He was surprised at how calm he was, really. Never in the eight
years he had been with Qui-Gon had negotiations gone so awry so
quickly for something so trivial... trivial to your own eye,
Padawan, the Qui-Gon-Jinn-voice in his head corrected. He
wondered absently if Qui-Gon's inner voice sounded like Yoda.
This was a culture only ten years introduced to interplanetary
travel, their views understandably ethnocentric. And Qui-Gon
had misstepped, by their terms, though it was hardly his
fault; the Brisnahi cultural reference materials were paltry at
best, and his master's error hadn't been outlined in any of
their provided data.
This sort of thing was why they were here, in fact; too many
off-worlders attempting trade negotiations, xenobiological
study or religious conversion were being killed for minor
offenses about which no one knew.
Obi-Wan had spoken with the president of Brisnahi several times
via commlink, and twice personally, and never had he seen the
man overtly emotional, until now. He fairly seethed with rage.
"You offend our culture and customs, and expect us to respect
your own? No, not an insult so great as this. One of you will
suffer the punishment."
Obi-Wan blinked in the face of that harshly flung hostility,
letting it pass through him, rain through the leaves of a
gently yielding tree. "Mr. President, isn't your punishment
corporal?" he asked quietly, imparting his opinion of the
subject.
"Young fool," the president spat harshly. "The punishment is
death, Jedi."
He was twenty-one years old. He had heard his job title spoken
as an insult before, but rarely with such vehemence. It wasn't
truly anger that prompted this outburst, but fear. These people
so feared the unknown--and there was unknown in abundance in
their new, wider galaxy. He glanced to his master for guidance,
wondering if he would be required to make the sacrifice
requested.
So very many things a Jedi was willing to die for. So many
things were worth more than a shell of flesh.
"A moment, if you please, Mr. President," Qui-Gon murmured, and
Obi-Wan felt the Force billowing out, pristine and brilliant, a
sheet in the wind of his master's energy. "I require time to
determine which of us it will be."
"None is granted," the man hissed.
So very much unreasoning fear; it must be choking this entire
culture. Obi-Wan could certainly sense a constriction growing
around his own body. So it was to be sacrifice, and just
indeed; this culture, so young and yet so strong, could not
suffer a hostile universe just yet, not from the names and
icons that promised peace and respectful concert with other
life. One of them would be offered up. He pursed his lips,
compelling his heart to remain steady and slow, and sent a
silent thought that the sacrifice would be his. He'd had
twenty-one good years, and he frankly couldn't imagine making a
larger contribution to the universe with his time than could
Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
"Infinity, my Padawan."
He obeyed instantly, without thought, expanding his time sense
until the living beings around them turned to torpid sculpture.
This wasn't a perception for voice or movement; sound stood
still, holding its breath in this plane. Light slowed until
every particle left a rainbow tracer in the air, reminding him
in its way of the acceleration to hyperspace. He stared into
his master's eyes, as still as the natives who had huddled and
gathered and now stood seeming frozen around them. This was a
time for thought, for feeling, for exceeding rare and intimate
connection to the man before him. He sensed the shifting waves
of Force, its river flow eddying around and through them both,
sensed Qui-Gon's study of that flow out from them each, singly
and together, reaching for future possibilities.
Obi-Wan had no gift of foresight, no reliable skill in this
area greater than short-term intuition. He had never thought
much of his master's skill at this either, but now, staring
into the infinity of the man's eyes, their blue filling his
universe as the black of space filled a night sky, he knew and
accepted that the choice would not be his to make.
Their souls touched briefly, even for this time, and the
satisfaction his master held for him, Oh! So very old, and very
strong indeed. He could not doubt or question that esteem, so
much broader and deeper than his own, a canyon of love measured
against his small furrow in the ground. He felt shame at his
own limitations, offered it up as gift from student to teacher,
felt it lift and change until his own love became more than it
had ever been, and far more than his limitations. Until his
oneness with his master and the greater life beyond them
granted him the serenity needed to accept what would not be
changed.
Even as he accepted what was changing in this moment. So
this is what love is? Some non-verbal part of himself
asked, and Qui-Gon's warmth touched his very soul. It was all
the answer he needed, and more. He shared his gratitude,
basking in the depth and breadth and pure intensity of his
years with this man. Too few? To lose it, for either of them to
lose this... he offered up that pain as well, saw that it was
loved as yet another part of him, sensed the smile Qui-Gon
would have given him in real-time. And he received Qui-Gon's
pain, shouldering that burden as gracefully as he could, loving
it; growth, loss, change--all were a part of the cycle of life
to which they had dedicated themselves....
A quiet moment of eternity together, and then he saw his
master's eyelids slowly begin to move, the barest fraction of a
blinking motion--and gasped as time returned to its normal
flow. Perhaps half a second had passed in common time...
perhaps less.
"I surrender," Qui-Gon said quietly.
Force-assisted, Obi-Wan's every sense expanded. He looked up,
past the finely-spun cloth of robes, past the vee of fabric
where rough, weathered flesh was exposed, up the strong neck
and chin, cataloguing every minute detail as if he might have
missed one in all his years of quiet study. No, Qui-Gon Jinn
was still the same, though his eyes burned perhaps bluer than
they had ever before, and love shone within them perhaps more
brightly.
"Padawan. Notify the Council of this turn of events, and make
your report. Know that if the worst happens here, I have no
regrets. None." Obi-Wan wasn't sure how to take that, but saved
it for later meditation. Then a brushing wisp of Force touched
his cheek, reminding him of how Qui-Gon had done this
years-past with two gentle finger-tips. "Know as well that I
have loved you and will love you, and that it has been my
greatest honor to train you, just as it is my honor to serve
your destiny in this act." Qui-Gon bent with those words and
placed a kiss of brotherhood on Obi-Wan's lips: hot, dry,
sparking with energy yet utterly without passion.
He was surprised to find his vision of Qui-Gon still clear,
still unobscured by tears when the big man withdrew. Then his
master whispered, barely a breath of air, "If ever you have
need of me, my Padawan, call on me; Force willing, I will
answer."
