Silent Faction

by analise and Kirby Crow (analise@2cowherd.net and kirbycrow@hotmail.com)

*** Chapter Nine ***

Qui-Gon awoke at Drey on the wide couch in the common room with the warm crackle of the fire and the slightly tainted smell of razorwood smoke. Obi Wan must have sensed his distress in the alley. Voices were all around him.

"It was my fault, Sir Knight. I take full responsibility. I have no --"

An impatient male voice interrupted her apologies. "You could have done nothing to stop him."

Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon forced his swollen eyes to open and made out Obi-Wan, barefooted and dressed in sleeping pants, speaking to a Ramian female guard who stood stiffly at attention before him.

"I shall resign my post immediately." the guard continued. "I have failed in my-"

"Oh, shut up, Irina!" Obi-Wan snapped. "Can't you hear me? He's a Jedi Master! No power on this planet could have prevented him from leaving."

"You could have." Rivyyn's voice dropped cold into the room like a winter breeze.

Obi-Wan turned as she entered. She was bearing a tray with white bandages neatly folded beside an urn of steaming liquid. A strong herbal smell wafted up from the urn.

"If he's so almighty powerful, how come he looks like a konduk that's been dragged by an aircar for forty klicks? Can't he even defend himself?"

"He can. He decided not to."

Rivyyn snorted. "You should have stopped him."

"I didn't know he was leaving."

The conversation between them was clipped and hard, but rivulets of pain marbled each short word.

"He didn't," Qui-Gon whispered, then coughed. He saw flecks of blood spray on the blankets piled on him. He struggled to sit up. "Obi-Wan knew nothing of my plans."

"You stay put!" Rivyyn shouted in a white heat, slamming down the tray. "You've caused me enough trouble already."

"Don't shout at him, he's injured," Obi-Wan protested.

"Not as much as he's going to be if he's betrayed us. I want to know about his 'plans'." Rivyyn began to move toward Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan stepped in front of her before she reached him, blocking her path. His voice was pitched low with distaste. "Listen to yourself. Betrayed you? Qui-Gon Jinn? He doesn't even *know* you. He doesn't care about your feud with the Venyyn or your hatred of the Eri. He's here on a mission to keep the peace. Don't you understand that? Does everything boil down to *us* or *them* with you? Can't you comprehend someone striving for the greater good, without having a personal stake in it?"

She shot him a withering look. "If you think this mission isn't personal to him, you're a bigger fool than I first took you for." The Ramian leader turned on her heel and strode out of the common room.

Obi-Wan let her go, then crossed his arms over his chest, hurting. He hung his head and sighed. "You're dismissed, Irina. Go back to your post, and no more talk of resignations."

Irina shot a glance between Obi-Wan and the Jedi Master, then slung her slim rifle off her shoulder before bowing. "Yes, Knight Kenobi."

Qui-Gon waited until she was gone. "She's right, you know."

Obi-Wan turned. "Irina?"

"Rivyyn."

Obi-Wan frowned. "You mean you went out to meet with the - "

"No, no," Qui-Gon said tiredly. Obi-Wan moved to take the tray and set it down next to Qui-Gon. He sat beside him and moved the blankets away, hissing at the purple bruises across the broad chest.

"This is going to take more than a hypo and some bacta patches," Obi-Wan said critically. "A Force trance and a healing session at least."

Qui-Gon looked down and nodded ruefully, grimacing at the pounding the slight movement produced in his head. "At least."

Obi-Wan began on his face, tenderly cleaning away the dried fluids from his bloody nose and around his mouth and checking to make sure nothing was broken. He bathed the rest of his battered face with warm cloths and held a cup of tea to his mouth. Qui-Gon swallowed the sweetened tea and then lay back with a sigh.

"That's better. Thank you, Obi-Wan."

"Why did you let them beat you?"

Qui-Gon peered at him. "Because I wanted information."

"Oh?"

Qui-Gon's brows lifted at the forced nonchalance in that young voice. He noted that Obi-Wan's hand trembled as he began to wipe away the traces of grime and blood on his chest.

"I wouldn't have to wander in the night and risk my life on Ramos if you were straight with me, Obi-Wan." He laid his hand over the younger man's shaking ones, stilling his movements. "Why won't you be honest with me?"

Obi-Wan jerked his hands away angrily. "You're a fine one to talk about honesty!" There was outrage in his voice and in his eyes. "You *lied* to me! For years! How dare you --" He broke off and averted his face, struggling for control.

Qui-Gon watched his once-apprentice conquer his emotions, and silently he applauded. *Four years ago he would have stormed out of here and not spoken to me for days. He really has become a man, and he has done it without me.*

The last thought saddened him, as if he had lost something of great value that could never be replaced. *Would that I was half the man you are, Obi-Wan. We would never have been parted...*

Obi-Wan quietly began to dress his injuries again, avoiding Qui-Gon's eyes. "What was Rivyyn right about?" His voice was calm.

"About it being personal."

Obi-Wan tensed and went still for a second, then continued in his task. "I thought the Jedi Council chose you for this mission."

"They did. That doesn't make it any less personal." Again, Qui-Gon covered Obi-Wan's hands with his own. This time, the younger man did not pull away.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said shakily. "I've missed you... so much."

Obi-Wan tried to speak through a throat suddenly tight. "Four years." He tried to put all of his combined pain and loneliness and suffering into those two words, unable to do more, hoping Qui- Gon would comprehend.

He did. "Not four years," Qui-Gon said. Those large hands gripped his own tightly before straying upward to cup his face, drawing him closer. "A century. Eternity."

Obi-Wan's eyes were stinging. *Force take me, I will _not_ cry. I won't.*

But it was so hard to resist the tide of emotion with those strong hands on him, those hands he still dreamed about, gently caressing circles on his cheeks, thumb reaching down to stray across his lips. He felt himself being pulled forward, drawn ever closer until he could feel the warmth of Qui-Gon's breath on his face, lips only inches away.

"I have been a great fool, Obi-Wan."

He opened his mouth to speak, and suddenly it was happening.

Qui-Gon, for only the second time in his life, was kissing him. He was gentle, whether of his own bruised lips or his apprentice's feelings, he wasn't sure. But, _oh!_ it was gentle. Like butterfly wings brushing across his mouth, a tender, unsure kiss of inestimable sweetness. He moaned under it, a sound of hunger and need.

Hands slid down to encircle his shoulders, pulling him down to the couch beside him. Qui-Gon twisted his body to half-cover Obi-Wan's, heedless of his own injuries, seeming only to be intent on getting bodily contact with as much of Obi-Wan as possible.

Obi-Wan found the wits to speak. "Your ribs..."

"To hell with my ribs," Qui-Gon growled. The Jedi Master took his chin in his hand and covered his mouth in a claiming kiss, tongue sliding out to tangle and entice his own into play.

And Obi-Wan followed his lead, caution and resentment both cast to the wind, aware only of that gifted tongue entering his open mouth repeatedly, firm lips tugging at his with a soft sucking. Qui- Gon's bare chest slid against his, and he gasped as he felt a nipple being grasped and plucked into hardness. He was conscious of a fiery tempest gathering between his legs, an warm ache that began to systematically drive every other single thought from his brain, and he made a desperate sound that could have been a whimper or a plea.

Gods, could he come from a kiss alone? This was madness. He should stop this immediately. He had a home, he had a family here. Rivyyn...

The sound of someone clearing their throat shocked him back to the present. His eyes snapped open. Obi-Wan abruptly pushed Qui-Gon away and slid off the couch to the floor, looking up in horrified dismay to the still figure that stared at them in silence.

"Rivyyn..." Obi-Wan gasped. "Oh no... I never meant "

"Save it, Kenobi. You know I don't care for excuses. From anyone."

Her cheeks were red with fury and humiliation, but she turned coolly to Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan hung his head in shame. "You will leave Drey this morning and take your fellow Jedi with you, Master Jinn. I am sure that you will be able to request suitable accommodations from the Eri government. I regret that I am unable to offer you further hospitality, but it seems you've already helped yourself to enough that was mine."

"Rivyyn," Obi-Wan whispered miserably.

She did not stay to listen. Rivyyn of Drey gathered the shreds of her dignity about her and left them, never once looking back.

*** Chapter Ten ***

At midmorning, Rivyyn sent a message inquiring what time they believed they would be leaving her house, and Obi-Wan brought him out of his healing trance to tell him it was time to go.

He had not allowed his student to assist him in the healing trance. The normal way for a Jedi to enact a healing trance was with the aid of another Jedi, if one was available. The healing was invariably more successful that way. But he had refused Obi-Wan's tepid offer of help, and had tried not to flinch from the intense relief exuding from the young Knight's mind. He had not been surprised. Healing with the Force involved much more than simply mending tissue and bone. Minds came together. Hidden things were revealed. And he knew that Obi-Wan was hiding many things. However, he did not need the touch of minds to sense that things were going to be revealed very soon, whether Obi Wan wanted them to be or not.

He had been sent here for a reason, and though to date he had let his personal feelings interfere with his mission he would not suffer in ignorance for much longer. No matter how sweet that mouth had been, or how he trembled inside to taste it again.

Qui-Gon waited for him outside as his apprentice gathered his belongings and prepared to leave the only home he had known on Ramos for good. Qui-Gon expected Obi-Wan's belongings from the Drey residence to be numerous. He wondered briefly if he should call for an aircar to convey Obi-Wan's possessions to their temporary lodgings at the city center, but then the front door opened and Obi-Wan came out of the house.

He held the sum of all his worldly goods in one small wooden box, hardly larger than a modest suitcase. It looked scarcely large enough to contain a change or two of clothing and a handful of personal items.

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "That's all?"

"It's what I came with," Obi-Wan's responded listlessly. "It doesn't feel right to leave with more."

Qui-Gon nodded, feeling a sense of deep unease at leaving matters this way. The wind picked up and gusted a warm breeze across the lawn. Obi-Wan cast a longing last glance at the Drey house, looking suddenly lost and very young. Qui-Gon resisted the urge to smooth the errant red-gold hair away from Obi-Wan's forehead, instead clenching his fist inside his the long sleeve of his robe.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way! Obi-Wan's life was a shambles again, and - as usual - it was his fault. Again.

They were in the magg car transport, halfway into the heart of the city and less than a klick to their lodgings, and still they had not spoken to each other.

Obi-Wan stared down at the toes of his boots as they swayed in rhythm with the creaking transports movements, cradling his small box. He had not been entirely truthful when he told Qui- Gon that he had removed only what he brought to the Drey house. He had taken one additional item; the small flat holo of himself and Rivyyn, taken when they had first become a couple. Senay had taken the picture in one of their last outings together before the old man had become too ill to leave the house. He remembered his optimism on that day, the serene feeling that everything was going to be okay. Qui-Gon was in the past, he had a new love, and a new home, and a new family. He would negotiate between the Eri and the Ramians and the Guild, and somehow he would weave his Jedi magic and they would all live happily ever after.

He had believed this at first mostly because he needed to. Qui-Gon had always been able to bring people around to his way of thinking. To his naive apprentice, it *had* seemed like magic. Now he knew it wasn't sorcery after all.

Mostly, it was lies.

Oh, not outright lies. Just the casual deceptions of everyday life, all geared to the greater good of the galaxy, of course. He had seen Qui-Gon do it a thousand times, and in his gullible Padawan mind he had put it down to diplomacy, to expedience, to skilled negotiation. He knew better now. What the Jedi did best was *lie*.

He began to realize it in the second year of his residency on Ramos, when he watched six full months of arbitration between the Venyyn and Drey collapse into violence. It was the third time he had failed to bring the Clans together to mediate terms of future percentage mining with the Eri. He had been scrupulously honest, dutifully relaying truthful and accurate information to all parties, and three times he had failed. The fourth time, he had used a slight mind-push to lure the Venyyn representative to the meeting. Then later, when the Eri rep proved recalcitrant, he had nudged him a little with the Force, too, and he went home that day with a bargain struck and shame in his heart.

Yet, beneath the shame was pride. He had done it. His first real accomplishment since his grievous separation from his Master. He had done something on his own, without any help from anyone. He began to justify his actions to himself, and slowly, he began to succumb to the appeal of coloring the truth to other people's pride and liking. *It's just greasing the wheels,* he told himself. *Subtlety. Finesse. Tact. Just like Qui-Gon.*

But in his mind he *knew* it wasn't 'just like Qui-Gon'. Qui-Gon had lied personally to him. Ruthlessly even, and he had done it for his own reasons, but Qui-Gon had never lied on a mission, or to accomplish his own success. While he could blame Qui-Gon for planting the seed in him, he could never blame him for the stubborn way he had nurtured the seed to life, until now it was a full-blown forest of thorns.

Obi-Wan understood now the prohibitions against using the Force to sway political factions. The temptation to utilize his power to simply order matters to his choosing was too great. He had gone too far, now. Much further than any honorable Knight would dare to go.

And he didn't know how to stop.

The magg car suddenly gave a terrific jolt and slid to a grating halt. The driver, his voice muffled by a breathing filter, barked out their location and they exited the car.

"Ten oh three Jarik Street," Qui-Gon recited from memory the address of the lodgings they had been assigned by the Eri government. "Which direction?"

Obi-Wan pointed to the west. "Three blocks this way." Mentally he matched the address to the location. The Green Wing was the best Inn on Ramos, but instinct informed Obi-Wan of the real reason they were being housed there. Not because they were honored Jedi, but because Jarik street was far from the commerce district, meaning Authority protection was almost nonexistent. It was also built some ten stories above the city. If the two Jedi were separated from each other there, they would be vulnerable.

Qui-Gon would not know this, of course, and that was all to the better. If he knew what his onetime student was planning he would surely try to stop him. The temptation to stop *himself* from going through with it had happened more than once. It was not fear, exactly. It wasn't even dread of the pain he knew would follow. No, it was himself he doubted. Ludarr Venyyn had acquired a reputation for ruthlessness. On Ramos V, that spoke volumes. He wondered if he were truly ready for the gauntlet that faced him.

The Innkeeper gave them their room without incident.

Obi-Wan had never been to the Green Wing, but apparently "the best Inn on Ramos" wasn't saying much. The room was spacious and clean, the bedding free of vermin, and the kitchen area tidy. It was otherwise unremarkable, although Obi-Wan noted that the single window that looked down onto the street was no bigger than both his hands put together, and that there were numerous air filters in place. Obi-Wan walked to the small pane of plexiglass and gazed down to the teeming streets several stories below. The filters and the breadbox window were designed to protect guests from the varied and numerous airborne pollutants of the city.

It was also too small to escape through.

Most common lodgings on Ramos V were riddled with biting insects and supplied no bedding at all, only a hard wooden pallet in a room the size of an ice cube. Too, there were the flies, the soot, the diseased homeless begging in the doorways, the oily air, the constant, relentless hostility ...

