Adumbration

by Alex (splix1971@msn.com)

Archive: M_A, anyone else please ask.

Category: Angst, AU, BDSM, PreSlash

Rating: NC17(eventually)

Warnings: Darkness. Evil clones. Kidnapping. Violence. Non-consensual sex. Fun for the whole family!

Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi becomes a pawn in a game of Darkness.

Disclaimers: O great god Lucas, grant that I may toy with your boys. I promise not to rent or sell them, and you can have them back, slightly worse for wear, when I'm done.

Feedback: Oh, yes, please, yes.

Notes: Sequel to "Chiaroscuro"

Coruscant.

Epicenter of the Galactic Republic. Seat of peace and justice. Named for the luminescent corusca gem, it is truly the shining jewel of the galaxy.

But even the finest jewels have a flaw. Some are more apparent than others.

Far below the glittering antiseptic surface of the city-planet is another world. Known as the sublevels, it is a place where few decent citizens can traverse boldly. It is populated by the refuse of society: thieves, whores, gangsters, drug dealers, arms smugglers, flesh traders, hired killers; those who do not abide by the laws of the Republic, or the Code of Honor Mercantile.

There are two immutable laws in the sublevels.

The first is Profit.

The second is Survive.

Denizens of the sublevels know danger intimately. They adapt and assimilate,or die. For danger is a daily part of life, as common as air, evident in the furtive hand to hand trade of psychotropics and hallucinogens, in the dusky, enticing smile of a prostitute, in the chill stare of an assassin for hire.

And yet...there is a place worse than this.

Most believe it is only a rumor.

Those who know the truth and live remain silent.

It is below the vast complex of machinery that keeps the planet and its citizens alive. Below the filters, pipes and tunnels that cleanse the air and water, below the power conduits and fuel lines, close to the raw crust of Coruscant lies the Tombs.

No one has ever ventured willingly into the Tombs. Those individuals hapless enough to become lost in the maze of tunnels leading to the Tombs are never heard from again. Indeed, they are barely spoken of again, if the tunnels are their last known location. Best not to think of the nightmares suffered, if rumor is to be believed.

And so the spectacle of a hooded figure carrying the bound, unconscious form of a Jedi Knight Apprentice into the tunnels is pointedly ignored by those who dare to venture close to the entrance of this labyrinth.

Best not to think of it, after all.

Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt in the center of his bedroom, trying and failing to meditate. He sat back on his heels, rubbing his eyes. Despairingly, he tried again, fingering his string of beads, feeling the Force flow through him--not smoothly, as usual, but chaotically, dipping and lurching, making it impossible to find his center. For days he'd been tormented by thoughts of his master, thoughts he'd managed to quell, with varying degrees of success, for years.

At the age of twenty-two, he'd finally found a measure of peace within himself. A few short years to Knighthood, and then, Force willing, he'd find the courage to reveal his feelings to Qui-Gon. A Jedi is patient, he'd counseled himself endlessly. I can wait. And yet these agonizingly erotic images had flashed through his mind for days, distracting him, making it difficult to even look Qui-Gon in the eye. He'd been blushing with annoying frequency, so much that Qui-Gon had asked him if he was feeling ill. Which naturally caused Obi-Wan to flush even more brightly. To cover up, he'd said that he was feeling a little dizzy, and thought he'd lie down for a bit. Qui-Gon had raised an eyebrow and advised Obi-Wan to make a visit to the healing dome.

Obi-Wan sighed and stood, still clutching his meditation beads. He decided to eat, then go to training hall and find a sparring partner. Qui-Gon was in a closed session with Master Koth and wasn't due back for a few hours. He walked into the common room and froze suddenly as a figure stepped into the soft light above Qui-Gon's chair.

Gods...

Obi-Wan stared in absolute shock at the man who stood before him.

But for his black garments and his long hair, a sigle braid plaited tightly against his head, the man could have been Obi-Wan's twin. Was his twin. The Jedi took in the face...the summer-sea eyes, the straight nose, the dimpled chin... Astounding.

The man stood relaxed, arms at his sides, a slight smile curving the corners of his mouth.

Was it a droid? Obi-Wan wondered. An amazing technological simulacrum, a marvel of machinery and plastiskin? A colossal joke?

No. The man was a living being, human--not machine. Obi-Wan extended a thin trail of Force toward the man, probing, and recoiled at the Force signature that he touched.

It was--frighteningly--almost exactly like his own, but at the core of the signature was Darkness. Darkness, bred deeply, festering. And at the threshold of the man's mind was an open admission of what he was.

A clone. A replicant, not birthed, but grown, covertly, in the tanks long outlawed within the Republic. Grown from Obi -Wan. An eyelash, a drop of sweat, a fingernail paring. Grown at amazing speed, educated in the vats from embryo to adult, decanted with full awareness of the world on which it would be unleashed.

"It is forbidden to reproduce sentient life for any purpose by means of artificial parthenogenesis..."

The phrasing of the statute echoed through Obi-Wan's mind, and his soul cried out in protest against the theft of his cells to make this abomination who stood before him so calmly, smiling, whose aura held the taint of Darkness.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan reached out along the training bond that he shared with Qui-Gon.

//Master!//

The mental cry flared, then dwindled into oblivion.

Fighting panic, he tried again.

//Master!//

There was nothing but silence. Qui-Gon had not heard him. Obi-Wan felt a stab of guilt and fear. He'd neglected the training bond for too long...he'd been apprehensive of Qui-Gon's mind touching his and finding Obi-Wan's love and need...and now the bond was damaged, possibly beyond repair.

The being smiled sweetly, then drew and ignited his saber. Obi-Wan, sick with dread, did the same, dropping his beads. He assumed a defensive stance, forcing his limbs to relax, willing calm...but the dread remained.

"Will you strike the first blow, Jedi?"

The voice, so like his own, horrified Obi-Wan anew.

"Who are you?" His voice was steady, but his heart was pounding wildly.

"Who I am should be obvious, Jedi," the clone said, his smile widening. "I ask you again: will you strike first?"

"I-" and Obi-Wan's saber flew out of his grip, into the clone's black-gloved hand. Swiftly the clone deactivated both sabers and launched himself at Obi-Wan, knocking the young Jedi to the ground, pinning his arms to his sides,hooking his legs around the Jedi's, forcing him flat.

"You're no challenge, Jedi," the clone said mockingly.

Obi-Wan struggled, but the clone was incredibly powerful, his limbs like steel. He easily resisted Obi-Wan's efforts to throw him off. The young Jedi then called upon the Force, coiling and pushing outwards to dislodge his assailant, but the concentration of Force was met by the clone's mental wall, which seemed to collapse liquidly into Obi-Wan's consciousness and swirl around him, submerging him in Darkness. Obi-Wan gasped, slammed his mental shields up.

Desperately, Obi-Wan opened his mouth to cry out for help, hoping someone would hear him beyond the confines of his quarters. Abruptly the clone's hand clamped down on Obi-Wan's mouth.

"No. No outcries, Jedi," the clone whispered in his ear. "Time enough for that later." With that, the clone leapt to his feet, dragging Obi-Wan up roughly. A gesture, and coils of Force wound around the Jedi, imprisoning his limbs, silencing his vocal pleas. He was powerless to move as the clone disappeared into Obi-Wan's bedroom, returning with his outerrobe.

The clone draped the robe about Obi-Wan's shoulders solicitously, smoothed its folds. It was Qui-Gon's gesture, and the clone grinned as Obi-Wan glared at him. The clone leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Oh, yes, Padawan Knight. I know. I know so many things about your beautiful master. Things I'm only too happy to share with you...eventually."

The clone pulled his hood up, partially concealing his face. He dragged Obi-Wan, who was still pinioned by bands of Force, toward the door.

"Now, Kenobi," he murmured, "We're going to disappear, you and I. I think that I've done an admirable job of restraining you, and it won't do you any good to fight me. You'll only exhaust yourself. Now, Jedi...watch and learn. See the power of those who have given themselves to the Dark Side of the Force."

The door opened, and the pair stepped out.

Obi-Wan felt a brief surge of hope as they made their way through the corridors. Surely anyone who passed them would see his predicament, and aid him.

But he soon saw that no one thought that anything was amiss. Quite against his will, he found himself walking easily, striding through the halls of the Temple. He passed several knights who nodded to him as he bowed slightly.

Can't they at least see it in my eyes? he thought frantically. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry out to each individual who passed him. He grinned at a small group of Padawans who stopped and greeted him.

"Obi-Wan! We're going to get drunk. Care to join?" Cyrinda, a female apprentice whom with he'd grown up in the creche, was speaking. She mimed swigging a drink.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to beg for their help, and was sickened to hear himself laugh. " Not today. I've got bigger plans."

The Apprentices hooted and made lewd noises, and continued on their way, shouting crude advice to Obi-Wan...a joke, as he had a reputation for modesty, if not downright prudishness.

Obi-Wan was faint with terror. The clone was manipulating the Force as they traveled, forcing Obi-Wan into his characteristic easy stride, preventing him from broadcasting his distress...that much was obvious. But the apprentices hadn't even looked at the clone. The being was making himself dim, or invisible, cocooning himself in Force. Obi-Wan may as well have been alone.

They made their way out of the Temple, and into a waiting aircar with opaque black windows. The clone hustled Obi-Wan into the passenger seat. He forced his arms behind his back and bound his wrists with manacles. He locked the Jedi's ankles together with similar cuffs, then pulled a length of cloth from an inner pocket and blindfolded the young man.

Obi-Wan felt another stab of fear as his sight was taken from him, but he also managed to feel slightly hopeful again. The clone couldn't restrain him with Force indefinitely; it must have cost him more than he showed. Stealthily, Obi-Wan focused on his wrist cuffs, envisioned them, began to attempt to work them open. He spoke, attempting to distract the clone, who was maneuvering the aircar into traffic.

"What is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you right now is silence, Jedi."

"You can't possibly hope to get away with this, whatever your plans are. When the Council learns that I've been--" A stunning blow to the face made him cry out, and bite on the inside of his cheek. Obi-Wan heard the faint sigh of the autopilot engage. The clone grabbed him by the hair, drew him forward.

"When I want you to speak, Kenobi, I'll tell you to speak."

There was a rustling; then Obi-Wan felt hard leather-clad hands wrenching his jaw open. Almost choked as a knotted silken cloth was forced deep inside his mouth, then pulled tight and tied behind his head.

The clone took hold of his tail, pulling his head back. Obi-Wan let out a muffled shout.

"I know you're working on those cuffs, Kenobi," he hissed. "Save your strength."

Obi-Wan felt the cold sting of a needle in his neck.

And then he felt nothing.

....Kenobi...

....

....Kenobi...

....what...

Explosive pain in his leg. Obi-Wan groaned, his eyes snapping open.

"I said, wake up."

His own voice...? No. He remembered now. The clone.

He struggled to a sitting position. It was difficult; his hands were still bound behind him. Slowly, he took in his surroundings.

He was sitting on a pallet on the floor. His clothes had been replaced with a dark tunic and leggings. His feet were bare, his ankles chained to the wall in front of him. He felt a humming sensation around his neck; without seeing it, he knew that it was a collar, doubtless a Force dampener. His leg throbbed where the clone had kicked him. Reluctantly, he looked up.

The clone stood above him, smiling beatifically. He was dressed in Obi-Wan's Jedi garb...down to the boots and lightsaber. His hair was cropped close to his head, save for a short tail at the back and a long braid falling over his right shoulder, touching his ribcage. Obi-Wan took a closer look and stifled a sensation of helpless rage. The clone had taken his braid adornments...his bead and hair tie. Obi-Wan glanced down. His own braid was unplaited.

No one could have told Obi-Wan from the clone.

He took a deep breath, silently recited the fourth Litany for serenity.

"...Panic has no place in the mind of a Jedi. All of life is a puzzle, which yields most easily to calm and reasoned thoughts. All danger passes...one need only be prepared..."

Slowly, he grew more calm. The clone crouched down next to him, still smiling.

"You're a paragon of Jedi apprenticeship, to be sure, Kenobi. How proud your master must be."

Obi-Wan turned cold, appraising eyes on the clone.

"You can't possibly hope to escape undetected. Whatever your plans are...they will fail, I assure you." His voice was firm.

The clone laughed. "Jedi...I'm going to make things very easy for you. "

"I don't know what you mean," Obi-Wan said steadily.

"First things first, Padawan. I've been terribly rude to you, and I apologize. I haven't even introduced myself."

"You're an affront to all that I believe in. No name is necessary."

The clone's eyes darkened in anger, and he stiffened, half-raising a hand as if to strike the young Jedi. Obi-Wan gazed at the clone, unflinching.

The clone lowered his hand.

"I advise you not to provoke me, Jedi. I do."

Obi-Wan was silent.

"As I was saying...I haven't introduced myself. Iam Darth Belial."

Obi-Wan looked at him askance. "Darth Belial? You take a lot on yourself."

The clone smiled gently. "Meaning what?"

"That title...an honorific among the Sith."

"You doubt me?" Amused, Belial reached out, cupped Obi-Wan's chin in his hand. Obi-Wan tried to squirm away, but the clone held painfully fast. Obi-Wan fought not to look away; the sight of this malignant being, the very image of himself, was almost too much to bear. And as his claim to be Sith...absurd. The Sith had been extinct for a thousand years.

