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C'Lon wasn't surprised to find Erat in the surveillance room a few hours later. She'd decided to come down and make sure everything was secure before settling down for the night; it had seemed like a good idea with a Jedi being held captive on board.

"You okay, honey?"

He turned and smiled at her. "Yes, I'm fine. It was a bit odd, you know." He shrugged, embarrassed. "To have sex like that, knowing the whole crew was watching. I know they're used to that sort of thing, but..."

She noticed that the camera had been trained on the sleeping Jedi's form. "I think he enjoyed himself. And so did you."

Erat glanced pointedly at the floor. "Looks like we weren't the only ones. I hope you're going to make one of them clean this mess up." He wrinkled his nose in mild disgust.

"Can we expect a repeat performance tomorrow?"

Erat gave her melodramatic sigh. "I suppose I could work it into my busy schedule somehow." He grinned. "I think I'll take him to the shower room in the morning. I trust there are cameras there also?"

"Yes." C'Lon pursed her lips. "I'm sure the men would like to see the Jedi... made uncomfortable. I know how you feel about such things, but it might be best if you could find a way."

Erat nodded, but remained silent. They watched the monitors for a few minutes. She squeezed his shoulder and left him to watch.

Word spread quickly, and there was a queue outside the surveillance room when C'Lon arrived to unlock the door the next morning. Many of the men were juggling cups of caf', looking a bit groggy. She wondered how long they'd been there. B'Wal was first. She doubted he'd risen that early; they probably just let him get in the front of the queue.

"Mornin' milady," he grinned, scraggly teeth clearly unbrushed. That Jedi was lucky indeed, C'Lon reflected. It could have been much, much worse for him. It still could be, if he didn't continue to cooperate.

She palmed open the door and ignored the riot that erupted behind her as the men pushed their way in. In the harsh artificial light, the floor was truly revolting.

"First one to spunk cleans the floor," she announced. The men laughed: now it would be a contest, a weird sort of circle jerk.

C'Lon turned one monitor away from the men's view and keyed it to the twins' cell, then put the sound bud in her ear. Erat was still there, watching the children eat breakfast. He sat a small distance away from them, chewing on one finger, lost in thought.

"What's wrong with you?" the girl -- Manya, C'Lon recalled -- asked.

Erat looked up. "What?"

The girl stared back at him in that infuriatingly serene Jedi manner. "You seem... distracted. I thought maybe something was wrong with you."

Erat met her gaze with a serene stare of his own. "Nothing's wrong," he said in a very calm tone. "Nothing at all. Eat your breakfast." They stared at each other for another long moment, and Manya broke the gaze, looking down at her half-eaten piece of toast. Rill glanced back and forth between them, chewing his food.

C'Lon sat back in her chair, regarding the trio curiously. Erat's hold over the twins was impressive, as was his ability to deal with the Jedi. It was almost as if he knew what he was doing with them. He had gained a modicum of trust from Qui-Gon, and the children seemed drawn to him. Perhaps he'd worked closely with Jedi before? It wasn't unheard of, and her knowledge of his experiences before coming to work for her was scanty at best.

Or perhaps there was another reason why he knew so much about Jedi? C'Lon frowned, and then shook the thought away.

Erat gathered the trays when the children had finished, and checked each of them over. "Would you like a shower later today?" he asked. They nodded eagerly in response. C'Lon fully intended to keep the children's presence onboard a secret, and made a mental note to disconnect the cameras in the shower area after the morning's show with the Jedi.

Erat disappeared from view and reappeared in Qui-Gon's cell several minutes later. C'Lon turned on the monitors in the room, and released the signal to the other viewing areas on the ship.

The Jedi looked up as Erat entered, but didn't move otherwise. The men stared at each other for a moment. Erat set a tray of toast and juice on the man's sleep couch and settled wordlessly on the other one. Qui-Gon was quiet as he ate, keeping his eyes focused on the tray of food. Erat watched his every movement.

"I can take you down to the shower room after you've finished. If you like."

Qui-Gon looked up, swallowing. "I get a choice in the matter?"

"Of course," Erat smirked. "If you'd rather stay here, I'm sure I could arrange for a bucket of water and a rag to be brought in. Or perhaps you'd prefer not to wash at all."

The Jedi's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure it's in my best interest to remain as unappealing as possible."

Erat shrugged. "Suit yourself. I can hold my breath, I assure you."

