She gritted her teeth and rounded the last flight of steps.

Over the past two weeks, she had come to know a unique kind of torture concerning her connection with the Force and her injured leg. The pain was always there – constant, present, always hovering at the outskirts of her mind like a shadowing friend. The only time the pain crippled her and sent her flying into unconsciousness was when she tried to ease the pain through the Force. For the past two weeks, scientists and healers had prodded, poked, studied, and frowned at the wound, examining the long, ugly pink-gray scar which now marred her tanned hip. There was no lasting damage, other than a surface scar and perhaps some slight pain accompanying movement, they had assured her at first. But when she began exercising her mind using the Force, the pain became apparent. Nobody could explain to her why this wound had so much effect on her Force-sensitivity. Jedi had suffered far worse, having entire limbs replaced with cybernetics, sometimes even brains and hearts. This was a lightsaber wound, true, but that was nothing new; not a soul could explain to Ana why she couldn't ease her pain using the Force.

Using the Force in general had become extensively hard, intricate despite the Force's simple nature. She had to keep her mind completely off the pain in her hip – which was difficult, seeing as the pain was consistently there and always chafing at her, like an itch she couldn't scratch. Ana had spent the better part of ten days training herself to use the Force without numbing the pain in her hip, and it hadn't been easy. There was an old saying: You can't teach an old Wookiee new tricks. It was true; Ana had to re-learn all of her Force training in a matter of days, teaching herself how to use the Force without releasing her pain away. And by doing so, emotions she couldn't release were still biting at her, tearing away small pieces of her soul as she lay there helplessly. Without meditation, she saw how useless it was as she simmered her pain and frustration, barely managing to keep it at a low boil. She had never liked meditation, thought it old-fashioned and tiring, but now she saw how much she craved it, the simple act of clearing her mind. Now, clearing her mind was a painstaking, arduous process which usually ended with her collapsing in a quivering heap, bathed in sweat.

Two days ago, she had finally been allowed out of the wards and back to her room, under strict orders of no training until she felt she was ready. Obstinately, Ana went out with her lightsaber the very hour and set a training droid to 'low'. By some dramatic irony, the training droid was the exact same one which had gifted her with that mild burn across her lower back so many months ago, the same droid she had destroyed ruthlessly. Now, repaired and buffed to a high sheen, the droid came at her with a vengeance. Within moments, even at a low setting, the spar had her reverting to the Force, causing her to drop to her knees and black out from the sheer, white-hot sheet of pain which swept her body as she automatically let go of her emotions. The emotions, along with the nagging pain on her left hip, seemed unwilling to depart from her memory, unwilling to finish tormenting her with nightmares and frustrated dreams.

How long Ana had stayed on the training floor, numb with pain and exhaustion from this simple spar, she had not the slightest clue. She still didn't. But she did remember the soft, shuffling noise coming behind her, and her mind had prickled unpleasantly with the uncanny feeling of déjà vu. Only this time, Yoda was approaching her when she wasn't mourning the loss of her former Master; she was stricken with grief concerning her uselessness towards the Force. She had heard the low grunt as the ancient sage had sat down near her. "Slow, healing is," Yoda had croaked in his queer manner of speaking. "Hard, also, is it not?"

Ana had forced herself upright, pushing herself upwards and careful not to touch the teeming web of the Force humming near her. Instead, she had run her hands through her blue-black hair, felt the short locks slide through her fingers. Her hair had grown some, and now it swept her collar, giving her an untidy, unruly sort of look, instead of the dangerous spikes which had adorned her head before. Her dark green eyes were flat and impassionate as she sat near Yoda, gritting her teeth against the pain in her hip. "Yes, Master Yoda," Ana had said wearily, kneading her temples. "It most certainly is."

"A decision, have you come to?" Yoda had said in his odd growl. "Pondering, you have been, for days. Over what, Padawan?"

"My life," Ana had said simply. "Wondering how useful a Jedi is when they can't use the Force automatically. I'm no better than a babe in the crèche if I can't use the Force every second of every day. I've been wondering..." She had swallowed the hot, bitter lump in her throat. "Wondering if being a Jedi is the only path for me."

