avenues that joined them were clogged.

With what? Alarmed, Qui-Gon wheeled around, just as the door to their quarters shot open.

The trio stumbled inside, and Qui-Gon knew at once that they were unaware of him. Garen and Bant bracketed Obi-Wan, who was leaning heavily on his male companion, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded.

Qui-Gon's stomach lurched. Oh sweet gods. Something's happened to him. Obi-Wan—He was racing to the balcony's translucent door when the words halted him.

"Of all the people to have weak resistance, Obi, who knew it'd be you?" Padawan Muln commented with a wry grin, dark eyes darting to his Mon Calmarian friend, "Even Bant could take it."

"Hey!" She shot back, "You didn't look so hot yourself."

"Yeah, but I didn't spew my breakfast onto half the Temple, unlike our pal here."

"Dunntawkboutbrekphaast." Obi-Wan managed to mumble before swallowing thickly.

"Sure, Obi. I understand." Garen said, then, with a gleeful smile, "We'll talk about dinner. So what'll you have, bantha guts and gravy? Worms in Waezial white sauce?"

Obi-Wan uttered a groan, and Bant glared up at Garen. "You're merciless, you know that?"

The tall apprentice shrugged. "Just getting back at him for his incessant teasing when I had the pox."

"That was different." Bant countered, stretching across Obi-Wan to tweak Garen's nose hard. "And you know it."

"I guess so," Garen said with a feigned expression of pain. Obi-Wan started to sink towards the floor, and his friend grabbed him under the arms, heaving them all towards the corridor with a loud grunt. "I mean, he looks like he drank half of Coruscant's liquor supply."

And then the Master's insides churned with heat. That was the clot cutting him off from Obi-Wan? Liquor? Yes, and from Muln's assessment, a hefty amount of it.

Obi-Wan, his intelligent, honest, underage Obi-Wan, was drunk.

Now he understood what he was seeing. Obi-Wan wasn't sick, or injured, or deserving of Qui-Gon's initial concern. He was inebriated, and hung over, and clumsy. He was disobeying the laws of Coruscant and the Jedi…and his Master's specific forbiddance. He had taken advantage of Qui-Gon's obviously misguided trust in him, and drank himself into a stupor, then permitted himself to be seen throughout the Temple in this embarrassing state! He broke a rule which he knew his Master to be unbending towards, and thought he could get away with it, because a dangerous mission had taken Qui-Gon light years away.

And what had he, Qui-Gon, been doing when all of this was taking place? He was looking forward to their reunion, preparing for a few carefree days to spend with his closest friend, during which he could mend the new tears in his heart. He was thinking of Obi-Wan, here at the Temple, excelling in his studies and kata technique.

Silly as it was, Qui-Gon thought that Obi-Wan's mind would be brimming with the same waiting that had consumed him.

But Obi-Wan didn't sense him. The boy's perceptions were muffled beneath the fog of intoxicants.

So Qui-Gon would have to make himself known. With a flicker of numb fingers, the door opened, and he rushed into the room, not hearing the surprised reactions of Padawans Muln and Eerin, lost in the throbbing of shock and anger—oh, anger bright and sour as copper—singularly focused on the drooped figure.

He wanted to blink, furiously and rapidly, until everything had straightened back into his smooth reality. Obi-Wan wasn't supposed to be hanging between his friends, unable to stand, breath heavy and probably stinking of alcohol. This wasn't his Obi-Wan, who laughed with him and fought with him, who would sacrifice himself for Qui-Gon or anyone, who would choose to sit with his teacher in a room crowded with old friends.

This wasn't Obi-Wan's gold-tinted face, but a tainted visage drained of color. This wasn't his Padawan at all.

This was Xanatos.

And what a fool he'd been, to think otherwise. The signs had been there all the while. The barely contained rage during the spar, those years ago. The way he could charm-no, trick-Qui-Gon into believing his was a pure, Force-blessed heart.

