Obi-Wan lay with his head on the soft pillows, gazing up at the ceiling, illuminated only by Coruscant's ambient light. Fetra had agreed to testify before the Council in Obi-Wan's place, and Mace had assured them every effort would be made to bring the Senator to justice. After they'd left, Qui-Gon had explained that Breya Prime had strict anti-slavery policies, unusual for an Outer Rim world, but their only guarantee of admittance into the Republic. Senator Torian had been the architect of most of those policies.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, dismissing thoughts of the Senator, but unable to banish completely his thoughts of the dinner party. His body remembered all too well the pleasure of having Sibi moving inside him, touching him, if not with tenderness, at least without deliberate cruelty.

Qui-Gon stepped into the bedroom, toweling his freshly-washed hair, another towel wrapped around lean hips. He slung the damp towel over his shoulder and began digging through a drawer, looking for sleep pants.

Watching him, Obi-Wan made a choice.

He sat up in bed and leaned over, tugging the towel free of Qui-Gon's hips.

Qui-Gon watched the towel slither to the floor, then looked up with a wary, yet hopeful expression.

Obi-Wan smiled, grasped Qui-Gon's hand, and pulled him down onto the bed. He brushed wet strands of hair from Qui-Gon's face, then kissed him, soft, hot, slow. Qui-Gon groaned as their tongues met, a low, deep rumble that raised the hairs on Obi-Wan's arms, the back of his neck.

He slid his hands over the muscled back, warming skin chilled by missed droplets of water. He was already half-erect, and after slipping his hands down to the narrow hips and pulling them close, discovered Qui-Gon was not far behind.

He let out a low purr of satisfaction, pulling Qui-Gon on top of him, wanting contact with every centimeter of flesh he could reach, and more. He wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon's waist, grinding against him in what he hoped was a blatantly obvious way.

Qui-Gon raised his head, the wary look back in his eyes. He swallowed once, hard. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded.

Qui-Gon captured his lips in a melting kiss, and Obi-Wan breathed a soft sigh into his mouth as gentle hands roamed his body. His fears dissolved under feather-light touches that firmed as the passion grew between them.

Qui-Gon was painstaking, slow and sweet, never teasing, never tormenting, focused entirely on Obi-Wan's pleasure. By the time Qui-Gon was sheathed inside him, Obi-Wan was lightheaded with the power of his own freedom, his choice. And when Qui-Gon's face contorted with pleasure, filling him with liquid fire, Obi-Wan nearly lost consciousness at the strength of his own climax.

Once he had recovered enough to open his eyes, he was astounded to see Qui-Gon thoroughly and tenderly licking every last drop of semen from his belly and chest. By the time Qui-Gon's lips found his own again, Obi-Wan felt boneless, utterly sated, and very, very loved. With the last of his energy, he lifted a hand and pointed to himself, then placed the hand over his heart, and finally, pointed to Qui-Gon.

"You are my soul," Qui-Gon breathed against his mouth. It was the last thing he heard before drifting down to a deep, dreamless sleep.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Qui-Gon asked for perhaps the thousandth time.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sighed, a deep, dramatic sigh.

Qui-Gon grinned ruefully. "Sorry. I have no idea how long this will take -- the Council have a tendency to over-analyze every tiny piece of data I bring before them, so I may not be back until after noonmeal. There's plenty of food in the kitchen, or I can arrange to have a meal delivered if you -- "

Obi-Wan cut off the flow of words with a kiss, nibbling contentedly on Qui-Gon's bottom lip. After a moment or two, Qui-Gon raised his head with a somewhat dazed look.

"Right," he said in an unsteady voice. "I'll see you when I get back, then." He weaved his way to the door, and with one last, lingering look, was gone.

Obi-Wan stretched, hearing joints and tendons crackling, and eyed the pile of purchases still waiting in the foyer. At least he wouldn't be bored while Qui-Gon was gone.

He made himself a cup of hot cha and took his time drinking it, flipping idly through newschannels on the holovid, then took a long, leisurely shower. He felt a momentary pique that Qui-Gon wasn't there to braid his hair, but he managed quite adequately on his own, he thought.

Once dressed, he turned his attention to the new things, sorting which belonged to him and which to Qui-Gon, hanging the new clothes up, trying a few things on here and there. He wasn't sure what to do with Qui-Gon's books, and ended up stacking them neatly on the desk by the comm unit.

When the door chime sounded, he looked up with a brief spasm of fear, then got himself under control. Qui-Gon had said no one would hurt him here, and he believed it.

The door slid open to reveal a delivery droid, bearing a flat, neatly wrapped package. Obi-Wan took it, running his hands over the corners as the droid scuttled off. It felt like the painting from the night before. He unwrapped it carefully, set it in one corner of the common room, then stepped back to look at it. His pleasure in the painting was dimmed, he realized, by what had transpired immediately after he'd fallen in love with it.

To hell with that, he thought, angry with himself. He was tired of letting his past taint his happiness, steal every moment of joy he'd managed to build up in his short life with Qui-Gon. Besides, he told himself with a certain amount of vicious satisfaction, he would be able to admire this painting every day if he wanted, and the Senator, if Qui-Gon and the Council had their way, would be rotting in jail for the rest of his life. Pleased with his logic, he went back to sorting through the pile.

He took a break when his stomach rumbled, scrounging up a decent meal from the stores in the kitchen, and was just finishing up the last of it when the comm unit beeped.

He punched in the code Qui-Gon had shown him, a breathtaking smile crossing his face when the man himself appeared on the screen.