And Obi-Wan Kenobi understood, perhaps for the very first time,
how depthless and breadthless love really could be. "It has
been my greatest honor to be your padawan, my Master," he
whispered back, sensing the restless approach of the guards.
"Know that I will continue to honor you to my best ability, in
word and act, throughout my days."
And Qui-Gon's lips quirked into a secret, amused smile. "Always
so serious, Obi-Wan." Then ruefully, "I do hope you'll
eventually outgrow that." And with that last, simple
instruction, Qui-Gon Jinn turned toward his executioners and
walked away.
Obi-Wan waited until his master had been escorted from the room
before turning to address the president formally. "Mr.
president," he intoned, "I must be returned to my ship
immediately. I have reports that must be made."
For the first time, the president looked ruffled. "Eh? But we
have negotiations to pursue!"
Obi-Wan frowned, using a look that Qui-Gon often called 'the
most perfect confusion'. "I apologize, Mr. President, but the
death of half of the Republican envoy will effectively end all
discussion. The Council is outside your planetary laws, as you
acknowledged before we engaged in these talks. And yet you have
chosen to exact punishment on a foreign diplomat for a domestic
crime. Additionally, the person you're executing is my teacher
and master of nine years. No," he shook his head soberly,
"there can be no more negotiation."
Blustering now, the president half-rose from his chair before
regaining his poise. Rising fully, he planted his knuckles on
the edge of the table, said quietly, "Jedi Kenobi, there are
limits which even you and your kind may not exceed, here. Your
master's insult was one of them. Had any emissary from any of
the many governments on our planet committed the breach your
master did, I assure you he would now suffer the same
consequences. There is no undue prejudice in Master Jinn's
case."
"This I do understand," Obi-Wan replied gently. "What you have
failed to understand, sir, is that we are not of any of the
many governments on your planet which you represent. This
lesson you must learn before you will ever succeed in
integrating your people with the larger galactic community.
Now, if you will, see me immediately to my ship."
The president's eyes narrowed, and the fear in the room
thickened like treacle. Obi-Wan breathed slowly and evenly,
permitting it to fill him and move through him, wasting no
energy on struggling against it. "How do we know you will not
retaliate?" Muttered whispers from around the room made his
spine prickle and tense, and he wondered if perhaps the Council
wouldn't lose two emissaries this day.
"We are guardians of peace, Mr. President," he said softly,
imbuing his words with the very essence of the Force. "My own
teacher just offered up his life for that peace. This will have
to be assurance enough." He made one full turn on the ball of a
foot, touching every gaze in the room with his own in a silent
offering of peace, then, "I have committed no punishable crime
against you or your people, sir. Permit me to return to my ship
or suffer the consequences of the Council and the Senate of the
Interplanetary Republic."
He wondered if Qui-Gon or in fact any Jedi would
necessarily condone a padawan threatening the leader of a
fledgling interplanetary government in the name of galactic
order, and thought not. But as an individual, he could do only
as he saw fit, and honor his teacher's memory as best he could.
He sighed, his senses alert to every movement, every thought in
this chamber, and wondered at how the Council would ever put up
with him when he was eventually knighted. Qui-Gon Jinn had been
bad enough, after all....
"Jedi Kenobi," the president asked quietly, "are you
threatening me?"
"Of course not, sir," he replied smoothly, a bit surprised by
the newly discovered strength of his own center. "Your fear
speaks more loudly to you than I do. Know simply that a culture
such as yours has a great deal to learn before it can coexist
peacefully with other species. Now, if you please?" With that
he waved a hand toward the door, faintly compelling the man to
call him an escort and remove him to his and Qui-Gon's--his,
now--ship.
"Return him to his ship," the president finally said,
tight-lipped and nervous.
Obi-Wan bowed all round, wondering if perhaps his diplomacy
might somehow save Qui-Gon from the death promised him. Such a
simple taboo, really. Almost quaint. And yet it would now cost
his master corporeal life. He offered up a silent meditation as
he strode down the parliament's halls, that Qui-Gon find ease
in his passing and consciousness within the living Force.
Obi-Wan would call on him in a few weeks, in hopes of finding
that personality One, yet somehow still distinct, from the
larger universe of Light.
Upon returning to his ship he ordered the captain to disconnect
all umbilicals and prepare for possible early lift-off. It
seemed unlikely that he would be ordered to continue
negotiations, and he wanted to leave as soon as they had
recovered Qui-Gon's body. "And... energize the defense fields,
captain."
Her eyebrow-less forehead crinkled up and her hands hooked
surreptitiously into her utility belt, just in front of the
spaces where blasters might have rested on a different sort of
mission. "We're at risk of attack? Then, Padawan Kenobi, I'd
strongly recommend we slide up into orbit and await the
Council's reply from there."
He considered it briefly, observed the readiness in the way the
captain shifted balance to the balls of her feet, and
remembered he was dealing with a woman only recently retired
from active combat duty. "No, no," he murmured, putting her at
ease. "I'm merely unsettled by my master's impending death. I
don't sense that we're at risk; the shields are merely a
political response."
She nodded, relaxing. "Ahh. Of course, Padawan. I'll be on the
flight deck, then."
"And I in the communications bay," he informed her with a brief
nod, his long, quick steps billowing his robes out behind him.
His report was brief and bland, logged with a junior
clerk-recorder who promised it would be brought immediately to
someone's attention. Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force and
sat back to wait.
He didn't have to wait long; a brief flash needled into his
eyeballs, penetrating through to the very core of his brain
with a white-hot, searing pain. Only his expectation of it kept
him from being completely immobilized. He gripped the chair
arms, whimpering through clenched teeth, then... a moment of
blackness, and he was himself again.
So that was it? It seemed such a small display, to mark the
passing of such a large man. He breathed slowly, centering
himself, promising himself a time for grief very soon. Just as
soon as his work here was finished.