Xanatos had eyes of blue crystal, too. Qui-Gon remembered how they shattered, so slowly he hadn't noticed until the end, when the pieces had begun to bleed out his soul. Those eyes had been threaded with scarlet after a wild night on the lower levels. Qui-Gon had known, but had allowed it to pass without a word, for the dupe had already gone on so long, he never entertained the notion that his Xanatos was exhibiting anything more than a little streak of youthful rebellion. But he found out, much later, what the Padawan had been doing there, credits thrown away at the gambling and brothel tables, exploits that became infamous at the pubs.

He let it go then, and he was forced to let Xanatos go, to the bubbling pits of the Dark, devouring his flesh until he was unrecognizable.

And already, Obi-Wan was missing the spark of his gaze, looking less like himself…more like him. How could he not have seen—but wait. He had seen. He had been wary of this boy, and turned him away. He didn't want to take Obi-Wan as an apprentice, but others had convinced him: Yoda, Tahl, the boy himself. He swallowed his protests then, and accepted Obi-Wan, but never closer than an arm's length. After Melida/Daan, he thought he would be validated, but had only been embroiled in devastation.

Because Obi-Wan had set the poison in him already, and secured the veil over his eyes.

I stopped trusting myself. I trusted him instead. He looked at his charge, and his fingers curled up against his palms. Damn it. DAMN IT.

"Master Jinn—" Bant started, but Qui-Gon shook his head, not seeing her.

"Padawan Eerin, Padawan Muln, please leave." He said calmly, dully. Both the youths were speaking now, in a flurry of words, but he ignored it. He didn't want to hear any excuses for what had happened. None.

Garen was trying to lead Obi-Wan down the hall, towards his room, but Qui-Gon moved in front of him. "I said GO. Leave him and go."

Muln shifted, propping Obi-Wan against the wall, and whispering something near his ear. Bant stood a few feet away, eyes huge and unblinking. The boy again tried to scrape up justification, but nothing reached Qui-Gon, and he simply shook his head, turning away from them.

When he heard the hiss of the door shutting, it was simultaneous with the sound of the ire crackling in him.

Obi-Wan gripped at the wall, struggling to stay upright. "Master, I…"

"No. Don't say anything. Nothing you say will fix this." Qui-Gon stalked up to him, until they were a slender inch apart, and peered down into the drawn face, "You lied to me. You told me this would never happen. I thought you were better than this." The newly born contempt seeped into his voice, "Now look at you. Look at what you…you've proven me right today. I was right to not want you."

He didn't expect tears. There had never been tears with Xanatos. Perhaps because Obi-Wan didn't have the same hard exterior…or because Obi-Wan had turned out to be the better actor, and could cue the counterfeit emotion whenever it suited his needs.

But Qui-Gon wasn't in the mood to pity—or forgive. "What else were you doing today? What other deprivations were going on while you enjoyed your drinks?

Obi-Wan pulled away from the wall's support and wiped his eyes with two fingers of a hand. His eyes were completely open now, trembling pools of watered azure and crimson, staring at Qui-Gon. "M-Master, what do you mean?" Those eyes pleaded, "I don't understand what deprivations—"

"Quiet." Qui-Gon rasped, "You're only making it worse by continuing this…disgusting charade of innocence. Tell me the truth. What were you doing?"

Obi-Wan blinked and shook his head. "I wasn't doing anything."

Qui-Gon grasped onto his shoulders; the force of his clutch made it difficult for the younger man to stand. "That isn't going to work. I know about you."

Obi-Wan's mouth was tremulous, and he swallowed, chin pressing up against his bottom lip. "What do you know?" There was real fear in the question; detecting it left Qui-Gon satisfied.

He was right. He was right because they'd all been wrong, for years. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a fraud. " I know that you're nineteen, and already you're down the road of Darkness. You have been from the beginning. Everyone else dismissed the warnings…but I know the warnings. I've been through it before and I know. I should never've come near you."

And Qui-Gon saw that he had hit something in Obi-Wan just then, leaving more tears coursing his reddened cheeks and gasps grazing his throat. Good. Let him be in pain—if it's real. Let him hurt like I am.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have come near me, Master. Our partnership must have been wrong…for you to think…" Obi-Wan shook his head, despite the obvious discomfort it caused. He straightened, and in deliberate, concise language finished, "For you to think for one damn minute that I'm anything like your beloved Xanatos."