Qui-Gon returned the smile. "Everything all right?"

Obi-Wan nodded happily, holding up one of the books. Qui-Gon laughed, and Obi-Wan's heart did little flip-flops at the sound of it.

"Good, I'm glad you're keeping yourself occupied. Mace and Fetra are dragging me off to lunch outside the Temple, but the Council isn't quite finished with me yet. I should be back before latemeal, but I wanted to make sure you weren't too bored."

Obi-Wan nodded again, then kissed two of his fingers and pressed them against the screen. Qui-Gon's eyes softened, and he touched his own fingers to the screen. "I'll see you soon, my only one."

The screen darkened, and Obi-Wan turned away with a happy sigh.

Three hours later, he sat on the sofa in the common room, bored out of his skull. He'd gone through every single item they'd purchased the day before, watched one of the vids, tried to read one of the books, gone out to the balcony and watched the traffic stream by for a bit.

His entire body thrummed with restless energy, and after arguing with himself for a bit, he decided to go to one of the training rooms to work some of it off. He'd go to the meditation gardens after, he thought, and be back in plenty of time to have dinner with Qui-Gon.

And if everyone in the Temple wanted to stare at him like he was an escaped zoo animal, let them. He had nothing to be ashamed of, as Fetra so often reminded him.

He found a datapad and keyed in the word 'gardens,' then left it on the pile of books by the comm unit, where Qui-Gon would be sure to spot it in case he returned before Obi-Wan did.

He went to the door, squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and walked out.

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that the majority of the beings he passed paid him little, if any attention. Perhaps the novelty of his situation was beginning to wear off, or, more likely, a new scandal had captured their collective attention.

By the time he reached the training level, he felt more at ease than he had since his arrival. He passed a group of four younger people just outside the lifts, and one of them, a Calamarian girl, lifted her head as he walked by, studying him intently. Something about her was familiar, and Obi-Wan paused, looking back over his shoulder.

She detached herself from the group and stepped toward him with a tentative smile. "Obi-Wan, how ... how are you?"

He answered with his own smile and a tiny nod. The holopic on the desk, he realized as she stepped closer. That's where he'd seen her before. She must be a good friend, he thought with a pang.

She glanced around the corridor, then stepped closer. "We're not supposed to talk to you," she said in a low voice. "But I wanted you to know how glad I am you're back." She smiled. "I've really, really missed you," she whispered.

Obi-Wan's throat felt uncomfortably tight all of a sudden, and he touched the sleeve of her tunic. She clutched his hand for a moment, then turned and went back to her friends.

Obi-Wan continued down the corridor, a warm glow suffusing his face. It was good to know Qui-Gon wasn't the only one who loved him.

One of the small training rooms was miraculously unoccupied, so he set the door indicator to 'in use' status and went inside. He removed his shirt and the new black boots Qui-Gon had bought him yesterday, and began a series of stretching exercises, warming up.

Several minutes into his workout, he heard the door slide open, and turned around.

A man about his own age leaned casually in the doorway, a tiny smile curving his lips.

Obi-Wan smiled back, hesitantly. Was this another of his friends? The man's white hair was cut in the short style he'd seen on all the younger humanoids, his braid as long as Obi-Wan's own. A thin line of scar tissue marred the skin just below his hairline, the color indicating a relatively recent injury.

Ice-blue eyes studied Obi-Wan from head to toe, then the man stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Obi-Wan's shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug.

The Padawan's smile widened. "Perfect." He strolled toward Obi-Wan, positively beaming. "So where's Master Jinn? I understand he keeps you on a pretty short leash these days."

Obi-Wan's smile faded at the hostile tone. Not a friend, then.

"And," the man continued, one finger reaching out to flick the metal around Obi-Wan's neck, "what a pretty collar he has to attach it to. I always thought you'd make a better pet than a Padawan."

Enough. Obi-Wan went to step around, but the man blocked him instantly.

"I don't think so, Kenobi. We're not done catching up yet."

Obi-Wan calmly folded his arms across his bare chest, refusing to be intimidated by this obvious bully. If the man thought he could compete with the specters of Obi-Wan's recent past, he was laughably mistaken.

"You know, it's funny in a way. The high and mighty Obi-Wan Kenobi, reduced to nothing more than a rich man's fucktoy." The man put a finger to his lips with a thoughtful look. "I bet you secretly enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Obi-Wan stiffened imperceptibly. The last remark had hit a little too close to home, with his fresh memories of the Senator's dinner party.

"How about that Krellian, Kenobi? Did you enjoy him?"

Obi-Wan frowned. Krellian? He had no idea what the man was talking about.

"Let me guess -- you don't remember that either?" The man's smile turned gleeful, ugly. "You don't remember being fucked raw in front of the entire Council? And Master Jinn too, of course."

Obi-Wan felt suddenly nauseous. He'd been raped before the Council? And Qui-Gon saw ... ?

"Don't worry if you don't remember -- there are bootleg copies of the vid all over the Temple. I'm sure I can scare one up for your viewing pleasure."

Swallowing back bile, Obi-Wan decided he'd heard enough. He feinted to his left, darting to the right when the man moved to block him. He snatched up his shirt and boots and stalked to the door, almost bumping into it when it didn't open.

He palmed the door control, once, twice, then realized the man had locked it somehow. He turned around, his theory confirmed when the man favored him with a smug smile. "You don't leave until I say you can. And I'm not finished yet."

Obi-Wan tried to fight down his rising fear. Surely, this man didn't mean him any physical harm? No true Jedi would ever deliberately hurt another living creature. Qui-Gon's voice sounded impossibly distant.