"Strange, paths are," Yoda had observed. "Take one, and fail. Succeed, you might, on a second path." He had looked at her shrewdly, his bright blue eyes piercing hers. "Not all, you have been thinking about, Padawan. Leave the Order, you have thought. But your Master, you have thought about also."

Ana had felt her shoulders slump. Thinking back, she had to smile at herself for thinking she could hide her emotions from anyone, especially Yoda. "Qui-Gon is not a Master to me," Ana had admitted slowly, almost shamefully. "And I don't think he ever will be. That's another reason to...take another path."

"Sometimes, words hard to say, they are," Yoda had said quietly. "But words are just words, mm?"

Ana had passed her tongue over her lips and chewed the lower one thoughtfully. "It would be another reason to leave the Order," She finally said, and the words had tasted funny on the air, like too much salt in a soup. Leave the Order. Such a stupid idea. But even now, mounting the stairs, they did not seem so strange to her, so alien. She could leave this metallic planet, seek her fortune elsewhere, make a new life, as somebody else. Life has many paths, she told herself as she tackled the last step before she reached her apartment. Life has many paths, and it is up to you to decide them.

She slotted her cardkey into the door and pressed her palm against the omni-sensor, hearing the door hiss open. She limped inside, locking her jaw against the pain, and went to her room. Her blankets and pillow would remain behind, along with her set of dress robes. The only thing she honestly wished to bring were her little trinkets; other than that, she had adhered profusely to the idea of Jedi not owning material items. So, she went to her windowsill and examined her tiny objects which had done so much to pull her from her horrors about Wathearu. She stroked the multicolored feather, passed the dull line of her sea glass against her palm, and clinked the two rocks together, slipping all four items into her pocket. The other flotsam and jetsam she left for some cleaning droid to throw away. Ana clenched the four items in her palm hard, once, and then released them slowly, hissing a breath between her teeth as she did so. There were two people she had to stop and see before she appeared before the Council for her appointment this afternoon. Two very important goodbyes she had to make.

She got to her feet unsteadily and went to the door, trying to compose what she would say to Clah'Diam. But before she could rearrange her thoughts, she heard a frantic banging on the door, and she opened it, confused. In front of her, her remarkable gold-tawny eyes brimming with tears, her rich blue skin paler than she had ever seen it, was Clah'Diam. "Ana!" The Twi'Lek sobbed, throwing herself at her best friend. "Oh, Ana, I went to the ward and they said you had left, and then I checked with Qui-Gon and he said you went to your room, and that awful Jeterra said you were leaving the Order! It's a lie, right?"

Clah'Diam looked at Ana, searching her face, and then the Twi'Lek's shoulders dropped, her face sinking. Ana couldn't bear to look at her friend. "No. It's not a lie." Ana managed to say, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"But...Ana..." Clah'Diam said, sounding hurt and confused. "Why?"

Ana ran her hands through her hair and dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to force back the hot tears stinging her eyes. "Lots of reasons, Clah'Diam, and my injury is the least of them," Ana said tiredly. "Remember? There's many paths in life, and it's up to us to find out which one is the path our heart must take." She swallowed hard and looked down at her short, plump friend, saw that she was holding back ragged sobs, and hugged her friend tightly. "I'm sorry, Clah'Diam. I really am. But I'm leaving the Order today, at noon."

And then Clah'Diam said three words which forced Ana to give up her cool façade and break down crying.

"What about Qui-Gon?"

Tears ran down her face, thick and fast, dripping off her chin, and Ana cuffed them away hastily, taking a shuddering breath. "I don't know, Clah'Diam. I haven't seen him the past few days, and I've kept it from him. I don't know anything anymore, Clah'Diam. I feel...I feel like a child, trying to depend on others to show me direction." She said, and the two friends gripped each other, Clah'Diam sobbing openly into her friend's shoulder, Ana burying her face in her friend's neck. They stood there, holding each other, cementing the bond they had formed through friendship so many years ago, when they were both initiates, and Ana was the first to pull away. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed hard. "I h-have to go see Qui-Gon," Ana mumbled. "Clah'Diam...Please. Don't forget me."