"You feel that collar around your neck, Obi-Wan?" Belial said softly. "You guessed correctly. It is a Force inhibitor. Your powers are rendered useless. However, I've tweaked it somewhat...you'll be able to feel the Force, but you won't be able to command it. It will be a learning experience for you. Shall I demonstrate?"

It was barely perceptible at first. A nudge, a tickle, like the slight push of an incoming ocean tide. Then more insistently, coolness gradually becoming freezing cold, and the tide rising. Alarmed, he tried to slam his mental shields up, only to find them...not there at all.

NO!

Higher now, rising up and engulfing him, and the cold became searing heat, and cold again; he was drowning, suffocating in oily burning cold. His vision blurred, dimmed, and his universe was fire and frost and his own eyes boring into him...darkness like molten metal, and an image of another, more alien presence...fetid, corrupt, standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down at Obi-Wan, trapped at the bottom. Beckoning to him.

The clone's Master...A Sith Lord. Foul with hate for all that was Light; hate for the Jedi and their desire to serve. Thousands of years of virulence and malice and a lust for power and domination, and the Sith stretched out a hand to Obi-Wan, offering dark glory and power beyond all of his dreams, dreams long buried since before he became a Padawan apprentice.

....See what I can do for you, Jedi...

....no...no..nooo...

A desperate cry, and the clone released his hold upon Obi-Wan's mind. He stood, stepped back, as though to admire the effect he'd wrought on the young Jedi. Obi-Wan fell back on the pallet. His body shivered without end, as with extreme cold; his breath was ragged and harsh, and his body was soaked with sweat.

"Now you know, Jedi," Belial said. "You know who I am, and to whom I've sworn my allegiance. You cannot escape, and resistance will only result in suffering for you. Spare yourself unnecessary pain. Join us."

Obi-Wan, unable to speak, shook his head.

Belial smiled widely, well-pleased.

"Very good, Padawan Knight. Precisely the response I was hoping for." He clasped his hands together, bowed his head over them, as though meditating.

Obi-Wan stared up at him, trying to collect himself.

The clone folded his hands within the sleeves of his--Obi-Wan's--brown outerrobe and addressed the young Jedi.

"Within a few weeks, we shall instigate a wave of assasinations and other acts of terror upon Coruscant and other key worlds of the Republic. Our involvement shall be concealed, naturally, but it will be evident that some kind of conspiracy is behind these actions. Of course, the Senate and other governing bodies will declare a state of emergency, assume special powers, and deploy extraordinary security measures. The citizens of Coruscant and the other beleaguered systems will accept these measures gratefully, even clamor for them. They will accept these proposals, made by certain...key figures, and they will presume that the measures are temporary.

"But as you know, Obi-Wan Kenobi...history teaches us that power, once seized, is seldom relinquished. It is time to sweep the Republic away, and make way for a new regime."

"You can't do this," whispered Obi-Wan, dizzy with shock and horror.

"All the pieces are in place, Kenobi," Belial replied. "One of our first acts will be infiltration of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. A thermal detonator, concealed within the Council Chamber, will take the lives of those most esteemed among the Jedi. They will lose their center, lose their way. The darkness shall come from within...from a young Padawan apprentice."

"NO!" Obi-Wan surged up from the pallet despite his bonds, raging, wanting to kill the smirking bastard that stood so confidently before him, spouting obscenities. A wall of Force slammed him down, and he felt a tightness at his throat.

"I warned you, Jedi. Do not provoke me."

The constriction disappeared, and Belial swung, struck the Jedi a stunning blow. Reached down, freed Obi-Wan's ankles, and dragged him up. Forced him out of the small cell and into a dim, filthy hallway.

"Come, Jedi. I want to show you something."

Qui-Gon strode into his quarters and shed his robe, tossing it carelessly onto a low couch. He dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

Damnation, he thought. The meeting with Master Koth had not gone well at all. Master Koth had dismissed Qui-Gon after an hour.

"I sense a loss of focus, Qui-Gon. Perhaps we had better leave off until you can discipline yourself more thoroughly." Qui-Gon chose not to respond to the rebuke, but simply nodded, bowed, and left, making his way quickly to his quarters.

Eeth Koth was absolutely correct in his assertion; it would have been pointless to contradict him. Qui-Gon was and had been distracted for some time...longer than he cared to admit.

However, in the past week, the distractions had become unsettling.

He'd been bombarded with images of Obi-Wan that were nearly impossible to banish. Every meditation technique that he'd tried had been a miserable failure. The images had even permeated his dreams, and upon awaking he'd discovered with half-amused disgust the physical manifestations of his arousal.

Perhaps, thought Qui-Gon, it was time to reevaluate his situation

Nine years. Nine years Obi-Wan had been Qui-Gon's Padawan, and in that time Obi-Wan had grown up...wonderfully. Courageous. Loyal to his master, even when Qui-Gon's restless and sometimes eccentric nature pitted him against the Council. Obi-Wan had become more outspoken in the past few years regarding some of Qui-Gon's more impulsive urges, but that only served to increase Qui-Gon's growing respect for the young man. A pupil who was too willing to blindly follow his master's every whim was a dangerous thing.

And...Obi-Wan had grown in grace. And beauty. Jedi master though he was, Qui-Gon had to turn away occasionally from the sight of his Padawan...the trust and innocence reflected in those fine features was nearly blinding.

Although Qui-Gon treated some aspects of the Jedi Code with an unstudied casualness, he always adhered to the Code in the training of his apprentice. When he first noticed his changing perceptions toward Obi-Wan, who had been seventeen at the time, he'd examined his feelings carefully, initially believing them to be mere physical stimulation. There was no doubt that the awkward youth had become a young man. A decidedly captivating young man.

Though the Jedi Order did not expressly forbid familial or romantic attachments, such were not particularly encouraged, because of the necessity of obedience to the Order. The Order, however, understood that celibacy was not necessarily constructive, and so Qui-Gon, like so many, had had liasons with men and women alike, always schooling himself against making such liasons permanent. As the years passed, he'd come to regard himself as having no need for such attachments; his devotion to the Jedi was absolute.

Qui-Gon had been stunned, therefore, to realize the depth of his feelings for Obi-Wan. It was true that the boy had given him renewed purpose; he'd brooded endlessly since the betrayal of his apprentice Xanatos, and along had come Obi-Wan, with his dauntless courage and boundless optimism, and pulled Qui-Gon, all but unwilling, back from the brink of despairing isolation and loneliness. He'd proved to be all that Qui-Gon could have hoped for, and more, despite his initial misgivings.

Affection and fondness between student and teacher was not unusual, given the close nature of the intense training of a Jedi. And certainly, an extraordinary student inspired extraordinary affection. But there was the Code. And Qui-Gon understood; he understood only too well. A sexual invovement between master and apprentice was forbidden...such might cause instability, a violation of trust and dependence...and there was the issue of coercion.

He understood.

A year passed. Two; three; and Qui-Gon could no longer deny his emotions for Obi-Wan, though he did suppress them rigidly. He had made a grave error once, when Obi-Wan was nineteen. He had probed delicately into Obi-Wan's thoughts while the boy was sleeping, to try to discern if he held any feeling at all for his master. Obi-Wan's shields had risen in alarm, even in his unconscious state, and Qui-Gon had hastily withdrawn, consumed with shame and self-loathing. He'd gone off for two weeks to meditate, with barely a word to Obi-Wan, and returned, resolved not to ever invade his Padawan's privacy again.

Since then, he'd kept his feelings under tight control, and the training bond had suffered; he knew it. Their non-verbal communication had been reduced so that all that remained was a perfunctory mode of communication; it was rather like a malfunctioning comlink. Qui-Gon had tried to compensate by challenging Obi-Wan's ability to perceive the Living Force from within, but there was no substitute for the unique bond that existed between Master and Apprentice. And Obi-Wan had not questioned the wisdom of his master's teaching.

Qui-Gon exhaled deeply. Obi-Wan was blameless. The fault was his own. And in the past week, Qui-Gon had come to realize that he might have done Obi-Wan a grave disservice in shielding himself so heavily. That someday Qui-Gon's foolishness would cause Obi-Wan to meet a crisis for which he was underprepared.

The damage would have to be prepared, carnal imagery notwithstanding. Control yourself, you damned fool, he thought. Transcend your flesh.

But not tonight, he thought, standing and walking to his room. Tonight he would purge himself of the agonizing mental pictures of his padawan.

Tonight he would give himself to abandon.

Elarec followed Qui-Gon into the bedchamber, unabashedly admiring the sight of the tall figure as he trotted to keep up with the man's long stride. Qui-Gon was far and away Elarec's favorite customer. He was beautiful and obviously educated; Elarec had only had a rudimentary education, but he was smart enough to know a man of culture when he saw one. Too discreet to pry into the man's affairs, he was curious about him nonetheless. He rather thought that Qui-Gon was a Senator or a member of a house noble or royal. Qui-Gon wasn't a brute like some of the men Elarec had to deal with; he always treated Elarec tenderly. And he tipped well.

And he fucked Elarec thoroughly enough for him to enjoy it, long past the time when Elarec thought he'd derive any enjoyment at all from his job.

Qui-Gon's only idiosyncracy...if it could be called that...was his request that Elarec call him "Master". Which certainly was no hardship for Elarec. He'd called others the same, less willingly.

Elarec showed Qui-Gon to a deep chair and knelt before him, kohl-rimmed blue-grey eyes meeting Qui-Gon's with a shyness that was almost real. He knew it pleased Qui-Gon, and he dipped his head in humility.

"How may I serve you, Master?"

Qui-Gon lounged in the chair, gazing at the lithe golden-skinned boy before him. He leaned forward, took the boy's chin in his hand, traced a thumb over a slight cleft there. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Elarec lowered his eyes, but not before seeing a flash of...was it anger?... in Qui-Gon's blue eyes.

"Undress me."

"Yes, Master." Elarec bent to the task, unclasping Qui-Gon's belt and letting it fall. He gently untied the inner strings of Qui-Gon's deep blue tunic and opened it, reverently kissing the broad expanse of chest, allowing his tongue to gently tease one nipple. Elarec's tongue continued up, over Qui-Gon's clavicle, over the black leather thong tied about his throat. He closed his teeth momentarily on the skin of Qui-Gon's neck, smiling at the harsh indrawn breath he heard. He withdrew, bent down again and began to undo the multiple fastenings of Qui-Gon's tall black boots.

Qui-Gon reached down suddenly and grasped Elarec's wrists. Elarec, startled, looked into Qui-Gon's eyes. They blazed, and Elarec gasped as Qui-Gon stood and pulled him up swiftly. Qui-Gon still held Elarec's wrists, pressed up against his chest, and his mouth fastened on the boy's, kissing him deeply and almost painfully.

Elarec was surpised but not displeased by this change in Qui-Gon's behavior. Qui-Gon had always been gentle; indeed, he'd treated Elarec like a precious jewel, always proper and considerate. This, however was entirely new, and Elarec rather enjoyed it. He allowed his mouth to be plundered ruthlessly, pressing against Qui-Gon, feeling the man's erection through the leggings he wore. Qui-Gon kept a grip on Elarec's wrists with one large hand, and the other hand slid down to fondle Elarec's hip...then drifted back to grasp his ass.

Qui-Gon buried his face in the boy's neck and murmured something indistinct. Then again. Elarec strained to hear him. Thought it was a name. He felt an absurd rush of jealousy, and froze for a moment. He cursed himself inwardly, and melted into the kiss again.

Too late. Qui-Gon had pulled away, was looking at him with a curious melange of desire, sadness, and compassion. Nonplussed, Elarec stared back. Qui-Gon gave a little bitter laugh, released the boy, and sat on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Elarec."

"Master?" Elarec was furious with himself, but kept his anger out of his voice.

"I'm afraid I ...can't."

The look on the boy's face made Qui-Gon want to burst into mirthless laughter, but he had no desire to hurt him. He'd realized , even before he'd pulled the boy into the rough embrace, that his days of self deception were over. The boy bore a slight resemblance to Obi-Wan, which was why he had initially chosen him, but no amount of pretending could cloud the truth any longer. There was no help for it; he must confess his feelings to Obi-Wan. His conscience could no longer bear the strain.

Qui-Gon slowly refastened his tunic, retrieved his belt, and clasped it around his waist. Turned back to Elarec, who looked stricken. He felt a deep sorrow for the boy. His life could not have been easy, and Qui-Gon had always tried to treat him with the utmost kindness.

"Have I offended you, Master?"

"Elarec...no, never." He laid a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Master, is there something I can--"

"Qui-Gon." Softly. "Call me Qui-Gon."

"Qui-Gon..."

"You've been wonderful, Elarec. Thank you."

He pressed a huge tip into the boy's hand, left him staring bemusedly at it as he closed the door softly behind him.

Qui-Gon Jinn walked out into the odd purple glow of a Coruscant twilight.

He'd chosen his path.

The Code be damned.

The passage was long and poorly lit, illuminated only by a few suspensor globes. Obi-Wan had little time to make a thorough examination of the corridor, but he noted that the walls were quite old, stone, crosshatched with cracks. Granite slugs clung to the lower portions of the walls, clustered in dozens, their thick hairless bodies pulsing wetly. The floor was stone as well, and dotted here and there with puddles of slimy standing water that more than once nearly caused Obi-Wan to fall, hustled along as he was.

The clone was far from gentle; indeed, he seemed totally unconcerned with his captive's discomfort. He held the Jedi by one arm, shoving him viciously when he slowed or stumbled, ignoring the smoking glare that Obi-Wan gave him.

