by Lady Black Death
heerozechs195@yahoo.com

PC POLICE STANDARD WARNING: Jedi Apprentice 1 and 2, TPM, "In The End Is My Beginning"

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: The author wishes to gratefully acknowledge and publicly thank Lilith Sedai. This lady is not only a significant talent in the field of writing, but is a genuine class act - a commodity all too rare in today's Internet. I am humbled to be allowed the opportunity to participate in such a beautiful vision.

OFFICIAL STATEMENT: This is a non-profit, amateur effort and does not intend to infringe upon the rights of The Almighty Lucas Machine, Inc., 20th Century Fox/Fox 2000, sentient peanut butter, The Fraternity of Democratic Droids or any other copyright holders which I may be unaware of.

If the blind suddenly witnessed a sparkling, sun-lit rainbow, Obi-Wan Kenobi suspected the pain would feel something like this. The bonds surrounding him were like a drug, spinning his thoughts and feelings into unpredictable combinations.

Beside him Qui-Gon shifted restlessly, no doubt fighting the sleep induced by the Healers who had hovered over them both since the young knight collapsed on the stairs. How could the Master sleep when his soul-bond partner maintained a watchful vigil, awake and in torment? Fighting a soft sigh, Obi-Wan forced his mental state into a semblance of calm, locking down the raging torrent of emotions into a more manageable trickle.

Better. Qui-Gon settled at once, his chest rising and falling slowly as the torment ebbed away. With more meditation the urge to curse in a dozen choice languages was also held at bay.

Shards, what had he done?

His emotions spiked at once, causing Qui-Gon to gasp in his sleep. Grinding his teeth in frustration, Obi-Wan clamped down once more, eyes closed in concentration. Calm, he must be calm. Nothing left but the soothing serenity of the Force. Or at least a thin veneer of control.

As dispassionately as possible, he steeled himself then opened his eyes, critically examining the living form of Qui-Gon Jinn.

The years had not passed as kindly as he remembered. Or perhaps, Obi-Wan reminded himself, his own frame reflected savage wear and tear, much as the man who slept uneasily beside him did. No matter his condition he was, without question, alive. His master was alive. And soul bonded to a man he neither loved nor trusted.

Obi-Wan longed to stand, to slip from the room, to find a quiet place to meditate and reflect. Or, more likely, to find a bed then curl around himself until he could somehow make sense of the havoc he had wrought. With the warnings of the healers still ringing in his ears he didn't dare. Wished for or not, the bonds existed. With care, in time, it might be possible for the healers to remove them with only partial scarring. Currently unstable, only physical proximity to his partner made the discomfort bearable for either of them.

Considering the act required to stabilize a soul bond Obi-Wan cringed anew, darkness clawing at his heart at the very thought. He had rescued his master from death, only to subject him to rape both mental and quite probably physical. Such an act would save their lives and seal them together forever. At one time it had been his most fantastic and forbidden fantasy. Currently it was an inescapable, waking nightmare.

Reviewing them experimentally he gently brushed the restored training bond, feeling the silvery steel of its depth which could only be gained during years of companionship. As for the others...

How could one explain a double soul bond? The first was the most obvious, based upon his long standing (if unrequited) love for his master. Without conscious effort Qui-Gon had become the dominant part of Obi-Wan's heart and soul. To feel that love was as natural as breathing. To feel it stretch out, actively seeking... Obi-Wan cringed a little at the memory of his master's reaction.

The second bond seemed to define paradox. On one end it was very old, predating his training by nearly a decade. It was also very new, having come into existence - by the measure of his soul - only a scarce few weeks ago. The strength of the bond lay in its foundation, the depth of his emotion honed to diamond edged desperation by grief, then shock, then finally hope in a second chance. It had begun to form when Qui-Gon at last understood who he was, why he had come. How could he deny a love which defied both time and death? Given the right conditions a classic bond might have formed on its own. But it didn't have time. Their abrupt separation, the submersion of the memories had corrupted the link. Weeks of hopelessness and the knowledge of contempt only added to the conflict.

There were other bonds as well, twisting and turning through the corridors of his essence, all leading to a single destination. Qui-Gon was alive. It was no longer all that mattered. Obi-Wan had prevented his death, only to impose upon his beloved master an inescapable violation of spirit. If the bonds snapped Obi-Wan knew they both would surely die. If they held...

Dejected, the young Knight slowly disentangled from his master, feeling the slight space between them yawn open like an icy ravine. He needed distance desperately, unable to think straight. At every turn emotions confounded his ability to reason. Instead of seeking solutions the memories of heated words insinuated themselves.

"I really don't know you," was always the beginning, followed by the observations of a much younger man of his elder self - what a fool he was to treat his padawan so coldly. And, of course, his own voice. The tone fierce and jagged with pain, he listened to himself describe his beloved master as an "arrogant fool". He had felt the sliver of panic when the present Qui-Gon understood what was happening to him, that the bond could not be escaped. Sick and weak though he was, his first instinct had been to rise, to put distance between himself and this unwelcome stranger who wore a face he could barely remember.

Standing was more of a challenge than Obi-Wan anticipated. Swaying back and forth unsteadily he somehow managed to get his feet under him without waking Qui-Gon. Using a slow shuffle step he just managed the distance to the window which overlooked the wide courtyard below. With a numb type of wonder he realized that he didn't know the phase of the moon, the day of the week or even the time beyond the fact that it was obviously night. His tunic had been replaced at some point with a soft, shapeless robe. The healing facilities possessed an ageless quality which only added to the unpleasant feeling of drifting with no anchor to reality.

