Archive: master_apprentice, and my homepage only-any others ask
Archive Date: November 06, 1999
Author's Webpage: http://adult.dencity.com/lilith_sedai/index.html
Category: angst, AU, WIP (so far)
Disclaimer: O most beloved and feared George, who art in Skywalker Ranch, we grovel before thee humbly today, entreating that thou wilst, in thy infinite wisdom, decide not to punish us simply because we love thy characters so well. We entreat that thou wilst permit us to pursue our happy, harmless tales, honing our interest thereby, encouraging ourselves all and sundry to flock to the theaters repeatedly, marveling over thy creation in the name of research and unfettered joy. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive thy continuity errors, and lead us not into lawsuits, but deliver us from persecution, for thine are the universe, the characters, and the profits forever, AMEN
Feedback: Yes, please. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows.
Illustrations: created by the talented Black Rose
Notes: Acknowledgments to Kalia, for helpful ideas and accuracy consultation
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Yes, somewhat. This takes place during and post "TPM."
Summary: What if Qui-Gon had left 13-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi on Bandomeer?
Warnings: Happy ending not guaranteed. Background info borrowed from Jedi Academy books. Graphic violence.

Qui-Gon Jinn hurried toward the Nubian with Skywalker in tow, aware of a growing sense of wrongness. The Force urged him to make haste, but the boy couldn't match the long strides of Qui-Gon's strong legs. He glanced back to ensure that he wasn't leaving the youngster too far behind just as the living Force surged around him, a wavefront of warning.

"Anakin! DROP!" Qui-Gon Jinn snatched his lightsaber from his belt as the hovercycle shot forward, a black-cloaked figure bent over the handlebars.

Qui-Gon could feel wrongness emanating from the approaching being as it powered over Anakin's prone body and flipped neatly off the hovercycle, which banked to a stop to await its master even as lightsabers, red and green, ignited. Anakin scrambled up and circled cautiously around the confrontation as the lightsabers clashed, and clashed again.

It was trained in Jedi arts, strong with the Dark Side. Qui-Gon's evaluation came effortlessly as he flowed through the motions of battle. A ray of light partially illuminated the inside of the hood, revealing humanoid features.

"Ani! Get to the ship!" he snapped, sparing a precious moment of attention for the child. The boy began to scramble away, half backward. Qui-Gon jerked his attention back to the battle almost too late to make a crucial parry. This adversary was young, strong, well-trained in the Jedi arts... on the defensive already, Qui-Gon was in trouble, and he knew it.

"Take off!" he shouted at Anakin. Better that only one should die. "Go, go!"

The boy obeyed at last, freeing Qui-Gon to put his full attention on his enemy. Roiling currents of hate clustered around the warrior like tentacles, seeking to wrap Qui-Gon up, slow him, bury him in an ocean of rage and drown him till he suffocated and died. He met the glowing red saber with determination, power sizzling and crackling as sparks arced between the blades. He could feel the wind rise as somewhere, yards away, the ship powered up and rose. Anakin was safe, he could feel it in the currents of the Force. Ric Olie, Amidala, the others would survive...

But the ship was not powering toward the skies. Instead it cruised low over the dunes. He flung himself to the ground, evading a savage slash, flicking his own lightsaber at his assailant's ankles, but the enemy leaped, clearing the blade easily. Qui-Gon rolled, sand and grit burning his eyes and grating on his tongue. He came up on his feet, desperately blinking the sand away as the dark being stalked forward again, saber weaving through the air so quickly that a low moaning whine was audible over the power pack's deep hum. Qui-Gon could barely keep his skin whole, backpedaling desperately, trying to gauge the approach of the ship.

The hatch lowered, and Qui-Gon gathered the Force to him, preparing to leap. The whipping wind whirled, snapping his poncho like a flag, tearing the dark warrior's hood back from his face. Qui-Gon found a second to stare into rage-filled midnight blue eyes piercing him from beneath a ragged mane of dark honey hair. A square jaw was set in a rictus of loathing. Qui-Gon automatically catalogued the young human's features for future reference. Something nagged at him but he didn't have time for fleeting worries as he caught the extended ramp and pulled himself aloft. His adversary made an abortive grab for the hatch but missed, receding quickly into a dark dot on the face of the desert as Ric Olie shot the ship skyward.

Qui-Gon wearily rolled into the cooled passageway between the cockpit and the queen's sleeping quarters. Anakin rushed to his side, helping him prop himself on one elbow. "Are you all right?" He reached out timidly and wiped at the grit on Qui-Gon's cheek. The Jedi Master nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile in between panting breaths. "Who was it?" the boy demanded anxiously. Qui-Gon just shook his head. He wasn't sure who he had just faced, but he greatly feared that he knew what it had been.

"I don't know, but he was well-trained in the Jedi arts. My guess is he was after the Queen."

"Do you think he'll follow us?"

"We'll be safe enough once we're in hyperspace, but I have no doubt he knows our destination."

Anakin gazed at him doubtfully, the need to do something, to fix the situation, so clear in him that he nearly shook with it. Qui-Gon smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "We will be patient," he told Anakin gently. It would be the first in a long string of similar statements, he suspected.

Anakin's eagerness need not be wasted, he realized. There was business to be taken care of, business Anakin could help with. Forcing his weary, aching muscles to lift his long, lean frame, Qui-Gon rose and took Anakin's hand, leading the boy toward the ship's central computer. "Place your finger here," he told the boy, directing him toward a medical port. With a beep and a hum, the computer processed the child's state of health. The boy stood still, watching the display raptly even though Qui-Gon knew he had little idea what the symbols and charts that appeared meant. One in particular drew Qui-Gon's attention, and he permitted his lips to curve upward ever so slightly. He'd known, of course, that the boy was a powerful Force-user; if he hadn't he would never have taken the child from his mother. But such a high midi-chlorian reading! Even Master Yoda's was not so high.

Qui-Gon gazed warmly down at his amazing discovery, feeling wonder open inside his heart. For the first time since Xanatos, Qui-Gon realized that he was ready. Anakin Skywalker would be his padawan learner. The Force willed it--Qui-Gon could feel the rightness of this path.

"You are well, Anakin," he told the boy, who smiled at him, already recovering from the stress of parting and from the unexpected battle. Qui-Gon nostalgically remembered the resilience of youth. Anakin would be fine. But as for himself--he was tired, and worried. That warrior... Qui-Gon grimaced. The warrior had been a fine, fierce fighter. Daring, skilled, and strong in the Dark Side, so strong that even now Qui-Gon could feel a residue of the dark warrior's hatred draping him like a shroud.

He must rest and meditate to purge himself of that residue, lest it contaminate his actions, or worse, influence Anakin. The power of the residue was such that it might. Usually dark energies dissipated, or at least retreated, quickly when a Jedi's aura of light entered the space they occupied, but these energies were bound in such a way that they even clung to Qui-Gon. Only one source of the Dark Side had ever been so powerful, so invasive... the word hovered in Qui-Gon's mind, a word he was loath to use, but his intuition refused to be silenced. Sith, his mind whispered, against all reason. That was a Sith. The Sith are not destroyed as the Council has believed. They still walk the galaxy, and they want vengeance.

"It's been a long day," he rose from his seat and stretched his stiffening muscles. Adrenaline was fading, leaving him with the aches of his abused frame. "Let's reassure captain Olie and see to your sleeping arrangements." It was afternoon, by the boy's time, but Qui-Gon suspected he'd slept very little the previous night, excited by the prospect of the Boonta Eve race. Anakin too had been through a hard day. It would not take much of the Force to nudge the boy into sleep.

Sleep did not come easily to Qui-Gon Jinn that night, nor was it restful when it finally came. He tossed fitfully, his dreams wretched. He'd not been able to rest properly since leaving Tatooine. His dreams were filled with dark forebodings from differing sources. He could not tell their origin. Oddly, they seemed to come from within himself, but when he awoke, there was no seed of darkness in him; there was only the memory of dream-imposed bleakness. He glanced at the small cot against the adjacent wall, where Anakin slept more peacefully than he. A small frown wrinkled Qui-Gon's forehead in spite of his training in Jedi calm. Something in the dream had involved Anakin, but Anakin was not the center of the dream. Maybe it was fear left over from Xanatos, fear that he would fail another apprentice, fear that he would be the catalyst to turn a life to darkness. He would not let that happen again. Xanatos was the first, and the last.

Then why did he feel as though he had lost again?

Qui-Gon forced himself to lie down again, covering his long legs with the soft blanket. It had been provided for Amidala's handmaidens; tucked under the mattress it barely reached to his chest. He pulled his robe over himself for extra warmth. He had given the spare blanket to Anakin, whose life on a desert world had not prepared him for the chill of space. Qui-Gon exhaled a weary sigh and began a biofeedback routine designed to induce sleep.

He stood on the surface of a familiar planet, one he had not visited in many long years. The buildings here were deserted. A few blighted trees struggled to establish themselves in the dusty ground, their leaves blotchy and ragged. There were mine shafts nearby; Qui-Gon could sense the hollowness of shafts driven deep underground. A part of his mind was aware of the dream as an imagining, exerting control, cataloguing and processing images. Tunnels were a metaphor for the subconscious mind. Within them, he might find the source of his fears.

Striding across the ground, he was aware of a squelching under his boots, and a vinegar odor of soured fruit. He was treading on the ruins of ripeness, a waste of nature's gift, his mind whispered. Qui-Gon bent and took one up in his hand, searching for insight, but all he saw was a browning yellow fruit, and all he heard was the buzzing of insects.

Tossing the fruit aside, Qui-Gon grimaced and continued toward the gaping hole of one mineshaft. The building that covered it was abandoned, door jammed half-open. Inside the power flickered fitfully. There was electricity to run the elevators, then. Qui-Gon stepped inside one of them, his hand checking automatically to ensure the presence of his lightsaber. A broken circle was emblazoned on the rear wall of the elevator, the symbol of Xanatos. This was about him, then, as Qui-Gon had suspected. Or was it? The thought fit, but it was also... wrong, somehow.

The elevator started, jerking downward fitfully, and Qui-Gon stood serenely in the center, his alertness honed to maximum. He was missing something. Something obvious.

The elevator deposited him into darkness, and he stepped forward, sensing no other presence within the silent mineshaft. Then his toe disturbed a metallic object, which skittered away from him. Igniting his lightsaber, Qui-Gon bent to inspect the item: it seemed to be a slave collar, its power source intact and humming.

The item fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. Bandomeer!

"Obi-Wan!" The name tore from deep within Qui-Gon's soul, bitter on his lips, and the innocent, hopeful face of a boy, dimmed by memory, sharpened and metamorphosed into the bleak acceptance of his rejection, and past that, into despair, then bitterness, then anger... and then the hate he had seen in the eyes of a Sith Lord only hours ago.

Qui-Gon sat bolt upright, covered in a cold sweat.

Turned away by the Jedi, rejected by the master who was his last hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi had turned to the Dark Side.

It was a deeply shaken Qui-Gon Jinn who stood in the cockpit as the Nubian dropped out of lightspeed less than a hundred thousand kilometers from Coruscant. Anakin stood across the cockpit from the Jedi Master, his eyes confused. He had not expected such coldness from Qui-Gon, and did not understand its source. The boy's arms were wrapped around his chest, as he tried to comfort himself from within. Qui-Gon regretted that, but he could not reach out to Anakin.

He could never be trusted with a student again.

They settled to the Senate's landing platform and Qui-Gon strode out after Amidala, Anakin following uncertainly, ignored. After a number of formal diplomatic matters, Anakin found himself ushered in front of the Jedi council for examination. As the queries began, he had a fleeting moment to wonder where Qui-Gon had gone.

Qui-Gon stood alone on a balcony far nearer the planet's surface. There, the golden glow of the sun did not penetrate. The gray buildings were dank and sooty, the air thick with a polluted haze. He was in an abandoned wing of the Padawan quarters, standing outside a room that had not been occupied in over twelve years. There were no longer so many candidates for Knighthood that they filled the whole of the Academy, and when a trainee washed out, there was a certain stigma attached to his memory. The other students tended to avoid the place where a failed student had lived, they didn't want a share of his things or of his failure. After a few weeks, his name was almost erased from the mind, and certainly from the lips, of the remaining trainees.

There was a silent bed, covered with the film of dust that spoke of the years since anyone had entered this room. Qui-Gon's bootsoles left the only visible prints, tracking to the edge of the empty bed, around the wreckage of a few models that had crashed to the floor when the repulsor field that held them aloft failed, and then out onto the balcony.

He remembered a similar trip, to a similar room. There had not been dust, then. He had gone to Xanatos's room immediately after returning from his apprentice's final, failed mission. He had found little there--Xanatos had left far less imprint on his surroundings than Obi-Wan Kenobi. It had seemed to Qui-Gon as if Xanatos, who should have had every expectation of returning to the temple, had somehow known he wouldn't. Whereas Kenobi... Kenobi had left with the hope of returning, even if he hadn't been realistic.

Qui-Gon grasped the cool metal railing, his hands spasming so tightly that he thought they might break against the obdurate metal. It was he who had dashed Obi-Wan's hopes and destroyed his dreams, against Yoda's wishes. He should have listened, should have accepted the will of the living Force. He had known the Force willed that Obi-Wan be his student, but he had been unable to bring himself to accept it.

Qui-Gon remembered the strength of Obi-Wan's determination to sacrifice himself to save the mine on Bandomeer. How strong he had been in the light side that day! Qui-Gon had never felt a student of Obi-Wan's age muster so much of the Force or reconcile himself so willingly to such an unpleasant outcome. He had been tempted so strongly to take Obi-Wan as his padawan learner then! But Xanatos, always Xanatos... Qui-Gon simply was not able to overcome the past. He would gladly have recommended that some other take the boy, but by the time he returned to Coruscant it was too late; Obi-Wan was past his thirteenth birthday. And there was no master at hand willing to take the lad anyway... he had let the matter slide, feeling it was for the best.

Now, he realized, he'd been damned if he did... and damned if he didn't.

Or maybe Obi-Wan would have turned anyway, Qui-Gon rationalized. Maybe there had been no right decision. But the strength of the boy, the honesty he remembered, the optimism and hope!

He realized that the sun had set, and an increasing inky pall of night was drawing over the Temple. Qui-Gon gazed up into the sky, where only the brightest stars could penetrate the smog. His jaw set. He had, in a way, loosed this evil on the galaxy. Therefore, it was his responsibility to amend it.

Qui-Gon was not the only person standing on a balcony, surveying the onset of Coruscant's long night. Several buildings away, far closer than any of the Jedi would have dared to imagine, Darth Sidious and his apprentice stalked the night together, Sidious reviewing his pupil's account of the confrontation with the Jedi Master. Darth Grim was distracted, not listening properly to Sidious as his master thought out loud.

Sidious cast him a calculating stare. "I wonder if your feelings on this matter are absolutely clear," he questioned Grim, eyes narrowing.

"Yes, my Master." Grim bowed his head, the gesture of obeisance as automatic to him as breathing. "They are clear."