The Jedi snorted. "I'm sure you can," he replied, then returned his attention to his meal. "A shower, then, since I have a choice." Erat grinned, and Qui-Gon pursed his lips. "How are the children?"

C'Lon winced at the mention, hoping the men around her weren't listening too closely.

Erat's smile faded into a replica of the Jedi's earlier blank expression. "They're fine. They're under my care as well." At Qui-Gon's raised eyebrow, Erat snorted. "Mind out of the gutter, now. I'm protecting them." He shrugged. "I'm good with kids."

Qui-Gon said nothing, staring at Erat in a way that made C'Lon's stomach lurch. Erat stood his ground, not reacting to the obvious attempt to intimidate him. Qui-Gon's expression soon eased into one of quiet respect, and he stood.

"I'm ready for my shower," he said.

Erat stepped forward, hypospray in hand, and gave the Jedi an injection. Qui-Gon flinched, but said nothing. He closed his eyes for several seconds, seeming to concentrate. Perhaps on remaining standing, C'Lon mused, given the dose of cytlicine he'd just received. When Qui-Gon opened his eyes again, Erat produced a set of cuffs from his bag.

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "The Force-inhibitor and sedatives aren't enough?"

"No," Erat retorted. "I'm not leaving this room without having as much control over you as I possibly can. Strip down to your trousers first." The Jedi complied, a bit more slowly than seemed to be necessary. Erat held the cuffs out, and Qui-Gon raised his arms before him, wrists together. Erat shook his head. Qui-Gon sighed and turned around, crossing his wrists at the small of his back. Erat sidled up behind him, fastening the cuffs with an audible click. He took the opportunity to press a kiss between the Jedi's shoulder blades. Qui-Gon jumped at the touch and Erat laughed. "Don't be shy, now. We'll have an audience in the shower room as well."

As soon as the two men came into view once again on the monitors, a silence fell over the occupants of the security room. C'Lon settled into her chair, determined to enjoy the show. Asking Erat to "take care of the Jedi" was one of the best ideas she'd had in months, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to benefit from it as much as possible.

Erat led Qui-Gon to a shower head in the center of the room and glanced at the cameras, as if making certain he'd chosen the best location for the viewers. He turned back to Qui-Gon and began to undress himself.

The Jedi's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Erat snorted in response. "I have to wash you, and I'm not getting my clothes wet." He stepped out of his trousers at that, and Qui-Gon looked away. Erat smirked. "Does it bother you?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. Let me help you out of your trousers." Qui-Gon grimaced as Erat tugged the garment off, blatantly leering at the man's genitals in the process. "Impressive even like this," he mumbled. Qui-Gon did not respond.

Erat turned the water on, and when the temperature was right he pushed the Jedi under the spray. Several minutes of perfunctory washing passed, Erat's soapy hands sliding quickly over the man's skin, periodically turning his body to rinse off the foam. Qui-Gon kept his eyes closed, letting himself be turned and touched without complaint -- until Erat's soapy fingers found their way into the crack of the man's ass.

"Wha-- Wait!" Qui-Gon cried, taking a step forward, out of the spray.

"Hold still," Erat replied with a smirk. Qui-Gon was pinned against the wall now, and Erat used the position to his advantage, replacing his fingers and slowly stroking between the Jedi's cheeks. "Spread your legs a bit and this will be a lot easier."

Qui-Gon glowered at him, but quickly gave in. He closed his eyes once more as Erat's hand slid down between his legs to cup his balls, and back up to swirl a finger lightly around his entrance. The Jedi was growing hard, apparently against his will. Erat slipped a wet finger into the man's body and began fucking him with it, slowly. Qui-Gon gasped, but didn't try to move away this time.

"Surely," he panted, "you're being rather too thorough."

"I think I can be a bit more so," Erat said, his voice pitched low. He slid his other hand around Qui-Gon's waist to begin stroking the Jedi's rapidly firming erection. "Shall I wash this for you as well?"

The Jedi groaned and leaned his forehead against the tile wall, water streaming down his shoulders. Erat's erection was now visible, much to C'Lon's delight. She zoomed the camera in for a tighter shot of the Jedi's ass.

Erat positioned the man under the spray enough to rinse off the soap, and paused to contemplate the sight before him: the Jedi's legs were spread and ass exposed, up against a wall. With his hands cuffed behind him, the position couldn't have been very comfortable.