Unable to hold back a bone-deep sigh, Obi-Wan automatically pushed his hair from his face, then braced himself against the window frame. Without focus he stared at the glittering facade beyond the courtyard, trying without success to untangle the mass of memories and emotions which swirled within him. One thing, at least, remained painfully constant, crystalline clear: his devotion to Qui-Gon had not dimmed even slightly. Reflecting on his master's unease, the cause for it, left him slumped in defeat even as it roused his sense of bitter irony once more.

His memories were so perfect he could almost feel the heated skin of his lover under his palm. Exquisite, unblemished, sculpted into a creature of such beauty he could scarcely comprehend the gift. And yet it was right, this joining. Heat built upon heat as the two of them moved together, touching and exploring. Long fingers reached out to caress face, jaw, then traced lower, sending shivers as they caressed the delicate skin of the throat. The slightest touch shot erotic fire through his veins, coiling through his body, transforming him into an instrument of pleasure for his lover, his beloved. The two of them entwined body and soul, melting into one another until both were lost within the maelstrom, one shining spirit encompassing what had been separate beings, the loss tangible at the slightest distance. Obi-Wan's face twisted into a grimace and he gasped, shivering anew as shards of ice spiked his heart. These were not his memories at all. The memories were of a man with golden hair, eyes that reflected sunlight on the sea. They were Qui-Gon's own memories, or perhaps dreams, of a long distant lover.

His master loved Ben, and wanted nothing to do with Obi-Wan. Even as he threaded through the problem, the young knight felt tears of exhaustion threaten. He was so dreadfully tired. What's more, he couldn't easily recall a time when this bone deep ache did not define him. Intending the best, Obi-Wan concluded he could not have made a bigger mess of events had he tried. It was then that the first sob caught him, body shaking, no longer looking out but instead eyes tightly shut as he hung his head against the emotions.

A wave of cold swept over him as the second sob wracked his frame, leaving him gasping. So cold, so empty... without. Only then did Obi-Wan understand what was happening.

From their shared bed came a low moan. Sweat beading his face, Obi-Wan tried frantically to still his emotions before Qui-Gon woke completely. But it was so cold, and he was so dreadfully alone... Qui-Gon's thoughts, half formed in sleep as he sensed the physical distance separating him from his newly bonded mate. Until the bond stabilized, a few meter's distance would cause havoc for them both.

"... Ben..."

As though trapped in a dream, the former padawan heard his master's sigh, heard the name he called in the darkness. He did not react when Alera, the Healer who covered the late night shift, discreetly checked the room's occupants. He barely heard her whispered scolding when she saw him awake and standing. Too weak to resist, he nevertheless shook his head in protest when gently escorted back to the bed. Not there... anywhere but there... please... no more pain. His silent pleas were in vain, of course. Quickly, efficiently, he was bundled back into bed, tucked in like a child. He could sense the Healer's distress when he refused to speak or even so much as to meet her eyes. She did not persist, however. After a moment of contemplation she silently glided from the room, closing the door to his unlikely prison with an all too final *Click*.

It was at that moment that Obi-Wan understood despair.

The comfort of his renewed proximity to Qui-Gon was undeniable. Yet he would not move any closer than strictly necessary, maintaining the most physical distance possible while sharing a narrow Healer's bed. There had to be a way to free his Master from the shambles his world had become. Then, perhaps he too would be free. With Qui-Gon alive and Anakin cared for, Obi-Wan's obligations suddenly reduced to those of a normal Knight. By a fierce act of determination, the Knight stilled a hysterical bark of edgy laughter. There is no death... only the Force.

Do you think I wish you dead, my padawan?

Chills raced through him, raising the hairs across his body. Long habit caused him to slam shields into place, only to feel the yawning gap in his defenses. Shielding against a soul bond was impossible. All that he felt, everything he experienced, would be instantly forced onto his unwilling partner. At once he turned away, miserable to the depths of his soul. How could he apologize for a violation like this? What words could express regret this profound? His selfish actions had not simply destroyed his own life. He had resurrected his beloved master only to torture him.

"Obi-Wan." The voice was rough from disuse, soft and dry as a death rattle. His master swallowed, then tried again. "Look at me."

It was as though his body had turned to stone, leaving his heart untouched. The decision to move or not really was not his to make - the physical form which encased him was immobile.

There was a rustling sound behind him, causing Obi-Wan to brace against the shock of physical contact, teeth clenched tight, hands balled into fists. But at the last second, so close that he could feel the heat against his skin, Qui-Gon pulled back, retreating to his side of the bed once more. Within the link Obi-Wan could feel mingled pain, his deep confusion, and wished to know no more. Gathering the Force he entered into a sleep-inducing meditation, slamming into it before his other half could move again. And finally, deep within the false security of meditation, Obi-Wan dreamed.

Black. Nothing. Void. Without.

Shadow. Silence. Stillness. Cessation.

Fog. Drifting. Dreaming. Distance.

Gray. Echo. Longing.... Grief.

He was heavy. A hyper-sensitivity surrounded the knight, engulfing him, the world and all within it. The weight was so dense in Obi-Wan's arms he thought they might both sink through the deck entirely. At the thought he tightened his hold slightly. "Not without me," he thought with grim determination. "Never without me."

Time passed as he repeated the litany, impossible to measure as he caressed the unnaturally cool, pale skin, smoothing a stray hair from his face. "Not without me. Never without me."

Finally there came a desperate whisper, deep from within the well of hopelessness where his soul used to dwell. "Where you go, my master, I shall follow."