"Tell you what -- I'll open the door and let you go -- " He slid a hand between his legs, stroking himself. " -- if you get on your knees and show me what a good little whore you've become."

Obi-Wan stared at him in disbelief.

The man laughed. "Oh, come on, Kenobi -- I can't be the first one to fuck that pretty mouth." His eyes shone with a calculating gleam. "Or does Master Jinn take care of that for you now?"

That did it. With a speed born of fury, Obi-Wan launched himself at the man's waist, scrabbling for the lightsabre. He wrenched it away from the belt, but the man knocked it out of his hands and it flew across the room, cracking against the wall before falling in pieces to the floor.

Obi-Wan got in one, good, solid punch to the man's solar plexus before he found himself pinned against the wall by invisible bands of pressure. He couldn't even lift a finger.

The young man paced back and forth in front of him. "I just don't get it. What does everyone see in you? They all think you're so perfect, so good." He paused with his face only centimeters from Obi-Wan's, his lips pulled back in a sneer. "Not so perfect anymore, are you?"

Demonstrating that his aim and precision, at least, were still perfect, Obi-Wan spat in his face.

A fury of blows exploded from the man, raining down on Obi-Wan's face and abdomen. Just before he lost consciousness, he felt rough hands on his hair and a voice whispered, "You never saw me."

Bruck hastily gathered the broken pieces of his lightsabre. Master Jethyn would give him holy hell about that, but there was nothing to be done for it.

He straightened his tunics, smoothed his hair and used a bit of Force to ease the bruising on his knuckles, then crept to the door, waiting until he could sense no one else nearby before opening it.

He slipped out of the training room and re-locked the door, making sure the 'in use' indicator was still set, then sauntered down the corridor as if he hadn't a care in the world.

When he caught up with two of his friends, it was ridiculously easy to Force-convince them he'd spent the entire afternoon with them.

And the knowledge of what he'd done to Kenobi would give him the strength to endure what he had to.

Qui-Gon whistled tunelessly as he neared their quarters. Even though the Council session had lasted far longer than he'd expected, he was pleased by the progress made. After testifying about the incident in the art gallery, he'd been asked to stay and assist with the choosing of a team to send to Breya Prime, and had also helped compose a mission briefing for the team.

It was the first day in a long, long time he'd felt like a real Jedi.

Even lunch had felt less like the therapy session he suspected it truly was, and more like a meal shared with friends. Although he'd missed Obi-Wan's company, Fetra assured him that Obi-Wan needed a day to himself probably as much as Qui-Gon did, and that it would help his Padawan regain his sense of independence. The meal had been excellent, in an exclusive, expensive restaurant near the Senate building, and best of all, Mace had paid.

And now he had the entire evening to spend with Obi-Wan. He couldn't quite stop the smile that spread over his face when he recalled their lovemaking the night before, and tried not to hope for more tonight. He would let Obi-Wan set the pace, let him find his own comfort level.

The door slid open and the smile faded when he was greeted with darkened quarters. "Obi-Wan?" he called, then murmured, "Lights." The common room lights flared to life, a quick glance revealing no sign of his Padawan.

With a forced calm, he quickly investigated both bedrooms and the fresher. Nothing. His calm dissolving into dread, he raced to the balcony, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Telling himself to remain rational, he strode to the comm unit, intending to call Fetra until he saw the datapad on top of the neat stack of books.

Relief washed over him, and he almost laughed at himself. The first time they'd gone, Obi-Wan had been enchanted with the meditation gardens, so it wasn't at all surprising to know his perpetually restless Padawan had decided to try an excursion there.

He left the quarters with no small sense of pride in the fact that Obi-Wan felt strong enough to travel the Temple alone. He knew they still had a long way to go before Obi-Wan was fully healed and ready to assume his duties again, but even the smallest step forward heartened him.

After all, it was one step closer to having his soul restored.

An hour later, having searched every nook and cranny of the meditation gardens, he was tired and frustrated and not a little worried. He took out his comlink and keyed in the code for their quarters. Perhaps they'd passed each other coming and going.

There was no answer.

He's probably in the fresher, Qui-Gon told himself. Or perhaps he got bored in the gardens and went to the library. No need to panic.

He left the gardens and began making his way toward the library, his features schooled in a mask of false serenity. He tried the comlink three more times on the way there, with no success.

When he entered the library, he tried not to despair at the enormity of the task before him. The library was massive and cavernous, with countless stacks and corridors. It would take him all night to search the place, and what if he had guessed wrong and Obi-Wan had gone elsewhere?

"Hello, Master Jinn. How are you?"

Qui-Gon looked at the Padawan standing at his elbow, seized with a sudden inspiration. "Padawan Eerin -- have you seen Obi-Wan today?"

Bant blinked her enormous eyes and smiled. "Yes, I saw him a little earlier on the training level." Her smile slipped a little. "I-I spoke to him for a minute or two. I hope that's all right."

"That's fine. Did he give you any indication of where he was headed?"

"No, but I assumed he was going to use one of the training rooms. There's really no other reason to be on that level, unless there's an exhibition scheduled." She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"He might be missing." He gave her a short bow and turned to leave.

"Master Jinn, wait -- is there anything I can do to help?"

Qui-Gon studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Come with me."

They spent the next hour or so questioning people in the salle and training rooms, with no luck. Qui-Gon kept calling their quarters, again with no response. His sense of dread returned full force, and he was just on the verge of calling Mace and reporting Obi-Wan officially missing, when Bant nudged his arm.

