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Faithless

by Maygra (maygra@bellsouth.net)

Rating: NC17

Disclaimer: Characters and concepts belong to George Lucas Lucasfilm, LTD and ILM. No infringement is inended, no recompense is sought. George doesn't get this dark and get to keep his PG13 rating.

Summary: Take the film, stop at the 'scene' and turn left...Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are taken prisoner by Darth Maul and must escape more than his prisonship. From that point forward it's all A/U (more or less.)

Acknowledgments & Notes: A grateful bow to Brenda A. and Rache for showing me The Way. Spoilers for "TPM" but it's mostly A/U, post TPM. References to the Jedi Apprentice books put out by Scholastic.

Warning: Series rated NC-17 for Violence, Rape, Sex.

Do you fear the dark, young Obi-Wan?

It was no more than a whisper against Qui-Gon's mind. Meant for him to hear. Meant for him to know. To feel his apprentice's failing strength, mental walls hastily reinforced only to be torn down again by the combination of exhaustion, pain, grief and, yes, fear. But not of the dark, although he rightfully was wary of the Dark Lord, the Sith Lord.

Fear of being alone to face this.

And Qui-Gon could not reach him. Not yet. He was weak himself, and the spawn of the Sith, Darth, held him close, held him apart from his padawan while allowing Qui-Gon to be privy to the torments of his student.

It should not have given him comfort that Darth was frustrated by his prisoner's lack of reaction to what his student was experiencing. It was meant to be a torment to both but Qui-Gon was comforted for his own sake if not his apprentice's. Perhaps if Darth or his Master thought he cared little for his student, they might ease their torments.

It was a faint hope and still Obi-Wan was alone. In the darkness, his grief at the loss of his own master the only shield left to him.

He did his training proud to take such an emotion and use it as a shield but that, more than the torments of the Sith Lord, tore at Qui-Gon's own calm. Obi-Wan thought him dead -- and what else could he think having seen him fall under Darth Maul's attack? And even feeling his master's presence slip beyond the edges of the Force, beyond Obi-Wan's reach, fighting for his life, Obi-Wan had won through to his Master's side.

He thought...

You miscalculated badly, padawan. There was no censure in his thought, only his own carefully hoarded grief. Obi-Wan had come to him, thinking the Sith apprentice lost to the power conduit. Thinking Qui-Gon dying -- dead.

So wrong. They had both been so wrong.

It did neither of them any good at all for Qui-Gon to blame himself, although there was blame to be laid. To preserve his failing life Qui-Gon had slipped beyond his padawan's reach, slipped between the folds and variances of the Force to secure his body until it could heal. He had seen Maul's return but from where his consciousness rested, he could not warn his apprentice.

He had thought, perhaps, they would both be killed. His own death finished by the destruction of his body -- however transitory that death might be -- and Obi-Wan as well. Jedi prisoners were notoriously hard to keep. But in this case, one Jedi was all but dead and the other was not quite a Knight in full standing.

No doubt that Darth Maul's Master had stopped him. Qui-Gon had seen the defiance in the blood red face...

He had felt the hammered wedge of dark power that drove his padawan sprawling over his body in unconsciousness.

So much power over such distance channeled through Maul. Theoretically Qui-Gon knew it was possible....but to witness it.

And no way to warn the council of the power gathering at their very doorstep.

"You trained him well," Darth Maul murmured, head cocked to observe his prisoner. "My master is impressed. He would bend this one."

"He will fail."

Maul smiled, toothy grin giving his face an even more bizarre caste. "The Light will not save him. His grief can only protect him for so long."

Qui-Gon gave no indication how much that observation disturbed him.

"My master is almost done with him now...and then it will be my turn," Maul said on a laugh. He leaned so casually against the door of Qui-Gon's cell, as he had done for days; observing, watching. Making no threats, only commentary. He had no fear that Qui-Gon would escape. It was neither arrogance nor reliance on the finely crafted chains that held the Jedi. Nor was it because of the locks on the door to this cell. Or even that not far away his apprentice was being pressured to break his training, by both mental and physical means.

He would not try and escape because there was no place to go.

The prison cruiser was just that: a mobile prison transport, never meant to flee an enemy. It carried no lifepods, utilized a minimal crew. Two Sith and two Jedi and a handful of guards. As far as Qui-Gon knew or could detect, there were no other prisoners on board. Where they were bound, he did not know, nor what their current location was. They had shifted into hyperspace twice since he was aware enough to notice.

They could be anywhere.

No, escape was not the primary object of Qui-Gon's attentions. Nor even protecting his apprentice, for which he hoped someday Obi-wan would forgive him. He heard Darth Maul leave the cell. He did not flinch when the mental anguish of his Padawan turned to distress of a more physical nature.

The Sith Lord had opened a door to allow Qui-Gon access to his apprentice's thoughts and emotions, a path that led only from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon and not back again.

But it did lead back to the Sith Lord and there Qui-Gon concentrated his efforts. Are you afraid of the dark, Qui-Gon Jinn?

Very much so. Hold fast, Obi-Wan. I will find you...

It wasn't the dark Obi-Wan feared, it was his own madness. And he was getting closer to it with every labored breath.

Jedi Knights don't go mad.... he told himself. No, it wasn't madness it was tor--

But you aren't a Knight yet, are you, young one?

He wasn't physically able to cringe from that voice, from the presence in his mind, but he did cringe, shrinking away from a touch that was far more repulsive than the feel of any touch on his body. Even those he could resist or ignore better than this. There was no pain or torment laid upon his physical form that could not be held up against his armor and be endured.

His Master was dead and there was no pain in the universe that could match that agony. Not the constricting fetters than held him immobile and splayed like an insect for display, not the gloating presence of the creature that had severed Qui-Gon's tie to this life, not his touches or tortures. Pain was entirely relative.

Nor did Maul care that he only added to the armor with his torments. Maul's master, he told Obi-Wan, had seen fitting to allow his student his toy, his prize, for a task well met.

But the Sith Master had better tools, better methods and nearly every hour, every moment, he would crack off a tiny fragment of armor and cast it aside, hammering his wedges of dark force beneath the weakening shields, and Obi-Wan lost more of himself each time.

He didn't even know what they wanted from him.

Had they taken Master Jinn he might have understood: privy to the council, trusted and in good standing, what Qui-Gon knew could be of great use to the Sith Lord. But what Master Qui-Gon had known was gone, or at least, been washed away by the eddies of the Force to a shore only a full Jedi Master could find. Master Yoda or Master Windu...they would know how to find those traces, those fragments.

Obi-Wan could barely keep his own soul from being scattered to those same eddies. And the Sith Lord knew exactly how far he could push the mind of an apprentice Jedi before shattering it -- withdrawing at just that moment when Obi-Wan felt he could give over, could fall into the same vast and raging current that had taken his Master.

Then Maul would come. Always alone, always to wait just inside the door, just at the edge of Obi-Wan's perception, letting his presence wash against his counterpart's awareness like a slowly rising flood. He was blind always save what he could sense through the Force but he did not need his eyes to see Maul's face when he was near. It was burned forever in his mind, triumphant and laughing.

Pain, when presented, was almost a blessing. At least then his lessons came to him, allowing him to ride out the waves of agony induced by the filaments threaded through his skin. Maul would pluck them like a harpist and Obi-Wan could almost transmute them into song. Dark and cacophonous, but a song.

Other torments were more difficult to deflect but never as difficult as when the Sith Master slipped into his thoughts, waking and sleeping, and worst yet was when both Master and Apprentice assaulted him at once. But even then he could focus on the more real touch of Maul's hands and probes and shut out the other.

In the few moments between each session that he had to himself he thought them waiting for some sign from him; seeking some weakness he did not know he possessed. But he could no longer correctly gauge how long the intervals between the torments of the Master and his Apprentice lasted. His time sense was slipping from him, the pain of his own Master's death often making him think it had been only hours when at other moments he knew it had been weeks.

The drip of water against his lips produced an automatic response but it was hesitant. He never knew if he would be tortured by the slow drip of the precious fluid into his parched throat or near drowned by a torrent of water that would not be stopped. This was somewhere in between; fast enough to let him swallow a mouthful at a time.

Almost his thirst was quenched when the taste began to change subtly. The water mixed with another taste, bitter and salty, giving the water a viscous texture. Not blood but...

He clamped his mouth shut, letting the liquid continue to spatter against his closed mouth, filling his nostrils and running over his face and down his throat. He heard Maul's chuckle near his head and felt the rough, moist rasp of a tongue along his cheek and up around the shell of his ear. He felt fingers then, along his side, walking along his ribs to his chest to pluck at the wire imbedded just at the fleshy part of his pectoral.

The water had stopped falling and he hazarded a shallow breath only to find his nostrils pinched shut until he was forced to open his mouth.

Even knowing what would happen could not prevent it. What little breath he could take was halted, replaced by that same moist, sour tongue, plunged past his parted lips. Biting produced only a wash of blood down his throat, choking him and Maul laughed and pulled away, unangered by the wounds inflicted.

Maul plucked at the filament anchored to Obi-Wan's left thigh next, sending a wash of sharply pointed pain along his leg, followed by another in his hip before the hand moved along the inside of his thigh, almost soothingly like, the touch of a lover.

It could be... the thought slipped past him and he snatched it back. Never to be...

Never?

He was pinned and trapped, desperately shielding his thoughts, trying to force his body to twist so the pain would begin again.

Never to feel...? so seductive and gentle that voice, almost like Qui--

"This...?" Maul's voice was close again, soft and persuasive, heightened by his Master's presence. The wires thrummed and sang to him but not with pain this time.

Except the pain that was wrenched from the deepest shelter of his heart as his thoughts and his body both betrayed him.

Sensation rippled though muscles that could not move, setting nerves aflame, causing his body to tremble and forcing lungs that could not gain enough air to gasp but gain no reward.

Never spoken, never shared...what your Master did not know.... in his thoughts and around them, circling like beasts surrounding prey, coiling his fear and his needs and desire into one tight knot in the pit of his stomach. And would you now, young Obi-Wan, given the chance, would you now speak of this to your Master? Offer him...this...would you desire this to be him?

He choked a protest as his body was filled, his senses invaded and he could smell the herb-scent that clung to Qui-Gon's hair, the hands that had touched him in instruction now touching him for different lessons, but it wasn't Qui-Gon, it was...

And if it were him...if he could be brought back to you, alive and whole?

