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"Jedi Jinn," Fanry addressed him, turning to Qui-Gon. "You alone argued against the treaty. You alone refused to sit tamely at Czerka's feet. Therefore you will be spared."
He had a moment of relief, a moment to think, She can be reasoned with, but the girl continued.
"But you," the princess--Queen now--spoke, turning to Obi-Wan. "You supported this evil treaty. You thought to make me sign it. There will be no mercy for you."
Qui-Gon's heart leapt in his chest. "Fanry, no!" he shouted uselessly, watching with terrible clarity the event he himself was powerless to effect. If I'd been on the one on the dais instead of Obi-Wan--
The newly crowned Queen turned to her captain and current guard. She only had to look to give the order, the one no one her age should ever have to or be permitted to make. The captain grimaced in distaste and horror, but he only nodded.
Before he could make any motion with his weapon, however, Qui-Gon saw a minute interplay between them--Fanry's lips shaping two words.
The dart.
Qui-Gon saw it easily--he was so focused on all those on the dais, so close, so attuned to the Force--he couldn't have missed it. But Obi-Wan was focused on the blaster pointed at his chest, on him, gaze flicking every now and then for a millisecond and back to keep an eye on his Master's actions and take cue, on the shields and the now-captives inside them, and whether the first would falter or the second become further endangered. Obi-Wan didn't see it.
With a movement so quick it would've been a blur to a regular human, but that Qui-Gon saw in piercing clarity, Deren's other hand not holding the blaster twitched towards himself, pulling something and holding it between two fingers and then directing it--
It flew through the air, small and glinting, and Fanry's face was too smug for someone her age, and Obi-Wan didn't see it coming, and Qui-Gon was too far away, too distanced, too slow to shout a warning.
The dart hit Obi-Wan's neck with a nearly unnoticeable shick, striking exactly where it was meant, and it was in that same second that Qui-Gon remembered the only kind of dart he'd seen mentioned throughout this mission, the only kind he knew for certain must be in Fanry's possession.
Obi-Wan flinched from the impact. The sky darkened and blurred with the shadows of the troopships as Fanry's royal guard moved in. His Padawan stumbled, eyes clouding over. The windows at the top of the dome in the Celestial chalice opened. Obi-Wan's lightsaber ignited.
Cables fell from the ceiling as Fanry and Cady each seized a field generator, and then they and Deren all grabbed one and began to be lifted out of the building, taking the violently orange shield protecting the dais with them as they ascended. The Skykeeper and the crown jeweler remained crouched on the floor where they had been, off to the side.
Obi-Wan looked at him, standing directly before him, his eyes blurry and movements jerky, and attacked.
Obi-Wan didn't see the dart when it struck him, was too busy keeping an eye on several things at once.
He should've sensed it. He should've.
But he didn't.
A sharp pain pierced his neck and he realized in the second before it took effect what it was, having a brief moment of wonder and confusion, and then the world around him went white, bone-white and bright and sharp, and his muscles jerked under his skin and his eyes dilated so sharply he felt it and then he was moving--
Had Fanry and Deren not taken that moment to make their escape through the ceiling, he probably would've attacked them. He felt the instinct in him rise so strongly it almost made him nauseous. His lightsaber was ignited. He didn't remember turning it on in the past seconds.
They were gone and he stumbled forward and there was only one person in his immediate vision.
There was only one thought in his mind--kill.
His body moved without giving him an option, and he lunged, pulling his saber back for an underhanded swing at the man before him--at his Master.
Qui-Gon responded slowly, slower than he'd ever seen the man react on instinct, but that was still infinitely quicker than the majority of sentients in the galaxy, and still yet faster than him. He jumped back easily.
"Obi-Wan!" he shouted. His face was pale. He looked afraid.
Obi-Wan was afraid too. He didn't know why he was moving. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop himself from advancing, gripping his lightsaber and slashing and leaping and striking as much as he could, as fast as he could. He didn't know what was wrong with him, he didn't want to attack people, he didn't want to hurt Qui-Gon, but his body wouldn't listen. His legs strode forward and his feet jumped off the dais and his arms brought his saber up and around and down again, and his face--his face he felt nothing from, but a blank, dazed expression that matched the strange fog and turmoil in his brain.