"Did you talk to whoever's using that room?"

Qui-Gon looked at the closed door, and shook his head. "Did you?"

"No -- it's been in use since we got here, so I was waiting until they were done."

Qui-Gon strode to the door and palmed the control, frowning when it didn't respond. He knocked on it, calling out a greeting.

Nothing.

"Here, let me try something." Bant stepped up to the control and closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force, Qui-Gon assumed.

The door's motor whined for a moment, then the panel slid smoothly open.

Qui-Gon barely registered Bant's gasp when they saw the crumpled figure lying on the floor mat against the far wall. His feet were already moving, flying toward the prone body.

When he saw the battered face, the puddle of dried blood on the floor beneath Obi-Wan's head, he was certain he was screaming, but what emerged was only a whimper.

"Master Jinn, you need to get out of the way." Devi's tone of voice brooked no argument as she bent over her patient.

"I'm not leaving," Qui-Gon said quietly.

"I'm not asking you to leave, I'm asking you to move."

Qui-Gon reluctantly let go of Obi-Wan's hand and backed away. Devi and two junior healers were clustered around the bed, their brows furrowed in concentration as their hands hovered over the bruised body of his Padawan.

After that first moment of searing pain, of seeing what had been done to his Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon had gone completely numb. He remembered Bant telling him not to move Obi-Wan, remembered calling the healers and Mace, vaguely recalled the frantic race to the healers ward. Mostly, he remembered looking at that face and trying to find some Obi-Wan there.

He couldn't even begin to wrap his brain around the concept that someone in the Temple was capable of such brutality. All he could do was attempt to remain upright and pray that Obi-Wan would live.

At some point, Mace appeared at his side, and a few moments later, Yoda. He assumed they were speaking to him, but he couldn't discern any specific words. After a time, Mace disappeared, then returned with Bant, making more meaningless sounds in Qui-Gon's direction. Then all three left, and suddenly Devi stood before him, taking his hand in hers. She led him to Obi-Wan's bedside, and he looked down in astonishment, able to recognize his Padawan again. Dark bruises remained under his eyes, and his nose appeared slightly swollen, but the worst of the damage was gone.

"He had some internal bleeding, but we stopped it in time. We also healed a hairline fracture on one cheekbone, but he looked much, much worse than he truly was. We've sped up the healing process as much as we can, and now it's up to his body to repair the rest of the damage." Devi squeezed his hand, her voice softening. "He'll be fine, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon reached out and smoothed the fiery hair, nodding.

"And you need to sit down, rather badly." Devi took his arm and led him to her office, urging him toward the chair in front of her desk.

He stared at the chair for a moment, wondering why he couldn't feel anything, then whirled and rammed his fist into the wall. He looked at the hole with a certain satisfaction, then sat down.

Devi let out a small, pained sigh. "Let me see your hand," she said in a weary, resigned voice.

He dutifully held out his hand, a tingling warmth spreading across his knuckles as she healed the bruising.

"Can I get off my feet now, or did you have more redecorating in mind?" Devi looked down at him, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement.

Qui-Gon studied her for a moment. He bit his lip to hold back a snicker, then they were both laughing helplessly. Before he could draw breath again, Qui-Gon's laughter transformed, and he was sobbing, great, anguished wails of helplessness, worry and grief.

Devi fell to her knees beside the chair, holding him close. "Go on," she murmured, stroking his hair. "Get it all out."

When he calmed somewhat, he straightened, trying to muster as much dignity as he could with stuff dribbling onto his beard. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You needed it." Devi got to her feet and handed him a tissue. "I know better than to try to send you home, but you need to rest. I'll arrange to have a cot set up by Obi-Wan's bed, if that's all right?"

"That's fine, thank you." Even as he said it, he felt utter exhaustion creeping into his bones, and by the time he lay down on the cot, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

But he managed, just before sleep claimed him, to reach out and take Obi-Wan's hand in his.

Obi-Wan dragged his eyes open, wondering why he was so tired. He heard low voices, and turned his gaze in that direction. Qui-Gon sat by his bed, deep in conversation with Healer Fetra.

Had he slept through a session? He blinked and looked around, slowly realizing he was not in their bed at home. How odd. Something warm enfolded his hand, and he gave it an experimental squeeze.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, then, "Obi-Wan?"

He turned his eyes back to Qui-Gon, and tried to smile. He wasn't sure if he managed it or not.

"I'll get Devi," Fetra said, then disappeared from Obi-Wan's view.

Qui-Gon knelt beside the bed, his face next to Obi-Wan's. "How do you feel? Are you in pain?"

Pain? Obi-Wan ran a quick inventory and decided he wasn't. He shook his head, amazed at how much energy it took.

A relieved smile broke over Qui-Gon's face, like sunshine cutting through fog. Very poetic, Obi-Wan thought. I should write that down.

Qui-Gon stroked his hair, and that felt very nice indeed, but it was also making him quite sleepy. "Obi-Wan, do you know who did this to you?"

He frowned. Who did what? Was he broken? Missing something? He tried to look down the length of his body, but it was too much effort to raise his head.

"Master Jinn." A cool, crisp voice he recognized as Master Devi's, then Qui-Gon stood, pulling away.

Obi-Wan made a small sound of distress and tried to reach out for Qui-Gon's retreating figure, but he couldn't lift his arm.

Devi leaned over him. "Calm down, he's not going anywhere." She peered into his eyes, shining a tiny, bright light in each one, then ran her hands over his face and down his torso. "Coming along nicely," she pronounced, stepping away from the bed. Qui-Gon returned to his side instantly, to Obi-Wan's tremendous relief.

