splix | FIC: Honor To The Vanquished [2/2]

*

The Jedi knew a score of ways to resist torture, and Obi-Wan had been taught them all. Once or twice, he had even found it necessary to use them. Most of them involved mental detachment, thinking beyond pain and suffering. The Jedi were taught to cling to the Force, to cloak themselves in it as though it were a protective mantle.

But when one's grasp on the Force was clouded and diminished by drugs, when pain moved beyond the simple brutality of beating and flogging into never-imagined excruciation imposed by the vagaries of a cruel and cunning mind -- what then?

Bravery did not matter. Endurance was a relative term. Sleep was a distant memory. Time swelled and distended past significance. The only reality was agony, wave upon wave of anguish.

"I inflict the pain far from your vital organs, Jedi, and thus can prolong your suffering...forever, if I wish," Heusin said. "Think on it -- a lifetime of affliction. If only your master would come, then you could be spared all this. Where do you suppose he is, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan, who had scarcely wept as a child, had almost become accustomed to the sound of his own screams issuing from his raw and abraded throat. He accepted the inevitability of being tightly bound in a staggering variety of positions, all, it seemed, designed to maximize his discomfort and to mock the vulnerability of his naked body. He learned to ignore the humiliations his tormentors visited upon him -- verbal taunts, slaps, daubing him with his waste as well as their own, the dousings in water so cold it took his breath away. Even the pain, endless and enormous, could be borne.

But why did Qui-Gon not come?

*

"It's been ten days." Heusin's soft, thrumming voice caressed Obi-Wan's eardrum. "And still your disappearance remains a mystery. Your master's ineptitude bores me."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. That dulcet murmur had kept at him, hour after hour, day after day, insinuating itself through the fragile threads of Obi-Wan's control until he fancied he could hear Heusin's voice all the time -- calm, quiet, reasonable, utterly maddening.

"I think he would be impressed with you, though, Jedi. You've borne up remarkably well."

Prevented from answering by the rough wood shoved crosswise into his mouth, Obi-Wan chose to stare at the floor. He could no longer block Heusin's voice. Sometimes it washed over him in a poisonous wave, but more often he heard every word -- and worse, remembered them with crystalline clarity in the silence of his cell, when his injuries forced him to focus on something besides physical distress. Imagining happier times no longer worked. Obi-Wan's universe had narrowed to the confines of his imprisonment.

Today they had bound him standing, his elbows tied together, then yanked up behind him and attached to a winch hanging from the ceiling, with just enough slack to allow him to balance on the balls of his feet. He concentrated on staying still and upright; his shoulders were vulnerable to dislocation in this position. The muscles in his legs quivered from tension and fatigue, a persistent throbbing from previous injuries pounded in his feet. It was merely a matter of time, he knew, before he weakened and caused himself intense pain.

Heusin slid two fingers beneath Obi-Wan's chin, tipping it up and forcing their eyes to meet. "He's close, though."

Obi-Wan's heartbeat quickened. He tried not to let hope show in his eyes, but Heusin's perversely gentle smile informed him the attempt had failed.

"Yes, close, and as near to losing that vaunted Jedi reserve as I've ever seen. The talks are breaking down, you see, and he's torn between his duty to mediate and his desire to find you. I grew bored, as I said, so I sent him holos from your last three sessions. The clues therein should bring him here shortly. Oh, don't look so humiliated, young Obi-Wan. Your bravery is exceptional. It's perfectly common to scream, and to void one's bladder and bowels under extreme duress."

Cheeks burning with shame, Obi-Wan fixed his captor with a ferocious stare. Hatred bubbled beneath the surface of his calm exterior. His fingers curled and twitched with a longing to fasten themselves about Heusin's pale throat and squeeze until the man's eyes and tongue bulged forth, to reclaim his lightsaber and wield it with abandon, until Heusin was nothing but a pile of charred bone and metal.

Abruptly, he closed his eyes against the seductive tendrils of darkness that wound about him, strangely soothing. Anger and hate would not help him now. If Qui-Gon were truly nearby, Obi-Wan needed to be alert and ready to aid in his own escape.

