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A Kiss

by Diotima

Title: A Kiss
Author: Diotima (graphikos@writeme.com)
Archive: Yes
Category: Angst
Rating: PG (Title says it all)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: prequel to Being One. Obi-Wan reveals his feelings, which may not be entirely unreciprocated.
Feedback: Yes, please. (still learning) Email me! Thanks.

It was the anniversary of the night that they had become Master and Padawan. The Sokrateion, or day of remembrance. The Jedi, in general, distained rituals, believing that they led to rote practice, without mindfulness; so there was no formal ritual, which commemorated this, the most perfect and sacred of bonds.

However, there was still tradition, and most often Master and Padawan would content themselves with a simple dinner, the exchange of gifts, along with a drink of wine.

They had already cleared away the plates; as always, Qui-Gon had cooked. Although he was the Master, and his Padawan was obliged to serve him, Qui-Gon was an excellent cook, with few equals, and he gladly volunteered to cook their meals. The meal tonight had been, unsurprisingly, exquisite, simply prepared but of the freshest ingredients, and Qui-Gon had complimented his Padawan by preparing the foods that Obi-Wan liked best.

The table was now clean, empty except for the light of a single lamp, a bottle of Aelian wine, and two deep blue glasses.

Obi-Wan smiled, running his hand over the finely blown glass. Qui-Gon had subtly complimented his Padawan again, for the glasses had been the gift of the previous year. The glasses had been rarely used; drinking intoxicating substances, while not technically forbidden, was discouraged, save for nights of celebration. The glasses had, however, been obviously treasured and well cared for, for they glossily shone in the light, of a blue so dark it hinted at violet.

Qui-Gon opened the bottle of Aelian wine, which glistened liquid gold as he poured them each a drink. He handed a glass to his Padawan, smiling, before raising the other in a toast.

"To our years together," Qui-Gon said, clinking his glass against Obi-Wan's.

"Yes," agreed Obi-Wan, "and to many more."

They drained their drinks quickly, in companionable silence, before Qui-Gon refilled the glasses again.

"To the custom of Master and Padawan," Qui-Gon offered, raising his glass again.

The Padawan drained his glass along with his Master. When he lowered his glass, Obi-Wan then added, "Without which, we never would have met."

"True," agreed Qui-Gon, who refilled both their glasses so they could drink to that sentiment as well.

After they had finished drinking to that, Obi-Wan placed his glass upon the table, in the fastidiously careful way of someone beginning to feel intoxicated. Qui-Gon tried not to smile; he had a better head for alcohol than his Padawan, from both age and experience.

"Without the Jedi, we never would have met each other, would we?" Obi-Wan mused, thoughtfully.

"No," agreed Qui-Gon, "My people were farmers, peasants, really, while you..." He drifted off for a moment, as he looked into his Padawan's face.

Obi-Wan rarely drank, so the wine had flushed his fair skin pink, as if he was blushing. The solitary light of the lamp had revealed the fine bones of his face and colored his hair a lustrous gold-red. His blue eyes, normally the crisp blue of a winter sky, crackling with logic, now were almost violet in the half-shadow, the pupils large and very dark. Vulnerable, too, was his white throat; Qui-Gon could just see the indentation between his collarbones, above the chaste collar. The skin looked very soft and white in contrast to the coarse dark cloth. Qui-Gon had the sudden irrational impulse to touch Obi-Wan there, in that sensitive place, but he only looked down into his empty glass, which he still held in his hands.

"While me, what?" prompted Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon went on, hastily, "Your people were probably nobles, at the very least, to look at you."

"I know nothing about them," shrugged Obi-Wan, indifferently, "But I suppose I should be grateful to them, for if they had not given me up, I would never have met you..."

"I am grateful to them, too," Qui-Gon added, smiling.

"Let's drink to that," Obi-Wan added, cheerfully.

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, pouring out more wine for both of them.

"To farming peasants!" Qui-Gon toasted, and then threw back his glass.

"To unknown nobles!" replied Obi-Wan, before draining his own glass.

As Qui-Gon placed his glass back down on the table, Obi-Wan laughed a little, not unkindly.

"What is it, Padawan?"

"You should be neater, Master," Obi-Wan said, mischievously. Reaching out, he delicately touched the wetness of wine still on his Master's lips, and then tasted it off his own finger. It was a playful gesture, but there was something about it that forced Qui-Gon to look away.

Obi-Wan reached for the wine bottle. "Let us have another drink!"

Qui-Gon teasingly snatched at the bottle, swiping it away at him, and held the bottle up to the light, pretending to gravely regard the level of wine. "It is almost gone. And you are drunk."

"No. Well, yes. But so are you."

"I am a peasant, remember?" Qui-Gon joked, "We can hold our drink. I am not so sure you can."

The shadows in Obi-Wan's face were now in high relief, for the muscles in his face had tightened in response to something Qui-Gon had said. "No," corrected Obi-Wan, abruptly, "You shouldn't joke about that."

Qui-Gon blinked, in surprise, utterly mystified. Lately he had been inadvertently offending his Padawan with things he said. It was very strange, when one considered how he himself was known for his tact, and previously Obi-Wan had always been very slow to anger. Yet over the past several months, he had provoked Obi-Wan to flashes of temper over seemingly innocuous things.