"He'll be here another two days at least, but you should be able to take him home after that." Devi looked between Qui-Gon and Fetra. "As long as you don't pester him."

"Devi, we have to find out -- " Fetra began, and she cut him off.

"Do it quickly, then, and leave. He needs to rest."

Qui-Gon shifted to one side to allow Fetra room to touch Obi-Wan's forehead. "This will only take a moment, Obi-Wan, and I'll make it as easy as possible."

Obi-Wan blinked at him, then felt a tiny whisper in his mind.

Fetra straightened, looking at Qui-Gon with a small shake of his head.

"I'll contact you later," Qui-Gon said to Fetra, then smiled at Obi-Wan, touching his cheek. "Sleep, my heart."

What a fantastic idea, Obi-Wan thought, then knew nothing more.

Qui-Gon stepped into the hallway, reluctant to leave Obi-Wan's side for even a moment, but he had to know what progress was being made.

"Anything?" Mace asked.

Fetra shook his head. "He remembers going to the training room, and working out, but nothing else beyond that. I'm not sure if he blocked it himself, it got lost behind some of the other memory fragments in his mind, or ... ." He trailed off with a heavy sigh. "Or someone else tampered with his mind."

Mace swore quietly and began to pace.

"Qui-Gon, do you have any ideas at all about who might have done this?" Fetra asked.

Qui-Gon put a hand to the bridge of his nose. "Xanatos is the first name that comes to mind, but this isn't like him. First of all, it's not the right date, and second ... beating someone senseless just isn't his style. It's ... inelegant." He lowered his hand and looked at Mace. "Have you questioned Bruck Chun?"

Mace stopped pacing and let out a tired sigh. "Yes, Padawan Eerin suggested his name almost immediately. He denied even seeing Obi-Wan yesterday, and other witnesses confirm his presence elsewhere during the timeframe."

Qui-Gon grunted, thinking furiously. If only Obi-Wan had worked out in the main salle. The cameras installed to capture the exhibitions would have shown them everything. But his Padawan wasn't anywhere near comfortable enough with his fellow Jedi yet to --

He paused in his train of thought, struck by inspiration. "Fetra. Obi-Wan told me on his first night home that someone dressed as a Jedi had hurt him while he was still a slave. Have you seen anything during your sessions to confirm that?"

Fetra slowly shook his head. "No, not yet. There are still so many memories that are blocked off, though. Do you think whoever hurt him then might have done it again? To protect themselves from discovery?"

"It's entirely possible." A chill worked its way into Qui-Gon's stomach when he realized that Obi-Wan's mysterious attacker might very well have killed him, and he was even more alarmed when he realized he was surprised they hadn't. "Mace, I realize what I'm asking, but would it be possible to go back over mission logs and find out who was assigned to the Outer Rim during the time Obi-Wan was missing? Specifically, anyone on a mission near Sindara?"

Mace nodded. "I'll get right on it."

Qui-Gon tried to smile. "Thank you. Thank you both." He turned to re-enter the ward, stopped by Fetra's hand on his shoulder.

"How are you holding up, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I feel like ... like I've betrayed him."

"Why?" Fetra asked softly.

Qui-Gon flashed him a bitter smile. "Because I told him no one here would hurt him." He turned and went back to his Padawan.

Obi-Wan studied himself in the fresher mirror. He'd been home from the healers ward two days now, and the bruising under his eyes had faded, but was still visible. His nose looked all right, he supposed. The marks on his abdomen were what concerned him.

When he'd asked, in his silent way, what had happened to him, Qui-Gon hadn't been very forthcoming.

"You were working out in a training room," he'd said, "and then you ... got hurt." Obi-Wan had pressed him for details, but Qui-Gon said they didn't know any of the details, and Obi-Wan himself could not remember them.

He could accept the notion that he might have tried executing some odd aerial maneuver that ended with him landing on his face, but that didn't explain the shapes of the bruises on his torso.

Ones that corresponded with the knuckles of a clenched human fist.

He'd seen the results of a beating several times in his short life, at Brelk's pens and elsewhere. Recalcitrant slaves were beaten without a moment's thought -- it was just the way of things.

It was not the way of things here. Not according to Qui-Gon, who had never lied to him before.

At least, not before now.

Obi-Wan finished dressing, leaving his shirt unbuttoned, and went to the common room, where Qui-Gon sat at the desk, his fingers moving briskly over the keypad of the comm unit. He looked up and smiled at Obi-Wan's entrance, then hit the send key. "What would you like to do today?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, then spread his shirt wide. He took Qui-Gon's hand, folded his fingers over and placed it against the bruises on his abdomen.

Qui-Gon stared at his hand for a moment, then lifted his eyes to meet Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan described a series of fluid gestures in the air, which translated to a simple statement. Someone hurt me.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. "We're trying to find out who, but -- "

Obi-Wan turned away, hurt, angry and not a little frightened. He stalked to the kitchen, Qui-Gon right behind him.

"Obi-Wan, please understand -- I didn't tell you because Fetra thought it might be -- "

Obi-Wan cut him off with a sharp, slashing gesture. He didn't care what Fetra thought, didn't care what Qui-Gon thought, not right now. All he wanted was to be left alone, with no one prodding at his mind, or poking at his body, or coddling him like an infant. He pointed at Qui-Gon, then at the kitchen door, hoping his meaning was crystal clear. Go away.