Suddenly weary, Obi-Wan leaned his forehead against the smudged window and closed his eyes. Then there came the touch that he had been both anticipating and dreading.

Qui-Gon laid his broad hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Obi-Wan?" he asked. "Are you well?"

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. Those hands began to work over his taut muscles in a soothing massage.

"Do you want to talk?"

He shook his head silently and rudely shrugged the comforting hands off him. It felt too good to have Qui-Gon touch him. It felt good and he didn't deserve it, not after what he had done. Not after what he had done to Rivyyn, when he could almost feel her hurt and sadness along the tenuous link he had managed to forge with her over the years. If he reached out just a little he could tell her --

Suddenly his upper arm was seized in a bruising grip and he felt himself swung around like a rag doll. Before he could speak or protest a hard mouth descended on his in a demanding kiss...

In his mind's eye Qui-Gon watched his actions disbelievingly as he gripped the younger man's shoulders and slammed him against the wall, pinning his arms as he devoured his mouth. Obi-Wan gave a tortured moan and sagged in his grip, neither helping nor hindering him in his efforts.

His nerves and muscles had begun to draw tight as soon as the door had closed. Then tighter still when Obi-Wan had allowed his touch. And then, just as he was ready to reveal his heart and had reached out to his former student, he sensed that bright mind reaching to another. It was not to be borne. He reacted without thought.

Possessively.

He thrust his tongue into the depths of Obi-Wan's mouth and arched his body into his, pressing him flat against the wall, hands sliding through that silken hair, hoping to elicit a more vital response, but Obi-Wan only moaned again and closed his eyes more tightly. He was, Qui-Gon realized with a kind of wild despair, merely allowing his advances, not actively participating in them.

For the first time it occurred to Qui-Gon that he might be helpless to influence Obi-Wan at all anymore, and that he might have to stand by and watch while the Ramian political drama unfolded to its antagonistic end and Obi-Wan returned to Rivyyn Drey.

And he, Qui-Gon Jinn, would go home, carrying his shattered hopes with him.

The thought filled him with anguish, and he used it to excuse himself for the way he was pulling at Obi-Wan's Jedi habit, almost ripping the black fabric from his skin. The dark outer jacket dropped at their feet, and still Obi-Wan had not looked at him, though his chin trembled with the effort. Qui-Gon kissed him again and pinched one rosebud nipple cruelly, gauging the ensuing response. The Knight arched away from the wall, pressing his body hotly against him, and Qui-Gon felt the answering hardness of Obi-Wan's erection burning into his thigh. He licked a line up the taut column of his throat, from collarbone to ear, and sucked the velvet lobe between his teeth, tasting salt in his sweat. He licked his lips to glean the last taste of him, but he wanted more, so much more...

He told him so. "I want you," he whispered roughly into his ear. "I want to taste all of you."

A tortured whimper from the man in his arms dragged Qui-Gon's attention back to his conscience, and he again knew a moment of doubt. Obi-Wan's head thrashed from side to side as his body reacted to Qui-Gon's rough seduction, his lips opening sweetly under the older man's mouth, parting to allow a demanding tongue to thrust deep inside, moaning as bruising hands possessively marked the soft flesh of his hips and thighs.

*It is consent,* Qui-Gon told himself. *He wants this.* Then all thought was drowned in molten heat as he slid his hands down to cup Obi-Wan's buttocks and lift him upward.

And then Obi-Wan shuddered and stopped responding. He did not resist, nor did he utter any protest against Qui-Gon's demanding mouth or push away his roaming hands. But the fire of passion went out of him like a tide, and Qui-Gon would have had to be Force-blind not to feel it.

Qui-Gon realized with a chill that the body in his arms had gone limp. When he loosened his tight embrace, Obi-Wan slid down the wall into a crouch. Still he would not look at Qui-Gon.

With a rapidly sinking heart, the Jedi Master realized his error. He *had* been mistaken. Obi-Wan had not wanted him at all. Oh Force, what had he almost done?

He backed away and turned his back to straighten his clothing, his face flushing bright red in shame. What could he say? What manner of apology to offer?

He opened his mouth to speak, to beg forgiveness, anything, when Obi-Wan abruptly began to put his own clothing to rights with short, angry movements. He kept his eyes averted from Qui- Gon as he stood and gathered his jacket from the floor and stalked to the small lavatory. Qui-Gon saw him grab a threadbare towel from the rack and run a sink full of cold water to bathe his flushed face, all still without looking at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, unable to watch him, to see the taut line in his back that spoke of betrayal.

*That's twice I have betrayed his trust. The first I could justify to myself. This... I don't know.*

When the younger man exited the laboratory he held his hand out to him in entreaty. "Obi-Wan..."

"We have had nothing to eat since last night," Obi-Wan interrupted flatly. No anger burned in his words, only a blankness. Empty sounds. "And we've both been using the Force. I should find some food."

Qui-Gon admitted defeat with his silence.

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment then. "Qui-Gon," he said quietly, then seemed to change his mind. Before Qui-Gon could stop him Obi-Wan had crossed the room and left, slamming the door loudly behind him.

The Jedi Master winced at the loud noise, feeling prickles of disgrace creep over his skin. He forgot that Obi-Wan had gasped in delight against him. He forgot the soft moans that punctuated his movements and the implicit evidence of his pleasure burning hard against his thigh. All he could do was repeat the awful truth in his mind.

*He did not want me. He did not want me... *

Left alone, the silence in the room was deafening. Qui-Gon walked listlessly to the small square of window and looked out, wishing that the sky were not tinged with dirty yellow and that he could taste clean air in his mouth again instead of this stale, recycled atmosphere.

The thought came unbidden. *It will be good to leave Ramos.*

His brows drew together as he admitted the truth of his thoughts. Since the moment he arrived on this moon he had suffered an ache in the region of his heart, a pain worse than any injury he had ever sustained. He would not be sorry to let go of it.

*For let go of it you must," he told himself sternly. *Obi-Wan will not return with you to Coruscant, but to his Clan woman.*

He knew it was true. Although the details of his former Padawan's political orchestrations were not altogether clear to him, he now sensed a pattern to Obi-Wan's adroit management of the powers around him. The erium mines were the common thread that bound the weave of deception together, and somehow, Rivyyn Drey was the loom upon which Obi-Wan had created his pattern. The minutiae eluded him at the moment, but that didn't trouble him. Solving a mystery was almost as much instinct as it was deduction. He would unravel it soon, and then he would have played his part and Obi-Wan would have no further use for him.

He looked down at the small figures moving on the street below, seeming like so many foraging ants. He sensed their Force-signatures, a mass of humanity with senses dulled by endless work and hopeless disappointment. Then, into the grayness of that mass, entered one shining star.

Qui-Gon straightened as he spotted Obi-Wan on the street below, one black uniform in a sea of blue, green and brown. The sun flashed on his hair as he looked up, (looking for him? Knowing he was being watched?) and then the crowd boiled around him.

Qui-Gon sensed disaster before he saw it. His heart leapt as the humans scattered away from Obi- Wan as a white-glowing laser bolt whizzed through the crowd and slammed into Obi-Wan's shoulder. Obi-Wan fell to his knees, suddenly alone in a small, abandoned space of his own on the street.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon shouted. He beat against the window with his fist, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins like hot water.

He watched impotently as a wave of green-suited Venyyn swarmed over the fallen Knight. He saw arms windmill as Obi-Wan was punched and pummeled before being dragged to the aircar that was rocking to a halt on the curb.

He was frozen with impotence. Even if he ripped out the glass he would have to take out half the wall with it, and he had no idea of the structural soundness of the building. If it was anything like the rest of Ramos it would probably collapse. Then he would have to survive a ten story drop. Not an easy feat even for a Jedi Master, and Obi-Wan...

Qui-Gon realized with a shock that Obi-Wan was not fighting the green-suited Venyyn. For a moment he had a horrible thought that Obi-Wan was committing an absurd manner of suicide, and then another piece of the pattern was revealed.

*Fool!* he raged inwardly as Obi-Wan was picked up and thrown bonelessly into the aircar. The aircar sped off, scattering residents who snarled epithets threw things at the disappearing car.

Qui-Gon knew a moment of fury and resignation at what must inevitably happen now, yet he knew there was no use wasting his energy cursing his reckless Padawan. He had to get to Rivyyn Drey immediately. Somehow, he had to convince her to see him and make her listen.

Even, he promised grimly, if I have to tear the door down.

*** Chapter Eleven ***

They had tossed him into a small gray room with no furniture and cracked, moldering walls, and it was there that he waited. Waited for Ludarr.

His laser-burned shoulder howled and raged in pain along the fragile network of his nerves, but he could barely be troubled with it, or with any of the other small cuts and bruises the Venyyn had inflicted on him in their kidnapping. Instead he could only replay, again and again, what had happened in that dingy cube of a room on the tenth floor.

He was no romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but his first encounter with Qui-Gon had not happened quite the way he had spent most of his young adult years fantasizing it would. Pressed up against a wall, a starving mouth devouring him where he stood.

It had almost been better.

He closed his eyes in confusion and dropped his head back against the rusted metal of the wall, letting himself feel the delicious ache where Qui-Gon's fingers had bruised his hips. Why then? Why had he stopped it from happening? It was more than the simple fact that he still did not trust Qui-Gon's motives. More than the fact that given a choice between manipulating him or failing in his mission, he knew Qui Gon would choose the former.

Rivyyn. It was *guilt* he had felt when Qui-Gon had spun such wild, burning pleasure from him. He had never felt such pleasure before. Not with Riv, not with anyone. He hadn't deserved it, still did not. Was that why Qui-Gon had done it? To test him? To teach him a lesson?

Oh Force -- to punish him?

It would have been so easy to respond, to just get caught up in the moment and allow Qui-Gon to sweep him into passion, forget the mission, forget his promise to Senay...

But he didn't live in the moment anymore. For two years his heart had been turned firmly to the future, knowing that if he failed he dragged a world down with him.

Doubts assailed him. If he had only pushed that Venyyn mining rep harder six months ago, or lost that last game of paragammon --

The metal door on the opposite wall creaked loudly as it slid open on rusty wheels and the large form of Ludarr Venyyn filled the doorframe. He was, it seemed, to be given no more time to wallow in his shame and speculation.

Strangely, in the face of impending torture Obi-Wan's mind cleared. He felt strength of purpose and resolve filling him, driving out all the distractions of fractured love. *This* was what he had come for. *This* task required no abuse of the Force, no furtive politics. This, he could understand. He had only to endure.

Once more he let the oily half-smile lift the corner of his mouth, wincing slightly at the cut on the inside of his lip.

*You have only to endure,* he told himself. He repeated it like a mantra. *Only to endure.*

Endure, and at the last moment, let the truth slip out...

"So, little offworlder," Ludarr began, rolling up his sleeves and stepping inside to let four more of his men in behind him, "You think that you are doing your master's bidding? You think you can make deals with the filthy Guild behind the backs of the Venyyn?" A humorless smile stretched the hard, ruthless face.

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, his eyes hooded, expressing his disdain. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked haughtily. "You can't hold me here. Don't you know who I am? Who I stand for?"

Ludarr chuckled softly, his men echoing him as they formed a semi-circle around him. Obi-Wan saw with a slight tingle of disquiet that two of them were carrying long jagged clubs of razorwood in their gloved fists. This was going to hurt.

"The Republic has no power here, little Drey pet. You should have never come out from behind your bitch-master's walls. I've been waiting for this moment. For the chance to find out what you're doing. What the Drey are up to. And you're going to tell me. Everything."

Two sets of hands wrenched him upright and ripped his black tunic into tatters, baring him to the waist in a blur of moments, stretching his wrists up over his head and binding them there. Before he could really assess what they did he was hanging like a side of cured meat from the ceiling.

One of the club-wielding men stepped close to him, holding his eyes. He almost whimpered when an appreciative hand grazed his bare skin from ribs to flank, pinching his bruised hip. Then -- remembering Qui-Gon's hands on him and comparing it to this awful moment -- he shuddered uncontrollably in revulsion. Of all the tortures he had imagined only one had caused him true fear: the possibility of this very thing happening. Violence was violence, and rape was no different.

Then Obi-Wan's eyes widened when Ludarr Venyyn stepped up and viciously backhanded the man touching him.

"We're not Offworlder scum, Dagan. We only do what's necessary. Keep your mind on business," Ludarr commanded.

The man on the floor wiped his mouth and nodded before he got to his feet, unconcerned at his punishment.

Obi-Wan marveled at the Ramian Clan leader. He could feel Ludarr's thoughts. Not evil, not even malicious. Only a calm, ruthless sense of duty to his Clan. He would do whatever needed to be done, and that might include murder, but violation of this sort was clearly against the Venyyn way.

Thank little gods for small favors.

The Jedi Knight had known he might die here, but he had taken the gamble, hoping that Ludarr would hesitate to kill him without finding out what he needed to know. Obi-Wan had every intention of telling him... at the right time.

Unfortunately, that time was not quite yet, and he braced himself as the first blow fell.

That smile had been strong, even in weakness. He had felt the tightness in his throat, the sensation of his heart crumpling under the weight of his sorrow.

"Don't feel so bad, boy." The voice was soft, but there was still that sparkle beneath it. That heady charisma that made Senay of the Drey what he was. He'd clasped the withered hand more tightly between his, not caring that his knees had gone numb some time ago with kneeling on the hard boards at the elder's beside. "You know as well as I that death will be a blessing."

Obi-Wan had managed a nod, still unable to speak through his closed throat. The thin hand squeezed his weakly and Senay suddenly shook in a fit of coughing that left black spittle on his lips and chin. The man's lungs were black with bacterial rot and pollution. It was an affliction that took most of Ramos' elders.

"Obi-Wan..." his voice was weaker now. The young knight could see the graying in the Force around the man and knew it would not be much longer. His mouth had opened to call Rivyyn, but Senay had stopped him with a surprisingly firm shake of his head. "Not yet. I have something for you, Obi-Wan. Something I can't give to anyone else. Something I know that you will do the right thing with."

"Shouldn't... shouldn't you be giving it to Riv-"

"No. No my boy. I can't give it to anyone but you. It is why you are here with us now. It was always you who were meant to have it. Only you will use it as it should be used."

"What is it?" Even through his grief, he could feel his curiosity piqued.

Senay's eyes slipped across the room to the door, frowning slightly as if he were worried someone might come in.

"Lock the door."

He'd gotten up on tingling legs, more and more apprehensive. The only people in the outer room were Senay's closest friends and his daughter. Why would he wish for them to be kept out of this? He'd done as he was asked and then stopped halfway back to the bed when Senay lifted a gray hand.