Qui-Gon dodged him again, once again jumping back, further this time. "Obi-Wan, stop!" Qui-Gon ordered, firm enough that something in the back of Obi-Wan's brain hitched.
He wanted to stop. He wanted to. He couldn't. He didn't.
He followed Qui-Gon, watching his Master's face grow more and more alarmed. He watched the way the rest of the few remaining people in the room sped out, apparently intimidated enough by the downing of the shields combined with a Jedi with an unrestrained lightsaber to go, morbid curiosity be damned. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the crown jeweler helped the Skykeeper up, practically dragging the man to safety.
He watched himself attack his own mentor, viciously, clumsily, terrifyingly.
Qui-Gon leapt back from another off-balance attempt at an attack from Obi-Wan, putting as much distance between himself and the boy as possible. He was afraid to draw his weapon--lightsaber fights were deadly , and there was little chance of either of them coming out of it unscathed, much less alive. And given the current skill levels of both parties involved, Qui-Gon already knew which of them would be the one who got hurt.
He already knew what this was. He'd seen the holorecording enough times, played over and over again almost obsessively, with a morbid fascination and horror and need to know if it had been worth it, if Rael's decision long ago had been justified, if his friend was someone he still trusted the way he trusted few others. He saw that clouded, distant look in Obi-Wan's eyes, the off-kilter movements that spoke of a mental disconnect that no unwanted neural-affecting substance or technology could truly bridge, the sudden and impulsive aggression at the closest target (and Qui-Gon tried to make sure, even in his distracted and anxious state, to try not to get too close to any other lingering civilians lest whatever programming in the nanobots in Obi-Wan's system now decide they were an easier target). It was the same thing that had happened to Nim Pianna.
He could not let what had happened to her happen here. He knew already, deep in his heart, that if anything ever happened to Obi-Wan because of him, he'd never forgive himself.
Much like Rael.
"Obi-Wan, please," he said, sticking a hand out warningly to try to ward off the boy's next round of messy attacks. He was currently walking in a circle, and to Qui-Gon's gaze it appeared he was gauging where and when to strike best. It seemed Obi-Wan retained a limited ability to think and strategize, even like this.
Maybe he could be reasoned with, then. "It's me," Qui-Gon said softly, soothingly, like he was talking to a frightened animal and not his own Padawan of four years--but that wasn't so different, was it, not after what they'd been through together in those early years--Force, how did they keep getting into these situations--
He paced around Obi-Wan in the now-empty room, watching and waiting, tensely, for the earliest sign of movement. "Obi-Wan, it's me. Qui-Gon. You don't want to hurt me."
Obi-Wan continued to stalk him, seemingly unaware of Qui-Gon's attempts to communicate with him at all. But then--a furrow in his brow. His legs carried him, and his hands carried his lightsaber, but his face--it was distressed.
Like Nim's had been, moments before her death. She had been aware enough to be afraid, to be betrayed.
Obi-Wan was afraid.
Qui-Gon would rectify it. He would. It was his fault Obi-Wan had been on the dais, his fault Obi-Wan had felt the need to contact the Council instead of talking to him, his fault for so, so much that he would not let end here, like this. Obi-Wan would be okay, because Qui-Gon would rather die himself than watch Obi-Wan come to harm from his own hands.
Watching Obi-Wan's own hands tighten on his lightsaber, he prayed to the Force to not take his determination literally today.
"It's alright, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon reassured his unsteady Padawan. "It's going to be alright. We'll figure this out. But right now I need you to focus. Focus on the Force. Focus on it moving through you. You can overpower this, I know it."
Obi-Wan's steps didn’t falter (not any more than they already wavered, at least) but his face tightened with simple, blank pain. Something that was already twisted in Qui-Gon's stomach loosened at the confirmation Obi-Wan understood him and heard his words.