Qui-Gon looked as if he might say more, then nodded shortly and left the kitchen. But not before Obi-Wan saw a flash of pain in his eyes.

He buttoned his shirt, then poured himself a cup of tea, dumping enough sweetener in to send Devi into conniptions if she'd seen it. Taking the cup with him, he strode back into the common room, deliberately not looking at Qui-Gon, who had resumed his position at the desk.

He opened the balcony door and went out, sitting on one of the woven chairs and propping his feet up on the railing. He sipped his tea and stared at the eternal stream of traffic, wondering what made him so special, what crucial role he played in the scheme of the universe that seemed to result in nothing but endless pain.

He knew Qui-Gon had only been trying to protect him, or at least his fragile psyche, but he was so thoroughly sick of having to be protected, of living a half-life of fractured memories, of jumping at shadows, not knowing who or what threatened him, and why it never seemed to stop. The few moments of happiness he'd shared with Qui-Gon were all he had to cling to, all he had to give him hope that he one day might be able to be normal, and it wasn't enough.

When Fetra came tonight for their normal session, he would tell the healer he'd had enough -- it was time to stop picking carefully through the minefield of his brain.

Obi-Wan wanted his life back. Now.

"Absolutely not," Fetra said, shaking his head. "There are still far too many bits and pieces of memory scattered about. If I allow you to remember what I've recovered so far, you might suffer permanent brain damage."

Qui-Gon recognized all too well the mutinous look on Obi-Wan's face, the stubborn set of his jaw. "Fetra, what would happen if Obi-Wan tried it himself?"

Fetra blinked at Qui-Gon in astonishment. "That would be even worse -- without some sort of control in place, some way to regulate the flood of memories, he'd go into psychic shock. Never mind brain damage -- it might just kill him."

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hand in his. His Padawan had been morose and uncommunicative most of the day, avoiding Qui-Gon as much as possible -- not easy in the relatively small space of their quarters. Just before Fetra's arrival, Obi-Wan had come to him and rested his head against his shoulder in mute apology. Qui-Gon had assured him everything would be all right, but he was beginning to say it so much, it sounded like a hollow promise, even to him.

"I know how frustrated you are, Obi-Wan," he said, squeezing the hand he held. "But please, please promise me you won't attempt anything on your own. You've come so far -- you only have to be patient a little while longer."

Obi-Wan sighed and nodded.

"Before we begin tonight, Obi-Wan," Fetra said, glancing at Qui-Gon, "I'd like to ask you some questions about an experience I haven't yet been able to share with you. What do you remember about the man you told Qui-Gon about -- the man dressed as a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan stiffened, then relaxed somewhat when Qui-Gon murmured reassuring nonsense in his ear. He bit his lip, his hands rising to illustrate what the man had done to him. The beating, the starving, the rapes, the neural implant. He didn't think he could properly convey the crushing disillusionment he'd felt when the man he'd hoped might rescue him turned out to be more cruel than any of his other owners, so he didn't try.

"What did he look like?" Fetra asked.

Look like? Obi-Wan frowned. He tried to remember the man's facial features, but every time he attempted to picture them, he felt a disconcerting slip in his mind. He made an impatient noise and tried again, the sensation of sliding over and around the memory more pronounced.

Fetra leaned forward. "May I?"

Obi-Wan shrugged and nodded.

Fetra placed his hands on Obi-Wan's temples, and Obi-Wan felt the familiar whisper in his mind, gone almost as soon as it had begun.

Fetra sat back with a thoughtful look. "Interesting."

"What?" Qui-Gon asked.

"He can recall every detail of his experience with this man, except for what he looked like -- it's almost as if the man had no head. There's a small blockage nearby, and it's very tightly wrapped and shielded -- I think Obi-Wan might have built it himself." Fetra studied his patient for a moment, then smiled. "Don't worry about it, Obi-Wan. Are you ready to begin the regular session?"

Obi-Wan nodded, settling back on the sofa against Qui-Gon. As Fetra scooted his chair closer, Obi-Wan turned his head and pressed a soft kiss against Qui-Gon's lips, wishing he had a chance to explain what he was going to do, but he couldn't without alerting Fetra.

If he didn't survive this night, he wanted to say goodbye.

This time, when the whisper entered his mind, he followed it. He kept himself at a discreet distance, tightly shielded, and observed as the foreign presence carefully picked at a fragment of memory, gently wrapping itself around the broken piece, dissolving the protective shield around it, keeping it safe with its own shields. The presence then made its way toward the wide expanse of another shield, a dense, heavily blockaded area that seemed to glow in Obi-Wan's consciousness.

He followed the other until it stopped at an entrance of its own making, slipping inside with its precious burden. He waited, and after only an instant, the presence returned, then set off again in search of other memories.

When he was sure the other was far enough away, he went to the thick wall that kept him away from his own life, seeking the entrance. He found nothing but a smooth, blank surface, no sign of a way in or out. He would wait patiently, then, until the other returned again.

Time had no meaning in this disconnected, non-corporeal state, so he had no idea how long he waited until the other came into view, bearing another shielded memory. Clamping down on his own shields, he crept up behind the other and waited until it had made the necessary gesture to allow it entrance behind the walls.

He threw himself at the opening, and was instantly blinded by the sight of what lay before him.

Fetra stiffened, crying out. "Obi-Wan, no!" The healer fell back in his chair, gasping.

Obi-Wan arched up with a hoarse scream, breaking Qui-Gon's gentle hold.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon cried, trying desperately to keep Obi-Wan still, but his Padawan twisted out of his grasp, falling to the floor, convulsing.