"Never," Clah'Diam swore. And then she took Ana's hand in a powerful grip that belied her small size, their fingers interlacing. They locked eyes, and through the blur of tears the two connected with a special kind of strength, a sort of unbreakable bond which can be concreted only through time. "I, Clah'Diam Martoon, do hereby swear to remember and love my best friend, La'Ana Shaddem." She said quietly, and Ana felt the last, final threads of their friendship twining together.

"I, La'Ana Shaddem, do hereby swear to remember and love my best friend, Clah'Diam Martoon," Ana whispered, and hugged her friend fiercely one last time. "Stay safe, stay strong," She said softly.

"May you find a joyful life," Clah'Diam said, her lower lip wobbling again. As Ana straightened and began limping down the hallway, her shoulders still trembling with sobs, Clah'Diam whispered something to herself. "May the Force be with you, Ana, you crazy girl."

He knew it in his heart, in his soul, in his mind. It was in the very air he breathed, the very blood in his veins, every particle of him told him that she was leaving.

Permanently.

Irrevocably.

Forever.

But still he denied it, clung to the fragile, dying hope that she would stay by him, always, train to be a Master and then somehow, someway, the two of them would have a happy ending. He clung to it selfishly, jealously, hiding it within his chest like the fading ember of a fire, secreting the spark in his chest and trying to ignore every fiber of his being. He tried to lose himself in meditation, tried to take in the beautiful colors of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, tried to feel the spray of the cool water on his face. But it was no use, and he knew it, knew it with every inch of him, and the spark died in his chest the instant she limped in the room.

Force, she was beautiful.

He didn't know how he had missed it before, the way her mouth formed a soft pink rosebud, those warm golden flecks in her dark green eyes. Her hair was longer, growing daily, and now she no longer looked like the icy, chiseled warrior who had spat at him like an injured cat when he had first encountered her. She resembled a smaller, frailer woman, someone infinitely more delicate and quiet, a woman who has lost all fight in her life and has resigned to do something horrible. And those eyes, Sith, those stunning green eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, held him immobile as she limped closer to him, the multicolored lights dancing across her small form. And as she drew closer to him, he realized for what felt like the first time how small she was, how breakable, like a polished glass vase. Her curves were slender and light, and he wondered – not for the last time – what his hands would feel like resting on her hips, fitting against the curve of her waist. What it would feel like to run his hands through those short, silken locks, run his calloused fingers down her velvet skin.

She struggled with what to say, and he alleviated her mind by simply saying, "Why." It wasn't a question, not by far. He knew the answer, or thought he knew.

Ana looked up, confused, slim brows drawing together. "Why what?" She asked. He fingered her Padawan braid, wrapping the short braid around his finger, his knuckles coming within the barest contact with her cheek.

"Why are you leaving." He asked, no, said, and she lowered her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest. "No, no, Ana, look at me," He ordered, and he slid a finger beneath the shelf of her jaw, tilting her chin upwards, sending an unruly sheaf of black hair skating against her cheek. Her eyes were wet and glossy with unshed tears, and they locked onto his dark, smoky cerulean eyes as though there were nothing else in the world.

"I don't know," Ana confessed. "I ... I need a new life. I'm useless as a Jedi, useless as a Padawan. I need to be something to someone."

"You are something to someone," Qui-Gon rumbled, and Ana bit back a sob. "You are not useless. You have the makings of greatness in you – I can feel it, standing here, next to you. You are destined for greatness."

"But perhaps not Jedi greatness," Ana said softly, meeting his eyes once again. "Qui-Gon, I'm sorry." She tried to draw back, but his strong arm encircled her face and drew her tightly to him, his dark eyes lowering until their lips were inches apart.

"No. I will not accept that for an answer. Tell me, why are you leaving the Order?"

In answer, she kissed him.