"Meanwhile," Heusin continued, "it seems some of the guards have taken a liking to you." As if by unspoken summons, the door slid open and five Oren stepped inside. They circled Obi-Wan and Heusin, their arms folded, their small eyes sparkling balefully.

Obi-Wan's stomach curdled. Thus far he had not been sexually abused. He had counted it a small mercy, hoping that sexual torture was simply not within their purview. It seemed he was mistaken. And from what he knew of Oren physiology, he realized that a normal human male could not possibly accommodate --

Heusin's hand slid over Obi-Wan's trembling thighs, coming to rest between his legs. "You're not altogether to my taste, Obi-Wan, but I thought I'd make this a little more interesting for you." Without another word and to Obi-Wan's stunned surprise, he knelt, cupped his hand beneath Obi-Wan's cock, and brought his mouth close. His tongue crept out, wetting the tip, swirling around it briefly.

Obi-Wan shuddered and nearly fell over as a shock of pleasure made his cock jump in Heusin's hand. In seconds, Heusin's mouth enveloped him, eliciting a deep, shuddering moan. Powerless to escape or struggle, Obi-Wan was forced to feel the gentle suction on his cock, the wet, smooth motion of Heusin's lips, the steady rhythm of his tongue. His sex swelled under the unexpectedly delicate treatment until it was big, painfully hard in Heusin's mouth. He felt his hips arching forward of their own volition, heedless of the sharp stabbing pain in his shoulders. He wondered if Qui-Gon would see this too. Tears of mortification rose in his eyes, but he would not let them fall. So much for saving myself for him, he thought. A bitter, choked-off noise broke from behind the gag.

The sucking and licking went on until Obi-Wan thought he would spill in Heusin's mouth. Just before he climaxed, Heusin withdrew. He reached up behind his head and unbound the thong holding his hair in a neat tail. Quickly and efficiently, he wrapped it around the base of Obi-Wan's cock and balls, tying it off in a snug knot. Then he was on his feet, loosening the winch that held Obi-Wan's arms up, ordering the guards to catch their victim before he fell.

They did, and dragged Obi-Wan to the stone bench. Obi-Wan thrashed and squirmed, shaking his head in frantic negation, twisting against the rough, leathery hands that abused his bound and swollen cock. Once more they tied him over the bench, his ankles spread and fastened to rings in the floor. He felt more helpless and naked than at any other time during his ordeal, and cast glances of mute appeal at the guards nearest to him. They would not look at his face, but stroked him ruthlessly. It was less lust in their eyes, he realized, than a desire to mete out suffering.

He felt himself parted. Something cold, wet, and slippery was thrust inside him; he felt it dripping down the insides of his thighs. Then one of the guards positioned himself behind Obi-Wan, grasped his hips, and slammed inside.

The pain was intolerable. A scream was wrenched from his gagged mouth. Agony surged along every nerve; his body was electrified with it. A thick hand curled round his cock and pulled. He climaxed suddenly, explosively, and blacked out for one sweet, forgiving moment.

They brought him round with a bucket of cold water dashed in his face, and then the second guard was on him. Then the third. Each guard raped him twice. Then he was left, still bound to the bench, bleeding, his lungs aching, feeling as though he'd been split in two. He rested his cheek against the cool stone and let the tears fall. He yearned to stop breathing, to give up and allow the cruelty of his captivity to come to a soft, black finale.

Heusin's low voice echoed in the chamber. "Now you know a taste of what Qui-Gon will endure."

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat. Sickly rage and the desire for revenge, entirely alien to his nature and temperament, once more coiled its tendrils around Obi-Wan's heart.

This time he permitted them to remain.

*

"He's here, young Jedi."

Obi-Wan turned his face from the satisfaction in Heusin's pale eyes. At last, the moment he had dreaded and longed for -- and Heusin's smug demeanor told more than Obi-Wan wished to know.