"There. In the cabinet by the window. Open the small drawer and reach up under the desktop."

The drawer had been smooth and cold under his fingers as he slid it open and curled his hand up and under the lip of the desktop. There was something cool and metallic to the touch there, and he'd pulled at it, hearing a tiny ripping sound as an adhesive came free. It was a tiny, old fashioned key.

"Now, go to my wardrobe and find a small, flat box in the back. Behind my boots. Open it."

Rummaging behind the clothes, his nose filled with the slightly musty, spicy scent of Senay's belongings, he'd found the box and brought it forth to set on the side of the bed. Without any further ado, he'd opened it. And gazed inside with wide eyes.

"You see it, my dear boy?" Obi-Wan swallowed and lifted his eyes to the old man.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Oh yes. It is. And there is more. So much more. Enough to save us all." Obi-Wan did not break his blue-gray gaze from the unrelenting black of Senay's. The elder was staring at him with a deep seriousness. "But it must be *all of us*, Obi-Wan. Do you understand? Do you see what it is that I'm asking? Do you see what I need you to do?"

It was impossible. Of course it was, and yet. And yet how could he say no? He had been raised and trained to do the impossible. He had been brought up to bring hope.

"Only you can do this. You know that, don't you?" Senay's voice was almost pleading. Almost. One thing that this man would never do was beg. His daughter shared that trait. All Ramos shared it.

He swallowed and nodded, closing the box gently, almost reverently. It was the future of Ramos contained inside of it. And he knew that Senay was right. Only him.

The old man had seen his acceptance and it was as if a great weight lifted from that hollowed chest. He coughed spasmodically again, his thin body wracked with convulsions, but it was a smile that stretched the black-spotted lips when he recovered.

"You will do it for her. You will do it for all of us." Senay's left hand reached out to grasp Obi- Wan's once more, covering it with his right and bringing it to his chest. The dark eyes expressed a depth of gratitude that Obi-Wan knew he would never forget. It was a great burden and a great responsibility, but all he could feel was joy that he had been able to give something back to this man who had taken him so close to his heart.

"I will do it." Obi-Wan repeated softly, managing a smile through the pain in his chest. He knelt once more and lifted the old man's hand to his cheek, closing his eyes. "Thank you Senay. Thank you for everything you gave me."

The man chuckled weakly and shook his head.

"You are stronger than any of us, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Even my dear Rivyyn, though she would rage to hear me say so. You will do well with each other, and when it comes time for you to go back to wherever you ran from, I think you will both be the better for it. Remember that when the time comes."

Obi-Wan had shaken his head then, distressed to consider that Senay would think that he could leave them. Leave Rivyyn.

Had Senay known what Obi-Wan had hidden from himself? He did not think it then, but years later, when he lay cold and beaten and bloody in a dank machine-closet, he marveled that the old man had known what he had not. That he had already seen the young Jedi's heart was marked for somewhere else. For some*one* else.

He had not dwelled on it then. Instead, he had taken the box and tucked it into his robes securely before rising to call Rivyyn in to her father's bedside. He had pressed her hand as she passed him and she had squeezed back, though she had evaded meeting his gaze. She hadn't wanted him to look at her in the weakness of her sorrow. He had wanted to tell her that sorrow did not make one weak, but he kept silent and left her to watch her father die.

Rivyyn. She would be coming soon. He gritted his teeth and let the pain fill him then, slipping from past to present with a gradual rise of sharp sensation.

Somehow he had planned for everything, thought of everything. Everything but how much it would hurt.

Somewhere in the grainy, humid dark he could hear the steady plunking echo of a drip on metal. Something multi-legged skittered over his hand where it lay on the rusted floor. He didn't even flinch. It would have cost him too much energy. A raspy cough wrenched its way out of Obi- Wan's lungs, making his muscles scream in pain as they were forced into cramping contractions. There was a warm, metallic wetness on his tongue that he recognized as blood and he knew that damage had been done to his lungs. In the beginning he had stubbornly refused to scream, but that had not lasted...

He dispersed some of his pain into the Force, but too little... too little to really help. He knew it would ruin everything if he let himself heal more than the bare necessity to keep alive.

He had been shot before. The good things about laser injuries were that the supra-heated light both sterilized and cauterized the wound. The bad thing was that few injuries hurt as much as a laser burn.

The rifle had been set to its lowest power. He knew that from the first time he examined it and found only a fist-sized third-degree burn on his shoulder. If it had been set to maximum there would have been a fist-sized hole though his shoulder.

He had barely begun to deal with the pain when Ludarr had come with his questions and his men, stringing him up like an animal to be quartered before beating him. Questions that he had expected, that he had nearly scripted in his mind, were flung at him like weapons.

"Why were you taking those meetings with the Guild?!"

"What kind of deal are you working out with them?!"

"What is Drey getting out of it!?"

"Why did you call in another Jedi? Did Eri call him in? Are you working with Eri? What did you and the other Jedi talk to the Eri bastard about yesterday?"

"Are you working with the Guild? Tell us!"

Each question was punctuated with a kick or blow. Some with fists, others with those vicious clubs of razorwood -- clubs that left bloody gashes filled with slivers of wood and filth.

He had remained stubborn for as long as he felt both realistic and wise before he began, in very careful measures, to dole out the story he had rehearsed since Senay's death, since those first weeks after he had been shown the box and its contents.

*I'm almost there, Senay. Almost there.*

It would be the hardest when Riv came, that was when it was really going to hurt. A weak, humorless chuckle issued from his torn and swollen lips then. Maybe that tawdry scene with Qui-Gon on the couch had been for the best. She might be quicker to believe the worst of him now. The chuckle turned to a gasping sob of pain as his broken ribs pinched and grated with the movement. He tried to will his body into complete stillness on the gritty, filthy floor of the closet. Tried to distance himself from the pain.

Rivyyn. What had he thought would really happen between them when he had first kissed her? The fresh memories of Qui-Gon's mouth on his fevered skin told him that he had only been waiting all this time to come to life under that touch. When he had left Coruscant his soul had closed in on itself like a blossom in wet weather, awaiting the light of Qui-Gon Jinn to awaken it. Had there ever been a day since he was thirteen when his life had not revolved around that brightness?

He realized that the love he felt now for his master had never gone away. Not even when he had believed without a doubt that it had. Qui-Gon had been there, like a ghost in his heart, waiting. Just waiting. How could he have lied to himself so thoroughly? How could he have deceived Rivyyn so terribly?

It took a long moment to push away the vivid sensations of a prickly beard against the soft skin of his throat, of wide, callused hands on his ribs, on his hips, in his hair...

He brought up instead the memory of the first time he'd seen Senay's daughter. The sun flashing in her russet hair, the wicked, willful glint of her black eyes. They had fought at first, of course. But it had turned to passion. She had been enough, he'd thought, enough to wipe the memory of his own rejection from his brain. She *had* been enough. He *had* loved her. It had never been the all-consuming thing he had felt for his master on Coruscant, but he had told himself sagely that nothing was ever quite like that first love. Nothing was ever quite as powerful or dramatic as that first blush of passion or lust that youth feels.

And he had convinced himself.

And he had been happy. Nothing could erase that. He had loved her and she had loved him. Senay had somehow known, even then, that it would never be more than that. He had even said so, but Obi-Wan had heard only the words, not the shadow of prophecy behind them.

Would he have changed anything if he had? Not likely. Rivyyn had been there when he had thought that the only person in the world who had mattered had rejected him. She was not a regret, and he would not take back one day.

Even if by the end of this night she wished that he had never set foot on Ramos.

The sound of footsteps on metal, echoing hollowly in the narrow passage. He could sense her now. The clear, cold burn of her anger and fear, the needle-sharp stinging pain of her perceived betrayal. And there was another. Qui-Gon was there too. He had expected it, but it nearly tore his resolve to pieces in one moment. Could he do what needed to be done in front of his former master? In front of his... lover?

Would Qui-Gon even want him when he learned what his student, a Jedi Knight, had done here?

He was given no more time to ponder the consequences of his actions. The door clanged open and rough hands grabbed him, dragging him out into the dim yellow light of the corridor, back into the main room, back into the cuffs that stretched his battered body upright.

This was finally it.

*** Chapter Twelve ***

There was little about the scene that Qui-Gon had not seen a hundred times on a hundred worlds. Primitive brutality was commonplace on every level of society, every stage of technology. Perhaps it was just part of the price sentience eked from its members. He had seen literally hundreds of species in varying states of injury, all suffering for the things they held captive in their heads, be it knowledge or idealism or even hope. But he had never witnessed such a scene with the one he loved receiving the brunt of the attention.

Obi-Wan looked to be on death's door, suspended from the ceiling by twin cuffs that trapped his wrists high over his head. He was on the tips of his toes, trying to keep the weight off his arms and shoulders... his poor shoulder. Qui-Gon winced at the sight of the wide patch of raw, blackened flesh there, but it was the clear finger-shaped bruises on the young man's hips and ribs that made the Jedi Master shrivel inside. The marks that he had put there himself, the marks that mixed in amongst the other terrible signs of damage, but stared with accusing purple eyes.

He could not indulge in his own guilt now. He could not. His apprentice was now weaving patterns with his own blood, his master's guilt would not help him. And neither would the Force.

Since Qui-Gon could see now, without too much surprise, that Obi-Wan was not using the Force to help himself.

That, more than any one thing he had witnessed his student do on this world, told him that he was no longer Obi-Wan's pawn in this complex game. He was now a player in a scene, and he could not alter the last act. It was Obi-Wan's show, and he was helpless.

And so he forced himself to watch, grim and terrible in the emotions he fought back, but calm on the outside. He crossed his arms and he waited for the moment when he deemed his former Padawan had gone too far.

Rivyyn stood at Qui-Gon's side, and Qui-Gon could almost feel the scorching heat from her emotions. She was a storm of fury, sorrow and scorned betrayal so powerful that he had to rapidly shield himself from it. Her skin was ashen, her pupils huge in the dim light as she stared at the sight of her former lover hanging before her, beaten. Trembling fingers white as bone were clamped on her elbows and even through the shield he sensed her fighting her emotions, to stay calm.

Fighting not to weep in front of the Venyyn.

He could feel Obi-Wan's pain too - terrible, but not as debilitating as Rivyyn's in its own way. Physical pain was always the lesser of the two torments.

Obi-Wan was not, it seemed, taking the chance of passing out. He was doling out tiny tendrils of strength to vital systems, keeping himself functioning. At least so far.

There was a steely glint of determination in those thundercloud eyes. A fire that he was all-too familiar with. It was the stubborn side of Obi-Wan. And Qui-Gon realized that he *still* didn't quite understand what Obi-Wan intended. He didn't have all the threads yet, but he suspected he would soon. It was all for Ramos, that much he *did* know.

The things that didn't make sense were the secret communications to the Senate and these closed door meetings his apprentice had apparently been taking with the Guild. Ludarr Venyyn had told Rivyyn about these meetings himself.

Somehow, all of this would knit together seamlessly in the end. He was sure of it.

"I want to hear it from his own lips, Venyyn." Rivyyn said, her voice echoing harshly into the damp, cold air of the dim room.

Qui-Gon had gone to the Drey House expecting - and willing to give - a fight, and instead had been immediately escorted in to find a grim and pale Rivyyn speaking with Ludarr Venyyn on the holovid.

Ludarr had claimed, in his own words, that Rivyyn's "housepet" had double- crossed her, and he had kidnapped him to "drag the truth out of his lying guts if I have to". The big man had finished by suggesting that he thought she would be very interested indeed to hear just what "the little traitor had been up to."

Rivyyn had clearly been troubled by the news of the kidnapping and more than distrustful of her lifelong enemy's accusation, but she was almost panicked by the possibility of Obi-Wan being injured or killed by her Venyyn rivals. Her very real fear for Obi-Wan's safety had melted Qui- Gon's animosity towards her, and he had asked to be allowed to accompany her to the meeting place Ludarr had stipulated. He had been prepared to use the Force to convince her if necessary, but Rivyyn had agreed distractedly.

Now Ludarr stepped forward, one of his men at his side, their Clan tattoos dark and garish in the moldy light.

"Tell her, traitor. Tell her why you've been going to see the Guild."

Qui-Gon tensed, waiting for the blow that he was sure would find its way into Obi-Wan's already fragile ribs. It didn't. Ludarr stood stiff as a stone before the beaten Knight and only stared. It was, Qui-Gon realized with an internal start, out of respect for Rivyyn that the man did not punctuate his question to the "traitor" with a new injury. It was out of a stronger sense of loyalty to Ramos and Ramians against the outsider that he did so.

It was Ramians against Obi-Wan. Not Venyyn against Drey.

Like a light cracking into a dark room, Qui-Gon began to see. *Masterful,* he thought, *And too devious by half. Where did he learn such methods?*

Obi-Wan lifted his head, one eye swollen shut, his lips cracked and bleeding. His hair hung lank and straggled across his forehead and temples. The look that he gave Rivyyn could only be described as contemptuous to the casual observer, but Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's heart breaking with it.

"I'll tell you." His voice was slurred through his swollen lips. He sent a shifty look back to Ludarr and then fixed his eyes on the metal floor at his feet. Qui-Gon thought that it was because he could not look Rivyyn in the eye more than the studied defiance that his apprentice was trying to posture at.

Apprentice indeed. Qui-Gon's wonderment, his astonished realization of what Obi-Wan was doing, what he had done, the clear and blatant deception that was taking place, began to paint the Jedi Master a mental portrait. It was the picture of a young man who believed, it seemed, that the end justified the means. It was a picture of a young man who was willing to sacrifice his self- respect, his honor and even his love in service for a greater cause.

And he saw then the lie that had started this whole thing, the lie that had led Obi-Wan to Ramos had also engineered what he was witnessing now.

The lie he had told on the eve of Obi-Wan's Knighting.

Obi-Wan had always been a quick study, taking each lesson he learned to heart and applying it flawlessly.

He had done so here.

Qui-Gon was witnessing the results of his own decision to deceive Obi-Wan four years ago. *Did* the end justify the means? Obi-Wan had turned from him and become a greater Knight than even Qui-Gon could have hoped, but in twisting things like love, in *using* love to achieve something else, he had given Obi-Wan the tools to create his own juggernaut.

And now the seed of the deception was given new life in the broken heart of the young woman next to him, in the searing self-hatred that lifted off his former student like a dark mist.

"I'll tell you." He repeated, still staring at the floor as Rivyyn took one small step forward and stopped, her spine stiff, her limbs trembling almost imperceptibly. "Before your father kicked off, he found something. He found a new deposit of crystal. A huge one."