"Call Devi," Fetra ground out, pushing himself up from the chair with obvious effort. "Get her here now."

Qui-Gon raced to the comm unit, punching in Devi's code, one he knew by heart now. When the Master Healer appeared, he told her to come to their quarters at once, then ran back to the sofa.

Fetra knelt on the floor by Obi-Wan, trying in vain to keep the young man still.

"What's happening?" Qui-Gon asked, falling to his knees next to Fetra, attempting to quell the thrashing limbs.

"He broke into the safehouse," Fetra said, panting with effort. "He's going into shock, and he won't let me back in."

Qui-Gon gave up trying to restrain Obi-Wan's legs and simply sat on them. "What can we do?"

Fetra's gaze was bleak. "Nothing."

He stood in the middle of a violently swirling vortex of light, light so bright it burned everything that stood in its path to ashes. The walls surrounding it crumbled into black dust and the light expanded, seeking new paths, destroying anything that resisted it.

He heard voices, crying out to him, but they were instantly swallowed up by the roar of the light. He sensed it slowing as it grew, stopping when it had nowhere left to go.

And then it began to retreat, collapsing back on its center, where he stood, motionless. He understood with perfect clarity that he had to absorb the light or die. He opened himself to it without hesitation, and was immediately assailed with sights, sounds, smells, people, places, textures, emotions, a thousand different memories, a hundred thousand, a lifetime.

He stood in the eye of the storm and howled in triumph as his life flooded back to him -- Bant and Garen, the smell of the Creche Master, the heft of his lightsabre, Cerasi, Nield, Melida/Daan, the way he ate wema beans, Reeft, Guerra, Paxxi, Bandomeer, Xanatos, oh, Xanatos, and the Krellian, the huge, tearing pain of it, the flush of pride he'd felt when he'd won the fifteen-year class sabre competition, Bruck, Tahl, the tattered Wookiee he'd carried everywhere until its stuffing began to fall out, New Apsolon, the taste of the wine on Jurnia, the searing heat of the blaster on Ramisa, Siri, Leed, a horned, tattooed Zabrak that terrified him beyond reason, the feel of a cool breeze against sunburnt skin on Sorrus, falling into the reflecting pond in the meditation gardens when he was five and nearly drowning, Cholly, Weez and Tup, the sharp rap of Yoda's gimer stick against unsuspecting shins, Didi, Astri, a hint of the perfume his mother wore, the clear, sharp joy of the Force, and overlaying everything, everything was the scent and warmth and touch and taste and love of his Master.

-- No, Padawan. There has to be another way.

There is no other way, and you know it --

-- I will not make your betrayal easy for you. Know that if you stay, you are no longer a Jedi --

-- I love you, Qui-Gon Jinn.

You are my heart, Obi-Wan Kenobi --

-- It's a perfectly good name, my Obi-Wan ... Obi-Wan ... Obi-Wan! --

"Obi-Wan!"

His eyes flew open and he blinked in incomprehension at the faces above him. He dismissed the woman and the purple-skinned man as being of no consequence for the moment, and focused on the silvered beard and blue eyes closest to him. Qui-Gon. Oh, Qui-Gon.

"Obi-Wan? Are you all right? Tell me you're all right."

Obi-Wan lifted a hand and touched Qui-Gon's cheek, his throat tightening. He couldn't begin to imagine what he would have done if their roles had been reversed, if Qui-Gon had been the one taken and sold into a life of abuse and degradation. At the very least, he thought, he would have descended into utter, screaming insanity by now. And yet Qui-Gon had found him, saved him, and stood by him, his strength never faltering, his love never diminishing.

"Obi-Wan?"

Knowing now that he could do so, Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, trailing his fingers across Qui-Gon's lips. "I love you so," he whispered.

And then it was Qui-Gon's turn to be speechless.

He clutched Obi-Wan to him, holding him so tightly Obi-Wan's freshly healed nose was squashed against the bigger man's collarbone. "I can't breathe," he said in a tiny voice.

Qui-Gon relaxed his grip, but didn't let go. "Obi-Wan," he whispered, the look on his face one of sheer astonishment. "You -- are you ... ?"

"I'm here. Mostly." He gave Qui-Gon a tired smile. "I think."

Qui-Gon smiled back, then he was laughing, and crying and kissing Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan kissed him back, not sure if the moisture on his face was from Qui-Gon's tears or his own.

At the sound of a delicate cough, they turned their heads. Fetra's expression was suitably grim, Devi's only slightly less so.

"You know," Fetra said with a tight smile, "you could have killed me as well as yourself, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "I'm sorry, Healer Fetra -- I thought I'd kicked you out."

"You did." Fetra got to his feet. "And we'll talk about that later, young man."

"Sorry," Obi-Wan said, lowering his gaze. He wasn't sorry, not in the least. He had his life back.

Devi stood as well. "If you gentlemen can manage to get yourselves off the floor ... ?"

After a few moments of shifting and scrambling, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were again seated on the sofa, where Devi checked Obi-Wan's vital signs. She remained tight-lipped with disapproval, but her relief was obvious by the time she finished. "No damage that I can spot." She rose from the sofa, giving Obi-Wan her best naughty patient glare. "No thanks to you. The Force was with you tonight, Padawan Kenobi."

"Bit overdue, isn't it?" Obi-Wan tried for a light tone, but didn't quite succeed. He saw Devi's raised eyebrow and bit his lip. "Sorry, Master Devi -- I didn't mean to be rude." Apparently, he was going to use his newly recovered voice for nothing but apologies.