He shouldn't have relaxed, because apparently whatever programming connected to Obi-Wan's brain took it as the best sign to attack once more. He swung his blade, bright blue flying through the air towards Qui-Gon's body and he cursed, dodging it.
"Obi-Wan! Focus!" he shouted.
Obi-Wan moved as if he didn't hear him, and his earlier hesitation seemed gone--now he was back to slashing and hacking like a mad man, erratic and all the more dangerous to both himself and Qui-Gon for it. He was still clearly Obi-Wan--he moved with the same instinctive forms and habits that Qui-Gon knew intimately as well as his own, but now they were without any of the higher consciousness of reason and logic and choice that marked most sentients' every action.
Qui-Gon wanted to curse again. He needed to figure something out--he needed to disarm Obi-Wan. But fighting against someone else with a lightsaber was not a skill he'd learned--not like this. All Jedi trained with sparring matches from a young age, but those were nonlethal, obviously, usually only with practice blades, and even then, they were often over much more quickly than any other form of sparring Jedi engaged in while training with each other. It was the nature of the blades. They were inherently dangerous.
Trying to fight someone with an actively lit one that could cleave his body in two as easily as brushing away an errant spider's web was not easy. And trying to do so without bringing his own lightsaber into the mix was nearly impossible.
Disarming Obi-Wan seemed impossible.
He ground his teeth.
He had to try. For Obi-Wan's sake.
They circled each other. Obi-Wan aggressively, advancing, trying to gain ground, Qui-Gon passively, retreating, trying to stall, to--to talk sense into him.
It was laughable. It made him want to cry.
Obi-Wan tried to listen. He tried. It wouldn't work, he couldn't feel the Force properly, not with the rushing under his skin, the echoing in his ears, the blanking in his mind. He couldn't grab hold of it to gain leverage over himself when he couldn't even move mentally to reach for it.
He was stuck. And he was so afraid he was going to hurt Qui-Gon. He knew Qui-Gon was protective of him, knew how he felt about Rael's decision--what if he prioritized Obi-Wan's safety over his own? What if--forced to choose--Qui-Gon let him spear him rather than act decisively towards him?
He couldn't live with himself if he came back to full awareness and found his Master dead on the cold floor, by his hand. Qui-Gon had to stop him--he had to. And not just for his sake--for the innocent lives that Obi-Wan could take, too.
Qui-Gon kept saying his name, kept trying to get his attention. Obi-Wan didn't know how to tell him he had it. Obi-Wan just couldn't redirect it--couldn't respond. He couldn't even restrain himself. He was focused. That was the problem. His vision was tunnelled, simultaneously blurred and sharpened, and it was directed only on him, his Master. The new instinct in his brain that told him to kill was urging him forward, urging him to find the best way to get to his opponent, his enemy, and do damage. He practically couldn't see anything else. That was the problem.
He wanted to cry again and this time he felt wetness prickling at his eyes. His arms slashed another blow that would've gutted Qui-Gon if the man were not a Master.
Qui-Gon spoke again, seemingly trying to get his attention once more. "I know this isn't you, Obi-Wan. Please listen. Focus on my voice. Try."
The part of him that knew this was wrong wanted to shout, wanted to yell and struggle and fight and tell him he knew, he was trying. He wanted to beg Qui-Gon to please, please do something.
He seemed to be trying to do something. He backed up in the empty room, eyes intent on Obi-Wan, making that same motion with his hand as if warding him away and trying to calm him down. The dull droning in his brain that just wanted violence followed, still trying to finish the job on the man he'd started attacking so long ago.
Qui-Gon backed up and he followed. Qui-Gon twisted and he turned with him. Qui-Gon didn’t look away from him, didn’t take his eyes off his apprentice, and Obi-Wan responded likewise.
Eventually Qui-Gon was backed nearly in a corner, not doing anything to fight him, and Obi-Wan didn't know what to do--but his body did, the nanobots in his system from the dart did so very well, and he attacked--
Qui-Gon suddenly looked over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. "Now, Rael!" he ordered.