That was it then. The last tidy, golden stitch to the tapestry, and now the tale was woven. Qui-Gon understood almost everything now. And though he marveled at his student's amazing, intricate plan, all he could feel was a stone lump of shame in his breast where pride should have shone.

"A...new crystal deposit?" Rivyyn didn't bother to hide the astonished hope in her voice. "Why...why didn't he tell me?" Obi-Wan chuckled, but it was a weak, spiritless sound.

"You know I was like a son to the old man. He told me to share it with you, but I wanted it for myself." The young voice was so hard, if Qui-Gon hadn't been able to feel the pain coming off Obi-Wan, he might have believed it. When had his student become so adept at lying?

*He learned from the Master.* A thin whisper accused in his head.

"He's been meeting secretly with the Guild," Ludarr said, his hard voice softening just the smallest bit in the face of Rivyyn's humiliation. The big leader of the Venyyn moved to put a hand on Rivyyn's shoulder. "I thought he was working on a deal for Drey. For you."

She didn't shrug off the touch of her enemy. Qui-Gon wondered if she even knew it was there.

"I was gonna be rich," Obi-Wan said, finally lifting his head, but staring at Ludarr, not Rivyyn.

"Where...where is it?" Rivyyn's voice was stony now. Obi-Wan firmly clamped his lips shut, the message clear. One of Ludarr's men stepped forward, lifting the ragged club of razorwood he was carrying. He braced himself to step forward and finally end this nonsense, when Rivyyn's voice rang out.

"No! Stop. Ludarr, can I talk to you a moment? Alone." She narrowed her eyes at Obi-Wan and then flicked them reluctantly to Qui-Gon. "You too."

Curious, Qui-Gon took one last glance at the seemingly defiant young Knight, realizing that whatever was about to happen, the man had already anticipated it. The flash of realization that Obi-Wan had *needed* another Jedi here, had clearly planned for it, was no surprise. Clearly, Obi-Wan had sent those messages to the Council *knowing* that Yoda would send someone. Even that. Even that was orchestrated. He still wasn't sure if he should be proud or horrified.

Ludarr led them into a small room that were clearly quarters for the sentries. As soon as the door was shut, Venyyn turned to Drey, looking down at her from his considerable height with folded arms. Qui-Gon did not miss the fact that neither of them were openly hostile to each other.

"What is it, Drey?"

"Have you thought about this all the way through, Venyyn?" Her voice was steeped in the pain that still shredded her soul, but she was all icy business.

"I believe that I have. If this new deposit is all that he says it is, if he's not lying, then I think that Ramos might have a chance of surviving the next century."

"Yes, but have you thought beyond that? What this new deposit can give us? Economic security. Our own _economy_ , Ludarr. Not just this half-life of dependence we lead with the Guild and Eri."

The big man's lips thinned as he nodded.

"Yeah, but why would this mine be any different from what we already have? We don't have distribution, we would have to rely on the Guild. We're still beholden to Eri."

Rivyyn smiled then, a tight, small thing that was nowhere near an expression of happiness. Her gaze slid to Qui-Gon, drawing Ludarr's with it. Qui-Gon could see a light go on in the Venyyn's eyes when he looked at the Jedi.

And Qui-Gon himself could only marvel at the _extent_ to which Obi-Wan had manipulated things. The logs on the comm unit finally blended neatly into the pattern, and Rivyyn's next words were no surprise.

"With the new crystal deposit, with the contract ending in a few days, we might be able to get the Republic to consider our bid for admission. We know they need that crystal. They would be only too happy to have direct access to it. Not having to go through the Guild. I think they would let us in. We could cut ties with Eri."

She was still looking up at him and Qui-Gon nodded slowly, knowing now that Obi-Wan had already made inroads with the Senate on this very matter. He suspected that if Rivyyn or Ludarr made a call, the Senate would already be prepared to grease the wheels and welcome Ramos into the fold.

Of course, the caveat would be that the Republic would have no use for a world divided. Crystal or not. Obi-Wan had done everything that he had done to get Ludarr and Rivyyn to have this very conversation. Together.

"The Republic would be very open to your plea for admission. I can give you the contact for the right people to open the floor to it." He spoke his lines dutifully, wondering if his student had gone so far as to guess what the Jedi Envoy he had lured out here would say.

Probably. The boy had always been fastidious with detail.

"We just need to see this deposit. Make sure it is all he says it is." Ludarr squinted down at Rivyyn then. "We may have to use more...serious means...to get it out of him."

She was still ramrod stiff, but her chin dipped just slightly. She was not willing, but she would agree. It was for Ramos that she did it. Not for herself. Not even for Drey. But for her world.

Both of them understood just what was at stake, but so did Qui-Gon.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said firmly. There would be no more injury to Obi-Wan if he had anything to say about it. "I will get the information from him myself and then return him to Coruscant to stand before the Council on this matter. He will be probably be stripped of his rank as Knight."

Not bloody likely, but he knew that the pair of them expected to hear him say it.

He turned and strode back into the room before either could object, walking right up to his student and taking the battered face between his hands. He wanted nothing more than to release the torn wrists from their bonds and bear the youth out of this dank room, off this dank planet, but he would not rend the design that the young man had so carefully woven.

Obi-Wan peered blearily at him from his purpling face, exhausted beyond words, seeking the knowledge that Qui-Gon understood. The older man gently slid into his mind, reassuring him even as he took up the promptly offered information about the location of the new deposit. He couldn't resist sending a surge of healing energy into the man before he pulled away again, letting Obi-Wan slump theatrically in his cuffs as if he'd fought a long mental battle.

The Jedi Master turned to the waiting Clan leaders and nodded.

"I have it. The location of the new vein. And he has a sample of the quality of the crystal back at the inn we were staying at. It is, apparently, of the finest grade."

Drey and Venyyn looked at each other, and Qui-Gon was both amazed and gratified that they were looking at each other as two members of the same team, and not as the enemies they had always been. He could almost feel the alien sensation of hope blossoming in both of them. An emotion that neither of them had ever found much use in.

"May I take him now? We will be returning to Coruscant as soon as he is able to travel." Qui-Gon made his voice hard. "I apologize for his deception. Our order despises what he has done here. He will be punished." Qui-Gon bowed slightly then, still shutting himself off to the majority of what Rivyyn was feeling.

He had moved to undo Obi-Wan's wrists from the binders when the Drey leader's voice halted him.

"Wait a moment, Jedi."

He paused reluctantly and stepped back as she stepped forward. She was staring at Obi-Wan fiercely, and he was resolutely not meeting her eyes. Qui-Gon could feel his apprentice's heavy heart from where he stood, his shame at the pain he had caused this woman. Of all the things he had planned, this was clearly one scene the young man had not been able to play out in his head.

She didn't lift his chin or force him to meet her eyes. Instead her right fist clenched into a ball, and Qui-Gon was certain she would strike her former lover. Instead, she stood long and merely looked at him, here eyes taking in every detail of bruise, laceration and burn, as if she were committing them to memory.

And then she walked away, leaving Qui-Gon to gently lift the youth down and bear him away.

*** Chapter Thirteen ***

Battered human beings were no uncommon sight on Ramos V. Wrapped securely in the folds of Qui-Gon's cloak, Obi-Wan sagged against him as they sat on the one available seat of the magg transport. The Ramians who had occupied the seat stood when Qui-Gon entered bearing the beaten youth in his arms. They had moved back to give him room and he had taken the seat and whispered his thanks. They watched him from a distance, nodding in distant commiseration with him. There had been the inevitable questions, but the substance of them both shocked and dismayed the Jedi Master.

"Is he Drey or Venyyn?"

"Is he Guild or Eri?"

All they wanted to know was what faction Obi-Wan belonged to, so that they would know how much sympathy to feel for his condition.

"He's a sentient being!" Qui-Gon snapped. "Isn't that enough for you?"

They turned from him then. "Outworlder," one elderly man with a face like a tortoise pronounced. "That'll teach you."

Another Ramian, a blonde Drey woman in her brown jumpsuit, spat on the floor in contempt for them, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes in disgust and held Obi-Wan closer.

*I forgive you, Obi-Wan,* He thought. *You sacrificed your honor and integrity for these people, and they'll never know how much you cared about them. If ever a world needed your help, this one did.*

Having little choice, Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan back to the Green Wing. He drew stares from the clerk and the few guests in the lobby when he walked through carrying the young man in his arms, but no one intervened to hinder him or even to offer assistance.

Qui-Gon laid Obi-Wan gently down on the bed and moved his cloak away. Blood had dried on the material and stuck in places, and Obi-Wan hissed as the fabric was pulled away and the cuts began bleeding anew.

He hurried into the bathroom to fill the sink with water and snatch the few small towels from the rack. He plunged them into the water, grimacing as he considered the amount of bacteria probably teeming in the liquid, the sink surface, the towels...

With an oath, Qui-Gon stomped to the small communications panel by the bed and punched a button. The green ready light came on.

"Eri representative Jaarahn Bos," he said. After a small burst of static he was asked to state his identity.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn of the Jedi Knights of Coruscant."

Another burst of static, and then almost two minutes before he received a recorded reply that the party he was seeking was unavailable. Impatiently, he jabbed the another button and waited for the ready light, then asked for the Guild representative. Again, he received an apologetic recording. As a last gambit, he asked for the Republic liaison assigned to the Guild, and got a different recording that stated the liaison was currently traveling out of the sector.

Qui-Gon irritably turned the com panel off. *Bad news travels fast. We're on our own.*

He glanced down at Obi-Wan worriedly. The young man had fallen into a light doze. There was a deep pink flush across his face, and his fingers trembled restlessly in his sleep.

*I can't call the Drey for help, nor the Venyyn either. They'd only laugh. I can heal him partially myself, but unless I'm mistaken that color means he has a fever, and those razorwood clubs were filthy. Infection has already set in.*

Qui-Gon leaned over and laid the back of his hand on Obi-Wan's forehead. He did have a fever, and the Knight's entire Force-sense was off. Qui-Gon could *feel* the wrongness in him. He sensed instinctively that Obi-Wan was at the end of his strength. He had given every last bit of energy he had in the last few days to bring his plan to closure, and now he simply had no more to give, not even to save himself.

He first rifled through his own small bag of belongings, knowing by heart what they contained, but hoping anyway. The aid-kit that every Jedi carried would be of little use here. He didn't even hesitate before opening the small box of belongings that Obi-Wan had brought from Rivyyn's house, small personal privacies were the last thing on his mind.

But that thought did not stop him from freezing as he lifted the lid to expose a familiar holo lying atop the few things Obi-Wan had packed. He let his breath out in a long, slow push, closing his eyes briefly to gather himself before reaching past the picture of Obi-Wan and Rivyyn. The one that had sat atop the mantle in the common room.

He did not have time to either berate himself for his lapse in control or to indulge in regrets. He had to concentrate on his Padawan's life. His own pain could, and would, wait. He pushed his hands into the small stack of clothing, feeling for anything that might speak of emergency medical supplies. Obi-Wan was always so prepared...but it took only a few more moments to determine that this was one case where he was not.

*No sense lamenting what one does not have,* Qui-Gon instructed himself sternly. *To work.*

He retrieved the towels, with their suspect cleanliness, from the bathroom and began to lave the worst of the lacerations with plain water. The blaster wound he simply left alone, knowing the abrasion of the rough material would only make the burn worse. He spent several minutes picking slivers of razorwood from one long cut, then began on another and another until the long cuts on his chest were free of splinters. When Obi-Wan stirred and moaned he laid his fingertips on his temples and used the Force to send him back into unconsciousness.

He rolled him over and began on his back, hissing when he saw the extent of his injuries. It was much worse than his chest, and he still had the broken ribs, bruises, and laser wound to deal with, never mind fever, shock and infection.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed it away savagely and bent to his task. Wipe the blood away, probe for the splinter, pull it free. Wipe, probe, pull. On and on, sensing the fire of Obi-Wan's pain struggling to break free of his unconscious state, but being unable to do much more than keep him wrapped in a light sleep. Obi-Wan's moaning and tossing informed Qui-Gon that even drowsing he could still feel the pain, but there was nothing he could do about that. His own reserves were running low, and he needed all his strength for the healing trance.

*If,* he thought grimly, *I can summon one.*

When Obi-Wan's cuts were free of the black splinters and his back washed largely clean of blood, he turned him gently over and began to feel the line of his ribs for the fractures. He counted two, then went over the ridges of bone twice more to be certain. He extended his Force senses to probe his lungs, fearing that shards of bone from his ribs might have punctured them, but they were sound.

He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. Good news, at last. Now for the hardest part.

Kneeling by Obi-Wan's bedside, Qui-Gon removed his lightsaber from his belt and placed it on the floor beside him. He composed his limbs and took the meditative position for the healing trance. For this he would need Obi-Wan's cooperation, so he allowed the compulsion he held on the young man's mind to slip and bring himself up to consciousness. He knew he was there when a tortured gasp forced its way from Obi-Wan's lips.

Obi-Wan turned his head, eyes wide and filled with pain, seeking his. He could not allow himself to share in that pain or to take it on himself, however much he might want to.

"I need your help, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said, and saw that Obi-Wan immediately comprehended. They were ritual words, accompanied by a ritual posture he had seen many times in the Temple. No healer could cure without the help of the patient.

Then Qui-Gon saw the depth of guilt and self-loathing in Obi-Wan's mind and for an awful moment he wondered if he would consent at all.

"I will help you," he responded, completing the ritual phrase, not understanding when Qui-Gon sagged in relief. He closed his eyes and awaited the touch of Qui-Gon's mind to his.

Healing a sentient being is much more than simply knitting bones. The mind and the body are not two organisms that work in tandem, but parts of a shared whole. One cannot be fully healed without the other, and all true healers know this.

Obi-Wan knew it and braced for it, but when the touch came it was more cutting, more powerful and overwhelming, than any injury he had received at the Venyyn's hands. Qui-Gon slipped into his mind like black ice, but it was ice that burned.

A flaming ebony sword, tearing away shreds of gossamer doubt, cobwebs of guilt, and last of all, incinerating the tatters of shame from the corners of his personality. Qui-Gon strode through his injured psyche and eliminated the wounds to his spirit like an avenging angel. He could keep nothing from him.

Obi-Wan felt his selfish motives being pried from the grip of subconscious fingers and shoved into the darkly shining light, shriveling there when set against the goodness of his soul, finally vanishing into nothing. His ravished pride in being rejected was shored up, as was his insulted ego and his damaged self-image.

*You're beautiful,* he heard, and wondered who had said the words. Shock when he realized it was Qui-Gon.

He had heard those words from Rivyyn and never believed them. He had heard them from his peers in the Temple, from Ramian women, and even from Senay, and the simple truth of physical beauty never sank in. He had never believed it. Why not?