C'Lon caught her breath as Erat fell to his knees and spread the Jedi's cheeks wide with his hands. The Jedi groaned as Erat's tongue swept across the sensitive skin of his opening, licking at the wet flesh. Erat teased him with flicking movements for several minutes before plunging his tongue into the man's body, his head bobbing as he fucked Qui-Gon with his mouth. The view was partially obstructed by Erat's head, but it was quite clear what was happening. C'Lon had to bite her tongue to keep from sliding a hand between her own legs. Not in front of the crew, she thought. It would become a mantra before this morning was over, she was sure.

The Jedi began shifting his ass back against Erat's mouth, moving with him, and Erat sat back on his heels, smiling. The man before him was on the verge of shaking with need, and Erat seemed quite pleased with himself. He stood and tugged the Jedi back under the spray, wetting the man's long hair. Qui-Gon sputtered a bit, but said nothing. His cock jutted out before him, as big as C'Lon had seen it yet.

Erat soaped his hands and began washing the Jedi's hair. After a moment he grunted in frustration and pushed down on the man's shoulders. "You're too tall," he grumbled. Qui-Gon knelt, and Erat stood behind him, lathering his hair. He tilted Qui-Gon's head back to rinse the soap out, and then moved to stand in front of him, running his fingers through the long strands as he tried to work the rest of the soap out. When he pushed the Jedi's head forward again, Qui-Gon's nose bumped against Erat's erection.

Erat grinned and pressed his hips forward. "I think you can wash something for me now," he whispered. "After everything I've done for you this morning, is a little tongue bath too much to ask for?"

Qui-Gon stared up at Erat, a hard look in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, and Erat positioned the head of his cock at the Jedi's lips. After a long moment, Qui-Gon gave in, opening his mouth. Erat tangled one hand in the man's wet hair as he pushed his hips forward, fucking Qui-Gon's mouth slowly. The Jedi closed his eyes and seemed to be struggling not to gag.

The noise level around C'Lon rose, an indication that the men were enjoying this scene quite a bit. She focused her attention on the monitor, trying not to hear the sounds of self-pleasure all around her. For the tenth time today, she regretted not having installed a security monitor in her private office. At least there she could have let her hands roam as much as she liked.

The Jedi made a choked noise, and Erat released his hold. He turned and leaned back against the wall, pulling Qui-Gon toward him. "By all means," he said, still smirking, "have it your way."

After a brief pause, the Jedi leaned forward to take Erat's erection in his mouth once again, this time moving slowly. C'Lon adjusted the camera angle for a better view and was rewarded for her efforts. She could see the Jedi's face as his mouth moved back and forth along Erat's cock.

Erat began making mewling noises, his hands clenching into fists by his side, as if he was struggling not to twist his fingers in the man's hair once more. C'Lon widened the angle, and now they could see Erat's face as he panted and cried out.

He pushed the Jedi back and braced his hands on the man's shoulders, breathing hard. He straightened up, motioning for Qui-Gon to stand as well. When the Jedi didn't jump to his feet, Erat tugged impatiently at his arm.

"C'mon, get up," he grumbled. As soon as Qui-Gon was on his feet, Erat kissed him hard, nearly knocking the man off his feet in the process. Qui-Gon stumbled a bit, but appeared to be giving as good as he was getting.

One of Erat's hands was clenched in the Jedi's hair, and the other snaked around his back. Erat's fingers brushed against the cuffs. They fell to the floor with a clatter, and Erat released Qui-Gon from the kiss. He stared at him for a moment, panting. The Jedi looked down at his freed hands, and looked back up at Erat. His eyes narrowed.

Erat turned to face the wall. "Fuck me."

"I--" Qui-Gon paused, rubbing at his wrists. He seemed uncertain what to do.

"Hurry!" Erat cried, looking over his shoulder at the Jedi.

Qui-Gon stepped forward, and then back again. "We don't have any lubrication," he mumbled, almost seeming confused.

"I don't care," Erat grunted. "We're both wet anyway. Just do it, please!" The last phrase ended in a bit of a whine, and the Jedi stepped forward again. He positioned his cock with one hand and grasped Erat's hips with the other, and took a deep breath as he pushed forward.

"Shit," Erat groaned, hands forming fists against the tile. His body stiffened and the Jedi stopped his movement, free hand stroking Erat's back.

"Sshhh," he soothed, leaning forward to kiss the younger man's shoulder. "Tell me when."