He's at a difficult age, Qui-Gon thought, sighing inwardly, but he outwardly ignored the hint of anger, but asked, casually, "Joke about what? That you can't hold your drink?"

"No," Obi-Wan repeated, almost as severely, looking up into his Master's eyes. "About being a peasant. You are not a peasant. No matter who your parents were." You...you are the most...noble man I know." After a moment, he blurted, awkwardly, "And beautiful."

Qui-Gon thought, Why would he call me beautiful? It is a strange thing to say to his Master. And it is untrue, for I have never been beautiful. Not like he is, at any rate. Perhaps it is just the drink.

"Now you are drunk," Qui-Gon joked, lightly, "if you can say this to your decrepit old Master..."

Obi-Wan did not respond to the jest, only looked down at the table. For a moment, it had looked as if he would say more, but then he did not.

Qui-Gon poured out the last of the bottle into both their glasses. "Let us finish it," Qui-Gon said, brightly.

He then raised his glass, and joked, "To decrepit old Masters." When Obi-Wan did not reply, Qui-Gon added, with a smile, "And to drunk Padawans."

"Yes, let us drink..."Obi-Wan agreed, raising his glass in return. He did not smile.

They both drank. When they lowered their glasses they were both silent for a moment, their silence an unfamiliar, awkward, one.

"Oh, well, that was the last of it..."Qui-Gon said, finally, after a moment, as if looking for something to say.

"No, actually, you have a little left. In the bottom of your glass," Obi-Wan corrected, quietly, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Qui-Gon answered.

Obi-Wan then reached over and picked up Qui-Gon's glass, and held it between his white hands, gently, swirling the golden wine. Carefully, not looking at his Master, he turned the glass in his hands before raising it to his lips. It looked to Qui-Gon almost as if Obi-Wan had deliberately touched his mouth to the part of the rim that as his own mouth had touched, but certainly, it must have been mere coincidence.

Tilting his head back, Obi-Wan drained the very last of the glass with a refined swallow. Qui-Gon watched the swallow in Obi-Wan's white throat, the delicate rise and fall of his larynx. Qui-Gon's own mouth was dry, and he coughed, uncomfortably.

Obi-Wan lowered the glass down to the table. He was looking back down at the glass, and his face was troubled.

"What is it, Obi-Wan? What is wrong?" Qui-Gon asked, concerned at the sudden change of mood.

"Nothing," Obi-Wan said, shortly, "it is nothing."

Qui-Gon touched his Padawan gently on the shoulder, so that Obi-Wan would look at him, but Obi-Wan still steadily looked down at the table. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, my son," Qui-Gon said, kindly.

Somehow that had also been the wrong thing to say, for Obi-Wan looked up angrily, his blue eyes flashing. He snapped, "I am no longer a boy."

So that's it, Qui-Gon thought. "No, you are not," he agreed, mildly, "you are a young man." It is best to ignore it; young men are often sensitive about such things. Qui-Gon went on, cheerfully, placing down on the table a small box. "But you haven't yet opened your gift."

Obi-Wan seemed to remember himself, his mutinous face returning to its usual composure. "Yes, of course. But I need a moment." He stood up from the table and stepped into the sleeping room, returning with a heavy package, which he handed over, not looking at his Master.

"This is for you, Master," he added, unnecessarily.

Qui-Gon opened the stiff silver paper. Inside, was a boxed collection of datapad programs, of many of the obscure Jedi philosophers. It was obviously very expensive, a choice of excellent taste, and utterly impersonal.

"Thank you, Padawan," said Qui-Gon, graciously, ignoring the faint feeling of unease at the gift. "But you must open yours."

Obi-Wan opened the small box. Inside, nestled in soft cloth, was a thin crystal, clear like water, but its edge flashing violet, blue, and red, as if tipped by fire.

Obi-Wan did not speak for a moment, but merely turned it over in his hands.

"Do you like it?" Qui-Gon asked.

"It is...beautiful,"Obi-Wan said, in a low voice Then he added, still not looking up. "It is an Ishii crystal, isn't it?"

"Yes. I remembered how much you said you liked them."

"It is beautiful," Obi-Wan repeated, but his tone was very strange, as if he was struggling very hard to contain some unpleasant emotion. "Thank you, Master."

"You are very welcome." Qui-Gon replied.

Still not looking up, Obi-Wan spoke again unexpectedly, his tone now brisk. "I was invited out tonight."

"Yes?"

"With-some of the other Padawans. They thought to take me out to celebrate. I thought if we didn't have any plans for the rest of the evening, that I would go with them."

"Certainly," Qui-Gon agreed, quickly, surprised, and trying not to be hurt. It was the first time that Obi-Wan had ever suggested he would much prefer to spend time with his friends, and he had pointedly not invited his Master.

Although, Qui-Gon thought to himself, resignedly, it is only proper. He is young, and would certainly prefer the company of other young people. No wonder why he seems so lost lately, tied to an old man like me.

So he added, trying to jest, "Do as you wish. I was planning to turn in early anyway. One does that at my age."

Obi-Wan nodded, unsmiling, as he got up, briskly, from the table, "I will be back late."

As he made to go, Qui-Gon said, to his Padawan's back, "I hope you enjoyed our dinner."

Obi-Wan replied, without turning around, "Yes. I did."