*Because the one person who mattered never said it.*

Was that true? He had never cared what other people thought of his material aspect. Truthfully, beyond cleanliness and health he thought physical appearance of little consequence, though he certainly appreciated it in others. Rivyyn, for one. Qui-Gon, for another. Did his own self-image hinge so much on what Qui-Gon thought of him? If he found him attractive, why had he never told him?

Qui-Gon's bodiless voice echoed along chambers of his mind. *I could not. If I had said that, I would have said other things, and...*

The statement hung in the limitless plane of their shared minds, and Obi-Wan found he could not let it go. He pressed.

*And?*

Hesitation. Regret. Much regret and... shame?

So much shame for one lie? It was a terrible one, true. But it was only one. He had told *dozens* of lies since then. Why would one lie - perhaps even a justified lie, considering the type of Knight he had turned out to be cause Qui-Gon to feel so ashamed?

Still Qui-Gon held the truth back from him, but the wall would not hold. Healing was a shared experience, both for healer and injured. Obi-Wan sensed Qui-Gon's reticence giving way.

*The lie was a lie.*

Now he did begin to surface from the trance. Qui-Gon struggled to keep him under, but he would not allow it. Obi-Wan breached consciousness like a swimmer coming up from the depths. He opened his eyes and saw the dingy walls of the Green Wing Inn. The late afternoon sunlight was slanting in at a steep angle from the small window. Hours had passed. His injuries began a chorus of agony, but he noted dispassionately that they were far less painful than they had been, and bearable.

There were other things that demanded his attention at the moment.

He turned in the bed, ignoring his protesting nerves, ignoring the fluttering wings of fever that were starting to beat behind his eyes, and found Qui-Gon staring at him, still kneeling in his ritual posture by the bed.

"It was what?" he demanded harshly. His throat felt raw, and his tongue was sore from where he had bitten it during his ordeal.

Qui-Gon leaned forward and began to examine his ribs, trying to ascertain if they had mended at all during the trance, but Obi-Wan grabbed his arm in an iron grip.

"The lie was what?!" he almost shouted.

"Calm yourself," Qui-Gon ordered.

"I will not! Tell me what you meant!"

"Obi-Wan, please, you will injure yourself." Qui-Gon tried to ease him back to the mattress.

"Tell me or leave," Obi-Wan said in a choking voice. "I mean it, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon paused, his blue eyes staring down into Obi-Wan's, lush mouth pressed into a thin line. Finally, he dropped his gaze. A lock of his hair brushed Obi-Wan's cheek.

"I lied to you," Qui-Gon whispered, his head down. "I lied about lying. But I could never tell you, because you had to become your own person, not a shadow of me. You had to leave, and you would only do that if you thought I didn't want you. So I told you that the lie was bait, that I didn't want you and had never wanted you. That you were too young to know what you wanted. That I used the promise of myself to keep you focused on the years ahead. But none of it was true, Obi-Wan. None of it."

Qui-Gon raised his head slowly to look at him, and his eyes were huge and haunted. "But worse than all that, I lied to myself. I convinced myself that I was doing it for your own good, when it was really because I was too much of a coward to face my own feelings. To admit how much I needed you."

Obi-Wan felt his heart breaking. "Just needed?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, laughing a little. "And still I'm a coward. No, Obi-Wan, not just needed. I loved you. I desired you. I have for years, and I still do. I didn't know how much until I saw you with Rivyyn and realized what I'd lost."

It was too much. Obi-Wan's head was swimming. His grip on Qui-Gon's arm faltered, and he fell back against the mattress, breathing hard. "You love me?" he got out, dimly feeling a sickening wave of heat rush over his body.

Then the room tilted and blackness rushed in.

"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?!"

Qui-Gon watched him faint and resisted the urge to shake him. Fled were his own insecurities about how Obi-Wan would react to his confession. All that mattered now was that his Padawan's face was flushed red and his breathing labored. His skin, when he felt his forehead, was burning.

*Delayed shock,* he thought frantically. *The trance closed the most serious of his wounds and partially healed his ribs, but it did nothing for his fever or the infection. The razorwood poisons inside his body have reached his bloodstream, and I don't know how to treat them. I don't even know what they are!*

He thought about taking him into the bathroom and placing him in a cold tub of water, but that would only treat the fever symptom, not cure him. Damn it, he needed two days in a bacta tank, not a bandage! Qui-Gon gritted his teeth in frustration. Not that he even HAD bandages! As for modern medical facilities, they didn't exist here.

He had been cut with razorwood himself, and had immediately sensed the virulence of the foreign bacteria seeking for a foothold in his flesh. Force only knew how Obi-Wan was feeling. If only he had some of those bacta strips that Obi-Wan had used on him!

Then he remembered the wooden box full of modern medicines at the Drey house. Obi-Wan had not brought that box with him. It should still be in Rivyyn's possession.

He would have to leave him alone here, but it couldn't be helped, unless...

His mouth twisted grimly. Unless he could convince Rivyyn to come here? Fat chance. Obi-Wan was too good an actor. He would be lucky if Rivyyn didn't declare Drey Clan blood feud singularly on Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight. The sooner Obi-Wan left Ramos, the better.

*I have to try.*

A timid knock sounded on the door behind him, startling him. Almost no one knew where they were, and for a moment he wondered if his concern about Obi-Wan's continuing safety on Ramos had been prophetic.

Qui-Gon quickly replaced his lightsaber in his belt and opened the door.

There was Rivyyn Drey, her face pinched into white lines, and in her hands -- Qui-Gon saw with a simultaneous surge of surprise, relief and gratitude -- she held a wooden box.

*** Chapter Fourteen ***

She stood in the doorway for a long moment, her eyes slightly puffy and red, her cheeks still pale and hollow in the reddish light of the setting sun behind her. She looked amazingly young in that moment, and suddenly, for the first time since he'd met her, he wondered just how old she actually was. She had to be even younger than Obi-Wan. Had she ever even tasted betrayal on this level before? Likely she had not.

He could sympathize, remembering the searing agony of Xanatos' lie.

Her dark eyes skipped past him, landing on the still form of his apprentice and she lifted the box just slightly, as if in offering. Rivyyn's attempts to keep her visage stony were failing terribly, and he wanted to tell her that she didn't need to pretend any more. No words came to his lips, instead he took the proffered box from her suddenly limp hands and turned from her, leaving her in the doorway to go or stay as she wished. He had no thought beyond Obi-Wan at the moment.

Kneeling next to the bed, he lifted the lacquered lid, marveling anew at his student's ability to be prepared. He had not seen the contents of the box clearly before, but now he could tell that it contained everything and more that he would need short of a portable bacta tank.

If he only knew *what* he needed. There were easily a dozen different antibiotics packed neatly inside. His hands hovered over the glass tubes hesitantly for only a moment before slim fingers brushed them aside, and Rivyyn plucked forth a pale orange vial.

"Here," she said, "I'll do it. You take that bottle there," she gestured at a familiar container with a spray nozzle attached to the top, "and spray the razorwood wounds with it." Her voice was calm, if a little thin. Some of her self possession was back as she withdrew an injector from its soft sheath and affixed it to the tube she held.

Qui-Gon picked up the spray bottle and did as she said, gently coating each of the oozing wounds with the clear, pinkish medication. She had moved to the other side of the bed, leaning over it to gently press the injector against Obi-Wan's neck.

The results were astonishing. The topical spray he used, some sort of ionized bacta, he guessed, had already lent the wounds a pinker, healthier look -- driving away the greenish tint that the edges of the wounds started to take on before his very eyes. More importantly, he could sense that the antibiotic that Rivyyn had given Obi-Wan had begun to systematically destroy the invading bacteria.

As easily as that, the danger was averted. He and Rivyyn worked in silence for a little longer, applying bacta strips and laving both bruises and cuts alike with the spray.

It was only once they were both done and facing each other with Obi-Wan lying motionless between them across the expanse of the bed, that she spoke.

"I suppose I want to know what's going on now, Jedi." Her voice was weary. Qui-Gon did not move to speak and she sighed, shaking her head slightly.

"Please. I know that Obi-Wan ... had something to do with ... well, with everything. I know now that he was indeed going to the Guild as he confessed to Ludarr -- but for no other reason beyond the fact that he and Krunn have taken to playing bloody paragammon together. I talked to him this morning. Krunn is too much of a fool to be a good liar." She blew a rush of air out of her nose. "That was what he was doing. He wasn't plotting, or planning -- at least not against Ramos V. And not with the Guild."

Qui-Gon was still as a statue, giving her no clue, yea or nay, if she was right. Which, of course, she was.

"No." She said wearily then, "he wasn't plotting for himself, he was plotting for us. Wasn't he?"

Her face was a mask now, but he could feel her conflicting emotions -- pride, fear, confusion -- all overlaid with that one thing that she was not used to dealing with. Hope. Her slender hands came up to clench together on the bedcovers, and he could tell that she wanted to touch Obi-Wan, but was simply afraid to.

"And then I saw something on the computer a little while ago when Ludarr and I made our initial contact to your Republic Senate. You know...preliminaries. I thought we would have to set something up. The creature we talked to seemed very receptive to us. _Very_ receptive." Her fair brow crinkled, dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Has ... has he been playing us all along? Have you?"

Now Qui-Gon did speak, his mind trying to find its way into Obi-Wan's weaving. He did not want to say or do anything that might tear the pattern apart. Not after all this.

"What does Ludarr think?"

A tiny little smile lifted the corners of her lips then and she sat back on her heels, not breaking her gaze.

"Ah. Your question tells me something, Jedi. Hmp. Ludarr. Yes. Well, _he_ doesn't think any of it is strange. But then, he doesn't know Obi-Wan has only been playing paragammon with the Guild rep. And he didn't see the old logs on the com unit. The log ID codes that matched exactly to the Senator we spoke to.

"Ludarr doesn't know Obi-Wan like I do. He only sees a suspicious offworlder who fits into his pattern for scapegoat. Which is exactly, I think, what this one here intended." She added the last in a lower tone of voice, her eyes finally slipping towards the young knight's face almost tenderly. "He didn't do it. He didn't try to steal our only chance to survive on this mudball. Did he?" Her voice was almost a whisper now, and so full of fearful hope that it nearly cracked.

Qui-Gon sighed, and shook his head, finally letting his own eyes fall back on the now peaceful features of his apprentice.

"No. No, he did not."

She let her head fall onto the bedcovers, her posture almost one of prayer.

"I knew it. I knew it when I saw that he took the holo from our...from my mantle." Her voice was muffled by the fabric, but he could still hear that it quavered. The room was filled with silence then, broken only by the light sound of Obi-Wan's breathing.

*You knew this was going to happen. You prepared for it. You've been dealing with it since you got here.* But nothing would take away the burning ache in his heart. *Nothing is more important than Obi-Wan's happiness,* he told himself firmly. And it was true.

"Riv?" The voice cut through both the quiet of the room and both watchers' inner thoughts. Obi-Wan was awake, peering blearily at the dark-haired woman who knelt at his side. He glanced uncertainly at Qui-Gon then, and then the Jedi Master watched as his apprentice forced a hard look of disdain across his face.

Even battered and weary, he would not let the loom slip. Qui-Gon set a gentle hand on his student's shoulder, sending a warm surge of both strength and reassurance through the touch.

"She knows, Obi-Wan. She knows now."

Even the calm that Qui-Gon projected was not enough to smother the sudden and terrible fear that exploded from the injured young man. He believed that it had not worked. That he had been seen through.

"Just me, Obi." Rivyyn finally spoke. "Just me."

When she reached out and took up his hand, when Obi-Wan turned his head towards her and covered those slender fingers with his own, that was when Qui-Gon pushed tiredly to his feet. He felt a hundred years old.

Without another word, he nodded at Rivyyn and left the room, leaving them their privacy.

He did not see the somewhat sad and determined look that was sent at his retreating back before the door closed him off from the room. He could only look forward or completely lose his resolve.

They only looked at each other for a long span of heartbeats. He could feel her pulse under his fingertips. Somehow everything seemed clearer, even through the pain-numbing qualities of the healing drugs he could feel he'd been given. He had never felt so entirely certain of everything around him. Of what he held in his heart.

Even with his sudden surety of purpose, it was still Rivyyn who spoke first.

"Why?"

Why indeed. He smiled gently at her, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Your father, Riv. He asked me. And I would have done it anyway. For Ramos. For the Drey. For you. I had to. I'm sorry that I had to deceive you."

She shook her head, her mouth a thin line. Those beautiful black eyes were almost all pupil.

"No. That's not what I mean, Obi. Why did you lie to me? Why did you pretend that you loved me? Was that part of your plan too?"

His jaw dropped slightly and he struggled painfully to sit up, clenching her hand between his.

"Oh Force, Riv. No. I...I did lie to you." He swallowed painfully. "I know that now, but I never meant...I did - I *do* love you. It's just not..."

Her throat worked silently for a moment as she stared at their hands clenched together.

"Please. Stop. I know. I always thought maybe, maybe you were holding something back from me. That there was a part of you I could never have. I didn't realize until *he* came that the part was residing with him. You ...you became complete when he was in the room with you."

She let go of his hand then and stood up, turning from him to rub at her eyes suspiciously.

"Oh Force, I..." He couldn't say anything more. He knew how she felt. Nothing could make that empty place go away. And it hurt. Badly. But he could do nothing now except serve the truth, and he would not lie to her any longer. Consciously or not. He let out his breath, falling back onto the bed and starting at the rigid line of her slender back. "I *am* glad that you found out. That you know that I would never...that I couldn't betray you or Ramos like that." His words were thick.

She moved to the window and looked out of the tiny square, pretending interest in what went on in the streets.

"You know that...that once we're members of the Republic...the truth about you could be known. You could stay... if you wanted." Such soft words. They had cost her a great deal, knowing as she must what his answer would be.

"You know I can't. You know it's better if your Clans have an enemy to rally against. To toast drinks to each other over my exposure as another outworld bastard, to know that you and Venyyn alone were responsible for your own success."

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"And of course, you want to leave with him. With your Jedi."

"Yes." He did not hesitate over the words. "I do love him. You're right. I always have."

"What about what he did to you?" She asked harshly, finally turning to face him, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Can you just forget that?"

"I...I don't know if I can forgive him. I don't even know if I can trust him again. Or if he can trust me now. But I have to try. I can't *not* try." Obi-Wan couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. He had clung to that betrayal for so long, that outrage and that pain. It was gone now. A lie. The lie was a lie. Everything seemed so clear now. "But I think I do owe him for one thing... I would have never come here and met you if he hadn't lied to me."

She shook her head sharply, her black eyes fierce with her pain. "It would have been better had you not!"

Obi-Wan blinked sadly at her. "Do you mean that?"