"It was far easier than I had anticipated. I simply told him that you had been hidden away, and that you faced dreadful abuse at the hands of my guardsmen. I must say he surrendered very quickly."

Obi-Wan met Heusin's steady gaze, but made no attempt to rise from the floor. He had ceased to fight or plead with his captors, bearing his torments in silence. After they had finished each session, Obi-Wan lay in an apathetic huddle in his cell, often ignoring the stale crusts of bread that served as his daily meal. "You filth," he whispered.

"Perhaps." Heusin nodded to the two Oren who had accompanied him. "In any case, I'm sure you wish to see him."

The Oren grasped Obi-Wan's arms and dragged him out of the cell. They came to the room that served as a torture chamber and shoved him inside. He stumbled over a pile of discarded clothing and fell to his knees.

"Obi-Wan."

It was Qui-Gon, naked, kneeling, and bound to the stone bench. His flesh bore signs of torment -- scourge marks and lacerations, injuries only too familiar to Obi-Wan. Both eyes were blackened and swollen, and his lip was split. Dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth and had trickled down into his beard. A guard knelt behind him, grasping his hips and plowing in with all his might.

"Master -- leave him alone!" Obi-Wan lunged forward feebly, but Heusin kicked him in the thigh. The pain was hot and explosive. Obi-Wan moaned and curled up on the floor.

"Padawan --" The word was choked off as the guard thrust in deeply and shuddered, a guttural growl escaping his throat. The Oren pulled out of Qui-Gon, eliciting a stifled grunt of pain, and got to his feet.

Obi-Wan saw blood dripping down Qui-Gon's legs. He dug his fingernails into his palms. The fronds of anger and rage that he had allowed to bloom wrapped themselves about his heart and squeezed.

"I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered.

"I'm going to kill him, Qui-Gon." Cold vitality filled Heusin's voice. "In front of you, slowly, and you'll watch every moment of it."

Qui-Gon raised his head as far as the bonds would allow. "You dare not."

Heusin laughed.

Obi-Wan remained curled up on the floor. His captors had continued to drug him, but for the past few days, they had neglected to bind him at all times, since he no longer offered any resistance. Recently, while feigning sludgy semi-consciousness, he had begun to examine the torture chamber for a means of escape or for a convenient melee weapon. Now, as he lay still, he bit back a smile. They had been careless, and how they would pay for it.

Slowly, painstakingly, he slid his foot backward until it touched the untidy heap of Qui-Gon's clothing. Every muscle trembled as he delicately probed the pile of cloth with his toe until he found what he sought -- the cool, reassuring cylinder of Qui-Gon's lightsaber.

He was weakened, and half-starved. His captors had deprived him of the sleep so badly needed to help recover from the injuries they'd inflicted upon him. Pain from a thousand disjointures both great and small wracked his body. The Oren had raped him repeatedly, and had stimulated him against his will over and over, horribly intimate violations. They'd made him an object, a half-human thing. And yet he'd clung to life, to the hope of seeing Qui-Gon again. But to see him like this -- helpless, abused, vulnerable -- it could not be borne.

It would not be borne.

Heusin was speaking, but Obi-Wan did not hear a word. His foot rested against the lightsaber. He met Qui-Gon's eyes for the briefest moment, and then swept his foot forward, dragging the saber close to hand.

Fury gave his wounded body speed. In one clean motion he grasped the lightsaber and leapt to his feet, then lashed out, blindingly fast, killing the two Oren guards who stood beside Heusin. He whirled and decapitated the guard who'd raped Qui-Gon, grinning savagely as his heavy body thudded to the floor.

Heusin went for his weapon. Obi-Wan swept Qui-Gon's blade out in an arc, disarming the man by chopping off his hand at the wrist. Metal sparked and smoked; an odor of burning circuitry filled the air.

Heusin's face was bloodless, his pale eyes wide and watchful. Carefully, he put his other hand up. "Don't --"

Obi-Wan thrust forward, impaling the man on the humming green blade. Heusin gasped and choked; agony and hot blood suffused his face. Obi-Wan moved forward, pushing the blade deeper, until he was close enough to whisper into Heusin's ear. "A fair trade for what you've done." Then he jerked the saber up, cutting a searing red seam into Heusin's body.