...he's dead...I felt him die...in my arms...

So you know his touch... and it was there on his skin, on his face, along his belly, rippling fire and longing, pressing against his thighs, deep within him, the taste in his throat of honey and bile......to have him....again, here...you need but reach out for it and I will guide you....

He was lost, losing, unable to distinguish thought from touch, pain from pleasure. The grief that had sheltered him, buffered him, was replaced by longing, by a loss so deep he could not help but fall into it, reach for it.

Reach for him, young Obi-Wan. For one so strong in the Force as he cannot be lost to you forever. You need only to be guided...to be shown where...to ask...

There was no armor nor anchor strong enough any longer. They would not let him die and if this was madness....Yes...

Nonononononono!

There was no denying his Master' voice or the touch of his presence, or the laughter that echoed behind and through him. Qui-Gon...and he could see and feel...and he was broken.

Betrayal pierced him far more sharply than the impalement that ripped through his body with lust and hunger and triumph and the same laughter that he had been hearing for weeks.

For his master was there, alive and witness to both Obi-Wan's betrayal and his own.

The darkness cracked and splintered, the fire consumed and Obi-Wan shattered like dropped ice on steel.

You need not fear the darkness any longer, young Obi-Wan. It is in you.

The Gate opened and Qui-Gon stepped through, or dove through, pushed past and into. His protest was vocal and mental, his despair at his padawan's choice real -- and his intent unwavering.

Poised, a raptor diving for prey and save for that one life-shattering regret, he did not swerve from his path.

He had wound his web tightly, reaching silently and stealthily for the tendrils of Force that even in this dark prison danced like dust motes through his consciousness. He had no doubt his cry echoed along those invisible currents, followed closely by his padwan's wail of betrayal.

My betrayal... because it could be nothing less than that to let his student think him dead and lost to him when he was not. Better to have died in truth than lived such a lie.

But he could give no moment to his own grief, only push forward and through and take this single opportunity...this risk. I will give you death, my student...if nothing else.

The path to the Sith Lord was open, the river flowing both ways; he had broken the student but left the dam unguarded for the Master to slip through.

He had the fleeting impression of other Jedi Masters reacting to such a maelstrom in the Force. Not for his padawan but for the Dark Lord, exposed to all, no longer hidden by shadows and deceits. It made no difference that he was not here, on this ship, in this space. He had reached far to work his plan and the tether was stretched tight; any tighter and it would snap.

Qui-Gon reached, felt the veins in his face pop and split under the strain of holding that door open, to reveal, to expose...to unmask.

Palpatine...

And the door snapped shut, severing the ties, abandoning his own Apprentice, but it was known. He was known.

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon could do no more to alert his colleagues. The traitor, the puppet master, was revealed.

Maul's panic was like rain after a drought and the force of Qui-Gon's own rage enough to nearly call the dark to himself as well, but not quite...there and there and...there...

Chains fell, clattering on steel decking and the bolts of the door, shrieking their protest, withdrew. The path was fully open to his padawan, but Maul was closer...and closing.

I defeated you once, old man...

Not alone...child. And not this time...

He could feel his saber, called to it, but it would take time and Obi-Wan was not far. The grief that had so shielded him was now like a beacon. This corridor and that, mapping them, single-minded in his purpose.

That door there...

I will kill him...

And lose what your master fought so hard to gain? He will be displeased. There was weakness in him now, physically, but that was not where his true strength lay.

The bolts snapped and whined and screamed, soon washed out by the sound of his padawan's screams.

"We've been here before..." Qui-Gon said calmly, meeting the yellowed eyes, blackened lips. Red and black tattoos covered the well-muscled body, obscuring race and features under the visage meant to embody the Darker Embrace of the Force.

Stilling the dancing wires took no more than a thought, if that, and Obi-Wan whimpered.

Be still, padawan. I am here. You are not forsaken. You shall not be lost.

His saber sang to him, the high pitched laugher of an excited child, even as Maul dove and rolled, his own lightsaber extending in a doubled lance of reddish power.

"My Master has him and no longer needs you to break his vows. Your apprentice has asked and been received," Maul said, approaching, smiling, his earlier panic gone.

"He was betrayed," Qui-Gon said and soothed his padawan's grief yet again. "And your master will be too occupied guarding his gates to take advantage of what he stole."

There and there...Maul approaching and Qui-Gon countered. Now...now...

Red arced and Qui-Gon rolled and leapt, hand out to catch the laughter of his sword and change its singing to pure light, crystal green and illuminating. He did not counter the Sith but severed the ties of his padawan, hearing the body fall, taking the shock of impact within himself and only then countering the Sith.

Driving, dancing, using saber and Force, gathering those motes to him once more and casting them forward, out of the chamber and into the corridor...remapping those paths and junctures. He had gotten no better since their last encounter and Maul had gotten no worse.

There...

A counter, and parry and a thrust, not at Maul but through the seal, and extended outward where the hull was weakest, to force decompression...a vacuum opened like a monster's maw and Maul screamed defiance of the trick as the section seals slammed down to protect the ship.

Not until it was completely closed was the sound of Maul's rage silenced. Qui-Gon leaned on the door, gasping, and sent his saber into silence once more. He took only that moment to breathe, to gather what strength he had left to push himself off the door and head back.

Obi-Wan was still but breathing, dozens of tiny slices in his skin from the wires that lanced his skin, snapping back to whip at him like living things when they were cut. Streaks of blood that echoed the tattoos on his tormentor's body painted the pale skin. The room stank of blood and fear and sweat and tears and other acrid scents.

You are too thin, my padawan, Qui-Gon thought as he gently lifted the emaciated body. His own senses were pinging from fatigue but he remained steady, wrapping his tattered brown robe around his student carefully, trying not to pull the wires free yet -- not until he had better control of himself.

Master... "Mas...ter...?"

"I have you, Obi-Wan. You are not lost. Rest."

There was no strength in the battered body to resist the persuasion.

Another cell but empty and clean, the doors jammed open. They were in the aft section of the transport which meant Maul and the crew still had control, could still guide their destination, but Qui-Gon had control of the life systems and the drives. Stalemate.

He had no doubt that Maul would try to cut through the cells on either side of the central corridor but it would take time. A few hours at least. He was there still. Qui-Gon could feel him, feel his rage.

As easily as he could feel his padawan's despair.

The door, it seemed, had not yet closed all the way.

The cells immediately to either side of the hull breech had to be opened to the vacuum as well, to slow the approach of their captor. It took time but Obi-Wan was not likely to die yet and his Master swore he would not let his Apprentice be taken again.

It was slow, deadly work and the alarms nearly deafened him, but it was done. If they cut through now they would tear the ship apart and while Maul may want Qui-Gon dead, the Jedi sincerely doubted he was willing to sacrifice himself.

Yet.

Supplies were scarce but he found what he needed, water and the gruel rations kept for prisoners. It took nearly as long to free Obi-Wan from the wires as it had to pierce the outer hull, but the slim body was free of them, Obi-Wan bathed and wrapped in his Master's robes and then a blanket.

Only then, with his padawan's fair head resting on his thigh and his senses keyed to any threat from beyond the cell or any distress from his student, did Qui-Gon rest, sending his thoughts once more along the paths and currents of the Force.

We live...but we are not free...

There was no answer forthcoming.

He expected pain and woke only to aching soreness and fatigue. He expected the face of his tormentor, the whispering voice in his mind, and found only the steady pulse of his Master's heart.

You are neither dreaming, nor mad, padawan...

Gentle as a breeze with no persuasion.

"Mas...ter?" Master? A cup was held to his lips, his head supported, the liquid offered only as quickly as he could manage.

"I am here, Obi-Wan. You are safe. For now," Qui-Gon's voice was calming, soft, even a touch of pride laced with a tremor of concern. "Do not move too quickly. You are hurt. Rest."

"You are...were dead..." Was that plaintive, weak voice really his own?

The sigh washed over him like a blessing, the hand that stroked his head, a benediction. "Forgive me, my padawan. I was...a fool."

"Master?" A fool and...he had...

Pain lanced through him hotter and sharper than Maul's tortures. What had he done? He had taken what was offered...given himself to the Dark...

Strong arms uncurled his body and pulled him tightly against a warm chest, cradled like a child. "You are not lost, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said fiercely, in his ear, in his mind. You were betrayed, twice over, padawan. What was stolen can be reclaimed. "You must heal first and we must find a way to escape this prison."

He could believe his Master but what had been offered, had been delivered. The red heat of shame washed over him, with the feel of his Master's hands on his skin, the moist, warm wash of his breath on his neck, the feel of another inside him, soiling him, his body, his soul...

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's voice was sharp, the piercing blue eyes boring into his, holding his gaze like a snake and a frightened bird, mesmerized, hypnotized.

"Am I the predator, then, my padawan?" Qui-Gon's voice was gentler; regret tinged with understanding.

"N...no, master." But he could not look away.

Qui-Gon adjusted his grip, his embrace supporting Obi-Wan against him with one arm and the other coming to pull the blankets more securely around his chilled skin. The stern mouth softened as he smoothed the blankets and pulled the blood stained braid from where it curled against Obi-Wan's throat. "I could not...let you know before that moment. I could not reach you, but I knew, and know. And understand now what I did not before. No grief so strong can exist without and equal amount of love to have anchored it. I may be older but not always wise, my padawan."

He could bear that gaze no longer. "I am sorry, Master."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, and he recognized that patient tone. "Do not let us both be fools."

His chin was lifted and the startled protest silenced by the press of warm, moist lips upon his own. Despair gave way to wonder, pain to disbelief, and doubt to one pure moment of bliss.

But only for a moment.

"I bargained with--"

"You did. But you have lost nothing that cannot be reclaimed, Obi-Wan," the resonant voice dropped to a murmur. "It was not Palpatine that brought me back to you...your own grief betrayed you, but he returned to you nothing that was lost. I was not his to bestow, to restore."

His Master seemed so sure. "I said 'yes,'" he whispered.

Once more the broad hand swept over his hair, along his cheek. "I know," Qui-Gon said softly then pulled him back into his embrace. "And we will overcome even that, in time." When we are free of this place. Rest, padawan.

The compulsion was there and he had no strength to resist.