"Happy Sokrateion, Padawan."

"To you, as well, Master."

Qui-Gon retreated to the sleeping chamber, not wanting to watch Obi-Wan leave. He didn't even ask which Padawans Obi-Wan was going out with. For it didn't matter.

And it is none of my business. He is a young man, not a child, Qui-Gon thought to himself, and then added, with a rueful smile, as he was very quick to remind me.

As he turned down the light, sinking into the softness of his sleep-couch, he sighed, deeply, troubled with thoughts about his Padawan.

Qui-Gon thought about his gift, still lying upon the table. The expensive datapad collection, the words of obscure philosophers, chosen with exquisite taste, a gift given to a stranger. He put his hand over his eyes, for he suddenly, irrationally, felt as if he wanted to weep.

For however much Qui-Gon had tried to deny it to himself, there was...something that had come between them.

It is not just the anger, he admitted to himself, reluctantly. There was now some invisible barrier or gap that he could not cross. This change had been so slow that it had been almost imperceptible, the smallest of fissures having expanded to an impassible breach. The uncharacteristic flashes of temper. Strange awkward silences. Yet there had been no falling out, no obvious offense, and this division, so palpable that the air between them pulsed with it, was utterly invisible.

Whenever he had tentatively broached the subject, trying to sound his Padawan out, Obi-Wan would deny that his Master had ever done to him any offense; in fact, he would deny that there was any problem whatsoever, his face closed and secretive.

Secretive.

Yes...secretive.

Perhaps the silence between them was not the silence of resentment, but the silence of a secret closely held.

Yes, that's it.

There were secrets that Obi-Wan now kept, but what they were Qui-Gon did not know.

But he could imagine. He remembered what it was to be young. And his Padawan was very good-looking, an exceptionally handsome young man. Qui-Gon had watched silly young girls giggle behind their hands as Obi-Wan walked by, the more ridiculous among them practically swooning. Obi-Wan never seemed to notice how handsome he was, or his effect on women, but how could he not notice? One of those girls must have caught his eye, as was natural, for he was a young man.

With a young man's needs.

And I have hardly been the best example, Qui-Gon admitted, and he knows it, too.

Qui-Gon now remembered the time, almost a year ago, where Obi-Wan had learned the truth about his Master.

They had been reading together in their rooms, studying the Jedi texts. They often did this, discussing the concepts and philosophy of their readings far into the night, over cups of sapir tea.

The text they were reading that particular evening had been an odd choice, for it was the Phaedrys, written by the Jedi philosopher Kles Aristo. It was one of the more difficult texts, the language ancient, and full of arcane points of philosophy. It had, in truth, never been one of Qui-Gon's favorite texts, and he had groaned inwardly when he saw that this text was the one Obi-Wan had selected for the night, although he did not betray anything outwardly by his expression.

"Kles Aristo?" was all he had said, "Deep reading."

Obi-Wan paused, almost imperceptibly, before speaking. "It is of interest to me," he said, finally.

As Qui-Gon began to read, Obi-Wan had sat down close to his Master, so close that Qui-Gon could smell his Padawan's clean male scent, and feel the tickling touch of his Padawan's exhalation against the sensitive skin of the back of his own hand. Obi-Wan's blue eyes were intently watching his Master as his Master read to him, but Qui-Gon, for some inexplicable reason, could only regard him out of the corner of his eye.

For sitting close to his Padawan, reading to him of desires of the flesh, Qui-Gon had never been so acutely aware of Obi-Wan's maleness. Of course, he knew that his Padawan was a male, but he had always been more boy than man. But somehow, while he had been preoccupied with other things, his Padawan had grown up, and now, sitting close to him, Qui-Gon was almost excruciatingly aware that Obi-Wan was no longer a boy. His face, which had been softly rounded like a boy's, had hollowed out, revealing more masculine cheekbones and a stronger jaw with a definite cleft to his chin. His body, while still more lean than strongly built, had lost the reedy adolescent slenderness. His body was well concealed in the modest robes, but Qui-Gon could see the subtle tightening of the cloth over his shoulders, as he stretched in his chair, and the hint of graceful curve of his thigh muscles.

Qui-Gon had read from his datapad almost mechanically, so quickly and mindlessly that he occasionally stumbled over his words, hoping to quickly dispense with the lesson. The whole time he was studiously not looking at his Padawan as he recited the passage, for the Phaedrys was famous for its exhortations to chastity. Reading this to his young Padawan had made him very uncomfortable, although at the time he could not have explained why.

But now, laying alone in the dark, Qui-Gon now admitted to himself why he had been so uncomfortable.

I was uncomfortable because seeing him that way-as a man-made me realize for the first time that he must have had some understanding about physical desire.

No, I am still dissembling! It was more than that. I was uncomfortable because I knew that he was fundamentally...BETTER than me. That he was an idealist, devoted to the ways of the Jedi. He would have the natural needs of a young man, but never yield to them. Unlike me. And yet I could sit there, and read to him about the virtues of chastity. What a hypocrite I was!

When Qui-Gon was done reading the passage, he had placed the datapad down on the table in front of him with a sense of profound relief.

"Any questions?" he had asked, perfunctorily, not looking at Obi-Wan.

"Yes."

Obi-Wan had paused for a moment.