Obi-Wan didn't have time to look before something slammed into the back of his head, so hard he collapsed.
He rolled with it, despite the pain, as he'd been taught to for over a decade, but his lightsaber fell from his hand and clattered onto the floor, rolling away.
When he rose on his knees, head pounding from the sudden blow, he caught a glimpse of what struck him--just behind where he had been standing was Rael Averross, unlit lightsaber in hand. It was aimed as if coming from a downward swing. It remained loose in his grip now as he stared at Obi-Wan, looking like he’d seen a ghost. The man stayed where he was, motionless.
Qui-Gon did not. As soon as the lightsaber fell from Obi-Wan's hand, he lunged.
Obi-Wan tried to scramble for his lightsaber again, but Qui-Gon kicked it from out of his reach. Obi-Wan returned the favor by leaning back and jamming his leg into Qui-Gon’s knee when he moved forward.
Qui-Gon grunted in pain, but as Obi-Wan’s foot connected with the older man’s knee, so too did Qui-Gon’s hand snap out and clutch his ankle and pull. He was dragged forward as Qui-Gon landed beside him, already reaching to pin him down. He tried to twist away and felt Qui-Gon move with him, about to trap him on his stomach, and he reeled his elbow backwards into the man’s stomach to gain some leverage. It worked and he rolled away, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. He was moving without thinking, watching himself fight without any real intent or desire, only dread and that same, terrifying sense of fog.
Qui-Gon swore, and yelled, “A little help, Rael!”
Obi-Wan’s head swivelled too slowly to see Rael, looking as if he was being pulled from a nightmare, clench his jaw and join the squabble properly. The angle and Obi-Wan’s distraction and general unsteadiness meant he was unprepared for Rael’s hands grabbing him from behind, wrapping an arm around him. He was dragged bodily backwards, and one of his hands was snatched and held in place at the small of his back.
He twisted, trying to get loose, trying to keep his other hand unrestricted, when Qui-Gon kneeled before him and made a grab at it.
Obi-Wan slammed his head back into Rael's face at the same time, hearing the man's cry of pain. Rael's grip loosened and Obi-Wan freed his hand, and he lashed out, landing a blow on Qui-Gon’s face with painfully loud noise that clearly hurt, but the man remained unphased, too determined to pay the strike any attention. He caught that hand immediately in his much stronger grip, and Obi-Wan tried to jerk it back but that was nearly impossible. Qui-Gon's hold on him was like iron.
He tried to smack his head into Qui-Gon's like he had Rael, but Qui-Gon was much taller than either of them and already prepared for the move. He was unsuccessful, and in the meantime, Rael had recovered and caught his other wrist.
He tried to thrash--they couldn't do everything to hold him down--but it was a fairly quick move for Qui-Gon to transfer his hold on Obi-Wan's wrist back to Rael, who then held them both in his grasp, tight, too tight to get away.
"Obi-Wan, stop," Qui-Gon pleaded as he still fought despite it. The Jedi brought both of his hands up to Obi-Wan's face, holding it, holding him still. "Stop, stop."
He couldn't. He couldn't, didn't Qui-Gon know that? He tried and he couldn't.
He tried again to headbutt Rael but Qui-Gon held him still. He tried to jerk away, but Rael's hands held his wrists fast. He tried to maneuver one of his legs out from under him for leverage but he was stuck, kneeling and pinned between the two much older, much more experienced and capable Jedi. He wasn't getting away.
Some noise escaped him, low and wounded and through clenched teeth. He couldn't have described it if he tried. He didn't want to fight. The part of him that could make sense of his intentions was relieved, wanted them to make sure he couldn't get away and hurt someone, but he couldn't stop.
He felt wetness trail down his face and another noise escaped him while he thrashed.
Qui-Gon shushed him. "Hush," he said softly. "It's alright. It's okay, Obi-Wan. We've got you. No one is going to get hurt. We're going to help you."
He jerked as hard as he could, and Qui-Gon looked up over his shoulder.
"Do slicer darts wear off by themselves, or do we need to get him somewhere else?" he asked. His voice was completely different to how he'd just spoken to Obi-Wan, firm and professional.