They'd gone almost a kilometer, by Obi-Wan's reckoning, when Belial finally stopped before a single door, outfitted with a retinal scanner. The clone leaned forward into the reader, still holding the young Jedi's arm in a viselike grip. The tiny light on the scanner changed from red to green, and the door swung open silently. The Sith lord yanked Obi-Wan into the room and pulled him along as the door closed behind them.

The room was huge, cavernous, lit with blistering white diasphatic tubing. It was dominated by a single bank of huge screens that wound around the perimeter of the room. Each screen was monitored--mostly by droids, although Obi-Wan saw a few sentient life forms focused on the activity onscreen.

Most screens were humming with intense, and somehow ominous activity. On one, a platoon of Sargothans performed blaster drills; on another, scores of beings unfamiliar to Obi-Wan swarmed over an enormous unfinished ship of a spade-shaped, menacing design; on still another, a ship that resembled a Trade Federation vessel was being loaded with ponderously large transports. The motion on the screens was so frenetic that it was perhaps natural that Obi-Wan's eyes should have been drawn to the two screens that showed no activity whatsoever...two screens that displayed two separate rooms, both familiar to Obi-Wan, both empty.

Obi-Wan felt a pang of foreboding.

The first room was the Senate Chamber. Obi-Wan had only seen it a few times, but he immediately recognized its striking circular design.

The second room...

The second room was the Jedi Council Chamber.

Belial's eyes followed his and he smiled, delighted at the Jedi's apprehension. He never slowed his pace,and Obi-Wan was obliged to follow or be dragged.

Obi-Wan scanned the beings who monitored the screens. Droids wouldn't be much help, as they were impervious to Force-persuasion. Obi-Wan 's mouth twisted, belatedly remembering the collar around his neck.

Hells.

The few sentient creatures who watched the screens didn't even look up as his captor forced him across the room.

They stopped at another door. A young Zabrakian stood in front of it, loosely cradling a blaster in both hands. If he was surprised at the sight of what appeared to be a Jedi Knight Apprentice shoving his bound twin towards the door, he gave no sign of it. He grinned unpleasantly at Obi-Wan.

The Sith lord glared at the Zabrakian.

"Get out of my way."

The Zabrakian shrugged, stood aside, and allowed them passage.

Belial dragged Obi-Wan through several darkened chambers. Obi-Wan could barely see anything at all; inwardly he marveled at the clone's surety of step.

They came to a single metal door set with a simple bolt. Belial shot the bolt and entered the room, pushing his prisoner inside. Obi-Wan stumbled, fell to his knees, but made no outcry.

The door shut behind them, and Obi-Wan could now barely see the robed form of the clone, whose voice floated out of the darkness.

"Strip."

"What?"

"I said, strip, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "I can't."

"Why not?" Silkily.

"My hands aren't free."

"Too true, Jedi. Let me assist you." The clone came towards Obi-Wan, hauled him up, and held Obi-Wan's bound wrists in his hands. He leaned forward and spoke softly into the young Jedi's ear.

"Now then, Kenobi," crooned Belial, "You remember that it took very little effort for me to subdue you earlier, and that was when you had the Force at your disposal. Don't do anything foolish, because then I'll be forced to do you grievous harm, and I have no wish to do so...yet. Understood?"

Obi-Wan considered Belial's words. It was true that the clone had overcome him easily, and Obi-Wan's face flamed at the memory. But anyone seeing an exact replica of themselves would undoubtedly be shocked, and perhaps vulnerable to attack, he reasoned. Even now, as he'd had time to digest the notion, he was still revolted. But his thoughts were clear.

Perhaps if his hands were freed, he could overpower the clone with sheer physical strength, get his clothes back, stage a ruse of some kind. Yes, the Force was temporarily beyond his grasp, but there was a possibility...he was torn between his desire for freedom, and his understanding of the need for caution.

In his mind's eye, he saw Qui-Gon. The lessons of his master washed comfortingly over him, and he could almost hear his deep, soft voice...

"One always has choices, Padawan...even with a blade at your throat. It depends on what you truly value...and what you do not."

Darth Belial's fingers dug into Obi-Wan's neck , jolting him painfully out of his reverie.

"UNDERSTOOD?"

Obi-Wan nodded. He would bide his time. He would be prudent.

He would survive.

"Yes."

He held perfectly still as the clone unbound his hands.

"Strip. Now."

Wordlessly and with an economy of movement Obi-Wan shed his clothes. He did not resist when Belial forced him to sit on a chair of smooth wood, bolted to the floor, and quickly, thoroughly, and efficiently bound him to the chair with several lengths of carbon rope.

Belial straightened, turned on a single suspensor globe directly above Obi-Wan's head, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Obi-Wan was rendered almost totally immobile. His feet were pulled back beneath the seat, his ankles bound to the single column base of the chair. Bands of rope, wrapped above and below his knees and anchored to the rim of the seat, held his legs apart. His wrists were crossed behind the back of the chair and tightly roped together. A short length of cord also pulled his elbows toward each other, forcing his shoulders back. Loops of rope encircled his waist, pressing the small of his back to the chair. More coils wound tightly about his shoulders, upper arms, and chest.

Obi-Wan tugged cautiously at the bonds. It seemed as if each cord were somehow connected to every other...he could not pull at the ropes that restrained his wrists or ankles without causing an increased tightness in them all.

His heart lurched unpleasantly. With the collar round his neck, it would be nearly

(Completely)

impossible to free himself. Once again he called upon the Force, summoned it to him, and once again felt the loathsome fluidity of the clone's Force signature. So not only was he incapable of using the Force, but he was confronted with the Sith lord's mental barrier.

The clone gave him a wide sunny smile.

And now Obi-Wan did start to panic, forgetting his training, forgetting the Litanies for serenity. He struggled, fighting the ropes, unable to prevent a low moan of frustration and dismay at his utter helplessness. The more he strained and writhed, the more the ropes responded with harsh intimacy, biting into his flesh, holding him in a cruel embrace.

Belial snickered at the young man's distress and turned away, flicking on more globes, bathing the room in a sickly greenish-yellow glare.

Obi-Wan stilled himself with tremendous effort, his eyes sweeping the room for anything that might aid in his escape.

The sight of the room, though, was far from reassuring.

On either side of him, against the walls, was rack after rack of dark and twisted implements...some wholly incomprehensible, if vaguely threatening; others whose use was only too plain. More such equipment was neatly arrayed on the end of a bench directly in front of him. Also in front of him, about two meters up, hung a single viewscreen, dormant.

On the floor surrounding the chair were dark stains of varying hues.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, sent a desperate plea to Qui-Gon.

//Master, help me. I am in great danger.//

Again the plea was met by silence.

Belial clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly circle the chair to which Obi-Wan was bound. Obi-Wan refused to look at him, keeping his eyes closed, striving for calm.

"Have you ever been to Sullust, Kenobi?"

The question, a shift in focus, threw Obi-Wan off slightly.

"No."

"Pity. It's possessed of a rather inhospitable climate...the surface is almost entirely volcanic, and most of its inhabitants live underground. The cities of Sullust are incomparably beautiful, though, and every kind of pleasurable vice is encouraged. I suppose it stands to reason that your master would not take you there." He stopped, cocking an eyebrow. "No, the Jedi would hate it there, wouldn't they. In any case, Sullust is where I...grew up, you might say."

Obi-Wan remained silent, wondering where all this was leading.

"My master awaits us there."

Ah.

The Sith lord stared at Obi-Wan, frowning. He sauntered to the bench in front of the Jedi and sat, picking up a durasteel implement with a wicked-looking hook at one end, idly turning it about in his hands, not looking at his prisoner.

"I was to kill you." Let the Jedi chew on that. Belial looked up and saw that Obi-Wan's eyes were open and were watching him unblinkingly, ignoring the instrument in the clone's hands.

"Had I not intervened, you would be dead now, Jedi. My master thinks that you are too dangerous to keep alive. After all, hostages unused as bargaining tools or bait are really so much pointless cargo."

"Your plot will be discovered, and you will be severely punished," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "The Jedi will discover the impostor in their midst...and my Master will certainly be able to detect the differences between us. You are a fool to think him so unskilled in the Force as to not know that you and I are profoundly dissimilar."

"Don't misunderstand me, Padawan. I am well aware of your Master's Force-adeptness. But I am also aware that the training bond between the two of you has been greatly diminished in recent years. Why is that, I wonder?"

"You dare to presume--"

"I don't presume, Jedi. I know. I've had ample opportunity to observe you. Before I ever laid eyes on you, I was schooled in the vat to absorb the full scope of your entire being. There's nothing I don't know about you. And I must confess, I find myself quite taken by you. Of course, I'm grateful to you for my life, but it's more than that, Kenobi. You really are very interesting, for a Jedi. Such complex emotions for one so young, one dedicated to the Light.

"The relationship between you and Qui-Gon Jinn, now...that's intriguing, I think."

"How so?" Icily. Do not engage this being in debate, all his instincts shouted. Silence is the best response. He attempts to draw you out, make you vulnerable. Yet he felt compelled to defend Qui-Gon in his master's absence.

"Well, for instance, it's quite plain that you love each other."

"Naturally. He is my teacher, and my dearest friend."

"Don't be coy, Jedi. It's sickening. You desire each other."

Obi-Wan's face bled of all color.

"What?"

"Oh, yes," Belial said. "I've been watching both of you, you see. It's quite impressive, that Jedi reserve. But feelings are always revealed in the eyes, Obi-Wan, despite the masks you throw up. It's a good thing that none of the Council has seen, or you'd have some explaining to do. Certainly you'd be censured, perhaps even separated."

Obi-Wan gazed intently at Belial, barely hearng his last words, hardly daring to breathe. He searched the clone's face, seeing no deception in the face, his own face, staring back at him.

Was it truly possible...his master...Qui-Gon wanted him.

Wanted him.

A smile spread over Obi-Wan's face then, a smile of love and trust and radiant happiness, and Belial's heart twisted viciously. His next words were spat out contemptuously.

"It's a shame that the Code prohibits the sort of relationship that you desire, is it not?"

Obi-Wan looked up at him then, and his eyes were calmly triumphant.

"I won't be his student forever."

"Determined to obey...the Council would approve. Still...how can you be sure that Jinn will wait for you? He is only a man, after all, and he may grow weary of waiting. In fact, I know that he frequents a particular brothel, fucks a young man that looks like you. It appears that any substitute will do," Belial sneered.

"He'll wait." And Obi-Wan knew that it was true. If Qui-Gon was frustrated, how could he blame him from seeking pleasure in the arms of another, hesitating to upset his apprentice? And Obi-Wan had taken his share of lovers, all the while wishing each was Qui-Gon.

But if they both knew...everything would be different.

Belial's voice, cold and precise, interrupted his thoughts.

"He might, Padawan. Then again..."

Obi-Wan looked serenely at the Sith Lord.

....all danger passes...one need only be prepared...

He would escape. His predicament was temporary. He would warn the Council of the impending danger to themselves and to the Republic.

....I will not fear...

And then...then he would lay his heart bare before his master.

The Sith lord was regarding him thoughtfully. A slow, malevolent smile spread across his features.

"Then again, Padawan Knight...he may not have to wait."

Obi-Wan scowled at him, perplexed. Surely his captor had no intention of releasing him. He would need to rely on his own wits to escape, so what was he talking about, unless...

Unless...

"No."

The clone only continued to smile at him.

"No...no..." Obi-Wan shuddered violently.

The clone started to laugh, and Obi-Wan, filled with helpless fury, once again struggled, wriggling like a fish in a net, hissing with pain as the carbon rope cut into his flesh, yet quite unable to stop himself.

"NO!"

Belial's laughter pealed throughout the room, filling Obi-Wan's ears, taunting him as he fought to free himself. Angry tears sprang into Obi-Wan's eyes and he clenched his teeth as he raged at the clone.

"If you touch him, I will kill you, I swear it, I swear." More laughter, and Obi-Wan bit back an enraged sob.

"Kill me, Jedi? Kill me, in anger? A stain on your soul."

"I'd gladly spill your blood, clone," spat Obi-Wan.

Belial wiped his eyes, still chuckling. He walked over to Obi-Wan's discarded tunic and retrieved it, tearing it into strips. He stood in front of the Jedi and rolled one of the strips into a fairly large ball. He seized Obi-Wan's lower jaw in one hand. Obi-Wan shook his head in a spasm of negation and in an attempt to escape the clone's painful grip. The clone merely tightened his hold, and digging into the delicate pressure points on Obi-Wan's jaw, forced his mouth open and stuffed the cloth inside. He tied another strip of cloth over his mouth, knotting it behind his head.

"Careful, Kenobi," Belial said. "Don't choke on that."

Obi-Wan screamed his defiance, but the scream was reduced to a stifled wail, and tears slid down his cheeks.

The Sith resumed his seat on the bench and considered his captive.

"It's not that I think that anyone will hear you and come to your rescue, Jedi. We're far beyond anyone hearing you...or caring. I want to show you how completely I own you. Nothing you do will be without my consent. Your will is not your own. Speech is a luxury, not a privilege."

Two pairs of eyes the same shape and hue met each other squarely; one rebellious, the other contemplative.

"Perhaps I should just cut your tongue out."

Obi-Wan glared at the clone.

Belial shrugged and stood.

"I should thank you, Kenobi...I'm almost surprised that it didn't occur to me sooner. I was simply going to kill Jinn, and make you watch. Of course, I will still kill him, and he'll have no idea that it's not his own beloved apprentice taking his life."