"Have you ever felt physical desire for anyone, Master?"

Qui-Gon had looked up, startled. It was a very strange question, not philosophical at all, but deeply personal. He looked back into his Padawan's face. Obi-Wan's expression had been impossible to read, but he had been regarding Qui-Gon calmly with his clear blue eyes, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," Qui-Gon had said, slowly, "At...times."

"You answer as if you wish to avoid the subject," Obi-Wan had said, in an unexpected tone of voice, for he had said it as if it were an accusation. He then laughed a little, incredulously, "Is there-more?"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment.

"Yes," he had said, very softly, "There is...more."

He had heard his Padawan's voice, no longer accusatory, but very hesitant. "Have you ever...?" Obi-Wan trailed off, not finishing the question.

He will be disappointed in me, Qui-Gon had thought.

Qui-Gon had opened his eyes, and said, lightly, with a self-deprecating smile, "I have the fault, I have been told, of loving too much."

Obi-Wan's expression did not change, yet he had reacted to his Master's words, for his complexion had gone pale, almost bloodless. He had been utterly silent for a moment, then blurted, stiffly, "Who?"

"Does it matter?" Qui-Gon had asked, tiredly.

"No," Obi-Wan had agreed, quickly.

"Any other questions?"

"Did you do-that-with many people?"

Qui-Gon frowned. It was another odd question, intensely personal. Obi-Wan is not disappointed with me. He is DISGUSTED with me, and my failings. He now imagines me capable of any number of debaucheries.

"That is not important," Qui-Gon had said, dismissively. But seeing the implacable set to Obi-Wan's face, he then conceded, resignedly, "I will admit, Padawan, that I have failed in this regard more than once-"

Obi-Wan then cut him off. "And with more than one person?"

"Yes."

Obi-Wan's voice had been hard. "But was it only for physical release? Or was it ever for-love?"

The question, and the hostile way that his Padawan was asking it, had almost made Qui-Gon angry. He thinks I would break the Jedi Code for mere physical release? My revelation has destroyed his good opinion of me. And his disgust with me has made him forget his manners, as he cannot be bothered to hide it.

But as Qui-Gon had looked into his Padawan's face, very white, he had thought, softening, I cannot find fault with his reaction, as I have shown myself to be less than the Master that he is worthy of. My idealistic Padawan.

So Qui-Gon had answered, gently, and truthfully.

"Yes," he had said, "it was always for love."

This answer, while it did not absolve Qui-Gon, should have at least consoled Obi-Wan a little as to his Master's intentions. But somehow it did not.

"I see," Obi-Wan had replied, crisply, refusing to look at his Master.

"Obi-Wan..."Qui-Gon had said, very softly, trailing off.

Obi-Wan then went on, in the same tone of voice, as if Qui-Gon had not spoken, "If you don't mind, Master, I would like to be excused. I will go to the Jedi library to continue my studies."

"As you like," Qui-Gon had said. It had been easier to let him go.

His reaction was...extreme. He was sickened to the heart by my failures. And I do not blame him.

Did the strangeness between us begin then? No, it had already begun, yet, it does seem that it became much worse after that time.

And the present he gave me tonight...it contains the writings of Kles Aristo. Qui-Gon realized, suddenly. A coincidence? Or a message?

He did not know if he should laugh, or weep.

I failed him.

He has a girl somewhere.

He must.

How had he met this girl? Perhaps at a cantina? His Padawan did not go often to such places, often making excuses to the other young Padawans so he could stay home and study with his Master.

But sometimes, especially when there had been strange silences and angry outbursts, when the air palpated with that tension between them, Obi-Wan had left, saying he was going to the Jedi library. To "study". Or some other such excuse. Qui-Gon had not entirely believed him, but had thought it better to not challenge Obi-Wan when things were so difficult and perplexing between them.

Had he gone to a cantina? Had she approached him, put her hand on his arm? Qui-Gon could imagine it. She would laugh low, breathlessly, leaning forward so he could get a good look at her cleavage. In her eyes would be an open invitation.

Qui-Gon knew all too well how such things happened. Obi-Wan would resist. At least at first. Sexual relations were forbidden. But perhaps Obi-Wan would be curious. While the Jedi lectured endlessly about the dangers of physical desire, and the forbidden nature of sexual relations, such talk often had the unintended effect of fascinating young Padawans, instead of repelling them. Perhaps his idealistic Padawan would seek to subject himself to the ultimate test of his convictions, to see if he could feel the very heat of such fire without being consumed by it, in the manner of raw ore purified to fine metal. He would, in his youthful ignorance, think he would be able to resist at the last moment.

Or perhaps...Qui-Gon hesitated.

Perhaps he is...lonely.

Such thoughts hurt him even to admit. It was yet another failure on his part, if his Padawan had become isolated somehow, even from his own Master.

But it was very likely. Obi-Wan had always been shy, and reserved. He had been popular with his age-mates, being quick with words, and brilliant wit, but he had truly shared himself with very few, his heart and mind probably most open to Qui-Gon.

And even that...not always. Not totally.

Especially now. With this unfathomable division now lying between them, his Padawan was now alone.