As Obi-Wan switched the saber off, Heusin's body toppled, crashed, and lay still.

Panting, his body on fire, Obi-Wan stared coldly down at his fallen tormentor.

"Obi-Wan..."

"Master --" Chagrined, Obi-Wan hurried to free Qui-Gon. Tenderly, heedless of his own nakedness, he draped Qui-Gon's robe over his shivering body. "How long have you been here? What have they done to you?" He knelt and took Qui-Gon's hands.

Qui-Gon did not respond immediately. He inspected Obi-Wan, his brow creased in consternation. "You're badly wounded, Padawan." He allowed his gaze to rest momentarily on Heusin and the dead guards, then frowned and stood with some effort. "We must leave before more arrive."

Obi-Wan nodded and rose to his feet. Qui-Gon had to grab him to prevent a fall. All the strength he had nurtured in anger seemed to have deserted him. "What of the conflict, Master?"

"Full-blown civil war," Qui-Gon replied. "We'll be lucky to get to our ship."

Moving slowly, Obi-Wan slipped into Qui-Gon's tunic and trousers. They hung on his frame, absurdly large, but were better than nothing. "I'm ready."

Qui-Gon gently pulled Obi-Wan to him in a one-armed embrace. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Obi-Wan replied softly. "I'm sorry they hurt you. But I knew you'd come for me."

Qui-Gon's face, when he moved away, was grieved. "Not soon enough," he said. "Come, Padawan. Let's leave this place."

*

As soon as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon landed on Coruscant, they were swept off to the medical wing, where Obi-Wan floated in the dreamless sleep of bacta suspension for three days. Afterward, the worst of his injuries repaired, he spent another ten days under observation, enduring well-meaning pokes and prods. He was offered trauma counseling, but refused it, much to the consternation of the healers, who were kind, but infuriatingly thorough.

He felt fine. The physical discomfort had abated completely; every tear and abrasion had been mended. Even the memory of the pain was fading -- astonishing, when only days ago he had longed for the mercy of death rather than enduring another round of torture. And the cold coils of darkness around his heart had receded, but unlike the memory of the pain, the memory of his rage and anger was clear and undiminished. He meditated for long hours on it without satisfaction, and chose to omit that particular aspect of his ordeal from his mission report.

Yoda and Mace Windu visited him once, but asked no intrusive questions. Obi-Wan fancied he saw lively speculation in their gazes, and met them with cool dignity. Also healed, Qui-Gon visited Obi-Wan daily, giving him news of the Temple and the situation report on their ill-fated mission. The entire planet was engulfed in civil war, beyond the influence of the Jedi. Qui-Gon was pleasant and solicitous, but a new reserve had taken hold of him; he seemed anxious to keep his visits brief and businesslike.

At last Obi-Wan was pronounced fully recovered and sent back to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon. His first action was to check the duty roster. To his surprise, he and Qui-Gon were on Temple duty, charged with research, training demonstrations, event functions -- all tasks normally assigned to Jedi who were too frail or old for active field duty. Obi-Wan frowned at this, but decided not to dispute it. That would lead to queries best left unanswered.

*

Obi-Wan squeezed the excess water from his hair, then plaited his braid with quick, decisive movements. No need to look into a mirror or even at his hands as they worked. It was as natural as breathing. He curled on the couch by the window, watching the traffic, absently curling the end of the braid round his index finger. Soon enough it would be gone. A strange rite of passage, he mused, to wear the braid, watching it grow longer and longer, and then, once knighthood had been achieved, to chop it off and never wear one's hair in that fashion again. Rather like throwing one's childhood away. A slightly bitter smile curved his mouth.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of the door. Qui-Gon strode into the common area, stopping short at the sight of Obi-Wan. "Padawan, I didn't expect to see you."