Obi-Wan shook his head, his eyes wild, making smothered inarticulate noises behind the gag.

Belial turned to the monitor bank, switched it on.

An image formed on the screen.

Qui-Gon's bedroom.

"Your Order really has become soft, Jedi. I put that tiny hovercam on your quarters more than a week ago, and you never noticed. Lax," he chided.

"Lucky for you that I did, though," he continued."You'll be able to witness the end result of years of repressed desire...Obi-Wan Kenobi finally gets to fuck his master!" He laughed again.

Obi-Wan pulled futilely at his bonds again. He had to free himself, had to stop this...

The Sith lord moved behind Obi-Wan and leaned down, putting his mouth next to the Jedi's ear. One hand came up to cup Obi-Wan's chin; the other drifted to the young man's chest, fingertips lazily circling his nipple.

"My lovely padawan," the clone whispered soothingly. "So beautiful. So innocent. It's going to be such a pleasure to train you."

Obi-Wan made a noise of protestation.

"Not a pleasure, you say? I disagree."

Obi-Wan tossed his head, trying to twist out of Belial's grasp, hating this forced intimacy, but the Sith lord held him fast, still speaking into the Jedi's ear.

"You are lost, Jedi, as is your once-great Republic. Its days are numbered, and there is nothing you can do to save it."

....no...

"You can submit willingly, or you can resist. Those are your only options. There is no chance of escape, and no hope of rescue. No one will look for you. As far as anyone knows, Obi-Wan Kenobi is performing his usual duties at the Jedi Temple.

"Two choices, Jedi. Either one will bring me pleasure. "

His tongue flickered out, traced Obi-Wan's ear. His teeth nipped the Jedi's earlobe, and his fingers tightened, pinching Obi-Wan's nipple.

"Sweet...like honeyed wine. Lovely."

Obi-Wan's gorge rose.

The clone straightened.

"I'll leave you to meditate on your choice, Kenobi."

He walked to the door, pulling up the hood of Obi-Wan's robe.

"Meanwhile, you'll be entertained. I'll make sure you don't miss anything."

He left, bolting the door behind him.

Obi-Wan threw his head back, let out a muffled, despondent cry. He began to work on the restraints again, attempting to arch his back and flex his limbs. He tried to focus, his fingers curling, seeking a knot or break in the cord.

....there is no emotion; there is peace...

The rope abraded his skin from his frenzied efforts.

....there is no ignorance; there is knowledge...

His body gleamed with sweat despite the dank chill of the room.

....there is no passion; there is serenity...

Tears streamed from his eyes.

....there is no death...

....Master...

....there is no death...

For the first time in his life, he felt the first stirrings of hopelessness.

His eyes fastened on the monitor above him.

Qui-Gon was in his bedroom, meditating, when he heard Obi-Wan's quick, light footsteps. He took several deep, calming breaths.

Time to leap from the cliff.

He walked into the common room, seeing Obi-Wan hastily picking up his meditation beads from the floor. The young man turned, smiling at him, then straightened and gave him a short bow.

"Good evening, Master."

"Obi-Wan." A nod. "How do you feel?"

"Very well, Master. I did go to the healing dome as you suggested. I assure you, I am fully recovered." Quick grin. "I'm sorry to have left you so abruptly."

"Not at all, Padawan. Your health is of the utmost importance." Idiot, he thought. Just say it. His hands were folded within his robe and he dug his nails into his flesh. He felt queasy. I can't do this, he thought. His mouth opened to say something, some banal excuse.

"Padawan."

"Yes, Master?" Did the boy aways have to look at him that way, he wondered. Trustingly, with a respect bordering on veneration...no, not a boy, he corrected himself. A man, in the full flower of youth and beauty, a man grown...nearly a Knight.

Now. No turning back.

"Padawan, I must speak with you."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan nodded deferentially, not moving.

Qui-Gon gestured to the couch. "Perhaps you'd better sit down, Obi-Wan."

"Oh. I thought you'd prefer to talk in your room." He looked abashed, and then added hurriedly, "Unless you'd rather not, Master."

"By all means,"Qui-Gon said, smiling. As he waved his apprentice into his room, he closed his eyes briefly. At least I didn't suggest it myself, he thought. Force help us both.

Qui-Gon sat on his sleep-couch, and Obi-Wan knelt on the floor, settling back on his heels, hands resting on his thighs.

"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, distressed. "Sit here, beside me." He'd be damned if he was going to bare his soul while his padawan knelt at his feet. Obediently Obi-Wan unfolded himself gracefully and sat on the couch.

"Padawan," he began carefully, "This isn't going to be easy for me, and I beg your patience."

"Of course, Master." Again that sweet smile.

"You have been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan...no, forgive me, padawan, I give you faint praise indeed. You have been a most exemplary pupil. I could not have chosen a better one. I truly believe that the Force brought us together, despite my resistance to its will, damn stubborn fool that I am."

"Master--" Qui-Gon held a hand up.

"Please, Padawan. Let me finish before my courage fails me."

Obi-Wan's brow knit at that, but he said nothing.

"You have been a constant source of joy to me, Obi-Wan. You have a fine mind, and a dedication to the Order that others would do well to follow. Your grasp of the Unifying Force is remarkable, and in time I know you will master the Living Force as well. You will be a great Jedi."

"If I am, Master, it is entirely due to your guidance." Obi-Wan said softly.

"Obi-Wan, I wish it were so. I have failed you."

"Master?" Questioning look.

"I have neglected our training bond."

Obi-Wan silently lowered his head.

Qui-Gon felt a rush of shame. Obi-Wan had noticed, of course he had. And had not criticized his master for it. Why should he? It was the master's responsibility to maintain the bond, was it not, as one whose Force abilities were superior to a young padawan's.

"Obi-Wan...I am so sorry."

Obi-Wan looked up, and Qui-Gon saw the faint gleam of unshed tears in the young man's eyes. I have hurt him, he thought.

"Master..." Whispered. "I had thought that you were displeased with me...that I was too dependent on the bond..."

Qui-Gon's heart clenched painfully. He reached out, grasped Obi-Wan by the shoulders. "No, Padawan. The fault is mine...entirely. I must tell you why."

Obi-Wan nodded mutely, not looking at him.

"Obi-Wan...over the past few years you have come to mean so much more than a pupil to me."

Obi-Wan looked at him, the expression on his face unreadable.

"I love you, Obi-Wan. Not simply as my Padawan, not just as a pupil. As a man."

There. He'd said it. Gracelessly, but eloquence was superfluous. Plain truth was better. He watched Obi-Wan's face intently.

"You love me," breathed Obi-Wan.

"Yes, my Padawan. In my desire to shield my emotions from you, I'm afraid I damaged our bond, and for that I am heartily sorry. You should have been able to rely on the bond until you are nearly ready to assume the full responsibilities of Knighthood. My actions have done you no good, and I only hope that we can mend the rift before permanent damage is done."

"Master--" Obi-Wan said hesitantly.

"Wait, Obi-Wan, there is more," Qui-Gon said urgently. "I cannot possibly expect you to share these feelings. I confess that I did hope that you would, but the last thing that I want is for you to feel that you must...oblige me...out of a sense of duty." He smiled ruefully. "There are those who say that I ignore the Code when it suits me. Simply revealing my feelings is a serious breach of the Code. To try to coerce you into a physical relationship would surely end my days as a Jedi, and deservedly so."

Obi-Wan stared wide-eyed at Qui-Gon.

"I hope I have not placed an unjust burden on your shoulders with my confession, Padawan. Please know that such was not my intention. I want you to know that I will always regard you with the highest esteem and affection, whatever you think of me--"

Obi-Wan leaned forward, captured Qui-Gon's mouth in a kiss, silencing him.

In a dark damp prison, below the Coruscant sublevels, a young Jedi sits helplessly bound to a chair. He is unable to move or speak, but his eyes convey all the anguish that the rest of his body cannot as he watches the screen in front of him.

Lightly, lips brushing over his.

A gentle pressure, increasing fractionally; now firm, now almost painful.

So sweet.

Qui-Gon kept his hands in his lap.

Intensifying and waning, and Qui-Gon finally pulled away, his heart pounding.

"Obi-Wan..."

"Master...how could you possibly think that I'd reject you?" Sea-colored eyes dancing, his expression very nearly gleeful.

"Padawan...are you certain...?"

"Master." Scolding, teasing tone, and Obi-Wan drew him into another kiss, draping his arms sinuously around Qui-Gon's neck. He opened his mouth, teeth gently latching onto Qui-Gon's bottom lip, worrying it gently. Qui-Gon yielded, and their tongues met, twining around each other, tasting each other, first hesitantly, then greedily, drinking in warm moisture. Qui-Gon's hands rose, sought out the perfection that was his Obi-Wan...now, at last, his, his own, nothing to keep them apart, and oh, Force, so beautiful...

Obi-Wan pulled back finally. A long look and he unclasped his belt, letting it fall, his eyes never leaving Qui-Gon's. Pulled at his tunic, and Qui-Gon stood, and began---were his hands shaking?--to divest himself of his clothing, watching Obi-Wan disrobe.

Damned boots.

Fingers flew at layers of clothing.

Finally...

"Obi-Wan," he said huskily, nearly undone at the sight of his naked Padawan, his flesh like pearl. "Let me--"

Obi-Wan knelt on the bed. His hand went to his penis, already half-hard. He looked back over his shoulder at Qui-Gon, wanton, beckoning. Qui-Gon stepped forward, and Obi-Wan arched his neck, licking his lips, his eyes half closed. Qui-Gon bent, kissed his shoulders, his back, his ears; his hands roamed freely, exploring thighs, hips, nipples, one hand finally coming to rest, curling around the hand that held Obi-Wan's cock.

"Master...inside me..." Obi-Wan twisted, knelt forward, his forehead pressed to one hand. The other hand remained on his penis, stroking its swollen length.

Qui-Gon--his hands most definitely shaking--retrieved a pot of scented oil from a drawer, smoothed a few drops over his hand. Obi-Wan groaned, presented himself to Qui-Gon.

"Now...now..."

Qui-Gon gently slid one finger inside Obi-Wan. Then out.

Obi-Wan groaned again.

Two fingers.

Three.

When he was satisfied that Obi-Wan was ready, he knelt behind him, entered him slowly.

"Master...ah...yes..."

Slow...

"Obi-Wan...my..."

Building...

And the pressure, pure need...

Sweet...agony...

Deep and endless, and Qui-Gon seized Obi-Wan's hips, thrusting mercilessly now.

Obi-Wan let out a cry of ecstasy, shuddered violently, and came.

Qui-Gon continued to thrust against Obi-Wan, still holding the young man's hips in a bruising grasp. Threw his head back, and climaxed with a shout, feeling his semen emptied into his padawan's beautiful body.

They both collapsed onto the bed, panting. Qui-Gon collected himself sufficiently to pull out of Obi-Wan and roll over, not wanting to injure the lithe young man beneath him, conscious that he outweighed Obi-Wan by a fair amount.

Obi-Wan shifted, gazed at Qui-Gon. One hand floated up to stroke Qui-Gon's face.

Qui-Gon smiled at him. "I do love you so, Obi-Wan."

"I..." Obi-Wan laughed suddenly. "Master...we should do it again."

Qui-Gon grinned more widely. "So soon, my voracious padawan?"

"Yes. Now. Again. Let's not leave this bed until neither of us can walk."

"If neither of us can walk, my apprentice, then we'll just have to stay in bed."

"Exactly." Another laugh, and Qui-Gon joined in, his hand clutching his forehead, miming exasperation.

"Are you trying to kill me, Padawan?"

Brilliant smile.

"What a lovely way to go." More laughter.

On the screen hanging above the young Jedi prisoner, the clone lying in bed with Qui-Gon Jinn stretches luxuriously, indolently. He turns his face to the screen and smiles.

"Wonderful."

He didn't want to watch at all.

But there it was, in front of him.

He couldn't help himself in the end.

He had surrendered to anger; he knew that. But the clone had been so thorough, so deliberate.

Obi-Wan knew that Belial was goading him. He'd displayed himself to Qui-Gon like a ten-credit whore; as if he knew that there was no need to entice, that the results of the encounter were inevitable.

That had hurt. How it had hurt.

But it was something that Obi-Wan could have accepted...eventually.

What had driven him to an almost mindless, searing rage was the knowledge that the clone had artfully fed Qui-Gon's guilt at the dissolution of the bond with his pretense at innocence, his whispered hesitant confidences, his tears.

My fault, Obi-Wan thought, still trying, fruitlessly, to undo the knots that held him to the chair. If only I'd told Qui-Gon, if I'd had the courage, that would be me and I wouldn't be here...the knots still held, as they had held the hundred times he'd fought them before.

As Qui-Gon's confession poured forth, he'd used every ounce of his strength and energy into a frantic mental cry.

Master, no, please, I'm here, I'm here, help me, please...

Useless, and he'd finally given up, no longer fighting the ropes, watching as the clone took his pleasure with Qui-Gon, hastily at first, then leisurely, doing everything that Obi-Wan had wanted to do, everything...had Belial stood watch as he slept, he wondered, weaving himself into the threads of Obi-Wan's dreams, taking what he would, anything that would please and arouse Qui-Gon and drive Obi-Wan into sheer misery? There wasn't a detail that Obi-Wan had not envisioned, down to the smallest gesture...a tender kiss to the back of Qui-Gon's hand, fingers carding slowly, softly through the heavy mass of Qui-Gon's hair, a smile...Obi-Wan had wanted to smile so at Qui-Gon. Belial's smile was a cruel mockery, and yet Qui-Gon returned the smile, unaware. Obi-Wan felt a momentary flash of anger towards Qui-Gon, but tamped it down hurriedly. Qui-Gon didn't know, couldn't know, and if they were both to blame for the fragility of the bond, then what right did Obi-Wan have to be angry? Qui-Gon was not to blame.