The blow came fast, hurdling straight out of a nightmare.

Since seeing Obi-Wan tripping and falling into the apartment, he had not heard anything. Even Obi-Wan's words, and his own, were missed by ears half-deaf from shock.

But he heard himself striking his apprentice. It was sharp, like thunderclap, sucking out every other sound, echoing in the air and vibrating on the hot flesh of his hand. That hand—through the smeared lens of his vision, he looked at the hand that couldn't be his, staring at it in cold disbelief. Then his eyes shifted, to the flushed face of his Padawan.

Obi-Wan stood there, scarlet beating furious where the callused hand had connected with his cheek. The clouds had thinned and disappeared from his gaze, and there was an alarmingly civil clarity present there instead, the tears frozen to stillness. A wet click indicated his quick swallow, and then he bowed, braid swinging beside him like the shining, damning threads of a noose. ""I seem to have forgotten my place. Forgive me, Master. It will not happen again."

Qui-Gon watched him turn, walking from the room, his earlier inelegance now fled; he was moving again with his customary grace, though a bit weaker.

Then Obi-Wan was gone, and the curtains closed, and the stars were lusterless in a fully emerged night sky, and the dust of events billowed up around the Master's feet.

I…I hurt him. It was a small, terrified voice inside him that spoke, to acknowledge the horror of what had happened. He had not beaten him, had not drawn blood, but he had inflicted physical pain. In all his years, even in the moments of deepest, darkest shadow, he had never reacted with violence during a personal confrontation. It wasn't the Jedi way…and it sure as hells had never been his way.

And yet, he had lifted his hand. No one else, not even Xanatos, had done it for him. He coaxed out the tears and he delivered the blow, because Obi-Wan had made a simple mistake, common among young people.

He hurt Obi-Wan because he loved Obi-Wan…loved him too much, so much that the sight of him walking through the door, leaning on his friends, had snapped something in Qui-Gon, a fear worse than he had ever experienced. Gods, he didn't want to love anyone that much. If he loved someone to the depths he was beginning to love Obi-Wan…oh, it would be all the worse when Obi-Wan betrayed him…

Qui-Gon's breastbone seemed to stretch and splinter at the realization. When? Have I been waiting? All this time, have I been waiting for him to-

The shrill beep of the apartment communicator jolted through the morbid line of his thoughts. Numbly, he forced his legs to take him across the room, to answer the call.

"Y-" He cleared his throat, "Yes?"

"Master Jinn?" A high, distinctly female voice replied with obvious surprise.

"Yes, this is Jinn."

"Oh. I was informed you were still on assignment on Malvihaad."

"I-I've just arrived."

"I'm glad. This is Healer Tribick. I administered the inoculations to the Padawans this morning."

"Inoculations?" Qui-Gon blinked, sifting through the anguish and ether, to recall that that was why his Padawan had not accompanied him to Malvihaad. Obi-Wan, along with the other young members of the Temple, had been subjected to a series of disease-blocking vaccinations. They were, of course, mandatory, so the Master had no choice but to leave his student behind for the duration of the mission. "Oh yes. I'm sorry. I remember."

"Yes. Well, I was just calling to check in with Padawan Kenobi. We had quite the scare with him this morning. His system didn't respond well to the Kelia Flu vaccination."

Breath deserted him, and Qui-Gon's hand, the same hand that left the livid mark on Obi-Wan's cheek, went to his chest, over his heart. "Didn't respond well? What do you mean?"

"The batch of vaccinations to protect against the Kelia Flu was found to cause adverse reactions in some of the Padawans. We've attributed it to specific details of their biological makeup, components that clash with those found in the vaccination. The risk of such reactions is always present, but the symptoms that resulted in Padawan Kenobi and a few others were still rare. We closely monitored them until we could ascertain the level of seriousness. Luckily, we were able to counteract the effects quickly, and release the Padawans to their Masters' care. Since you were off-planet, I entrusted Padawan Muln and Padawan Eerin to return him to his quarters for some much-needed rest and recuperation. He's a little groggy, if you couldn't tell, but that should lessen by tomorrow."