Less than twenty minutes passed before the comm unit squawked,
but it was local traffic, surface-to-ship. Composing himself,
he pushed the button, saw a pale president and at least a dozen
members of the negotiation party--all of them just as pale.
They all appeared to be trying to get as far away from the
other person as possible, while still staying in holo range.
The other person, standing quiet and proud, hands tucked into
the sleeves of his robes, was Qui-Gon Jinn. "Mr. President?" he
opened, dampening the sudden rush of adrenalin. "Have the
circumstances changed?"
"Take him!" the president said, tight-lipped. His fear, no
longer masked or bolstered by anger, radiated in palpable
waves, in every silent, nervous twitch of his body. "We
apologize for any insult and await your decision regarding
continuance of negotiations. Please, take him, now."
Obi-Wan flipped a toggle. "Captain, power down the defense
fields and lower the boarding ramp." To the president he
replied, "Of course, sir. We will contact you after I receive
reply from the Council."
The group fairly fled the platform, and Obi-Wan disconnected,
running through corridors and skidding to a halt at the top of
the ramp. From there he strode sedately down, hands tucked into
the sleeves of his robes, ever mindful that his body say what
he willed it to. He watched his master striding just as
sedately toward the ship, and waited at the foot of the ramp,
aware of eyes on them everywhere, bowing low as Master Jinn
approached. He could sense the effort it took the man to remain
poised, and felt his stomach tighten; the damage must be great,
indeed.
"Later, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, voice nearly subvocal. "Let me
get aboard."
He nodded, waved his hand, and prepared to catch the man when
he fell--which he knew wasn't going to happen until they were
out of sight of domestic observers.
Sure enough, two steps down the ship's corridor Qui-Gon
stumbled, and Obi-Wan was there to catch him, tightly
controlling his relief until he understood the circumstances.
Qui-Gon, heavy in his arms, carried them both to the deck as he
sobbed once in pain, and then again, his body slackening
completely.
"Master," he urged, trying to pull the man up but loathe to
loose his own arms where they held that life so tightly and
with such gratitude, "you need the infirmary."
"In--" another choking sob, another shudder, "in a moment.
J-just... g-g-give me a moment."
"What happened?"
"They--" and now this sob was suffused with laughter, his
master's face contorted in that unusually tortured look of
combined amusement and pain. "Th-their execu-cution method of
th-the day is electrocution," Qui-Gon finally managed.
Suddenly the dam burst inside Obi-Wan and he joined his master
in tears, rocking the man gently as relief flooded him.
"Electrocution?" he repeated dumbly. He felt the same pain and
joy he saw on his master's face, and now the pale faces of all
those representatives made sense. "And of course, you
survived." A nod. Laughing and crying with the man in his arms,
he sputtered, "They think you're a god, don't they?"
"It-it would-- it certainly s-s-s-eems so."
Oh, the joy of simple physical pain. He opened himself to it,
tried to share in it but could not sense even an inkling of it
past the physical expression Qui-Gon displayed. So contained,
was Qui-Gon Jinn. So very, very strong. "Your nerves must be
fried," he said, still sniffling and snickering in equal
measure. The relief was greater than he had expected, and he
had no defense against it.
"And this is f-f-f-funny to y-you, P-padawan?" Qui-Gon groused,
trying so very hard to amuse him. Or distract him.
It was time to behave like a Jedi. Who knew what these moments
might be costing his master? "Your neurons... you seem coherent
enough." Not that he was sure he was a very good judge, at the
moment; joy filled him to overflowing and he feared he would as
happily have welcomed a breathing vegetable. But the stutter
was indicative of something, if only he could remember what...
"I b-b-believe my m-mental functions have suffered only
m-minimally. I think I blacked out, but I recall nothing beyond
p-pr-preparing my body to pass the electricity and t-telling my
heart not to stop."
"We're going now," Obi-Wan ordered, resolute. He rose, urging
his master's dead weight to rise, and steered them both toward
the infirmary.
The order came from the Council only moments after he updated
his report from the medical bay; evacuate the planet, return to
Coruscant regardless of Master Jinn's condition. Their intent
had been clear, which left no room for further negotiation
on-planet at this time. It took a concerted effort on Obi-Wan's
part to dispel his sudden bitterness; if Brisnahi's system
weren't so rich in dirinium, on-planet negotiations would never
have been considered. Perspective, padawan, he counseled
himself. How many lives would that antitoxin save? How many
agricultural planets' crops would grow more fervently? How many
more would be fed?
It was all true, but at the moment he couldn't wait to get off
this rock. He gave the captain her new orders, and only seconds
later felt the repressurization pop in his ears as the hatches
sealed. That familiar sensation provided relief of another
kind, and he turned to the medical bunk where already his
master was trying to rise.
"Must I sedate you?" he warned, readying himself for a fight.
Qui-Gon looked surprised. "You'll do no s-such thing, Padawan."
"Your choices are limited to the method only, Master," he
replied, nodding toward the scanner screens. "Your heart didn't
listen so well as you imagine; it gave up twice, and it's my
guess that continued current acted as a defibrillator and
reminded it to beat again. Even now it's confused, and it must
be stabilized." He reached the bunk in time to place his hand
squarely on his master's sternum and push. Gently. Qui-Gon fell
back with an 'oof' that said more for his condition than words
would have. "Your choice of using your breath to disperse the
electricity was brilliant," Obi-Wan continued mildly, "and in
doing so you crisped a third of your avioli. Your liver is
seeping bile into your intestinal cavity, the electrode contact
points have burned you down through the muscle tissue, and the
stutter tells me you've more damage to your frontal lobes than
I know how to treat.
"Now. You may put yourself to sleep; you may permit me to put
you to sleep; or you may struggle while I inject you with
whatever noxious potion it takes to get you under and keep you
there until we reach Coruscant."
"I r-recall filing a report only m-months ago stating th-that
you were becoming less headstrong."
Unbidden, Obi-Wan's eyes filled again with tears, and he
reached his hand to his master's forehead, stroking gently.