He rested but did not sleep, aware Qui-Gon held him still, warmed him with his own body, gave him water when he was thirsty, but there were needs that had to be met even after so much deprivation. He was embarrassed again when his limbs would not support him, his body devastatingly weak. Qui-Gon made no comment only supported him then helped him get as comfortable as he could and pressed a cup of gruel on him. His master left him briefly when he was sure Obi-Wan would not drop the cup, and sought out the plain gray tunics and trousers prisoners were issued then found a fresher.

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze when his Master stripped as well so he could support his apprentice. His Master's hands were strong and sure, gentle and soothing, their touch cleansing him of as much as the fine misted spray cleansers. Cleaner and dressed, Obi-Wan almost felt he could sleep, save that darkness danced at the edges of his awareness.

"I will not let it take you, padawan," Qui-Gon murmured in his ear and settled him once more down to rest. Trust me, Obi-Wan.

"I do, master." With his life, with his safety...with his future.

With his love? He fell asleep without knowing the answer.

He could not surrender to his body's exhaustion yet but as much as his padawan needed sleep, Qui-Gon needed to rest, to gather what strength he could, to find a way to free them from this prison before they reached landfall.

But there was little within these walls to draw from. The Force thrived where there was life and the theorists would say the Force inhabited all planes of existence, even in the steel of ships and vacuum of space. And so it did, but it required strength and focus to harvest and one was failing and the other hard to maintain.

Even for a Jedi Master, he thought idly, peering down when Obi-Wan stirred against his lap. A light touch revealed no nightmares, only vague discomfort in the folded limbs. His padawan needed more than the thin rations, more than rest. What strength Qui-Gon could spare had been given, to mend what was broken, to seal what still bled.

In his padawan's body.

That Obi-Wan had not succumbed to madness was a blessing, for under such strain, Qui-Gon was not sure he would have fared so well. But there was damage there as well, hidden now under exhaustion and pain and confusion. It would all clear and when it did the rest would come: the grief again, and anger, doubts.

For now, though, his student slept, trusting as the child he would never be again.

And I thought you regarded me only as a competent master, Obi-Wan, he thought with some amusement, tinged with a wonder of his own. He was not sure why the depth of his student's feeling surprised him so, but it did. And touched him, moved him. Deepened his regret further for his betrayal, but on reflection he would have chosen no differently, for without his grief, Obi-Wan might not have lasted as long as he had.

The regret would have to be part of him, part of them, always, now. But he could soften it, ease it, if his padawan would allow.

If they ever got off this Force-forsaken box.

Once more Obi-Wan stirred as if sensing his master's frustration and Qui-Gon stroked his hair again, soothing, easing his consciousness carefully into that of his padawan. Not alone and much loved.

His charge once more quiet, he sent his consciousness elsewhere, separating threads of Force to find ones that he could draw close and felt a shudder through the metal hull.

Then again.

A touch brought Obi-Wan awake. "We are being fired upon," he murmured, rising as his padawan struggled to sit up. Who would fire upon a prison ship? There would be no weapons, no course of defense.

Distasteful as he found it, he reached for the one presence that would be strong enough to tell him why and who.

We die together after all, Jedi. Maul felt almost calm, almost rational, and was.

Poor planning to leave yourself no escape, Darth.

Poorer planning to let yourself be taken, Jedi. There was the anger and Qui-Gon quelled his satisfaction. He caught the hint of power and focus and intellect that had led the Sith Lord to take on this creature as his apprentice.

The ship shuddered again and Qui-Gon reached out to steady his padawan. That blast had been closer.

They are targeting the drives, Jedi. The rough chuckle was obvious and malicious. Your traps have weakened us.

In the center of the ship, the hulls already breached. It would not take much to shred the ship, to crack her open like and over-ripe jalla melon.

Have you access to the hyper-drive still?

There was a hesitancy, a shrewd suspicion. The ship will break apart

And the hulls will seal. If you are clever, if you target well...where she is weakest, she will break. A chance only.

You cannot maneuver.

And you will have no power to return to us, but enough in your impulse and attitude thrusters to make planet fall. Qui-Gon returned.

Your half will become a coffin.

It already is, he returned calmly. Better that than the prison, the fate you have for us.

Nothing was returned for long moments but Qui-Gon could feel the hum and whine of the engines change. My Master was right to respect you, Jedi.

It was all the warning Qui-Gon had.

"Master, the drives..." Obi-Wan murmured, close to his ear, closer than Qui-Gon had been aware Obi-Wan had crept.

"I know, Obi-Wan." So easy, then, to slip his arms around his padawan, to hold him as the ship leapt into hyper-space, the hull screaming under the strain.

She could not hold and did not. The steel gave way along those breaches, decompression doors slamming down and then the sickening lurch and drop as the ship fell out of hyper-space at the same speed.

What eddies of the force Qui-Gon could command he did, wrapping them around himself and his padawan to keep them from being spattered against the hull like insects. Even so he heard himself cry out and his padwan scream into the folds of his tunic, clutching at him. Darkness enfolded them both, then silence for long moments before emergency lights came on and the strident but distant beep and shriek of alarms. The gravity adjusters cut out and Qui-Gon reached for a handhold, one arm still around Obi-Wan, what was left of his sash used to anchor them. The pains in his leg and back weres dismissed for the moment, his grip on his apprentice tightening when the tightly clenched hands went lax.

As long as the seals held they would have air. As long as the cisterns had not been breached, they would have water, and light for as long as the emergency systems still worked.

But it was, as Maul had so aptly pointed out, nothing more than a floating coffin. That presence was out of his reach without more strength to find it and he had none left. Obi-Wan was alive but unconscious, nothing more than shock and more bruises added to his existing injuries. In the wash of red and orange light he shredded his cloak and bound his padawan to him so the youth would not drift away into the darkness, wrapped his arms around the still living, warm body and slept.

The shrieking in his ears was not the screams of the injured or dying but it made him cringe anyway, burrowing back into the warmth and security of a familiar scent and warmth. Silk brushed his cheek and he reached for it, twining it around his finger, the odd light painting the silver to gold and copper.

The arms lightly clasped around him were familiar too, but it was not strength that held him in the embrace of his Master, but fingers anchored beneath the strip of cloth binding them together.

They were floating. His master's face was calm, lax, breathing shallowly, his hair left to float about his head as if it had a life of its own. Master Qui-Gon?

The response was there but deep and before his master could fully come to awareness, Obi-Wan calmed him. I am not in distress...rest.

So like the technique Qui-Gon had used on him and just as necessary. His Master was hurt, exhausted.

The desire was to simply burrow back into the warmth, to let go again.

They would die here and having barely survived his master's death once, Obi-Wan had no desire to do it again.

He hurt less, with no gravity to pull at his limbs, to place added tensions on bones weakened by strain and hunger. He was far more clear headed than he would have liked.

I betrayed.... His vows, his teachings, his master, the Jedi...all he held dear.

His master's reassurance came to him as if spoken.

For now he would believe that, had to believe that.

It took concentration to free himself of the cocoon of safety his Master had fashioned without sending them both spiraling into the walls but he managed, panting with effort as he clung to the handhold his master had used to tether them.

Hesitantly he reached out, felt the break in the leg below the knee. Light glistened across a fine filament and he reached, swallowing as he recognized one of the wires that had been so recently part of his torture. But the wires were strong, flexible... With the care of one gathering chaff from a field he caught them, braided them. He set the leg carefully and felt Qui-Gon stir under his touch and awaken.

"Again," his master murmured, indicating he should straighten the break once more. "There..." a sigh, his master's face lost in shadows as Obi-Wan used his braided splints and the strip of cloth. A hand came out and he took it, Qui-Gon keeping him from floating away.

"We are in the back half of the ship...I do not know where. Adrift. We have air and water enough for...several days at least." Qui-Gon told him, calmly, the details communicated as dryly as any mission or task or instruction.

"The alarms..."

"To silence them would be a blessing to us both, padawan," Qui-Gon said and they drifted slightly so Obi-Wan could see the smile on his master's face. He did not see nor anticipate the hand that came to rest on his cheek, to stroke along his throat. "We will go together," Qui-Gon said and then reached to release the tether of cloth without releasing his grip on Obi-Wan's hand.

In a breathless moment, Obi-Wan thought his master did not mean together only to silence the alarms.

His master would not let him rush, moving them slowly through the shadowed corridors to silence the alarms, his saber used as precisely as a scalpel. And when they were all cut, the silence was a blessing...and complete, save for the soft sounds of their own breathing and the distant hum from the emergency lights.

There was a touch on his face again. "Your saber may be here still, Obi-Wan," came the gentle suggestion.

He sought and found but his control was shaky, tainted...his saber did not recognize him.

You are as you were, padawan, gentle but firm and he tried again, closing his eyes and steadying himself against his Master's arm. You have but opened the door, Obi-Wan. Not stepped through. Not yet. And we will close that door again.

"If we live that long." It came out more bitterly than he intended, harsher. To hide it, he opened his hand and felt, rather than saw, his fingers close around the hilt of his saber. He tucked it into the makeshift belt at his waist.

Qui-Gon pressed forward, to the far aft of the ship, to where the drives were, quiet now and cold. The cold would be the worst and it would come soon.

"What do you seek, Master?"

"A maintenance pod," Qui-Gon said, testing the doors to the engines, long fingers spidered out along the doors, eyes narrowed in concentration.

An E-M, used for repairs to the hull...self contained with life support but low power and magnetic grapples. It was not meant for travel in space but it was space-worthy, if they could find one intact.

His own senses still felt muddy and the surge of adrenaline he had found upon waking was fading, leaving him tired and weak. But this...his master sought to make sure the chamber beyond was secure.

He pressed his own cheek to the cold steel, his awareness slipping through and into, around...breathed and found air. Listened and heard...

Sound required atmosphere...and there was sound beyond.

Well, done, Obi-Wan, his master smiled at him and set his own saber to the lock.

The air was warmer here, with nothing to circulate the heat from the downed engine mass. But the panels were dark save for warning lights and those would fade in time. Long after he and his master were dead.

"I do not intend us to die, padawan," Qui-Gon said, following his thoughts as easily as ever. That had not changed, then.

Nothing has changed, Obi-Wan. You are still my student and I am still...yours.

That warmed him more than the air, the flush in his cheeks adding to his body heat.

"Best to conserve, padawan," Qui-Gon murmured but there was amusement there and approval.

"Yes, Master."

There were four pods, intact and two more with broken casings. Their communications consoles were intact but they were short range, meant only to communicate with each other and the ship -- a ship which could no longer answer. But others could if they could but get close enough.