"He's…he's going to be alright?"

"He'll be fine, after he's had a good sleep. You're very lucky, Master Jinn. When inoculations start to war with the system, the results can be devastating." There was a chilled shiver to her tone; "The Temple could have lost something very precious today."

The taut coil of terror within him began to loosen, and he shut his eyes briefly. "Yes, it could have."

"Luckily, we still have them with us. So how is he?"

He saw the silver tears cut through the golden skin, the flush of the slap, the resigned look in bruised eyes. And he said, "He's fine. Groggy, as you mentioned, but fine."

"Good. I was so worried. Well then, Master Jinn, I'll leave you to tend to your patient. May the Force be with you."

"And with you." Qui-Gon replied, without inflection. Then he grappled for the back of the couch, suddenly needing the support.

'…The results can be devastating. The Temple could have lost something very precious today…'

He gulped down the dense bile rising in his throat. Lost him. I could have lost him. He clamped his eyes shut, but the unbidden image was scrawled over his very consciousness.

The apartment overflowed with heat, and he darted to the balcony, inhaling the strident frost of the ruling night. He dropped his head in his hands, and his fingers dug through hair until they were scraping against scalp.

Obi-Wan hadn't been drinking at all. He'd been sick, severely sick, and on the brink of…

The notion of his Padawan under alcohol's influence seemed now a little thing, boulder chipped to a tiny stone, next to the enormity of what the boy had overcome. Obi-Wan had been ailing, but Qui-Gon's half-witted deduction had accused him of sins far more sinister than intoxication. He ridiculed his charge, labeled him unworthy, and struck out at him.

And why? Why in Force's name had he done it?

Qui-Gon stared out at the cold buildings and the empty sky, and for a millisecond, saw it through old eyes, eyes carved from the desolation of Xanatos' turn. He had not been living then, never seeing the sun beyond a darkened horizon. His soul had been the shadows, and the shadows ate him away, gradually and grindingly. He felt nothing, save the agony and guilt. It was hell's worst torture, and for a while, he thought perhaps he had died, but had forgotten in the tumult of his punishments.

All that pain in him…and he had not loved Xanatos as deeply as he loved Obi-Wan. Sometimes, as they sparred, or ate, or talked, Qui-Gon would be seized with the complexity of his affections for his protégé, and it always left him blindsided. He was suspicious of such love, because it could serve as a block from sense. That what how it had been with his second apprentice. He cared for Xanatos, and so could not abide a bad word spoken of him. For a long period, Qui-Gon had been wary of Obi-Wan, and the feelings the boy inspired in the man's heart.

But deep down, Qui-Gon never thought Obi-Wan capable of that same malice that was exposed in Xanatos. The love sunk down to his core, became his blood and breath. He didn't think Obi-Wan would betray him in that cruel fashion, to join with the Dark.

He was scared that the distance he kept between them initially had alienated him from Obi-Wan, and that though Obi-Wan undoubtedly respected him as a Master, couldn't love him as a father.

He was afraid, to his bones, that he had erred tragically in those first days, and that Obi-Wan would be unable to forgive. So he had taken the first real chance of self-defense that presented itself. He wanted to see Xanatos in Obi-Wan, and he granted his own wish, going on nothing more than a flimsy scrap of evidence, and shutting out the rationality of Garen and Bant to keep that evidence from being discredited. If he instigated their separation, it wouldn't devastate him, it wouldn't ruin him beyond repair.

He was a coward, and Obi-Wan was paying for it.

Qui-Gon filled his nostrils with the frigid air, until his lungs ached. The cold had always hurt, and it was always there, when he had stood alone on the balcony, with no one to wait for. It hurt worse now, because it was compounded by the lack of his Padawan's warmth.

His Padawan.

Obi-Wan.

Even if the young man couldn't let this go, which was a likely scenario, Qui-Gon had to go to him. He was all that mattered.

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The room was luminous, for its resident lay at the edge of the bed, but the atmosphere was heavy and gray with sorrow.