It was easy, so easy. The Force surrounded them, the air laden with weighted currents of pure energy. Obi-Wan didn't so much as move. One breath, held then slowly expelled, and suddenly there was light. So much of it! Beyond comprehension, this essence. The Living Force encompassed him, drew him forth, into its grasp, and he went willingly. No longer a fleshbound mortal, he had become One. And yet, he had a purpose.

His focus was complete. Though unsure of self, there was no doubt of whom he sought. All he was called out to Qui-Gon Jinn, tracking with relentless purpose, the Force singing through his body until the questing beacon defined self.

The answer, when it came, curled through the knight like cool mist. He was near. Oh Force... he was near. At once he shifted, homing in like a comet.

"... padawan?"

Self, once more. Yet he was scarcely aware of it. All that mattered was the figure before him. Obi-Wan turned, blinking in the light which surrounded the two figures.

"Master."

Qui-Gon frowned, clearly confused, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Have we... are we...?"

The knight could not answer. Obi-Wan's expression spoke of the cessation of life more eloquently than any words. Realization dawned across the noble brow he knew so well, the large hands passing automatically across chest and lower, seeking the wound which felled him. When he finally looked up he was more confused than before. "That... was real?" The frown deepened further. "Somehow, I thought it a dream. Or a memory. Only a memory..." The master looked up, unbearably distressed. "And you, here, now? In this place?" The leonine features sharpened, staring at him with great intensity. "Did you then... are you now..." He spread his hands. "Have you come to join the dead?"

His torment was tangible in this strange new place. Obi-Wan hastened to calm him. "I survive. The Sith is destroyed, Master." The words felt odd in his mouth, but he let them pass.

Assured, he suddenly straightened, folding his arms. "Why have you come here, Padawan? Surely you know how dangerous this is."

Obi-Wan's composure faltered, slightly. "I... had to follow you."

Again, the knight's expression spoke what he could not, Qui-Gon's softened in return, reacting as he always did to strong emotion. When he spoke, it was in a tone unfamiliar to his former apprentice. "Ever my pupil," his voice was warm, gentle, encompassing a thousand emotions which had no name. "You would follow me even unto death?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

"And what of the boy?"

The boy... the chosen one. That had been far from Obi-Wan's mind. "There are others, surely, who could train him."

"Perhaps. But none I trust. You alone can fulfill his destiny now, my Padawan."

The knight's focus shifted once more, causing the light to flicker uncertainly. So hard, suddenly, to force his lips to speak. "Do not send me back, my master. I beg you. Do not leave me now."

Qui-Gon looked around, as though heeding a call only his ears could hear. "I must go. And you must not follow me into death. Not yet. Please, Obi-Wan. Return to the world of the living. Train the boy. Choose life."

A bolt of agony shot through the knight as he forced himself to meet the eyes of his master, saw the conviction there. "Why me? Why not another?"

"Who else but you?" His voice was so tender the young Jedi felt his heart shatter anew. "He is the one the Jedi have waited for, prepared for, for thousands of years. It was my destiny to find him." He reached and, surprisingly, made contact, his hand firm on Obi-Wan's shoulder "Only you understand all the boy is, and can be." Within his eyes there seemed to be meanings whirling within meanings, a hidden message the dreaming man could only hope to grasp. "You beg me to stay here, in a land of shadow and death," the older man continued, slowly placing his second hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, his eyes locked, "I beg you, my padawan - beg you - to return. Do not forsake the life which awaits you." His eyes locked with Obi-Wan's, his emotions, his certainty, his faith in his student dancing around and through them both. "Our fate now rests with you, padawan."

Much though he dearly wanted to Obi-Wan could not argue. All he could do was whisper, throat too tight to speak. "And if I fail?"

"You will not." Like a balm, Qui-Gon's undiluted faith washed into the younger man's consciousness, and more. So much more. "You will not fail, Obi-Wan." The light around them brightened again, carrying Obi-Wan into the Force at last. His soul cried out at the loss even as the spirit of his master blossomed around him, the knight's senses filled with his master's warmth, pride and love.

Light.

The body of his Master lay heavy in Obi-Wan's arms, the Force fading back to normal as he regained awareness. For a time he simply breathed, forcing his lungs into a steady rhythm, feeling Qui-Gon ... breathe.

With a start Obi-Wan opened his eyes, muzzily recalling the death of his master while once again coming to grips with the startling reality of his continued existence. It was true - Qui-Gon lay heavy in his arms. Contented, apparently, deep in slumber, his features relaxed and easy.

A dream? Surely. But something more as well. That conversation, Obi-Wan was certain, had happened. The Force sang through him, assuring him of such. Another aspect of the bond, perhaps? He didn't know. But the words and, more importantly, the emotions expressed within their dream had been true. Shocked to his core, Obi-Wan stared at the sleeping man until the gray of dawn stole into the room.

The pattern continued for a series of days. At daybreak the knight grew ever more distant, numbness shrouding his soul as eternal hours - marked only by pain and guilt, tasteless meals and meaningless questions - passed. The nights, however, took on a life of their own. During the nights his master would come to him, speak to him in dreams Sometimes remembered, some simply wrapping him in the warmth and security due a small, frightened child, Obi-Wan came to resent the mornings. They broke the only relief he knew.

It was during one of these wakings, slipping from the elusive comfort of sleep, that the young Jedi became convinced the Force itself was speaking to him. Of what was tantalizingly close - a loss, perhaps, but of what seemed unclear. He could feel it in his dreams most of all. So close, yet just as he drew the revelation to him day would break, sending him deeper into retreat and depression.