"Maul would have brought us as close to a planetary mass as he could manage," Qui-Gon mused and laid an hand on his apprentice's shoulder when Obi-Wan flinched. "Names have no power, padawan."

He could only nod and continue to work the clamps free carefully, but his hands cramped and his body was aching again. Larger hands covered his. "Rest now."

"We have no time--" Again it was sharper, harsher than he meant for it to be.

"We have no time for careless mistakes, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chided gently, as if he would break.

He might.

Together, as sworn, they sought water, and the rations that could be coaxed from silent dispensers. Bitter and thin but nutrient rich. A corner of the engine room that was warm still and once more Qui-Gon anchored them with cloth tethers and folded his arms around his apprentice.

They rested and returned to their tasks, rested again and ate. It was getting colder, but they were on the last pod.

Obi-Wan had not asked nor wanted to, how they would open the docking doors to release the E-M's if that was the plan. And if they managed that, then what? He should be able to see his Master's plan but he could not, his mind chasing down too many blind pathways. Would they trade a larger coffin for smaller ones?

They rested again but Obi-Wan became aware that his master was not truly resting, but seeking...beyond the ship, past the void of space. He followed and found welcome, adding his slight strength to his Master's on the quest for....what?

Not so slight, padawan. And what we seek is...this...

Like air currents in a closed chamber, feathery tendrils of Force rippled outward and Qui-Gon sought their source, distant, impossibly far.

Not impossibly. Enough to make minor alterations in the path of their drifting prison. A gravity well, planetfall....it was far but if they could hold out until it was closer. And the ship was not really drifting but moving at the same velocity it had exited hyper space. It would...crash to the planet's surface, dragged in by its own speed and the gravity that even now pulled at it, or burn up in the atmosphere if there was one. This ship was never meant for planetfall.

Reach further... The voice of a lesson to be learned and Obi-Wan reached, felt the change in the Force, the subtle pulse, the song that spoke of life and living things.

Enough. But remember that song, that path, padawan. We will have need of it.

The arms closed around him again, the presence of his master urging him to sleep, to rest and he did try, burying his face in the warmth of his Master's chest and tried to ignore the other song that tugged at him, a minor key but strong, so strong...easier to reach, easier to follow.

He had but to step through the door and leave his Master behind.

It was the falling temperature that roused Qui-Gon, rather than distress from Obi-Wan. The falling temperature and the rising ache in his leg.

"Obi-Wan," he spoke gently but urgently and felt his padawan stir, fighting through exhaustion and chill.

And so carefully shielded from him.

It disturbed him but they had no time. "We are approaching planetfall," he said, watching his student. "We need to position the E-M's."

Obi-Wan became more alert, casting off fatigue and cold slowly but he managed it. "We should prepare the suits, Master."

He meant the atmospheric suits meant to be worn within the E-M's. Qui-Gon shook his head. "No, padawan. If we use the suits, we cannot both fit into a single pod."

"A single--" the blue-grey eyes went wider. "Master, what are we doing?" Obi-Wan asked him calmly.

"Something rather foolish I am afraid," Qui-Gon said with a faint smile, reaching to touch his padawan's face lightly. "Those paths we sought...The pods will not sustain us long in space, they have not enough power but, if we are close enough, we may be able to guide one to the surface as this ship hits the atmosphere." It was a desperate plan, one that would be foolish even if both of them were at their full strength. But there was slim chance that it might work. If the velocity did not tear the small craft to pieces or the angle of exit slam them against the hull.

He waited, able to see Obi-Wan weighing the odds, their chances, even if he were not privy to his thoughts. His padawan licked lips dried out from the cold. "And the other three pods?"

"To be tied together through the slave controls ...to give us more power," Obi-Wan said.

"Then we had best get started, master."

"I am open to suggestion, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, meaning it.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I have nothing to...offer...no other ideas, Master Qui-Gon." He pulled away suddenly as if just then realizing that he was still cradled in his master's embrace.

You are so wrong, my padawan, Qui-Gon sent after him but Obi-Wan gave no indication that he had received the reassurance, only made his cautious way to the E-M's to begin modifying the slave controls.

They took fewer breaks but Qui-Gon made sure they both ate and drank. When the ship began to shudder, he began breaking out the additional oxygen canisters and stowing them in the pod they had designated as the pilot.

He heard the clatter of metal to the decking and turned to see Obi-Wan picking up the small spanner he was using, hands shaking. Indeed, his padawan was shaking all over. The chamber was cold, near the freezing temperature of water but Qui-Gon had needed to manipulate the Force but a little to contain the warmth his body produced. He reached for Obi-Wan and found his skin cold, barely maintaining his body heat.

"This will never do, Obi-Wan," he said, stilling the shaking hands, surprised when his padawan resisted, pulling away from him.

There was confusion still in the pale eyes but anger as well, rising with his frustration, with the urgent need to hurry. Qui-Gon did not dismiss any of it but he did not give up his pursuit of the cold hands either, pushing lightly, coaxing heat and warmth back into chilled flesh. "This you can do," he said, eyes locking with his padawan's, a basic teaching to conserve heat and energy, air.

The anger faded to shame which was no better for his student's confused state of mind but it was motivation enough for Obi-Wan to concentrate, to bring those lessons to bear once more. The shaking lessened, then stopped, healthier color tingeing the blue lips again.

"I am nearly done, master," he said quietly, not looking at his Master.

"Very good, padawan," Qui-Gon said and stopped him again when he would have turned away. "We will find an answer, Obi-Wan, but we must both live through this before that can happen. I cannot do this alone."

"You could," Obi-Wan hissed, the anger flaring again.

He did not argue. "Then, I tell you, I would rather not," he said, pushing the truth of that statement between them for Obi-Wan to pick up or ignore as he would.

The anger faded again. "I'm sorry, master."

So much hurt, and confusion, grief still. Obi-Wan had left himself that much unguarded, confusion making him careless. Without thinking of need or rightness, Qui-Gon stroked his face, gaze lingering on the familiar features. Around them the ship shuddered and heaved.

There was no more time for comfort. The outer edges of the atmosphere were tugging at their coffin and soon it would begin tumbling.

Obi-Wan had said he was nearly done and he had not been mistaken. The bay doors would not open with no power to feed their mechanisms but Qui-Gon had seen that barrier. Beside the drives, the hull would be strong but thinner.

It took almost more concentration than Qui-Gon could muster, too many distractions, his padawan's pain, the chilled air, his own pain, the ship shuddering and heaving. There was more weight to them though they still floated freely. His saber was not meant for this kind of work as he cut shallowly into the hull. But it would have to do -- the laser's on the E-M's and the vacuum beyond would complete the job once they were inside.

And that was the most dangerous part for the forced decompression could tear them to pieces as easily as the atmosphere could. He could only hope that the pods surrounding them would buffer the damage.

There were as ready as they could be and past time to leave. Urgency tinted his tones, his commands no longer comforting. "Now, padawan. It is time to go," he said and climbed into the pod to sit, Obi-Wan's smaller frame would be forced to stand, tucked against him tightly. The area was small. Pressed between his legs, his padawan would have the forward controls, Qui-Gon the lasers and grapples. The ship bucked again, rocking them in their small craft.

But it worked, the E-M powering up as it was supposed to and its own environmentals adding warmth to the space. Possibly too much given as closely as the were required to stand.

Brace yourself, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon warned as their unwieldy craft moved forward, crab-like, to face the partially cut wall. The scream of metal could be heard and Qui-Gon brought the controls on-line, needing to release all of the area at once. If it came off in pieces they would be slammed into the hull. The grapples held them steady as the lasers targeted and danced, cutting through the last sections of hull.

It felt like the ship exploded around them and perhaps it had. Metal shrieked as the grapples were ripped free and then there was no sound save his padawan's labored breathing and his own.

The shock of it nearly sent Qui-Gon into unconsciousness, Obi-Wan slammed back against him with enough force to knock the breath from him.

Master, the jets... his padawan's presence was strained, hurt again, fighting for his own consciousness, battling his own fear.

A Jedi should not fear death, it calmed Qui-Gon but Obi-Wan had the opposite reaction.

Then why did you resist yours?

Like a knife cut through the heart and soul of him. And he understood it, Obi-Wan needed to have this much resolved between them before meeting his own death.

Which might come sooner than either of them liked if Qui-Gon did not get the attitude jets on-line.

He did so, ignoring the sharp edge of anger and betrayal between them. The E-M was not meant for this, it was meant to skim the surface of its host ship, using gravity and magnetics to stabilize it. As it was, they were following the ship down, Obi-Wan trying to avoid the debris spewed from the hole they had made. One of the attached pods was damaged and unresponsive. Hand controls on the attitude jets allowed Qui-Gon to correct a little.

Alarms sounded and warning lights as one of the pods broke free, tumbling beside them. The lurch of the craft sent his apprentice hard against him, Obi-Wan trying to brace himself and, with as little room as they had, it seemed impossible they could be tossed about so much.

In the wake of the ship, padawan, Qui-Gon urged but Obi-Wan had already seen the path to take, maneuvering behind it, caught in the break the larger ship made as it skimmed through the upper layers of the atmosphere. Gold and green and red spun beneath them, unknowing and uncaring of the meteors hurtling toward it.

But they would need more than the slipstream of the ship's carcass or the weak maneuvering thrusters of the pod. Qui-Gon was aware of his padawan's exhaustion and his own, adrenaline could only provide so much and the rest was...

With me, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon urged silently, releasing one of the levers to slip his arm around the too thin waist as much for contact as to keep his apprentice from being tossed into him again. They were tumbling now, behind the ship, the thrusters unable to compensate for such vast velocity and the density of the atmosphere.

For one long moment Obi-Wan resisted, mental shield tightly closed around himself, allowing only the most surface communication to occur.

He had no time to wait for this but wait he did, letting his padawan come to him as Qui-Gon had failed to come to Obi-Wan when he was most needed. Unfair, but true nonetheless.

They had trust yet to build, confidence to rebuild, damage yet to be undone, but Obi-Wan moved with him, seeking the paths they had sought before, recognizing them by memory and feel. Fractionally, his apprentice relaxed against him.

This was not so much lifting as cushioning, as one might cushion a jar tossed high in the air from smashing onto the ground below. A cocoon to cushion their craft, not to stop it tumbling but to keep it from being split open or tearing itself apart.

As Qui-Gon had wrapped his padawan in cloak and blanket to cushion his damaged body.