She would be beautiful, and experienced in such things. He would be utterly desirable to her, for not only was he a handsome young man, but he was forbidden, a virginal Jedi. She would take her time, savoring the game, teasing and testing his limits, little by little. Perhaps she would promise him that they would only pleasure each other a little, so that he would not technically break the Code, but slowly and inevitably she would seduce him, encouraging him to go further and further, weakening his resolve.

Qui-Gon did not want to imagine any more. In the end, as if prey to an immutable law of physics, his Padawan would fall to earth. Obi-Wan would yield up his virginity, betraying the Jedi Code, and his own ideals.

And I am to blame, Qui-Gon thought, in bitter self-recrimination. For Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan would succumb, despite all his idealism, because he had learned that Qui- Gon had really been no better. That everything his Master had taught him about purity was a lie.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. If the Council ever discovers his failure, I will admit that the greater part of failure lies not on him, but on me. I will take upon myself his punishment.

At least, Qui-Gon consoled himself, in the end; he will be reconciled to the Order. As I was.

He smiled despite himself at the memory. He also had been lonely, a tall gawky boy who had thought himself ugly, and who had a strained relationship with his perfectionist Master, Dooku. He had been very young and foolish, moved easily by passion and emotion. Wherever his heart had gone, his body had followed, his need for closeness and affection overwhelming any considerations of chastity.

He had also been far too honest to dissemble when his Master had finally confronted him. It had been very late one night, almost dawn, and Qui-Gon had returned to his sleep couch to find Dooku had stayed up all night, waiting for him.

I still remember Dooku's face. Qui-Gon thought. The firm mouth, the stern black eyes. Not that my Master's eyes were anything other than stern. Even the rare times he claimed he was pleased. But then, that look-not of disapproval, but of DISGUST. I doubt he ever violated the Code by having sexual relations. It was BENEATH him.

Dooku had demanded the truth. Without hesitation, Qui-Gon had admitted everything. The next morning Dooku had dragged his errant Padawan before the Council to be chastised.

And he had been formally chastised, but...still.

Qui-Gon had barely been able to see Yoda's expression, for the morning sun had been behind the wizened Jedi Master, dazzling Qui-Gon's eyes. And then, Yoda had touched Qui-Gon's bent head, gently, as if in a blessing.

"Not so hard on your Padawan you should be," Yoda said, finally, to an indignant Dooku,"loves only too much he does."

In truth, it was often how such things went. For violations such as these, while not common, were hardly rare, as such, it was a matter that the Jedi dealt with understanding. If Obi-Wan also failed in this regard, it would be considered wrong, certainly, something that would merit punishment by the Council if discovered, but there would also be compassion and forgiveness. Perhaps the Jedi Council would be more disappointed than they usually were, for Obi-Wan was considered the most exceptional of the Padawans, but in the end, there would be reconciliation. He would not be cast out. He would remain a Jedi.

Qui-Gon sighed. But if only all I feared was a violation of the Jedi Code. For there was something else that concerned him.

Obi-Wan could be HURT.

Obi-Wan was so fiercely intelligent and focused, so seemingly self-reliant, that it was easy to forget those rare glimpses of the sensitive person underneath. Even Qui-Gon, who lived closer with him than anyone, and who had deep insights into human nature, only rarely glimpsed that hidden heart, which Obi-Wan tried so hard to conceal.

And which he conceals so well, that he conceals it even from himself, Qui-Gon smiled with tenderness.

If Obi-Wan were having sexual relations with a girl, particularly out of loneliness, he would no doubt become vulnerable emotionally. And this was, Qui-Gon knew, a dangerous thing for Obi-Wan; always intellectual, and having little connection with his more intense emotions, he had no true defenses against them.

Perhaps this girl would understand, but more likely she would not.

Would it be too much to hope that she is...gentle with him? And that it does not end badly? Qui-Gon thought, right before falling into a light and fitful sleep.

And as Qui-Gon slept he was troubled with odd dreams that he could not fully recall, and they were all about Obi-Wan. In one dream Obi-Wan came to his Master, crying, tears running down his face, and this was very strange, for Obi-Wan never cried, at least not that he would ever allow anyone to see.

There, there, Qui-Gon said, in the dream, taking Obi-Wan into his arms, to comfort him. I understand, he said, I have always known who you are.

But the dream was all mixed up with thoughts of the girl, for as Qui-Gon was holding Obi-Wan, he could look down and see that vulnerable indentation between his collarbones, the defenseless place in his white throat. Qui-Gon placed one finger there, feeling Obi-Wan's pulse, beating fast.

Bizarrely, he found himself wondering if Obi-Wan's girl had touched him there, or perhaps even kissed that place. Somehow that thought made him angry, why he could not say.

Did she ever touch you here? Qui-Gon asked, in the dream.

Obi-Wan shook his head. No, he said, I never let her.

Then, in the dream, Qui-Gon reached out with a gentle hand to touch one of the tears on Obi-Wan's face, and then he found himself asking, Did she taste you?

And with the strange logic of dreams, Qui-Gon then tasted off his own finger the salt of Obi-Wan's tears. It was the same way Obi-Wan had tasted the wine from his own lips, but Obi-Wan did not look away.

And Qui-Gon whispered, in the dream, I will not hurt you. I will never hurt you.

Qui-Gon awoke abruptly, to Obi-Wan stumbling in. It must have been several hours later, for his eyes opened to utter darkness. Obi-Wan had not bothered to turn up the light, and for some reason Qui-Gon remained silent, only listened to Obi-Wan stumble about in the dark.