"Your hatred for the Jedi Master is great," Sidious mused, tilting his head. "And yet... I sense fear in you, my young apprentice."

Grim raised glittering eyes to meet Sidious's stare. "He is a worthy opponent. Nothing more."

"Your fear is not your ally here," Sidious snapped. "The old fool is weak. You are young and strong. You must be confident in your abilities, or he will sense your uncertainty and destroy you!"

{{He has already done so.}} Bleakly Grim watched as his master whirled, cloak billowing, and stalked away. Qui-Gon Jinn had bereft him of the life that was his by right. The Jedi master's selfish concerns had condemned the young and hopeful boy Obi-Wan Kenobi to the life of a farmer--or so that boy had thought. He'd served a miserable stint on Bandomeer, where his lightsaber was taken by a Jedi representative when he turned thirteen and officially lost the status of a Jedi pupil and thus right to wear it.

After the crisis on Bandomeer, his talents were used for little more than shoveling manure. The Living Force had seemed to recede from him along with his life at the Academy, and he'd been instructed to cease attempting to use it when he proved unable to enhance the growth cycle of living organisms--his depression was such that anything he touched withered rather than thriving. After a while he lost his position with the Agricorps and then shuffled between worlds not doing much of anything, growing increasingly disaffected. He was uninterested in his life or his youth any longer.

Once when he was nearly fifteen he'd spied two Jedi walking through a crowded spaceport not far from him. Unable to help himself, he had fallen in behind them, stealthily trying to disguise his pursuit. They were a teacher-student pair, Knight Aden M'Kabe and Padawan Sh'ri niJanda. He knew the girl fairly well, he had been friendly with her at the Academy even though she was a year younger than he--she hadn't been a padawan yet when he left, but now she wore the braid. She had managed what he had failed, and somehow he could not begrudge her that success. Desperately lonely, he decided to reveal himself to them, maybe even offer his help in their mission.

As he stepped out in front of them, Sh'ri drew up short and her master stepped quickly in front of her, between her and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak and opened his mind to the Jedi...

Disgust, formless, and a trace of fear from Sh'ri, who had sensed his focus on her. She recognized him, but her mind held no welcome-- {{Outcast.}} The label seared Obi-Wan to his soul. He could see himself suddenly in her eyes, ragged and filthy, eyes blazing with the force of his intention to stop them, talk with them, for whatever unknown purpose--unknown, but most definitely unwanted. From M'Kabe, he sensed a protective wave of the Force, and words forming, the Force gathering...

Obi-Wan tried to speak, fought to forestall those words, but the Knight's hand had risen in the traditional gesture, summoning power, and he felt as though he were packed in swamp ooze as the Force closed around him like a gentle vice.

{{Go about your business, Kenobi.}}

Unable to resist, he went, watching them even as he trotted away, helplessly fulfilling the command he had been given. The hurt of their knowing rejection exploded like a nova in his chest as he realized the magnitude of the difference between what he had once been and what he now was. He had no pride and no purpose left. As he returned to the point where he had first seen the two Jedi, he felt something being burned from him by the intensity of that pain. It was the last of his self-esteem, ground into ash. Obi-Wan would have wept if the capacity had been left in him, but it was gone.

After that, he'd taken to using drugs, sleeping around--but neither women nor men filled the hollow ache left by the absence of his chosen vocation. Physical and artificial pleasures only temporarily eclipsed his knowledge of what he had become. He was left to seek more and more of both to numb himself, to remove him from the bottomless pit his soul had become.

Darth Sidious had finally found him in a brothel... Obi-Wan had been weary and bruised, not caring who was sent in to him as long as the money paid for the supply of drugs that numbed the pain. When the paunchy man had entered, Obi-Wan hadn't even bothered to look at him, simply flipping over onto his stomach. The faster, the better. He needed a fix, he was coming down hard.

"Come on," he pushed the man hard with the soured dregs of the Force that remained to him. "Let's get this over with."

Sidious had begun to walk forward, then paused, startled, and gave him a long, considering look... and then simply hoisted Obi-Wan over his shoulder and hauled him out of there, never mind the complaints of the brothelmaster. For days, Obi-Wan had been fed and sheltered, given the drugs his system craved. He knew the kindness was just another lie-his rescuer obviously planned to use him as a catamite, but there was warmth, and clean dry clothing, and the drugs came regularly.

And then one day, just as he had begun to return to himself enough to find the burden of his being unbearable, just enough to have begun plotting escape and to hell with the comforts he'd been given... that very day, he had gone in to be fed, and there on his plate, instead of a meal, lay a lightsaber. At another place setting lay a syringe, some pills, and fine gray powder--enough of each to kill himself with, and rather pleasantly if he chose. On another, there lay identification papers, a credit voucher, a passport--his ticket off this rock, if he wanted.

Obi-Wan stilled in the doorway, tension settling over his too-slim frame. Only his fingers twitched, his eyes locked on the symbolic feast that lay before him. He was barely aware of the black-cloaked man sitting at the head of the table, watching passively as Obi-Wan's heart rose into his throat and seemed to strain to escape.

"Choose your destiny, Obi-Wan Kenobi." the whisper caressed Obi-Wan's enflamed nerve endings. Sidious rose and trailed his fingers over the back of a chair mockingly, inviting Obi-Wan to choose his seat. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly, unable to keep himself from nodding. The lightsaber dominated his vision, the symbol of everything he had lost. His focus was not lost on Sidious, who lightly lifted his hand. The identification and the drugs slowly slid down the table, receding. "You... want your past..." the chair before that place setting pivoted, scraping slightly on the intricately tiled floor, its open arms inviting Obi-Wan to choose, to sit. "It is gone, boy. But you may still choose your future."

Sidious's eyes were like yellow diamonds, chiseling through to Obi-Wan's soul. "Did you think you were alone? How many pupils have the Jedi fools abandoned? Did you never dream that someone else might teach you?" His mouth dry, Obi-Wan felt his head shaking in the negative. He could not rip his eyes from the weapon--it was an icon, it was his lost self. He took a helpless step forward.

"You have paid the price for your lack of vision," Sidious chided. "Take the weapon and become my apprentice!" he encouraged.

Trembling, Obi-Wan's arm rose. It had been so long since he summoned the Force! The drugs had numbed his sense of it, had shut him away from the energy of his own soul. As the Force began to fill him now, he realized he'd been killing himself, oh so slowly, but the Force was here now, it was surging through him with a power he had never felt before. He felt so... alive.

The lightsaber leaped into his open palm.

Before he could ignite it, Sidious's soft, curiously repulsive palm caught his wrist, and the man was in his face, eyes cold and hard. "There is a price, too, to be paid for this," he breathed, the sound like the hiss of a snake. "Sit."

Obi-Wan swallowed back revulsion, felt the chair bump against the back of his thighs, and sank into it. Ah, yes. This was the catch he'd been expecting. His whole frame shuddered at the thought of sharing this... evil thing's bed. Yes, he realized suddenly. An evil thing, a damned thing... he suddenly understood the nature of the Force he had summoned, recognized the nature of the being that had dragged him from the gutter by the scruff of his neck.

"Take your revenge on the Jedi who cast you out," Sidious's wet red tongue dampened his lips. "Together, we will strike them down." The Dark Lord towered over Obi-Wan. There was a sting in his arm, and a rush of warmth. The boy blinked, dizziness rising with a swarm of speckles behind his eyes. The last words he heard before the speckles overpowered him and dragged him into unconsciousness were "Soon, you will call me Master."

Qui-Gon heard a sound at the door behind him, and turned, sensing a familiar presence. Directing his gaze downward, he watched silently as Yoda made his way through the room, skirting the shattered models slowly, leaning on his stick. His measured progress spoke of centuries of patience; politely Qui-Gon waited for his arrival without irritation at the passing of time.

"Tested the boy, we did," Yoda thumped his stick on the floor. "Much ability has he. And much fear."

Qui-Gon nodded mutely.

"Clouded is his future." Yoda paused and peered into the gathering gloom. Qui-Gon, joined him, letting his thoughts filter away, searching for a center of peace in the Living Force. "He is too old, and much fear I sense in him. Yes. Serious obstacles they are, Qui-Gon Jinn." Yoda tilted his head, his keen glance evaluating Qui-Gon's reaction to the information. Qui-Gon merely nodded, feeling the weight of his secret burdening him.

"Expect you to protest, I did," Yoda informed Qui-Gon a bit testily. "Always strong-willed, you are." He paused, inviting Qui-Gon to speak, but Qui-Gon was having none of it. If Yoda could see through people as he claimed, then let him.

"Troubled, you are," Yoda observed. "The warrior you faced on Tatooine," Yoda mused at length, and Qui-Gon felt his shoulders stiffen defensively. "Think you he was Sith?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon answered shortly. He could not, in good conscience, conceal the remainder of his knowledge, either. "Sith... and more. A failed Jedi student."

"Recognize him, did you?" Yoda's ears rose with unexpected excitement.

Qui-Gon turned his back on the tiny master, feeling defensive. "I did, but you would have recognized him long before I." He sighed heavily as he remembered the dream, the feel of the cold steel collar in his hands, the certainty of the message it bore. Obi-Wan Kenobi, a slave to the Dark Side.

He could sense Yoda's puzzled frown, and then the small master's acceptance of Qui-Gon's silence on the matter.

"To defeat the Sith, a powerful Jedi will we require." Qui-Gon could feel the weight of Yoda's stare, and his heart sank again as he sensed what was to come next. "The Chosen One Anakin Skywalker may be. Accept the boy we will, but only if you agree to train him."

Qui-Gon's gut tightened. "I will not train him," he refused flatly.

"Then to the Dark Side he will turn." Yoda delivered the painful words with equal flatness. "Foreseen it, I have."

Qui-Gon barked agonized laughter. "A fine day it shall be, then, when Xanatos, Obi-Wan, and Anakin all unite to avenge themselves upon me."

"Kenobi." Yoda nodded sadly, pursing his lips. Leaning on his stick, he stepped closer to Qui-Gon's side. There was no need for Yoda to remind Qui-Gon that he had denied both Yoda's advice and the will of the Force. "Unfortunate it is that you did not choose to train him."

Qui-Gon slumped morosely. To take Anakin as a padawan learner, with his heart filled to overflowing with pain, failure, guilt... "There is no way I can create the padawan bond with Anakin, my master."

He could sense without looking that the diminutive master was shaking his head definitely. "Stronger than you think, is young Skywalker. Heal you he can."

"He does not deserve this burden."

"Burden? Ah!" Yoda's eyes widened, his ears rising. "Dwell too much on your own concerns you do, Qui-Gon Jinn!" He laughed abruptly, one of his trademark unpredictable turns of humor. Qui-Gon tried not to let it rankle, listening to what Yoda had to say. He had rarely known the small Jedi to speak in error--and those few times he had thought Yoda wrong, his own error had been grievous indeed.

"Burden it is not, if keep him from the Dark Side it does. And it will." Yoda smacked Qui-Gon's shin painfully with his stick, forcing the tall Jedi to look down and meet his eyes. "Skywalker needs this, he does. A reason to mistrust the Dark Side it will be. A warning. And a responsibility!" This time the stick raised and poked at Qui-Gon's belly. "Care for you he does. Turn he will not if he knows how badly it would hurt you, *Master* Jinn!"

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to bend and rub his shin, keeping a wary eye on Yoda's stick. The days when Yoda would have wielded a lightsaber were lost in the mists of the past, but occasionally when he got too free and easy with that stick, it reminded Qui-Gon that he might well have done so when he was young and limber.

"Waiting is the Council," Yoda drew himself up. "And Skywalker. Waiting for you we all are."

Qui-Gon sighed. It was time to obey. At least if he did so, he would not be the only one to bear the blame if the decision was wrong. And furthermore, Yoda had a valid point--emotional attachments made for commitment, and having a deep emotional awareness of the consequences of the Dark Side could be a powerful deterrent.

He trailed in Yoda's wake, feeling rather like the chastened padawan he had once been.

"I take Anakin Skywalker as my padawan learner." Qui-Gon settled both hands firmly on the boy's shoulders, trying to convince and reassure himself as much as Anakin. The child looked up earnestly, seeking confirmation in Qui-Gon's eyes. His small hand moved and fell on top of Qui-Gon's large one, offering comfort in response to the uncertainty he saw. Qui-Gon swallowed hard, and smiled down at the boy. For better or worse, they were in this together.

Darth Grim sensed his master leaving. Just as well--though he was not supposed to know it, he had long ago become aware of Sidious's public identity. Senator Palpatine would be quite busy at the moment with the recalcitrant Queen Amidala. Even now Sidious did not trust Grim fully, probably because he'd once been a Jedi. Grim shrugged it off. Nobody had ever trusted him; why should Sidious be the first? Trust was foolish, and he was far beyond the need for that childish emotion.

His hatred for the Jedi was complete; nothing would please him more than to finish the confrontation that had begun on Tatooine. It did not matter whether his master trusted him or not. Grim's power was growing, and he would have his vengeance. That was all that mattered.

Well, that and one other thing.

Sidious had left his supply of Flight on the table; Grim took up the bottle and shook a capsule into his hand. His master had weaned him from all the other substances he was once dependent on, but this one remained. He had tried a thousand times to analyze it chemically, to find its source, to liberate himself from his need to obey his master in order to have more and more of it. Hell, he'd even tried to shake the stuff, stop taking it, but that had been a mistake. He'd nearly gone insane half an hour after time for the scheduled fix. The depression had been nothing short of suicidal, he'd thought his very heart was going to explode, and the headache. Force, the headache, like molten lava swelling inside his skull. Even worse, his sense of the Force had receded, his control and power waning. That was more than he could handle, and he'd gone right off the wagon. Maybe it was the drug that gave him the Force. If so, he was hooked for life.

Even the act of shaking the pills into his hand was calming. He placed them on his tongue, dry-swallowing. Shutting his eyes, he savored the power that seemed to fill him each time he indulged this little habit, the dark glory that thrummed through him like music through a bass viol. He stretched out with the Force. Yes, he could just feel Qui-Gon Jinn at the corner of his thoughts. A ceremony, in the Jedi temple... he could just see it vaguely... a child... a grimace peeled his lips back from his teeth, and his expression set in a rictus of rage. So Qui-Gon Jinn was taking a padawan learner, was he?

Darth Grim wrapped his cloak around himself like a shroud and stole silently out the door. He suddenly couldn't bear the confines of this chamber any longer. He didn't know where he was going and frankly he didn't care.

"Anakin, there are many things that you would have learned if you had been a child in the crèche before becoming a padawan." Qui-Gon knelt on the sunburst pattern of tiles in the high spire before the boy, conscious of Yoda standing unobtrusively in the background, observing them. Qui-Gon had requested him to remain when the rest of the council departed, even though it made Anakin a little nervous--he didn't want any mistakes here, and Anakin would certainly have to grow accustomed to Yoda if he intended to become a Jedi.

"Masters and their padawans share a special bond of trust, Ani," Qui-Gon spoke solemnly. "If you agree to be my padawan, you also agree to be absolutely honest with me, about all things."