The trick was, however, to make sure the cushion remained when the hands that placed it were no longer capable of adjusting its folds.

They hit the inner-shell of the atmosphere and bounced, tumbled and fell. All of Qui-Gon's attention was focused on keeping them in one piece, dragging on his apprentice's strength and will into his own as they had done a thousand times.

If I die here I will have failed... It escaped his padawan as another pod tore free.

When the path is unsure, better to wait, Qui-Gon sent with reassurance.

To die? There was no fear in his voice, only resignation and a weariness that reminded Qui-Gon too sharply of his own.

To know, Obi-Wan. You have not failed... He believed that with all he was. Tempted his padawan had been...was...but not fallen, not yet. Give yourself time to see that... He needed his padawan to fight, to use his skills and courage...to find them from where they had been ripped from him and cast aside.

He felt Obi-Wan's hand cover his where his own rested on his companion's stomach. Forgive... He did not know if Obi-Wan were asking for forgiveness or bestowing it. Their craft lurched and shrieked and Qui-Gon gathered what paths of Force around them he could find and...pulled...feeling the strain of it as a physical thing, to take so much into himself, through himself...

It was too much. He was not up to the task. He thought his arm clutched his padawan more tightly to him but he could not be sure...Forgive me, most loved,

The jar tumbled, the blankets slipped away, and they fell.

His Master's presence slipped away from him, Obi-Wan not realizing what a constant presence it had been since Qui-Gon had freed him.

It was so much like his previous loss he almost relinquished his own grip on consciousness, on hope...on life. To have Qui-Gon slip away from him...

Anger flared. To be betrayed, abandoned...again.

The pod tumbled and pressed him against his master's body, Qui-Gon making no effort to brace or steady him as he had before. But his body was...

Breathing still. He felt it against his cheek and pressed his hands to the sides of the small space. Not dead, then...not...

Master? He reached, opening himself up as he had not done before.

Not hurt. There was no injury. But his master had stretched himself thin, casting all his not inconsiderable skill and strength outward to gather the tendrils of Force around them to bring them safely down.

It was foolish to think he could do this alone. Foolish and dangerous and desperate.

But then he had meant to depend on his padawan's help had he not?

Qui-Gon had not laid this upon him. They could have gone easily into death, beyond doubt or fear or hope. Beyond betrayal, and somehow, Obi-Wan knew, Qui-Gon would have taken his padawan with him. All things could be reclaimed. Even the path of light.

This is three times I have failed you, Master. Let it be the last...

Long years of practice allowed him to follow the path his Master had taken. Even hesitant and unsure, his confidence shaken, as if the Dark would somehow reach out to drag him from his Master's side..

But neither Light nor Dark worked that way. Both were choices. Some harder to make than others.

He was not as adept as his Master but Qui-Gon had laid a trail for him to follow, a path to guide him. Not for his ability to manipulate the Force as his Master did but for his strength, his determination, his will. The same will that had sustained him for so many weeks as the prisoner of the Sith.

He was not sure it would be enough. The tumbling of the craft slipped away from his perception, the rapidly approaching planet disappeared from his conscious mind, the fear that they would burn on entry, all of it flowed away. The last conscious thought he had was of his body relaxing against that of his Master's, his arms encircling the slim, solid body, and his head laid against Qui-Gon's chest.

No voice spoke to him; Qui-Gon was far too lost to his efforts for that, but his Master's presence was all around him, spread thin, like the Force itself. Or not so thin, columns of energy rising, forming around them, guiding their path. Angling the entry so they would skim rather than drop and burn.

There was an exercise in the temple, where the apprentice was tasked with holding multiple items suspended by use of the force alone, including themselves. There was a special platform built for the test, items added until the apprentice faltered and then it was over...

Only to find one's master holding the items, the apprentice and the platform itself in mid air.

Mass means nothing. Weight means nothing. Speed....all of it is relative to how well the Force can be molded around things and link them together. Not quite like a marionette but the principal was the same. So while Qui-Gon guided their descent, perhaps he could find a way to slow it.

So much easier to propel or halt his own movements, in training, in combat, but to extend himself outward into their ship, to lose what little of himself he had left. To spin himself outward...across so much distance to where life pulsed below. It was a task for a master, for a Jedi, and he was neither.

The friction of the atmosphere would incinerate them. Even now he could feel the increased heat licking at his physical form, at that of his master. To stay here...perhaps he would not feel it when it came.

They would fall and anyone below would see only a shooting star across the heavens, short lived and brilliant.

Your life is more than that, padawan...you have barely begun to stretch your wings.

Wings were what they needed, could have configured with the pods had they more time, more tools.

Within yourself are all the tools your need... How often had he been told that, shown that...used that? But he had nothing here save the frail skin of their craft and the air around them, the Force...

He had been thinking in terms of brakes or in some way holding back their descent but what his Master had gathered around them was more like a slide, guiding them...

That gathering of Force was close and his to tap into. Qui-Gon had gathered much around them, pulling it to him but he could not gather it and shape it at the same time.

Shaping the Force around them was not so much different than molding clay, save there was so much more here and time and again the shapes he formed crumbled and fell away, torn apart by the same velocity he was trying to alter.

His body was feeling the strain on it, on the ship, the air hot and difficult to breathe, wrenching his concentration back, increasing his frustration as he tried again and again to shape the Force to his will.

And failing.

There was more...there beyond, hovering like a hungry predator, more than enough...to reach for it...

Not this way, padawan... there was sorrow and alarm...Qui-Gon pulling himself free of the deep trance he was in, back to where the air was too hot to breath, where his body's pain pulled at his attention as well.

Qui-Gon would fight him to keep him from reaching for what was so close, fight against that which could save them.

Save us from what? Do not take this path, Obi-Wan, not for me...

I don't have another answer... the despair rose up again.

You do. Simple is better, padawan...

Still teaching. As always, and morbid humor mixed with his frustration.

The calm his master always wore like a cloak enfolded him. When all else fails, be at peace.

There would be no chiding for his failures, no reprimand for not being able to think this through. He could not even be sure it was Qui-Gon who so enfolded him, save he was sure. Wrapped in that calm as if in his master's cloak, letting it flow over him shutting out the fear of their situation, of his own failures...

He let himself sink into it, surrendered to it, grateful for the surcease of fear and frustration. Letting it flow around him.

Not wedges of Force to slow them....The feeling that so comforted him could be extended, allowing the air friction to flow past them, around them, to lessen the resistance instead of increasing it...

The paths that Qui-Gon had so careful constructed fell into place around them, guiding them, allowing their descent to be controlled, arcing along the planet's surface.

Obi-Wan lost himself in the shifting currents of Force. Lost sense of time, of even his master's presence, felt only the patterns of Force around him, through him...until he was no longer guiding it but it, him.

So lost was he in that buffering cloak of peace, he did not even notice when the ground rushed up to meet them.

Remain here forever, would you?

I take it that is not a choice?

A choice it is. Is it your choice?

Qui-Gon considered it carefully. Peripherally, he knew there was much wrong beyond this state. Within himself, his padawan. Their situation. I am very weary.

Will fatigue be your Master then?

No, Master. But neither is it my ally.

Allies you have. Time you do not have.

Qui-Gon heaved himself back to consciousness with gritted teeth and a full acknowledgment that unless there was a spaceport close by, they might very well have more time than they wanted. Here. In this...place.

Accept the pain. Respect it. Do not fight it. So he had been taught but there were times when theory and practice were difficult to reconcile. Now was one of those times.

The cataloguing of his own injuries was brief but thorough. Nothing life-threatening at the moment but without medical supplies, without a healer, what was a painful inconvenience could rapidly turn deadly.

His padawan was little better off.

As for their cobbled together life-raft, he doubted seriously that resurrection were even a vague possibility. Fragments of it were strewn over several hundred meters; mostly from the ancillary pods. Their pod had been delivered to the ground more or less in tact. His padawan had done very well.

Life first, then, and he rested his hand on the back of Obi-Wan's neck where the youth lay sprawled across his lap. Obi-Wan rested at an awkward angle, painful to look at. Qui-Gon checked, hands ghosting over as much of his padawan's body as he could reach without moving him. At any other time he would be able to do this with his mind alone but the pain in his skull, while he had pushed it to the side of his consciousness, blurred his vision and made focus more difficult than usual. The younger man's body was intact, weaker bones having given way on impact but not immediately life-threatening for Obi-Wan either. Husbanding his strength and his focus, Qui-Gon sent a gentle probe to his padawan's mind, steeling himself for the worst. Severely taxed, his Obi-Wan had been.

His padawan's shields snapped up quickly enough to cause Qui-Gon to gasp in discomfort; Obi-Wan's thoughts skittering away like a frightened jowli kit. A fraction of a second behind that, Obi-Wan himself was pushing away, panting shallowly.

The distance he achieved was minimal given the confines of their craft but the panic was real, far out of proportion to their situation...but understandable.

Qui-Gon did not move, feeling a wedge of force poised, ready to strike with lethal intensity. A thought which disturbed him far more than it should have.

"Obi-Wan," he spoke calmly, not moving. "You are not a prisoner. You are safe." Safe was relative but reassurance was what his padawan needed.

The wedge dissipated a moment later leaving Obi-Wan trembling and clinging to the mangled controls. Pale eyes searched Qui-Gon's face as if afraid the older man would vanish.

"Since you are up," Qui-Gon said equally calmly. "See if we have power -- to test the atmosphere, if you would." A routine command, spoken without urgency. It made little difference if the atmosphere were breathable or not -- they would have no choice but to breathe it soon.

Something hard and remote slid across his apprentice's face but he set to the task. The E-M had sensors to detect escaping gas, to analyze it. Close enough to an environmental kit which they did not have.

There was enough power left in the cells to do that much, Obi-Wan reporting the readings back tonelessly. Satisfied, Qui-Gon reached above his head to release the hatch. A hiss of air escaped and then moist, humid air washed in, heavy and scent-laden, but breathable.

Qui-Gon was afraid his apprentice would further injure himself in his rush to escape the small pod.

It took him longer to exit, using the side of the craft to pull himself up and out. He hovered on the edge of the hatch, observing.

Obi-Wan knelt in the humus of the densely covered forest floor, breathing deeply, but not steadily. A glance showed Qui-Gon the angle of their descent -- they had sheared the tops off trees, leaving a wake of debris, some of which still gave off steamy trails from the friction. They had been exceedingly lucky their craft had not splintered into fragments entirely before hitting ground.