Devi smiled. "Perfectly understandable." She turned to Fetra. "Do what you have to, then he needs to rest. He's had enough physical trauma in the past few days to last him several lifetimes."

Fetra took Devi's place on the sofa. "If you'll allow me, Obi-Wan, I have to check for possible damage."

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, who gave him a reassuring smile. He turned back to Fetra. "Go ahead."

Fetra's slim fingers touched his forehead, and Obi-Wan felt the familiar whisper again. He stayed put this time, however, letting the healer complete his task.

After several minutes, Fetra lowered his hands with a small sigh.

"What?" Obi-Wan asked.

The healer contemplated his patient in silence for a moment. "Can you tell me what the man dressed as a Jedi looked like?"

"Yes, he -- " Obi-Wan frowned as he felt the same slipping sensation as before. "No," he whispered.

"And what about the training room? Can you tell me what happened there?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, thinking back to his workout, but instead of a slipping sensation, he met only blank nothingness. "No," he said, opening his eyes.

"What does that mean?" Qui-Gon asked. "What did you see, Fetra?"

"There are only two blocked sections remaining. One is very well constructed, a very dense shield that surrounds its memory entirely. I believe that to be the one you built yourself, Obi-Wan, and I think it contains the face of the false Jedi."

"Presumably false," Qui-Gon murmured.

Fetra inclined his head. "Just so. The other is a very hasty construction, but no less impenetrable, and bears no resemblance to anything else I've encountered in your mind. I think we can safely assume that whoever attacked you in the training room is responsible for it."

"Can we break through it?" Obi-Wan asked.

"If we go slowly and carefully, I believe we can find a way in." Fetra stood. "But for now, you're going to bed, and -- " He fixed Qui-Gon with a pointed look. " -- so are you. You've both had far too much to deal with lately, and neither of you will be any good to the other unless you get some rest."

Obi-Wan could find no reason to object to being sent to bed with Qui-Gon. As his Master showed the healers out, Obi-Wan dragged himself to the bedroom, completely exhausted by the time he got there. He kicked his shoes off, then looked down at his shirt, wondering how he would possibly manage all those buttons. No wonder he preferred tunics.

When he had finally finished unbuttoning the shirt, he had no energy left to pull it off, and simply lay back on the covers, staring at the ceiling. He was becoming slowly aware of something missing, some vital part of himself, but a quick limb check proved he had all the necessaries.

Unbidden, his fingers stole up to rest on the band of metal around his neck.

The bedroom door slid open. "Are you all right?" Qui-Gon's voice, concerned.

Obi-Wan struggled upright. "Yes, just very, very tired. Can you get this thing off me?" He indicated the sleeve of his shirt.

"Happily." As Qui-Gon divested him of the irritating garment, Obi-Wan remembered something else.

"Qui-Gon -- you said on the ship that you and I shared some sort of condition. And that was why you couldn't take my collar off. Were you talking about Force-sensitivity or something else?"

Qui-Gon let the shirt fall to the floor and knelt before him. "Something else," he said quietly, taking one of Obi-Wan's hands and kissing it.

If Qui-Gon had to take drugs for it, it must be something bad, Obi-Wan thought.

"Do you remember the day you ... well, the day Xanatos took you? What happened at breakfast?"

Obi-Wan cast his mind back, still giddy with the idea that he was now able to do so. He remembered discussing their plans for the day, including Qui-Gon's appointment with Fetra. Qui-Gon had been upset, and then ... .

"We dropped our shields," Obi-Wan said softly. "Completely."

Qui-Gon's lips brushed the inside of his wrist. "Yes. And evidently formed the beginnings of a soulbond with each other."

"A soulbond," he breathed, stunned by the thought, and yet not truly surprised.

"But both that and our training bond were severed by whatever Xanatos did when he took you. That's why I have to take those drugs -- they put my midichlorians to sleep so I won't feel the Force trying to complete the broken connection." His hand slid up Obi-Wan's chest to touch the collar. "As much as I want to see this hateful thing gone, it's the only thing keeping you from either dying or going mad right now." His lips quirked in a tiny smile. "I know what it feels like. Not at all pleasant."

"But we'll be able to get rid of it soon, right? I mean, now that I'm back to myself again, more or less."

"I'm sure we will," Qui-Gon said, rising to his feet. "But for now, you're about to fall over." He tugged Obi-Wan to his feet long enough to get the covers turned back. "Lie down."

Obi-Wan stepped close, nuzzling Qui-Gon's neck. "Fetra sent you to bed, too, as I recall."

Warm hands slipped around his waist, stroked the bare skin of his back. "Are you questioning a direct order, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan tipped his head back. "I thought you said you'd never pull rank in the bedroom."

Qui-Gon laughed, a deep, rich sound that send pleasant shivers down Obi-Wan's spine. "I can see your restored memory is going to be a mixed blessing." Without warning, he kicked Obi-Wan's legs out from under him and tumbled him to the bed.

"Hey!" Obi-Wan exclaimed in mock protest. "You're supposed to be nice to me," he said, snuggling in close to the broad chest. "I've had trauma. Devi said so." When Qui-Gon didn't respond, he raised his head, startled and a little horrified to see the deep blue eyes swimming with tears. "Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon smiled, the tears spilling over his lids. "My Obi-Wan," he whispered, trailing a finger down Obi-Wan's cheek. "How I've missed you."

Obi-Wan swallowed back the lump in his throat. "I'm here," he said, touching his lips to Qui-Gon's. "I'm finally home."