"You would have me lose you to your belief in your own stubborn
immortality, now? When I've only just learned how truly
precious you are to me?"
The pained look on his master's face increased with
misunderstanding. "Padawan... Obi-Wan, not now. I h-haven't the
re-resources--"
"Then sleep, my master," he murmured, uncaring. There would be
time for truth later.
Dutifully, or perhaps because he knew just how badly he was
damaged-- or perhaps because he thought there was a
conversation he wanted to avoid-- Qui-Gon closed his eyes.
Obi-Wan watched the monitors until the brain patterns leveled
out, until the heart rhythm slowed to forty beats per minute,
and the rasping inhalations of breath barely lifted his
master's chest. Only then did he drop a wet mask over the man's
face, dialing up the oxygen a bit, adding bacta mist to help
coat and soothe the charred lung tissue. Finally, he powered up
the idling medical droid. "Watch him," he told it. "Notify me
if his heart rate reaches fifty beats per minute, if he shows
signs of waking, or if any life threatening condition occurs."
The medical droid examined the monitor, tapped up the
bacta-to-oxygen ratio just slightly, and nodded to itself.
"Yes, sir," it replied tinnily, deftly inserting a needle into
a sluggishly pulsing vein in his master's elbow. "I'll also
begin skin reconditioning, and I'm just now adding a mild
coagulant to slow the internal bleeding. The rest should wait
until we reach a higher grade facility."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir. He'll be fine."
The things were programmed to say that unless the subject was
actually already dead, Obi-Wan was sure. On the other hand, he
realized, taking his leave, he couldn't remember a time when
those statements hadn't proved true.
He went to his quarters, stripped off his clothes, and rolled
around for uncounted minutes on the thinly matted deck, trying
to decide if he was in shock. He didn't feel shocky; his
pulse wasn't thready, his respiration was low and regular, and
his skin sensitivity seemed normal. But so many things had
shifted, in such a little time, it was difficult to imagine
that he had coped with the changes so well. I understand
now, Master, he wanted to say--and there would be
opportunity, now, to say it.
The nature of sacrifice had been artfully displayed to him, and
he understood now why Qui-Gon Jinn had taken him as padawan.
Even more, he remembered the look of love in his master's eyes
before the natives had lead Qui-Gon away. There had been no
regrets in those eyes, none at all.
It was the most puzzling and perspective-changing experience,
Obi-Wan mused, to know that he had felt no regret either. None
for what was past, at least... well, save perhaps that he'd
been as obstinate a child as he had been, and a burden to the
man who had sacrificed his life for him. Obi-Wan had felt only
respect, and honor, and such love as to shake the foundations
of his soul. To regret not having lain with the man was to
regret the clouds for obscuring the sun and providing
life-giving rain. All this, there was now time to tell his
master. Obi-Wan sighed, anticipating the satisfaction Qui-Gon
would display when that conversation was had. You're a
patient man, Qui-Gon Jinn, he thought, to wait out my
childhood so well.
An hour later when he slipped beneath the thermal sheet on his
bunk, it was to slide into deep and dreamless sleep. His mind
was clear. His heart was clear. And he knew on a fundamental
level that a new stage of his life awaited him.
Obi-Wan left his master in self-imposed sedation for the four
day return to Coruscant, and thanked the skies for the
diplomatic status that got them past a traffic delay in the
hyperspace drop points that surrounded the Coruscant System.
There had been talk for a decade on the need to nudge a
lifeless planet from its orbit, thereby freeing up more
much-needed drop point space, but Obi-Wan doubted much would
ever come of it; the cost was far too high and no one wanted to
pay it until they were waiting in a taxi line for seven hours.
He woke his master as their transport entered Coruscant's
gravity well, restraining him when Qui-Gon tried to sit up.
"Preliminary field reports have been filed, Master. It's
mid-morning at the Temple, and healers are waiting on the
landing pad with a gurney."
"Did you injure y-yourself while I slept?" Qui-Gon asked
archly. The effect was severely dampened by the gravelly tone
of his voice and the soft crackle of air in his lungs as he
breathed.
"Very funny. Don't posture, it's beneath you."
His master's eyes narrowed, but he made no reply. Obi-Wan
resisted the urge to smile; his master despised being short on
information, but now was simply not the time.
Once they reached the hospital, Qui-Gon was placed in a coma,
filled with needles and dropped into a tank. The healers
politely told him to get out, that his master would not wake
even briefly for at least forty hours, and that he probably had
far more important things to do than clutter up their rooms and
get underfoot.
As it happened, he did. He signed back on to the Temple's
computer system, effectively making his return public, and
cleared his mail box. He dropped by the Council reception area
and left a note with a secretary outlining his availability
throughout the afternoon. He returned to his rooms to find his
and Qui-Gon's gear delivered, and made three stacks of
everything in their packs: stow, repair, send out to be
cleaned. After his domestic concerns were in order, he punched
up Challi Viswan's room to leave a message, and found her in.
"Obi-Wan! I heard you'd returned, and that your master was
injured. I thought you'd be in hospital awhile longer."
How did she stay so well apprised of everyone else's
goings-on? "Nothing I can do there but irritate the healers.
Challi, I intended to leave a message, as I didn't expect you
in. I'd like to talk with you in person."
"Drop by, if you like; I'll be here for," her eyes darted
off-center, "at least a quarter hour. Or do you need more
time?"
"No," he smiled, rising already; her rooms were six or seven
minutes from his. "That will be fine. I'll see you shortly." He
commed out and exited his room at a jog.
Challi's door was ajar, and she waited inside at her desk.
"Obi-Wan! It's wonderful to see you, my friend!"
"And you."
They embraced briefly before she continued, "I heard about your
master. I take it he's recovering well?"
"Yes, I'm sure he is. He's expected to be released from the
hospital in two days. And you, your last mission was
educational?"
She dimpled, and he felt her beautiful spirit sussurate against
him. "Boring, but educational, yes. What did you want to speak
with me about?"
It had been several months since they'd actually met in person,
various duties keeping one or the other of them off Coruscant.