Or not. Luck was merely a representation of Force that appeared random.

Before he could finish his rather ungraceful slide off the hatch, his padawan was at his side, offering him support but once more Obi-Wan would not look at him nor allow any but the minimal contact between their minds.

"Are you badly hurt, Master?"

"Nothing that will not heal in time, padawan. My thanks," Qui-Gon murmured when his feet were set upon the solid, if spongy, ground. His hand came up automatically to wipe at a smear of blood on his apprentice's forehead. Proof that the inadvertent intersection of his padawan's face and the control arm of their craft had not been a fortuitous one.

Obi-Wan allowed the touch only briefly. "Water, shelter, food..." he murmured, reciting the survival code to himself and Qui-Gon let his hand fall away.

"We have some water in our supplies," Qui-Gon said, turning his attention to their landing spot. Humid, not quite a swamp, not quite a rain forest, deciduous trees and scrub brush rose in scattered patches, the ground alternating between upthrusts of bare rock and the spongy, debris-laden ground. They could use parts of the ship to construct a shelter and a new splint for his leg which, despite his attempts to convince it otherwise, remained stubbornly broken.

Their supplies were scant. Perhaps two rations apiece of water, a few of the solid nutrient cubes Qui-Gon had managed to coax from the prison ship, a few blankets, what was left of Qui-Gon's clothes, their light sabers. "An embarrassment of riches, Obi-Wan," he said, hoping to coax even a fleeting smile from his padawan.

He would not be rewarded so easily.

"Drink," Qui-Gon said, passing over a canister. Obediently, Obi-Wan did so, taking a cautious sip, then more as he realized how thirsty he was. But he took the water slowly. Qui-Gon drank his own, shutting off the power to the pod to conserve what energy was left in the cells. A few hours at best, enough, possibly, to make contact with someone if there was anyone close.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ventured.

"Yes, Master?"

Qui-Gon hesitated. They were alive, safe for the moment. "What can I do?" he asked finally, regarding his padawan with a mixture of sorrow and anxiety.

Obi-Wan seemed startled by his question. In shock, perhaps. So many close escapes in such a short amount of time.

"You did not expect me to fail...above. You expected me to find a way." His voice was quiet, his body tense.

"I never expect you to fail, Obi-Wan. I accept it when you do, but...you fail so infrequently," he hazarded a small smile.

Obi-Wan swayed toward him and stopped himself but Qui-Gon was not above reaching out, as uncharacteristic as it was for him. Back braced against their craft, he pulled slightly and found his arms full of a nearly limp padawan.

"I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan's voice was muffled against his shoulder.

"I am weary as well, padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly and hesitantly stroked the damp hair. Obi-Wan's que remained undone, the longer hair covering the back of his neck, sweat-damp and tangled. "We must do the minimum and then rest." He made no move to relenquish his support, or stop the comforting rub of his hand across Obi-Wan's shoulders. The decision came to Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon knew it would.

What they accomplished was minimal, a crude lean-to, blankets laid out over foliage, the latter carefully checked to make sure it was not noxious or an irritant to their skin. Supplies stored away from any creatures that might prowl the forest floor. Both of them were sweat drenched when done from fatigue and the humid air. Qui-Gon set a net of Force around them, not as wide as he would have liked but sufficient for now and Obi-Wan resplinted his leg.

Then Qui-Gon tore his robe into more strips to bind his padawan's ribs. Not broken but stressed. The reluctance with which his padawan removed his tunic bothered Qui-Gon further. Surely his padawan was not embarrassed or ashamed of the scars that now marked his body?

Obi-Wan said nothing but thank you once the strips of cloth were secured around his torso, easing his tunic top back on with incautious speed. They drank again and ate what rations they could stomach. Dusk was falling slowly across their haven, casting deeper shadows, the temperature dropping slightly, easing the density of the moisture laden air.

"A fire, Master?" Obi-Wan asked perhaps too diffidently, rising to gather wood.

"A small one, padawan," Qui-Gon agreed and watched, almost lurching to his feet as his padawan's lightsaber sprang to life, his intention to cut down a small tree obvious.

A moment later, Obi-Wan mastered the impulse, taking a breath. With a sound of disgust at himself he dropped the saber beside his master and moved carefully to gather limbs already broken.

The random taking of life, any life, even that of a tree, was a single step on a dark path.

But he did not, Qui-Gon reminded himself, schooling his features as Obi-Wan built a small pyramid of dead branches and dried leaves. A minor amount of concentration and the branches smoldered then ignited, casting the shadows back a small distance.

Obi -Wan returned to sit beside him, staring at the small flames. Before long his eyes closed though he did not move, even breathing indicating he had slipped into a meditative trance.

A brush across his padawan's mind was not rebuffed but it revealed little he could not tell by other means -- his padawan was disturbed, distressed, near exhaustion and desperately trying to keep his shields together.

Qui-Gon pondered for a moment then lay back on his side, the blankets cushioning his bruises adequately. In response to his padwan's closure, he opened himself, surface feelings and concerns easily read. He closed his eyes as well.

The smile that appeared when Obi-Wan finally crawled back to lay beside him, was entirely internal, but his hand came out to rest on his padawan's back.

Are you afraid of the dark, Obi-Wan?

Of the night, no, Master. But the dark...

Rest, padawan. It does not hunt for you.

No, Master. It only waits.

Then we must be more patient than it, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon sent calmly, not denying his student's fear.

He got no answer, but Obi-Wan rolled to his side, his back to his master and did not resist when his Qui-Gon's arms cradled him once more.

Dreams tossed his mind; half-formed images and impressions he tried to control and failed -- they slipped away from him as others assaulted him from different directions. Not nightmares -- precisely -- but disturbing nonetheless. Unable to guide them and unwilling to let them have their way with him, he wrenched himself to wakefulness without moving a muscle.

He was disappointed his Master was not awakened by his struggles.

The feeling was quickly driven back, Obi-Wan's eyes resting on his master's face, able to see what he needed to in the dim half-light of the moons and stars above. He had fallen asleep with Qui-Gon holding him once more but sometime during their slumber, his master had released him -- or he had pulled away again.

Shadows or bruises marred his Master's face; it was difficult to tell. Fatigue had etched deeper lines in a face already well-used to them.

Unable to see more and not sure he wanted to, he rolled to his back, letting aches and twinges tug at him. His eyes rose upward to stars and scant clouds -- three moons already beginning to settle below the pre-dawn horizon.

Silently, buffering thought and presence from his master so as not to wake him, he rose. Their small fire had burned down and he was damp and sticky, although it was cooler. That there was not enough water left for a wash guided his priorities.

He would not go far. Qui-Gon would sense it and worry. He could not avoid all impressions from bleeding over to his master, lest he alarm him more than he was as things stood. Such was the bond between Apprentice and Master and Qui-Gon had been able to read him for many years now and he his master with somewhat less accuracy.

Also as it should be.

Which was, at the moment, almost the only thing that was as it should be. Still moving silently he found the cloth left from Qui-Gon's robe to wrap around his bare feet and a section of the curved shell-like carcass from one of the shattered pods. It would suffice to carry water if he found it.

Centering himself, he sought concentrations of moisture, even collected rainfall. The ground was damp enough to indicate that it rained frequently if not regularly. He could not so easily judge the season without knowing more about where along the planet's axis they had crashed. Even in the shadowy light he could tell that no recent floods, if ever there had been, had washed through this area, so that was not a concern. There were rocks close by and chances were, if water had pooled, it would be there.

Cautiously he extended his senses, hardly able to understand his reluctance but there was the need to be cautious, to hold himself tightly guarded, even for this, as if something lay in wait for him, alerted by even the smallest manipulations of the Force.

It waits.

He should speak to Qui-Gon about this, but he felt foolish and weak. Resolutely he pushed forward, senses replacing what he lost in actual vision.

It proved to be further than he intended but not so far as to tax him beyond his strength. Tax him it did, though and he rested and resisted the temptation to immediately drink the water he had found, extending only his fingertips into the trickling fluid where it dripped from some reservoir in the rocks above. He could sense nothing immediately dangerous; no heavy metals, or other elements that would alert him to a threat. There were small mosses growing along the crevice indicating that it would support life. He waited but no welts or other irritations arose on his skin after some minutes. Cautiously, he allowed a few drops on his lips then dipped a bit of cloth into the water only to wipe at his face, away from his eyes. It felt cool even though the moisture stung the cut over his eye. The sting eased quickly.

His master would be able to tell with more surety, or the analyzers on the pod, but this would work, if slowly. Another few drops were placed on his tongue. It tasted far better than the water they had brought from the ship or perhaps only fresher.

He set his makeshift basin under the trickle and rewet his cloth, trying to soothe or at least clean those scrapes and cuts that most vied for his attention on his face and arms.

The basin was half-full before he hazarded a mouthful of water. Still cautious and worried that if he were to become ill it would only further strain his Master's resources. But by the time the basin was full he still felt as he had before. Settling the basin on the ground he pulled off his tunic and washed as carefully as he could. He was stiff, muscles protesting, and as Qui-Gon had pointed out, he had lost much weight, his own body seeming strange to him -- lanky and awkward as it had seemed to him as an adolescent.

He could not recall if or how often he had been fed while a prisoner. The time had blurred into half remembered images, like his dreams. All save the last. That last memory was painfully clear.

But they must have, for the time had been longer than it seemed else his ribs would not be so pronounced. Deprived but not starved. Tortured but not questioned...which had been possibly the worst torment of all, not knowing. Not understanding why.

Sadistic, yes. That he understood well enough. He had been prepared for it and not disappointed, but to the other? Had all been done just to coax him toward making that single pained, shameful choice? Had it been him or would any apprentice have done? He didn't question why they had not attempted to turn his Master...futile...

Surely.

He took some pride, false though it was, in knowing his Master had not broken -- head kept to his plan, Qui-Gon had revealed the senator for what he was. Saved lives as Jedi were pledged to do. And at the sacrifice of only his apprentice's honor. It was bitter but it was true. Everything he had been taught and trained for told him it was the right choice, the proper choice for a Jedi such as his master.

And he did not feel so little of his own worth to think that the choice had not caused Qui-Gon some regret or even pain.

Not enough.

He went still, water from the cloth dripping across his skin, his legs, frozen by the horrible vengeance in that thought. Qui-Gon had invested years of his life in training Obi-Wan, applying patience and discipline in equal measure. Affection and pride marked his padawan's gains. His skills. Casting all that aside could not have been an easy choice.