He's drunk, Qui-Gon thought, shocked. The only way to explain such a lack of grace. It should not have shocked him, along with the other.

But perhaps they go together, Qui-Gon thought; perhaps he drinks tonight out of guilt.

"Are you awake?" Obi-Wan asked, suddenly. His voice was low but not slurred, for he spoke with the careful pronunciation of someone aware of their own intoxication.

"Yes."

"I am sorry I woke you up," Obi-Wan said, awkwardly. He sat down on his own sleep couch. Qui-Gon could hear the dull thunk of his boots hitting the floor as he pulled them off. The first Corsucanti moon had risen, but it was cloaked behind a cloud, and even though Qui-Gon's eyes had now adjusted to the dark, Obi-Wan still seemed strange and ill defined, a shadow of a shadow.

"I had too much to drink," Obi-Wan explained, unnecessarily. "Celebrating our anniversary."

Qui-Gon said nothing, letting the comment pass, for it would have been pointless to remind Obi-Wan that they had not celebrated it together.

"Do you mind if I join you on your sleep-couch?" Obi-Wan asked. It was something he occasionally did; since he had been a boy, if they wanted to talk late into the night, or Obi-Wan had had a bad dream.

"No, I don't mind," Qui-Gon said, although he did. He could not say why, and had a spasm or irritation at himself for his own inexplicable hostile feelings.

Obi-Wan stumbled over to Qui-Gon's sleep couch. He pulled off his brown and coarse outer robe and tossed it, with uncharacteristic sloppiness, to the floor. He was now only clad in the plain tunic and pants. The tunic's neck had been somehow loosened so Qui-Gon could see, in the dimmest light, the long white line of his neck and the suggestion of his chest.

Qui-Gon wondered if her hand had loosened that tunic, the thought was strange and heavy in his chest. He pushed the thought away, irritably.

Obi-Wan lay down beside him, on his back, heavily, without his usual grace. His breath smelled strongly of various intoxicating drinks. But he did not smell of sexual relations, the musk of body to body. Only alcohol. Qui-Gon did not know if he was relieved somehow, or more profoundly disturbed.

Obi-Wan was silent for so long that Qui-Gon would have suspected that his Padawan had fallen asleep, but for the tenseness he sensed in Obi-Wan's body, and the quick rise and fall of breath.

"You never asked me where I was going," Obi-Wan said, suddenly, apropos to nothing. His voice was almost accusatory.

"I did not wish to pry."

Obi-Wan went on, as if Qui-Gon had not spoken, "But as you did not ask, I went out with some... friends. Not important who. For drinks. At least at first."

Obi-Wan fell silent, as if waiting for a question. Qui-Gon politely supplied it. "At first?"

"After they got very drunk, they wanted to go down to the Kathonika and see Holovids. But not just any Holovids. Holovids forbidden to Jedi. Ones showing sexual relations. Does that shock you, Master?"

"No."

"It doesn't?" Obi-Wan's voice was suddenly hostile. "Have you done that as well? Along with your-".

To this, Qui-Gon opened his mouth to respond, indignantly, but Obi-Wan had already put in, sharply, "No, don't answer. Let me remain ignorant, if you please. But I didn't go with them. I stayed in the bar. Drinking. I drank by myself," Obi-Wan paused, and then laughed, mirthlessly, "That is, until some girl insisted on trying to pick me up. She wanted to drink with me, and I didn't want to be rude. But then she wanted me to go home with her."

"I see."

Obi-Wan's next question was abrupt, his voice tight. "Don't you want to know what happened next?"

"Not if you don't want to tell me."

"I didn't. Go home with her," Obi-Wan said, flatly, then again fell into a strange silence.
There was tension in this silence, as Obi-Wan now waited for a response. But Qui-Gon knew he had to choose his next words very carefully, so he thought a moment before he spoke.

"It is not wrong," Qui-Gon said, finally, "simply to want. It is normal. As Jedi, we are supposed to be celibate. But you cannot help your feelings. It was not wrong of you to have wanted to have sexual relations with her."

"I didn't want to have sexual relations with her," Obi-Wan corrected him, harshly, "I wanted-"he cut himself off, then amended, "I wanted to get away from there. To come home."

He wished to say more. But he did not. Whatever it is, he does not trust me, Qui-Gon thought, sadly. But he only said, "I am proud of you, Padawan. In this matter you have been loyal to the Code of the Jedi."

Qui-Gon felt rather than saw Obi-Wan shaking his head on the pillow next to him. "I wish I could say that I have been loyal to the Code. I have always tried to keep to the Code. But tonight, it wasn't the Code. I-I couldn't."

Qui-Gon thought, in a flash of understanding, He couldn't because he already lies with another girl, and he wishes to remain loyal to her. But now he wishes to confess about his lover. I must ask him directly about her, but be careful not to judge.

Qui-Gon asked, very quietly, "You couldn't...because you belong to another?"

But Obi-Wan's response was not at all what his Master had expected. After a moment, instead of an emotional confession, Obi-Wan threw back his head on the pillow, laughing bitterly, without joy.

"You could say that," Obi-Wan said, his tone an odd one, laden with an irony that Qui-Gon did not understand, "Not that it matters. I have not violated the Code of the Jedi. And I know I never will."

