by MonaR. (aka Mona Ramsey, aka Mona)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Series: Eighth in the "Colours" series, after "Blue", "Red", "Green", "Yellow", "Purple", "Orange", and "Indigo".

Webpage: the bare skeleton of one is at:

Rating: NC-17.

Warning: Implied slash (m/m) content. Character death. *Dark*.

Archive: Yes to StarWarsfic, M_A, or anyone else who might want it.

Notes: I don't use betas. :( Any mistakes are solely my fault and the fault of my *#^&@ spellcheck. ** is used for emphasis, // for thought. Any weird characters should be hunted down and killed.

Spoilers: Oh, yeah, for the end of TPM.

Summary: Qui-Gon's final fall.

{These last two were written together; perhaps they should be stuck together, as "Black and White". . .anti-colours. It seemed appropriate.}


by MonaR.

He wonders why I know him.

His Master has told him that they are unknowable, at least by us, but his Master only knows us as a whole, only knows the difficulty the Jedi have seeing the Darkness. I have no such difficulty; it is like looking in a mirror, cracked - he is half of myself.

You are the other.

I know now that neither one of us will survive this, my Padawan; I can *feel* it. I grow weary of this game that we are playing, and I think perhaps it is time to finally show my hand. If there is more to this life to come, I do not wish to see it. You will forgive an old man his dying wish; for all of us, in the end, it is merely to be allowed to die.

He is surprised by me. I have already begun the process; I can feel my arms growing lethargic and heavy, and the 'saber does not move in my hands the way that it should. I wonder, when it comes, will the blow be all that I have hoped for, all that I have lived so long for? I fear not. I will not survive to savour this final kiss, my Padawan; Death will not be kind to me.

I will fight on, until you are closer; I need you to *see*. Do not call me cruel for this final wish, my Padawan; I have been far more cruel to you in your life, and you know of my love. You must let me grant you your freedom from me.


Understand that I could not have taken the boy on, no matter what I have said in anger about it; you have already taken too much from me, my Padawan. I am only half what I was when we met; the other half has absorbed fully into your body - your blessed body. Would I have loved you as I do if you were less beautiful? Would you have been as beautiful if I did not love you? I began to die when we met, my Padawan; I shrivelled and greyed and aged while you blossomed, until your shining beauty was an ache to my eyes that I can no longer bear to see. The light in your eyes is the same one that I used to see in the mirror; that is why I have tried to hard to temper it with my lessons. I do not want to feel your body anymore, Padawan; I grow weary. I grow weary.

Do I dare to look at you one last time? Is your sex hard for me? Do you long for my touch? Will the others be enough, when I am gone, or will you give them up? Will you punish yourself as I have, and will you grow to love the touch of only your hands upon your body, and become addicted to the pain and pleasure that can only be self-inflicted?

It is a hard life, my Padawan. Never let it be said that you were not warned. And the boy is yours - my legacy. Our child. What a perverse thought that is, and perfect. I wonder if his mother knows that we are both his father - that she was merely the vessel for our love? The boy will be beautiful; he could be nothing else, as your son. He will bring the balance to our world that I have so long sought, as mine. It is almost ironic that I will not live to see it.

His confusion is wounding him; he is unsure of where to strike the blow, and his hands are not as steady as they should be. I see that I will have to still myself, and guide him. I will allow him the one place I could never allow you, my Padawan: inside me. Perhaps there he will discover all of my secrets.

The blow is not a sure one; I am still alive when he withdraws from me. Oh - the heat, Obi-Wan, the *heat*; it is like sex and pure sunlight. How long has it been since I've called you by name? Have I forgotten myself? The ache runs through me - I wish to see the scar. I reach out, but I have no hold on anything - everything is suddenly so far away, and I can *feel* it, and taste it. Death is a taste in the mouth, my Padawan, bitter acid and warm copper, and heat. More heat than I have known before, save for in your arms; you have taught me how to give in to that heat. I reach out to embrace it, and find nothing but air. This fall is a long one, and your voice, keening, wounded even more than myself, echoes in my mind.

He is satisfied with your suffering.

He wonders why I am, as well.


I cannot raise my head to watch, but I can feel your anger, feel the suffering blows you are inflicting. Oh, my Padawan, you must not forget yourself; you must focus, and end this. You must not blame him for your anger; we both know who is to blame for that. I will not allow you to think that this easy end is enough for you; I have taught you better than that.

The boy, my Padawan; remember the boy. I will give him to you, when this is over, if you will just end it.

Yes, my Padawan, yes. Strike him down; focus all of the anger and hatred and all of the love that you have ever known. Strike him down, and earn my legacy.

You have surprised him, my Padawan; I can feel it. I wonder if he was a worthy apprentice to his Master. I wonder if he was loved, as you are.

The feeling is leaving me, my Padawan. I cannot move my legs; this numbness is overwhelming, the heat turning to cold. You must end it, now; I need to sleep, but I must not close my eyes until I know.

The darkness is calling me, my Padawan. Perhaps -

It hurts to breathe, so I will breathe. The world has grown silent; the only thing I have left to hold on to is the pain.

You are here, with me; you must be alive. I will open my eyes for you, my Padawan.

Did I ever look into your eyes this closely before, my Padawan? Did I ever see the colours before? Blue, green, yellow, purple, red - your eyes should be black, my Padawan; all the colours are there.

"it's too late - "

Forgive my final lie, my Padawan. It isn't too late; we both know that. I am close, but you could run, bring someone to heal me; we have brought back others, farther gone than I, others who shied away from Death in their terror. But I have Death in my grasp, my Padawan, and I will not let go, not even for you.

You must listen to me -

"promise me - "

Your eyes are raining tears onto my face, my Padawan. I can feel them. I can hear my breath, through the gaping hole in my body.

You must listen.

"train the boy - "

I can see your lips moving, my Padawan, but you make no sound. Oh, your skin - your skin is cold, and wet. Or is it my hand? I cannot hold it up to you much longer, my Padawan. You must understand what I mean when I touch you. You must make your promise to me, and let me go.

"he is the chosen one - "

It could not be you. It could never be you. You were always meant to be mine alone. It was foolish of me to ever think otherwise.

"he will bring balance - "

The pain is leaving me, my Padawan. It is seeping away into nothingness.

"train him - "

Did I tell you that when I was a child, how I was afraid of the dark? My Master used to steal into my room in the middle of the night and turn off the light that I slept with; I would awaken in terror, paralysed to my bed, sure that the demons were underneath, ready to swallow me whole. It wasn't until I learned to look into the darkness that I could let myself lie in it, without fear.

I cannot stop living, my Padawan. I did not know how hard it would be to stop. You must help me - bring your lips down to mine. Cover my mouth with one last kiss. Hold your breath, and mine, and do not let me go.

Yes, my Padawan. This is it, the final lesson. You will be a great Jedi Knight. Do not let them tame you.

I have taught you to see through the darkness, my Padawan, and to never to be afraid of it, as I was. Do not forget.

My Padawan.

The End