The laughter struck him like a fist to the throat.

The sound was soft, gentle, but unreserved and he shied from it even as, for one nonsensensical moment he reached for it. The colors from the laughter danced across his dazed mind - so bright! Too bright. Sunlight sparkling on water... giddy pain wracked through him once more, causing him to blink, then wince uncertainly. He thought never to hear laughter like that again. As his gaze focused he sought out the source of such a sound.

Carefully bundled into a comfortable chair, Qui-Gon had regained some of his color. The harsh lines which had creased his brow, deepening around his eyes had faded with rest and calm. Silver streaks flowed through the chestnut mane which trailed over his master's shoulders and down his back. And his eyes... watched Obi-Wan carefully.

The last vestiges of sleep cleared the knight's mind at once, apprehension tightening into a painful ball in his guts. Qui-Gon gasped slightly causing Obi-Wan to flinch away. At once an gentle hand settled on the knight's shoulder, causing him to start badly. "Easy... easy Obi-Wan." From the other side of the bed, Mace Windu's voice was low, soothing. "I've no wish to fight you again." Beside him, Healer Shienda watched everyone in the room with the intensity of a bird of prey.

Obi-Wan looked from one to the other, feeling resignation settle in. "Who else knows?"

"Remembers," he corrected gently, his gesture slight - only including both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. "For the moment there is only Shienda, Adi Gallia and myself and, of course, Qui-Gon. Though if the situation is not resolved soon, Yoda will certainly become involved."

The information sank like a stone through Obi-Wan. Could this get any worse? Still unable to face Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan concentrated on Mace. "I'm... sorry, Master Windu. I have engaged in... conduct unbecoming a Knight. I will submit to your judgment."

Several heartbeats later, Mace and Qui-Gon exchanged a long, thoughtful look. "We will discuss the matter of your conduct later," Mace commented at last, his expression one of gentle support. "For the time being, there are more pressing matters."

"Of course." Obi-Wan automatically tried to rise, to present himself at attention before the Council member. At once both Mace and Shienda reached to settle him back, Qui-Gon withdrawing before actually touching him.

"The matter of greatest concern," Shienda admonished gently, "is your well being. You are still in the grips of psychic shock."

"You should have come to us sooner," Mace added, his words softened by his obvious concern.

Obi-Wan gulped, jaw clenched. He felt the ragged edge of bitter humor rise within him once more, threatening to spill out in ugly laughter. He was, it seemed, ever the pathetic pet project of the Council. It wasn't until he fought the urge to submission that he could speak. "Who should I have told, Master Windu?" He couldn't bring himself to fully turn, but the gesture was enough. "My former master chose not to speak to me. Adi Gallia told me as much as she was able..." he trailed off, exhaustion clouding over him.

"You have suffered alone, perhaps causing permanent harm to yourself. It is a situation none of us would have wished." There was no judgment in Mace's tone.

The knight closed his eyes, defeated. "T'se's Seventh Ethical Paradox."

There was a sudden heaviness surrounding him, and Obi-Wan belatedly realized he had allowed his mind to drift in the silence following his outburst. It was not simply his own defeat he felt, but his master's, and through him, Mace Windu's. Snatches of thought drifted, which he made no effort to screen. From Mace came a combination of joy and regret - joy in the knowledge that his oldest friend had died and yet somehow had been restored, regret that the restoration had cost the temple the future of a brilliant Knight. And from his master... a surge of energy, of impatience. Of a decision made.

"I'm taking him."

The voice was as unexpected as the words.

"That is not wise, Master Jinn." Shienda's voice was tight with concern. "Either one of you could relapse. Perhaps both, until the bond is stabilized. You would not be able to call for help."

"I agree with Healer Shienda." The Council Member's words were still gentle, even as he frowned at Qui-Gon. "The risk could in no way be justified."

"The bond is unstable."

"Our point, I believe." Mace frowned harder.

"Am I to assume it will stabilize in an environment such as this?"

In spite of himself, Obi-Wan had to smile. He knew that tone very well, had heard it often enough during his training. His master would not be denied. He listened as Qui-Gon continued. "The new quarters have been prepared, have they not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then that is where we belong." Qui-Gon's voice softened and Obi-Wan felt the bond between them sing with tightly leashed emotion. "We have much to resolve."

A little dazed, Obi-Wan listened as Qui-Gon allowed Mace the pretense of consideration, but in the end it was agreed that the two patients would be carefully transported to their new quarters.

Since he could think of nothing to say, Obi-Wan remained silent as he was carefully moved from the bed into a shielded hover chair, and did not look at Qui-Gon even once. During the journey the two chairs remained as close as possible, to minimize the impact of separation shock.

Eventually they reached their destination and, weak as a newborn, Obi-Wan was escorted into his new quarters. Dull surprise registered as he took in the surroundings. The apartment was spacious and comfortable, a full suite rather than the half he had shared with his Master before, high enough in the tower to command an awe inspiring view. He spied many of his own belongings tastefully placed around the room as Healer Shienda eased him from the chair and into the large bed which dominated the master bedroom. "A family suite?"

Gentle amusement eased through the bond. "Is that not the proper consideration for bondmates?"

Surprisingly, the pain did not lash at him. The lack of it was nearly as painful, having prepared for it. Obi-Wan wallowed in confusion, lack of direction and definition. Just when he thought he understood the rules, they changed! He needed time...

From a great distance, he heard his master's voice. "Time you shall have, padawan. As much as you require."