There was no pride in his virtue in that last statement, but something darker, as if it hinted at despair. That tone in his voice struck Qui-Gon to the heart, so the Master turned on his side to look at his Padawan, whose head was on the pillow next to him.

The risen moon had come from behind the clouds, and Obi-Wan was no longer a shadow, but etched in whiteness, blanched colorless in the sterile light, his hair and eyelashes a burnished silver. Strangely, there was nothing of the softness and slackness of alcohol in his face, but it was exquisitely harsh, like an avenging angel.

He is beautiful, Qui-Gon thought, as he always thought, when caught unexpected.

Obi-Wan now smiled back at his Master, and his face was now transformed, it was as if Qui-Gon could see not only the man he was, but also could recognize in his Padawan's face a glimpse of the boy he had been. This moment made Qui-Gon almost have to catch his breath, for he felt an exquisite tenderness, wounded deeply down to his heart and marrow, for he had always tried to protect his Padawan, since he had been a boy, but now it seemed that Obi-Wan was in some profound pain that his Master could not heal.

But while Qui-Gon wished to console him, for a moment he was silent, for, looking into Obi-Wan's face, at that same moment, along with tenderness, he felt another contradictory emotion, one which made him almost burn with searing pain, as if it was anger, yet it was not. For while he wished to tenderly clasp his Padawan to him, protecting him from his pain, this other emotion wished to...he did not know.

"Did you like my present?" Obi-Wan asked, abruptly, breaking his thoughts.

"Yes. Yes, of course," Qui-Gon agreed, startled.

"No you don't." Obi-Wan corrected. "Not really. But I didn't know what to get you. I used to know, but I don't now. Not anymore."

"I don't understand."

"I don't either," Obi-Wan said, with strange emphasis. "But you remembered I liked Ishii crystals."

"I listen to you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, softly. He reached out his hand, and gently cupped Obi-Wan's cheek in his large palm. His Padawan slightly leaned into the gesture, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I am sorry, Master," Obi-Wan said, his eyes still closed. "I am just very...sad, tonight."

"There is no need to be sorry, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, gently, "But I would take from you your pain."

"I know that you would," Obi-Wan said, softly. He opened his eyes, and smiled, wearily. His eyes were very dark. "But you cannot."

"Let me," Qui-Gon said, very tenderly, "Please." Qui-Gon reached up to touch the softness of Obi-Wan's hair, to ruffle it with his hand, the way he had always done since his Padawan was a child.

This gesture inexplicably made Obi-Wan's face tighten in pain, as if he had been struck. He abruptly pulled away. And although his expression was closed and difficult to read, his whole body was now shaking, as if he was resisting some terrible hidden agony that consumed him down to the bone.

"Please. Let me help you," Qui-Gon repeated. "Whatever it is."

Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, pressed tight, as if he did not want to see. "If you only knew! You would despise me."

"I could never despise you," Qui-Gon insisted. "Never. Tell me. What hurts you so, my son?"

Obi-Wan's eyes opened. His face was utterly expressionless, suddenly still, as if he was struggling to control an overwhelming emotion. He caught Qui-Gon's wrist in his own hand, so hard as if to hurt.

"I told you," Obi-Wan said, slowly, "I told you I am no longer a boy."

And then, all of a sudden, Obi-Wan pulled his Master close. This was something that they had often done, embraced in perfect friendship, but there was something profoundly different about it. Obi-Wan had become oddly clumsy; his approach awkward, pressing his Master so close that Qui-Gon could feel the rapid pound of his Padawan's heart. And it was almost as if he was still Obi-Wan, and yet he was not, for there was something about it non-familiar and strange.

"Master-"Obi-Wan murmured, desperately. His breath was very hot on his Master's neck.

"Tell me," Qui-Gon said, softly.

Obi-Wan struggled to speak, his chest heaving. It was almost as if he could not catch his breath, and when he finally managed, it was in a strange, almost strangled voice.

"There are no words-"

And then, abruptly, he tilted his own head back and pressed his lips to his Master's, kissing him on the mouth.

It was obvious that he had little experience, for it took him a moment to press his kiss to Qui-Gon's lips. His kiss was very chaste, his lips soft and demanding nothing, but his body trembled, now not from pain, but some other emotion.

Underneath the pungent bitterness of alcohol Qui-Gon could taste the sweetness of his mouth, the heat of his breath.

His mouth. He is so...soft, thought Qui-Gon, mindlessly. His own body shivered, against his will, for there was now a burning in his blood, like fire.

Fire...and softness, thought Qui-Gon, lifting his hand, hesitating a moment, his curled fingers very close to Obi-Wan's white neck.

That moment, seeming endless, yet not long enough-

Deliberately, heavily, his hand went to Obi-Wan's shoulder, pushing him away, gently.

When they parted, for a single moment Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan's face, vulnerable and soft, but in that next instant Obi-Wan's face became utterly closed, with the abruptness of a light suddenly extinguished.

Qui-Gon spoke, "Obi-Wan-"

Obi-Wan shook off his Master's hand on his shoulder, and as abruptly and awkwardly as he had embraced his Master; he rolled over on his back, and threw his arm over his eyes.