The boy nodded solemnly. He didn't look like he thought it would be too hard. Qui-Gon resisted the wry smirk that wanted to form on his lips. Ah, innocence.

"Then I will begin by telling you a painful thing," Qui-Gon waited, gazing soberly in to his student's eyes, while Anakin visibly prepared himself, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"We've already spoken about the Force, how it surrounds us, and binds us, moving between all things." Qui-Gon took a breath. "And I told you about the balance of the Force, the light side versus the dark side, moving to stabilize the universe. And how a Jedi values the light side, always striving for calm and peace."

Anakin nodded again, emphatically.

Qui-Gon held his eyes, letting him know the hard part was coming. "I know you're wondering why I was reluctant to train you, and it is your right to know. Ani, my last padawan, Xanatos, turned to the Dark Side of the Force just before he would have undertaken the trials to become a Jedi Knight."

Anakin drew in a sudden, sympathetic breath, his blue eyes beginning to sparkle with moisture as Qui-Gon lowered his shields and permitted the boy to sense his emotions. His regret for Xanatos' decision. His guilt, for his own blindness. His pain in the betrayal.

"Master, I won't...!" Anakin began, but Qui-Gon laid a gentle finger on the boy's lips.

"There is more. After Xanatos, Master Yoda recommended that I take another padawan." Somehow, this was even harder than the first admission, even though he'd never formed the bond with Obi-Wan that he had with Xanatos. Qui-Gon grimaced, forcing himself to continue. "I refused, Anakin. I refused master Yoda and ignored the will of the Force. The boy was too old to continue in the crèche, and he was sent away to help with the Agricorps." Qui-Gon paused, guilt overwhelming him.

Yoda stepped forward quietly. "Happen, it does. Some are not called, some are not chosen. Each is assigned according to his ability. To the agricultural corps we sent Obi-Wan Kenobi. Strong in the Force was he. Able to use its power to restore life to sterile worlds. He could have used his training to make life better for countless beings. But remain there he did not. Choose another path, he did." Yoda shook his head, his ears drooping.

"The enemy who attacked us on Tatooine was Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke softly, releasing the remainder of his shields so that Anakin could see what this discovery had done to him. "He is a Sith, a Force user who has surrendered his life to the Dark Side and sworn himself to vengeance on true Jedi. The history of the Sith is long and bloody--they turn on one another as readily as on others--but they are the finest warriors imaginable, powerful in the Dark Side, and deadly." He shook his head.

"Obi-Wan was a fine lad once," Qui-Gon's voice was husky as he laid his memories of Bandomeer open to Anakin. "Strong and brave. Honest and devoted, committed to his training. Ready to die for what was right and for the good of others. I was his last hope, and I abandoned him out of selfish fear, knowing I shouldn't. This..." Qui-Gon's voice cracked. "This I made of Obi-Wan Kenobi. A Sith lord, where there should have been a powerful Jedi Knight. If I had been stronger..." Qui-Gon's throat threatened to close, but he could not stop now. "He would be ready to take his trials now, and make way for you. Instead, my choice has left us all in danger--"

"No!" A tear had escaped, streaming down Anakin's cheek. "He chose it, not you. He chose to turn. He could have stayed with the agricultural corps, made plants grow!" The boy's chest was hitching now. "It wasn't your fault!" Anakin hurled himself into Qui-Gon's arms, sobbing.

Qui-Gon felt a moment of shame for manipulating the boy so, even though these were truths that Anakin deserved to know, truths that he must know. He wrapped Ani in a deep bear-hug, accepting the boy's reassurance, sharing his pain. Thus were strong bonds forged between master and padawan.

"I won't turn," Anakin vowed, standing back and scrubbing at his eyes with his ragged sleeve--he still wore the clothes he had brought from Tatooine on his back; they were all he owned. "I *won't!*"

"I know, Ani," Qui-Gon soothed him, gathering him in for another hug. "I won't let you!" Suddenly they were both laughing, even with tears in their eyes.

Yoda felt the burden on his heart lighten, felt the clouds of darkness shifting, departing from many of the child's futures. It satisfied him, for now. Anakin's path was well-begun. Tapping quietly away on his stick, he left master and apprentice to their new life together.

His jetcycle idled almost silently, hanging lightly just outside the perimeter of the Jedi Academy's security scanners. Grim's fingers were tight on his electrobinoculars as he witnessed the tender scene enacting within the high spire where the council met, the words that were spoken resonating through the Force till they nearly deafened him. He'd tried to flee from this, but it followed him everywhere he went, refusing to permit him an instant's peace until he came her to verify it with his own eyes.

As Qui-Gon embraced the child for a second time, he dropped the binoculars to hang against his chest. His shields were faltering, and the hate that was ready to pour through would reveal him to the entire Jedi Academy! He gunned the jetcycle viciously, scooting away before that could happen. He would deal with Qui-Gon Jinn. Soon, yes-- as soon as he made up his mind what to do about the boy. Grim could kill him before Qui-Gon's eyes, turn him and make Qui-Gon suffer that knowledge, or simply kill the Jedi master at his earliest opportunity and then take the boy as his own apprentice and train the child against the day when he would take his own master's place.

Preserving and training the boy would be the most prudent counsel, he supposed, but his hatred for the boy swelled beyond reason. How had that shrimp of a boy softened the cold Jedi's heart, where he had failed? And the measure of his hatred for the new padawan, while great, was still short of that he felt for Qui-Gon Jinn. He would deal with Jinn first, and then decide about the child. The boy was untrained and would pose no threat--Grim could deal with him at his convenience.

He set a course toward the Sith Infiltrator. His master would contact him there with instructions. Halfway there, a though occurred to him. It was too wicked to resist. His teeth were a white slash in the darkness as he grinned, banking the cycle back around.

It was merely the work of an hour to gather the things he needed and array himself for what was necessary to complete his plan. The drug and the Force were strong in him, with luck and skill he could pull this off and be halfway to the outer rim before anyone had any idea what had happened.

The temple was quiet, most of the students, Knights, and Masters having sought their rest. Qui-Gon wasn't among them, but that would not be true for long. Yawning, he knuckled his eyes. Another errant figure glided past him, swathed in his deep chocolate robes, hood shading his eyes. Qui-Gon nodded politely and received an answering greeting. The figure strode with the grace of a Master, but the concealing robes hid the Jedi's face. Not unusual, even at this hour--Jedi were a secretive bunch.

The lanky Jedi Master felt the aches and tensions receding from his body. Yoda had been correct--this path felt good, felt right. He reached briefly and searched for Anakin--it would take time for a proper bonding to form, time and learning for both of them. Anakin was sleeping peacefully, the depth of his slumber like a siren song, singing for Qui-Gon to join him.

The Jedi Master sought his rooms and sank down on his bed, feeling as though a full century of weariness settled with him onto the mattress. He composed himself and sank into a deep, dreamless slumber of utter peace.

Darth Grim never faltered, even when Jinn's path crossed his. Knowledge of the Jedi Temple was a distinct advantage for a Sith. Even as he trotted down the wide stair toward the padawan quarters, he could feel the Jedi fool sinking into oblivion.

He'd gained a vague sense of the boy on Tatooine, and the Dark Side led him unfalteringly to the proper door. This was the only dangerous portion of his plan. If his palmprint remained in the database, he would be granted entry. If not...

The door slid open silently.

Anakin stirred, sensing the intrusion, and Grim reached automatically for the light switch, turning it on. The boy woke, blinking muzzily at the strange Jedi who stood in his room. Anakin shaded his eyes, and Grim put back his hood. A padawan braid, fashioned of bought hair and woven into Grim's own locks swung at his neck, and his shaggy mane had been shorn in the traditional cut of the Jedi student. He looked absolutely normal, he knew, except that none of the other Jedi would have recognized him. At least, not quickly.

"The next phase of the padawan ritual will now begin," he modulated his voice to a pleasant murmur. "Do you trust your master, padawan?"

"Yes, sir," Anakin tried to look alert, his eyes starting to adapt to the light.

"Then we will go. Qui-Gon Jinn will use your bond to find you. Then you will be his true padawan learner." Grim mustered a friendly smile, extending his hand to the child.

Anakin kicked his legs out from under the covers and accepted it. "How long will the search take?" The boy's hand was warm, and his bare feet made no sound on the stone floor. "Master Jinn did not mention this part of the ceremony."

Grim could sense the child's uncertainty. The boy's intuitions were razor-sharp. He had not expected such insight. But he had information, and could cloud the boy's mind. "It is a solemn secret," Grim chided the child. "You must trust your master, or you will not be accepted as his padawan."

Uneasy but determined to succeed, Anakin followed Grim out into the echoing hall. The dark apprentice smiled nastily beneath the hood of his cloak.

Qui-Gon was wakened by the soft chime of an alarm. He stretched lazily, then reached and activated his reader. Amidala wanted to return to Naboo. He blinked away the dregs of sleep with surprise. That was unexpected. But he had a duty to protect her, so he and Anakin would accompany the Queen, in spite of the threat of the Sith. He smiled a little. Anakin would be so pleased at being reunited with Padme!

He took the stairs two at a time, eager to make it to the landing platform before the queen's party arrived. He palmed open Anakin's door. A smile crossed his face again--so long since he had smiled so frequently!--at the sight of the rumple of covers with no head poking out--Qui-Gon reached for the comforter. Anakin was used to warm climes, he must have snuggled down completely below the...

The bed was empty. Qui-Gon put his hand in the hollow that had contained the boy's body. Stone-cold. He glanced with sudden alarm toward the refresher cubicle. It stood empty and completely dry. Anakin might hesitate to use it, coming from a desert planet where water was extremely scarce, but he Anakin knew nothing of the layout of the Academy, so it was unlikely the boy had already gone to seek breakfast. Qui-Gon reached out with his mind, delving through the surrounding space for some sense of his padawan. There was none, but the faintest resonance of his passing clung in the halls where he had been, and one of those trails moved away from where Qui-Gon had taken him, threaded its way... into the kitchen, yes... and out the delivery door? It did not return. But that was far above ground level, had he fallen... or... been met by a ship!

Qui-Gon's stomach dropped into his toes, and he groaned aloud. He hastened to the small computer on the table next to Ani's bed, keying up the security records to examine room access information. His own authorization, and... Obi-Wan Kenobi's.

Qui-Gon dropped bonelessly to the bed, staring helplessly at the silent information. Kenobi had never been removed from the security database that opened doors inside the padawan quarters.

Anakin was in the hands of the Sith.

(click for larger image)

Darth Grim settled the child in the ship and Force-pushed him to sleep. He watched as the boy faded, plucking information from Anakin's mind. He was strong. Stronger than any apprentice Grim had ever seen--if he turned this boy, it would not be long before the boy turned on him, and with that strength, Grim had little doubt Anakin would be able to destroy him. Grim shifted uneasily. He'd bitten off perhaps more than he could chew--unless he gained a hold on the child like his own master had on him. But how could he obtain enough of the drug? He had to learn its secrets. He made up his mind that he would soon do so, no matter what the cost. At any rate, he had the boy now--and he had his lever over Qui-Gon Jinn. He would use it while he could, and then if he had to he would dispose of the child so that he could not become a threat. Grim decided to take advantage of the child's sleep to get some rest of his own.

He went into his own quarters, shucking off the hated Jedi garb. He would burn it, rid himself of it, now that its usefulness was ended. Letting it touch his body had made his flesh crawl with pure misery. Slumping onto his cot in only a tank shirt, he programmed the autopilot to respond only to his commands and commended himself to sleep.

The innermost depths of his mind disturbed by his trip through the Jedi Academy and the proximity to the boy, Darth Grim dreamed of his youth.

He and Sidious walked along the cavernous grey halls of the palace of the Sith. Obi-Wan caught sight of his master's profile as the man spoke. It was as if the flesh were stone like the walls, and the only blood left was in his mouth. Obi-Wan drew his own face deeper within the hood, and slid the lightsaber in his sleeve to his hand. He must be done with this, and soon. It did not matter that he had only been with Sidious for a few months. Surely he could defeat the Sith who he now reluctantly acknowledged as his master.

"You must learn to hate me, my apprentice." The hateful voice fell softly as the man's slow steps echoed. "Only then can you destroy me, and become the master."

Obi-Wan made a snap decision. "Then," the weapon flashed into life at his throat, "I am the master now."

Obi-Wan paused to savor the old man's death, but Sidious merely smiled at his apprentice, the look soft and slimy like a leech. And then, the pain enveloped him. Lightning crawled across Obi-Wan's body, and he learned that light became blades, and blades were made of ice, and that they wove the ice of pain throughout one's flesh. The dull smash of his back against the marble wall seemed as soft as his master's voice.

"A few seasons as a whore, and you think you know the Dark, boy?" Sidious leaned into his face and the light in his eyes made Obi-Wan tremble. "You are a greater fool than your master." He paused, and smiled again.

"Ah, but he was not your master, was he?" Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and turned his face away as much as he dared.

"Let me show you what you shall become next." Sidious gestured down a darker corridor, and Obi-Wan followed. The door at the end was small, but four guards stood before it. Obi-Wan stepped inside slowly, sensing a trap.

But this was nothing, a simple white room. A wooden bed, one that might be used for a padawan's room at the Jedi Academy. Upon it sat a woman, wearing the deep blue robes of an expensive courtesan. Her hair was streaked with white, springing back from a whiter face, but her skin held the smooth lines of the Force. A silver metal bound her mouth and her throat. Sidious spoke to her as Obi-Wan closed the door. "What have you to say to my apprentice?"

Sidious pulled the silver mask at her mouth away. Obi-Wan saw that it was a respirator as well as a chain. She met his eyes and spoke. "Kill yourself now. Before he touches you."

Sidious smoothed her hair, and her grey eyes began to bleed slow tears of despair. "She has served me well, permitting me to... shall we say, vent my frustrations, so that I may walk among fools such as the Jedi, until such time as the Sith take their rightful place. She is my *last* lover. See that I do not find a similar fate for you." He knotted one hand in her hair, and she simply melted before Obi-Wan's eyes, withering down to a husk. Sidious grew visibly more vital by contrast, until she was a husk, flesh withered to skeletal bone. Her tears were tinted with red but he continued to poured the Dark Force into her. "Killing..." he sighed, savoring the pleasure. "A process of much pain. And always new."

He paused, glancing keenly at Obi-Wan. Red tears slid down the girl's face. "I had many lovers, but I chose you, Mive. Why would you not kill me?" Sidious crooned to her. Sickened, Obi-Wan realized that a purplish glow had begun to crawl over her skin, the Dark Force visible as it ate her life. The woman's hands trembled with the lightning as it crawled through her fingers, and Sidious turned again to Obi-Wan. "Can you hate me more than this, my apprentice?"

The Sith Lord knelt beside her. Obi-Wan turned his head as Sidious pressed his mouth into the folds of her skirt. "Shall I teach him as I taught you?" Obi-Wan feared that the silenced scream would burst through her eyes. But the lightning faded from her skin. The master smiled at his apprentice.