Then the cold closed in on him once more, wrapping him in layers of chill fog. Obi-Wan drifted, feeling icy currents swirl around him like a poisoned river, the toxins seeping through his spirit, numbing his will. He made no decision to join the Darkness surrounding him. It simply was, and he was with it. Of it. Becoming the fog.

The warmth was a peaceful surprise. Rather than the lightening of the day he had come to expect it was subtle, like the dawn breaking the horizon. Where it touched the Darkness receded, replaced by a soothing sense of tranquillity. The frigid tendrils gripping his heart slowly faded, allowing him to breathe deeply, each lungful carrying a measure of serenity deep into his body.

Obi-Wan shivered, not from the cold but from the relief of it. Content, he turned instinctively toward the warmth, taking comfort in its steady pulse. A heartbeat, warm and vibrant, thudded rhythmically under his ear. Without thought he matched his own breathing to the slow intake he rested upon, feeling the chest rise and fall with a sense of undiluted joy. So right, this feeling. With each breath he took, responding to the body holding him, each beat of his heart matching the sound which filled him, it was right. There could be no definition for the bliss he experienced, the peace and quiet delight which only deepened as his body awakened.

Without opening his eyes his fingers traced the contours of the body which held him, mapping the familiar planes and hard angels with an almost desperate fervor. How many times would he wake from the dream, knowing it would be dashed forever beyond his reach? Or was he real, this time? So many dreams clouded his memories, memories clouding dreams. Alive... Qui-Gon was alive. It was all that mattered. Nothing else... Somewhere, he was alive. Perhaps only in his dreams, his memories... his insanity. The Knight could no longer tell.

Forcing his eyes open, his mind refused to accept the image above him. The patient, gentle features regarding him were those of his master, not his lover at all. Rather than a young man's face awaiting him, this expression was lined with wisdom and gazed upon him with an expression of wonder. He was, without question, real. Solid. Very much alive. Turning his head slightly, the knight was bemused to discover the source of the warmth was none other than his master's own cloak, draped over his shoulders and across Qui-Gon's broad chest... the chest which had, until moments ago, served as his pillow. Could this be right? Strangely, it felt perfect.

His body remembered, even if his mind did not. It was not his plan to slowly reach up, to twine his hand around Qui-Gon's neck, burrowing into the luxury of his hair. Nor did he intend to lever himself upwards slightly, so that their lips were closer to level. It simply happened. The knight's heart pounded, accelerating a rush of warmth through his entire frame. Oh yes, the man in his arms felt right even as he responded - surprised but pleased, his arm fitting perfectly around his shoulders, another sliding carefully down his hip.

Then his master spoke. The barest whisper. It was enough. "Obi-Wan..."

Ice fire slammed into the knight, causing both men to gasp and flinch. Heaving a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan wrenched himself away from Qui-Gon's embrace, shivering anew as he forced distance between them.

Qui-Gon only stared, mental discipline locking down any emotional response, leaving his expression eerily vague. Finally he rose then left the room as quickly as his long legs could carry him. At once the cold slammed through the knight's body anew, emptiness opening all around him until he thought the void would simply swallow him whole. The relief when his master returned (after what seemed several eternities) could not be denied, which fueled Obi-Wan's frustration even more. The departure had been innocent enough - Qui-Gon bore with him a tray laden with tea, bread and fruits. Shivering, the young knight tracked his motions as the elder prepared tea then poured for them both.

Qui-Gon hesitated a long moment, then settled carefully on the edge of the bed. As he reached toward his padawan Obi-Wan cringed back, stopping only when his master made a reassuring gesture. The older man bent, then slid his arm under the pillow Obi-Wan rested upon, easing him up without actually touching him. Once again relief washed through him, sending shivers down his spine. It was something of a shock to see that the large hand which offered him the steaming mug shook nearly as badly as his own.

It was a delicate process, but somehow Obi-Wan managed to drink the tea without spilling too much of it. The benefit of the warmth, both seeping into his hands and curling though his body was obvious. The tremors faded as he concentrated on the simple act of swallowing, tasting, feeling. The scent lulled his senses - this was good. It was safe. And all the while he rested against the pillow which his master supported.

Finally the mug was empty and he handed it back with a sigh.

"More?"

The word was not the blow he expected it to be. Cautiously he glanced up, seeing only polite concern in his master's expression. The arm behind his back felt rock solid, comforting. Obi-Wan licked his lips, then swallowed. "Thank you." Surprisingly, his voice sounded almost normal. "I'd like that."

The meal was consumed in hesitant silence. Common activities like buttering bread required all his concentration. Chewing, swallowing, tasting, all somehow took on greater proportions, his entire being focusing on each single act. Through it all Qui-Gon remained by his side, helping when needed, retreating otherwise.

Once finished, however, he remained, gently supporting him through the soft folds of blanket and pillow.

At first the younger man didn't notice. It was wonderful to simply sit back and drift, stomach comfortably full, mind pleasantly empty, concentrating on nothing more complex than the digestion of his meal. The warmth he first attributed to the tea, until his master spoke.

"How do you feel?" The voice was distressingly close to his ear.

So hard, not to flinch. But he tried, settling for a slight cringe instead. There was no answer he could give which would satisfy either of them, so he didn't attempt one. Instead he turned, just slightly, to study the garments which covered his master's chest, eyes tracing the fiber of the tunic with a desperate intensity, hoping it would be enough.

Deep concern immediately flooded through the bond, swamping his emotions. "Obi-Wan..." The hand which reached out was feather light, tracing gentle fingers down his cheek.