It hadn't been planned, it hadn't been thought out in the slightest. She had opened her mouth to make a well-reasoned argument that might have convinced him, but she decided in a split second that she was going to do something she had been longing to do. Her small fingers reached up cautiously and met around the back of his neck, kissing him lightly, sweetly, softly, feeling their fates twine together even as she did so. His hands, those big, strong hands, cupped her face, made her feel so safe and secure by this simple action. The kiss was lazy and syrupy, filling a need and a void which had been yawning open ever since the two of them had locked eyes. And there was that unquenchable fire, that smoldering flame ready to lash out and ignite a heated, unstoppable connection, and she kissed him fervently, for the first and last time.

She broke off, nuzzling his bearded cheek, and looked at him. He brushed a tear from her eye with his knuckle, and she swallowed hard. "That's why, Qui-Gon," She whispered. "I can't stay here because I love you." She had to laugh a little at herself, a laugh twisting with her tears like some strange, horned, beautiful flower. "I've been so stupid, so blind..." She said, and looked up at him again. "So blind," She repeated. "I'm in love with you, Qui-Gon. I have been for so long, I don't know when I wasn't."

He tilted his head and actually nipped her neck, a low, feral growl issuing unbidden from his chest, protective emotions welling up in his with a primal ferocity. "Ana..." He said, and oh, his voice made her melt into nothingness, a puddle which could be trodden upon. That deep, baritone growl, edged with velvet and gravel, and she wanted to hear him growl again, wanted to hear him reduced to a beast whenever he was near her. But she let her head rest on his chest, heard his heart beating, and closed her eyes, allowing tears to spill onto her cheeks yet again. He whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her cheek and neck, "Ana, I love you."

Those three words, damning, bonding, permanent, true, steadfast. Three words which connected their circles, their fates and destinies irreparably melded. Three words which could damn him, curse him, and tear his very soul from his body. Three words which warmed his heart like nothing else.

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her final kiss against his lips, this one chaste, and looked at him. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon."

She left, leaving him in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, with nothing but the love in his heart and the pain in his mind.

"This appears to be a rash and rather shortsighted move, Padawan Shaddem," Master Windu said, steepling his long brown fingers, his black eyes piercing her. She was standing – with permission, because she didn't think she could get up from her kneel without looking like an invalid – in front of the Council. She was dressed in civilian clothes; where she had gotten them, the Council had no idea, but she looked surprisingly natural out of her Padawan robes. Dark leggings were loose on her long legs, and a pale blue tunic exposed her arms to the hot sun, a pair of polished brown boots laced tightly and neatly. She looked meek and remorseful, but there was a simmering resolution that burned within her – they could all feel it, despite her weak connection to the Force.

"I assure you respectfully, Master Windu, I have thought this proposition out long and hard, and there is no other way," Ana said quietly, her voice echoing unnaturally in the large, glass-paned room. "I wish to withdraw my position at the Academy and seek my path elsewhere. My current status with my injury is linked with my connection to the Force, and I fear I may be a danger on missions of importance if the Force is not at my disposal." She bowed her head.

"Your injury is not the only reason you are leaving, is it not?" Master Ziverri said, his quick gold eyes fastening on her. Slowly, Ana's chin rose, and she looked blankly out at the circle of waiting Councilmembers, her eyes looking to nothing.

"I am leaving the Order because I am in love with my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

Muted shock rippled through the room, but there was no open gasps. It was not entirely uncommon for a Padawan to fall in love with their Master; generally, it was a temporary and remedial thing, but there was deep passion in Ana's voice as she began to talk. "I fear that I may act on these emotions, and cause me to act in a manner unbefitting a Jedi Padawan. Therefore, I wish to leave the Order and travel to a planet far away, where I hope my eventual feelings for Master Jinn will die down. As for Master Jinn..." She trailed off, and then shook herself. "That must be his own particular trial in the Force. He must seek his path, and I must seek mine."

"Honorable, your request is," Yoda croaked from his seat. "And granted, it also is."

Ana Shaddem left the Temple that day, never to return, nor look back.

A/N: Finally! The end! Please, please, leave a review! The summary and title for the sequel will be as follows:

A Healing Circle

It's been a decade since Ana last walked out of the Jedi Temple, never to look back. But now, her former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, shows up at her doorstep with a new Padawan and a "routine" mission to fulfill. But between discovering their old feelings for one another, will this just be another love ending in heartbreak for both of them?