Yet, Obi-Wan had cast all of that aside for one faint desire, never spoken, never known, he thought. Had he been mad then? Perhaps, and was still.

He had thought the worst moment of his life had been when he saw his master fall. Rage had almost taken him then. Despair had, his attention not so much on defeating an enemy or exacting revenge as winning through to his master's side, only to feel Qui-Gon slip from him as easily as this trickle of water slipped between the rocks. He had been in shock then, blinded by grief and pain and left wide open...he had neither sensed nor noticed his enemy approach. Only the fleeting feel of his Master's last thoughts retreating from his mind...leaving a void, an empty place that he had no idea how to fill.

The pre-dawn air caused a chill to race over his skin and he dressed again, gathering up his basin and retracing his path. Qui-Gon would worry if he woke to find Obi-Wan missing. Easy enough to find him but his master had other things on his mind, like his own healing.

The path back was marginally lighter, and at the end, the fire glowed again, casting his master's face into flickering shadows. He paused there at the edge of the light, feeling Qui-Gon's eyes upon him, able to meet them with the shadows to hide his gaze.

He had not thought to look on this face again. He did not expect, nor found, any censure in his Master's face, nor anger, nor even pity, really. But behind that placid countenance was more knowledge about Obi-Wan than he thought he could bear. His own failure now marked Qui-Gon as well. Their betrayals vying for supremacy. Obi-Wan's would win out in the end. His master had betrayed only his Apprentice's trust, not the Force, not the Jedi...not the balance he had spent his life walking.

His Master made no move, regarding him steadily without staring, his mind open. No, there would be no censure, no accusations, no punishment from this man. Qui-Gon's regard for him had not changed, his affections running deep for his student.

Affections. Fondness for a child. The protective instincts of a teacher to his student, to one in his care. Regret for the choice made, for other choices.

His chest ached from more than bruised ribs and exertion, his throat dry from more than lack of water. His skin felt flushed and hot, but dry and his limbs threatened to give out.

He took the few steps into the ring of light, dropping his gaze once more.

"I found water," he murmured, and set the basin down, kneeling by the fire with the basin between he and his master. "I drank some. I think it is all right."

"Anticipating our needs, already," Qui-Gon said evenly, approval never overt. He dipped the cap of one of the canisters into the water and drank as well. If he further tested the water, Obi-Wan did not see it. A second cup passed his lips and the smallest smile deepened the shadows on either side of his face. "We should heat some and use it to clean these cuts," he said quietly indicating the abrasions on his own hands and the gesturing to those obscured by Obi-Wan's clothing. "Infection is more prone in this damp air."

A saber did as well as the fire, the hiss and sizzle of the blade heating the water in moments and then Qui-Gon was pulling his tunic off. Not sure what else to do, Obi-Wan offered the torn cloth he had used earlier. "My thanks, Obi-Wan," his master said, hand lingering on his wrist, watching him.

His mouth was dry again. "I bathed at the spring," he said and pulled back only to have the grip tighten. Not painfully but firmly.

"Is it me you fear or yourself?" Qui-Gon asked him, once more watching him without staring, nothing but concern in his voice or tone. "Or is it something more?"

It was pointless to say there was nothing wrong. Qui-Gon was neither blind nor a fool and unlikely to be brushed off easily. Equally pointless was attempting to deflect the cause of the question. "Not ...fear," he said at last.

"Obi-Wan, I have bathed you, slept beside you, fought beside you and put you to bed when you were too tired or too drunk to find your own face. I know what was done and how and by whom..." Qui-Gon said gently, his grip lessening but not releasing. "There is no shame in you that will be reflected in your body. And nothing to be gained at all by either pain or continued modesty."

"Frank as ever, Master," Obi-Wan said evenly, annoyed in spite of himself. What Qui-Gon said was nothing but the truth.

"And which of your feelings would I spare with less than the truth, padawan?"

My pride....what I have left.

This is false pride, padawan, and you know it.

"All pride is false..." he whispered.

"No, padawan. Not all pride...not in doing well what you have been taught. Not in surviving..." Is this guilt you feel, Obi-Wan?

"I don't know what I feel," he said and pulled his wrist free. Resolutely he pulled his tunic off, setting it aside and sat with his back to Qui-Gon, to allow his master to reach those wounds he could not.

The water had cooled to be hot but not scalding, Qui-Gon soothing the skin with his own hands before washing carefully at the dirt and sweat. Obi-Wan held himself still when the bandaging around his ribs was removed. But the water was soothing, his master's touch more so.

"Face me, padawan," Qui-Gon instructed quietly and he shifted carefully, gaze shifting to his master's face and remaining there while Qui-Gon bathed the cut on his forehead more carefully until it bled again and then used a strip from his undertunic to bind it, padding the swelling gently. A gash on his forearm was treated equally thoroughly and wrapped before Qui-Gon offered a relatively clean cloth to his padawan and turned his own back.

Blood and dirt streaked across the powerful muscles of his Master's back, some dark streaks revealed as bruises rather than dirt. He caught up his master's hair and pushed it over his shoulder to blot at what looked like a burn. Normally silky, the grey-streaked stuff was limp with sweat and more grime and even as he worked, Qui-Gon braided the long stuff to get it under better control. His master had few cuts and scrapes, but bruising went deeper, no doubt from so often providing padding so his student would not be further injured.

He was as careful and thorough as Qui-Gon had been, letting himself fall into the task rather than any of the other confusing and unwanted thoughts that came to him. Some he had experienced before when touching his master and quickly suppressed. It was not so easy here, with so much between them and any illusion of privacy for his innermost thoughts exposed to his master through the machination of the Sith Lord.

"Do you fear I will be offended by such thoughts?" Qui-Gon asked, his head turned slightly, profile barely visible to Obi-Wan.

His hand trembled and he moved it away. "Not offended..." Qui-Gon was not easily offended, occasionally irritable when what seemed obvious to him was not so easily evident to others, but not offended.

"Unseemly, because I am your Master."

"Unwelcome because ...I am your student." His face was burning hot again. Perhaps he had a fever -- it would be easier to accept. "Master, please.."

Qui-Gon turned to face him. "Do you know why he waited -- the Dark Lord? What made him break the silence between us...at that moment?"

It was not what Obi-Wan expected: pity, or compassion, for his Master to tell him it was of no consequence, but not this analysis of his failure. Qui-Gon rarely asked questions idly, however, and that he would do so now was completely out of character.

"Because it was a weakness in me -- a desire that could be twisted to..." Long fingers were pressed to his lips, stopping the litany of his failures from being repeated.

Not you, Obi-Wan. He thought it a weakness in me...to be twisted and used to make you break your vows, your training...and my heart.

His master was far closer than he realized. The fingers on his lips slipped to his jaw and lifted his head upward, and their touch on his lips replaced by a warm, moist mouth.

It certainly had not been part of any plan. Qui-Gon had no plan, and while patience had stood him in good stead for many years, there were times when it was a tedious choice.

He half expected Obi-Wan to pull back, or to not react at all. He would have preferred his padawan lunge into his arms than react as he did.

He tasted salt.

His lips had merely warmed Obi-Wan's, not pressed for passion or persuasion. And he had spoken no more than the truth, assessing Palpatine's motives, his timing. That he had not reacted as Palpatine expected said much for the possibility of the Jedi resisting his plans.

But Obi-Wan had still paid the price for that gamble. No matter Qui-Gon's assurances that his apprentice had not forever been banned from his goal, the path back would be difficult. Not impossible but difficult.

For both of them.

Betraying a trust was as much a step along the Dark Path as Obi-Wan's desire to have back what had been torn from him in a moment of despair. His padawan had not seen that, not realized it, his Master above reproach -- which was at least part of the problem. Obi-Wan was unable to see his master as anything but infallible. It was a normal by-product of their relationship as Master and Apprentice. Qui-Gon had had much the same regard for his own Master.

But he had not felt for his Master what he felt for Obi-Wan, nor had his Master evinced anymore than reasonable affection for her padawan. And such relationships, extending beyond the teacher/student bonds were not forbidden. Nor were they encouraged and occasionally they were discouraged. But not forbidden.

He was as open to Obi-Wan as he could be, allowing his padawan to see that this was not merely compassion, not pity, and not for comfort alone. He had not hidden his desires for Obi-Wan from shame but because his padawan was close to his trials. He had not hidden them at all, but channeled them elsewhere. His own desires always second to what tasks lay before them.

But placing my desires aside does not mean you were ever second to anything, Obi-Wan. His thumb brushed over the finely defined cheekbone to wipe the moisture away, eyes meeting his padawan's to read what he could there. Shock and disbelief and the briefest flaring of hope. It was that which made my betrayal all the worse for you...still does. And I cannot change that, padawan. I wish I could take it back, but I cannot. His hand came up to cup the pale face, feeling heat in the skin and it might be fever, he realized, for Obi-Wan was far too pale for this to be the flush of emotion.

"And now that I'm further from my trials than I was?" The voice was strained and hesitant.

"I think, Obi-Wan, your trial is upon you," Qui-Gon said slowly. "Not the trial the council would have set before you, but more difficult because it comes upon you when you are unprepared."

"Why now?" Obi-Wan asked, barely breathing. "Why tell me now?"

Most loved, Qui-Gon sighed, fingers cupping the back of his padawan's neck and pulling. This time there was no resistance, Obi-Wan coming to him willingly, the arms that slid around his waist as he pressed the younger man to his chest, steady and gentle. I tell you this now because a secret kept was used against you once. I would not have it so used against you again. Not even by yourself, against yourself.

Why did I not know?

Obi-Wan was far too warm and Qui-Gon stroked across the bare shoulders, testing that fever even as applied himself to his padawan's questions. A smile touched his lips before he touched his lips to the short hair.

"You thought your feelings inappropriate. It is understandable that in feeling so, you would never look to see if they were reciprocated." The damp cloth was used along the back of his student's neck, the sweat-darkened hair sorted and detangled gently.

The rough shields around Obi-Wan's thoughts, and more importantly, his feelings, began to crumble. There were still jagged edges to be wary of, anger and guilt and shame not far away, but for the moment his padawan was more stable, able to see a bit more clearly.

"You said... this secret to be...this knowledge to be used against me again," Obi-Wan said, accepting the explanation for his own ignorance.