But though he directed his anger away from Qui-Gon, it remained, not flowing through him and out of him, but gnawing at his insides, growing and turning on itself, ravenous, feeding on the fear that also crept chillingly through him.

Anger at himself for allowing himself to be captured so easily. Anger at not being skillful enough to talk his way out of his situation...though, he reflected, he was given little opportunity to speak at all. Anger at his own weakness.

Anger at the clone.

Hatred of the clone.

Fear.

Obi-Wan had not stopped to contemplate his eventual fate. He was afraid to die, but he was determined that he would meet his death with dignity, when it came.

There is no death; there is the Force.

Once again he scanned the racks on either side of him.

The room was clearly designed to frighten whatever unfortunate victim happened to be occupying its single uncomfortable wooden chair. Obi-Wan willed himself to calm, focusing on the racks of equipment, shutting out the cries of ecstasy that filtered from the monitor above. In a way, his captor's reliance on psychological tricks was reassuring. Whatever Belial did to his body, Obi-Wan's mind was his own. A contest of minds was one that he had a chance of winning.

Winning, yes...but surviving?

That was something else entirely.

What were his choices?

Death or Darkness...

The first choice was terrifying.

There is no death; there is the Force...

What was the life of one Jedi, after all, in the greater scheme? Did he not exist to serve the greater good? Was it not better that he be sacrificed rather than become a servant of Darkness?

Wasn't it...?

He'd faced death before, and acquitted himself as bravely as he could. But not this, never like this...dying in agony, perhaps, with everyone he knew and loved thinking that he was still alive. How meaningless. How ignominious.

He didn't want to die.

He had another choice.

No.

Unacceptable.

How would he escape? How could he warn the Council of the threat to their lives?

And Qui-Gon...

His eyes drifted unwillingly back to the screen.

Belial would kill Qui-Gon. And Obi-Wan would watch. Powerless.

He wept silently, bitter tears trickling from his eyes.

Finally, hours later, he fell into an uneasy sleep, succumbing to exhaustion despite his extreme discomfort and overwrought emotions. He slept, and dreamt.

He was running through a vast dark forest, relentlessly pursued by armies of droids. As he outran each platoon, a new one would snap into formation, begin the chase. They moved with unhurried ease, thousands of them, as Obi-Wan stumbled through the gloom, brambles tearing at his clothing. He called out to Qui-Gon, who sat at the base of an enormous tree, but Qui-Gon could not or would not hear him, so he ran on, his breath coming in agonized gasps. Suddenly he fell, and to his horror saw that he was sinking in a deep pool of mud. Red-robed figures clustered around him as he foundered, whispering and sighing, their voices like the wind. He screamed as the mud rose about his waist, his chest, and he held out a hand to the figures, begging for help or mercy--and a hand did reach out to him, and as he clutched it convulsively, he looked up into the face of his rescuer, saw pale colorless eyes glittering from the recesses of an ebon hood.

Come to me, Jedi...

He awoke with a strangled cry, his eyes flaring open in terror.

Belial stood above him, his face distorted with rage.

"And so he calls you, Jedi."

Belial stood there glaring at him, his face a twisted white mask, his body smelling of sweat and sex.

He turned away from Obi-Wan, his head bent. He rubbed his upper arms over and over, as if he were cold. He breathed deeply. Obi-Wan watched the movement of his back.

Belial seemed to relax. He glanced back at Obi-Wan, and then strode over to the bench in front of the Jedi and kicked it over. Instruments of torture crashed and rattled and uncoiled upon the floor. He kicked it again, sending it slamming into the wall. He stalked over to Obi-Wan and grabbed his tail, yanking his head back sharply. His other hand slid around Obi-Wan's throat, squeezing tightly.

"Tell me, Kenobi," the clone said, his voice a ragged whisper, "Why is it that he calls you? Why? He wanted you dead before. Why this sudden change?"

Belial bit his lower lip, drawing blood. His fingers tightened on Obi-Wan's throat. Black spots danced in front of Obi-Wan's eyes as he struggled to breathe through his nose.

"He claims great foresight, Jedi. He does, he claims it. But he does not see. I showed him," the clone ranted, oblivious to Obi-Wan's frantic gasps for air. "I showed him the potential of taking you, of turning you. What does he hope to accomplish?"

He released Obi-Wan abruptly and sank to his knees in front of him, staring up at Obi-Wan, lifting a hand to stroke the Jedi's face, his fingertips smoothing over the gag. Obi-Wan pulled away, still trying to suck in precious air.

"He thinks to replace me, Obi-Wan. I feel it. He doesn't trust me. But it will not be so. It will not be so. He is the one--" and his face twisted again.

"He wants you, Jedi. But you are mine. Mine. And you and I together..."

Obi-Wan stared at the Sith in horrified fascination.

"He commands us to join him on Sullust, Obi-Wan. What do you think? Should we go? Should we join Lord Sidious? Is it time?" He held Obi-Wan's loosened Padawan braid, coiling and uncoiling it round his fingers. Again and again, pulling harder and harder, and Obi-Wan let out a faint cry--not of pain, but of apprehension.

Belial appeared not to hear him. He continued twisting Obi-Wan's hair, his eyes unfocused. Finally he released the braid and lowered his head into his hands, his elbows digging into Obi-Wan's thighs.

"No, I don't think it's time yet, Obi-Wan. Not yet."

His voice was clogged, muffled.

"I think that you and I will stay here for a while, don't you think, just a while, until we're ready. Both of us. Then we'll go...we'll go..."

Belial trailed off, then fell silent.

He remained still for a very long time, and Obi-Wan wondered if he was actually weeping.

But when he looked up, his eyes were dry, lucid...and filled with glee.

"Did you enjoy watching, Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan turned his face away.

"Because I certainly enjoyed fucking Qui-Gon. He's a most considerate lover, you know. He didn't give in to his baser desires, although I could feel them, raging to get out. He didn't give me the pounding that he wanted...that is, he didn't give me the pounding that you wanted.

"I felt you, too. I've become intimately connected to both of you lately. I felt your anger and your hate. You must feel as though you'd come very close to Darkness, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan wanted to weep. Darkness beckoned, and he had stepped towards it, all but embracing it, instead of resolutely turning away.

"You haven't."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, not understanding.

"Do you really think that, Jedi? Or could it be that the Jedi, all of the council, all the Masters and teachers simply shy away from the truth?"

Belial tugged on the cloth around Obi-Wan's head, pulled it down, and drew the sodden rag from Obi-Wan's mouth, tossing it aside.

"Tell me, Jedi. I'm curious. How close must one come to Darkness before falling to it entirely?"

Obi-Wan licked dry and cracked lips.His mouth ached dreadfully, and his tongue felt swollen and numb. He yearned to stretch his jaw but refused to give the clone the satisfaction of knowing that he'd caused Obi-Wan any discomfort. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"The path to Darkness is--"

"No! No Jedi wisdom, Obi-Wan. If I wanted to hear that claptrap, I would have asked for a philosophy lesson from Qui-Gon and left you gagged. I want to know what you think. And do try to be original, Obi-Wan. I know that the Jedi stifle individual thinking, but there must be a shred of brain matter that's not completely soaked with that pap they feed you."

Obi-Wan remained silent.

"Hmm. I would have thought that you would have welcomed the opportunity to speak. I do admire your prudence, though I think in this case it's motivated by cowardice. Yes?"

Silence.

"No? Feel free to disagree with me, Obi-Wan, it's one of the few freedoms you'll enjoy. Shall I tell you what I know to be the truth?"

Still kneeling before Obi-Wan, Belial reached out and caressed Obi-Wan's bruised mouth with a finger. Obi-Wan held himself still with effort.

"Momentary bursts of anger don't draw one to the Dark side, Kenobi. If that were true, every Jedi Council member would be well on the path to Darkness. It's perfectly natural to feel all those emotions that the Jedi would deny and repress. Tell me that there isn't a day that you feel anger, or passion, or fear, and I'll know you're a liar. You fight it every day, but you still feel it. Why? Why not give in, surrender yourself to your emotions? There's power in passion, Obi-Wan and yet passion itself does not lead to the Dark side. Nor does ignorance. Not separately, and not together.

"What, then, is the path to Darkness, Kenobi?" Belial's eyes were wide and blue and guileless, his face angelic.

Still Obi-Wan was silent.

"Can't guess? Here it is, Jedi. The answer to the question is knowledge. And free will. Two crucial tenets of the Jedi Code. Is it any wonder that the Jedi fear the Dark so? They are so close. Always. They shrink from it, but there it is."

Obi-Wan spoke then, a single word.

"Liar."

"No, Jedi. I speak the truth. You choose to blind yourself to it. Knowledge. Know hate. Know corruption. Know your passions. Let them guide you. Choose to let them guide you. It becomes effortless after a time. You become responsible only to yourself. Do what you will, Obi-Wan. Please yourself." As he spoke, the clone began to caress Obi-Wan's thighs lingeringly, gently, using only the tips of his fingers. He bent, kissed the tender flesh of one inner thigh. He looked up at Obi-Wan suddenly, his mouth quirking in a smile.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Obi-Wan gritted out from between clenched teeth.

Belial laughed.

"I'm beginning your education, Obi-Wan."

He bent down again and returned to Obi-Wan's thighs. His fingers found their way upwards, lightly scratching Obi-Wan's chest, trailing to his nipples, following the delicate pattern there, smiling when they responded, hardening almost instantly.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. This couldn't be happening, it was so grotesque.

He began a Litany, breathing deeply.

....I will live in fidelity to the Light. I will traverse the path to wisdom...

Belial's tongue darted into Obi-Wan's navel.

....the Light will be engraved upon my soul...

Circling around and around, and now sliding lower.

....and I will not fear...

Lower, to the soft skin above the thatch of red-gold hair.

....I will not...

Lower still.

....I...

Nothing but that mouth, relentless, and the unwilling reaction, his body a traitor to his soul.

"Stop..."

So persistent, and he didn't want this, he didn't, not from this thing...

"STOP!"

Belial stopped.

Obi-Wan was shaking, his body feverish. He glared at the clone.

"I hate you," he said.

Belial wiped his mouth. "Not good enough, Jedi."

He stood, walked over to a shelf, pulled down a simple vibroblade. Cut the ropes binding Obi-Wan to the chair, caught him before he fell bonelessly to the floor. Sat on the floor, Obi-Wan cradled in his arms. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead. Obi-Wan jerked his head away. It was the only movement that he was capable of. His muscles screamed in protest at the sudden release, used to hours of painful, enforced stillness.

"Let me go."

"Never."

"You'll be caught. They'll kill you when they find out."

"They're not going to find out, Obi-Wan." One hand closed on Obi-Wan's penis, fondling it slowly. The other tenderly massaged the torn and bruised skin of his wrist.

Obi-Wan gasped, humiliated at his weakness.

"Qui-Gon...will try to rebuild the bond...he'll know...he'll..."

"If that happens...which I doubt...I'll simply kill him. I'm going to kill him anyway."

"No."

"Yes. Although I'd like to fuck him quite a bit more. He's really amazing, Obi-Wan. Eventually I'm sure that he'll let go, and then we'll really enjoy ourselves. As it is, I find myself a bit...unsatisfied." Fingers twined in Obi-Wan's hair, and the pressure on his cock increased. "He's bigger than me, and I thought that I was impressively large. What a waste."

Obi-Wan's vision gained a reddish haze.

"Maybe I'll fuck him before I kill him," the clone continued blithely. "A leaving gift, you might say. What do you think?"

No, no, no...

He opened his eyes. He felt a sudden calm.

How he did it, he couldn't guess. But his body flowed up, heedless of the pain and the suffocated tissues of his abused flesh. Blinding speed and he whirled, kicking Belial full-on in the face, grinning savagely at the clone's enraged cry of pain. The clone jumped up, advanced on Obi-Wan, who had seized and was brandishing the same hooked instrument that Belial had subtly threatened him with hours before.

"Let me out, or I'll kill you, Sith."

Belial shook his head, irritated.

"You're a fool, Kenobi."

Belial lifted his hand, and Obi-Wan turned too late to prevent a heavy piece of equipment from smashing into his back. He crumpled to the ground with a low cry, felt the weapon wrenched from his grasp.

Belial dragged him back to the chair, flung him facedown, his chest pressed to the seat. He pulled Obi-Wan's arms forward, lashing his wrists to the base of the chair with remnants of carbon rope. He dug his fingers into Obi-Wan's scalp, yanked his head back.

"I would have been tender with you, Kenobi," he hissed. "We might have shared pleasure, you and I. I would have bestowed pleasure before I inflicted pain upon you. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps pain will cleanse you, make you more willing to receive pleasure later."

Obi-Wan fought desperately, his fear giving him unexpected strength. No mistake about what the clone planned to do now, and he yanked at the ropes and kicked and flailed, and once almost managed to dislodge himself from his vulnerable position.

But Belial was stronger, and Obi-Wan's legs were forced apart, the clone kneeling between them. One hand closed on his tail; he heard the sound of rustling cloth, and he tried to squirm away, crying out incoherent words.