"No!" At once he reared back, the touch on his skin like a brand. He cried out again as Qui-Gon instinctively reached for him. "NO!" Sudden desperation gripped the young knight and he kicked free of the bedding, rolling to land in a crouch on the opposite side of the bed from his master. Pulse pounding, thunderous shockwaves throbbing through him, Obi-Wan remained where he landed, gasping for breath even as he fought for control. Force, what was wrong with him?

Qui-Gon's distress would have been obvious even had they not shared a soul bond. The hurt in his voice was tangible. "How can I help you? Please." Slowly he began to stand, to approach, his motions very obvious and exaggerated. "I wish you no harm Obi-Wan..."

The knight spun to turn his back, bracing himself against the wall, slamming the flat of his hand against the window. The blow rocked the transparent surface, sending reverberations echoing through the room. All wrong. The Force tore jagged shreds through his composure, leaving him breathless. Qui-Gon must feel it. How could he not?

The older man was not to be denied. Slowly but steadily he moved closer. His voice was soft, soothing, as one might use for a frightened animal. Through the bond soft waves of compassion and concern continued to batter Obi-Wan's frayed nerves to the breaking point. "Alright, now I know." It was almost said to himself. "I know for sure now." Another step. "Please," so soft, a whisper, "please, my padawan. I had no idea. You must know that." His voice echoed a wistful smile, admiration a new source of pain through their shared link. "Your skills were perfect. I recalled nothing of the truth, just as you wished. As you thought best. You must know I could never have refused you had I known..." A moan rose, low in the young Knight's throat, as his master continued to advance.

"Padawan, I beg you." This was a tone Obi-Wan had never heard before, balanced on the ragged edge of desperation. "If ever you... held me in esteem. For the sake of that, please turn. Face me."

Obi-Wan rested his forehead against the cool surface of the window, pressing his eyes tightly shut. His clenched fists pressed his knuckles painfully against it, but not nearly painfully enough. No pale physical pain could drown out the rising tide from within. "This is wrong," he whispered, the sounds numb on cold lips. It took a strength he hadn't known he had to raise his voice, to find words to put to emotion. "How?"

Faltering confusion, like a momentary lull within the storm. "How what? Obi-Wan..."

The pain drew a low moan from between his clenched teeth, his nails digging tight into the flesh of his palms. It echoed between them, sharp and jagged, and Qui-Gon's approach eased as the other man took a physical step backwards.

His spirit shied from the request, cringing wretchedly. But his master, and all he represented had to be faced. Giving in to the pain and defeat which once again defined this strange new world, Obi-Wan sighed, then slowly urged his body to move. It was almost as though his physical form fought him, surging to protect when the mind would not. But at last the motion was accomplished. Heart pounding, he forced himself to meet the eyes of his master... and felt Qui-Gon's heart quail at the sight.

"I face you," he whispered. "Can you face me?"

"Am I not?"

"No," The words were hot, blistering the knight's throat. The rest of him was ice. "No. Now you deny me."

"How? We are together. For days, since my return, I have thought of nothing but you." When he saw the negative response the master frowned. "How can you believe otherwise?"

"Because you deny me. As I have done."

Qui-Gon's chin raised a bit, even as his brows lowered. "Who is speaking to me now?"

"Not who you think."

"Then who?" Qui-Gon was quite still, the Force resonating from his quest of the answer.

Obi-Wan thought for some time. "I am Death. Darkness. Ice and cold. If not death, then at least dead. I am denial." His hands gave up their customary defensive pose across his chest and instead reached to the sides, offering himself to his master at last. "Can you not destroy me now?" The knight shivered harder even as he compelled himself to speak. "The Force has been denied,. A death was required." He swallowed, forcing the words from a throat too raw to speak. "Not you, my master. Let it be me. Please." His voice trailed to a whisper as his arms suddenly dropped to his sides. "I'm so tired."

Shock rooted Qui-Gon where he stood, and through their bond his former padawan could feel his heart thundering. "Am I to understand," his large fists clenched involuntarily, as though he might physically deny the words, "that you truly wish to die?"

"No, my master." A icy, debilitating calm shrouded Obi-Wan suddenly as the truth was revealed to him at last. His words, his tone, his gesture all echoed the revelation, the utter defeat. "You are to understand that I am dead already."

"No."

The knight's hopeless gaze locked with his Master's, boring into him with the conviction of his words. "Obi-Wan is dead. I killed him." He shook his head slowly from side to side, frigid tears tracing the contours of his cheeks. "I don't know how. Suicide was not my intention." Unable to continue, he simply hunched tighter into himself, an inarticulate moan of pure despair rising from the depths of his soul.

Fingers of Force curled around him as Qui-Gon reached out, assessing the truth for himself, testing it. Obi-Wan endured the probe as best he was able, trembling as his master resumed his slow approach. Along with the questing probes the older man began to once again send gentle assurances, wordless but strong with conviction that something could be done, that help was not beyond their grasp. The healers, the Masters, even Yoda himself would find a way...

A coughing sob tore through the last of his reserves. Trembling, eyes tightly shut, Obi-Wan sank into a ball of misery, arms curling around his body. "No more... no..." The pain was more than he could endure, more than he could even make sense of. How could he communicate this when he could not even speak? In desperation he gathered the Darkness to him, then with a cry launched all he could muster back to the source: through the Force, into the link, and directly into the soul of Qui-Gon Jinn.