There was no answer.
Qui-Gon's voice sharpened. "Rael."
"They wear off," Rael mumbled behind him. His voice was weary and rough. "The nanobots break down pretty quick. Usually the victim doesn't live long enough to be worth a longer effect." The last part was said quietly, as if talking to himself.
Qui-Gon's lips tightened at that, but he nodded. "How long?"
Rael sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere else. "Maybe ten minutes," he whispered.
A look crossed Qui-Gon's face, both relieved and stressed, and he nodded again. He passed a brief look upwards, towards the still open windows of the domed glass roof, as if thinking about what else needed their attention, soon, but he made no move to leave.
Nor did Rael.
It was some of the most excruciating ten minutes of Obi-Wan's life, which was a fairly high bar at this point. He thrashed and twisted and pulled--he almost managed something a few times--but the both of them managed to keep him mostly still as the effect wore off. The whole time Rael was silent, the only time Obi-Wan had ever seen him consistently so, and Qui-Gon whispered quiet assurances to him, telling him it was alright, it'd be okay, he was okay, and it'd be over soon. The whole time silent tears streamed down his face and his chest felt choked with the urge and inability to cry.
He grew steadily weaker as the unnaturally fueled aggression and adrenaline wore off and his own half-hearted attempts at struggling wore him out. His mind went from dull and loud to confused and dizzy, to finally quiet and exhausted.
His muscles felt weak and his breathing became uneven and he stopped eventually, he finally could stop. He went limp in the grips on him and he heard matching sighs of relief.
They didn't let go of him yet. Qui-Gon gently moved his hands from their steady but careful grasp on the sides of his head down to cupping his face. "Obi-Wan?" he asked, in a tone of voice that he knew was a question and a statement at once.
Obi-Wan inhaled raggedly. "M-Master," he managed finally, voice shaky. His body trembled as well, though whether that was from the exertion, distress, physical aftereffects of the dart, or a combination, he didn't know.
Qui-Gon sighed. "You can let him go, Rael."
Rael's hands slid off him like water. He said nothing else. Obi-Wan fell forward, hands automatically coming up weakly to break his fall against Qui-Gon's chest. Qui-Gon's fell down to Obi-Wan's shoulders to help support him.
"You with me, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked again for confirmation, leaning down now that it was safe to do so without getting injured.
He nodded and more tears came to his eyes now, hot and stronger than before. When he spoke, it was evident in his voice, as well. "I am, I am, I'm--I'm so sorry, Master, I--"
"It's alright," Qui-Gon said automatically. "It's not your fault. You weren't in control of yourself."
He shook his head rapidly as the suppressed tension in his chest started to make its way out his throat, choking him. Qui-Gon didn't understand. He'd tried to kill him--how could he just sit there and say it was fine?
"I'm sorry," he repeated plaintively, sobbing in full now. "I didn't want to, I was trying, I promise--"
"I know, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured. His arms moved around his back and pulled him close, against his chest. Obi-Wan let him, let himself be wrapped into Qui-Gon's tall, broad frame, cheek pressed against his shoulder. "I know you were. You did very well. I'm proud of you. I know it was hard." He held him like he'd never get another chance, as if he had been just as worried, as if it had been nearly as hard for him to watch. As if Obi-Wan was precious to him and he was only just realizing it.
Obi-Wan cried harder into Qui-Gon's tunic, tightening his hands into the fabric.
"Shh," Qui-Gon whispered, lifting a hand to cup the back of his head. He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead at the same time, which he hadn't done in years . "It's alright.” There was a pause, and then, “I'm so glad you're alright, Obi-Wan." His voice sounded strangely thick with emotion in a way that was rarely heard from him.
Obi-Wan nodded clumsily with his nose buried in the soft cloth, still weeping. "You too," he replied weakly, wetly, but sincerely.
"We're alright," Qui-Gon confirmed, with the steadiness of someone speaking undeniable truth. "It's all going to be alright."
Obi-Wan believed him.