A long moment passed before Erat grunted something unintelligible, and Qui-Gon pressed forward again. He paused when he was finally buried in Erat, pressing his forehead against the younger man's back. His hands moved up to grasp Erat's hips.

C'Lon felt the heat rising in the air around her. The scene was intense and erotic, but there was something about it that was not quite right. Later, she thought as Qui-Gon shifted his hips back, pulling out of Erat. I'm not going to worry about it now.

The Jedi fucked Erat slowly and steadily until Erat began begging for more, faster, harder. Qui-Gon stroked Erat's cock in time to his thrusts, and it was over in a matter of minutes, with first one man and then the other shuddering his climax. They leaned against the wall and each other, panting. Finally, Qui-Gon stood and moved to rinse himself off under the spray of warm water once more, hands coming up to cover his face and press hard against his temples.

Erat continued to lean against the wall for another minute. He didn't watch Qui-Gon.

Ten quiet minutes later, both men were dry and dressed. Erat retrieved the handcuffs from the floor and held them up, his expression blank. Qui-Gon nodded and turned, his hands clasped behind his back. Erat fastened the cuffs once more, and the men disappeared from view.

C'Lon had paced the floor of her private office a hundred times in the last hour, emotions roiling in her gut. She'd trusted Erat, more than she'd trusted anyone for as long as she could remember. What if she'd been wrong about him all along?

The soft knock at the door startled her into immobility for several seconds before she finally collected herself. "Come."

The door slid open to reveal Erat smiling lazily at her, hair still damp form the shower. The shower, when it had hit her so suddenly, when she'd finally began to put it all together. Her anger rose within her again, and she scowled at him.

His smile faded. "You... wanted to see me, milady?"

"Sit," she snarled before turning her back to him, walking to position herself behind her desk. She adopted a stern and suspicious expression before she turned back to face him. He paled at the sight of her, but kept his eyes firmly on hers. The expression on his face reminded her of the Jedi, and she bristled even further.

"You're hiding something from me," she stated, as flatly as she could manage. "And I need to know exactly what it is. I need to know if trusting you has been a mistake." There. She'd said it.

Erat looked bewildered. "Sorry?" he spit out, at last. Well, she hadn't thought he'd come right out and tell her exactly what she wanted to know.

She leaned forward in a way she hoped was menacing and began reciting the words she'd been rehearsing in her head for the last hour. "You know quite a lot about the Jedi for a bodyguard I picked up five months ago. I wouldn't have even noticed it until these last few days, but now... it's obvious." She stood then, and circled her desk to stand right in front of him, towering over him. "Why you've always been such a good fighter for your size. Why in a pinch you can get people to do precisely what you want them to do. Why you always seem to know exactly when something bad is about to happen, just before it does." She paused and Erat stared at her, mouth open. It looked as if his brain was working feverishly to think of something to say. "And then there were the handcuffs this morning."

"C'Lon, I don't--"

"Yes, go on, now. Tell me how you did that nice little trick with the handcuffs in the shower."

"Trick? What are you talking about?" He was flustered now, more ruffled than she'd ever seen him before.

She leaned back against her desk. "I saw you put the cuffs on the Jedi before you left the cell, and you were careful to make certain they were secure. But then, in the shower, they simply fell off at a mere touch, just when you wanted them to." He was silent, staring blankly at her now. "Those cuffs require a key, Erat, and all you had to do was touch them." She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "So tell me, my boy: why is it that you know so much about the Jedi?"

Erat was silent for a moment before sputtering, "C'Lon, please. I don't--"

"I mean it, boy," she growled, leaning down to glare into his face. "You need to start talking to me right now, or I'll have B'Wal throw you into a cell for the rest of this trip. I need to be able to trust you. There's far too much at stake." Indeed, everything was at stake: her life, her future, the money. "Answer me. How is it that you, Erat Chol -- a mere bodyguard who's been passed from thug to thug for most of his adult life -- know so fucking much about the Jedi?"

He withered under her gaze, and his reply, when he finally spoke, was a rough whisper: "Because... I used to be one."

She blinked, wondering if she'd heard correctly. "You… what?"

"Because," he ground out through clenched teeth, pushing her away from him and standing. "I used to fucking be one! Does that answer your question, C'Lon?"

She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but somehow it hadn't been that. She knew she was the one gaping now while he seethed before her, clearly upset that she'd drawn this confession out of him. He seemed to know he was cornered now, that this was information she could easily use against him.