His master let out a terrible cry then stumbled backwards, reeling. Obi-Wan, caught in the loop created by shared misery, shuddered where he lay, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Glacial Darkness screamed as it clawed through his body. The young Knight sank without resistance, feeling chill tendrils striking into him, holding him fast. He had always assumed the Darkness would be hot, a consuming fire which would burn any so foolish as to toy with it. It was not. The Darkness, he discovered with numbed surprise, contained the cold of absolute zero, a frozen vacuum which destroyed hope and joy in equal measure, leaving only a desolate wasteland in its wake.

It sank into him, body and blood, erasing the one and devouring the other. He became the cold; mindless, thoughtless, existence without feeling or expectation. In a way, it was easy, so much easier than the struggle had been, and encompassing.

He could feel himself washed in it, the moment when he slipped beyond the brink - it was abandonment, of pain and pleasure both, the loss of the light to the deep embrace of the Darkness. Within that frozen expanse he lost the edges of himself, painted over in shadow and emptiness until he became no more then that. Not even alone, not really. Nothing. Void.

The first disruption struck like an earthquake, without warning, a distant rumble which quickly gained power around him. Barely conscious, the knight felt the Darkness loosen its hold, the streams mired by a new presence. He barely had time to prepare before the attack.

Piercing the Darkness like an arrow of pure flame, golden light poured through him. The knight screamed as the link strengthened, defining his soul even as it denied a frigid final victory. Emotions tumbled around him in a tumult, suddenly strange and foreign in the wake of the numbness. They battled back the Darkness, thawing the ice of his heart.

Cradled in the new warmth, he surrendered completely to it. It was right, this thing. Better than right. It completed him. Wonder dawned as the emotions played out, undeniable in their power. Memories of trust, of friendship twined with the knowledge of a vast wellspring of love. It was so perfectly attuned to his essence that it defined him, gave him flesh and form to replace that which had been flayed away in the cold.

The Darkness faded, then melted away, leaving him alone and shivering in the backwash of sudden, perfect calm. The Force radiated all around him, connecting him, dancing through him, inviting him to come forth and join in... to join *him*. To become one at last with the light and warmth that was offered without reservation.

The memories came fast and hard, and he was helpless against them. One whom he loved, beyond time, life or duty called to him. Sobbing, reaching out blindly, he accepted.

Warmth met his grasping hand, strong fingers twined through his own in a grasp he knew better than any other, muscle and flesh and blood that seared him even as it held him safe. Even as he reached for that acceptance, the completion of the process begun so long ago, the Knight could feel the struggle surge through him. He could feel the name of a dead man weighing heavily on the heart of the one who had been his teacher. He dreaded the naming with all he was and yet could not resist the call.

It was irresistible, greater than will-- he'd never known such compulsion, especially not from the Force, which had always flowed gently. This was like he'd always heard the Dark Side must be, but without the flaying slice of pain-- an explosion of insistent light, bending him to its demand.

He struggled against it only briefly, carried on the wave like a leaf in an undertow, sensing its ultimate destination.

Strengthless, he gave in. Hands gathered him close, and beneath his choked breath beat the hard, steady pulse of a thousand drums. It reverberated through him in a beacon that only slowly, hazily, resolved into the living throb of a heart beneath his cheek. It beat at him like a shockwave, each deep, resounding pulse shattering everything he had known and reforming it anew. He sobbed, breathless, the sound lost to his own ears.

When the pain returned it was from an unexpected source. The source had a name, it had a face, and attached to it was a love beyond bearing. He had agreed to pay any price, to make any sacrifice in the name of that love. The Force had taken the Knight at his word. And yet, as the beloved fingers sculpted his throat, down his arm, across his chest, he could not bring himself to deny the bond between them. It was as though his body had become some terrible battleground; the fire of Light, the ice of Darkness, with not only his soul but the soul of his lover as the prize.

It was only then that the Knight began to fight for his salvation, when he finally understood that the peril was not his alone.

Drowning in uncertainty, he flailed frantically for ground, fingers closing around the arms that guided the hands caressing him. Something caressed his ears, caressed his soul-- a familiar touch of voice and mind. "Qui-Gon," he whispered, naming his bondmate, the Force swirling with rightness, tingling through his fingertips and every centimeter of skin that pressed against the man who was the other half of his soul.

The word was barely out of his mouth before lips met his, covered him, completed him with another searing bolt - this one of pure desire. The bond sang strong and true, its fire blazing a path from lips to chest, into his belly and groin, burning out the ice still left within him, destroying the lethargic, lingering waste he had become. Suddenly he had to move, to become closer. All that mattered was the man in his arms.

There was no more thought of who he was, who he had been, who he might have been, who he should be. Arching up, he drove himself against the heavy body of his lover, gasping at the hardness that crossed his own, drinking greedily of the willing mouth that met his.

"My own," the words breathed into his mouth, and he devoured them, knowing them for true, staking his own claim with long fiery caresses up and down the muscular back and lean hips, tensing and releasing as they drove against him.

The hands eased him back gently, their touch achingly familiar. The silent question in the brush of palm across fevered skin was unspoken but in its wake he could feel it linger, asking, like a vibration in his flesh that gravitated, relentlessly, to the one single answer he could choose.

It was no choice. It was a calling, one which he breathed out on soundless lips. "Yes," he answered, legs parting to let the broad body sink between them, clasping his ankles around his lover's back.

When he arched up, desperate, the hard press against groin and belly wrung an indrawn moan from his throat. Hands cupped his hips, lifting, drawing him that much closer. The first slow, heated thrust of penetration made him cry out, struggling, straining to take more, quickly, to complete the joining that had been put off for far too long. It poured through him in molten currents, burning away in pleasure what had been stripped in pain, and in that fire he found only the deep rightness of it. He had, at last, become one with the Force.

