The Water's Edge - by obaona, vader_incarnate, and Happy_Hobbit

The warehouse was not extremely large; it was designed to hold small but fragile cargo. It had been well built, made of steel with a foundation of duracrete. But the years and wars had taken their toll on the building; the duracrete foundation was crumbling, the steel walls were dented and had jagged holes. The most intact part of the building was the slowly deteriorating roof.

At least it keeps the rain out, the man mused. He sat on the floor of the mostly empty building, his black shirt and pants worn but still intact. He clung to an old, worn brown robe with rough hands like it was life itself. Shifting where he sat in a meditation pose, he wrapped the robe around his body, putting his arms through the loose sleeves and pulling it tight.

He gazed up at the roof, where a distant pattering sound could be heard. Little drops of water fell on his face, wetting his shoulder length ginger hair and trailing down unshaved cheeks like tears.

He turned his face down, letting the water fall on his thick hair instead of his face. Weary blue eyes blinked, looking at the stained duracrete floor. He sighed.

Finally, he rose to his feet, shaking unsteadily. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had to go out and find food soon. His cheekbones were clearly visible, his skin drawn and pale. He had been running for a long time on this miserable planet, shifting from location to location. The Empire had come and taken it easily – not that the government officials had put up much of a fight. The Empire settled down in the industrial oriented planet and suddenly he found himself trapped. A Jedi Knight, trapped within the Empire.

He frowned slightly, walking forward among empty boxes, rags from other homeless occupants – now gone – and other debris. He growled as he did not find what he wanted. How could he have just thrown it so carelessly when he come here? His lightsaber was his life. Blue eyes restlessly searched the area.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, with a growl of frustration, he kicked a box. Then his hand swept out, knocking over other boxes. Soon, he was kicking and striking out with both hands.

There was the sound of glass shattering when an empty bottle shattered at his touch. Shards of glass flew, striking the man’s hands and arms. He hissed, drawing away. The pain told him he would likely have to pick out the shards.

He closed his eyes, making a sound almost like a sob. Quickly, though, self-control returned. He sat down, sighing softly. He gazed at his bloody hands and began picking out shards.

Blood. The sight seemed to draw his eyes, his attention. Like an arresting fascination.

Swiftly, he closed his eyes and turned his head away. He should not think of such things. “Come on, Obi-Wan. Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered hoarsely, so unused to speaking.

Ignoring the pain in his hands and tiredness of his spirit, Obi-Wan turned back to where had sat. He walked over and slipped again into a meditation pose. It was the only thing that brought him any peace.

Vader, he reminded himself. His name was Darth Vader, not Anakin Skywalker. Anakin was dead. So much easier to think of it that way. Dead, not turned to the dark.

As he had only a few times, Obi-Wan allowed himself to remember. He remembered the shock he had felt at Anakin’s marriage. The sense of betrayal. He accepted that pain, and went on. He remembered how Anakin changed, how helpless he had been to stop it because of the war. He remembered Palpatine, his rise to power and his self-declaration that he would be Emperor. He remembered the fight with Anakin, where he had thought his Padawan dead – only to wish later that he was. He remembered Padmé, her belly swollen with pregnancy, going into hiding to have her children. He remembered that with a sense of hope; she was with Yoda. The old Jedi Master, Obi-Wan knew, was more than capable of taking care of the former Senator.

He remembered that bill that was signed that made the very existence of Jedi a crime.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as memories, long repressed, came to the fore. But his eyes snapped open when the Force suddenly screamed to him of danger. It told him that he had to move, and quickly.

He rose to his feet with a grace not apparent before. He stretched out with the Force, thinking of the options he had.

There weren’t many. Vader was here; he could sense the Sith’s presence, a dark malevolent thing that made Obi-Wan feel like he was suffocating. He extended his search, knowing that Vader would not come alone. Yes. There were stormtroopers, their minds alert and focused.

They were focusing on his location. It could only mean one thing; they knew exactly where he was. Which led to another conclusion – this had all been planned out. Vader knew that Obi-Wan would sense his presence, and by extension, that of his trained killers.

Hopelessness pervaded Obi-Wan’s body. Turning away from the facts that the Force presented to him, he focused on his physical surroundings.

The smell of garbage. He was living in garbage. Fainter, he could smell the cleanness of rain. Little light came into the warehouse, and the clouds further depleted it. Obi-Wan stared into the shadows.

He looked down, gazing at his bloody hands, the color almost black in the dim light.

He stepped forward, a slight sheen telling where to go. Soft, worn boots hit the floor soundlessly and he crept past boxes without disturbing them, like a ghost. He knelt gracefully and picked up a silver cylinder.

His lightsaber. The familiar grooves and etches were comfortingly familiar; the heavy weight a balm to his soul.

He thought for long moments, his eyes rested on the lightsaber. What would Vader do? How would he kill Obi-Wan? Would they fight first, would Vader take him fairly? He was fairly certain that Vader could defeat him now, his skills honed by killing Jedi; it had been Padawans, at first, then he had graduated to Knights and Masters. He thought of how much Vader hated him, hated him for taking away Padme, hated him for – failing. Hated him for putting him in that horrid, black armor. For making him a monster to his own wife. Would Vader kill him?

Or did he hate Obi-Wan enough to prolong it instead? What if he took Obi-Wan to Palpatine, to show that he had truly turned? What if. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his grip tightening on his lightsaber until his knuckles were white. He looked ahead in the Force and saw his capture, saw his torture. His begs for mercy.

The Force screamed at him to leave, that danger was coming. The sense of threat became more intense, like the fierceness of battle adrenaline. But Obi-Wan remained eerily calm, steady and unmoving. He didn’t hurry, but he did not pause. He hefted the lightsaber, testing its weight. Remembering, letting painful memories fall into the past.

But he didn’t want to live. He wrapped both hands around the hilt of the lightsaber, and turned it inwards, so the blade would come out into his chest. He pressed the hilt to his chest, directly over his heart, a firm circular weight. He spared a thought for the irony of dying this way, the same way his Master had fallen.

It was sunny. By the Force, it was actually sunny.

The cream-clad figure in the doorway blinked several times, trying to accustom his midnight-blue eyes to the sudden brightness, and grinned. It was almost never sunny on Coruscant. There were places on this planet, he had been told, where the sun never shone. Slums on the lower levels, hidden forever from daylight, where a subhuman species was rumored to lurk, living on whatever fell from up high. Even on the higher levels, sunlight was a rarity, thanks to sudden, unpredictable storms. People spent most of their time indoors, many here never seeing the sun, even here, but by choice rather than necessity.

And it was sunny.

He glanced surreptitiously around as he moved to the edge of the catwalk, just to make sure that no one was watching. There was not anything wrong with enjoying the weather, per se, but some might object it while he had other things to do. More important things, they might argue, but sometimes just enjoying oneself was pretty important, too.

Leaning against the safety railing, he inhaled deeply, simply enjoying the tangy fragrance of the air. He would not have dared do this anywhere else on the city-planet, as crowded and polluted as it was, but this place, fondly referred to as the “Jedi Quarter” was different. The district that housed the ancient Jedi Temple had always, or at least to all living memory but perhaps Yoda’s, been beautiful, serene, as different from the rest of Coruscant and as frigid Hoth from tropical Naboo.

The Temple, he had been told, while rivaling only Ord Mantell in beauty, far surpassed any other place in splendor. The catwalk he was standing on, for example, connecting two of the Temple’s five graceful spires, soared over a magnificent botanical garden, featuring plants from every imaginable corner of the Republic.

Coruscant was a nice planet, all in all, as long as you shirked the lower levels. But none of it was as... green. No other place on the giant city-planet of Coruscant was so vivid, so alive. This was far from the untamed beauty of places like Dathomir, of course, but with a natural beauty, nonetheless, from a harmonious blending of all possible plants the Republic had to offer. Like those within Temple itself, a mixture of everything, from everywhere. Humans, of course, but so much more, too.

There had been a time, he had been told, when the Temple had been smaller, consisting of only the five towers, not the elaborate grounds it contained today. Not so anymore. The Jedi were the protectors of galactic peace, defenders of the people, and loved as such. The grounds had been the gift of the Republic, a private district of Coruscant reserved for Jedi and Jedi alone.

It was good to be home. Especially so after being away for as long as he had, he reflected. That feeling would, he knew from experience, quickly wear away as the weeks wore on, until he was just itching to be on the move again.

Xanatos smiled, running a hand through his long, dark hair. It had taken a while for him to adjust to having long hair, especially after the short Padawan haircut, but it was simply a part of him now. Most Jedi, he had found, wore their hair long; all except Master Windu, actually, but then again, his hair problems were nearly legendary with the Temple youth.