"Master Ahbri decided she didn't need me this afternoon."

"Very well. Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Would you like something?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "If you're offering, by all means."

Returning the smile, Qui-Gon shrugged out of his robe and moved to the kitchen. He returned a short while later with two steaming bowls and handed one to Obi-Wan, then seated himself at the opposite end of the couch.

Obi-Wan peered at the food. Broth, rice, vegetables, meat. "Very nutritious."

They ate with little conversation. Qui-Gon cleared the bowls away, then nodded at Obi-Wan. "I'm quite tired. I'll see you in the morning, Padawan."

"Master, wait --"

Qui-Gon turned. "Yes?"

"It's so early. Are you truly that tired?" And why do you avoid me? Obi-Wan thought.

Silent, Qui-Gon half-turned to gaze out the window. The sky had dimmed; the glittering evening lights were just beginning to emerge. Soon their quadrant of the city would be ablaze, dazzlingly bright, the stars outshone.

"I'm sorry, Master. That was impolite of me. I'm going to retire also." Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "Good night."

"Obi-Wan, please." Qui-Gon caught his arm and held it, but gently, as though he were afraid of bruising his pupil. "Sit down. I must speak with you."

Obi-Wan sat obediently and waited. For nearly a month now Qui-Gon had avoided a real conversation with him. But then, Obi-Wan mused, I haven't been overly eager for in-depth discussion myself. Whose fault is that?

Sitting beside him -- much closer than before, Obi-Wan noticed -- Qui-Gon reached out and placed his hand atop Obi-Wan's. "I've been...hesitant to speak to you, Padawan, because --" His hand tightened. "I must ask your forgiveness. I was slow to find you on Silun. I did not know Heusin had taken you, and...and I allowed my emotions to cloud my thinking. To my great regret."

The warmth and pressure of Qui-Gon's hand soothed Obi-Wan. "Master, you found me. My only regret is that I did not see you before...I would not have had that happen to you."

"But it happened to you, also."

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes. "Yes."

Stillness and quiet spread out between them. Then, Qui-Gon asked, "Is that why you killed Heusin, and the guards?"

"Because they raped me? No."

"Then..."

Obi-Wan could not bring himself to meet Qui-Gon's eyes. "It was because they raped you, Master. Because they hurt you. Heusin was going to kill you. That was his plan. He told me every day, every hour, all the things he was going to do to you before he killed you, and I could not bear the thought of it, so --" His mouth snapped shut as he saw Qui-Gon cover his eyes with his free hand. He freed himself from the gentle grasp and knelt on the couch, facing Qui-Gon fully. "Master, forgive me. I know I allowed my anger to overcome reason, I know I took pleasure in the kill...please, Master --"

"It's not that, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon interrupted. He clasped both of Obi-Wan's hands. "You don't understand. I was feeling the same way."

Obi-Wan started. "What?"

"I did," Qui-Gon replied. "As I was hunting for you, I allowed my anger to increase. My mind was no longer on the dispute. And when I saw the holos, I felt only blinding rage. I permitted that darkness to consume me, and it was my undoing. I was no longer careful. Heusin trapped me. And after I was imprisoned, he told me what he'd done to you, what the guards had done. If I had thought clearly, Padawan, your suffering would have been of shorter duration."

"You don't know that."

Qui-Gon's face was contorted with distress. "Padawan -- emotion is forbidden for a reason. Passion is forbidden so that Jedi do not fall prey to its dangers."

Passion. Those all-too-brief moments between them, the touches, the glances -- they were not insignificant after all.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on either side of Qui-Gon's head, leaned forward, and kissed him on the mouth. "Like that?" How long I've waited to do that, he thought in jubilation, how long.

Qui-Gon groaned softly. He hesitated, then pulled away. "We can't."

Stung, Obi-Wan rose. "Why can't we? We both feel it. It's perfectly natural --"

"Because, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his voice low and tense, "those feelings of...anger and posession would overwhelm us in time. You took Heusin's life in anger; I would have done the same. You know that is antithetical to our beliefs." He got to his feet and took Obi-Wan by the shoulders, nearly shaking him. "We must combat this together."