He could not move. He screamed with all his strength, but his lips would not even tremble. The nightmare strangled in his throat, and the dark sank around him, tangible and wet, folding around him like a wound. He tried to close his eyes as Sidious drew a knife from his robes. "Pain." the master whispered. He pressed the edge into Obi-Wan's cheek, and drew it slowly upwards. Obi Wan saw the blue of his own eyes reflected in the blade. "Pleasure." The flesh collected into a line red and rose, but the Sith's touch was so light his flesh was not fully broken. "The body itself does not distinguish. Some say the Force alone knows."

The woman's ragged psychic scream ached within his mind. He could almost hear Yoda's teachings, unexpectedly welling within him. {{Retreat, you must!}}. Obi-Wan struggled to remember that place within him, the center of the Living Force, or if he could not manage that, then at least the quiet cell of the drug. His thoughts sank back, gratefully, yet the red mouth of his master curved.

"Yes, let us take it within." His master slid a hand within his hood, and the chilled flesh touched his pulse. Closer.

The blasts of laser fire sliced through the nightmare stillness. The door burst open, and one guard collapsed on the threshold, bleeding as he died. Obi-Wan stared into the face of his master. His true master. Obi-Wan nearly wept with relief.

Qui-Gon leapt across the body of the guard, and with one blow, struck down the Sith Master. Sidious fell to the floor, gasping and screaming, blue fire seeming to consume him just as it had devoured the flesh of his concubine. Qui-Gon stood straight and fearless over the body of his enemy. Stunned, Obi-Wan could do nothing but stare questioningly into the blessed, familiar face and his master nodded. Obi-Wan raised his own lightsaber high and struck the twitching black body again. And again.

"You have done well." The smile lit Qui-Gon's handsome face, and Obi-Wan clutched at the strong grip upon his own hand. "The others did not know if you would pass this test...Jedi." Obi-Wan wept with relief.

"I didn't know myself."

"I did." Qui-Gon embraced his padawan warmly, and for a moment, Obi-Wan rested in his arms. This was the meaning of the Light--he could stay here forever. Just the sight of his Master did so much to cleanse him from the taint of the evil he had faced--but Qui-Gon was continuing. "Now, for the last test." He took Obi-Wan's jaw in his strong hands, and peered into the deep blue eyes with concern. "Are you ready?"

"Yes!" He reached up, clasping his master's shoulder, and felt the warmth, the joy of the true side of himself suffuse his body. "I am, now." His master stared down a moment more, and kissed him tenderly, softly, a brother's kiss upon his mouth.

"A test of endurance, my student. In this room, alone." Obi-Wan walked through the door, ready, even eager for battle.

It was the white room.

He backed away, but Qui-Gon's deep voice poured into his mind. {{I can speak with you, only. But I am here.}}

Obi-Wan suddenly remembered that he wore the robes of the Sith. He tore them away, even as the cold of the Dark snaked about his waist.

{{You will leave this room a Jedi.}}

Chill tendrils hesitated against his thighs, questing upwards.

{{Fight. Fight it..}}

Obi Wan stood, muscles tensing until they ached. Like a living thing, the darkness coiled about him. The cold embrace tightened until he gasped for air, for light.

{{I am here...but you must fight, my padawan.}}

Cold and dead, the dark slid over his skin slowly, and he shuddered. Then it seemed to gather itself.

{{Struggle-- Fight it!!}}

The darkness struck, covering him, pulling on him, engulfing him. There was a great fierce joy rushing through Obi-Wan, through the pain. It struck to his core, and he convulsed, but he endured. And at last, it drew away.

{{You have endured, you have won... now you may open yourself to your reward.}}

Obi Wan threw his head back joyously. The release swept through him, and with it, a great eager pride. He had endured. He closed his eyes against the sudden warmth of the light. At last. He smiled at his master, opening his eyes...

And Sidious smiled in return. The Dark Lord gestured around him at the scene of the struggle. "The body reacts much the same way to a swift death. The pain, the pleasure and release... the last dying illusion of salvation..." he leered with lips so dry they rustled like snakeskin.

Obi-Wan looked down, finding himself standing in a puddle of black robes, his body half-hard... he touched himself, shuddered, and drew his hand back. He stared up at the Sith, bewildered, hearing himself scream as the realization crushed his soul. Sidious drew on the concubine's breaking hair away once more, and as she gasped for breath, kissed her slowly, tenderly, as tenderly as his Qui-Gon Jinn might have kissed a child. The Sith apprentice fell to his knees.

"A small lesson, indeed." He let the girl drop lifeless to the bed "You will clean this yourself, then join me in the training chamber." Without another glance, he walked from the room.

Obi-Wan fell against the wall, and heaved the contents of his stomach dryly. The acid burnt his throat as much as the tears burned his eyes. Through clenched teeth he hissed, "I hate him, I hate my master."

{{Not enough, Obi-Wan. Not yet.}}

Twisting in bedsheets soaked with cold sweat, Grim awoke, cursing. His hands were shaking--he needed more Flight. Going back to that accursed Jedi lair had been too much for him, it had stirred memories he had squelched so deep into his subconscious he'd nearly forgotten they ever happened to him. He fumbled down two capsules and swallowed hastily, feeling the tremors start to subside. Damn. Damn. And that particular nasty little memory hadn't even been the worst of them, just one of the earliest. He shuddered, kicking aside the Jedi robe he'd discarded before he toppled into bed.

And then he became aware that the child was in the doorway, watching him.

"I could feel your dream. You aren't a Jedi," Anakin's voice was quiet and certain. "You're the Sith who attacked my master. You're Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"That name no longer has meaning for me." Darth Grim sat up, facing the boy. "Your master took it from me."

"Why didn't you stay in the Agricorps?" Anakin parried, again demonstrating an irritating amount of insight.

"Would you want to shovel shit for the rest of your life?" Grim snapped. He couldn't believe this boy already had him on the defensive! Anakin would make a powerful Sith...

"Not really. But I wouldn't want to do this, either."

Ah. The boy thought he had won, but really he had given Grim an opening.

"And exactly what do you think 'this' is?" Grim asked. "What do you think being a Jedi is, for that matter? What you've been told are vague legends and bedtime stories, boy. Tell me. What does a Jedi stand for?"

Anakin faltered, at a loss for words. "They're good, and they fight to make people free, and... they use the Force," he said slowly. "They use the Force to keep bad things from happening, to everyone."

Grim pounced, gleefully, with a mental note of gratitude to his probe droids for complete information on Qui-Gon's Tatooine activities. "Then I guess they freed you and your family, *everyone* you loved, from slavery."

"Well..." Anakin hesitated, and Grim sensed sorrow in the boy. "Master Jinn said he tried to free my mother, but he couldn't. I trust him!"

"Couldn't?" Grim leaned back lazily. "A Jedi Master could free you, but he couldn't free your mother?" He raised his eyebrows, letting a smirk quirk the side of his mouth. "You look like an intelligent being, capable of making reasonable judgments. Don't you think there's something a little odd about that?"

Anakin glared at Grim. "He didn't have any money! And Watto wouldn't wager on us both!" The child crossed his arms, firmly protecting his personal space, a decidedly defensive gesture. Oh, yes. That seed was planted, and from the boy's aura, Grim could tell it was planted firmly. He decided to give it a little more encouragement.

"Well, then, I'm sure he told you he'd go back for her later," he dared, figuring that would be the last thing Jinn would think of-- children taken to the crèche were never permitted family visits.

Anakin's lip trembled, and he was silent.

"No?" Grim made his tones soft, comforting. "I hate to say it, Ani, but I'm not surprised. Qui-Gon Jinn is a selfish man. Always he asks for trust and service, but he never gives any of his own. When he has taken what he wants from people, he abandons them. Like me. And like his second apprentice, Xanatos." Grim watched Anakin's reaction to that information. The child had heard of Xanatos, then. He nearly snarled that his information was not a useful weapon. Apparently Jinn DID trust this boy-- Grim hadn't known about Xanatos himself until Sidious told him.

"Jinn couldn't stand to see Xanatos become a Jedi," Grim improvised. "Do you know how far he went to stop him? He actually killed Xanatos's father to get Xanatos to strike out at him, so that there would be an excuse for refusing to let him take the trials..."

Grim watched uncertainty swell in the boy, and exulted secretly. "Jinn couldn't even bear to see me become a padawan. He kept the other masters from taking me, but when I was sent away he followed me to Bandomeer and used me to do his work for him-- I uncovered a plot Xanatos had laid for Jinn to avenge his father, and thanks to Qui-Gon Jinn, I nearly died in it. Jinn was working to keep Offworld Mining, the legitimate owner of mining rights on Bandomeer, from being able to do business. He enticed their employees over to another mining concern, and destroyed that branch of Offworld in the process. That's what the Jedi do," he informed Anakin. "They meddle in the rights of innocent people and companies, using them for their own goals and then leaving them to suffer when those goals are met."

"But Master Jinn is helping the Queen of Naboo!" Anakin's voice was starting to shake very slightly. "The Trade Federation--"

"Deserves to eat like everyone else, Ani." Grim interrupted him sharply. "The Naboo undersell them, shipping and selling trade goods at a loss, sitting back on their overstuffed coffers in their lavish palaces, while the Trade Federation struggles to keep mothers and fathers and children like you fed, Anakin Skywalker." He shrugged a little, gloating inwardly. "They made an embargo to persuade the senate to raise tariffs. The senate delayed. Yes, they attacked the Naboo," he forestalled Anakin's next protest neatly, "But wouldn't you do whatever you had to if your mother were starving, Ani?"

Grim rose. Enough for now. Anakin was like a reactor core primed to explode, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was an outburst of tears. "I have had bad masters, Anakin, as have you. But I can be a better master to you." He heard the ring of sincerity in his own voice, and stopped, startled by it.

The child just turned and ran back to his room, sobbing.

It didn't take long for Qui-Gon to realize that Yoda was just as frantic as he was. Frantic was a word that was not frequently applicable to a Jedi Master, particularly not to Yoda, but it was true. Qui-Gon could see it in the snappish way the small master issued commands and thumped his stick on the floor of the council chamber as he ordered a search to be made.

Qui-Gon recognized the source of that snappishness-- for once in his life, Yoda clearly felt fear. That thought chilled Qui-Gon to his marrow, and he wondered what Yoda had foreseen. Clearly there was more than the fate of a single padawan riding on the outcome of this crisis.

When all possible searches and messengers had been dispatched, Yoda began pacing the council chamber floor. Qui-Gon towered at his side, doing likewise. His frustration was so intense he wanted to scream.

Master Yoda, how can I go to Naboo?" Qui-Gon's boot heels clumped furiously. "I must search for Ani!"

"Assigned you are to Amidala!" Yoda aimed a blow of his stick at Qui-Gon, who dodged it nimbly.

"Think you that Kenobi-- the Sith-- will not seek you out?" Yoda's stick thumped heavily. "Vengeance he wants, or he would not have taken Anakin. Try to turn the boy, he will."

"What have you seen?" The question felt as though it were ripped from Qui-Gon's lungs, his concern for Anakin clenching his heart.

Yoda glanced about the chamber, fingers tightening on his stick. "The death of all Jedi," he whispered.

Qui-Gon's very soul went cold.

"What?" the agonized word tore from him. "But he is the ch--"

"The chosen one he is. But how he will serve the Force..." Yoda shook his head, strands of pale hair flying. "Depend that does on whether he turns." Yoda refused to say more, other than to threaten that if Qui-Gon did not get on the transport to Naboo, Yoda would see to it that he was tied up and dumped aboard the ship.

Sullenly, Qui-Gon went to join Amidala's party, feeling that he'd been pushed around once too often of late. His worry for Anakin was unabated, and another distress, sublimated beneath the pressure of recent events, also added to the load-- his guilt over Obi-Wan. He needed to find his center, reach for the bond with Ani, reconcile himself to his own role in history as it transpired-- too many things to do at once. When the ship was underway, he sank into the Force to try to find some shattered fragment of peace to seize and cling to.

Darth Grim could see the doubts that he had planted growing in Anakin Skywalker. Like creepers, they climbed the walls of his self-confidence, working shoots and roots into him, crumbling his beliefs, opening him further to Grim's influence. The combination of truth and interpretation had been effective-- Anakin still suspected Grim, but he *knew* that some of the things Grim said were true, and with that knowledge came the possibility that it all was. And Grim supposed it was so, from a certain point of view.

HIS point of view.

Since he had taken Skywalker, he had been given a great deal to think about. This was the longest he'd ever been away from Sidious at once since the dark lord first took him from the brothel. He had to admit, the separation was liberating, but he was watching his dwindling supply of Flight warily. If he did not complete his mission, there would be no more.

Sidious had transmitted the news that Qui-Gon was headed back to Naboo and Grim had obediently fallen in behind him. Grim wanted nothing more than to have his revenge, to see the look in Qui-Gon's eyes when Anakin doubted him.

The boy was fiddling with the controls; Grim had locked them down so that only he could access them, and had wakened one night to find Anakin buried to his waist in the central computer, trying to crack the lockdown and gain control of the ship. Since then he'd kept a wary eye on the boy all the time, particularly when he was in the cockpit. "Anakin," he warned. The boy turned his head away. He'd stopped speaking after their initial conversation.

"What's that in your hand?" Anakin spoke suddenly, his first word in over two days.

Grim snatched his hand from the boy's range of vision, then cursed himself for caring what the child thought.

"Medicine." His answer was short, and he swallowed a capsule deliberately.

"It has the Force in it." Anakin wrinkled his nose. "It doesn't feel right."

Grim shrugged, grimacing. He couldn't feel the Force in this stuff. Then a thought dawned-- perhaps that was the ingredient he couldn't reproduce! He closed the bottle and tossed it to Anakin, who caught it.

"Ugh." Anakin pronounced, examining the bottle. "It feels wrong like you do."

Grim's eyes narrowed at the insult, but Anakin was continuing.

"It isn't natural. It isn't what it's supposed to be."

The boy concentrated over the bottle, and Grim felt the Force stir.

"Hey, don't--" It was too late. The light side squeezed itself around the bottle, Grim could feel it... He snatched it away from Anakin. Sith hells, had the boy changed the chemical composition. He'd just had a fix, it would last him eight hours or so. By that time they would be out of hyperspace and in orbit around Naboo. He would simply have to risk contacting his master for more, if the boy had destroyed this supply. Sidious wouldn't be happy to realize that Grim knew his alternate identity, but that was just too bad. If he wanted Jinn dealt with, he'd have to do what Grim wanted.

Qui-Gon Jinn meditated. Padme, concerned over Anakin in her own right, delivered a message from the Queen sending her sympathy and support for his efforts to locate his apprentice, but that was not all Qui-Gon was doing. His sense was that Anakin, though upset, was well. He'd gotten that sense shortly after entering hyperspace, and it had soothed him somewhat-- which only left space for his other concerns to come out.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Sith.