She didn't blame him for wanting to keep it a secret. There were plenty of people in the galaxy with no love for the Jedi Order, people who would love to get their hands on someone like him and drain every last bit of useful information from him. And then there were the rumors she'd heard about the Order itself, and the way they punished defectors and traitors by wiping their minds of all memory. No, she didn't blame him for not telling her this before, especially considering that she was a slaver. He could bring a fair amount of credits if she'd decided to take advantage of him. Not that it would have been easy.

He was staring at her now, breathing calmed, but that damned unreadable Jedi expression was plastered on his face once more.

"Keep talking," she said, settling back against her desk again. He sighed and slumped into his chair. There was a long pause, and then he started to speak.

"I was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, taken from my real parents as a baby. It was all I ever knew, and I grew up believing that I'd be a Jedi knight one day, just as all the other children did." He was trembling, just a little. "But by the time I turned thirteen, I hadn't been chosen as an apprentice by any of the masters, and so it was over. The Order sent me to work for the Republic in the Outer Rim, terraforming some barren waste of a planet." He paused here, as if expecting her to respond. She didn't, and he kept talking.

"It was horrible. I was the only child in the installation, and the only locals were miners -- Boradium, I think. Anyway, they were a rough lot. I lived in fear of one of them cornering me in a dark alley. The work was futile, and the living conditions pretty bad. So one day, I ran away.

"I stowed away on a supply ship and slipped off at the next spaceport. I was fourteen then, and... pretty boys and girls have a certain value in places like that. I survived well enough for the next few years."

C'Lon felt a pang of sympathy for him, but covered it up with a smirk. "I always wondered if you'd had experience as a pleasure worker."

"Pleasure worker," Erat repeated, snorting. "That's quite a euphemism." He still hadn't met her eyes, and was staring intently at a spot on the floor.

"Go on," she said, resolving to keep any more snide comments to herself until he had finished his story.

"There isn't much more to it than that. The Jedi training came in handy in that I was able to take care of myself and my friends. Somebody noticed at some point, and gave me my first job as a personal bodyguard. That was five years ago, and... here we are."

She waited, but he didn't continue. "Do you know this Jedi?"

Erat nodded. "Oh, yes. The great Qui-Gon Jinn." His bitterness was obvious.

"Do you think he recognized you?"

Erat half-laughed at that, studying his hands. "I doubt it. He recognized nothing remarkable about me nine years ago when he didn't choose me as his apprentice. The only thing he sees me as now, I'll wager, is a nice piece of ass. That's all I've ever been, to anyone."

The pain in his voice stirred something in C'Lon, and she resisted the urge to touch the boy, to comfort him. He'd always been so serene, so implacably confident. Nothing ruffled him. This sort of self-deprecation was something she hadn't seen before, but it was so raw she didn't doubt his sincerity for a moment.

She had to be sure, though. "If you helped him now -- freed him, helped him get those children to safety -- maybe they would forgive you. Maybe the Jedi would take you back."

He looked up at her then with a rueful smile. "No, C'Lon. It doesn't work that way. It was decided nine years ago that I would never be a Jedi knight, and nothing will change that. I let that dream go a long time ago." He paused, and shrugged. "Besides, I'm a fugitive from the Order. Have you any idea what would happen if he found out what I am?"

C'Lon clenched her jaw. "Yes," she said. "I've heard rumors, at least."

He looked down at the floor again. "I've been terrified of him from the moment I first saw him. I knew who he was straight away, and what it would mean if he discovered me here. I have no interest in revealing myself." He tightened his fingers in his shaggy hair. "I can only hope he didn't notice the handcuffs this morning."

"I think he did," C'Lon replied, and Erat flinched. "It's probably best if you keep your distance from him from here on out," she continued gently. "We're scheduled to rendezvous with the client in two days, and we'll hand Jinn over to him as well. Then it will all be over." She paused and let herself touch his arm. He looked up. "You'll be rich this time tomorrow. What will you do with all that money?"

He smiled, though it seemed to take effort. "I have no idea. I honestly haven't thought that far ahead."

Most of the crew were relaxing in the throne room after latemeal that evening, and C'Lon was no exception. She'd finally revealed all of the pertinent details of the Big Deal in a crew meeting in the late afternoon. Ever since, the men had talked of nothing but the upcoming event and their plans for their cut in the profits.