But he found he had no interest in polite euphemisms. "Do you
still find me sexually appealing?"
Her brows climbed high and she laughed outright, but the
brightness that surrounded her assured him she had taken no
offense. "I believe you have become more so each year, Obi-Wan.
Is this a relationship problem?" she queried lightly.
"No. I wanted to proposition you. Or, more correctly, I wanted
to know if you might still be interested in propositioning me."
"What?" She was startled but not shocked, and clearly curious.
"I believe I have finally learned how you do it, Challi. How
you love, and enjoy, and share your body without confusing them
all." He reached a finger slowly, clearly telegraphing so she
might have opportunity to draw away, and traced the outline of
her thin, wide mouth. "It is time for me to discover this part
of myself with another." Her eyebrows went up and the little
puff of breath that pushed past her lips made his whole arm
tingle.
"All these years, Obi-Wan? And you never...?"
"No," he smiled, tilting his head slightly, "I never. Don't you
think you would have wormed the information out of me if I
had?" He chuckled.
"I like to think that I pry only where I'm welcome," she said,
humor shining in her eyes.
He sighed, vaguely sad without quite knowing why. "And no one
was welcome, here. That has changed. It would be my honor if
you chose to be my first partner."
She dimpled. "Only if you promise not to be so sober
throughout! It's supposed to be enjoyable, you know."
"And I expect it to be," he breathed, his body feeling somehow
heavier than it should, more dense.
Intrigue and speculation and happy anticipation all crowded
onto his friend's face, and he sensed her buoyant
other-presence surrounding him. "What are you doing this
evening?"
He felt himself flushing, and laughed aloud. With his master
unconscious and healing, he wouldn't even need to file a rest
allotment. "I'm free."
"Then let us share lastmeal, and whatever might follow."
His heart thudded heavily in his chest. "Thank you. Until
then."
He set the matter aside and carried out the minutiae associated
with re-integrating with Temple life. Scheduling, mostly, he
mused, checking himself in for classes and placing himself back
on the physical training roster. There was an intermediate
saber drill tomorrow morning with fifth-level padawans that was
still open. He offered himself for it with a small smile; it
would be good to teach something physical, and toss the
teenagers about as he was so regularly tossed about himself.
Schedule handled--in theory, at least--he took himself to the
gymnasium to find a wrestling partner; he'd been cooped up
aboard ship long enough.
The rest of the afternoon, he spent re-acquainting himself with
his personal life, breathing in the energy of his rooms,
touching various relics of travels past. Then he called on his
friends, accepting words of concern or welcome, and re-centered
himself in his social life. So many lives, so many circles of
relationship and influence, all ever-expanding ripples in the
universal waters of the Force.
And in an hour now, a new kind of relationship, a new ripple.
He carried out his ablutions with special care, more nervous
than he had expected to be about the thought of another person
touching his body. Examining it. Measuring it?
How many liaisons had Challi had? Enough, he was sure, to get
them through this with a minimum of discomfort. Yet she could
contrast him to many, while he hadn't even a baseline for
comparison. The experience would be unique for him, at least
for a time; intuition told him he wouldn't be posting
advertisements for a string of sexual partners anytime soon.
He paused, staring at his naked self in the mirror. Many people
had seen him naked at Temple, in showers, in changing rooms, in
open recreational pools. Some had looked with sexual interest,
others with combatants' assessing eyes.
This was different. He was inviting someone past his personal
barriers, not just to look but to drink of him, to touch and
share and enjoy. He watched goose bumps break out on his arms
and torso, and shook his head. No wonder padawans were
encouraged to get this over with nearer puberty; he couldn't
imagine having taken it so seriously all those years ago.
He took care dressing, choosing items that were easy to remove:
loose drawstring trousers, a pullover singlet, a short white
robe with a single-tie belt, and ankle boots. After staring at
himself yet again in the mirror and shaking his head at his
nerves, he went off to meet Challi in the dining hall.
Other friends passed by while they ate, some nodding in
welcome, some even breaking in on their quietude to offer
greetings and hearty praise. Apparently Obi-Wan's last round of
diplomacy had reached the Temple's gossip mill and was slowly
being ground into legend... until the next big hit, of course.
Challi had been back on-planet longer, and so he garnered most
of the attention. As soon as they finished eating he rose and
bowed shortly to her, indicating clearly that he wanted to be
anywhere else.
"I apologize," he offered. "I should have offered to buy us
dinner somewhere in the city."
"And brave the pedestrian traffic out there? Not tonight, my
friend. Crowds have been terrible this season."
Obi-Wan hadn't noticed, but then perception changed with
environment, and Challi and her master had spent a great deal
of time these last two years on planets with populations nearer
the baseline of the exponential curve. "Perhaps... dinner in,
then? I didn't even think of that, but my quarters are empty."
She dropped her tray in the recycler and offered him her arm.
"Relax, Obi-Wan. I'd like a walk in the garden and some
pleasant conversation."
He smiled, containing the laughter that threatened to bubble
up. "Let me guess; you're going to pry into my personal life."
"When have I ever not pried into your personal life?"
"Never; it's what makes you so predictable."
The garden was cool and dim, and her expected grilling never
quite took place. Eventually she reached to capture his hand,
twining her calloused fingers with his own. As they took a
roughly diagonal path from the dining hall to the living
quarters, she asked only, "You're sure? You're twenty-one, you
know. If you've waited this long perhaps there is some higher
reason we don't yet comprehend."
He shook his head. "No. Whatever higher purpose there was has
already been served. Challi, I thought I was waiting for
Qui-Gon. I learned on this last trip that he has been here all
along."
She paused to look into his eyes, and he enhanced his vision to
meet her gaze squarely in the dimly lit garden. "I'll never
understand this, will I?"