She took a deep breath and unfolded her arms, reaching up to brush another tear from her cheek, shaking her head softly as she did so.

"No." The word was so quiet. She moved back to the bedside, but did not touch the injured man. "No. I may regret any number of things about you, Kenobi, but I don't regret that you came here." She managed a crooked smile and bent down to press her lips softly to his. He kissed her back tenderly, tasting her mouth one last time before she straightened.

And then she turned and walked to the door, pausing only briefly to look down at the open box of his belongings. The holo of both of them still lay on top of the clothing inside, two smiling faces looking up at the ceiling. Then she looked back once more at Obi-Wan, her eyes lingering on his face, before she left him.

*** Chapter Fifteen ***

Qui-Gon lingered in the lobby for several minutes before deciding that there really was no reason for him to lurk around just so he could have the painful experience of seeing Rivyyn and Obi-Wan leaving together.

He left the Green Wing and headed west, having no direction in mind, just following the rapidly setting sun, now a rim of fire low on the horizon. He wandered, because there was nothing else for him to do. Besides, he liked roaming unknown places, even this place, where he had lost so much. He had not lived as Journeyman so long out of apathy.

Liberated of the uncertainty of the path ahead - for he had lost Obi-Wan for good, he knew that now - he was free to examine Ramos V with a clear eye and try to see the beauty that had prompted Obi-Wan to make such sacrifices.

He wandered through narrow, cluttered streets and gradually thinning crowds as far as the swamp near the spaceport, and by then it was full dark. The night jaks gave long, echoing calls in the misty gloom as a serpentine chain of red lights began dancing a slow, sinuous promenade just above the surface of the murky water.

His inquisitive mind wondered what the dancers were, and he automatically began listing chemical reactions that could explain the phenomena. Just as quickly, he stopped.

"Knowing the science of it makes it no less beautiful," he said in a low voice. A night jak hooted prophetically into the night, and he smiled.

Qui-Gon straightened his back and looked out over the surface of the moving waters as he turned his questing inward. He found many things- a broken heart being not the least of them - but few regrets. Among those was his exploitation of Obi-Wan's vulnerability in the Green Wing. The young man had been lost and grieving all but beside himself with anxiety, and no wonder. Obi- Wan had been planning this day for two years, had dedicated his life and directed all his energy to reach this point. It had been easy to seduce Obi-Wan, to lie to himself and believe that his submission was consent, when it was really fear. Obi-Wan did not resist him because he couldn't afford to. He needed Qui-Gon's cooperation too badly.

No sacrifice, it seemed, had been too much for Ramos V.

He looked out over the swamp which had seemed so dismal and bleak to him such a short time ago, now colored by the knowledge of his beloved's student's devotion to its continued survival. He made out the shapes of slender trees rising like black reeds from the shrouded waters, tangled ropes of thick vine swaying in a webbed canopy above the swamp, and the muted splash of living creatures going about their lives in the watery ecosystem. He was not surprised now to realize that Ramos *was* beautiful, if one cared to look close enough. He regretted not seeing it before.

He sighed heavily. Of all the regrets Qui-Gon had locked inside him, the most grievous was one that was too far in the past to change.

*And now here we are, and there is nothing more to be done. It's over. Just turn around and go back. You have to.*

Go back to the Green Wing, pick up whatever farewell message - if any - that Obi-Wan had left for him, and use the companel to arrange transport home. He would be back at the Temple in less than three weeks.

But his feet would not move from the spot. He frowned. *Leaving is a simple matter,* he berated himself. *You put one foot in front of the other and soon you're gone.*

Gone.

Qui-Gon avoided glancing at the clerk as he entered the Green Wing. Like everyone he had encountered on his walk back from the swamp, he imagined that he was being gazed on with sympathy.

His footfalls echoed hollowly in the corridor. He had gotten used to Obi-Wan's presence at his side again very quickly. His solitary step sounded lonely to him now.

He entered the room and shed his cloak and began to lay it on the empty bed, then grimaced at the sight of the rumpled, bloodied sheets and instead draped it across the single counter in the kitchen area. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but he pushed his needs aside for now, wanting to get the tedious task of arranging his transport out of the way.

He walked to the companel and pushed a button. At the resulting beep, a voice called out to him from the bathroom.

"Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon spun on his heel. *"Obi-Wan?"*

Obi-Wan came out the bathroom, naked except for a thin towel draped around his hips. He was using another towel to rub briskly at his damp hair.

Qui-Gon had difficulty diagnosing his expression. At first, he looked only concerned. Then as he drew nearer, Qui-Gon could see that his brow was like a thundercloud.

Obi-Wan was thoroughly - completely- furious.

"Where have you been?" The words were clipped. Tight. Obi-Wan kept his gaze confined somewhere to Qui-Gon's left, unwilling to look at him.

Qui-Gon waved his hand. "Out. I was thinking."

"Thinking." Obi-Wan took several deep breaths in slow, measured cadence, and finally looked up at him. He tossed the towel over a chair and placed his hands on his hips. "You were out thinking."

"That's what I said."

Qui-Gon thought he saw lightning flashing behind those storm-gray eyes, and a small voice inside him bade him beware. *There's a tempest that wants a target. Watch yourself.*

"I was about to call the Senate to intervene with the Eri to send out a search party," Obi-Wan said, still in those flat, measured tones. "I hope you enjoyed your constitutional."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because," Obi-Wan said through gritted teeth. "Because you were gone for *hours*. Because I was *worried* about you, though Gods know why I should bother. It's not like you return the favor."

Qui-Gon's jaw dropped. He drew his mental shields tightly up around him and composed his features into a neutral mask. "That is an unfair thing to say, Obi-Wan."

Inside he was wilting, glancing almost fearfully at the bathroom door, not wanting to see Rivyyn striding out in that confident, graceful *young* swagger to see him arguing with his Padawan. Outwardly, he was all composure and poise. It was not easy, but he had not disciplined and studied for half a century to be seen through by a Knight half his age.

"I thank you for your concern, and I apologize again for frightening you. I did not expect to find you here." He glanced at Obi-Wan's mostly-nude body and tried not to wince at the deep shading of purple along Obi-Wan's ribs, or the pink, bacta-treated skin scaling off his shoulder. He still looked like he'd been dragged by a T-16 low over the Jundlan Wastes, but even that was a definite improvement over this afternoon.

"Where the hell else would I be?!" Obi-Wan shouted at white heat, and Qui-Gon stepped back, intimidated by the intensity of emotion despite his determination not to be.

Qui-Gon tried on a ferocious scowl. "Do not-"

He found himself pushed back to the wall by a stabbing finger placed square against his chest.

"You don't tell me what to do!" Obi-Wan was shouting, his face flushed and his eyes... Qui-Gon could barely stand to look at the depth of pain in his eyes. "No more orders! No more lies! Why were you gone so long, damnit? I thought..."

Qui-Gon was taken aback by the degree of misery radiating from Obi-Wan, and still no one had exited from the bath. Doubtfully, he extended his senses to scan the room, astonished when he found they were alone.

Suddenly, like the 3-dimensional holos that shift shape when you unfocus your eyes, the scenario began to change for Qui-Gon. He had perceived the world one way, and abruptly the world changed. It was like learning your planet was, after all, really flat.

Obi-Wan placed his palm against his chest and nailed him to the wall. "Was it another trick? Just another one of the lies in your magic bag? Tell me!" he shouted.

Qui-Gon felt his own anger rising. He gripped the slender wrist that was pinning him and tightened his fingers. "What are you talking about?" he growled. "What lies have I told you here?"

"You answer that," Obi-Wan hissed. "Are you going to claim it was a dream? That I imagined what you told me before I passed out? Or maybe it will be the 'you're too young to know what you want' bit. Pick a line, Qui-Gon."

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk of lying," Qui-Gon shot back, angry now and hard pressed to hide it. In a moment he was going to bruise Obi-Wan's wrist. "You've done nothing else since you arrived on this moon. You lied to the Eri, to the Drey, to your lover, to the Venyyn. To *me*! Tell me, Obi-Wan, is there anyone on Ramos you *haven't* lied to?"

That got him. Obi-Wan took the words like a fist, trembling visibly with their impact, anger dying in him, replaced by guilt and shame and self-loathing. Qui-Gon had to strain to hear the whispered words as Obi-Wan seemed to shrink inside himself.

"I learned from the best."

Obi-Wan would have recoiled from him, but he held on to his wrist, comprehension and immense regret sweeping through him. Obi-Wan was right. Ultimately, the responsibility fell on him. It was he, Qui-Gon Jinn, who had begun this chain of events long ago. Obi-Wan had indeed learned his lessons well.

"Wait."

Obi-Wan tugged at his captive hand. "Let me go, Qui-Gon."

Listlessly. Dead words, dying emotion. The passion and the fury went out of him in perceptible waves, and in going sparked off Qui-Gon's own wrath.

"Don't pull that with me. You're not running away from this. From me. Not again."

Qui-Gon drew him closer, acutely aware that Obi-Wan was wearing almost nothing and that his own heart was pounding. "I've made mistakes with you. I acknowledge that, and I beg your forgiveness. I've had to learn to live with what I did. Now so will you. I can't help you with those things, but I won't let you compound them by running any longer from *this*."

As he said the last word, Qui-Gon quickly slipped an arm around Obi-Wan's waist and jerked him forward, molding their bodies together. Obi-Wan gasped at the contact and looked up at him with wide blue-gray eyes, and for a moment no years had passed between them, no sorrows, no separations.

"Master..."

Qui-Gon abruptly seized Obi-Wan in a fierce embrace and hugged him so hard that the younger man uttered a short, pained yelp of protest. Qui-Gon recalled his injuries and released him immediately.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry " he stammered, then rained a series of gentle kisses on the upturned face. "I forgot. I -- "

Obi-Wan was smiling under the attention of Qui-Gon's light touches. Qui-Gon drew back for a moment, his large hands sliding through the silky burned-gold of his hair, and just admired.

This could *not* be happening. He must have fallen in the swamp earlier. Got bitten by a marsh bat. Caught a tropical disease. Something. Unless the cosmos suddenly had gone insane and the Fates were rewarding stupidity, blindness and self-delusion, there was no way this could be happening to him. One simply did not walk into a seedy hotel room and have all their dearest wishes granted.

Not in his universe.

"Maybe I'm the one who's dreaming," he said wonderingly, tracing his fingers down the still-damp skin of the younger Jedi's neck. His hand wandered lower and tugged on the loosely-bound towel covering Obi-Wan's hips. The damp fabric hit the floor with a soft sound and Qui-Gon dared to look fully on him, drawing in his breath at the proud erection jutting up just below Obi-Wan's navel.

Qui-Gon bent hungrily to cover Obi-Wan's lips with his own, but the Knight drew back slightly.

"Tell me first," he begged. He ducked his head and laid his cheek against Qui-Gon's broad chest. "Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan whispered pleadingly, lips moving against his skin. "Tell me again. Tell me you love me. I need to hear it. I need to know it wasn't just another dream."

The bond between them was still tangible enough that he heard the fleeting wish; *I have had so many dreams.. Please don't let this be another...*

Qui-Gon gently reached down and tipped his chin up. The first kiss was tentative, as if Qui-Gon were testing new ground. He placed his hands on either side of Obi-Wan's head and tugged him upwards on his toes until their lips met. "Love you..." Qui-Gon whispered just before their mouths came together.

Obi-Wan opened himself to the kiss like a flower to rain, lips parting to receive Qui-Gon's tongue, his whole being straining upward for more, yearning into his touch as if the Jedi Master were the sun itself.

The kiss went on until Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's legs begin to tremble from strain, then he gently broke contact and gazed down on him enigmatically. He was so beautiful. So much so that Qui-Gon felt invoked to near-reverence just to be allowed to hold him and kiss him. Obi-Wan's arms were twined around him, his hands sliding deliciously up his back as he leaned into Qui-Gon, forcing him back against the wall. The sudden grin he flashed up at Qui-Gon was wicked, and Qui-Gon was chagrined to feel a red blush creeping up his neck when Obi-Wan brushed their hips together and he discovered he himself was rock hard beneath his trousers.

Clever fingers dipped into his waistband, pulling until the constraining material was around his hips and cool air brushed across the sensitive skin of his cock. He fumbled, trying to both assist Obi-Wan and remember to breathe at the same time, tugging and jerking until his tunic and stola were pushed up and away from his belly, and he could press his dripping cock against warm skin at last. His erection brushed against Obi-Wan's and they gasped together against each other's lips.

*He wants me.*

He gripped the Knight's slender hips and began to undulate against him, sliding his cock against the soft hairs and muscled skin of Obi-Wan's belly and the silken hardness of his erection, after a few moments unable to tell which was which, only that he was engulfed below the waist in a firestorm of desire. Flames licked at his thoughts, rendering his judgement to ash, and without thinking he pulled Obi-Wan almost savagely against him and turned until the Knight's back was against the wall.

Then it was he who clasped demandingly, he who pinned the smaller body against the rough, flat surface and reached down to urge him to wrap his legs around his waist as he pushed and ground ... no thoughts... only fire and endless heat and the taste of him... time standing still for one glowing moment...

Obi-Wan uttered gasping pleas against the hard, possessive mouth covering his, but Qui-Gon did not hear the words, only the substance of their meaning. His thoughts were incoherent and feverish, wreathed in fire... A loud cry erupted from his chest as Obi-Wan's hot release splashed against his body first, and for a blazing instant the eroticism of the long-dreamed moment was so intense that he literally could not breathe. He came so hard that spots swam before his eyes and the room whited out.

Only when the ocean stopped thundering in his ears did he realize he was speaking brokenly, one arm braced against the wall as he held them both upright.

"Love you, love you... I love you, Obi-Wan."

After many long minutes had passed, Obi-Wan stopped trembling, the lingering tension of the intense orgasm finally leeching out of his muscles. He kissed the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat and leaned his weight against the wall. Qui-Gon returned the tender gesture by sliding his hand around to Obi-Wan's belly and drawing his fingers through their mingled seed. He drew back a little so he could look down on him, watching Obi-Wan's eyes narrow and his breath hitch in his throat as he brought his fingers to his own mouth and delicately tasted the salty fluid. He rubbed a sperm-wetted thumb against Obi-Wan's lush lower lip and dipped his head to taste of it, nipping lightly and sliding his tongue across his mouth.

Obi-Wan moaned and Qui-Gon smiled against his mouth as he felt the softened cock resting against belly twitch in response. "As much as I'd like to start all over again this very second, perhaps we should talk a bit first."

There had been too much misunderstanding between them. He felt he had to explain, to make matters clear before they went further, or risk more obstacles in the future.

"We need to discuss, to set matters clear between us."