"You have had too much to drink," Qui-Gon blurted, hurriedly. "And you are very tired. It is not a good time to discuss such things."

"Things?" Obi-Wan asked, distantly.

"Confusion...young Padawans have all sorts of confused feelings about their Masters at your age. That is why the Jedi Code forbids...things so strictly, because it actually is common. Very common. And harmless really."

"Harmless." Obi-Wan echoed, dully.

For a moment, the word hung between them, then Qui-Gon agreed, gratefully, "Yes. Do not worry. We should talk about it...when you have had your rest."

"Yes," Obi-Wan's voice was flat, toneless. "After I rest. Do you mind if I lie here, tonight?"

"Of course not," agreed Qui-Gon, quickly. He leaned over, and brushing his Padawan's hair off his forehead, he kissed his Padawan on the brow.

"Your kiss deserved one in return," he said, lightly.

"I will try not to disturb you. Again," Obi-Wan said, rolling over so his back was now to his Master.
"Good night, Padawan."

"Good night, Master. And Happy-Happy Sokreteion."

"Yes, Padawan, Happy Sokreteion."

Qui-Gon was sitting up in the dark next to his Padawan, his body light on the sleep couch, careful not to brush against his Padawan, and disturb him.

But he knew that it would be impossible to sleep.

He touched his own lips, wondrously, with a gentle finger. His mouth burned with the kiss, as if he could still feel it on his lips.

I did not...mind his kiss. Qui-Gon realized, then amended, No. I...responded to his kiss. In my heart. And in...my body.

He turned his head and looked at his Padawan lying next to him, his hair a silvery nimbus, illuminated by the moon behind him.

He is so alone.

And in pain.

And then, another thought, unbidden.

I could return his kiss.

I could...touch him.

Qui-Gon clenched his hands, tightly, his nails cutting into his palms, as if by not doing so he would act on this insane thought.

No! Such things are...impossible. Utterly forbidden. The Jedi call such things an apechthema

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw, remembering the times that a Master and Padawan were caught having sexual relations. It was considered an apechthema, an abomination, a sin against the very nature of the Force. The forgiveness and understanding, which existed for sexual dalliances of the common kind, did not extend to this. If any Master and Padawan were shameless enough to engage in such things, if discovered, there would be no reconciliation. The Master would be utterly cast out, immediately expelled from the Jedi Order, forbidden to ever again enter the Jedi Temple, as would the Padawan, if of a consenting age.

Moreover, this apechthema was talked about with utter disgust, as if it were a perversion of the lowest kind. This matter was not one of sympathy, but of revulsion. Many Masters, writing with compassion about other desires of the flesh, when writing about this apechthema, called for severe penalties for the transgressors, calling it the equivalent of sexual relations with ones own young child.

Yes! agreed Qui-Gon, firmly, to himself. The Jedi Code is very wise. If I returned his kiss, I would utterly bind him to me. He would never grow beyond me, as he must.

I cannot be selfish. And I have been selfish. Not seeing his anger. His need. I have blinded myself to the painfully obvious, convinced myself it was only his age, or girls-why? Because it was easier? Or because I feared my own weakness?

No! Qui-Gon exclaimed to himself, slamming his fists down into his thighs, silently but hard enough to hurt. It was not that. No. It was because I, too, yearned...

He now allowed himself to remember his own confused feelings, when he had looked into Obi-Wan's face that night; that infinite tenderness, and that other, more troublesome feeling, that had burned inside him like fire.

Desire. Qui-Gon admitted. It was desire. I wanted him. Even as I wanted to tenderly console and protect him, I wanted to-what?

I wanted to have him. Completely.

He thought of his dream, tasting Obi-Wan's salt off his finger. The intimacy of such a gesture. Did she taste you? he had asked.

And then, Obi-Wan reaching up, his mouth on his. Qui-Gon almost groaned aloud with need, remembering Obi-Wan's mouth, and its softness. How pure and chaste Obi-Wan's kiss had been, the kiss of an innocent boy, but his body had trembled....

I must not think of such things, Qui-Gon thought, pressing his clenched hands into his thighs. From thoughts come actions. And he is innocent! He kisses me in regard, in confused affection, in not truly understanding what his body wants. I must not spoil that innocence. I will NOT corrupt him.

Qui-Gon looked back down at the silvery head of his Padawan, so desirable, yet so innocent and vulnerable. The Master then set his jaw in resolve. And I will never hurt him. I must not ever let him learn that I did not spurn his kiss. I will let him believe that it meant nothing. It WILL be to me, nothing.

Qui-Gon's hand reached for the soft hair, to stroke it for a moment, but then he pulled his hand back, shaking his head regretfully, his smile poignant. But the Jedi Masters say it is never wrong to love, so I can still love him. And I WILL love him. Like a teacher. Or a father. He will never be alone.

And when he is older....Qui-Gon hesitated, uncomfortably, for a moment, but then resolutely forced himself to press on, when he is older, and if he needs sexual release, let him find someone else. So that, if he must break the Code, at least the love that he will find will be no abomination. So that he will be free.

It will hurt me, Qui-Gon admitted. But what does that matter? None of it matters, except that he is happy.

With that resolution, Qui-Gon was finally content, and he lay back down next to his sleeping Padawan, allowing himself to stroke the softness of Obi-Wan's hair for a while, before he himself finally slept.