"Someday, if you're very fortunate, I expect you will," he
smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. There was a split-second of
dissonance when his mind compared it to the only other
non-formal kiss he had given in his life. He set the image
aside and opened his mouth, relaxing as her hand came up to cup
his cheek. When she drew away some moments later, he examined
himself; his pulse was up, his skin lightly flushed, his nerves
just beginning to tingle. And his heart... his heart was open
and clear, and focused entirely on his affection for this
friend.
He sensed her essence press against him, examining him, and
affection poured from him to meet her, that she would be so
respectful. He opened himself to her as best he could, watching
her smile when she learned that his heart was clear and he knew
what he wanted. She grinned suddenly. "I think you're going to
enjoy this."
He couldn't help but press against her, titillating his body
with the promise of new things to come, and he chuckled
quietly. "Yes, I think I am. I hope we both will."
"Oh, yes."
They retired to his rooms, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile
when his eyes landed on the sofa.
"What is it?" Challi asked.
"Nothing, really. I walked in on my master and a guest, once. I
remember, through the shock, thinking 'are they going to do it
right there on the sofa?'"
"Sofas are actually quite nice," Challi replied.
Obi-Wan glanced from the furniture in question to her sensually
preoccupied eyes. "Tonight you are the master, Challi." He
stepped against her once more, pleased that they were so close
in height, pleased that they could look into each other's
unfocused eyes as they shared saliva and breath. Then he drew
away slightly. "Teach me."
Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had dressed for the evening.
Challi's fabrics practically fell away, and it was exciting to
watch each new piece of her body revealed. It was a body he had
seen before, but never in this context, and never with such
anticipation. It was a body attached to a spirit he knew and
trusted, so that when her hands guided him, he moved without
reserve. When her hands stripped him, he stood still and
absorbed the intensity of her gaze.
And when she urged him to sit and straddled his thighs,
pressing their hot naked flesh together, he learned exactly how
very nice a sofa was.
He could not deny a certain intellectual curiosity; separate
from his physical responses, his mind observed his instincts,
catalogued her reactions, and made polite suggestions recalled
from anatomy books and sexual training manuals. When she placed
her hands behind her head and offered him time to explore
unguided, he traced his fingertips along her curves from
collarbone to pelvis, over and over, watching the tiny tremors
that raced across her fawn-colored flesh. Her nipples rucked up
without direct stimulation, and impulse tightened his stomach,
brought him far enough forward to lick at one and listen to her
sharp intake of breath.
He smiled up at her as a sense of quiet, anticipatory joy
filled him. "Now tell me how you like to be touched." He closed
his teeth on her nipple gently and suckled, fighting a smile as
she alternated between gasps, wriggles, and broken sentences.
Some distant time later, Obi-Wan's intrusive intellect pointed
out the way they curled around and over each other, and decided
it was good. Her head on his shoulder, his face in her neck,
she kept one knee planted by his right hip as their torsos
curled near one another. Her hand between them grasped his
erection gently, fingers sliding maddeningly across the wetness
at the tip and threatening to undo him completely. The heel of
his palm cupped over her mons, two fingers buried deep through
a slickness, a heat that was quite beyond his imaginings.
Visual training materials left a very great deal
unaddressed.
"I think... I think we'd better hurry," he gasped, tugging her
hand away before it was too late; he had skated near the edge
for many minutes.
"Never hurry the first time with someone, Obi-Wan," she
whispered, but her actions belied her words as, carefully, she
held him at his base and rose up. "The first time should be
extended and enjoyed almost to the point of pain..." her wet
heat closed over the tip of him and he gritted his teeth,
groaning, "...and then just a bit beyond." As her weight
settled he felt his penis making room for itself inside her,
felt that slick near-frictionless pressure, and finally gave up
on his efforts and thrust, hard. Her joy-filled laughter echoed
around him. "Yes, Obi-Wan! Wait... wait."
He had reached that point just before pain. His scrotum was
drawn tight against his pelvis, his erection crystal-hard and
pampered by her rich and welcoming embrace. He dug his fingers
into her hips, holding her still; one movement and it would be
the beginning of the end. "I don't-- I don't think I can
wait."
"Look at me." He did, making every effort to ignore the expanse
of pale skin and focus only on her eyes. "Kiss me." He did,
making equal effort to ignore the flattening press of her
breasts against his chest or the clenching heat of her vagina,
and focus only on her mouth. "You'll be surprised at what you
can do." And then she began to move her hips, so slowly it was
almost a non-event, but the tension built even further until
that point of pain was achieved. His muscles were rigid with
the effort to remain still, and when her fingers found and
pinched hard at his left nipple, he lost his precious control
and thrust, again and again, the Light reaching behind his
closed eyelids and exploding in his groin, in his chest, in his
belly and brain. He felt her muscles contract, was taken even
further by her small cries as she followed him into orgasm.
They spent long minutes panting and sweating on each other,
Obi-Wan running his fingers convulsively up and down her damp
back. That had been both exactly like, and nothing like he had
expected. He felt her skin quiver under his fingers, felt the
tiny catches in her breaths as her pleasure waned. "You can
climax again, right?" he whispered, languid but now very
intrigued at the opportunity to focus his entire attention on
her.
She chuckled. "Yes."
"I'd like to give you that."
She nodded, and invited him to use his mouth, which he decided
might be an acquired taste. The direct stimulation was
interesting, as was the slickness of his tongue against her
equally slick folds of flesh... though he couldn't say much for
the hair in his mouth. His head was delightfully surrounded by
the heavy muscles of her thighs and the centered weight of her
pelvis. He was inundated and aroused by her dense, musky smell,
and he buried his nose against her while he probed his tongue
inside. Small mistake; his semen was surprisingly bitter when
combined with the sweetness of her fluids. Perhaps he should
have done this before they had coupled; he could feed on her
flavor for hours, he was certain.
But the real disadvantage lay in being unable to meet her eyes.
Much as they were friends, his senses could discern her
pleasure easily enough. But the eyes and face said so very much
about the inner person. He felt like he was missing something.