Qui-Gon was stuck between the corridor and the room, uncertain if he would even be allowed beyond the threshold. He stood there dumbly, observing the miserable line of Obi-Wan's back.

"Obi-Wan?" He whispered finally, "Are you asleep?"

The voice floated up softly from the crumpled form. "No, Master."

Qui-Gon winced at the defeat lacing the syllables. "Can I—come in?"

The shoulders tensed slightly, but "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon stepped inside, relieved at this victory—no, weary permission—he had been given, and walked over to the azure-draped bed. He stopped at the side opposite Obi-Wan, and studied him. "Obi-Wan, I don't know what to…" He wiped at his eyes, "I don't know what to say."

"I wasn't drinking." Obi-Wan murmured, craning his neck to look over at the other Jedi. His eyes were drained, spent, "I just want you to know that."

Qui-Gon's mouth was set atremble. He tried for composure, but barely managed coherent speech, "I already do." He choked.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, and he sat upright. "Master?"

Qui-Gon saw the concern in him—he couldn't take it. He catapulted to the edge of the bed, elbows hitting his knees, burying his face in his palms. The tears came fast and multiplied, to drown him in a deluge. He was distantly aware of the rustling of fabric and the tilt of the mattress, as his ever-loyal apprentice came to him.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon shook his head and turned, taking the worry-stricken face in his hands. "Oh, Obi-Wan," He gasped, "What have I done? I've been…so wrong."

"No, it's alright," Obi-Wan whispered back fervently. His eyes were bright with unshed emotion. "I understand why you…thought that. I know how it must've looked. It's alright."

"I didn't listen, Obi-Wan. They were trying to tell me the truth, but I just wouldn't listen. And I wouldn't listen to you."

For this, Obi-Wan had no reassurance, no comfort for his mentor. He sat, mouth chiseled from the hardest of stone, and watched Qui-Gon.

"I never gave you the chance to defend yourself. And then I—" Qui-Gon swallowed and shuddered, "I hurt you." He reached over, to brush his fingers against Obi-Wan's high cheekbone. And to his utter dismay, his Padawan flinched at his touch. The self-loathing was a pike shoved through his heart, and the blood of his soul was purged, weakening him, destroying whatever remnants of dignity he had clung to.

The memory of that moment stood fresh and raw in Obi-Wan's gaze. In those eyes, he saw the terrible magnitude of consequence, and he realized that, maybe, he had lost his student forever. They couldn't go back. The words had been spoken, and the hand had fallen. "I have no excuse for what I did, or the way I acted. I stopped seeing you…and saw what I wanted to see."

The Universe itself looked to be crushing down on Obi-Wan, and his shoulders slumped, and his eyes disappeared behind swollen lids. "Why would you want to see that?" His voice was the embodiment of quiet desolation. "Why?"

Qui-Gon looked down at his hands, unable to witness the pain on the young, familiar face. "B-Because I wanted you to be like him."

And then Obi-Wan was bowing his head, and Qui-Gon knew he had just confirmed the ghost-taunts that had followed the boy since Xanatos' willing plunge to the death pits. A single, fragile bead of moisture slid along the curve of an auburn lash. "I can't be like him. I can't replace him. I've tried and I—I can't. There was something special about him, a spark that I just don't have. I'll never have it."

Qui-Gon laid his palms against burdened shoulders. "I know you don't, Obi-Wan." Anguished eyes stared into his, preparing for the long-awaited blow, "Xanatos was different than you. And it wasn't a spark that made him different. It was that he could swallow the spark in others. He could steal the Light, and overwhelm it with Darkness."

Obi-Wan inhaled raggedly, "B-But you said—"

"I know what I said. But you are the absolute opposite of that, Obi-Wan. You illuminate every path and corner. You can chase the shadows away. You are everything Xanatos should have been, but couldn't be. The spark is yours, and it is the most beautiful thing I've ever known."

But Obi-Wan shook his head, ready denial playing from his lips.