He regretfully pulled away from the railing, casting one last look over his shoulder. Today was his first day back home, and he had things to do, things that had piled up during his long absence. He needed to find Qui-Gon, first of all, and--

“Xanatos!” a voice called out from somewhere behind him, followed quickly by the staccato thuds of running footsteps.

“Ani!” he exclaimed, whirling around to face the younger man. He quickly pulled the boy into a rough, fraternal embrace before thrusting him back to get a better look at him. “Look how you’ve grown! It’s been, what, three years now?”

“More,” Anakin Skywalker corrected with a grin. “Closer to five, actually.” He had grown. A lot. He was taller now, taller than most men Xanatos had ever seen, tall enough, even, to give Qui-Gon a good run for his money. Dressed in the traditional, drab Jedi robes, cream-colored, as usual, he looked more like a man now than ever. The innocent little boy was still there, though, still there in the infectious grin, the twinkling blue eyes.

“So it has,” he agreed. “Tell me: are you a Knight yet? Or still the little troll’s Padawan?”

Anakin ruefully stuck out his tongue. “Still a Padawan,” he admitted with a wry grin. “But Master Yoda thinks I’ll be ready for the Trials in only a few weeks! You’ve made it back just in time.... You are staying this time, aren’t you?” he asked cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” Xanatos reassured him, hastily patting the younger man on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss your Knighting for the world. I’m not going anywhere soon, Ani.”

Ani grinned teasingly. “You’re the only person who calls me that, you know. I’m just ‘Anakin’ to everyone else.”

Xanatos chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that. You’re not a boy anymore.” This boy, no, young man, could easily have been his own Padawan, he reflected. He had known Anakin for most of his life, had already been a Knight long before Anakin was ready for apprenticeship. The Council, though, having decided that Anakin was too powerful to be trained by a mere Knight, had apprenticed him to the disgruntled Master Yoda instead. Anakin, Yoda’s newest apprentice in a long, long time, had been subjected to all his little petulant fits and frequent whacks of the legendary gimmer stick.

Looking back, Xanatos had to admit that the Council was right. He would not have been ready to take the boy, would have botched his training miserably. And Anakin’s power, already potent, would have been terrible if supplemented by the corruption of the Darkside.

He knew what the Darkside could do. Kenobi--

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Anakin asked, lifting his face and arms to the sky, eyes closed. “It’s finally sunny! And I can see the sky!”

“Yes,” Xanatos agreed with a smile, leaning on the railing, back to the gardens but still carefully watching the boy with midnight-blue eyes. “It sure is lovely, isn’t it? I’ve been craving sunlight for weeks now.”

“Where did you go?” Anakin asked curiously, looking back down at him. Down. Five years ago, it would have been Xanatos who was looking down. Things sure changed a lot in five years. People, too, hopefully. “Where you just got back from, I mean?”

“Kamino, actually. I thought it’d be nice, a little rain after spending the last few months on Tatooine, right? Turns out, no one ever thought to tell me that it never stops raining on the Force-damned planet!”

“Lucky,” Anakin sighed gloomily, leaning forward on the rail, gazing at the long expanse of green. “I can’t wait until Knighthood! Master Yoda may be a good teacher and a powerful Jedi, but he sure is boring.”

“Action? Adventure?” Xanatos queried, smirking. “Heh, a Jedi craves not these things.”

“No, stop!” Anakin commanded with a little laugh. “I’ve heard that more times than I can count!”

“I’m sure you have,” Xanatos agreed. Living with the old troll must have been a living nightmare for the impetuous Skywalker. Truth be told, Master Yoda was a bit stiff; tedious, even. Anakin, on the other hand, was... not, to say the least.

“I can’t wait until my Knighthood, Xanatos,” Anakin confided. “I’ll be off this rock before you can say ‘Kashyvyk’!”

“That’s what you say now,” Xanatos warned, “but just wait until you actually get there. Things always seem a bit better when you don’t have them yet.”

“Says the man who takes three times as many assignments as anyone else in the Temple!”

Xanatos smiled wryly. “True,” he admitted. His restlessness was somewhat of a legend in the halls of the Temple nowadays. Before this morning, he had not set foot inside for years. “I’m sure it wears off in time, though.”

Anakin sighed morosely, gazing at the greenery below. “That’s exactly what Master Yoda says.”

“If Master Yoda says it, then it has to be true.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He didn’t know about the time that I replaced his gimmer stick with bitterroot. It took him three days to figure it out. I personally think the centuries have killed off his tastebuds.”

Xanatos raised an eyebrow, suddenly very, very happy that he had not taken this boy as a Padawan. “I see.” Whose living nightmare was worse, he wondered, Master Yoda’s or Anakin’s? “How many hours of meditation did you get for that one?”

“Nine,” Anakin admitted. “But that’s not the point. Besides,” he added, “the years haven’t done anything about Master Dooku’s wanderlust. He’s been off for almost as long as you have. Qui-Gon, though....” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Xanatos could not blame him. They both knew exactly what had killed Qui-Gon’s love of adventure. Just as they both knew exactly why Xanatos had been away for so long. The last time he had tried go come back, things had not been exactly pleasant between him and his still-grieving Master.

That had been five years ago. Ten years since--

No, he would not think of that. What was done was done, and he would be a fool to want to change it now. He had had no other choice at the time, dammit, but, looking back, sometimes he just had to wonder.

“How is he, by the way?” Xanatos asked carefully, after a tense moment or two of awkward silence. “Qui-Gon, I mean? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Anakin responded with a vague wave of his hand. “I think teaching suits him. He missed you, though. Talks about you everyday.”

“He... he does?” Xanatos repeated, dazed. “I thought he might--”

“Oh, he got over that a long time ago,” Anakin assured him quickly. “He’s been over it for years now. He was asking the Council when you’d be coming home for months. The only reason he wasn’t there to meet you at the landing bay, actually, was because he couldn’t find anyone insane enough to sub for his class. They gave him the rowdiest group of initiates at the Temple, just out of spite, I think, but I heard that he’s got them pretty much under control now...” Skywalker rambled on, even though Xanatos had not really heard anything past the first sentence.

Xanatos felt a smile slowly creeping up his face. His Master had forgiven him, then? “Where is he? Why don’t we go see him?”

Anakin blinked, startled. “N-now? He-he’s teaching a class! He should be done at about--”

“Now,” Xanatos insisted, firmly pulling the younger man back towards the door. “Let’s go.”

"Xanatos, wait up!" Anakin called running after him.

Xanatos ignored him, if anything only going faster as Anakin struggled to keep up. They were in the Temple, going as fast as they could yet not quite sprinting. Although Anakin was easily the taller of the two, he reflected sourly, Xanatos’ state of near-panic gave him quite an advantage speed-wise.

Qui-Gon's door was just ahead. Xanatos strode over and put a hand on the door panel. “Wait!” Anakin called again, in a vain attempt to stop him. Force, but Qui-Gon hated being interrupted...

To Anakin’s surprise, though, Xanatos did not barge in. He was just standing, still standing at the door when Anakin caught up, panting and more than a little winded. When he caught his breath, he glanced up, only to see Xanatos still mesmerized-- and gazing through the glass and into the classroom. Anakin shot him a strange look and snapped his fingers. “Hello? Coruscant to Xanatos? Come in, Xanatos!”

No answer. Anakin shrugged and peered in above the older man’s head.

Qui-Gon was sitting on the floor with his group of initiates, his voice softly floating over them as the varied hopefuls listened with rapt attention. They had pushed the desks back to the wall, leaving an open space for them to sit. He was telling them a story, some story about the defeat of the Sith long, long ago, making the tired tale come to life for the younglings. They gathered around, all sitting on the floor, all eyes shining with wonder and awe.

“Force, I wish we could hear what they were saying!” Anakin exclaimed to no one in particular. Xanatos turned his head, arching an eyebrow, and gave him a very strange look. Anakin blushed. “Oh, I forgot about that,” he admitted. Xanatos nodded wisely but did not comment as Anakin reached out to the Force.

"Are you ready for the story, children?" Qui-Gon whispered, leaning in as if he was going to tell the children a wonderful secret.

"We're ready, Master Jinn!" one of the children piped, a tiny- even by initiate standards- youngling with waving red lekku.

"Shh!" Qui-Gon ordered, glancing quickly around. Anakin stifled a laugh. He made it seem like such a wonderful secret, this tired old tale. "You don't want anyone to know that I've been telling this to you, hear?" he asked. "This material is much, much more than the Council thinks you're ready for, but I know you will be able to understand. So you can’t just go telling one of the Council members about this, okay? Is that clear?"