"Let me go, let me go, you can't, no, help me, help me, Master, you can't, please--"

That hateful laugh again. "Well, if you'd rather pretend it's your master, Obi-Wan, I suppose that's all right with me..."

Obi-Wan sobbed.

"First lesson, Kenobi...do what you will."

He spread Obi-Wan widely apart, then pushed into the tight opening, past the ring of muscle, tearing delicate tissue and tender skin.

Obi-Wan moaned, a lost, agonized cry that made the clone smile again even as he grunted in his own pain, flesh against unprepared flesh.

Oh Master it hurts it hurts it hurts me...

Pain.

And his soul, a tiny light in a maelstrom of Darkness.

Belial pushed him to the floor, his wrists still bound to the base of the chair.

"Sleep, Kenobi. We'll begin again later."

Obi-Wan did not look up as the clone left the room.

He looks exhausted, Qui-Gon thought.

Obi-Wan was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, studying a datapad. His hair was wet, and his skin was glowingly clean. But his eyes were red, and there were violet smudges underneath them. He was ferociously intent on his reading, and didn't hear Qui-Gon come in.

"Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon softly.

Obi-Wan's head jerked up, and for a split second, Qui-Gon was taken aback. Obi-Wan's eyes were narrowed, flat, and wary. Then the illusion vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and Obi-Wan beamed, sprang up, and crossed the room. He threw his arms around Qui-Gon and embraced him tightly.

Qui-Gon, slightly surprised but not at all displeased at this demonstrative show of affection from his normally reserved padawan, returned the embrace warmly, seeking out the young man's lips with his own. They kissed, and Obi-Wan drew back almost shyly. He rested his head on Qui-Gon's broad shoulder.

"I missed you, Master," he said. "Where were you?"

"I met with Eeth Koth," Qui-Gon replied, his arms still wrapped about the young man, not willing to break the embrace. "We had unfinished business." He pressed his lips to the top of Obi-Wan's head, inhaling the scent of wet, freshly washed hair.

Would that I could always hold you so, Padawan, he thought.

"And where have you been, my apprentice, my early riser?" he teased. "I awoke and you had already gone. Most uncharacteristic of you, I thought."

Obi-Wan gazed up at him adoringly--Vanity, Qui-Gon told himself--a faint smile playing across his features, his eyes like night stars, and Qui-Gon felt an almost overwhelming surge of love. He wanted to kiss him and never stop...

"I went to Training Hall, and then I sat in on Master Billaba's philosophy class."

"Which explains why you look so drained, Padawan. The Chalactan school of thought is meandering and circuitous, is it not? I'm sure Master Billaba engaged you in debate."

"She did, Master," Obi-Wan admitted, "And beat me soundly, I'm ashamed to say."

Qui-Gon laughed and ruffled Obi-Wan's hair. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Padawan. Depa Billaba is the most agile debater that I have ever encountered, and she's made me feel like an idiot on more than one occasion. It's maddening."

"Yes, Master." A quick dip of the head, and an impish grin.

"Have you eaten, Obi-Wan?" asked Qui-Gon, finally--reluctantly--relinquishing his hold on the young man and leading him into the kitchen.

"No, Master."

"Nor have I, and I'm famished," Qui-Gon said, opening the cooler and rummaging through its contents.

"I can't believe this. Nothing," he announced.

"The cooler's full of food, Master."

"Yes, but there's nothing that I want," he said, with a sideways glance at Obi-Wan. It was a not very subtle hint, and he should be ashamed of himself. He'd taken advantage of his apprentice's impromptu culinary skills countless times. Idly he wondered where Obi-Wan had learned to cook. Certainly not from me, he thought.

"Master...there's quite a lot to eat. I'll heat up some stew."

"Fine. Thank you, Padawan."

Damn.

They ate companionably, with a minimum of conversation. Qui-Gon rose to tidy up, and Obi-Wan made sweet tea and carried it into the common room, where they sat, sipped. and made desultory conversation. Qui-Gon was intently aware of his apprentice's eyes on him, and wondered if there was a graceful way to let Obi-Wan know that he had an enormous erection, and could they possibly make love now, immediately?

Probably not.

"How was your meeting, Master?"

"Ah, very productive, Obi-Wan, and thank you for reminding me. I don't know where my mind is," he said, stretching his legs and sighing, trying to ignore his penis, which seemed to have achieved a life of its own. There's your mind, he remonstrated himself. Calm down. "We have a mission in a little less than a fortnight."

Obi-Wan looked at him in what Qui-Gon could have sworn was dismay.

"A...mission, Master?"

"Yes, Padawan. We are to go to Yrrna. There are rumors of terrorist activity there, and we are to--what's wrong, Obi-Wan?" Obi-Wan's face had become very pale and his eyes looked panicked. Qui-Gon frowned.

"Yrrna...but that's...that's an Outer Rim system...so far away."

"So it is, Obi-Wan. Why do you object? You're usually pleased when we leave Ccoruscant." Qui-Gon peered closely at his apprentice. Obi-Wan looked terrible. Qui-Gon would have to find out which of the healers had treated him. Clearly he was unwell.

Obi-Wan looked down, swallowed. "Forgive me, Master. I have no right to question you."

"Of course you do, Obi-Wan. I value your opinion. You know that." He covered Obi-Wan's hand with his own. "If you have a concern, you must tell me. We can no longer conceal things from each other."

"Yes, Master. It's just that..." he trailed off.

Qui-Gon waited.

"I...I just want you to...it's just that I want you all to myself. No distractions," Obi-Wan said, not meeting his eyes.

Qui-Gon could not refrain from smiling."Obi-Wan...you have me. No need to worry...or to let a mission get in the way." He reached out and brushed a hand gently over Obi-Wan's face, which was sleek enough to indicate that he'd just shaved, but there was a hint of masculine roughness as well...it was a distractingly erotic combination.

"Besides, " he continued, "A mission can provide many creative environs for lovemaking, Obi-Wan. Starship bunks, cargo holds, tents, single beds, 'freshers...the possibilities are limitless."

Obi-Wan laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Yes, Master." All at once the smile died.

"There's more, Padawan. Out with it."

"Master...what about the Council?"

"The Council?"

"Yes. The Council. And the Code. Because we..." he waved a hand. "You know."

He did. And he'd anticipated the question. He chose his words carefully. "With your permission, Obi-Wan, I intend to approach the Council regarding our relationship. You're not a child any longer, Padawan--indeed, you're well past the age of consent--but there will be an uproar of some kind. I'm certain of it. You may be called before the Council, so that they may ascertain that you haven't been forced, or coerced. It may be unpleasant for you, and I have no wish to see you suffer in any way."

"I see," murmured Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon felt another surge of love, nearly pain. Obi-Wan looked so young at that moment, and Qui-Gon knew that this must have been bothering him.

"As I said, Obi-Wan, I won't approach the Council without your permission. Give it time, my love, think about it. Until then we will be circumspect."

In all truth, Qui-Gon would have gone to the Council immediately. But he wanted to give Obi-Wan time and space to absorb their situation. He was so young, and doubtless still hungered for new experiences. Qui-Gon had no desire to hinder him...if Obi-Wan had doubts, let him resolve them before they met up with the inevitable obstacles that the Council would present.

Qui-Gon himself had no such doubts.

He lifted Obi-Wan's hand, pressed it to his lips.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon through his lashes.

"Come, my love." Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan up, led him into the bedroom.

Obi-Wan stopped at the doorway.

"Damn."

"What is it?"

"Oh...nothing, master. Something I forgot to do earlier."

"Can it wait, Padawan?" Jestingly.

That smile again, achingly sweet.

"Of course, Master."

"Master..."

"Yes..."

"Make it hard. Make it hurt me."

"Obi-Wan..."

"Yes. Make it hurt." He slithered off the bed to the floor, crawled to the discarded clothing. He pulled a tunic sash from the pile, held it up before Qui-Gon, eyes blazing.

"Tie me up."

"Oh, Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon trailed off uncertainly.

"Do it. Bind me, use me, please yourself, Master."

Hesitantly Qui-Gon took the sash from Obi-Wan's hands.

"Are you certain, my love? I don't--"

"Yes!" Nearly a hiss. "Make me feel what--" he stopped.

"What?"

"Do it, Master, please."

Obi-Wan. On his knees. His for the taking. Offering himself...

Qui-Gon brushed a finger over his mouth. "How would...how would you like me to..."

A long moment of silence before Obi-Wan spoke.

"As my Master wishes."

It was too much. Qui-Gon stood, and walked around Obi-Wan, dropped to his knees behind him. He crossed Obi-Wan's wrists behind him and bound them with the length of sash, careful not to cut off the young man's circulation. He stood and watched Obi-Wan, gazing at him, his own erection painful now in its intensity. Yet he delayed; he delayed his own urges to behold the vision in front of him,incredibly beautiful, not one he would have chosen, nearly alien in its appeal...his padawan, bound, on his knees, submissive, his penis jutting out, gods, yes...

He took in the details that were the sum of Obi-Wan's beauty, aware that he'd done it a thousand times before. But then it was...furtive, guilty, and he'd been ashamed of himself, at his lack of control. Now he was free to look as he might, to please himself.

Obi-Wan's head tipped down, and Qui-Gon bent low and planted a kiss at the vulnerable looking base of his neck. He knelt again behind Obi-Wan and kissed his shoulders, the tip of his tongue dancing over the freckles there, a pattern he'd long since memorized. Down his back, over the delicate protrusion of spine and shoulder blades, enhanced by muscle and sinew. Power sheathed in beauty.

He kissed Obi-Wan's arms down to his bound wrists. Obi-Wan's fingers flexed and Qui-Gon kissed them, taking two, then three in his mouth, biting gently. Obi-Wan groaned. "Master..."

"Yes, my Obi-Wan?"

"Not enough...make it hurt me...I want you to."

"I thought you would have me please myself, love."

"You want to. I know it...ahh..." and he trembled as Qui-Gon's hand insinuated itself between his thighs, manipulating his balls, now curling around his cock and exerting only the smallest bit of pressure.

"Master...take me..."

Take me.

Use me.

Hurt me.

Again too much, and all the instincts he'd never known he possessed rose up, claimed him, and he rose upwards, dragging Obi-Wan to the bed, pleased at the gasp of pain or pleasure that escaped his apprentice, his student, his to command. He flung Obi-Wan face down, reveled in the sight, the position in which he'd landed, his head turned to the side, his legs spread, knees ever so slightly bent, his bound hands curled into fists as if in fear, pulling at the restraints. Obi-Wan ground his hips into the bed and let out a strangled cry.

"Master, no, please, no...let me go..."

Qui-Gon hesitated. A ripple of Force, a whisper, another voice...no.

His own dark urges, and he would obey, because he could not stop himself, no, not even if he wanted to. He swiped hastily at the pot of oil, rubbed it over his cock, and plunged in, savagely delighting in the primal howl that arose from the writhing body beneath him, not caring whether the cry was one of agony or ecstasy, and he pounded, the sound of Obi-Wan's moans, their bodies slamming against each other, and his own guttural cries resounding in his ears, intoxicating, and finally they came, one after another, their voices blending, dissonant music, crashing again and again.

Qui-Gon drifted in and out of sleep.

"Obi-Wan." A murmur.

"Yes, Master?"

"We must begin to work on our bond. It has suffered....before things get..."

He yawned hugely.

"Get what, Master?"

"Complicated." Another yawn.

"Oh. Of course. Don't worry, Master." Arms stole around him.

"Anyway..." he mumbled sleepily, "think of the sex. Bond-enhanced sex, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan laughed, and Qui-Gon smiled as he spiraled slowly into sleep.

He slept deeply, not feeling the man beside him rise noiselessly from the bed and leave the room.

As Mace Windu left his quarters for Council, he nearly stepped on a small parcel outside his door. Frowning, he picked it up and looked at it. It was wrapped in silk and tied with a ribbon.

He unwrapped it slowly.

A holodisc.

He went back into his quarters and slid the disc into his comm unit.

His smooth dark countenance betrayed no emotion as he watched the contents of the disc for several very long minutes.

He left once again, pocketing the disc and making his way to the Council chamber. The other members of the council were already seated.

"You're late, Master Windu." Ki-Adi-Mundi's voice was slightly irritable.

"We have need to discuss a serious matter, Masters."

"We have an agenda, Master Windu. Can it not wait?"

"It cannot wait." His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking its gravity.

"Very well. What does this concern?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn...and his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan didn't sleep, not at first.

He lay curled around the base of the chair to which his wrists were still bound in a hazy twilight of pain and soul-weariness. Hours he spent like that, not thinking, his mind unfocused. Somewhere within him there was shame and rage; there was humiliation and defeat; but some part of him quelled the roiling emotions, letting his mind drift. Perhaps it was just as well; he'd been brutally abused, and perhaps it was too soon, just now, for a thorough examination of the self.

And finally, mercifully, he fell asleep, and dreamed again.

He dreamt of Qui-Gon, tall and noble and beautiful, who took Obi-Wan into his arms and murmured endearments and whispered soothingly to him, and Obi-Wan trembled and clung to him like a child.

"Master...I'm so afraid."

"Fear not, my Obi-Wan, my dear one. Have faith. All will be well."

Large hands caressing him, so gently, so softly, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to be comforted. He burrowed into Qui-Gon's embrace, loving the feel of the other man's arms around him, hungering for the affection that had been so long denied...but there was more, and Obi-Wan remembered now, and pulled away, though it hurt him.