Obi-Wan affected a serious expression and nodded sagely. "Discuss," he agreed docilely. But his hands were busy untying the sash at Qui-Gon's waist, pushing the fabric away from his shoulders. His sash and stola dropped to the floor, followed by his tunic.

"There," Qui-Gon took a deep breath, finding it difficult to speak as Obi-Wan's long fingers slid leisurely through the sticky area of his belly and dipped into the vee of hair arrowing down to his stirring cock. "There are matters to settle between us, and we must define this new ... relationship between us."

Obi-Wan bit his lip pensively, his eyes half-closing. He nodded in total agreement. "Define," he said.

"We must set boundaries."

Obi-Wan jerked on Qui-Gon's trousers until they puddled around his ankles. "Boundaries," Obi- Wan murmured.

Qui-Gon gasped as Obi-Wan swiftly dropped to his knees before him and gripped his renewed erection, wrapping long fingers around the thick base and giving it a gentle squeeze. He held his breath as he felt warm air from Obi-Wan's lungs whisper over the crown of his cock, then the scalding first touch of his tongue. Obi-Wan slid the very tip of his tongue into the cleft of his penis and flickered it back and forth, groaning when several drops of watery fluid spurted from the slit. He lapped the liquid up with several quick swipes of his tongue and opened his mouth wider, then engulfed him half-way, lips working around the shaft and his tongue sliding deftly under the crown.

Qui-Gon gave a strangled moan and his hips jerked convulsively, pushing his cock further into the heated mouth that was swallowing him. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and slid a mischievous glance up to Qui-Gon, and the older Jedi exhaled in a long, shaking breath at the sight of his student on his knees before him, his lovely lips stretched taut around his cock, roguish eyes challenging him to more...

With a muffled curse, Qui-Gon gently pushed Obi-Wan's shoulders back. His penis slipped out of the young man's mouth and he knelt with him and cupped Obi-Wan's face in his hands, then dipped in for a deep kiss, reveling in the taste of himself on Obi-Wan's tongue.

When he pulled back, his pulse was racing and his blood thundering in his ears. His throat was almost too tight to speak.

"I think," he managed. "I think we should move to the bed."

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, his eyes daring Qui-Gon, and tilted his chin to the kitchen suggestively. Qui-Gon allowed himself to be drawn to his feet and pulled by his hand to the small area, slightly hobbled by his drooping pants until he kicked them free.

Naked and hand in hand, Obi-Wan led him to the counter, then placed a lingering kiss on his lips before slowly turning away from him and placing his hands flat on the countertop. He arched his spine and spread his legs, displaying himself to the Jedi's hungry gaze, and whispered a single word;

"Please..."

Qui-Gon wanted nothing more than to oblige him, but a nagging worry persisted. His arms stole around Obi-Wan's slender waist to hold him gently, kissing the sensitive place between his shoulder blades and rubbing his beard against the delicate skin on the back of his neck.

"I want to make love to you," he rumbled. "I want to do it slowly, to make it last for hours. I want to make you come."

"I want that too," Obi-Wan whispered. "But I don't think I could stand to lie on my back right now, and my front isn't much better. No, wait," he pulled Qui-Gon closer when he would have withdrawn. "You're not forcing me, put that ridiculous idea out of your head. I just want you, and I don't want to wait." He paused. "You've made me wait long enough."

Even in his ardor and excitement and concern, Qui-Gon bent and nipped the tender lobe of Obi- Wan's ear as he gave a low laugh. "Still impatient. Well then, you shall have me."

He heard Obi-Wan's breath catch in his lungs as he unwound his arms and suddenly slid his palms to his rump, caressing the rounded flesh with firm stroke and pinches, leaning forward to let him feel the hard tip of his cock bumping the back of his thigh.

He smiled to himself as he saw a shiver go up Obi-Wan's back, raising gooseflesh on his skin, and the young man jerked forward suddenly when Qui-Gon slid two still-slippery fingers gently up the cleft of his ass, delicately probing.

"Ah!"

Qui-Gon nipped one shoulder with his teeth, growling softly in his throat as he teased his entrance, relishing the sound of Obi-Wan's whispered moans of pleasure.

He might not be able to get a bed, but he would not be rushed.

Obi-Wan couldn't refrain from whimpering when the teasing fingertips pulled away from him, trailing up the line of his spine, tracing up and around the line of his jaw until they settled beneath his chin. He felt his head pressed inexorably to one side even as the rough nap of Qui-Gon's tunic brushed the skin of his back and hot breath feathered in his ear. The larger body behind him pressed tightly up against him, pushing him against the counter almost uncomfortably, confining his movement, molding muscle to muscle. He could feel the unyielding pressure of his master's erection jabbing possessively into his flesh.

When that burning mouth fastened onto the sensitive skin of his neck, moving down his jawline towards the tip of his captured chin with tiny bites, he found himself arching back into the greater weight behind him, drowning in the sensation of being covered. His squirms were met with a firmer grasp on him, more weight levering onto him and the rumble of a deep voice in his ear.

"Don't move," that voice commanded, "don't even twitch." The words sent a shiver of pure lust through him, a spike of red hot pleasure that drove straight into his groin. He could only reply with a moan that turned into a rather pathetic whimper when Qui-Gon suddenly pulled his body back, leaving his skin prickling with the lost contact. Every nerve was humming and he felt like each inch of his skin was alive with hypersensitivity.

But he did not move, unless quivering counted.

And then fingertips were touching him again, gossamer soft now, brushing him like whispers of sound against his buzzing skin. So gentle, silky-soft, tracing the taut muscles of his back, running shivery strokes down his spine and back up along his ribs. Too light. Too soft. It was driving him wild and it was everything he could do not to turn and end it.

When warm lips touched the skin between his shoulder blades again Obi-Wan couldn't refrain from gasping, a hissing intake of breath that caught in his throat like silk on a splinter. It was impossible, unreal that these caresses were his, that they were from Qui-Gon.

But they were, and he felt like he was going to die from the pleasure of that fact alone.

Broad hands firmed around his ribcage then, holding him still as that mouth opened against him and he felt the brush of teeth and the flicker of a tongue skimming his goosepimpling flesh. He thrust back against his tormentor unthinkingly, uncontrollably, his entire body catching on fire when he ran against the steely resistance of Qui-Gon's erection pressing a hard wet line against his bare ass. A thin, harsh noise ground its way between them and Obi-Wan wasn't certain who it belonged to. His own engorged cock bumped softly against the counter he leaned against, jerking up of its own accord. He was so hard it hurt.

Hands, suddenly gentle no longer, moved down to clamp his hips still, pushing him away from the touch of Qui-Gon's cock. Steely fingers pressed almost painfully into the soft flesh there and unwittingly found the bruises that they had left behind that morning. Obi-Wan relished the sharp, stinging sensations. They were real, they made *this* real and not just another fantasy for him to experience in the soft, numbing haze of dreams -- and they took enough of an edge of his lust that he was able to fight back his too-close release. He had wanted it fast, and in a backwards way, he was getting what he wanted regardless of Qui-Gon's plans to the contrary. A few touches, the flat of Qui-Gon's tongue, and he was already reduced to mere seconds from violently splashing his release against the worn cabinet door set into the countertop.

"Shhh now," the voice tickled his ear again, warm, humid breath spilling across the tender skin just below his lobe. Those hands tightened even more on his hips in warning before easing up and stroking upwards again along his quivering sides.

"Please..." It was the only word the young Knight could manage, his synapses didn't seem to be firing properly, his tongue just barely wrapping itself around the single syllable.

Qui-Gon only hushed him again just as he brushed the heated tip of his stiffened penis teasingly along the younger man's bottom. A thin whimper escaped him, the only speech he was capable of, but he obeyed the silent directive, and he did not move -- though the effort of it made sweat stand out on his brow. Qui-Gon hummed in approval even as he used his feet to nudge his student's legs further apart, pressing the length of his shaft further forward until the head of it bumped against the taut weight of Obi-Wan's balls.

That simple sensation nearly caused him to see stars and his fingers went white where they grabbed the edge of the countertop, lowering his head to hang between his shoulders. A bead of sweat slipped silently down his nose and hung there, shivering with each gasping breath he took. He couldn't even beg any longer. Those callused hands swept up to cover his tight nipples, pinching lightly at first and then plucking at them while that thick hard heat began to glide back and forth in the sweat-slick valley between his legs. He didn't know if he was exhilarated or just relieved to hear the groans coming from Qui-Gon -- letting him know that his master was as close to the edge as he was.

With a final tug, the fingers left his nipples throbbing and sensitive, and trailed down the defined muscles of his stomach, pausing to dip a fingertip into his navel seductively. After only a brief foray, they were moving south again as if drawn by an irresistible force and Obi-Wan braced himself, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt not to come as soon as he was touched.

His eyes fluttered shut then as those hands slipped past his aching erection, curling down and under his balls, squeezing gently. The young man could feel the tickle of his intense arousal dripping down the underside of his cock and he couldn't refrain from a hoarse gasp as one finger slipped upwards along that slick path, tracing it to the source. One rough pad swirled around the swollen crown of his penis, painting it with his own leaking fluids. Qui-Gon's upper body pressed inexorably against his back, bending him further and further over the countertop, forcing his ass up and out.

Obi-Wan was almost glad for the coolness of the polyform counter against his heated cheek, spreading his arms wide along the flat, chipped top as if in supplication. When that big hand finally encircled his cock, the grip tightening and slid smoothly up to the tip, he bit down hard and tasted the metal of his own blood. He could feel the scratching of Qui-Gon's beard as his master pressed his face into his tender shoulder, nipping almost blindly at the newly healed skin.

The hard heat that had been sliding back and forth between his legs suddenly angled upwards, piercing the sweat-slick crack and bumping against the sensitive opening there. The younger man found himself whimpering faintly in anticipation, thrusting as subtly as he could manage into the fist that had captured him and then back against the impending invasion. Apparently the movement was too much because suddenly Qui-Gon pulled back from him with a small strained noise of disapproval. Obi-Wan couldn't stop the tiny, thready sob as he was left throbbing and so close to the edge he could almost see the void.

He stayed bent over the counter as Qui-Gon slid down his back, letting his cock stroke down the sensitive inside of Obi-Wan's inner thigh as he did. The hands on his ass that spread him open to the cool touch of recycled kitchen air, were the only warning he had before the shocking heat of his master's tongue flicked against his anus. Paralysis from the neck down could not have kept him still. His entire body arched, his head snapping up from the counter and his eyes rolling back. He had never experienced anything like the wave of volcanic heat that swept through every nerve ending and it was too much.

As soon as the tip of that skilled tongue thrust insistently into that most intimate spot, he exploded with a wail that was equal parts despair and ecstasy, spattering violently against the cabinet.

Qui-Gon did not stop, or even hesitate, employing his lips to suck gently at the raised opening, not giving his student a chance to recover from his orgasm or even savor it. Relentlessly he thrust his tongue deeper, using his knees to spread Obi-Wan's legs even further apart.

The young man closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead into the counter again, letting the sensations wash over his shaking body. He could already feel his cock twitching again, helpless to do anything but ride along with the storm of his excitement. His head was thick in the aftermath of his orgasm and he felt almost lost in the pleasure of what Qui-Gon was doing to him. And that it was Qui-Gon who was doing it at all. He was so fuzzy with arousal that he didn't notice that his master had risen to his feet again behind him until the blunt tip of a rock-hard cock pressed inexorably into his newly slicked opening. His mouth opened soundlessly against the now-damp surface he pressed against, his fingers curling uselessly into the smooth countertop.

So slowly, opening him with a low burn that seemed to instantly engorge his still twitching cock, millimeter by millimeter, rocking deeper and deeper with tiny little thrusts. He was stretched wider and wider, the raw ache increasing with each push. The dim pain only excited him further, made it even more real. He had wanted this, needed it. Qui-Gon was *inside* him, filling him, filling all those empty spaces he had resigned himself to so long ago. He didn't dare move for fear that his former master would pull back, tease him along further. He had wanted it fast and hard and now, but when had Qui-Gon ever done what his padawan had wanted?

And then he was in. All the way in. Obi-Wan could feel his master's balls pressed against the lower swell of his ass, the heat of his master's belly skin to skin with the small of his arched back, joined by their sweat. The younger man was finally made aware of Qui-Gon's own levels of taut control then by the harsh sound of the Jedi Master's breathing and the slight, unceasing quake in the grip that held him. The bigger man stayed still for a long moment and Obi-Wan could sense the powerful emotions that seeped along their reforming bond, the intensity of need, lust and love that roiled in a seething storm just beneath his teacher's control.

Obi-Wan could feel his body relax to its invader, taking stock of every inch of the steely heat inside of him, experimentally clenching around it. The reaction was immediate in the sandpaper-rough gasp against his shoulder and the tightening of the fingers on his hips. He was given no opportunity to try it again before Qui-Gon withdrew almost to the tip and then slammed back into him, raking along that secret place inside him that nearly disintegrated his reason then and there. His head flung back, his skull connecting with Qui-Gon's forehead hard enough that he saw a burst of color behind his eyelids.

It didn't slow his master down. Instead, those hips drew back and thrust deep into him again. His cock was an aching flame again, the force of his master's rutting knocking the turgid tip of it against the counter with each slam. He began to make a low keening noise, the pleasure becoming more intense with the rising urgency of the deep thrusts. It took him a moment to realize that the sound he made was only an ongoing stream of words blended together in a long, low chant of 'harderharderharderharder'.

When one hand slipped around him to squeeze his cock almost painfully, he simply lost every conception he might have had about holding off his release. For the second time in less than five minutes, he felt himself spurt hotly into his mentor's hand, clenching tightly around the hardness in his ass as the waves of contractions rocked his body.

Apparently it was all that was left of his master's control as well and the remaining hand gripping his hip clamped down on him painfully as he came, his voice rising in a hoarse howl as he spent himself in Obi-Wan's body.

*** Chapter Sixteen ***

He did not sleep.

He lay in his lover's arms all the rest of the night, what was left of it, and he listened to the music of Qui-Gon's breathing. He was beyond exhausted, and yet he could not still his mind. He could not bear to close his eyes. The texture of the ceiling stared impassively down at him, uncaring of his restless thoughts, indifferent to his concerns, completely uninterested in whose heavy arm and leg lay draped over him.

Two days, no...three now. Three days was all it had taken to end. He could remember the first time he had decided that he was going to have to do more than rely on fate and the Force to fix the troubles that ailed Ramos. He was certain that Qui-Gon would call it hubris when it occurred to him to comment on it. And perhaps it was, but it had worked. He told himself that he had only manipulated trends, that each and every facet of his plan had involved relying on basic greed, on predicting fear and on studying patterns of behavior. But he knew he had also used the Force, and that's what made it so unforgivable to him.