The initiates nodded silently, their eyes still shining with awe. "We're ready, Master Jinn," the first one repeated, whispering this time.

Qui-Gon smiled. "Of course. Now, you all know what happened after the battle on Ruusan one thousand years ago, correct?" Nods. "Does anyone want to tell me?" A blonde human girl quickly raised her hand. Qui-Gon nodded at her, "Yes, Kiely? Would you like to tell us what happened?"

"The planet of Ruusan was the last great battlefield between dark and light," she answered primly. Ah, the class brain, Anakin thought with a smile. "The Sith brotherhood of darkness battled with the Jedi army of light and lost. Only one of the Sith survived: Darth Bane. Darth Bane established the rule that there would only be two living Sith at a time: a Master and an Apprentice."

Qui-Gon nodded. "That's absolutely right. Does anyone else know what happens next?" No one answered. "Anyone? No? Well, that's all right. I'll tell you now. Are you ready?" Eager nods. "Are you sure? Well, if you're absolutely sure, lean in very, very close, and I'll tell you." They all scooted closer. Despite himself, Anakin found himself leaning in, too, even though he had heard the story countless times.

"After Darth Bane established that rule, the Sith went into hiding. Because Bane and his apprentice were the only Sith now, hiding was easy, as compared to trying to hide the legions of the Sith Empire before. Bane wanted, above all, secrecy so that, when the time came, the Sith would be ready to overwhelm their Jedi rivals.”

Silence. “So what happened then, Master Jinn?” one of them finally asked breathlessly.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Nods.

“Certain?”

More nods.

“Well, it would have worked perfectly if it the Sith hadn’t made a crucial mistake,” Qui-Gon paused significantly for a moment as the younglings waited with bated breath. “About two hundred years later, the Sith Master Darth Nacht made a drive for power before he was ready-- and failed. Have any of you heard of Alderaan?”

They shook their heads.

“No?” Qui-Gon asked, arching an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Well, Alderaan was a beautiful planet that was destroyed in the conflict. Alderaan was the place where the Jedi clashed with the Sith Master and Apprentice, finally exterminating the Sith Order once and for all. The clash between light and darkness made the beautiful planet completely uninhabitable, impossible for any creature to survive upon. ”

Silence. Then, after several long, drawn out moments, a child spoke. “Wizard!” one of them breathed. Anakin giggled. A few of the other Padawans had picked up on his speaking habits and it looked like that had passed on to the initiates, as well. “They destroyed the entire planet?”

“The entire planet,” Qui-Gon confirmed. “The planet of Alderaan-- once legendary for its beauty and peace-- is no more.”

Utter silence as the gathered initiates contemplated the full meaning of this. “Wizard,” one of them finally whispered again in awe.

To Anakin’s surprise, Xanatos abruptly turned away and started walking back out the door. Oh, Force, not again... “Wait!” he pleaded, catching up with the older man and grabbing his arm. “Where are you going?” he demanded harshly. “You wanted to see Qui-Gon and--”

Xanatos did not even look at him. “He’s happy,” he muttered.

“What?”

“He’s happy,” Xanatos repeated again, utterly emotionless. “He doesn’t need me. He’d be much happier without me.”

“What do you mean? Of course he needs you! He--”

“He doesn’t need me!” Xanatos exclaimed, whirling around to face Anakin. His midnight eyes blazed with a flurry of emotions, hurt, sadness, self-hatred. In his fury, he seemed to be taller, more menacing than he actually was. Anakin took an involuntary step back as he finally realized why Xanatos was one of the most feared, respected Jedi in the galaxy-- until Xanatos deflated, the anger gradually seeping away.

“He doesn’t need me,” he repeated softly, yet again. “He hated me from the moment I took my lightsaber and-- he hates me,” he finished sadly, catching himself from revealing any more. Not that Anakin needed to know-- the entire Temple knew about Xanatos and Qui-Gon’s disagreements. “Qui-Gon’s perfectly fine without me. He’d be so much happier if I would just disappear from the face of the galaxy.” He smiled suddenly. “So maybe I will,” Xanatos murmured. “Maybe I will.”

Anakin blinked in surprise, letting his arm drop. If he did not know better, he would have said that that almost sounded like--

Xanatos quickly jerked away, striding once more down the hallway, his heels clicking sharply on the cold tile floor. “Wait!” Anakin begged again, running to catch up. “What do you mean?” he demanded, struggling to keep in stride.

Xanatos did not slow down, not even looking at the younger man as he opened the door. “The Council has offered me another mission,” he explained, finally meeting Anakin’s gaze with infuriatingly calm midnight eyes. “All I have to do is accept, and I’ll be off-- away from Coruscant, away from the Temple, away from Qui-Gon. He doesn’t seem to need-- or want-- me,” he finished bitterly. “We’ll all just be happier if I just disappeared.”

He started walking again, only to have Anakin leap into his path, blocking his way. “You said you’d be here for my Trials,” Anakin reminded him accusingly. “You can’t just go and--”

“Ah, Xanatos,” a little voice called from somewhere by his knees. Anakin looked down quickly, and, sure enough, there was the little troll himself. “Found my wayward Padawan you have, I see, hmm?” Yoda queried, simultaneously poking Anakin with the stick. “ ‘Back in five minutes,’ said he. ‘Worry not, Master Yoda!’ Hmmph!” Yoda snorted his disdain, whacking Anakin with the stick once more.

“Master Yoda!” Anakin exclaimed. “I was just--”

“Just escorting me to the Council,” Xanatos interrupted smoothly. “I decided to accept the mission.”

Yoda raised an eyebrow. “Accept it you will, then?” he queried. “Glad of that I am. For this mission, need our most experienced knight we do, Xanatos,” he declared, patting Xanatos on the knee. “But seen your Master have you? Seen Qui-Gon you have not for over five years, yes?”

Xanatos gulped, even as Anakin smirked. “Um... I was--”

“So see him you must!” Yoda announced happily, rapping his stick on the floor. Anakin stifled a giggle at the chagrined look on Xanatos’ face at that announcement. “Escort you to his office Anakin will,” he decided. “And then finish his meditation this boy must,” Yoda added, poking Anakin again and looking at him meaningfully with liquid green eyes.

Anakin groaned dejectedly, and it was Xanatos’ turn to smirk.

Three more minutes, Xanatos thought to himself, checking the chrono once more. Three more minutes.

He got up from his chair and started pacing around the office. Qui-Gon’s office, while neither large nor elaborate, carried a distinct charm that quite a few more spacious areas lacked. Decorated entirely in the soft creams and earth-tones that Jedi tended to favor, it was furnished for comfort, rather than vanity. It might have been the office of a middle-class businessman, and no one would be able to know the difference.

If not for the keepsakes on the walls, that is.

Xanatos smiled, stepping a bit closer to inspect one of the decorations on display. He remembered that one. It had been a gift for Qui-Gon’s birthday, a silly little thing he had seen on display in a store window and bought on an impulse. He sincerely doubted that Qui-Gon had ever found use for a snuffbox, but it had seemed like a sensible purpose at the time.

Next to it, an old holo of Qui-Gon and Xanatos in much happier times, leaning on one another’s shoulders, both grinning broadly for the holopic. Xanatos frowned, peering closer. Was his Master giving him bunny-ears?

And, next to that, another picture with Qui-Gon and another young man, smiling and--

Xanatos jerked his gaze away, looking at the chrono instead. Two more minutes, he thought to himself.

He smiled ruefully. Force, but hadn’t he checked less than a minute ago? He could just hear his Master’s voice now, reminding him, just as he had so many times before--

“Impatience is handmaiden to despair, and despair is of the Dark Side.”

Wait a moment. Was that voice in his head, or was--

Xanatos whirled around to face the door, where, sure enough, Qui-Gon Jinn stood. He had aged over the past ten years, looking as if twenty years had passed rather than only ten. Perhaps that was to be expected after what he had been through, but it still gave Xanatos’ heart a pang to see his teacher and mentor looking so different. His long, once-chestnut hair had grayed quite a bit, and his beard, too, had turned silver, lending him the aristocratic air that gray hair always seemed to give. The fine web of wrinkles on his face had deepened and spread, showing new lines of sadness, but, at the same time, the distinct lines that came from smiles and laughter too.

“Master,” Xanatos greeted softly. He walked over to his mentor, teacher, friend, wanting so much to hug him, start sobbing like a small child, and apologize for everything that had happened in the last ten years--

He shook Qui-Gon’s hand. “How have you been, Master?” he inquired politely, pitching his voice evenly, not revealing any of his long pent-up emotions. Just the student and the teacher. Not a son and father, not a--

Qui-Gon grinned at the title. “I’m not your master anymore, Padawan,” he reminded him.