"We are in danger, Master. All of us."

"Where is the danger, my padawan?"

And he wanted to tell him, so badly, but he couldn't speak, and he was wrenched from Qui-Gon's arms by unseen hands, and Qui-Gon disappeared. Obi-Wan was standing in a vast chamber. Belial stood beside him.

"Look, Obi-Wan," the clone said, pointing.

Obi-Wan saw rows upon rows of transparisteel vats, each holding a body. And he knew that each body was a clone, and each clone the replica of a Jedi Knight.

Horrified, he stood frozen to the spot until Belial pulled him through the rows of vats. They stopped in front of one, and the clone pushed him up against the vat, and he looked up...

....up into the face of his own master.

"Qui-Gon..."

"Qui-Gon will die," whispered Belial, his arms snaking around Obi-Wan and tightening. "This will take his place...such is the fate of all the Jedi."

"No," said Obi-Wan, or tried to, but a hand was on his mouth, another twined through his hair, and he was pushed to the floor, and he tried to scream as a multitude of hands held him still, held him open to the clone's assault, and the clone battered into him again, and this time he did cry out, and he snapped awake with a start.

Still in his prison. But no clone standing over him, for which he was dimly grateful.

He looked up at the sound of a bolt being shot.

The Zabrakian had entered the room. He strode over to the chair, squatted, and cut Obi-Wan's wrists free. Then he straightened and gestured at the young man.

"Stand up."

Obi-Wan stood, a bit unsteadily. The Zabrakian, with considerably more gentleness than Belial had shown, ushered him through a short series of rooms into a 'fresher. Silently he pushed Obi-Wan inside, shut the door, and locked it.

Obi-Wan looked around for a moment. The room was windowless, with only one exit. And no doubt the guard still stood on the other side of the door with a blaster.

He pushed away the despair that threatened and stumbled to the taps. He turned on the cold water and drank thirstily, greedily, feeling the water irrigating him, trickling through him like sunlight. He sank to the floor, feeling almost good for the first time in days. He sighed and brushed a hand against his face, feeling the faint growth of beard there. His fingertips touched cloth against his collarbone, and he reached up to unknot the gag that still hung loosely around his neck. He tossed it away, not looking at it.

His stomach clenched suddenly from the shock of the cold water, and he scurried to the sanitary unit and vomited. He hadn't eaten for so long, and he had nothing in his stomach except the water. Shuddering, he crawled to the shower, turned it on, and sat on the floor, letting the hot stinging water spray over him. There was soap, and a soft cloth, and he rubbed the soapy cloth against his skin, wincing as the cloth touched the cuts and welts on his body, the results of his fruitless struggles against his restraints. It was hardly that they hurt...he'd endured far worse pain. But they were a tangible symbol of his helplessness, a reminder that he was no closer to escape now, or then. He blushed, ashamed, aware that he should have spent every waking moment focused upon escape, as it was certain that rescue was out of the question.

The shame burned within him, turned to anger, which gave him some strength, and he stood, finished washing hastily. He shut off the shower, dried himself, and wrapped the towel around his hips.

He walked to the door of the 'fresher, determined to plot an escape, somehow...he stretched out a hand, forgetting that the door was locked.

It swung open. Belial stood there.

He was dressed in the same close-fitting black leather garments that Obi-Wan had first seen him in. His eyes were laced with snaps of red, and he looked fatigued. Nevertheless, he smiled at Obi-Wan, and the smile was sweet, there was genuine affection in it, and for a moment Obi-Wan saw himself reflected in the clone's smile, and he was terribly afraid.

"All fresh and clean, I see."

His eyes flicked down to the towel around Obi-Wan's waist.

"Modesty becomes you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan stepped back warily. He glared at the clone, feeling all the rage that his subconscious had suppressed earlier. His hands clenched into fists, and he tensed, prepared to spring.

Belial sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

"I haven't slept in days, Obi-Wan, and time draws short. You can cooperate with me, or I can stun you into submission. Make your choice." He shifted, and Obi-Wan saw the dull gleam of a blaster strapped to his thigh. Belial's hand went to the blaster.

Obi-Wan met the clone's reddened eyes. Exhausted or not, he was sure that Belial's reflexes would be faster than his own, for Obi-Wan was weakened from lack of food and his confinement. He couldn't trust his own body to overcome the clone, and even if he could, there was still the guard and then he'd have to find his way out of this prison, wherever it was...no. There had to be another way.

How? he thought despondently. You're alone in the grip of an agent of Darkness, outnumbered, strengthless, helpless...hopeless?

No. No. I am Jedi. I may not have the Force as my disposal, but I am still Jedi. I will survive this. I must survive. I must.

He nodded briefly and allowed Belial to take him by the arm. He was silent and unflinching when Belial snatched the towel from his hips, leaving him naked. Belial dropped the towel and caressed Obi-Wan's ass.

"Delectable."

Obi-Wan remained silent.

The worst had been done, after all.

Belial led him back to the interrogation chamber. He pulled a complicated array of leather straps and metal buckles from a shelf.

"Kneel."

Obi-Wan knelt, his face burning.

"Hands behind your back."

He hesitated, then obeyed. His heart ached unbearably. No way out of this, no way out, his mind chanted, and he lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut against defeated tears. Belial's eyes darkened, and he knelt behind his captive and confined his wrists within the leather straps securely. More straps were buckled around Obi-Wan's arms, above his elbows, and around his ankles. The ankle restraints were fastened together with a short length of chain. Belial clipped another length of chain to Obi-Wan's wrist cuffs and attached it to his ankles. Now Obi-Wan was hobbled, on his knees. It was impossible for him to stand.

Belial put a finger under Obi-Wan's chin and tilted his head up.

"How quickly you've adapted to your captivity, Obi-Wan. I wonder if all Jedi learn to be prisoners as quickly as you have...or is that a particular talent of yours?"

Obi-Wan yanked his head away and involuntarily pulled at his bonds, regretting the action as soon as it had occurred. He'd learned all too soon that it pleased the clone to see him fight; yet he could not prevent himself from doing so.

"You're flushed, Jedi, and your breathing has become erratic. I think that you're enjoying this as much as I am."

"Go to hell."

Belial regarded him calmly for a moment. He turned, switched on the monitor, and slipped a holodisc in. An image formed on the screen.

Qui-Gon...Qui-Gon, throwing the clone, his hands bound behind him, onto the bed. The clone writhing in apparent fear, protesting, fighting, crying out as Qui-Gon entered him.

Obi-Wan was pale with anger.

"What is this?" he managed.

"Don't be dense, Obi-Wan. It's a holodisc."

"This is a trick..."

"Oh. Yes. It's only a small part of what actually took place. Believe me, I was entirely willing. I'm sorry that I neglected to turn on the monitor before I left. You must have been terribly bored."

"What have you done?" whispered Obi-Wan, fearing the answer.

"I've made a mistake, Obi-Wan. I was foolish enough to think that I had the luxury of time on Coruscant. Qui-Gon and I have been assigned to a mission on Yrrna, to ferret out terrorist activity."

"I don't understand," Obi-Wan said.

"I can't very well take you to Yrrna. Qui-Gon would question my absences, and obviously, I can't tell him the reason for my frequent disappearances. Here on Coruscant, they're easy enough to explain away. And as you may recall, I already have plans to go offworld with you...to Sullust."

"Where your Master waits for me," Obi-Wan said, stunned at his own effrontery. Idiot, he thought, don't provoke him. The clone was unpredictable at best, and Obi-Wan had had enough evidence of his cruelty when it was aroused.

But Belial didn't rise to the taunt. "Precisely. And there is another reason, Obi-Wan...can you guess?"

Obi-Wan thought. What else could there be...

He knew.

"The terrorism on Yrrna...it's..."

Belial clapped his hands once, delighted. "Yes! Excellent guess. Yrrna is one of the worlds on which my Master's forces are mobilizing. If Qui-Gon went to Yrrna, he'd almost certainly discover this. I don't think that even I could distract him sufficiently to prevent his investigation."

"But why...why would you-"

"That?" said Belial, throwing a nod toward the monitor. "I needed to create confusion, Obi-Wan. Too many things are happening now, and I confess that I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all. I need time."

"Someone else will go to Yrrna, even if it's not Qui-Gon."

"True...but I've already notified my Master. Even now, steps are being taken to dissolve the preparations there. By the time the Jedi arrive, all the rumors will prove false. And there will almost certainly be delays...considering the scandal within the Jedi Order."

Obi-Wan's heart sunk. "What do you mean?" His suspicions were confirmed with Belial's answer.

"A copy of this holodisc is now in the hands of the Council. How will they react, do you think, when it's discovered that a Jedi Master, respected by his fellow Knights, a skilled diplomat and a powerful warrior, has brutally raped his innocent Padawan, whose pleas for mercy went unheeded? The Council will be outraged, horrified. Qui-Gon will be expelled from the Order. And then I shall reappear, exact vengeance, and send his unquiet soul into eternity."

Obi-Wan choked back a sob of rage.

"Why?" he gasped. "Why would you do this? What has he done to you, that you would make him suffer so?"

"Don't you understand by now, Obi-Wan? It's all for you, all of this."

Obi-Wan shook his head frantically.

"Yes, Obi-Wan." Belial knelt in front of him.

"Because you will be mine, Obi-Wan. My apprentice. You will witness the destruction of all that you hold dear. Your suffering will be boundless, and Qui-Gon will be purged from your soul, a cleansing by fire. You will be an empty vessel, and only I will remain, to form you, to rebuild your soul." He gathered Obi-Wan to him, holding him upright, and Obi-Wan struggled in his arms. He held him still.

"You are mine, Obi-Wan, My captive, my slave, my own dearest love."

"Love!" cried Obi-Wan, utterly sickened. "What do you know of love, you atrocity!"

"You think I'm not capable of love, Obi-Wan?" Belial whispered, pulling him closer, so that their mouths were mere centimeters away. "For days I watched you, weaving myself into the tapestry of your consciousness. I felt your longing for Qui-Gon, and your terror of rejection. When Qui-Gon made love to me, I absorbed his feelings for you, and how beautiful they are, Obi-Wan, like a thousand shimmering stars, rapturous...I almost regret not being able to open a bond with him. He has an enormous capacity for passion, as you saw. But in the end, only you matter. In time you'll understand...we share so much more than flesh and blood." He leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan on the mouth.

"I love you, Obi-Wan," the clone murmured, kissing Obi-Wan's ears, his neck, his shoulders, holding him as he strained against him, leather touching bare skin.

"I'll give you everything you've ever wanted...power...wealth...lovers...you have only to ask, and it shall be yours." His head dipped down, and he suckled Obi-Wan's nipples, pulling at them, one by one, with a mouth that was beyond skillful, it was agonizing, and exquisite, and Obi-Wan hated every second of it.

"Give me my freedom," Obi-Wan said, stifling a groan, trying to back away, but those arms held him immovably.

"You know I can't do that."

"Then spare Qui-Gon," he gasped, as the clone's mouth closed over his cock. "He doesn't deserve to suffer for my sake, he...ahh...let him..."

Belial rose again to face Obi-Wan. His hand closed over Obi-Wan's cock and began to stroke it rhythmically. He spoke to him gently.

"You still don't understand, Obi-Wan. His death is necessary to my plans..." His voice trailed off as he began to kiss Obi-Wan again. His tongue slipped into Obi-Wan's mouth, and Obi-Wan caught a faint, slightly bitter taste...semen.

Qui-Gon's semen.

He was thoroughly undone, and he sobbed aloud, his cries muffled, as Belial contined to plunder his mouth. The clone made a crooning noise in his throat as if to calm the young Jedi, and he caressed Obi-Wan's back almost gently. His other hand remained on Obi-Wan's penis, bringing it to an erection despite the young man's intense suffering.

The shame and hate welled within Obi-Wan and now, more than his freedom, he desired to kill, to wipe the abomination from existence. And so he did the only thing that he could.

Belial shrieked as Obi-Wan bit him as hard as he could. Obi-Wan let go, and the clone sprang to his feet, clutching his bleeding mouth and cursing. His booted foot lashed out and caught Obi-Wan in the ribs, and Obi-Wan fell to his side, gasping in pain. One of his rbs was broken, he was certain of it, but it was worth it, seeing Belial's agony.

Still cursing, Belial stalked out of the room and returned several minutes later. He glared balefully at Obi-Wan. "You nearly severed my tongue, Jedi," he snarled, unerringly kicking Obi-Wan's injured rib again. "You're going to pay for that." His speech was blurred, and Obi-Wan could see a bacta patch bandaged around the clone's tongue.

"I should have bitten it off."

The clone kicked him again in response, and Obi-Wan writhed in silent pain on the floor.

Belial walked over to a shelf and pulled an object down, and strode back to where Obi-Wan lay on his side. He knelt beside Obi-Wan and stuck the object in his face.

It was a slim wand about the length of a man's forearm, with a handle at one end from which several controls protruded. He hit a button and the tip of the wand began to glow red.

"Ever seen one of these before, Jedi?"

Obi-Wan was silent. It wasn't familiar to him, but he could certainly guess...

"It's a neural whip. Or, as the Mandalore call it, the Truthfinder. It works by inductive stimulation of the nerve endings. With this, I can make you feel fiery heat, stinging cold, a hot needle in your flesh...and many, many other sensations, in any combination I please. I can even make you feel intense pleasure, although I'm not particularly inclined to do so now.