Nonetheless, by the time she fell into a second climax his own
body had recovered, and he was fully erect again. It was
exhilarating, giving pleasure to another. With finger and thumb
he pinched a nipple, testing its resiliency, then rolled it
gently back and forth and eased her back up toward that
plateau. Her mouth dropped open and a tiny, beautiful whimper
escaped her. Thrusting gently against her thigh, he whispered,
"may I?" and on her avid headshake, he pressed her fully onto
her back and slid inside her once more.
They slept together that night, though Obi-Wan was unsurprised
to find that they had retreated to their own edges of his bed
sometime in the night. The sex was intimate, felt incredibly
good... and ultimately didn't change things between them. Good
friends they still were, with the boundaries of good friends
and the fierce struggles between closeness and privacy. All
these things, he decided in the few silent moments before he
woke her. Nuzzling her throat and stroking her thighs, smelling
the high aroma of aging musk, he whispered things into her ear
that were at once sensual and silly. "I think it's time to
return to the real world, Challi," he added eventually.
"No." Eyes puffy with sleep, she hunkered under the covers like
a child. "I like my dreams just fine."
Obi-Wan laughed and threw himself out of bed. She was a senior
padawan, she could join the living when she pleased--or when
her schedule demanded. "It's 4:38. Will you need to be awakened
for anything?"
"Mmmm," from under the covers.
He crawled atop them, rubbing her shoulder bracingly. "I have a
5:20 meeting with Master Windu. I have to go. Do you need me to
set a comm for you?"
"Mmm, no, I'll wake myself. What does your day look like?"
He mentally reviewed his schedule. "Full, actually. Cleaning,
teaching, learning, reporting, checking in on Qui-Gon. I could
make time for noonmeal today. Shall we dine together?"
Her head finally popped back up from under the cover, and the
wide eye that stared at him looked disconcertingly awake. "No.
You watch me dine. I want to eat you."
He swallowed hard, letting the impact of the offer slide
through him. "I... I think that can be arranged. Here, or your
quarters?"
She snuggled further into the bed, and smiled. "Here."
"Leave the door unsealed when you go."
Like any number of burrowing animals on any number of planets,
her head slunk right back under the cover. "Yes." Her laughter,
muffled, found its way out. "I'll do that."
His report to Master Windu had been brief, his first lessons to
the grade five padawan class refreshing, his return to the
triumvarin languages class he was attending filled with hearty
welcomes from people he knew.
Lunch provided new lessons for him, and he decided that
sometime he might try what she was doing himself, if the right
partner came along. He left his quarters with a fatuous grin on
his face, remembering some old scientific report where viecha
mice were given a choice between food and sexual stimulation.
As he recalled, they had orgasmed themselves into starvation
and eventual death. He smirked, noting that he didn't seem far
advanced from those mice, right at the moment.
He spent most of his afternoon studying other new-contact
cultures to gain insight into how things might have gone
differently on Brisnah. Circumstances seemed too unique to draw
common conclusions, and after hours of immersion, Obi-Wan
scrubbed his tired senses and left the library behind.
He commed Challi late that evening, but she was otherwise
occupied, so they made plans to go running the next morning and
he went to sleep early. His time sense hadn't fully adjusted
from universal standard to Coruscant-local, anyway; he could
use the extra rest.
The next morning he and Challi ran an advanced course over
several miles of manufactured terrain in the training levels.
It was good to be with her, though odd to see how tiny
movements or actions could remind him of their sexual
activities. He understood a little better, now, why it might be
difficult for friends to remain friends through the course of
long-term affairs.
His hand weapons training, left unpracticed for too long, went
atrociously; it was all he could do not to amputate himself
with his lancets, and eventually Padawan Endar, Master
Shereld's assistant instructor, took him to one side of the
room and ran individual drills with him. More practice, more
tiny, accidental mutiliations, more individual drills; he wound
up spending nearly four hours with the instructors just to
assess how much he had lost due to his absences on the last two
missions.
Tired, sore, sweat stinging the shallow cuts on his arms and
chest, he dragged himself to his quarters late in the afternoon
and stumbled into the fresher. Water soothed where sonics
tended to irritate open cuts. He stepped out dripping wet, and
smoothed a healing salve on all these new openings in his skin.
He should drop into a healing trance; an hour or so would take
care of all but the two deepest wounds.
When he stepped from the fresher and headed for his room to
dress, his master's presence in the salon startled him to
stillness. Stretched out on the sofa wearing tan breeches and a
thin cotton singlet, Qui-Gon looked...peaceful. Obi-Wan
hesitated for a moment, looking down at his naked body. Body
modesty was not a taboo of the Temple, nor of Qui-Gon's
personally. Therefore it hadn't entered their rooms on
Coruscant. But Obi-Wan was now aware that he had always
been conscious of his nudity, hoping that his master would
become so. That lack had passed from him, and he wondered if it
would honor his master to take up a more modest habit now, at
this late date, or if he should just forget about it and go
about his life as if he'd never--
"Be still, Padawan," his master interrupted his thoughts. "And
stop dripping on the floors." Qui-Gon still hadn't moved,
though his eyes had slitted barely open.
"I'm dry enough, master." Nonetheless he urged stray water to
evaporate from the floors and freshen the air. As for the
other, he opted to forget about it; taboos were such an
interference with routine, unless diplomacy called for them.
Besides, he enjoyed the feel of atmosphere on his skin.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sighed. "All right."
"I expected to hear from the healers before you were released
from hospital."
Qui-Gon chuckled. "And I expected to wake to find you hovering
like a spectre over my bed. So we were both surprised."
Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "Yes." The silence stretched, though
Obi-Wan wasn't sure what, exactly, he was waiting for.
Eventually his body felt the urge to move and he followed its
lead, striding to the low couch on which his master rested and
kneeling on his heels beside it. Qui-Gon's eyes opened more
alertly, the look in them mild. Obi-Wan held that gaze for a
moment, again waiting for inspiration to move one of them. His
master lay very still, watching him quietly. Obi-Wan used the
moment to study the man's form, as he had just six days
previous. The beard needed trimming. The eyes seemed so blue
they defied description. The lines of electricity-induced pain
hadn't even left shadows in the weathering skin.