It still burned his soul to speak those words and acknowledge his fault. In his mind's eye, as he meditated, he could see Obi-Wan fighting the draigons when they had crashed on the way to Bandomeer. The lad had found himself as a fighter that day, had truly connected to the living Force. Qui-Gon had been astonished at the maturity of his skills. That was when he first knew that the boy *was,* in a very real way, his padawan. If only he would acknowledge it.

He remembered his sense of Obi-Wan, remembered how he had interacted with the boy in battle, two bodies moved by one mind. The padawan bond had formed, indeed, that day, but Qui-Gon had stifled it, forced it to lie quiescent. Now he reached for that small silent spot in his soul, and touched it.

It lay withered, forsaken, a little dead patch Qui-Gon had nearly succeeding in cutting out of himself. Qui-Gon remembered Obi-Wan Kenobi. His victories. The way the living Force twined around him. The way his eyes shone with hope. He fed his memories of Obi-Wan into the silence, building the connection he had felt that day.

Channeling everything he had into the effort, Qui-Gon spoke the single word that would have changed everything: {{Padawan.}} With a sensation like the bursting of a hose, contact came. He felt the remnants of the boy he had known, felt Darth Grim hiss and recoil, felt Anakin somewhere nearby...

Grim was shutting his shields, Qui-Gon had only moments. He lunged at the connection, struggling to brace it open as his mental probe darted behind Grim and searched for the shattered fragments of the boy who had been his denied padawan. There! Qui-Gon felt himself bubble around some part of the boy, felt the cold rage of the Sith hacking at the connection.

{{I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was wrong. You don't have to forgive me. Just free the boy--}}

It was the absolute wrong thing to say.

The bubble pricked, vanished.

Qui-Gon was alone in his mind, the Sith's rage backlashing along the connection and washing through him. He doubled over, cramps tearing through his body. Staggering to the refresher, he vomited, his head swimming with fragments of the Sith. Everything that had been done to Obi-Wan Kenobi, every torture, every torment-- they swirled around Qui-Gon for agonizing seconds, just long enough for him to realize the magnitude of what Darth Grim had endured, and then dove back into the connection, severing it.

Qui-Gon felt as though he'd aged twenty years in thirty seconds. It was going to be a long battle on Naboo.

Padme's plan, foolhardy though it was, appeared to be working well, but Qui-Gon was not at all convinced that the battle would be resolved so easily. There were battalions of the battle droids, and from what he knew of shielding and artillery, snub fighters would be of very little use against the control ship. He was bound to follow her, and to protect her from the Sith, though he could not fight her war.

They ran through the hangar, shooting it out with the battle droids and destroyers that lurked there. The destroyers were taking out too many of Padme's men, they were locked down and couldn't proceed further. And then Qui-Gon felt it.

He turned even before the door rose, revealing the black-robed figure of Darth Grim, he who had once been Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon stepped forward, shedding his cloak as ritual demanded, his eyes locked on the ice-cold stare beneath the blue-black hood. Grim also shed his outer garment, and raised his long lightsaber in his hand. A single blade extended from it, parallel to the ground. His forehead furrowed with intensity as he locked eyes with Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon responded in kind, noting details as a matter of course. Grim looked oddly like the boy Qui-Gon remembered, his hair short, cut as a padawan's would have been, but there was no braid. He must remember that appearances were deceiving.

Drawing the saber back against his chest, Grim angled the blade in a waiting position, balancing himself lightly on the balls of both feet. Qui-Gon took an answering position, saber drawn back to the side at the level of his head, facing Grim with his left shoulder.

A moment stretched interminably, as the two men waited to see who would attack first. Qui-Gon remembered fighting at Obi-Wan Kenobi's side, the brilliant command of himself, his weapon, and the living Force the boy had mustered that day. He would be even more dangerous now, but it was not that thought that filled Qui-Gon's mind. Instead, he remembered those eyes shining with happiness, hope, determination, courage. It sent a pang of pain through him that he was the cause of the hate that now shone there instead.

Without warning, Grim lashed out. Qui-Gon barely had a flicker of warning in the Force, before his blade met Grim's and drove it back. The force of the strike caused sparks to fly, shivering his arm to the shoulder. He used his greater weight to batter at the younger man as he drove him backwards. Grim's skills were better than Qui-Gon's, and he had the energy of youth-- all depended on making a swift end, and yet Qui-Gon could not bear the thought of striking the young man, causing him pain, perhaps even killing him--

His distraction was very nearly costly. Grim's lightsaber darted through his guard, scorching through the outer layer of his garb, smoldering through the sashes. They fell to dangle about Qui-Gon's ankles, the longer of the two trailing the ground. He would have to be careful not to trip over it. Already his momentum was beginning to fade as he forced Grim out on to one of a maze of catwalks. Sweat was beginning to gather in the fabric of his shirts and run in rivulets down his face.

The lightsabers darted and clashed, buzzing like angry bees, binding and separating in an ugly scrape of power. Qui-Gon went with the momentum of a vicious strike from Grim, let it propel him off the catwalk on which he stood. He landed several meters down, taking the precious instant to breathe. Grim too vaulted off the catwalk, coming to rest a cautious distance from Jinn, beginning a steady advance that made it obvious he saw his advantage of wind and was prepared to pursue it.

It was time for alternative tactics.

Qui-Gon retreated steadily before Grim's advance, reaching for the bond he'd managed to reactivate, probing through it for the touch of the boy Grim had once been. The Sith grimaced furiously, shields thickening.

"I was wrong, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke softly. "I failed you."

Grim did not pause his relentless advance on the tiring Jedi, his face still twisted with hate. Qui-Gon gathered his mind, and with all of his strength, he *shoved* himself through the bond.

Dizziness swirled about him, a sense of looking out of two pairs of eyes at once. The Dark Side clamped him like a vise. Qui-Gon struggled against the agony of it, parting hatred, shedding memories, and searching for the boy who had been. This would not last long before Grim rallied!

Taking control of his own body even as he invaded his adversary's mind, Qui-Gon stirred the Force, and felt Grim's lightsaber go flying. Then pain bit down on him, the world blurred, and he knew nothing.

Obi-Wan had been Sidious's unwilling apprentice now for almost a month. Qui-Gon could feel the torture, the uncertainty, the misery that filled the young man as he strode down the hallway to the white room. Always the white room.

Qui-Gon tried to free himself from the whirl of memory, but it was too strong for him. There was nothing to do but accept, and learn.

Obi-Wan stepped through the door warily, his body sweating against the chains it wore. He had already been violated in body and soul by Sidious. Worse, his knowledge of the Force subtly warned him that this would be a bad session. He didn't know how much longer he could resist-- {{Sidious might give up, send him away, he couldn't bear that rejection again}} NO! Obi-Wan cut his lip with his teeth, savoring the taste of his own blood. Better to DIE than to turn... {{Turn now, taste power, never be rejected again. Vengeance on the weak ones who hurt you}}

Obi-Wan jerked his head up, sensing Sidious's presence. His new Master loomed at his side, an obscene leer on his face as he savored Obi-Wan's confused thoughts.

Sidious gestured to the chains with a weary toss of his hand. "I find these altogether excessive." He shrugged his shoulders within the Sith robes as Obi-Wan clasped a manacle upon his wrist, almost as though the boy thought it might protect him. Sidious was amused. "This phase of the training is so elementary as to be tiresome. Of course, within days, you will not require restraints. You will beg my attention as a privilege, an honor."

Obi Wan thought he had kept his features carefully blank, but the whip of pure Dark Force slashed through his neck, snapping every muscle in his body taut with pain.

"Jedi believe that flesh leads to deception. In the Sith, we consider other arenas far more suitable for lies." Deadened gold began to stain through the grey of his eyes as the dark force gathered. Sidious smoothed the leather of his gauntlet tenderly. The chains clinked as Obi-Wan drew back against them. "You still do not believe your master? Within days, I tell you." He knelt, and peered into the boy's face. "Hours, if I so choose."

For a moment more, he glared into the night of Obi-Wan's hate-filled eyes. "I see that now I must seek out the last of the Light within you. The true lessons cannot begin until you choose to extinguish it, my apprentice. Ah, I see the desire growing in you now. You do not even know to attempt to conceal it from me." He released the apprentice's gaze, and stood again. "My master grew impatient at this point, but I, I find it amusing."

Obi-Wan released the breath he had been holding, as the other man sank slowly into the throne like chair. "It is like a childish game, you know. Children's games." Sidious stared into off into the featureless walls of the room of training. "If you've stood alone in the night, you know this. One candle, one flame, will shine like a scream across the dark. The glow of one heart stretching desperately for the Light..." The master stopped, as if watching some delicious horror played again across the night itself.

Then Sidious closed his eyes, and Obi-Wan's chains fell to the floor, all but the links fastened to the manacle upon his left wrist. "Why did you join the Jedi?" Sidious purred.

Obi-Wan threw the manacle from his hand.

"It was not the honor." Sidious seemed to address the stars at the window. "Not even the power to do good." His mouth curved into its slight, false smile. "Ah, it was the chance to use the Force..."

Obi-Wan clenched his fists to stop them trembling.

Sidious cackled abruptly, running a cold hand over Obi-Wan's naked shoulder. Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and made himself breathe.

"All of the desire within you strained towards it."

He wondered if he could stop himself breathing.

"You strain toward it even now. Losing your chance to master the Force has left a wound so deep in your path that it drained any life you put into your hands." Sidious gazed on him with burning yellow eyes. "But the light is not the goal, my young apprentice. What is important is the Force. And I can feel your *desire* to obtain it..."

A burning ache spread from Obi-Wan's lungs to within his head.

"Even the brothel...the drugs meant more to you than the lusts of the body, but still they meant desire." The master leaned forward and lightly brushed his hands, and Obi-Wan feared most not that the chilling touch had made him shudder, but that there was another thread twining through the revulsion-- seductive, horrible. He closed his eyes, struggling to deny it.

"Learn what we learned. The dark side desires. The dark side craves. You were not even worthy of Qui-Gon's use, but I feel your desire to use him." Obi-Wan clenched his jaws until each muscle stood out in the smooth throat. He refused to consider what Sidious was insinuating.

"The dark side craves your use, feeds your desire, hungers for you to embody it. Feel its hunger, boy. Even your hatred of the Jedi, it wants this. " Beneath his master's touch, Obi-Wan sensed the howling demand of the dark.

"Feel its desire, my apprentice. Feed *my* desire." The master stood. His black-gloved hand ascended Obi-Wan's arm with the delicacy of a spider. The chill of Sidious's flesh iced the leather as he paused at Obi-Wan's throat, stroking the pulse at the hollow as he had once before. The fine hair upon the back of his neck rose painfully as Sidious raised his other hand, and stroked the hair slowly upward. To mock him, the Dark Lord had given him a padawan cut; now he ran gloved fingers through it seductively. Obi-Wan could almost feel his life bleed out of him as Sidious teased him with an image of Jinn, who had rejected him-- Jinn stroking him so, Jinn on him in a brothel-- Obi-Wan gasped, fists clenching with the unexpected strength of the image. His knees threatened to buckle, and the blood surged hotly in him, bringing him half-erect.

"It was in your mind even on Bandomeer," Sidious crooned. "Perhaps that is why he rejected you." Sidious approached him, seeming to glide smoothly across the floor.

Obi-Wan wept as the hand knotted in his hair and wrenched him to the floor before his master. Sidious peered at the honey-thick hair against his glove with the preoccupied air of a connoisseur. "You must prove yourself to me, boy." He sat back upon the throne, dragging Obi-Wan along the cold floor to its feet. "Earn your right to be my apprentice." His voice was laced with tendrils of dark Force, winding their way into Obi-Wan's heart, kindling that deep black desire-- the need to efface himself, deny himself, punish himself for being unworthy... and the need to prove himself valuable to a master, worthy of being trained...

Obi-Wan knelt before him. Sidious leaned back luxuriously, until only the glow of eyes shone from beneath his cowl. As his master watched, Obi-Wan felt as if his own soul itself were pulling away from his hands as they slid back the heavy black of the robe. How could a living man's flesh feel as cold as the stone beneath his own knees? {{Stone, and vines upon it, and I taste this and I will die and that will end it--}} he bent forward, unable to face the possibility of rejection, unable to renounce his chance to learn. His lips touched the hideous cold skin, enveloping it, sliding downward reluctantly. Darkness filled his mouth, his throat, and his stomach clenched, but he forced himself to continue.

The triumphant gleam within the master's cowl grew thinner. Sidious sighed. "Even my sister knew more of the art than this, boy!" Obi-Wan forced his mouth farther, questing with his tongue for the nerves which must lie within even such flesh. Sidious trailed one hand idly alongside the arm of his throne, and picked up a link of the discarded chains. He smiled lazily, and draped the metal across Obi-Wan's sweating hand.

"Not even *one* hour until you beg to be permitted to do this, boy."

Obi-Wan didn't think. He swung with all his might and struck the man across the face with the chain, and the dark roared beneath him with joy at the master's blood raining onto his own face. The Dark Force raged into him, surging through his blood, enflaming his body with a suggestion so powerful... and somehow, at this moment, almost entirely sexual, enflaming him with the desire that had been so horribly absent a moment before.

But the dark was deeper in Sidious. With one coil of the force he spun Obi-Wan against the marble floor. The apprentice smashed into a wall of stars, endlessly falling in front of him. And then the harsh tearing pain, driving deeper until it touched the dark within himself. Unexpectedly, helplessly he came, then turned weeping, against the cold wall, and lay there alone, as the master turned to leave him.

"The paths of the Sith are already within you, boy." Sidious's voice was thick with satisfaction.

"No!" He thought his tears might sizzle on the cold marble.

With a flicker of his hand, Sidious shoved him away, and the apprentice slid to the wall, a trembling heap of limbs, head buried, shaking from the aftershocks of the dark pleasure that had claimed him-- the darkness had wound itself into his soul, the craving was undeniable. He was a damned thing, he knew Sidious would now send him away, and he could not bear it. "Master--" Obi-Wan whimpered. Sidious turned cold eyes to him.

"I am not your master." Sidious snapped and turned away, secretly gloating. "You have not pleased me, boy." He pulled his cloak closed. "I shall have you returned to the brothel."

Obi-Wan trembled. *NO.* He raised his hand in a faint echo of the other's effortless blow upon his shattered mind. "I beg of you, my Master. Permit me to please you so that you will teach me." Obi-Wan reached out to the Dark force and *pushed,* as hard as he was able, a pathetic effort in comparison to Sidious's ability.

Sidious paused, turned, and smiled. "At last. You begin to learn." parting his own robes, he stepped forward, and Obi-Wan struggled to his knees.

The wavefront of memory ebbed, and Qui-Gon was finally able to separate out a sense of himself. He could not spare time for guilt, but revulsion was unavoidable, as was his outrage at the violation of Obi-Wan's innocent soul.

With the sense of self came also a sense of separation from self, and Qui-Gon remembered the circumstances that had led to the shared memory. Grim was rallying now, pressing in around him. Qui-Gon reached for his own body, but was not quite sure where it was... he had no sense of it left, until Grim opened his eyes, and Qui-Gon could see himself lying next to the prone Sith, his face pale. Grim was struggling to his feet now, sensing an approaching presence as a threat to him-- the Sith's lightsaber flew across the floor and into his hand, igniting. It darted for Qui-Gon, biting deeply into his side, before Qui-Gon could recover enough to parry.