From a distance a voice soothed him, calming, the sound a caress across enflamed nerves. The pleasure pouring through him was like a drug, one that he could never get enough of, and yet... it slowed, backed off, the very lack at the moment of completion tearing a cry from him. The voice of his Master sounded above him again, breath brushing warm against his cheek, husky with barely leashed desire. "Once, my Padawan, you entered my mind. You took what you felt you must, in order to achieve this." He hesitated, the words obviously coming hard, the thread of instinctive fear like a crackling wire of tension between them. "You must understand what you've gained. Only then can you accept what we are to become."

It opened like a floodgate between them, a quicksilver torrent of memories and dreams that washed through him, tangling and dividing, tangling again, merging into a single shared vision. //... He was an arrogant fool. He pressed ahead against a superior opponent while I was delayed... Perhaps your Master did not deserve the depth of your commitment to him... If you defy the wisdom of the Council, Master, this time you do so alone...//

Tears blurred his vision as he reached for the larger man above him, his breath choked in his throat. "Please..." Lips sealed across his, swallowing the words, until body and breath beat in a single rhythm, bright and spiraling, fusing the two of them finally, at last, into one. The knight surged forward, the hoarse cry of his climax mingling with that of Qui-Gon, his master, his lover, his soul bonded partner.

//Ben. You were dreaming, love. I'm here, Ben, please. Please come back now...//

The light touch of fingertips along his cheek made him open his eyes. The lights had been dimmed to a warm glow, casting the face above his into diffuse shadows at first. But then he moved, shaking back strands of hair, and it was his Master's eyes that looked into his.

It was a shockwave of sorts, but not of pain nor anything like it. Warmth and comfort and the undeniable feeling of rightness - he let it wash over him on the strength of that gaze, lost in it. Qui-Gon's fingertips brushed lightly over him once again, drawing a lock of hair back from his forehead. The deep voice was softened, filled with a gentle concern and love. "Ben?"

The knight looked around, then smiled, basking in the warmth of the bond between them. He felt like springing to his feet and shouting his happiness, his relief that the Darkness had relinquished its claim upon his soul. Instead, he simply said "Must we begin every love affair we have on the floor?"

Qui-Gon chuckled, the sound deep and low and simply happy. "I'll admit... there might be more comfortable places. But I won't complain." Strong arms wound around the younger man and before he could voice a protest Qui-Gon had pulled them both up, crossing the two steps back to the bed and depositing Ben there before sinking down beside him, something like laughter just behind his eyes. "Better?"

"Better" The gulf, like so many things, was gone. Though they were close enough, comfortably twined together as they were, it was obvious the ice, the bitter chill that had been in the process of claiming the knight from the inside out, had vanished. Rather than discuss it further, knowing the questions would come all too soon, he instead leaned up to kiss Qui-Gon, reveling in the warmth of the mobile lips against his own.

Qui-Gon broke the kiss only gradually, pulling away slightly to study the younger man. At length he shook his head slightly, a small smile playing over his lips. "I am, beyond all doubt, an arrogant fool."

Startled, Ben pulled away a little. "Why say such a thing?"

"Because the pattern was obvious," Qui-Gon replied quietly, sobering. "I saw it happening before my eyes. Yet I thought a thousand things before the obvious." He shook his head again. "Once more you have come forward to teach me a lesson of enormous value." He tilted his head slightly sideways, eyes half closing as he slowly brought Ben's hand to his lips, turning it so that his kiss would brush the inside of his wrist gently. "I'm wondering, how can I repay you for that?"

The knight allowed the kiss, then gently cupped his master's face, returning them to the serious topic at hand. "I do have a question." Qui-Gon immediately looked up, inquiringly. "The... other one. Him. I sense, somehow, that he still exists. But I don't know where, or how such a thing could be. Can you feel him?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, brows drawing down slightly. "Obi-Wan..." but the name brought a stab of cold that coursed through them both and he shut his mouth hastily, lips pressing tight, his hands rising to cover the younger man's. "I'm sorry," he said huskily. "I didn't know..."

Ben fought to restore his breathing to a normal rate, gasping a little at the cold. "I didn't understand it myself, not until today. Not entirely. But he's out there. Master, I swear it. I feel as though he is my shadow."

The older man nodded slowly, the crease between his brows growing deeper. "That may well be." He drew a slow breath, letting it out steadily. "Master T's'e's 7th Paradox... It may be entirely possible that somewhere he is there, that you shadow one another."

He hesitated, his voice low. "I thought him dead. I thought I... was a living corpse."

Qui-Gon considered, then slowly shook his head. "A shadow is still a part of you," he mused quietly. "If he was dead..." he let the words trail away but the finish of them was obvious.

"Then where? Is he real, or am I?" He looked into his master's eyes. "I begin to wonder if this is all just a dream."

"If this is? Or if what was before was?" Leaning forward, Qui-Gon pressed a gentle kiss to the younger man's forehead. "That feels like no dream," he offered, a hint of amusement in his voice. But it faded quickly, his look turning more somber. "And if this is not, then the path that brought us here is not."

"No. That was no dream. More a nightmare, if anything."

"This is certainly no nightmare," Qui-Gon assured him. "And if it is not... then we may well be awake and no longer dreaming at all."

Ben pulled Qui-Gon to him for another long, drawn out kiss. "Awake or dreaming," he paused for another kiss, "this is certain. This is right." He smiled contentedly at his master. "It is a fork in the path, or a new beginning. Either way, we walk it together."

Qui-Gon smiled against his lips. "Together, then," he whispered softly. "We shall make it our beginning."

End

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