“I’m not your Padawan anymore, Master,” Xanatos returned.

They both chuckled a bit at that. “True,” Qui-Gon admitted with a wry smile. “So- how are things in the galaxy lately?” He asked this in the same tone Xanatos just used. Polite, civil, but nothing more.

“Oh, not bad,” Xanatos replied. “The same as usual-- peaceful, quiet, for the most part. The Council was hard-pressed to keep me busy,” he admitted.

The galaxy had been peaceful for centuries. Even Master Yoda could scarcely remember a time when the Jedi had been called on in force, though they kept up their lightsaber skills and martial arts. The Sith had long ago been defeated, the Dark Side long ago put into a swift retreat; now was a golden age for the Republic, for the Jedi. Jedi were still needed, of course, as peace-keepers, as negotiators, and it had been in this function that Xanatos had served during his self-imposed ten-year exile.

Qui-Gon nodded. “That’s nice,” he replied vaguely.

An awkward pause followed, neither man knowing quite what to say or where to look. Xanatos shifted slightly from foot to foot.

“Would you have a seat?” Qui-Gon finally offered. Xanatos nodded, not quite trusting his tongue. They both sat down on opposite sides of the wide desk. More silence. “Care for a drink? I have blue milk, tea, and water.”

“Water,” Xanatos replied hoarsely. He needed it. Even though he had faced quite a few dangers during his time away from the Temple, his throat had never felt quite so dry.

Qui-Gon nodded curtly and pushed a button on the desk. A moment later, a kitchen droid entered, bearing a cup of clear, cold water. Xanatos chugged it down without pause.

It did not help.

They just sat for a few more minutes in silence before Xanatos finally decided that he had had enough. “Qui-Gon, I--”

“Xanatos--”

They stopped and looked at each other somewhat sheepishly. “You first,” Qui-Gon offered.

Xanatos nodded, licking dry lips. “Mast-- I mean Qui-Gon, I just wanted to tell you-- to tell you--” he stopped, not knowing how to continue

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” he replied wisely. “I never thought I’d hear you trying to apologize, Xanatos-- I'd always rather sincerely doubted that you would. You’re probably one of the most stubborn Jedi in the order. But you are trying to apologize, aren’t you?”

Xanatos nodded dumbly. “Exactly,” he admitted. “I guess I’m not that good with apologies, but after everything that’s happened between us during the last ten years I thought--”

This time, it was Qui-Gon who cut him off. “You don’t have to apologize, Xan,” he interrupted, using the childhood name that Xanatos had not heard in ever so long. “It wasn’t your fault. It had to happen, I know that now; I knew it then, too, but couldn’t accept it right away. I’m the one who should be sorry for driving you away from your home, from your life.” He smiled ruefully, holding his hands out, palms up. “So-- will you forgive me?”

Was it true? Could it be true? He had spent the last ten years trying to run away from his past, from his actions. Was it finally over? Xanatos stared at his teacher for a long moment-- and threw his head back with a laugh. “How about we just both be sorry together?” he suggested.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Deal.” He offered his arms for a hug-- and Xanatos hugged him back.

It was good to be home.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Xanatos nodded wisely with an understanding smile on his face. He had spent the last two days working on a labor dispute on the mostly industrial planet of Wekkeran. The dispute involved the workers at the component factories – they made computer parts of droids – and their bosses, who were unwilling to concede everything. Negotiations had begun a month ago, but no progress had been made. It was a fairly routine matter, but the last time it happened, several years ago, massive riots had resulted. The droid and computer manufacturing business was very important on Wekkeran – they had no virtually no tourist industry, though it was a pleasant enough world, so their entire economy depended on it.

Xanatos sat at a long, oblong table made of sleek black stone native to the planet. With him were the delegates from both sides of the dispute, sitting at opposite ends. Xanatos sat in the middle, and off by himself as he was here as an objective person.

Currently, the leader of the workers was letting his fury build into a full tantrum – and it was not the first time that day he had done so. He stood and waved his fist in the air, presenting an intimidating figure with dark bushy eyebrows set above menacing eyes. The executive of the company regarded him with glacial coolness. Xanatos, with his tall but slender frame, did not appear to present much of a threat so he was mostly ignored.

Closing his eyes in irritation, Xanatos let his focus wander. A smile touched his classically featured face as he remembered what had happened at the Temple just before he left on the freighter – the ship that would get there the quickest – to reach Wekkeran.

Qui-Gon. After so many years of Qui-Gon’s never ending grief and pain, Xanatos resentment of Qui-Gon’s treatment of him – and Xanatos’ own guilt for his actions – peace had been made between them. It gave Xanatos’ spirit a strange buoyancy, which held even with bickering parties shouting nearby.

The table trembled with a powerful thump. Xanatos’ eyes snapped open and he would have gone for his lightsaber, hanging loosely at his belt, but he did not sense any danger. He raised his head and looked up at the furious man – the workers’ leader. Rean was his name – Xanatos had always been good with names, a useful skill in a Jedi.

Xanatos blinked slowly and let his smile widen. Not deliberately antagonizing the man, but Xanatos did not care for missions requiring more diplomacy then lightsaber action. A quirk of his personality. “Nothing,” he said calmly. “Merely remembering a . . . pleasant event, as this discussion doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

Xanatos stood, pushing back the plush chair. He cast his eyes around the table, meeting each gaze. “Gentlebeings, perhaps we should continue this tomorrow,” he suggested, resisting the urge to use the Force to ‘persuade’ them he was right.

Fortunately, the whole group reluctantly nodded, shooting each other glares as they did so. They didn’t want to agree on even that small thing, Xanatos thought sadly.

Once he made sure the delegates got to their respective rooms without a fight breaking out, he headed for the outdoors rather than his own room. While the room was plenty comfortable, with plush and elegant furnishings, he wanted to take a walk. He couldn't talk to Qui-Gon, there being no Holonet connection yet between the recalcitrant Wekkeran and Coruscant.

He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be bothered, even though there was little doubt in his mind he would recognized as a Jedi. With the cream tunics, dark brown, heavy robe and a lightsaber, he could hardly be mistaken for anything else. But people respected the Jedi, and in many cases they respected and cared for the Jedi enough to leave them alone. Xanatos hoped that was the case on Wekkeran.

Wekkeran was a predominantly human planet anyway, with no sentient native species. If he wrapped himself in his robe entirely and hid his lightsaber, he might not be recognized as a Jedi.

Plan made, Xanatos pulled his cloak tight and walked out of the building. He strolled past offices and small cafés, looking for something but not quite knowing what. He soon walked past the busy center of the city to a more outlying area. His plan was successful and he wasn’t bothered by any of the passerby.

When he found the park, he knew that this was where he wanted to be. It was exactly the kind of park Xanatos liked, with plants and shrubbery growing wildly but with some people trimming it back occasionally, keeping track of what was there. The air was fresh and the area a soothing green – and no dangerous animals and plants to worry about, the best thing about a park.

He walked deeper into the tiny forest, until the floor was merely dappled with sunlight, most of the light blocked by the old, gnarled and massive trees. He walked down a pebble pathway, mind wandering and relaxed. He was nearly in a meditative state. Soon, he heard the slow, bubbling sound of rushing water, which meant a river was nearby. Musing that it might be nice see, he let the path lead him.

He was falling. It was merely an instant, a feeling of total weightlessness with the rush of air. Then he hit something hard which gave a moment later, surrounding him in a rush of cold. Shock made his body limp. Was this death?

Obi-Wan’s lungs demanded air and his body began to kick instinctively, disturbing the water. His eyes snapped open, but he could only see blurry colors of blue, wavering and shifting. His eyes stung and he squinted, blinking rapidly. He kicked again, one hand stretched out for that light. His robe became entangled in his legs but he kept kicking, completely frantic.

Finally, his body began to weaken and his struggles lessened. The light was steadily approaching. The light grew almost unbearably bright and then the water parted and cold air hit his face.

He inhaled, gasping. His arms, heavy with damp clothes, came up and he began to paddle. The blurriness of his vision began to fade. Blue bordered with brown. He focused. The shore of the body of water was fairly near. He weakly began to push himself forward with slow strokes.

Soon, his hands hit the wet dirt, which he clenched in his hands, the sand easily slipping out. He loosened his grip and pulled himself on the shore, his lower legs still in the water. His mind dazed and confused, he looked around at his surroundings.