And then, before the saber could finish its work, Anakin was there, running forward, his wrists bloody-- he'd obviously torn his hands out of a pair of slightly too-large binders to free himself and come to Qui-Gon's defense. Qui-Gon could have groaned. The boy was too young, not ready for battle, but he was picking up Qui-Gon's lightsaber, holding it trembling in small hands. He moved between Qui-Gon and Grim, igniting the blade bravely, its controls responding to the Force in him.

Grim took a step forward, then halted. The vision of Anakin vanished as he snapped his eyes shut, concentrating on forcing the Jedi Master from his body. Qui-Gon struggled to resist, but the Sith's natural link to his own flesh was stronger than the weakened Jedi's attempt to possess it.

Grim moved his body, and Qui-Gon realized the Sith was reaching for his lightsaber. Qui-Gon extended his will, belatedly trying to gain command of Grim's body, but could not. It was like trying to catch a greased eel. He watched helplessly as the Sith ignited and raised his lightsaber. Qui-Gon felt his hold slipping, began to become aware of his own wounded body again as he was forced out, into his own flesh, his sense of Grim and the lost Obi-Wan buried inside him fading.

With that fading grew his own pain, but he forced his eyes to open and tried to focus on Anakin, who faced off silently with Grim, not budging in the face of the clear threat from the Sith's lightsaber.

"Ani, run!" Qui-Gon wheezed. "Hide until you can find Padme!" The boy's only hope was to hide and hope for the Queen to win the war.

Anakin ignored him, and Qui-Gon felt his slowing heart weighted with despair. Grim paused, his lightsaber drawn back for a killing blow, and stared down at the boy. "You've never even held a lightsaber before, have you, Anakin?"

Qui-Gon, strength fading, could only listen to the soft velvet voice, matured from the high childish one he remembered, its tones deceptively liquid and dulcet, strangely sad. "Why do you protect him, Anakin?"

"I promised," the boy's voice quavered.

"Promised to let him use you, for his own purposes, as he used me?" Grim's voice held a thread of steel and indignance. "You did not make *that* promise, Ani." Amazingly, Grim eased his thumb from the controls of his saber, letting it retract. "Come with me, Anakin. I can make you a better master." There was something in his voice, a quiet appeal, so compelling... Qui-Gon reached out with his fading senses, examining Grim-- and realized that this was Obi-Wan, this was the part of Obi-Wan that *was* Grim, that had become him-- but that it was not the part of Grim that was the creation of Darth Sidious. He was... sincere... Qui-Gon realized, with a pang of mingled sympathy and horror.

Anakin swallowed hard, visibly wavering.

"I made a mistake, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon rasped, forcing his chest to contract and push the words out in a hoarse whisper. "I am sorry. Avenge yourself on me, if you will. But do not... punish the boy for it..." his chest was on fire, a supernova of pain consuming him. "Let him... become what you were meant to--"

A spasm of coughing imploded his world into agony, and then swift merciful darkness.

Darth Grim squatted on the floor of the Sith Infiltrator, silently studying the body of Qui-Gon Jinn. Soon, it might be just that-- a body. If some one did not intervene, at any rate. That left things up to him and the boy. The boy was not yet well enough trained to heal, and Grim had his own reasons for being reluctant to do so.

Grim's fist tightened, threatening to crush the bottle of what had once been Flight. Anakin had changed it, somehow. The boost it had given him was gone. Fortunately it still allayed the withdrawal symptoms, except for this overwhelming depression. Grim raised his bloodshot eyes to stare at Anakin, who knelt at Qui-Gon's side, trying to cradle the big man's head in his small lap.

Anakin looked drawn and gray; Grim realized he was funneling his small strength into Qui-Gon's fading life. That stirred him.

"Why are you wasting yourself for him?" Grim asked, willing his voice to harshness, but it came out softer than he had intended.

"Because I believe him, not you." Anakin's voice was a faint whisper, and his eyes never wavered from Qui-Gon.

Grim barked a short, sharp laugh. Rejected as both an apprentice *and* a master. It figured. This time the bottle *did* crush, with a sharp crackle. Pills poured out between Grim's fingers, some of them stained with his blood. He ignored them.

"Why?" He almost cursed the audible pain in his voice.

Anakin gazed up at him, defeated, dark circles forming in the fragile skin beneath his eyes. "Because I choose to," he said simply.

Grim felt his mouth working with pain, then tightening into a rictus of rage. "You'll die if you don't separate your energies from his," he hissed.

Anakin simply shrugged, and bent over his master, his small hands tender on Qui-Gon's face.

Grim stared at the boy's hands, childishly plump and yet curiously hard from their work with tools and machinery. They looked incredibly vulnerable, stroking the coarse hair of Qui-Gon's beard, smoothing hair from which the sheen of life was already fading.

"Master," Anakin murmured, almost soundlessly.

Grim heard his own teeth grind. The boy's whisper echoed somewhere in the deepest, most forcibly buried subconscious-- tickling through the edges of the shattered, sundered echoes of the padawan bond that had once begun to form between himself and Qui-Gon Jinn. {{Master.}}

Grim surged to his feet, struggling to escape that miserable, wounded cry. A thousand emotions poured through him-- hatred, helplessness, remorse, fury. Grim threw his head back and howled them all to the ceiling of the ship, but none of them could eclipse or drown that anguished whisper. {{Master.}}

Grim fell on his knees, rudely shoving Anakin away and seizing Qui-Gon's head in his own hands. Against his own volition, he let the Force gather in him and flow into Qui-Gon. He had little better notion than the boy what he was doing, and the light side no longer came easily to him, but he could not. Could. Not.

Jinn stirred under the Sith's palms.

Then Anakin's small hand fell on his shoulder, and the flow of the Force exploded far beyond what he could channel himself. Even directing its flow was beyond his capacity; he was not quite sure what was controlling the complex interlacing of energy but Qui-Gon's wounds were healing even as he watched. The Force danced up his arms, lanced through him-- it was scouring him away, blasting his mind wide open with the intensity of sunlight suddenly flooded into a deep basement where dank things crawled through rotting, icy muck.

Once again, Grim threw his head to the ceiling and screamed, until his lungs were screaming along with him, aching and threatening to collapse.

Jinn's arm rose, trembling, and the man's thick strong hand caught his elbow. Grim howled, his very soul crisping to cinders under the onslaught of power that roared through him, using him as a conduit.

Then Anakin's hand fell away, and the boy crumpled from exhaustion.

Mercifully, the light dimmed and trickled away. Grim collapsed over Qui-Gon, struggling to recover from the assault. A fine picture they made, he knew-- A Jedi Master, his pre-adolescent padawan, and the mighty Sithlord-- collapsed in a heap, all too weak to move.

Anakin was first to recover. Grim's body was half-over him, lighter than he seemed in his thick robes, but still too heavy for a nine-year-old's comfort. He could feel the Sith now, much as he could feel his bond with Qui-Gon Jinn. He reached out tentatively, feeling pain and exhaustion from both men, but sensing the strengthening of their life forces.

Anakin staggered to his feet and gazed down at the two men. An idea occurred to him, and he went through the Sith's robes quickly, collecting dangerous items, and then laboriously rolled the young man off his own Master, prudently taking Qui-Gon's weapon as well. No sense in letting Grim have access to instruments of destruction.

Anakin slipped out, depositing the items in a hidden niche behind a maintenance access panel, where only his small hands would be able to reach-- not much of a guard against Force-users, but at least they would not be able to feel for the items.

That done, he returned to the small cargo bay where both men lay. They were too heavy for him to begin to lift, so he carried a pillow and blanket for Master Jinn, settling the pillow under the man's head and draping him with the blanket. Qui-Gon was deeply asleep, his body straining to repair itself.

After a moment of consideration, Anakin repeated the actions for Grim, then took the Sith by the ankles and dragged him laboriously from the bay and into his room. He placed the Sith's pills next to his open hand and closed the door. Then he set to work tinkering with the voice lock mechanism, hoping to restrain Grim.

All he succeeded in doing was locking every hatch in the ship, and he was unable to break the lockout, so he sighed. At least he was in the main corridor. He took advantage of that fact to make his way into the cockpit.

The autopilot was engaged when he arrived, and he couldn't break that lockdown either, so he sighed and settled down to wait, hoping their destination was nearby.

Anakin's continuing efforts to figure out how to pilot the Sith Infiltrator yielded little of use except for a radio news-broadcast. His face fell as the story unfolded. He could only hope that Padme had survived the battle.

The news reader was in mid story, unreeling the words with glib speed. "Chancellor Palpatine's spokesperson stated that the new treaty with the Trade Federation represents a compromise between the needs of the Naboo and the demands of the Federation. In the absence of newly elected Queen Amidala, Chancellor Palpatine signed the treaty himself, ending weeks of hostilities and defusing tension in the Senate."

Palpatine's smooth tones overlay the broadcast next 'I'm proud to serve as the regent until Amidala may be located or a new governor chosen," the politician said. "The new agreement will allow the search to proceed apace."

Anakin fidgeted. Surely Padme was not important enough that the Trade Federation would harm her! She was only a servant... much like he had been...

His head whipped around as he heard a thunk from the back of the ship. Probably Darth Grim, trying to open the hatch. Grim could probably break whatever lockdown Anakin had accidentally managed to put in place.

He turned, trying to reach out with his senses to discover who had recovered... and he indeed found a presence in the hall, one without the undercurrents of rage he always sensed in Grim... but who nonetheless was doing a less than perfect job of repressing annoyance.

Anakin stood straight and faced the hatchway, trying not to fidget. He had a bad feeling about the upcoming conversation, and in a way he almost wished Grim had recovered first-- Anakin had more faith in his ability to manipulate Grim.

"Padawan!" Qui-Gon's greeting held relief, concern, and annoyance all at once. He rushed forward to Anakin and took the boy's face in his hands. Anakin stiffened, powerless in the big man's grip, allowing himself to be turned and examined. Qui-Gon pulled him into a deep bear-hug, then felt Anakin's stiffness, and slowly held his apprentice away from him.

"Did he hurt you, Ani?"

"No." Anakin felt uncomfortable, but he met the piercing blue stare of his master.

Qui-Gon gazed deeply into Anakin's troubled eyes and cursed the fates that had brought Grim within a mile of the boy. He resisted the urge to sigh. "Ani," he murmured softly. "Where is my lightsaber?"

"Gone." The moment he spoke the word he understood his mistake-- Qui-Gon instantly sensed the lie.

Qui-Gon regarded him steadily. "And Darth Grim's lightsaber, Anakin?"

Anakin licked suddenly-dry lips. "It's gone, too."

"I see." Qui-Gon sat back on his haunches, rubbing his hand over his beard. "If those lightsabers have... gone... where someone can find them, Anakin, then they are not safe. Just as the lock on my door was easily broken, and so would the lock on the cargo bay have been, until I jammed the door."

Anakin nodded, some relief visible amidst the distrust on his face. Qui-Gon sighed, and moved to sit in the copilot's seat. A brief glance at the instrument panel revealed that they were still some distance from the nearest habitable planet, so he had time to talk to the boy before trying to take control of the vessel.

"I see your experiences with Darth Grim have troubled you," Qui-Gon invited obliquely, but Anakin remained silent, toying with the arm of the pilot's chair, still standing as he had when Qui-Gon entered the cockpit. Reluctantly, he nodded, not meeting Qui-Gon's eyes.

Qui-Gon sat back, trying to intuit what Grim might have done to make Anakin mistrust him. Lies, obviously... but to confuse Anakin so badly, they would have to have been well-planned lies, perhaps even lies with a grain of truth... and of course, there would have been stories about both Xanatos and Obi-Wan Kenobi. That is what would truly have put this fear into Anakin. Lies, twistings, distortions of truth, the perspective of the Dark Side.

Qui-Gon paused, trying to decide how best to broach the topic of truthfulness, but his thoughts wandered to his wound-- a wound that without the attention of a healer, would have been fatal. His eyes widened with surprise. Grim would hardly have cared to exercise the healing arts even if he knew them. Obviously Anakin must have done so... but he'd had no idea the boy's talents were so intuitive or so far reaching!

"Thank you for healing me, Anakin," he spoke softly, trying to catch the boy's eyes with his. "I didn't know you knew how to heal."

Anakin finally raised his eyes to Qui-Gon's, and surprisingly, there was a flicker of resentment in them. "I don't," he said pointedly, and flopped into the pilot's chair. "Darth Grim healed you. I just..." Anakin's small shoulders shrugged. "Tried to help him. And I hurt him, instead."

"Then I shall thank him, as well," Qui-Gon spoke soberly. "And I shall return the favor." Qui-Gon rose from his chair, his robes flowing about him as he moved back into the corridor toward the cargo-Bay. Grim's presence was stronger than it had, been, he was recovering on his own, but Anakin was following and Qui-Gon had to set a good example.

He set aside the control panel of the bay door and delicately reconnected two wires with the Force. The door swished open as he palmed the release, revealing Grim, laying as Anakin had left him. The Sith was holding one palm over his head, groaning softly.

Qui-Gon moved calmly to his side and knelt. "Be still." He gestured gracefully, hoping that the domination would work on his unguarded opponent. Grim groaned, but didn't stir as Qui-Gon placed his fingertips on the Sith's forehead, questing for traces of what had happened.

His brow crinkled into a deepening frown as he slid his probe through Grim's being. The Sith was badly hurt, but not in a way that Qui-Gon could assist him. It was almost as if he'd been... scoured, psychologically. His mind was flayed from energy overload, and only time could heal that-- but the psychological damage went even deeper, down to his core. Down to the shreds of Obi-Wan Kenobi that still remained. There, they merged with old scars, so subtly that Qui-Gon knew the damage was all related, all part of a process he himself had begun.

Without thinking, he gathered Grim against his chest, not seeing the Sith lord, only seeing the boy he had abandoned to evil. "Padawan," the word wrenched itself from his lips and broke in the air, as his hair fell about Grim's slack features. "I am so sorry..."

"Then what he said was true." The quiet needle of Anakin's voice pierced his grief. Qui-Gon's head jerked up, but Anakin had already backed away, standing outside the hatch. As the door slid shut with silent finality, Qui-Gon did not need vision to know that Anakin had separated the wires. He was here with Grim until further notice.

Qui-Gon sighed. There was little he could do about Anakin at the moment. Resigning himself to that fact and hoping that the boy didn't manage to bugger the autopilot and get them all killed in landing, he returned his attention to Grim... no, to Obi-Wan, who lay shattered in his arms.

The influence of Qui-Gon's Force-domination was wearing off; the young man stirred faintly, and Qui-Gon knew his first instinct would be to fight. To prevent it, he gathered the Sith's body close to his chest, softly kissing the top of the thatch of dark gold hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, cradling the man like a child.

Grim stiffened, but didn't resist, and Qui-Gon could sense the heartbreaking struggle inside him. Qui-Gon reached for the faint, badly abused bond that lay between them, and found it open. He slid himself through, into Obi-Wan's tormented mind.