She heard Erat slip into the room behind her. He settled at her side, looking preoccupied.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"No problems," he replied, smiling at her. She'd sent him off to take care of the children and the Jedi during the meeting, knowing the men would be distracted enough that an evening "show" would not be necessary. Now that she knew Erat's history with the Jedi, it seemed too large a risk to take.

They watched the men mill about, playing cards and talking amongst themselves. C'Lon felt immensely relieved that this part of her life was almost over. She'd lived on a space ship for the last 30 years, and she was sick of it: sick of the stale air, sick of being surrounded by nothing but uneducated half-breeds, and sick of constantly having to watch her back. That sparkling beach stretched out in her mind, and she pictured a thinner and fitter, perhaps even surgically enhanced version of herself sipping a fruity drink, while a faceless naked man slowly rubbed oil onto her shoulders.

The floor shifted violently; the room was cast into darkness and alarms began sounding. Chaos broke out around them as the emergency lights came on, casting an eerie red glow about the room. The shadowed figures of the crew scrambled for purchase on the lurching deck. Erat was standing beside her, pulling her to her feet. When did she hit the floor?

"We've been forced out of hyperspace," he hissed.

"Code red! Code red!" shouted the panicked voice of the pilot over the comm.

C'Lon and Erat exchanged a brief glance before sprinting towards the bridge.

"Status!" C'Lon shouted as the door to the bridge slid open.

"It was a trap, milady," squawked the pilot, sweating profusely as C'Lon stalked towards his station. "They used mines -- there was nothing I could do."

"Judicials, at least three cruisers," Erat muttered, glancing at the console.

"Onscreen." C'Lon sucked in her breath as the display showed an enlarged view of three ships barreling towards them. "Fuck me," she groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"That's quite a bit of firepower," Erat stated. C'Lon couldn't help but notice the touch of awe in his voice. "They must want you very badly, milady."

"What they want are those fucking Jedi," she growled. "And they can't have me. I'll die first." She froze, realizing she meant it. The blood drained from her face.

No Big Deal. No tropical beach. No leisurely life of retirement.

The best she could hope for at this point was a cellmate who didn't snore and wouldn't hit her too hard when she didn't lick fast enough.

She steeled herself and pressed the intercom button. "Code blue," she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly strong to her own ears. "I repeat, code blue. This is not a drill." She released the button and stared defiantly out at the approaching ships. Every eye on the bridge was riveted on her form. They trusted her to lead them. She couldn't let them down now.

She turned to face the men on the bridge. "You heard me. Abandon ship, boys."

There was a pause that seemed to stretch out far too long, and then the men sprang into action all around her, scrambling towards the door. Only Erat seemed to be waiting for C'Lon to leave the bridge before him. She stared out at her approaching doom for a few more seconds, and then turned and ran.

Erat's footsteps just behind her were oddly reassuring. She cursed herself for ever doubting his loyalty. His fate would be far worse than hers if the Judicials learned who he was and handed him over to the Jedi. If she could do nothing else, she wouldn't let that happen.

"I won't tell them anything," she panted, turning her head towards him as she ran.

"What?" He was jogging easily beside her, barely winded.

"I promise, Erat, I won't tell them about your past, no matter what they do to me."

She saw a strange expression pass over his face, and then he nodded. She faced forward and ran harder.

Shouts and approaching footsteps could be heard down the corridor, and soon they were face to face with a third of the crew, who were running towards them from the opposite direction.

"The Jedi!" shouted someone, clearly panicked. "He's escaped! He took our blasters! He's gonna kill us all!"

C'Lon quelled her rapidly rising panic. Lead, she told herself. Fucking lead. "We'll have to get to the escape pods another way," she shouted above the din. "Take the secondary corridor to the cargo bay. You can access the pods from there."

Just then, the entire ship shook.

"They're going to board us," Erat whispered into her ear. "It won't be long now."

She nodded at him. "Hurry!" she shouted, and the men, now fully panicking, streamed past them. She had to buy them some time, somehow. Between the Jedi and the Judicials, not many of them would make it off the ship.

"Come on, C'Lon," Erat urged, taking her elbow. Something brushed her hip and she looked down -- he had attached the Jedi's weapon to his belt.

"Erat," she said, scarcely believing what she was about to do. "You know how to use that weapon, don't you?"

He stared at her, expressionless. "Yes."

She took him by the shoulders and looked into his green, green eyes. "You're the only one who can stop him, Erat. You have to hold the Jedi off, or no one will make it off this ship."