It appeared to a forest. And a peaceful one at that. Large, ancient trees were rooted deeply in the ground, surrounding the area. He tried to look past the trees, but all he saw were more trees. The area was fairly shadowed with the heavy canopies that the trees provided and thick moss lay on the forest floor. Small mammals scurried and birds hopped from branch to branch, taking no notice of the man lying on the ground.

Then there was the lake. It was completely surrounded by the forest, a startling deep blue against the dark, vivid green. He stared at it, mesmerized. The lake was not very large, being small enough that he could see the other side, but when he stared into its depths he realized it was quite deep. The center of the lake looked almost black it was so dark a blue, so deep were its waters.

What was this? Was this death? He had his lightsaber – that was gone now, he realized, lost in the lake somewhere – and he had been pushing down on the ignition button. Then – he was here. In the lake. So was the lake death? If that was the case, where was he now – on the water’s edge?

Whatever it was, it was peaceful. Calm and soothing to his tense nerves. He had a huge temptation to simply lie down where he was and sleep. He had lost blood from the shards of glass, and he was not sure how much. On top of that, he had not eaten in several days and the constant running had worn him down. He was tired.

But he couldn’t rest, he realized with a sense of panic. Vader. Where was he? Panic quickly began to drown out reason. He stumbled to his feet, the heavy wet cloak dragging. He quickly yanked the thing off his shoulders, though he kept a good hold on it. The tattered piece of clothing was the only thing of value he possessed anymore.

His breath coming in quick pants, he looked around – for what, he didn’t know. But he quickly saw something which disturbed him, his Jedi senses catching what was barely visible.

A trail. It was unmistakable. Trailing off as it reached the edge of the lake was pebble pathway, not recently used from what Obi-Wan could tell but clearly taken care of it so the pebbles wouldn’t scatter.

He looked around for his lightsaber, turning his head away from the path. Where was it? It took a few long moments for his mind to catch up to his instinct to get his weapon. It was in the lake somewhere and possibly damaged anyway.

He turned back to the pathway without thinking at the barest scuffle of a boot, dropping into a defensive stance as he did so.

Standing there, at the end of path, was Xanatos. He was dressed, ironically, in Jedi robes and tunics, the colors automatically calming Obi-Wan – the face automatically doing the opposite. It was as he remembered: pale, perfect skin offset by midnight blue eyes, a classically featured face that spoke of aristocratic bloodlines, and thick, straight black hair that fell to his shoulders. Yet something was missing.

Xanatos stared at him with a look of shock on his face. His hands were held loosely at his sides but his body had clearly tensed. His spine straightened and he stepped back slightly, one hand calmly taking his lightsaber from his belt.

“Kenobi,” Xanatos said softly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, disgust, and the faintest stirrings of hate, swiftly repressed.

Obi-Wan licked his lips and would have stepped back – except he had no place to go, except the water. He dropped his cloak, preparing.

“I thought you were dead,” Xanatos said emotionlessly. Still not igniting his lightsaber. Did he realize that Obi-Wan was unarmed? Perhaps he didn’t and that was why he hadn’t attacked yet.

“I thought the same of you,” Obi-Wan said, with some degree of calmness. It was a skill he had thought lost. But the calm was only a veneer. Fear and panic were waging a battle for supremacy underneath. His Jedi control had long since been shattered by his experiences.

Confusion flickered in Xanatos’ eyes at Obi-Wan’s words. Keeping his lightsaber low and not ignited, he began to approach Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan flinched, wavering on his feet like a frightened animal. The hate had completely faded from Xanatos eyes, leaving confusion and curiosity.

When Xanatos was in striking range and had still not attacked, Obi-Wan threw himself at the former Jedi. Xanatos stumbled back a step, taken by surprise. He almost ignited his lightsaber, to spit Obi-Wan, but he stopped and threw it away, far out of reach except for the Force. Then he met Obi-Wan’s attack head on, determination hardening his face.

Obi-Wan’s only thought was of taking out Xanatos quickly. Evidently Xanatos, whatever his plot was, didn’t want to kill Obi-Wan, since he had thrown his weapon – an advantage – away. The idea that Xanatos might not want to hurt him simply because it would be wrong barely even registered in his mind and was dismissed at conception.

Obi-Wan first used his legs, trying to swipe Xanatos off his feet. Xanatos easily jumped over the attempt, but he was less well prepared when Obi-Wan found a pain nerve in his leg and squeezed. With a yelp, Xanatos skipped back, surprise in his eyes.

But he didn’t hesitate to come after Obi-Wan again. Two things quickly became apparent to Obi-Wan: first, that Xanatos wasn’t using any dirty fighting and second, that Xanatos was clearly in good shape. Unlike Obi-Wan, who was running on his last burst of energy.

His concentration, degraded by lack of sleep and food, finally slipped. Up until then, their fight had been purely physical. Obi-Wan had used every dirty trick he could think of, no small number, yet still not all of them, as his mind was befuddled and confused even as he fought. It was clear, though, in the fight that Obi-Wan was not at his physical prime. And even worse, Xanatos seemed to realize it – but he didn’t take advantage of it. In fact, as soon as Obi-Wan saw the realization enter Xanatos’ eyes, pity soon followed. Which only caused Obi-Wan to fight harder, with a snarl. But his strength was fading and Xanatos was still strong.

Obi-Wan tried to hit Xanatos on the side of his neck, a stunning blow, but Xanatos sidestepped with a move he had never seen before and had caught his wrist before he knew what was happening. Then Xanatos swept one leg under Obi-Wan’s, bringing him down.

Xanatos forced Obi-Wan to the ground, straddling him. He used his legs to keep Obi-Wan from kicking him and his hands held Obi-Wan’s wrists firmly.

Obi-Wan struggled, not even using any skill now but simply squirming, desperate to be free. Low sobs escaped his throat as he was firmly held down.

Xanatos, holding Obi-Wan’s wrists, brought them up and slammed them back down again, shaking Obi-Wan violently. “Kenobi!”

“No! Get off, get off!” Obi-Wan yelled, gasping. Panic flooded his mind. Only a few months before, he had gotten careless from exhaustion and a squad of stormtroopers had managed to capture him temporarily. They had taken his lightsaber and proceeded to beat him mercilessly, taunting him and playing with him. When they had held him down and then dangled a Padawan braid in front of him, as a trophy, he had snapped.

None of the stormtroopers had survived. And Obi-Wan was left with a fear of being unable to move – of being helpless. But he feared himself most of all.

“No, no, no don’t,” Obi-Wan said, babbling and incoherent, his only thought to get away. He tried to buck Xanatos off but his weakened effort failed.

Confusion and pity swirled in Xanatos eyes, mere feet from his own. Then the emotions faded from Xanatos’ eyes, to be replaced with a calm focus. Suddenly, a wave of Force strength went over him, smothering and holding him still.

Obi-Wan had time to register the invasion of his mind, the touch deftly seeking to make him lose consciousness, before he succumbed to the darkness.

Despite looking quite thin, Kenobi was actually quite heavy, as Xanatos discovered. Especially for a long walk. And it was a long walk back to the freighter he had come to Wekkeran on. He was fairly certain the pilot would be willing to take Xanatos and his guest back to Coruscant, even with the inconvenience it would cause. The man had told Xanatos when he came aboard how honored he was to meet a full Jedi Knight, and how his sister’s life was saved by a Jedi.

There was never any doubt in his mind he should take Kenobi back to the Jedi Temple. He just couldn’t leave him here. Though what to tell Qui-Gon worried him. What would his old Master think?

Time to worry about that later. First, he had to get Kenobi back to the ship. Fortunately, the spaceport was on the outskirts of the city so the residents wouldn’t be so bothered by the noise and bustle. In the event of bumping into anyone, he could probably come up with a good excuse to explain carrying a wet, unconscious man.

He walked through mostly deserted streets and roads, taking the longer but less occupied route to the spaceport. He called upon the Force to give him strength and by the time he did reach the spaceport and the freighter, he was barely breathing hard. And he was in a good mood – he had gotten strange looks but the lightsaber had kept the few people he saw away. They probably thought it was official Jedi business and that they shouldn’t interfere.

The freighter was one of the smaller, commercial craft. It would have bays of varying sizes, designed to carry any kind of cargo. Augmenting one to fit one, dangerous human male wouldn’t be difficult, and since the owner and pilot of the vessel had been dropping off material, there would be room.

As Xanatos approached, the pilot wandered out. He was not a young man, in his middle forties with an ordinary face and brown eyes and hair, but he had lively spirit and kind smile. Xanatos had instantly liked him. He walked down the ramp of his ship with an inquisitive smile.

“Knight Xanatos?” he inquired politely, casting Kenobi, who lay over Xanatos’ shoulder, a look.