Grim lacked the strength to recoil.

Gently Qui-Gon sent soothing energy into Obi-Wan's flayed emotions. It was all he could do, he couldn't repair the Force-damage. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." His voice made a soft litany. "It's my fault. I'm sorry he hurt you. I'll never let him do it again."

Obi-Wan's body trembled in Qui-Gon's arms, and he opened his eyes, seeing the glimmer of a tear on the boy's cheek. Grim howled with rage at the weakness, trying to regroup and force Qui-Gon out.

"Fight them, Obi-Wan. I'll help." Qui-Gon buffered the remnants of the boy he had known from the rage that represented the Dark Side. Obi-Wan would have to embrace Grim, if he were ever to turn-- Qui-Gon was not certain that was possible, it was still too early to tell. He reached for the boy he had known, projecting the images of his memories to strengthen the crushed identity.

There was little response. Obi-Wan had no trust left in him, for Qui-Gon or for any Jedi. Qui-Gon built shields around the boy's identity anyway, buffering him from the memories of Sidious and the hatred of who he had become. "You healed me," Qui-Gon murmured. "You can't be entirely evil, or you couldn't have done that." The remnants of Obi-Wan seemed to hear, and Qui-Gon's sense of Obi-Wan's presence intensified. Obi-Wan was listening, if not responding.

Grim, however, was also listening, and Qui-Gon could understand the meaning underlying the howling fury. "So Anakin provided the strength for it," Qui-Gon gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. "Without you, he did not even know how to begin to help me. I owe you my life, Obi-Wan. For that is who you are, though you may have forgotten."

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan stirring, his interest growing. "I owe you a life-debt," Qui-Gon tucked the young man's head under his chin. "That I will not forget."

Qui-Gon must kill the Sith Master. That would be the first step toward redeeming Obi-Wan. Destroy the malignant influence who had warped the boy's life, prostituted and tormented him. He remembered those memories he had inadvertently shared, and shuddered at the horror of them, and at the part he had played in many. No wonder Obi-Wan did not trust him enough to respond.

"I am really here, lad. I will not let Sidious touch you again." There was something lurking at the boundaries of his knowledge. Something Grim knew about Sidious. Qui-Gon was almost overwhelmed by the desire to pursue it, wrest it from the evil parts of Obi-Wan's mind by force. But that would destroy the growing light he was trying to nurture.

The bonding was strengthening as Qui-Gon focused on Obi-Wan through it, building around the scar tissue of two minds, forming a new linkage. Even if Obi-Wan were lost and Grim became dominant, this link would remain. Qui-Gon accepted that risk as worth the hope of retrieving Obi-Wan, and let Obi-Wan see his acceptance of risk, let Obi-Wan see how much he was valued.

Qui-Gon's heart soared as the dark howled in frustration. The small bubble he was helping to shield and preserve wavered, its boundaries moving outward, and a tendril of Obi-Wan's being extended into the bond. The connection flared, solidifying further, as Obi-Wan tried to escape through it, move himself out of the mind that had become Grim and join with what was Qui-Gon.

The process continued as Qui-Gon watched anxiously, hoping Obi-Wan would not try to sever his last contact with Grim. He did not want to have to intervene; the boy might perceive that as rejection, and he could not reject Obi-Wan without losing all.

It was time to turn attention to Grim. Qui-Gon must not forget that he, too, was part of Obi-Wan, and that he was the part that rejection had injured most severely. Maintaining his shields around Obi-Wan and keeping half an eye on the bond, he turned the majority of himself outward.

"You have been badly wronged," Qui-Gon acknowledged gently. "Your anger is justified. But it does not help to make right that which was ill-done."

His unexpectedly gentle thoughts silenced Grim's fury, replacing it with wary watchfulness. He could sense the part of Grim that had offered to be Anakin's master. "You do not want to be a Sith," Qui-Gon guessed. "A dark Jedi, perhaps, but you do not wish to follow in the footsteps of your Master."

The presence of Grim shielded itself, dark flame pulsing behind strong opaque bleakness. There was no other response. Qui-Gon suspected the defensive move was partial evidence that his guess was correct. Qui-Gon paused, then continued quietly. "You are right. You would be a good master to the boy."

Grim's shielding wavered, evidence of strong emotion behind it, but Qui-Gon could not move offensively to penetrate the shielding and discern the emotion. He could not destroy the possibility that Grim might be moved to begin to trust him, as he had moved the shattered remains of Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon understood he was walking a knife-edge in the Sith's mind, and moving on gut-instinct, but he could not stop. "I will let Anakin choose."

This time Grim's shock was clearly tangible.

"Tell him the truths you believe, as I have done. Then he may choose." Qui-Gon persisted, though he was nearly as stunned by what he had said as Grim was. "And then you must choose. But I trust that you will choose what you believe is right. You will not abuse the boy as was done to you."

Qui-Gon opened himself and let Grim feel his faith, his certainty. "To you, also, I owe a life-debt," Qui-Gon murmured. "As does Obi-Wan." Gently, slowly, he released his shielding, and let Obi-Wan and Grim re-integrate themselves gradually. When it was done, Qui-Gon simply dropped his own mental shields and waited for what might come, accepting whatever it might be.

Grim hesitated for a long, pregnant moment... and then withdrew himself carefully and neatly from Qui-Gon's mind. "You are honorable, Jedi," the Sith reluctantly rasped. "An honorable fool. There would be little glory in killing such a fool."

Qui-Gon shrugged, a wry smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps. But my life is yours." Grim began to pull away and Qui-Gon assisted him, judging the younger man's expression. There was still much evil left in Grim, much anger and much suffering, but an unsteady balance of truce had replaced the homicidal fury. And too, some of the malevolence had been replaced by a sullenness Qui-Gon could only analogize to that of a kicked puppy, one who pouted over the removal of his opportunity to bite. Qui-Gon could see that puppy lurking in Grim's eyes-- a good sign. Perhaps that puppy would like having its ears scratched, later. He stifled a smile that was as much relief as anything else.

"Where's my lightsaber?" Grim scrabbled at his belt irritably.

"Mine is gone as well. Anakin thought it prudent." Qui-Gon shrugged. "And we are confined here, as well, at his discretion." Qui-Gon paused. "He has been unable to influence the autopilot. May I inquire where we are bound?"

Grim cast him a look that did contain elements of malevolence, this time. "Bandomeer."

"Does anyone await you there, know your destination?" Qui-Gon watched sharply for hints of evasion or lie, but Grim merely seemed uncomfortable.

"No."

Qui-Gon decided it best not to make the attempt to escape the hold just yet, though he knew exactly where he must apply the Force to rejoin wires that would key the door. In spite of the brief accord between himself and Grim, there was no guarantee that the balance would not shift suddenly and devastatingly back from uncertainty to hatred. It was well that Ani not be present, if such a thing happened, and it was also well that the lightsabers were gone. Qui-Gon meditated quietly, presenting a front of pure vulnerable calm, while Grim paced like a caged Hoth snow-wolf, wasting energy.

At last the Sith collapsed in a corner, scrubbing a hand through his short-cut hair irritably, eyes narrowing on Qui-Gon. The Jedi could feel the need for sleep pulsing behind Grim's eyes, along with a sense of growing unease.

"What's wrong?" Qui-Gon asked, as casually and warmly as though he and Grim had been the partners and friends they should have been.

Grim refused to answer, but rose and scuffled to the scattered shards of bottle and bloodstained pills that lay on the floor, picking up two and swallowing them. The unease Qui-Gon sensed immediately drained away, but Grim made a resentful, angry face, dissatisfied. His glare darted briefly in the direction of the cockpit and Qui-Gon could sense him feeling annoyance with Anakin.

"Are you well, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon unfolded his long body and moved toward Grim, concerned. The Sith bared his teeth at the name, backing defensively from Qui-Gon but keeping his body between the Jedi and the pills. Qui-Gon sorted the memories he'd received and realized what they must be.

Qui-Gon felt a moment of anger flicker at the Sith's master. No honor or trust among thieves, and clearly the Sith Master enjoyed keeping Grim dependent and subservient. The drug, however, visibly calmed Grim, and he returned to his corner after scraping the precious substance into a small pile and placing it in his pocket. After a time, his head fell forward and he slept lightly.

Eventually, Qui-Gon did also.

He was awakened by the rattle and clunk of a decent, if mechanical, landing. Apparently Ani *hadn't* managed to destroy the autopilot after all. Qui-Gon stretched the kinks out of his muscles, not bothering to look at Grim, whose head rose to follow the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon simply opened the cargo bay doors, and turning his head, nodded for Grim to follow.

Visibly grinding his teeth, the Sith did.

During the night, Qui-Gon had also sought the whereabouts of his lightsaber, and Grim had as well, for both men headed in the same direction at once, Grim visibly jostling to move ahead. Qui-Gon let him. The Sith took his saber and held the Jedi's for a long moment, then huffed scornfully and tossed it to him.

Qui-Gon caught it neatly and clipped it to his belt without fuss. He sensed Anakin behind them, the boy's alarm spiking sharply. "Don't be frightened, Ani," Qui-Gon spoke. "Neither of us will hurt you." He tossed Grim a pointed look.

The Sith Lord avoided it, looking at Skywalker instead. "Certainly I shall not hurt you, Anakin," he spoke, and Qui-Gon could hear the softness of Obi-Wan lurking within that voice.

There was an anxious moment, as no-one wanted to go first and turn his back on any of the others, but Qui-Gon did not let it last, striding toward the hatch. He motioned an invitation for Anakin to precede him, but the boy preferred to go in the rear, and Qui-Gon supposed it was for the best. That way, if there was an unexpected welcoming committee, he would be in the least amount of danger. When he moved onto the ramp, he stood aside and let Grim move abreast of him, the Sith's eyes narrowing as he surveyed the desolate region to which they had descended.

A large outcropping of stone rose high into the air, the jagged remnants of a crumpled shelf of sedimentary rock thrust from the wounded ground by volcanic action. Around it there were scruffy trees, grass, and a few small, muddy ditches that carried foul water from the stones. The air was heavy with moisture, indicating that it had just rained.

Qui-Gon could remember the scent of Bandomeer from so long ago, and wondered if similar memories were rising in Grim. The Sith stalked forward angrily, ignoring the questioning glance, and Qui-Gon sighed. He was not sure what he was heading into-- what he was letting Anakin walk into. However, the Living Force seemed to decree it, and he accepted.

Grim led them around the outcrop to a carefully concealed computer keypad that opened a small passage, into which he vanished before Qui-Gon could think of a way to avoid having to enter it and bring Ani. Anakin, however, was interested, and he nipped into the small crack immediately behind Grim, forcing Qui-Gon to follow. He pressed his greater bulk through the small opening, hurrying to stay on the boy's heels. It was most unwise to enter the lair of a Sith Lord incautiously. The screaming purple flare of agony that caught him entirely by surprise only a few steps later was definite proof of that.

A voice, through the haze of pain, oddly familiar and yet not so.

His eyelids were too heavy with agony to be raised, and he faded in and out, listening to the oily hiss of that voice caressing him like the waters of a midden.

"You have done well, my young apprentice. A Jedi Master and his child whore! I am pleased, and yet I should have anticipated thatyou would go after this one the first time I permitted you freedom." The voice paused. "You are lucky that the fool's compassion prevented him from becoming your undoing!" This time its tone snapped like a whip.

Qui-Gon struggled to identify that voice, trying and failing, beginning to come aware of his surroundings gradually. Something burned at his wrists, cutting off his circulation, and his shoulders felt drawn and tight. Sweat was trickling over his body, and a breath of humid air that smelled of rotted earth wafted past him, letting him know simultaneously that he had been stripped and that he was underground. "Yes, my Master." That voice he knew. Grim. The harsh grinding of hate crushed any vestige of Obi-Wan Kenobi in that voice, making it nearly as foul as...

(Click for larger image)

Qui-Gon went cold as his subconscious mind provided the answer.

*Palpatine's.*

The psychic stir as the Sith Master sensed the recognition was even fouler than the aura of that voice, oozing a caress of loathing around Qui-Gon.

"You have done well, capturing the Jedi fool, my apprentice," Palpatine's voice was smug. Qui-Gon forced him to pry open lead-weighted lashes. The room was poorly lit, but the creature before him was a far cry from the well-groomed senator he remembered. This thing's skin was wrinkled and grey, its eyes yellowed, its lips downturned. Qui-Gon tried not to shudder at the waves of pure dark Force energy that rolled off it.

Obi-Wan-- Grim-- knelt at its side, cringing in obeisance. "Thank you, Master Sidious."

Sidious. Qui-Gon filed the information automatically, distracted. Where was Anakin? Qui-Gon could not restrain the bright flicker of panic entirely, seeking for a sense of the boy amidst the evil and failing to locate him.

"Look at the Jedi, my apprentice," Sidious crooned. "Even now he seeks his... beloved pupil. The child, the precious golden padawan he has chosen to be his companion."

Qui-Gon could feel the jealous anger surging in Grim, and even as he attempted to reach out through their tentative bond, he was rebuffed.

"Don't listen to him, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's throat felt as though he had drunk sand, but he rasped the words out anyway. "He's manipulating you, preying on your weaknesses."

Grim's eyes narrowed.

"Would you like vengeance on the Jedi, Darth Grim?" If anything, the Dark Lord sounded amused rather than worried. "Would you like to make him suffer as you have suffered? Or perhaps..." the evil Master's eyes grew heavy-lidded and his voice took on a hideously sensual tone. "Perhaps you would care to taste what he denied you."

Grim involuntarily shuddered a deep breath, chest rising and falling with a ragged motion. Qui-Gon reached for the Force, but it evaded him, hidden behind a blanket of psychic pain from Sidious's unexpected initial attack. He was firmly bound.

Grim's master raised a hand in a coldly elegant gesture, a permission, and the Sith apprentice glided forward as though unaware of his motion, certainly unable to stop, a rapt and horrible lust transfiguring his features as he stepped toward Qui-Gon.

"This isn't what you want, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon licked his lips with a tongue as dry as the desert.

"Be silent!" Grim barked, continuing the relentless advance.

"Do you want to be like him?" Qui-Gon felt a sudden flood of pity wash over him even as Grim angrily brushed his words aside. The Sith-- Obi-Wan-- was within a few paces now, his eyes burning with an almost unholy madness. "Do you want to drink hate? Cause pain for pleasure? Take in lust what should be offered in love?" Qui-Gon let himself sag in his bonds. "Because if you do, Obi-Wan, I won't say I don't deserve what you're about to do. And more, for leaving you to this creature of hate." Qui-Gon let all the resistance flow out of him, feeling sorrow and love fill him in its place. "But I won't hate you, no matter what you do," he promised. "Even if you cannot forgive me."

The Dark Lord laughed coldly in the background as Obi-Wan stepped another pace, and his outstretched forefinger caught in the ring of the collar that had been fastened on Qui-Gon, jerking him forward in the straps.