To his credit, he didn't flinch. He didn't look scared. He unfastened the lightsaber hilt from his belt and grasped it firmly, staring at it for a moment. He met her eyes once more before he nodded and walked past her, heading down the corridor.

"Erat!" she called after him. "Five minutes, boy, and then get your ass to the shuttle bay!" His figure disappeared around the corner.

She turned and ran in the opposite direction, knowing what she'd done, and already wondering how she'd ever forgive herself. She'd probably just sent that boy to his death, but it was the only way to save the crew -- not to mention her only chance of getting off the ship a free woman. She wasn't terribly fond of her crew, but it was a question of numbers. She couldn't play favorites, not when so many lives depended on it.

She gritted her teeth and ran faster. Her boots slipped as she rounded tight corners, and her eyes were forced to adjust to changing light levels as the ship's power fluctuated wildly. That was probably how the Jedi escaped, she reflected. When the power went down, he would've been able to force the cell door open, if he understood the locking mechanism.

C'Lon could hear the sounds of escape pods jettisoning in the cargo bay, not far away now. She rounded the corner and saw B'Wal guarding an open pod.

"C'Lon!" he hissed when he saw her, clearly relieved. "Hurry!"

She sprinted across the hold, but hesitated at the door of the pod. "The crew?" she asked. "Have they all gotten away?"

B'Wal only nodded, and roughly shoved her inside. She strapped herself into a seat and cleared her mind. There would be plenty of time to feel guilty later. With any luck, the Judicials would be satisfied with having the Jedi children returned safely.

Or perhaps they would shoot down the pods on sight, ending it quickly.

B'Wal started to climb in behind her, just as a huge explosion sounded in the cargo hold. It knocked him out cold, leaving his body half in and half out of the pod. She could hear the sound of troops coming closer, boots pounding on durasteel, and she began to panic at last. Should she shove B'Wal's hulk out of the pod and leave him there, or should she try to tug him in? Each task sounded equally difficult.

She pulled.

"Freeze!" a voice shouted through the haze that floated in the hold. "Don't move!" B'Wal's body was dragged away, and a blaster appeared through the doorway. "Hands where I can see 'em. All your hands."

C'Lon thought of hitting the emergency release and sucking both herself and the damned trooper into space. Self-preservation quickly won out, though, and she stuck her bare hands through the door. She hoped the trooper would realize she was human and that these were the only hands she had.

"All right, now walk forward, slowly."

Walk? she thought to herself. You don't walk out of a fucking escape pod. She did her best, though, and was soon greeted by the sight of six Judicial troopers, each pointing an extremely large blaster at her head. For once, she kept her mouth shut.

"Is that all, Captain?" she heard a trooper ask. C'Lon shifted her feet, trying to find a position that was a bit more comfortable, considering her arms were bound behind her back and there were half a dozen armed troopers eyeing her with loathing.

"Yes, all of the escape pods are accounted for, and the prisoners are being counted as we speak."

C'Lon leaned her head against the wall and groaned. She'd hoped the Judicial ships wouldn't be able to get tractor locks on all of the escape pods, but with three ships out there, none had gotten away. Her entire crew had been captured in less than ten minutes.

The trooper's commlink warbled, and the young woman listened carefully before turning to her superior once more. "Sir, we have 22 from the pods, plus these two. The manifest said there were 25 crew members on board."

"Do a sweep," the captain replied.

"That's not necessary," said a familiar voice. C'Lon closed her eyes, fervently hoping against hope. "There are only 24 now."

She took a deep breath and turned to look at Qui-Gon Jinn as he stepped over rubble, making his way across the hold towards the Judicials. Attached to his belt was his weapon, the one she'd seen in Erat's hand only a short while ago, just before she sent him away.

Something burst inside of C'Lon, and against all reason and better judgment, she flung herself at the Jedi.

"You bastard!" she screamed, her bound hands twisting uselessly behind her back. "You fucking bastard, you killed him!"

The Jedi stared coolly at her in response, perhaps appraising her. Several troopers rushed to her side and began to drag her towards the portal that lead to the Judical ship.

"You fucking killed him, and he was one of you!" she screamed, knowing it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that it was as much her fault Erat was dead as it was the Jedi's. It only mattered that he was dead, and that it had all been for nothing. His life had been wasted, and there was nothing she could do about it now. She wanted to scream, to lash out at someone in grief and anger, and the Jedi was an easy target.