Qui-Gon tightened his arms around the youth, dropping his lips to his hair once more. No further secrets, although it was not truly something he had kept hidden. Obi-Wan had been too distraught to think through the implications of their predicament. "The prison ship jumped through hyperspace before it broke. Where we are...our presence here...it can be used to find us, if anyone has reason to look," he said cautiously. "Maul is very likely here as well, padawan."

The tension he had expected came but Obi-Wan did not draw away. If anything he burrowed closer. "And if he is here...his master will not be far behind."

"It is possible, unless the Jedi have moved against him. But to discover that, we would have to reach further through the Force."

"And alert Maul to our presence." There was so much defeat in that voice, Qui-Gon was moved to a wordless sound of comfort.

"He cannot be allowed to continue, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said but his apprentice already knew that. Was already accepting that what had been admitted, revealed, might never be acted upon. "But neither can we pursue him in our present state. We must--"

Rest and heal. Yes, Master. The faintest trace of humor colored the thought and Qui-Gon felt his own smile spread through him and ease some of his own distress.

Exactly so, padawan. He reached for a blanket wrapping it around them both. The dawn would be chill and it was quickly approaching.

"Master, even if we find Maul...and do...as we must. Will we..." Now the heat in Obi-Wan's skin was from a flush.

Celibacy among Jedi is a choice, most loved. Not a requirement. As it has been a choice for you for several years and not from any lack of willing partners. And not-- he added with a bit more humor, --because of your devotion to me. Master Yoda would tell you that the future is always in motion -- so is the present. "Accept what is here and now, most loved."

"And not hope for what may never be..."

Hope for what might be, padawan, he chided gently, and shifted them, Obi-Wan assisting once he understood what his Master intended. They lay down, wrapped in each other's arms. Not the embrace of lovers but wrapped in bonds of trust, healing wounds before they could fester further.

You need to heal as well, Master.

I am, Obi-Wan. In ways I did not even know I needed. Rest.

It should be warmer than this, with the sun up and turning the underside of the foliage above him near black with shadow. He nearly bit his tongue to keep his teeth from chattering.

A hand supported his neck, lifting him, pressing a small cup to his lips, the scent slightly tangy and the liquid warm. It was but flavored water but the warmth stilled his shivering for a moment.

"You have a fever, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, his Master's face swimming into vision that refused to unblur. More liquid was pushed upon him, slowly, easing the rough edges in his throat. His Master's hand was blessedly cool on his forehead.

"From the water?" he managed to get out.

"No, padawan, from your injuries. I expected it before this," Qui-Gon said. "Drink as much as you can and try to concentrate on healing yourself. As I must do." Qui-Gon was concerned, he could feel it. The feeling wrapped around him with almost more warmth than the blanket his Master had settled around him. He drank until he could take no more, the last of the water he had brought from the spring. He needed to get more.

The broad hand on his shoulder forestalled his attempt to get up. "Concentrate, Obi-Wan. The need is not that pressing. I will go once I can walk more easily."

He tried to relax, almost accomplishing it under the hand that stroked his hair. If he could but get warm this would be easier....

If you could get warm, padawan, it would not be a problem. Now, will you rest, please?

Only Qui-Gon could scold and make it feel like a compliment.

The chuckle that followed was accompanied by a squeeze on his shoulder and the ghosting of lips across his forehead. Then the touch was gone but his master was still close and Obi-Wan hazarded opening his blurry eyes again.

Qui-Gon sat beside him, wearing his undertunic, soiled as it was, but he had removed the splints and bandages on his leg, the long, lean muscles distorted by the swelling from the damage underneath. He could feel the edges of his master's awareness soften and blur, washing over Obi-Wan as well, those hands sliding along the area surrounding the break to focus inward, to speed the process of healing along. Days had already passed, Qui-Gon unable to give the injury the attention it needed. Enough of that light healing trance spilled over and Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, letting it help guide his own process as his Master had instructed.

Qui-Gon was no healer, not in the sense that the Healers in the Temple were. But he was a Master and the Force his ally more often than not. Need often dictated ability, if only briefly and one of them needed to be mobile.

Frustration colored Obi-Wan's mediation. His own injuries were not serious individually, but they were many, and he was weaker for his captivity. The fever was his body's way of trying to burn off infections but sometimes the cure was worse than the problem.

A long exhaled sigh interrupted his thoughts, dragged his attention outward again. Qui-Gon was resplinting he leg. It was closer to being whole but weak still. I won't be doing any mountain climbing but it will bear my weight, he reassured his padawan when the cautious probe flickered out. Then his Master was leaning over him, hands once more tracing his cheek and jaw. The blue eyes looked less fierce with worry, less piercing without the sharp edge of exhaustion shadowing them. The path to the spring was sought and provided. "I won't be long, Obi-Wan. Call out if you need me," he said and placed his student's lightsaber close to his hand before picking up his own and their basin and heading down the path Obi-Wan had taken hours earlier.

He traced his Master's path until a gentle reminder was sent and resolutely turned to his own healing.

It was, in some ways, easier to guide for others than for yourself. He knew no other path than to try and isolate one injury at a time and apply himself to that, reducing the overall count and drain on his body's poor resources. But it was exhausting as well, even with drawing additional strength from the Force surrounding all the abundant life around them. The ache in his head increased briefly then faded and he did not need to touch the cut over his eye to know it was almost healed -- looking days old instead of hours.

Qui-Gon was gone longer than he expected but not long enough to alarm him. The steady presence of his master allowed him to doze slightly. His nose brought him awake again, something more fragrant and earthy than the herbs in the water, teasing at the hunger he had shoved aside for the simple reason that they had little to assuage it with.

Another broken piece of casing served as a pot, Qui-Gon slicing something dark and tuberous into it. "There are creatures here. They seem shy and benign," Qui-Gon said when he felt his padawan's eyes upon him. He looked...well, cleaner for one thing, the silvered hair damp and loose again. "They think these roots to be quite tasty."

"'smells good," Obi-Wan said pushing himself upward. He felt less feverish but weaker. Letting the roots simmer, Qui-Gon brought him more of the scented water. Obi-Wan could have managed the cup himself but he did not protest being supported, relaxing when the long fingered hand once more tested his forehead. Better, padawan, Qui-Gon sent and let him finish his drink before his arms slipped around his padawan and lifted him.

"Master!" Obi-Wan's protest was as much surprise as an alarming sense of vertigo, then concern that his master would over-strain his leg.

"You are no so heavy, padawan, and I am a Master, am I not?" Qui-Gon said. "If I can guide a ship from space to planet, I can certainly manage one over-cautious padawan."

Some discovery had made Qui-Gon's heart lighter but he would not share anything but his delight as they moved back into the denser foliage, back toward the spring. Then above it. Qui-Gon was cautious, setting Obi-Wan down on the ledge above the trickle of water before climbing higher and then assisting his padawan.

Out of sight but not far above, the reservoir that fed the spring lay: A depression in the stone from thousands of years of falling, pooling water, no deeper than mid calf on Qui-Gon but sun warmed and moving, a steadier stream from above feeding the small pool before a half dozen fissures fed the water to the ground below. Qui-Gon had cleared much of the sediment that lined it but it was not that murky, stronger rains most likely clearing the depression of debris periodically.

Cool but not cold, the warmer air taking the chill bite from the water. There was nothing quite as civilized as a bath.

Qui-Gon had stripped off his tunic again, sitting on the edge of the depression, the sun washing away some of the darkness from the bruises that marked his bare skin and allowing his leg to soak while he applied himself to getting his padawan cleaned and his fevered skin cooled. A handful of lichen and fine sand sufficed for soap, although there was no foam. Obi-Wan's hair was soon as clean as could be expected and while he soaked, his master set to reweaving his braid, Obi-Wan propped across the extension of his master's legs and still sitting in the pool. He was almost loathe to move when Qui-Gon was done but rose obediently, drying himself off on the blanket and letting the sun do the rest.

Qui-Gon slipped his tunic back on but leaned back observing his student once more, an idle smile on his lips.

Obi-Wan was embarrassed again but he did not try to cover himself, although the urge was there. "I would like to remember this place -- this moment -- for many years to come," Qui-Gon said quietly. "Amid all the rest."

Obi-Wan flushed again but not with shame, only with pleasure. It was only a moment and then he had his blanket wrapped around him and they were climbing down. This time Obi-Wan walked, his master's arm around his shoulders.

Their impromptu stew was ready and could have benefited from some seasoning but it was vast improvement over the ration cubes. Still, Qui-Gon insisted they eat those as well if only for their nutrient value. Leaving his padawan wrapped and resting by the dying fire, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the pod, bringing the power back up and seeking some indication of a settlement within communications range.

The humidity was rising and sweat trickled down Obi-Wan's back. A good sign that his fever was breaking, or so he hoped. The blanket was put aside and the gray tunic replaced it. He wished they had thought to wash it as well for it smelled of sweat and dirt, but it was lighter, covering him to mid-thigh. He heated more water should they need it then banked the fire, taking stock of their supplies. Water enough, though if they had to move, they would need additional ways to carry it. Their basin would be too awkward. The canisters from the ship could be refilled. The roots could be wrapped in cloth, all their possessions carried in two small bundles.

Assessment done, he rose, feeling edgy.

"Anything, Master?"

Qui-Gon glanced at him and nodded once. "An auto-responder only. I can get no clearer a fix on it than it is," he smiled faintly and pointed, "that way. I wish I had thought to salvage the E-M suit units. Those we might have been able to modify."

There was no way they could so modify the communications set in the pod, not without also having to carry the power cells. "It cannot be far, Master. The range is not that great."

"True enough," Qui-Gon said and climbed carefully out of the pod to come and stand in front of his padawan, hands reaching out to rub his arms. "We will rest today and start out tomorrow if you are well enough."

"I will be," Obi-Wan said and felt it to be true but he was glad of the additional hours of rest, even if he still felt as though a net were closing.

"What is it?" Ever sensitive to his padawan's concerns.

"I am not sure." He reached out, past the distracting presence of his Master and felt Qui-Gon do the same.

A tremor, no more, like the breeze following a sudden downpour, save this breeze was heavy and dark, as if signaling new storms.

It was far too familiar to Obi-Wan.

"Master," he began, not sure Qui-Gon was as intimately aware of that signature.

It seemed he was. The gesture to comfort was as much for Qui-Gon's benefit as his own. "I know, padawan. It is Maul."