He felt his heart twisting, full to overflowing, sending a
whisper of pure energy through him. Eventually the words began
to flow. "I never knew your love for me was so big," he
whispered. "I never knew a love so large could exist in balance
with the rest of life."
"Obi-Wan..."
Obi-Wan shook his head, calling for quiet. "I understand, now,
Master. I understand that such love is the rest of life.
I understand the importance of truth and the place for
carnality. I understand how one has nothing to do with the
other." He felt his eyes filling, and blinked quickly to push
the sensation away; emotion had moved him to tears more times
in the last week than in the preceding four years. "I learned
so much from you in those last moments before you were taken
away on Brisnah."
"I wonder, did you learn why I took the path I chose?"
Obi-Wan nodded, flinching when cold water dripped off the tail
of his braid and onto his chest. "I believe your decision was
rational. Whatever you see of the future, whatever your
intuition told you, you balanced all of that with your
intellect and your faith in the Force. You could not have set a
better example, and I'm sure that no other padawan learner is
as blessed as I."
"Every padawan thinks that, at one point or another."
The words were light without being dismissing, and Obi-Wan
frowned. "Don't. Please, don't, Qui-Gon, This isn't the time
for levity."
"Then tell me, Padawan, what it is time for." Quiet, so
peaceful and strong was that voice. Strong enough to lovingly
accept every misguided gesture of the last nine years. Strong
enough to let this lesson be learned at his own pace.
Obi-Wan sighed, and smiled, and reached to take one large,
relaxed hand in his. Examining that hand, sensing the cell
movement and the microcosmic cycle of life and death in the
piece of flesh he held, sensing as well the unique signature
that said to him, 'this is my master's hand', he said, "It is
time to tell you of my lessons.
"I learned that a boundless love cannot be constrained by
something so narrow, so transient, as sexual desire. I learned
that I restricted myself from experiencing the fullness of your
love because I was so preoccupied with one trivial expression."
The hand tightened on his, and he looked up into eyes that
shone with the joy he himself felt. "I learned that for me, the
fantasy of fucking has been an incredible distraction from far
more important things." He laughed, thoroughly amused at the
joke of himself. "I learned that I've been a fool."
"Naive, perhaps. A fool, no," Qui-Gon replied gently. "Obi-Wan,
every being learns this lesson in his, her or its own time. You
took your time in learning it, and so you've probably learned
it very well indeed."
He involved his other hand, stroking lightly along the back of
his master's wrist. "Yes, I believe I have. I have developed an
entirely new understanding of love, and I am deeply grateful
that you survived so I could put that love for you into
everyday practice. Oh--you'll doubtless be pleased to know that
I finally engaged in sex with a partner." He smirked, but still
he didn't raise his eyes.
He sensed the increased intensity of his master's gaze, though
his own eyes were firmly absorbed in the hand he held. When
Qui-Gon spoke his voice was thick with emotion. "I have never
been more honored by, or satisfied with, any padawan, and I
doubt I ever will."
"Masters say that to every padawan, at one point or another."
The hand was gently removed, and the cushions shifted as
Qui-Gon sat up, feet planting themselves on the floor beside
Obi-Wan. "This isn't the time for levity, my friend."
Obi-Wan turned the words over in his mind: my friend.
Certainly they had become that some time in the last few years,
and he had never noticed. Youth clouded the mind; that was all
there was to it.
Finally looking up and returning the love he saw, he knelt up,
took his master's face in his hands, and offered a brother's
kiss. Etched with the Force, it communicated a wealth of
humanity, impressions and expressions flowing easily between
them through the pressure of closed mouths. Qui-Gon seemed to
expect that kiss; certainly, it didn't surprise him.
"I'm glad you're back," Obi-Wan said when he drew away, rising
to his feet. "I'm glad you're alive and whole and I am so very
glad you're my friend."
"I'm glad I'm alive and whole, too," Qui-Gon said, wry. "And
I'm grateful to have the honor of your training." He sensed the
consideration in that powerful mind, then felt a warmth brush
him, removing the last clinging droplets of water from his
skin. It was an old-fashioned, paternal kind of gesture and he
smiled as he waited for whatever Qui-Gon was obviously deciding
to say. Then, without moving a muscle, his master chuckled and
said, "I am very pleased with the man you're finally becoming,
my Padawan."
Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh; this was an intimate, easy
moment, comfortable and utterly lacking in certain stresses of
recent years, stresses he himself had brought upon them. "And I
suppose you despaired of me ever pulling my head from the sand,
old man?"
"Smile when you say that, child; I'm not even sixty yet."
Qui-Gon leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes with a
sigh, spreading his arms along its back and sinking once more
into utter physical relaxation.
"I am smiling... old man." He grinned and padded across the
salon for his room. He wasn't sure what he had expected from
the corpse on the sofa, but a full flying tackle certainly
wasn't it. The tussle was brief, exhilarating and funny; he
found himself Force-contained, pressed against the wall like a
fly to paper, laughing uncontrollably as Qui-Gon settled
exactly back into his relaxed pose on the sofa. Obi-Wan began
to slide slowly down the wall, and by the time his toes touched
the floor he had enough control of himself to stand unassisted.
"I concede," he offered, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"You're still a child yourself."
"Thank you. Shall we have dinner together tonight?"
"Uhm..." Qui-Gon's eyes slitted open, watching him curiously.
"I have a date. I didn't expect you to be quite so recovered. I
could file a rest allotment for tonight, if you wish."
Qui-Gon appeared to consider it. "You've accumulated too much
vacation time over the last year... But no, don't worry about
filing. Enjoy your evening, Obi-Wan. But plan to take at least
a full weekend off, and if we aren't called away from the
Temple too soon, get your rest allotment down under ninety
hours, if you can."
"Yes, Master."
"Yes, Padawan," Qui-Gon mimicked, matching his intonations
perfectly. Obi-Wan grinned. "Have a pleasant evening, Obi-Wan."
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