But it had all worked out in the end. In a few minutes Ramos V would be free. In this instance, the end *did* justify the means. Did that matter? He told himself it did.

He had known several basic things. The Drey hated the Venyyn and the Venyyn hated the Drey. The Guild was in it for the money and the Eri only wanted to drain a people they considered as beneath contempt of any pride or profit. Before Senay had given him the information about the new crystal deposit there had been nothing to work with. The new Deposit would change everything, as Senay had known it would, and no one but him -- an outsider with his set of talents -- could have ever done what Senay had asked for on his deathbed.

No one but him. For no Ramian would have ever been able to lie as he had.

It had taken him several months to decide on a plan and set it into motion, meticulously preparing for every detail, studying the key players with an almost fanatical attention to detail. When he had learned what he needed to know, he had contacted Senator Bail Organa, a friend of his who sat on the Admissions Committee, and he had begun covert talks to smooth the way for Ramos V when the time came -- when the Guild contract was up, when hope was lowest, when people were most desperate.

He had not foreseen the Eri involving themselves as they had. It was a terrible error. And it was an error that had cost fourteen hundred lives. They were lives that would always live in his conscience, he knew. He had not expected the Eri to be so ruthless. Had let his own subjective views on the Venyyn lull him. He had failed as a Jedi in that respect.

He slid out from underneath Qui-Gon's arm carefully, using the slightest touch of the Force to smooth his passage. His master did not move beyond burying his face deeper into the pillow. Quietly, Obi-Wan pulled his breeches on over sore and bruised hips and moved like a ghost towards the door. He moved down the still hallway to the fire escape at the end of the short hallway and opened the rusted door, stepping out onto the small balcony in the open air.

There was a touch of citrine on the horizon, the coming of the orange star the Clans called Rama. He carefully kept his weight off the rusted rail and leaned slightly over to look out over Guresh. Not a lovely city. Here and there he could make out the spirits of smoke columns rising from the occasional chimney, the overlying haze of pollution mixed with the early morning humidity giving everything a thick grainy look -- painting halos around the streetlamps. The itchy smell of burning razorwood and the more overwhelming reek of the petroleum the Crystal Cutter used were heavy in his senses. He was so used to the odor it was almost pleasant. He wondered idly if Qui-Gon hated it here.

Probably.

He had, when he had first come.

And maybe it was Riv, maybe it was Senay, but he had grown to love the people here. They were stubborn and hostile and too proud, but they had a unique fire, a strength of soul and purpose that seemed to make him feel bigger in their presence. They were almost detrimentally honest, but they were pure in it.

It was that purity that he wanted to save. It didn't matter that many of them were filled with hate and frustration, it *did* matter that they retained their clean strength even *with* all that anger. There was no darkness in Ramos. None that was not the Guild or the Eri.

The slopes and curves of rooftops began to take on a soft, hued tone -- the sky shifting from deep indigo to a warmer gradient of purples and carmines. He could hear an outburst from a tree-full of night jaks nearby in the swamp and his eyes tracked them as they burst as one into the new sky like a scattering of charred ashes.

Still, he waited.

A rim of neon fire outlined the distant mountains, the mountains that were now honeycombed with caverns and raped for their crystal. Through the Force they felt insubstantial to him, as if he should be able to see the sun shining through them, as if a touch would collapse them into a pile of shards and dust.

There was a hush over Guresh, the quiet anticipation of the city just holding its breath for first light. He could feel the minds of the Ramians, awake, alert, waiting just like he was.

The first firework exploded into the air and it was like a shattering of the tightness in his chest. There was a roar in the city, a sound like the wind rushing across rocks, the sound of thousands of voices rising up in a great cry. Not a cheer, nothing that banal. It was closer to the howl that a wild animal makes when it is freed from a cage.

The contract was up. The Guild would leave now.

He could feel it too, the sensation of both Venyyn and Drey together in the streets. Together for nothing that he might have done, not yet, but standing side by side as Ramians. They believed that they faced a doomed future without the crystal, but they celebrated anyway.

The feeling in his chest, the sensation of being lighter than air, that came from the knowledge that he had assured Ramos V the future that they even now believed they would be denied. Not pride in himself, not even pride that Ludarr and Rivyyn had done the right thing in the end, it was just simple joy.

Explosions crackled and echoed over the city, brilliant colors flaring to life and dying just as quickly. He could see the colors reflected off the bare skin of his arms where they rested on the rail. He could smell the acrid scent of the pyrotechnics drifting on the gentle dawn breezes.

Today Rivyyn would call her Clan to her and she would explain to them why they had to be Ramians before Drey. Ludarr would tell his people the same and soon the Republic would come. It would come and it would see the new crystal mine. There was little doubt in his mind that Ramos would not be turned away once such riches were revealed. Once Ramos was part of the Republic, the Eri would be forced to leave.

Ramos would belong only to itself.

Obi-Wan was not surprised, as he watched for a little longer, to see the first lick of flame snake up into the early morning air. It was the Guild Headquarters. A slight smile crossed his lips then as he realized he would never have to force himself to spend another second in the slow-witted, greedy presence of Remoran Krunn, the Guild Rep. He would never have to pretend to lose another game of paragammon and he would never have to pretend to laugh at the man's racist jokes.

He already knew that most if not all of the Guild Administration had cleared out the night before. He had listened to the distant sounds of the exit- rockets blazing up through the atmosphere as he had lain awake in Qui-Gon's arms.

Burning the ugly buildings was not an act of hate, but one of cleansing.

He stood there for a long moment more, watching the flames grow and leap, listening to the ensuing odd silence as slowly, slowly, the huge Crystal Cutter in the center of town began to power down.

Silence. All of them, every last person in Guresh was still. He had never heard such quiet in the city in all his time there. He knew there were people in Guresh who had never heard such silence in their entire lives. Obi-Wan believed he could hear his own blood beat in his veins.

The steady throb of the Crystal Cutter was as much a part of the life the people here led as was their servitude to the Guild itself. For almost two hundred and fifty years now, since the first crystal deposit had been discovered in the foothills of the quiet, self-sufficient colony moon, the people had suffered their lives to be warped to suit others.

And now, it was quiet again, as though he could almost hear the collective weight being lifted.

The scraping sound of the rusty door being opened behind him broke the stillness. Obi-Wan did not turn.

A muscular pair of arms slipped around his waist and pulled him back into warmth and comfort. Qui-Gon's lips nuzzled his hair before he parked his chin on the crown on his head and gazed out over the city with him.

Obi-Wan sensed him searching for words, beginning sentence after sentence in his head. Finally, he seemed to find what he wanted to express, and Obi-Wan turned his head and brushed his cheek against the older man's bearded one.

"Ssssh," he whispered into the silent morning.

Qui-Gon smiled.

*** EPILOGUE: ***

The spaceport of Ramos V was hardly larger than a single cargo hold on a Republic freighter. The walls were metal bulkheads painted a indistinct beige color, the floor scrapped deckplates and recycled alloys. The builders, perhaps in a last effort to attract non-Guild business, had tried to make the port appear grander than it was by building a totally unnecessary and costly picture window that offered an uncluttered vista of the dreary, gray-green swamp.

*They could have saved their money,* Qui-Gon sulked. Obi-Wan was still not there and not only was the transport late, but it was no modern Guild craft this time. He and Obi-Wan had nearly a month of bad food, stale air and surly crew to look forward to on the slow journey back to Coruscant. *Although,* he thought, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. *There are compensations to being cooped up in close quarters with a handsome Knight for three weeks.*

Suddenly a step echoed on the floor that he knew. Qui-Gon turned to face the russet-haired woman wearing a soot-smudged brown jumpsuit approaching him. "Mistress Drey," he inclined his head politely in respect. "Knight Kenobi has not yet arrived. If you would like to wait-"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Obi-Wan and I have said it all between us, I came to see you."

Qui-Gon's brows rose. "Oh?"

"Yes." she reached into a pocket of her jumpsuit and produced a small, flat holo and handed it without comment to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon turned the holo over, surprised when he saw a 3-D rendering of Obi-Wan and the elderly man he recognized as Rivyyn's father, Senay. The old man was seated on a wicker chair in the sunlight, and kneeling beside his chair on the grass and smiling at the camera was Obi-Wan, hair burnished by the sun, his eyes lit up by the huge grin on his face. He looked ... happy.

"They could have been father and son," Qui-Gon mused, his eyes lingering on a section of the holo where Obi-Wan's hand was laid gently on Senay's frail one.

Rivyyn nodded. "I never knew how much he loved my father until the other day. Obi-Wan is a truly loyal person," her black eyes raked across him. "It took a lot to drive him away from you."

Qui-Gon bridled in offense, but Rivyyn held up her hand. "Don't get excited. I just came to give you the holo."

"Not to give it to Obi-Wan?"

"No. Not yet anyway. I want you to hold onto it for awhile, and sometime when he's feeling bad about Ramos and missing his home and... and the people here," she swallowed hard. "I want you to give that to him, and tell him I - we - will never forget him, or what he did for us. The Traitor Knight will be publicly reviled on Ramos for a long time, but I will hold the secret and the truth within our Clan, and when it no longer matters I will let it out. He will be a hero to Ramos... some day."

Qui-Gon was surprised. It was a extremely generous gesture from a woman whose lover, and perhaps one day her husband, he had won away from her.

"He *is* going to miss me, Qui-Gon," she said in a low voice.

Qui-Gon tucked the holo into a deep pocket of his robe. "And rightfully so." He cast about for what to say next, then realized it was her move. She did not keep him waiting long.

Rivyyn crossed her arms as she faced him. "What a pair of actors you both are. 'Stripped of his rank', indeed." She sighed. "Well, *you* got what you came for. I hope you're pleased with yourself."

Qui-Gon sighed, feeling put out by her constant -- yet justified -- dislike. "Young woman, I don't know how much if any at all you understand about the Jedi, but I did not set out on this mission with the intention of causing you pain. Ours is a hard life, a life of service and sacrifice. I am not free to choose my missions, and I certainly did not come to Ramos V solely to part you from Obi- Wan." Qui-Gon's eyes dropped to the floor as he made a confession. "In fact, until that last morning I truly thought he would stay with you."

"I bet you wouldn't have taken that too well."

"I would have accepted it," he said quietly.

Rivyyn, sensing truth, stoppered the caustic reply that rose to her lips. "I asked him to marry me," she stated softly. "Do you know what he said?"

Qui-Gon shook his head silently.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I always thought I was the one who was holding back from making the big commitment." She smiled. "I thought *I* was being the coy one."

Qui-Gon met her eyes and as a parting gesture tried to express the depth of his regret for her pain. "I am truly sorry for any grief my coming here has caused you, Rivyyn of Drey, and yet... even though you were devoted to one another, he would have left eventually. You knew that, didn't you?"

"I know it now. I knew it the first minute you walked in my door and everything about him changed. Suddenly there was this great, silent, mysterious," She waved her hands before her face, at a loss for words to describe what had transpired. "*Thing* between us. The blasted almighty Jedi Order." She regarded him with narrowed eyes. "What kind of hold do you people have over him?"

Qui-Gon turned away from her coldly in rebuke, folding his hands in his sleeves and donning his Jedi veneer once more as he turned his gaze to the spaceport window. "The only bonds on Obi-Wan are those of his own making."

His pose amused Rivyyn. Her lips curved up in a sardonic smile. "Cryptic, as always. Goodbye Master Jinn. I lost my lover, but I gained a world. We can't have everything."

And then, without further preamble, she left him. *She got the last word again,* Qui-Gon groused irritably.

And yet, for all her arrogance and pride, she was a pragmatist. Though she would probably never forgive the Jedi Order she had lost her beloved to, she would deal with the Republic and rule her clan fairly. Qui-Gon guessed that the next man in her life would bear no resemblance whatsoever to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He gazed patiently out the window, drifting in thought, until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and the cherished voice reached his ears:

"Master?"

Obi-Wan looked good in black. He would have to be careful not to let him know how it made his knees weak to see him in that uniform, or how the sight of the clinging black fabric molding tightly to his thighs could make his head spin. That wouldn't do at all.

"You're late." He meant it to be an admonishment, but when he spoke his tone was so colored with love that the words were a caress. Obi-Wan blushed at the intimate timbre and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"The transport has hailed us from orbit. We're to prepare to board now."

"Were you able to attain private quarters?" he asked quite normally, thinking grimly that if Obi- Wan had not then the crew were going to have some pretty racy stories to tell in the ports about two Jedi in a cargo bay.

Obi-Wan hesitated before speaking. "The passenger section is only half-full. There are quarters to spare. You could have the VIP suite all to yourself if you wanted to. They'd never notice."

"That's not necessary," he began hastily, then found his mouth suddenly covered by the tips of Obi-Wan's fingers.

His apprentice was staring at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "You know, I've been talking my head off to every grubby chieftain, petty bureaucrat, and tin-penny dignitary in this sector since I got here, and there wasn't one moment during all that when I didn't measure every sentence before I said it, wondering if that's what they wanted to hear. I need to brush up on my honesty. I think I'll start with you."

He turned his hand and drew the backs of his knuckles gently along Qui-Gon's cheek. Obi-Wan's tone was bemused. "I love your face. I always have. Never could figure out why." A finger traced the line of his nose. "It's not a classic face. Far too long for that. Your brow is too prominent, and your nose is crooked."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up as Obi-Wan continued to categorize his faults.

"Your eyes are too narrow, and you never groom this damn beard. I like the hair though." And he drew his fingers through the silken mass, pulling a length of it over Qui-Gon's shoulder and smoothing it across his chest.

Qui-Gon did not know whether to laugh or be angry, but he was neither when Obi-Wan stepped forward and pressed his cheek against the rough fabric of his tunic. Obi-Wan snuggled into him with a sleek, trusting grace that took his breath away.

"I'm tired of lies and half-lies and pretending. If you want me in your bed on the trip just say so. I certainly want you. If you want me to move in with you when we return to the Temple, just say so. I love you, Qui-Gon. I never want to leave you again."

Moments passed. When Qui-Gon did not respond, Obi-Wan's shoulders tensed and his body stiffened slightly. Hurt, he began to withdraw, and suddenly Qui-Gon was able to move. He wrapped his arms around the Knight and hugged him so hard his ribs creaked.

"You are my life," was all that Qui-Gon got out before his throat closed up and he could not speak anymore. Fortunately, Obi-Wan tilted his head back and claimed his mouth for other acts, trying to kiss and laugh at the same time, pure joy emanating from his mind.

Neither one of them saw Rivyyn Drey watching them from the scratched window of a magg transport as they stood before the spaceport window. She raised a hand in farewell, then turned her face firmly to the city of Guresh and the future that waited for her world.

-Fin-

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