Xanatos was touched at the utter trust in the man’s voice. “My . . . friend here needs to be brought to Coruscant. Immediately.”

“Ah!” Bethos said, instantly understanding. “You would like me to bring him back? It would be my pleasure. I have nothing waiting here for me anyway.”

Bethos nodded and stepped to the side of the ramp, waving Xanatos to go up and inside. Xanatos did so, easily compensating for the high angle, even with Kenobi over his shoulder. He began walking down one of the corridors, to the back where the cargo bays were.

“You want to put him in your cabin, Knight Xanatos?” Bethos called from behind him. Xanatos could hear his footsteps echoing behind him as Bethos followed.

“No,” Xanatos said, and paused. “I’m afraid the situation is more complicated. He’s not a threat – not with me here, as I’m coming along, but he might not want to go to Coruscant willingly,” he admitted. What an understatement, Xanatos thought with a wince. It was not precisely a lie, but his words were definitely skewing the real issue. But, he rationalized, Bethos would be safe with him on board – especially now, with Kenobi unconsciousness.

“It’ll be all right,” Xanatos grunted. He slammed his hand against a control of one the smaller cargo bays, meant to carry the very delicate items. The large door opened and Xanatos let his burden slip the ground. Kenobi fell gracelessly, not catching himself. Still unconscious, he thought with satisfaction.

The small cargo bay was about ten by twenty meters wide. The floor was metal, as were the bulkheads, but there was temperature control and around the bay itself were inertial dampers to protect the cargo. It would do perfectly.

Turning from Kenobi, Xanatos looked at Bethos and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” he repeated.

Bethos smiled uncertainly, but Xanatos could sense his worries gradually fading. “Well then,” Bethos said with a forced casualness, “I’ll go back to what I was doing.” He cast one last look at Kenobi and left.

Xanatos sighed and looked down at Kenobi, trying to decide what to do next. He scanned the unconscious man, taking a more professionally objective look, to see if there were any life threatening injuries. It appeared not, though Kenobi was thin, probably starving and malnourished. His face was drawn and pale beneath the ragged, unkempt beard, his eyes looking like dark bruises. He looked like a man driven to the edge of sanity.

Xanatos shook his head, sighing. He let one hand stroke his chin, even though he had never allowed himself to grow a beard, finding the things itchy and scratchy. He stared at the man sprawled gracelessly on the floor a moment longer. Kenobi was still in wet clothing. When Xanatos had happened upon him, it had looked like Kenobi had just crawled out of the lake.

He was going to have to get the man out of those wet clothes. Of course, he needed something to put him in afterwards, too. And rope. He knelt down one last time, checking Kenobi’s pulse, which was weak but steady, and how close he was coming to be conscious. A deft touch with the Force and Xanatos knew that Kenobi would still be out for a couple of hours.

With that, he turned from Kenobi’s still form and left, walking down the corridor to his own small cabin. He had left some of his belongings there, hoping – optimistically, as it turned out – that he would be able to help along the negotiations quickly and leave when the freighter did. Now he and Qui-Gon had healed – at least partially – their relationship, he wasn’t quite so eager to leave on missions constantly, though he doubted he would ever stay at the Temple for a long period. And, Xanatos admitted to himself, he was almost afraid that if he was gone for too long that Qui-Gon would change his mind.

Stop acting like a child, Xanatos told himself sternly. Qui-Gon would never do such a thing.

Frowning, Xanatos stepped into his cabin through the small hatchway and grabbed his bag, which had everything he normally didn’t carry around with him, like breathers and such. It held a change of clothing and everything else he might conceivably need, including – ah yes. Rope. He picked that out and threw it on the bed, after testing it by pulling it taut. It was strong.

After that, he pulled out a pair of pants and a loose, cream tunic. It would not be very warm, but Kenobi wouldn’t freeze. Especially since Xanatos had gotten his ragged cloak, dripping wet, and brought that along as well. He wasn’t sure why he had done so, but it felt right.

Having gotten his things together, he closed the bag and walked swiftly down the corridor back to the small hold where Kenobi was. Never pausing, he threw his supplies to the floor and got his knees by Kenobi. He was soon grasping the black, clinging tunic and pulling it off over his head, lifting Kenobi’s arms to help.

Once he had, he stopped. Kenobi was thinner than he had realized and definitely in need of a good meal. His ribs were clearly visible, even with a hard layer of muscle. More surprising were the scars. There were numerous, many old and faded. It appeared Kenobi had been shot, burned and slashed many times over the years. He didn’t remember him being so marked before.

Pausing and taking a deep breath, he stripped him the rest of the way down. As Xanatos had half suspected, the rest of him was in similar condition. Thin and scarred. It was disturbing to see, especially in such a peaceful time – oh, Xanatos had his scars from battles, but he was a Knight who tended to take more violent missions anyway. Where had Kenobi been?

Pushing away his thoughts, Xanatos quickly maneuvered the unconscious man into his own clothing. Even with that small change, he looked better and Xanatos unconsciously smiled.

Leaving Kenobi barefoot, he took the rope and unraveled it. Using his a knife in his boot, he quickly cut off long strips. With one he tied Kenobi’s hands behind his back, a thorough and tight knot. It would grow tighter with struggling. With another strip, he tied up Kenobi’s feet in the same manner.

He paused and regarded the unconscious man for a moment. Then, making a fast decision, he took a strip of Kenobi’s wet clothing and gagged him. After all, he didn’t want to leave Kenobi able to scream for help. Bethos, not realizing the danger, might go and see him, and with Kenobi’s Force abilities that would be disastrous.

Xanatos then looked around the small cargo bay, searching for any means of escape. There were none. There wasn’t even a way for the door to open from the inside. Nodding to himself, Xanatos left and locked the hatch behind him.

He couldn’t move.

That was the first thing he noticed, waking up to a massive headache. He was bound hand and foot, he realized, fighting down a swiftly rising panic as he struggled to free himself. Bound effectively enough so that the struggling only tightened the knots, not loosening them at all. He opened his mouth to shout out in protest-- and realized that he was gagged, too.

Slowly, slowly, ever-so-slowly, Obi-Wan fought down the panic that had immediately risen at his realization. This phobia of his, spawned from his time on the run and in hiding, was not doing him any good. Stop that, he chided himself silently. You need to keep your head.

Maybe he was insane. That would explain everything. One moment he had been sitting in an empty warehouse, a lightsaber in his hand and at his chest-- and the next, he had been in a lake. In a lake, of all places. He stifled a giggle at that, fearing that it would lead to further hysterics. Running from Imperials for a few years could surely drive a person mad; he just hoped that whatever looney bin he ended up in served decent meals.

Several Jedi calming techniques later, he was calm. Or as calm as he could be under the circumstances. Taking a deep breath, he silently looked at his surroundings, scanning for anything he might use to get out.

He discarded the idea of escaping from the bonds immediately; Xanatos, no matter what else he was, was most definitely not incompetent. Cruel, yes. Evil, perhaps. But not stupid. The knots holding his arms and legs had been looser at first; his struggling had tightened them so that they were now quite snug, still not cutting off the circulation to his hands and feet, but snug nonetheless. Actually, the bonds surprised him, not seeming quite in character with the Xanatos he knew and loved oh-so-very-much; he was bound, but not bound to anything. Not to any of the numerous outcroppings in the hold, not to the walls, and not, even, to himself, hands tied to feet.

Obi-Wan shook that thought away. Xanatos would have his reasons.

He mentally took stock, blue eyes carefully scanning the room. A cargo hold, he decided. A small one, at that: no more than ten by twenty. Smooth metal, no exits. The only door looked impossible to open from within. The interior of a small ship, then. Not a Star Destroyer by any stretch of the imagination, that much was certain. A smaller ship-- a freighter perhaps. Though Force only knew what the fallen Jedi was doing in a freighter.

His robe was lying on the floor, he noted with relief. Funny, but that had almost been his first reflex, to look for his robe. The ragged, tattered old thing lay next to his still-sopping clothes, he noticed in surprise. The cream-colored clothes he wore now were not his own, cream where his had been black, but other than that obvious difference, they were almost the exact duplicates. The old ones were still wet, though, meaning that he had not been out of it all that long. A few hours, at most.

Perhaps he was a prisoner, then; perhaps Xanatos would turn him over to the Empire. Obi-Wan shuddered violently at that sobering thought. He would not put it past Xanatos to pull such a trick-- Jedi were wanted. It would not be out of character for Xanatos to turn him over, if only to save his own skin. Palpatine would surely gleefully accept-- the tyrant had wanted him from the beginning. The problem with this scenario was that Xanatos was not that stupid. Palpatine would betray him at the first chance.