Qui-Gon stilled and silenced him with the brace of his hands against flushed cheeks. "And the fact that you can't see it, makes it all the more beautiful and authentic. I cherish it, I cherish you, more than anything. Xanatos could not provide my soul completion—not even Tahl could. It wasn't until you came into my life that I understood I had ever only been half a person. You save me, Obi-Wan…but I…I…." For a long moment, the words wouldn't come, they lodged in his throat as his mind screamed for him to leave things as they were. There didn't need to be more secrets unmasked, it said, there needn't be so many revelations this wearying day. But he'd opened the gates, and though he'd had the strength to do so, he hadn't any left to close them again. This all had to be said, tonight. "I'm afraid of what will happen if I can't save you."

Obi-Wan blinked; the moisture streamed down his skin. "Master," He interrupted hoarsely, "Don't think that."

"But I do think that, Obi-Wan. I think about it all the time. Every thought of you, how much I care for you, is shadowed with the fear of losing you. I lost Xanatos, and it hurt like a thousand hells."

"I won't turn." Obi-Wan swore, with a purity of conviction Qui-Gon himself couldn't match. "Not ever, Master."

Qui-Gon actually smiled, and wiped the falling tears with his thumb. "I know you won't. But there are so many other ways, worse ways, I could lose you. Losing you would be losing everything. I've never let someone come to mean that much to me. I never wanted to be that…vulnerable. When I saw you come in today with Bant and Garen, I thought something had happened to you. And the pain of that was unbearable. It shook me badly, and I became frightened of my own depth of feeling. I wanted to pull away then…so I couldn't be hurt again. I knew I couldn't survive losing you, so I decided it would be best to—to turn you away."

Obi-Wan looked at him, just looked at him, for a full minute. Then, wordlessly, leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the man.

Qui-Gon couldn't breathe, and he didn't desire to, for he knew he didn't deserve air in his lungs or Obi-Wan in his heart. This—it wasn't fair. Obi-Wan had been wronged severely, but he wasn't shunning his Master. He was consoling him, holding him, as if the older Jedi were the victim in this mess. His entire being raged against the situation, and he began to pull away, away from the dizzying emotion, away from the sheltering, soothing arms, away from the notion of a single incompatible vaccine taking the life from this vibrant soul. But it was that last thought that brought his arms tightly around Obi-Wan.

"My Padawan," He whispered unsteadily, pressing his face in a silken flourish of red-gold hair, "I'm sorry. Gods, I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could undo all of this, what I-I've done to you…"

Obi-Wan sniffed and shook his head, "No, no. You haven't done anything to me. You didn't make me go."

"I was so stupid and cruel," Qui-Gon rasped, laying his mouth on the crown of Obi-Wan's head, "But I won't do it again. Please believe me, Obi-Wan. D-Do you believe me?"

Obi-Wan lifted his head, to meet Qui-Gon's eyes, and smiled. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon stroked his finger over the dimple in the round chin, "I'll make this right. I promise you."

"We'll make this right," The young man corrected, hugging Qui-Gon's neck with a child-like intensity.

They sat there for a while, limbs and minds entwined, tired but, for perhaps the first time in their partnership, awake.

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The night had deepened to pitch before Qui-Gon withdrew slightly, to flatten his hand against Obi-Wan's shining forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan blinked, yawned, and curled in closer to his Master's form. "Like I really did drink half of Coruscant's liquor supply."

It was delivered lightly, in jest, but Qui-Gon couldn't smile. Not yet. Instead he rested his apprentice back on the bed, and tucked the blankets snugly in around his waist. He lay down, too, near his apprentice. He looked across at Obi-Wan, his silhouette soft and miraculously peaceful. His heart was already welling with the simple sight.

How could I have ever…

"It's alright, Master," The words strung out in a dreamy sigh, "Please can we…just forget?"

Qui-Gon rolled onto his side, and brushed the hair gently from the relaxed face. "Yes. I think we should." 'Easier said than done' certainly applied, but Qui-Gon would conceal that from his apprentice, who had already endured far too much during this cold reign of the moon. "Obi-Wan?"

"Hmmm?"

Qui-Gon felt for the warm hand, and then enclosed it within his. "I'll stay with you."

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