"How?" And, Obi-Wan thought, what if I don't want to?

Qui-Gon held on to Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Meditation," he said. "Self-discipline. Adherence to duty." He moved closer to Obi-Wan. "If we can't manage this, I'll have to withdraw as your master, and by all I hold sacred, Padawan, I don't wish to do that. I want us to be together."

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon's eyes, discerning the utter honesty of his words. There was pain in Qui-Gon's face -- pain that Obi-Wan had seen in the mirror on countless occasions. This was not how he had pictured a revelation between them. Twelve years they'd spent together; no one knew him so well. He trusted Qui-Gon with his life. And he knew in his deepest heart that Qui-Gon was right. Better to be together and tamp down emotion than to be apart.

"Then give me one night, Master."

"One --"

"Yes." With careful deliberation, Obi-Wan closed the distance between them, stepping into Qui-Gon's arms. He pressed close, ecstatic at the sensation of Qui-Gon's body against his. "One night. And then...then I'll be a perfectly honorable
padawan, Master, cool and contained and in control of every emotion, but tonight --" He wound his arms around Qui-Gon's neck and kissed him, rotating his lower body gently until Qui-Gon emitted a deep, shuddering breath. "Let us have tonight for
ourselves."

In reply, Qui-Gon grasped the back of Obi-Wan's head and pulled him into another kiss.

*

A small, insistent voice in the shadowy realms of Obi-Wan's consciousness told him that he was being too bold, on the verge of untoward. It said that the wounds from his recent experience might have healed physically, but he was ignoring the deeper
trauma still raw and bleeding. If he had a shred of common sense, he would realize that this night, if carried to its intended conclusion, would entrap him in a way he could never escape.

But when Qui-Gon stood before him, naked, his long, lean body pale in the glow of his bedroom lamp, Obi-Wan ceased to listen. He climbed onto the bed and opened his arms, and Qui-Gon joined him. They embraced tightly, learning the feel of each other's body, the texture and taste of warm skin, the places that drew soft gasps when caressed. In a whisper, Obi-Wan pleaded for Qui-Gon to take him.

Qui-Gon drew back. "Your injuries --"

"Healed," Obi-Wan replied firmly.

Qui-Gon pressed his lips together. "The physical wounds, perhaps."

"It's not important."

"Don't say that, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan pressed a hand to Qui-Gon's lips. "Trust me, Master. You must trust me." He took his hand away and kissed Qui-Gon's mouth. It was firmer, fuller, more lush than Obi-Wan had suspected; he gloried in it.

Then Qui-Gon turned Obi-Wan onto his stomach. He stroked the insides of Obi-Wan's thighs, leaned down to trace wet paths onto the sensitive skin of Obi-Wan's balls, pushed his tongue inside Obi-Wan, making him writhe and beg. Finally, he pushed inside, and Obi-Wan felt an instant of fear and panic, a quick flash to the Oren pounding inside him, one after another. The fear fueled his excitement, and he climaxed with a loud cry.

He felt Qui-Gon behind him, gathering him close. He burrowed into his master's arms, a thousand notions of almost unfathomable complexity jostling for attention. One thought wormed through the rest and hammered at him persistently: this had been a mistake.

It was too soon after his imprisonment. There were too many emotions simmering below his skin, too many feelings ignored and unsorted. If he had waited before speaking and acting so impulsively, soothed Qui-Gon's pain instead of selfishly heeding his own desires...once was not enough, would never be enough. The old teachings were right. Love and loyalty would blind him to duty. Passionate attachment was a path to darkness. The yearning would never leave him now.

But he had made a promise. And he would never break a promise to Qui-Gon.

Turning to face Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan touched his mouth with a fingertip. He smiled, his heart breaking, and let his hand drift between Qui-Gon's legs. "My turn."