How had he survived? Obi-Wan wondered. Xanatos had fallen into an acid pit on Telos-- Obi-Wan had seen it happen before his eyes. He still remembered that, even after everything that had happened: the look of pure hatred on Xanatos’ pale face as he denied Qui-Gon’s last offer-- and dropped into the burning liquid. That image had been superimposed into his mind, just as Anakin’s last moments as Anakin had been, before he had physically fallen into the lava pit, the good man that had been Anakin Skywalker dying in the flames, just as Lord Vader had been born.

Well, he laughed silently, why not? Anakin had survived-- why not Xanatos? Poetic justice: he escaped from one fallen Jedi, only to fall into the clutches of another. He wasn’t quite sure, as of yet, which one was worse, but had no doubt that he would find out.

As if on cue, a sudden rattling at the door signaled Xanatos’ arrival. Obi-Wan turned, as well as he could while bound hand and foot, to face the door. He forced down another bubble of fear as he watched expectantly for the once-Jedi to enter. Xanatos and he had never been on the best of terms. Far from it. Devious and cold-hearted, Xanatos had been a model of everything a Jedi should not be. And he’d be the Force-blind son of a gundark if he thought things would change now, when he most needed an ally.

The door opened.

Xanatos smiled slightly, whistling an off-key tune, as he unlocked the door to the cargo hold, juggling a plate and cup as he went. The meeting had gone well indeed, an interesting and somewhat shocking, but good, development in what as otherwise shaping into a rather unpleasant mission. The company had offered generous terms that even the outspoken Rean could not refuse, despite his bluster. The union would sign, no doubt about that. That message to the company's CEO must have done some good, after all.

His smile widened into a grin. Yes, this was turning into a fine day indeed. If only he could ignore the guest he had in the cargo hold, it would be perfect.

In the end, he gave up trying to open the door while juggling Kenobi’s food. He lifted a booted foot and simply kicked the door inwards, and with a judicious use of the Force he kept it open so he wouldn't be unintentionally locked in. That would be embarrassing. The grin evaporated as soon as he entered the room.

Kenobi lay on the floor awake and glaring at him with cold blue eyes. Despite himself, Xanatos was the first to drop his gaze. He had not beaten the younger man out of any particular skill, he knew. It had been a one-sided battle; Kenobi half-starved and panicked while Xanatos was at the peak of his strength. In any other situation, Kenobi would have won and, more than likely, their roles would have been reversed.

Or worse. Kenobi probably would not be feeding him.

"Food," he snapped curtly, carefully placing his burdens on the ground, quite aware of Kenobi’s continuous gaze. The icy eyes tracked his every movement, watched him as he gingerly lay the plates on the ground and walked over to the bound figure.

Xanatos regarded the man slowly for a moment, taking in the sight of his emaciated form again. He slowly shook his head in wonder. How did this happen? he wondered. The galaxy was peaceful; a man of Kenobi’s talents would be more than capable of surviving, even if ... well, even if he were dead, as Kenobi was supposed to be. There were ways around that particular problem, though.

"You need food," he remarked suddenly. A massively stupid comment, but no matter. "I’ll take out the gag so you can eat," he decided, carefully reaching down to remove it, Kenobi’s eyes tracking him all the while.

As soon as he took it out, a long stream of curses erupted from the other’s mouth. Xanatos watched in fascination as Kenobi attempted to insult the last five generations of his ancestry in record time - with as many languages as possible.

Xanatos raised an eyebrow. "What language was that last one?" he interjected. "Something about my paternal grandmother and a bantha?"

Kenobi cut his tirade short. "Alderaanian," he grunted, before launching into another set.

Alderaanian, Xanatos mused, rubbing his beardless chin thoughtfully as Kenobi reached new heights of creativity. The language of Alderaan had been all but lost, gone when the planet had been rendered uninhabitable centuries ago, but was still used infrequently. Perhaps it should not have surprised him that Kenobi knew the language, but Kenobi had never been one for linguistics in his years at the Temple, choosing to forego it in favor of lightsaber training.

He dismissed the thought offhand. Knowing how to curse in a given language wasn’t the same as knowing the language itself, after all.

It took a few minutes for Kenobi to run out of inspiration, after which he simply began to repeat himself. Xanatos gave him a few moments to finish before cutting in. "Are you done?" he asked mildly.

Kenobi shot him a dark glare before finishing off with a few more graphic threats and insults. "Yes," he finally snapped. "Quite finished." Some shame entered his eyes, at acting so immaturely – surprising to see. On the other hand, he looked calmer, as if releasing his anger that way had helped.

Xanatos smirked a bit but wisely chose not to comment. "Food," he said again. "You look like you haven’t eaten for months." He turned away, carefully removing the cover to reveal the food he had managed to smuggle away from his last meeting.

It was not a feast by any stretch of the imagination. The main course was more liquid than solid, the drink more solid than liquid, thanks to not-so-rich union members. But, most importantly, it was edible.

Icy blue eyes fixed themselves on the plate, taking in the sight of what might have been the first true food they had seen in weeks, before being rudely jerked away. "What did you put in it?" Kenobi grated through clenched teeth, forcing his eyes from the tantalizing plate. "Sedative? Poison, perhaps?"

"Of course not!" Xanatos snapped. The mistrust in those blue eyes touched him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. "You judge me harshly."

"I’ve learned to not put anything below you," Kenobi retorted. "Why am I here? Did you plan on selling me out to Vader, then? To save your own wretched skin?"

Vader? Xanatos thought, carefully trying to gauge Kenobi’s mental stability. Who’s Vader? Kenobi had not been insane before, but Force only knew what being dead did to a person’s mental health.

"Uh... of course not," he attempted weakly, not quite sure what he was being accused of. "It’s just food. Here, want me to prove it?" Xanatos picked up an eating utensil, speared a bit of meat, and carefully put it into his mouth. "See?" he asked, feigning a liking for the stuff. "Not bad at all." He resisted the impulse to gag on the garbage, forcing a wide smile and rubbing his stomach in fake enthusiasm. "Delicious!" Nutritious, anyway, Xanatos thought to himself with a private grimace.

Kenobi’s eyes narrowed in suspicion again, though they fixed again on the tempting meal before him. He yanked them quickly away. "I still won’t eat," he declared.

Xanatos’ eyebrows shot up. "Won’t eat?" he repeated dangerously. "Yes, you will."

"No," Kenobi announced defiantly, "I won’t."

"You seem to forget, my friend," Xanatos grated, "who, exactly, is bound and who, exactly, is not."

"You won’t do it either," Kenobi told him, with all the stubbornness of a young child. Taking control of the situation in the only way he could. "You can’t make me eat it!"

Midnight eyes narrowed ominously as Xanatos leaned in to stare into the younger man’s face. "No one," he whispered, "no one tells me what I can or cannot do. No one."

"Prove it."

Xanatos quickly spun around to grab a spoon. "Fine!" he shouted in frustration, trying to shove it down the other’s throat. Force, if he didn’t want to eat it, he’d make him eat it.

Kenobi leaned back, twisting from side to side and struggling to keep the food away from his lips. He tossed his head left and right, the long ginger hair flying everywhere. "Nonononono-- UUMPH!" he choked, the spoon finally making it in to his open mouth.

And he spat it back out, straight into the other’s face.

Obi-Wan had to a laugh at the sight. Xanatos’ aristocratic, handsome face was covered in the goo, his eyes closed from shock and the expression frozen on his face… well, the expression was hilarious. When the older man turned away to wipe the stuff out of his eyes and preserve as much dignity as humanly possible, a giggle escaped despite Obi-Wan’s best attempts.

And the giggle quickly escalated into a fit of hysterics.

Oh, dear Force, what was going on? He had just spit a liquidy excuse for food into a dead man’s face. A dead man. And not just any dead man, mind, but one whom he had seen die before his very eyes. One moment he had been sitting in a warehouse with Vader and his stormtroopers ready to swoop down, and the next he was in a lake.

Through teary eyes, Obi-Wan watched, helplessly giggling all the while, as Xanatos’ eyes widened in shock. To his surprise, there actually seemed to be a hint of compassion in the once-Jedi’s eyes. Or pity. Or a mixture of both. Neither fit into the profile he had long ago formed of the fallen Jedi, though, an abnormality that would have given him cause to think in most circumstances.

A series of quick slaps interrupted his laughter. "Kenobi," Xanatos ordered, "Cut it out!" Xanatos took the younger man by the shoulders, roughly shaking him in an attempt to quell his hysterical outburst.