"You can have him, my young apprentice. Keep the Master Jedi as your personal pet," The thing that was sometimes Palpatine rose, his dark cloak trailing, and Grim froze, listening. "Use him as you like. On one condition." The Dark Lord's lips curled upward into a horrifying leer.

"You shall have him, and I shall keep the boy."

Grim's hand trailed down from the collar, over Qui-Gon's sweating chest, sliding to a halt with its palm pressed over his navel. The Jedi did not dare move or speak, sensing the horrible conflict in Grim, lust and need warring with pain and deep, violent hatred of Sidious.

The tension of silence stretched until Qui-Gon was certain that the room in the air would shatter the moment anyone dared to break the silence. And just as he despaired, just as that cold hard hand stirred on his belly as though to travel lower, Grim raised his head and spoke.

"You keep the Jedi. Anakin is mine."

Sidious's low cackle swelled until it filled the room, and Grim turned in a swirl of cloak and stalked away, leaving Qui-Gon at the Sith Master's mercy.

Qui-Gon let his eyes grow cold after Grim left the room, returning his attention to the Sith lord.

"He is no true Sith," Qui-Gon spoke, his voice very soft, controlled. "And I am no catamite to be used for your play."

"Skywalker will be Sith," Sidious spat, no longer maintaining even the faintest illusion of pleasantness. "And you and your pathetic lost Obi-Wan will suffer whatever I choose, Jedi."

"So you plan to kill Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon guessed easily. "There can only be two Sith," he mused. "Yourself and the boy? It leaves no room for Darth Grim. I wonder what he will say when I bring that to his attention?"

"You will never have that opportunity." Sidious's lips curled again and his hands rose, the dark Force rolling over Qui-Gon like boiling liquid, washing him with agony that threatened to tear his flesh from his bones.

Grim sprinted from the central complex, rushing for the small cell where he had placed Anakin, so that he and his Master could deal with the Jedi. "We're leaving, Skywalker," he bit out crisply, stalking into the room and snatching Anakin's tunic. "Hurry if you value your skin!"

"Where is Master Qui-Gon?" Anakin cried as Grim snatched his arm and dragged him out.

"My Master has him," Grim snarled.

"I won't leave without him!" Anakin dug his heels in and tried to resist the much larger man's force. "I'm his padawan!"

"You're my apprentice! His life bought yours, do you understand? If you don't want that sacrifice to be in vain we must leave now!" Grim's eyes were bright with what Anakin realized was fear... and, unbelievably, grief. "Do you *want* my master to get his hands on you, boy? Do you realize what he would do to you?" Grim sent a torrent of harsh, stark images to the boy, felt them impact him painfully and be absorbed.

Anakin cringed, but his determination remained. "I can't leave my Master," Anakin whispered, despairing, and something broke in Grim, his shoulders hitching deeply once. But it was useless.

"And I cannot fight mine. You do not know his power, boy. He would crush me like an insect."

"Master Yoda says that one day I will have more power than any other Jedi," Anakin whispered, eyes narrowing to intensity. "You used it once. You can do it again. Draw it from me, focus it, and direct it."

The light. The painful scouring of that torrent of power that had saved Qui-Gon Jinn from death. Grim shuddered with the fear of it... and the need to feel that sensation again, ten times the Force he could handle on his own. But it was no use.

"I do not know how to use the light," Grim whispered, nearly broken. "Not well enough to defeat my master, even with your power."

"Then use the dark." Anakin closed his eyes, let what he had sensed of Sidious, what Grim had sent him, and the threat to Qui-Gon feed his hate. With a conscious decision, Anakin Skywalker surrendered to his terror... and turned.

Oceans of pain. A pain so deep no light could ever penetrate to its bottom, where the cold seared like fire and pale drowned things writhed in anguish in the crannies of frozen rock. Qui-Gon dove for that bottom, yearned for its pressure to crush him, strip him of life. One sense only remained to him, besides that with which he felt the pain: hearing. The muddy muffled sound of laughter racked him with shudder after shudder, raking him with tendrils of frozen fire.

And then suddenly, beyond all belief, it worsened. The dark cold depths crackled ice into bone and marrow, the cold fire pierced beyond pain, and Qui-Gon could hear himself scream, and scream, screams undying, screams of agony, betrayal, hate...

But the crushing pressure evaporated, leaving only the blackness and the chill. Deeper than anything he had ever known, it washed over him, and he was aware of his lungs gasping, struggling to expel air as though it were water, so tainted was it with the dark Force, but the screams were no longer his.

Sidious.

Sidious screaming, screaming until his lungs burst with a wet pop and blood sprayed forth, and yet he screamed.

Qui-Gon felt his face spattered by that hot, foul torrent and struggled to shrink from it as the ability to move came back to him and his eyes forced open, immediately drawn to the pulsating heart of the darkness, the red-tinged horror of energy that whipped the room. Grim stood there, with Anakin, his hands on the boy's shoulders, his lips peeled back from his teeth in hate as he directed the vile destructive energy he harnessed into Palpatine's writhing, snapping carcass.

Anakin was perfectly white, gaunt, trembling, and Grim was little better, both stretched to their limits and beyond, and yet the thing that had been the Sith Master still moved and bubbled, but Qui-Gon had no eyes for it now... instead, his horror was for his padawan... his padawans, locked together, the link between them building with every instant they maintained the flow of the dark energy...

And then, with a blue explosion that flung Qui-Gon back in his restraints, the leather bonds tearing at his wrists and ankles, the corpse exploded into pure darkside energy and dispersed.

When Qui-Gon was able to open his eyes and see more than flecks and speckles, he was able to make out the pair of apprentices, tumbled hard against the wall, Anakin shielded in Grim's arms. The boy was already stirring, wiping blood out of his eyes, tottering to his feet and moving toward Qui-Gon.

Anakin moved through the corridor of destruction slowly and unerringly. To Qui-Gon's senses, malevolence boiled around his feet, curling up his legs, twining into his flesh and clothing. The Jedi Master swallowed hard. Anakin Skywalker had chosen. The sink of dark energy where Palpatine had fallen hardly troubled the boy, though Qui-Gon himself could not have approached its center without psychic agony.

Now Grim was struggling up also, face predatory, moving behind Anakin, taking a considerably wider path than the boy had chosen around the site of the Dark Lord's death. His longer stride brought him up behind Anakin quickly, and his hands closed over the boy's shoulders.

Anakin never flinched, already perfectly aware of his approach. Grim's touch stopped him, though, and they stood, staring at the Jedi Master. Anakin tilted his head up, turning slightly to meet Grim's eyes. The Sith... Master... nodded. "He's ours now." His voice, though weary, was filled with cold satisfaction.

Qui-Gon's blood ran cold as Anakin silently nodded in the affirmative, his expression traveling to Qui-Gon, where the look on his face was a near mirror Grim's.... missing only the heat that burned in the older man's eyes when he looked on the bound Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon reached desperately for the Force.

"I wouldn't." Anakin's voice was very quiet, with an almost dreamlike tone. "That upsets my Master."

"Ani," Qui-Gon heard himself groan softly, his tone thick with grief. "Why?"

Anakin, still distracted, almost entranced, ignored him, looking at something that Qui-Gon could not see.

"To save you," Grim let the words fall with deadly precision and understated, venomous glee. Common enemy removed, he was once again freed to focus his hatred on Qui-Gon.

"Better to let me die." The Jedi Master's head fell, his battered spirit overwhelmed with despair.

They left him there, while they ransacked the hideout for useful items, searching in particular, Qui-Gon guessed, for more of Grim's drug. He supposed Palpatine... Sidious... could have brought some along, and knew that Grim would soon badly need it.

Darkness, a palpable presence, whirled and muttered around Qui-Gon, staining him from the inside through the remnants of no less than three tainted training bonds. Paranoia, self-pity... these things grew in Qui-Gon with the dark, until he began to wonder if everything he touched was tainted, and whether his first padawan, Jaiyra, now a Knight herself, had turned also and would stalk up to him through this living nightmare, blaming him for her fall.

He could feel the residue of Palpatine's hatred staining him, seeping outward from the center of the bleak shattered wound in the Force where he had been destroyed, and at last it drove him in desperation to reached to the light, undoing the manacles, stumbling as far as he could from the raw black wound as he could. Touching the light side, removing the manacles, was excruciating in the presence of so much negative energy.

They came for him, eventually, Grim's hard hands closing on wrist and bicep, the Sith Lord forcing him to his feet and out to the waiting ship. Qui-Gon could not find it within himself to resist.

Grim forced Qui-Gon to sit in the cockpit while he powered up the drive and blasted them from the planet's atmosphere and into hyperspace. Anakin seemed more alert now, Qui-Gon noticed, reaching and sliding his thumb along the boy's cheek, pulling his eyelid down very slightly to check for signs of concussion or other brain injury. There were none, though Anakin seemed reluctant to permit his former Master to touch him.

"You are weary," Grim turned and addressed his apprentice. "Go to the room I set you in, and rest until I say you may rise."

Anakin simply rose and moved away like a ghost. Qui-Gon watched him anxiously, not without a flicker of warmth that Grim cared about the boy's welfare.

"You make a unique Sith Master," Qui-Gon observed, very softly. "Perhaps we have seen the last of the true Sith."

Grim's eyes traveled to him slowly. "I think not," he hissed. "You have failed to pay for what was done to me, Jedi." The young man rose, eyes growing dark as he let them rove over Qui-Gon's form, clad only in the tattered underbreeches Sidious had chosen to leave him. "But you will begin now."

Qui-Gon had only an instant's warning before Grim lunged, hand twining into the Jedi Master's hair, jerking his head up.

"You will not succeed in this," Qui-Gon told Grim calmly. "And you will learn that I am not the Master you hated."

Grim paused over him, eyes glittering wildly with rage and lust, furious and yet still so beautiful and sad that Qui-Gon's heart ached and went out to him. "I will have you, Jedi." his whisper rattled in his throat.

"Indeed," Qui-Gon acquiesced. "And I shall love you."

Grim's breath rasped in his throat as he froze above Qui-Gon, held at bay by the Jedi's words, baffled and wounded and angered by their quiet conviction. Qui-Gon simply sat, as dignified as he would have been in his formal robes, his hands folded over his stomach, making no effort to protect himself in any way.

"Is love such a fearful thing then, that you cannot bring yourself to taste it?" Qui-Gon held Grim's eyes though the Sith struggled to break away. "Perhaps you believe you do not deserve it. But I..." Qui-Gon lifted his hand very slowly, traced the curve of Grim's brow around to cheekbone, and then to cool, dry lips "... do not agree."

And suddenly the puppy was back, lurking kicked and terrified in Grim's eyes, and Qui-Gon reached for it, through their battered and faint bond. "Don't be afraid to open yourself to light, Obi-Wan," he murmured, and lifted his lips, kissing the cold mouth softly. "You're free of him now."

Grim flung the Jedi away, back against the chair, wiping his lips with his arm, but his arousal and longing were evident. Qui-Gon wavered, unsure how best to heal the man before him. Obi-Wan... his Obi-Wan, abandoned... had spent years as an abused prostitute, and Qui-Gon would not lightly offer anything that might remind him of those hideous nights. But neither could he deny him. "Take what you wish," he told Grim softly. "I give it freely and with love."

"Shut *up!*" Agonized to stop the flow of soft words and end the bittersweet torment, Grim lunged toward Qui-Gon as though to strike him, faltered for a moment, and then dove for his mouth desperately, fell into strong arms and felt himself held and supported. Rough and ready was all he knew, all he had ever known, but the big man beneath him had a mouth as sweet and soft as milk and honey, and his arms felt... safe.

Grim jerked back, mouth wet now and eyes glittering. He had believed in this before, believed it and it had been a lie; any moment now and the hatred would shine through, the mockery would return. He felt his nails dig into Qui-Gon's shoulders, at once punishing and desperately seeking to prove reality.

"No fear," Qui-Gon breathed. "He is gone, Obi-Wan, and I'm here." The copilot's chair creaked dangerously under their combined weight as he slid his arm protectively around the younger man in his lap.

"I hate you," Grim hissed, unmoving but tense as fine-drawn wire.

Qui-Gon nodded understanding, letting his cheek brush Grim's very slightly. "Let it out," he breathed. "Let it go."

"*No.*" Grim shifted, pinning Qui-Gon without leaving his lap, and his knees dug painfully into Qui-Gon's bare thighs. "Damn you, mas-- "

He halted in midword, shocked, a shuddering breath choking in his chest.

Qui-Gon nodded, very slowly. "As you will... " Qui-Gon slid his hand into the young man's hair, very softly "... padawan."

The word shattered Grim. He collapsed, sinking bonelessly into Qui-Gon, knees sliding until he sat on the Jedi's thighs, their chests close, and he burrowed his head into Qui-Gon's shoulder, aching dry sobs wracking his body. Qui-Gon circled him in strong arms, soothing him, murmuring meaningless syllables and soft endearments, apologies.

"Hush," he whispered, resisting the longing to crush the long lost padawan to him with all the fierceness of the love and regret he felt in his heart. But he did not need to, for Obi-Wan had sensed it, and was clutching him now, arms and hands frantic to verify the life of the flesh they touched, the reality and solidity of him, and the young man groped blindly for his mouth, eyes squeezed shut tight but tears beginning to leak from them anyway.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Grim, sank into the love of the kiss that awaited him, and was devoured by light.

Beautiful emotion poured through him, soaking into a soul long bleak and arid, flooding him. His hands were growing rough on Qui-Gon again, but it was not for punishment, but desperation, seeking to know and claim the legacy of life that had been lost to him, that should have been rightfully his. The remnants of the apprentice bond roared to life between them, forming and filling, renewing, confirming the truth... oh, this *was* Qui-Gon Jinn, not some pale shadow, this was the man and the master he had only barely begun to sense as a boy, and he could take him. Take him body, heart, soul, just as Qui-Gon was accepting him. The Jedi Master was offering what he had once denied and more. Was this fire love, then? Was this beautiful ache desire? Did his need to weep arise from joy? It must be so...

So pure, so bright, the fires burning through him cleansed, leaving no residue of soot or ash to stain his soul, as the fires of the Dark had done, chasing the shadows of what he had been and done into the corners and blinding them to the purity of the moment... of redemption.

"He lied, he lied, he lied," Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon's mouth, bruising himself against the larger man.

I know. Qui-Gon's thoughts stroked him, soothing, the Jedi returning the desperate kisses gently.

Teach me the truth of it. The words were command and plea, balanced between fear and need. Not just this. Everything. Teach me everything, Master Jedi.

The response was immediate and joyous. Yes.

Obi-Wan slid backward, refusing to permit the kiss to break yet, hauling Qui-Gon up with him as he rose. But this first. He made himself break away, breath coming in shallow gasps, eyes full of wonder. This first, and then I can face whatever happens after...

We can, together. Qui-Gon corrected him.

In the corridor, hidden just beyond the light, Anakin's eyes narrowed, the tumbled emotions from the tableau before him curling his lip in distaste.

Very well. He would bide his time. Darkness, after all, was not so easily banished.

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