*

The wind had churned up a funnel of dust. Obi-Wan watched it spin across the flat, sandy plain, his cloak wrapped around himself for warmth. Only the ground retained any heat now; the night air was thin, dry and cold. Beside him, Qui-Gon's ethereal form winked and shimmered in the darkness.

"What are you thinking?"

"Blasphemies," replied Obi-Wan with a chuckle, and turned to face Qui-Gon. "I was thinking that perhaps some of the teachings of the Jedi are not wholly correct."

Qui-Gon lifted a brow. "Indeed?"

"Anakin was...damaged," Obi-Wan said. "But my counsel, all the emphasis I placed on detachment did not help him in the end. It was not love for Padme that killed her." Slowly, he got to his feet and began to walk. Qui-Gon drifted beside him. "But I still don't know what I could have done to prevent it. Encouraged their relationship? I don't --"

"Real love does not destroy," Qui-Gon remarked. "It creates, and heals. Remember that, Padawan, in the future." He stopped, compelling Obi-Wan to halt also. "I have not forgotten what happened between us."

"Nor I," Obi-Wan said. "I always wondered if you regretted it, though. I...I never stopped thinking of it." Qui-Gon moved closer; Obi-Wan found himself longing to touch the image, but held himself back. "I held onto those memories. After you died, they comforted me. Even if...it was only one night, and against the Jedi code."

"I have regrets," Qui-Gon said, "but not, perhaps, the kind you think."

Qui-Gon moved closer still, and Obi-Wan gasped in shock. He felt the warmth of a body, the strength of powerful arms, the rough touch of a woollen cloak, the fragrance of Qui-Gon's hair and skin. Convulsively, he clutched at Qui-Gon's robe and wound his arms around his master. "Qui-Gon --"

"Shh." Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's hair, pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's forehead. With one blessedly solid hand, he tipped up Obi-Wan's chin. "I regret that I did not hold you close to me every night. That I fled from you rather than helping you cope with your turbulent emotions. That I left you without telling you all this."

Obi-Wan could not speak. He touched Qui-Gon's cheek, the soft bristles of his beard. All real. He swallowed, feeling tears threaten. "Please don't leave. We have so much to discuss...years..."

"I cannot stay like this long. It costs me much. Be assured, Obi-Wan, that we will discuss everything. We have time. Nineteen years, at least." Qui-Gon smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Plenty of time to resolve all your questions, to ease all those old hurts. A long time to wait, perhaps, for some of those blasphemies to become truths. It may be, my padawan, that love will destroy the Sith after all."

"I don't understand."

"You will, one day." Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's face in his hands and kissed him.

Obi-Wan yielded to its sweetness. Not since that long-ago night had he kissed or been kissed. It was the purest ecstasy. He arched forward, pleading with his body, mind and heart and felt the sublime fulfillment of Qui-Gon's love, an unspoken promise upheld, true redemption.

Then, slowly, he felt the warmth and solidity of Qui-Gon's body become insubstantial, fragile. "No." He clutched tighter and felt an eerie dissolving, firm flesh slipping out of his grasp. "Qui-Gon!" Now there was not even a ghostly glowing figure, only a cool breeze to mark the spot where Qui-Gon had been. "Master..."

Sudden warmth grazed Obi-Wan's cheek, like the touch of a gentle hand. A whispered voice surrounded him. "Obi-Wan, I will be with you, always."

And then, Obi-Wan was alone.

*

He stood out on the plain for a long while, wrapped in his cloak, watching the sky, where a meteor shower stitched glittering, ragged seams in the deep black night. From time to time his gaze wandered to the three stone columns, silent sentries of grief and woe. He felt poised on the edge of a thousand questions. Never had the future seemed so uncertain.

With a sigh, he made his way back to the speeder, its storage cells now humming with renewed life. He got in, cleared some of the spilled supplies, and ignited the engine. It started with a satisfying roar and hovered, as if waiting eagerly to race across the desert floor again.

Obi-Wan hesitated. Tentatively, he raised his fingers to feel his cheek.

Still warm.

A smile touched his mouth. He set the speeder in motion and set off over the plains.

End.