"The point is that, however intense the pain I make you feel, it will do no actual damage to your lovely body, and it will leave no marks upon your skin. You can't die from this.

"But I can make you want to. Allow me to demonstrate."

He touched the end of the whip to Obi-Wan's chest.

Burning stinging whitehot electric shock, like a million live wires jammed into his skin, but he wouldn't scream, he wouldn't, and he bit his lip until the blood ran freely, mingling with the clone's blood.

Belial looked disappointed, and withdrew the whip.

"Well, that was the lowest setting, after all."

He hit another button, touched Obi-Wan again.

"Still nothing. Hmm."

Another adjustment, another touch.

Belial sighed.

"Not yet? We'll increase the duration, and the intensity."

Another touch.

Agony...

"Better. But that was just a whimper, Obi-Wan! I know you can scream much louder than that..."

Another touch.

"Improving. Let's make another adjustment. And let's see...why don't you pretend that Qui-Gon is in the next room, and if you scream loudly enough, he'll hear you, and rush to your rescue!" The clone laughed, and touched Obi-Wan again, much longer this time.

"Oh, that was very good, Obi-Wan. Very good."

The wand descended again.

"Where is the place I need to touch, Obi-Wan, to unlock your secrets and lay you entirely bare? Is it here?"

Again...

"Or here?"

"What about here?"

"Between here?"

"Oh, that was many times worse than before, wasn't it? And we're only halfway up its scale. Let's try...here."

Pure, unceasing torment, and Obi-Wan convulsed and screamed, full-throated anguish.

Belial reached out and gently touched Obi-Wan's face, stealing a droplet from the corner of one tightly closed eye. He brought the finger to his lips and tasted it.

"You know, that last must have hurt you very badly, Obi-Wan, but I'm afraid it doesn't quite make up for my tongue, which, by the way, still hurts. So we'll--" he stopped at a chirruping noise that Obi-Wan recognized, even in a mist of agony, as his comlink. Belial set the whip down and pulled the comlink out. He stood and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Obi-Wan lay on the floor, breathing shallowly, trying to control the trembling that seized his body. He felt no further pain, but the memory was nealy as intense as the pain itself, and try as he might, he could not shut the memory out. It had been excruciating, and there was more suffering to come, he was sure of it.

Belial returned, grinning. He knelt once again by Obi-Wan and stroked his flank.

"The game resumes, Obi-Wan. The Council summons me."

Obi-Wan's heart twisted at this news.

"Please...don't..."

"Yes. I will. And this time, you will watch."

He was dreaming of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan...trembling and frightened in his arms, and for all of Qui-Gon's soothing words and tender caresses he would not be calmed...and then he was gone.

Qui-Gon was alone.

He awoke. Obi-Wan was gone from his bed, and Qui-Gon stifled a pang of disappointment. He would have loved the young man by his side every moment, sleeping and waking; now that their feelings for each other were clear, he wanted to drink Obi-Wan in, to watch him as he moved through the world with that grace that set him apart from the other apprentices...you're mooning, old man, he thought, and chuckled to himself. It must be love.

Rising, he went to the 'fresher, showered, and emerged feeling wonderful. He hummed tunelessly as he dressed and prepared to go to the archives. He knew little of Yrrna, and needed to do at least a full day's research.

His comm unit buzzed and he answered it. The solemn face of Mace Windu appeared before him.

"Mace."

"Qui-Gon." There was no pleasure in the man's voice. "Come to the Council Chamber at once." The image faded out.

Qui-Gon stared at the blank screen in bemusement. Was there a change of plan? Was his mission altered? He shrugged, pulled his boots on, and left for the Council Chamber.

An officious droid admitted him to the large circular room. He bowed and strode to the center of the chamber, facing Mace and Yoda. He frowned slightly; he'd caught flickerings of Force from some of the Councillors. None of them were particularly benevolent. He took in the faces of those in his line of vision. All were grave; some appeared visibly upset. Clearly something was wrong...

Mace addressed him.

"Do you know why you have been summoned before us, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "No."

"The Council has learned some distressing news, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon waited silently. Mace could be oblique at times.

"This concerns your apprentice."

Qui-Gon felt a faint stirring of uneasiness. Yoda gave him a hard gaze.

"You know, Qui-Gon."

Oh, indeed he did. How in all the hells had the Council found out so soon? He centered himself and spoke calmly. "Revered Masters," he began formally, "Padawan Kenobi and I have embarked on a relationship. I realize-"

"Relationship!" snorted Even Piell. "Is that what you call it?"

"Yes. We-"

"Spare us the explanation, Master Jinn. This is intolerable. We know. We have seen."

"I don't understand," said Qui-Gon sharply. "What have you seen?"

"Stand aside," ordered Mace. Qui-Gon stepped to one side, and a hologram, life-sized, came to life. Qui-Gon, shoving a bound Obi-Wan onto his bed. Obi-Wan struggling, crying out...

Qui-Gon blanched. His vision dimmed.

The hologram continued to play, the cries and moans a grotesque counterpoint to the silent Jedi and the thunder in Qui-Gon's ears.

"Turn it off!" someone implored. The hologram disappeared.

Qui-Gon took several deep, calming breaths as the Council stared at him. He folded his arms within the sleeves of his robe.

"How was this obtained?"

"How is hardly the point, I think, Master Jinn," said Adi Gallia. He turned and gazed at her. Her voice was mild, but her eyes snapped with barely concealed emotion.

"I find it reprehensible that someone would seek to defame my character and that of my padawan with such a hideous intrusion into our privacy. True, we have not been sanctioned by the Council, but-"

"Privacy?"

Qui-Gon was becoming increasingly irritated at the constant interruptions, but he remained outwardly calm and resolute. "Yes," he said firmly. "Privacy."

"You'd prefer that no one knew that you raped Padawan Kenobi."

Raped him? thought Qui-Gon, confused. What...oh. Oh, you damned fool. What does it look like? Qui-Gon drew himself up, nearly relieved. This would be unpleasant, but it was necessary. He would have liked to have given Obi-Wan some notice, though, so the young man wouldn't be unprepared.

Mace, watching Qui-Gon's face, shook his head. "Enough, Qui-Gon," he said. "Perhaps Padawan Kenobi can enlighten us."

So you summoned him too, thought Qui-Gon, as a side door opened.

Obi-Wan stepped into the Council Chamber, his hands folded inside his robe, an unconscious imitation of his master. Qui-Gon smiled at him warmly. Obi-Wan took his place by Qui-Gon's side, his face pale but composed.

/Courage, my love./

Obi-Wan did not acknowledge the sending.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," said Ki-Adi-Mundi, "Today the Council has seen some evidence of abuse...your master, Qui-Gon Jinn, stands accused of rape."

Obi-Wan clapped both hands to his mouth. His eyes were huge.

Qui-Gon glared at Ki-Adi-Mundi. Gently done, Master, he thought angrily.

Yarael Poof spoke gently, his long neck swaying. "Don't be afraid to speak, Padawan. You are not on trial."

Obi-Wan let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"I...I didn't want to..." Tears filled his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. "I didn't want to..."

Qui-Gon wheeled and stared at Obi-Wan in absolute shock.

/Obi-Wan!/

The young man sank to his knees, and a muffled sob escaped from behind his hands.

Qui-Gon sent to him in desperation. /Obi-Wan!/

Nothing but a tightly erected mental shield, and Qui-Gon wanted to weep himself.

/Padawan! Please...tell them.../

Again nothing, and Qui-Gon felt the world slipping sideways. Was this an illusion? Why wouldn't Obi-Wan speak up?

/My love...you asked me...was it not what you wanted?/

No answer, and as he listened to the young man's muted weeping, he was assailed by a crushing wave of guilt. Your fault, this is all your fault, he berated himself. He wasn't ready...he straightened, aware of the Councillors' eyes on him as one, unified in condemnation.

Qui-Gon wanted to rush to the young man and soothe his fears. The dream, he thought. Was this a portent? Yet he did not move. After all, it appeared as though he himself was the cause of Obi-Wan's fear. Obi-Wan would only repudiate him, and perhaps he deserved to be rejected. He was selfish, forcing himself on Obi-Wan before re-establishing the training bond.

But I didn't force myself on him. He wanted it...it appeared as though he wanted it...oh, gods above, what have I done?

Master Billaba had risen and approached Obi-Wan. She sank to the floor beside him and stroked his back gently. She looked at Mace. "I will escort Padawan Kenobi to the healing dome," she said, and Mace inclined his head. She rose, guiding Obi-Wan up and drawing his hood over his head. She shot a cold glance at Qui-Gon as they passed. Obi-Wan's face was hidden from view.

They left, and Qui-Gon remained, alone. He considered imploring them to look inside him, to search his soul, to seek the truth, when a cold shock of realization hit him.

They might seek the truth inside him, but the only truth they would find would be his own. His point of view. They would see a man who did not stop to consider Obi-Wan's feelings, a Master who ignored his Padawan's pleas. Never mind that Obi-Wan had been accepting and seemingly eager; Qui-Gon had failed him again, and this time on a more basic and personal level than before. This was more than a training bond; this was Obi-Wan's innocence. Qui-Gon had taken his pleasure, and he had not seen, not chosen to see Obi-Wan's hurt beneath the desire to please. Last night's abject display of submission...an d Qui-Gon's face burned with shame. Obi-Wan had asked him, had begged him to stop, and Qui-Gon had ignored him, had basely satisfied his own desires.

He deserved the condemnation of the Council. He deserved their censure. He deserved any punishment that they would inflict upon him.

/My Padawan...my love...I am so sorry./

He did not...could not ask for forgiveness.

He bowed deeply.

"Revered Masters...I await your judgment."

Mace's eyes were hard, and it was as if he did not know Qui-Gon at all, as if he had never shared a friendship with him.

"Qui-Gon Jinn...you have struck a blow at the bond of trust between Master and Padawan. In doing so, you strike at the Code, indeed, at the Jedi Order itself. It is our judgment that you surrender your lightsaber and remove yourself from the Temple."

He paused, his eyes like ice.

"Qui-Gon Jinn...you are Jedi no more."

_____________________________________________________

Depa Billaba stood beside Obi-Wan's bed, watching him carefully. He'd been settled into the infirmary with gratifying speed, and she felt a sharp wave of compassion as she looked at the poor boy, and an enormous anger toward Qui-Gon, who, despite his eccentricities, had always been an outstanding example to his fellow Jedi...until now, she thought, wondering about his failed Padawan, Xanatos. Had Qui-Gon raped him, too; had he caused the young man to turn to the Dark Side? Enough, she said to herself, and let her anger flow out of her. The damage was done; Qui-Gon's fate was sealed, and Force willing, Obi-Wan would not be too badly damaged...she fervently hoped not.

Obi-Wan lay in the narrow bed, huddled beneath blankets. Depa touched a cool hand to his forehead, and spoke softly.

"Master Khadri will see you shortly, Padawan," she said. "She will examine you."

"Must she?" His eyes were huge, with purple shadows beneath them, and a fresh wave of sympathy overtook her.

"I know it won't be pleasant, Obi-Wan," she said, smoothing his hair. "But it is for your benefit."

He sighed. "Yes, Master."

She frowned. "What happened to your tongue, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan looked away, and his reply was faint.

"Bitten."

She turned away so that Obi-Wan would not see the disgust and anger on her face. Damn you, Qui-Gon...he's just a boy. How could you?

"Master."

"Yes, Padawan?"

"I think you should leave now."

She looked down at him. He had the faintest of smiles on his face. He really had an enchanting smile, she thought.

"Perhaps I'd better go, Obi-Wan. Master Khadri will be here at any moment." She put a hand out, hesitated, and then turned and left.

The young man gazed after her, and his smile widened.

_________________________________________________________________

Obi-Wan had felt pain before.

It was an accepted part of a Jedi's training. Torn muscles, burns from training sabers, the occasional broken bone...once he'd taken a blaster shot in the leg on a mission to Dantooine; it had been excruciating, and had taken half a day in the bacta tanks to heal. Always the initiates had been taught to accept pain, to welcome it as a friend, a warning that the body was injured and in need of healing, so that one could focus on tending the hurt through the Force. All Jedi were instructed in the healing trance, and used it with varying degrees of skill. Obi-Wan did not have a healer's skill, but he was proficient enough in the Force to use the trance with some effectiveness.

And now, the Force was gone...torn from him.

Even so...there was no healing for this pain.

He watched the proceedings in the Council Chamber.

There was not a worse torture that Belial could have devised.

/Master...oh, my Master.../

No response, and nothing that he could do. He was utterly helpless, bound more by the damned collar around his neck than by the restraints that nevertheless bit cruelly into his already bruised and chafed skin.

Obi-Wan had never paused to consider that the Force would someday not be at his disposal. He'd dismissed tales of Force-inhibition as stories told by older initiates to frighten the children in the creche. He'd trusted, never questioned, not believing that in even the most preposterous legend there was often a seed of truth.

As he lay on the floor of his prison, that cold, alien presence stole in, swirled around him.

/There is no escape, Jedi.../

No...not again...

/Come to me./

/NO!/

/I feel your despair. You are lost. Your master is lost. Come to me./

He cast about for something, anything to help him, to save him from this...

/Come to me. You shall have your revenge on Darth Belial./

/Master! Help me!/

/I am your Master, Obi-Wan./

Oh, no, please, no...

He closed his eyes.

/Force help me/

He begged now, feeling the Darkness pull at his consciousness...

And worse, at his fragile soul.

go on to the next part...