Despite himself, Obi-Wan could not restrain the laughter erupting from somewhere inside of him. " ‘Cut it out!’ " he repeated, still giggling derisively, "Why should I? My entire world has just been turned upside down and I’m talking to a dead man who’s going to turn me over to the Emperor and his lapdog! Why by all the nine Sith hells should I want to calm down?"

Another series of slaps managed to temporarily stop the fit. "Calm, Kenobi," Xanatos ordered, trying to support the weakened man with a strong arm behind his back. "Calm," Xanatos repeated, looking genuinely worried at the other's welfare.

It took a few moments for Obi-Wan to regain any appearance of sanity. Deep breaths, Kenobi, he chided himself. Just think of Vader’s respirator: in-- out-- in-- out... Odd, but the thought of that sound usually calmed him more than anything else. Kept him from hyperventilating, at any rate. "I’m fine," he finally managed. Xanatos nodded curtly and quickly let go, dropping him as if he were a hot iron. Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath as his bound hands hit the floor but tried to keep his eyes on Xanatos. Strange, but it almost seemed as if the former Jedi feared him. "Thank you," he attempted hesitantly, inbred good manners coming to fore even with this person.

Xanatos nodded curtly. "You’re welcome," he responded shortly.

Silence as the two looked at each other, each contemplating their private pasts. Finally, Obi-Wan broke the silence. "You’re dead," he told the other simply. "I watched you die."

"As I watched you die," Xanatos responded softly.

"This is insane!" Obi-Wan finally exploded. "You shouldn’t be here! I shouldn’t be here! You’re dead! Any moment now I’m going to wake up, or find out what in heck the ‘afterlife’ is like. Maybe I’ll meet Qui-Gon there - maybe I’ll see you there, too," he added derisively. He laughed a bit at his private joke, but it quickly subsided. Xanatos had stiffened suddenly. "What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, gazing quizzically at the other man. There was something new here – something important.

"Don’t say that name," Xanatos responded softly.

"What name? Qui-Gon’s?"

"That one. Don’t say it. Ever."

"Why not?"

Xanatos turned to look him in the face, midnight blue eyes blazing with a fiery intensity that rivaled even Coruscant’s glow. "How dare you even ask that," he hissed. "You. Of all people."

"Wh--"

"Shut up!" Xanatos ordered, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "You don’t deserve to be able to speak his name, did you know that? Did you know how you broke his heart by leaving him, by leaving the Order, by becoming what you chose to be? Do you?"

Xanatos continued, raging now and not allowing Obi-Wan to get a word in edgewise. "Hadn’t I told him that it was a wrong decision to take you? To take you? It was always about little Obi-Wan Kenobi, the trainee that managed to stand up to the others, to hold his own with the big people. Oh joy. But did he ever look beyond that? Did he ever think about how you managed to hold your own? Morals and honor and light have very little value when you’re the scum of the earth, isn’t that right?

"We all tried to warn him. All of us: me, the Council, … Tahl, even," he added, voice cracking slightly, "And he would always listen to Tahl, in everything else if not in this. We tried to tell him that this was the biggest mistake he could possibly make. And, Force, didn’t we all pay for it.

"Your betrayal scarred him deeply, Kenobi. And I don’t think you ever realized how deep. Even after you died at my blade, he mourned. I have no idea why, but he did. It wasn’t his fault, it was yours; your decisions, your choices. Your darkness. Your punishment.

"He blamed me for a while, you know," he continued almost conversationally. "I blamed myself, too, always wondering what I might have done differently. If, perhaps, you weren’t quite beyond redemption as you appeared to be. I came to accept it in time; Qui-Gon came to accept it about a week ago.

"And now, now that we have finally begun to build our lives anew without you, to rebuild on the shadows of broken hopes and dreams, you show up again," he finished, glaring at the shocked figure on the floor. "You’re dead. I killed you myself. How in all nine Sith hells did you survive? And why, by the stars, did you decide to show up now?"

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment. Is it possible? he wondered. Is it even remotely possible? Looking at the other man, still livid with righteous anger, he had to wonder.

Suddenly, he threw his head back with a harsh laugh. "Now I understand!"

"Understand what?" Xanatos snapped.

"We’re both insane!"

Xanatos had long since concluded that Kenobi wasn’t the best of people, but it really surprised him that the fallen Jedi had become insane. Kenobi had been perfectly mentally stable – he was just evil, that was all. And that was why this Kenobi was so confusing.

Because this Kenobi didn’t appear to be very evil. He threw hysterics and kept ranting about someone called Vader, but that was not evil. It was not the darkness that Xanatos was familiar with. He didn’t try to manipulate Xanatos, as he would have before. He didn’t try to invade Xanatos’ mind with the Force, as he would have done before. In fact, the idea didn’t even seem to occur to him.

Xanatos breathed deeply, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. He stood in the middle of his small, gray cabin aboard Bethos’ ship, attempting not to pace. Pacing, he could almost hear his Master reminding him, was a waste of energy. He should channel it into more useful things.

Maybe I should channel it into beating Kenobi, Xanatos thought most uncharitably.

After a few moments of Sithly consideration, Xanatos dismissed the thought. He could never do such a thing. He was like his Master in that sense – he couldn’t be ruthless. He had a compassionate side – rarely seen in him, unlike with Qui-Gon – that couldn’t be stifled or ignored. Even when he wanted to do just that. Kenobi, he remembered, had been quite ruthless when it suited him.

This is getting me nowhere, Xanatos thought, frustrated. Finally, he acted as he knew he should have in the first place. He knelt in the middle of the room, on the hard floor, and meditated. Meditation was something that, as a Padawan, he had loathed. Floors were often hard and uncomfortable – making it difficult to get up when the meditation was over – and it was hard to both concentrate on not thinking and to not think at the same time.

Years passed, however, and he became a Knight. He found now that while he didn’t enjoy the hard floor part, becoming one with the Force was soothing. Not only that, but being attuned to the Force had often kept him alive – he could hear the faintest whispers of warnings that it gave him when his own thoughts no longer drowned out the whisperings of the Force.

Falling deep into the meditative state, Xanatos let go of his frustrations, fears and hate. The Force soothed him with waves of comfort. When he had achieved a state of attunement, he let his mind go back and dwell on those things that now haunted him.

In a word, Kenobi. When Qui-Gon had first taken Kenobi as his Padawan, Kenobi had been young, only ten years old. He had been skilled with a lightsaber and had stood up to people older than him. Admittedly, Xanatos hadn’t liked him at first. He wasn’t sure why, not then, and had finally decided it had more to do with jealousy than any real cause. Kenobi made his Master happy in a way that Xanatos hadn’t seen since his own Knighting.

Kenobi grew, as all the young do. He grew fast and quick witted, strong and confident in his abilities. He also grew arrogant and, in the end, that led to his fall.

Xanatos swiftly drew away from that memory. He had long since gone over it again and again, and it would not help him now – would probably only hinder. Instead, he drew his mind to the current day – and the current Kenobi. This Kenobi was as different from the one that he had known as night was of day. Where the first Kenobi had been confident, this one was beaten; where the first had been arrogant, this one was broken. It was like they were two different people.

What if they were two different people? Was that possible? Kenobi was dead – Xanatos had seen him die, had killed him himself. There had been a body. There was evidence of his death.

Years before, when Xanatos was still a Padawan, he had had to take a class in theoretical physics. It had been a boring class, all about numerous strange phenomena in space. Finally sensing his students’ boredom, the teacher had mentioned another theory. The theory of alternate universes. A theory that stated with each decision made or not made, a new universe was created where just that thing did happen. Say, a man asks a woman to marry him. She says yes. According to that theory, another universe would have been created at that moment – a universe where she could have said no, maybe, or numerous other possibilities.

Mind awash in the wonder of the possibility, Xanatos thought, Is that possible? Is that why the Force has guided me to this memory – to tell me the Kenobi in that cargo hold is not the one I knew?

Falling out of his meditation, all Xanatos could think was, By the Force. What if that’s it?

Obi-Wan tried to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy on hard, metal floor but he was doing the best he could. He lay on his side, but with his arms pulled back the arm he laid on would quickly grow numb. So he ended up shifting his weight from side to the other quite frequently in an attempt to stop that from happening.

Not only that, but his stomach was protesting his treatment of it. His mouth watered for a taste of that gruel that he had spit out. He had thought that he would eventually get over not having any food, that his body would accept it wasn’t getting any, but such was not the case. The craving for it only became more insistent.

Tired, miserable and hungry, Obi-Wan struggled not to cry. Xanatos was gone; there was nothing for him to rail against. And when there was nothing to fight against, there was nothing to fight for.

Giving up, Obi-Wan let a few drops of precious water escape. He watched as they fell off his eyelashes