"He was one of your own, and you fucking murdered him!" Qui-Gon stared at her as she was being dragged away. He almost looked... surprised. "Fuck you!" she screamed, feeling her voice breaking with the effort. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't care. Erat was dead, and Qui-Gon had killed him. "Fuck the Jedi!"

A hypospray was pressed against her neck, and the world went dark around her.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and turned back to the captain. "The children?" he asked, voice calm despite the scene that had just occurred.

"They're safely onboard," the captain replied. "A medical officer and a counselor are examining them now."

Qui-Gon nodded, face void of expression. "Is my transport ready? I've been asked to return to Coruscant as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir. You may leave whenever you wish." Qui-Gon nodded and turned to walk out of the cargo hold, back into the ship. "Sir?" the captain asked.

Qui-Gon didn't turn back. "There is something I must attend to," he said, leaving the baffled trooper behind.

His feet led him back down the path he'd just taken, navigating twists and turns without thought. After several minutes, he found what he was looking for. He stared down at the crumpled form of the young man on the floor of the corridor for a long moment before poking a thigh with the tip of his boot. He sighed, heavily.

"It's over. You can get up now, Padawan."

A groan erupted from the young man as he pushed himself up off of the floor. Once standing, he whirled to face Qui-Gon, eyes sparkling with anger.

"What the fuck is going on, Qui-Gon? This wasn't the plan!"

"Nice to see you too, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon remarked dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Six months of planning, of working my ass off to infiltrate this slave ring, and it all falls apart a day early?!?" Obi-Wan's cheeks were flushed with anger. "Couldn't those imbeciles have waited thirty fucking hours? Now we've lost the client, and the chance to find out what he--"

"Padawan!" Qui-Gon barked, glowering at his apprentice. "You will remember your place! I realize you've been undercover these last few months, but you will not speak that way to me."

His apprentice opened his mouth to continue, and Qui-Gon cut him off before the hole the boy was digging got any deeper.

"Do not presume to know the nature of your role in this mission, my young apprentice. This operation was carefully planned, and the intelligence you provided was fully considered."

Obi-Wan clamped his jaw closed in frustration and breathed deeply through his nostrils. He was shaking with anger.

Qui-Gon reached out to the Force for serenity, thankful to have access to it again. The first thing he'd done with his lightsaber was to cut that blasted Force-inhibitor off his arm. The rush of sensation back into his mind had been dizzying at first. Even now, the world felt strangely fuzzy, though that was probably the after-effects of the cytlicine injections he'd been given. Obi-Wan had managed to diminish the dosage considerably, but without access to the Force, it had been difficult to purge from his system.

"This is only one part of the mission," he continued, "part of a larger whole you seem to have completely disregarded. Do you honestly believe that the Order would have let you, a padawan learner, handle such a dire situation alone?" Obi-Wan looked away at that, and Qui-Gon shook his head. "Many plans were considered carefully before this decision was made, Padawan. He will not escape."

Obi-Wan said nothing, glaring at the wall.

Qui-Gon took a calming breath. "Is there anything you need to remove from this ship? Any personal belongings you don't wish to leave behind?" Obi-Wan appeared to think for a moment, and then nodded, still not meeting his master's gaze. "Go then, and meet me on the transport in ten minutes. I'll inform the captain of your presence, and he'll be glad to show you the way."

With that, Qui-Gon turned his back on his padawan and strode back down the corridor, silently praying to the Force for the serenity he'd need not to strangle the boy before they got back to Coruscant.

Qui-Gon sighed and stared at the ceiling of his small cabin on the transport. He'd tried to sleep, but the tension between himself and his apprentice was ripping him apart. So much had gone wrong in the last week, and he didn't know how to begin repairing their relationship.

He cursed the day that Mace Windu had recommended Obi-Wan for this assignment. Qui-Gon had known the boy was ready, of course, but he had been unprepared for the pain he'd felt at his padawan's absence from his life. These last six months had been surprisingly difficult. The Council had kept him busy, but he'd quickly realized how much he enjoyed having a partner, and how much he relied on Obi-Wan's intelligence and insight in the field.

And his company, of course. He'd missed the way Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled when he laughed, and the smile that almost split his face on occasion. The way Obi-Wan would knock on his bedroom door in the middle of the night when he needed someone to talk to, and his own joy at knowing he was the person Obi-Wan turned to on those nights.

He'd missed his padawan more than he'd thought possible. After months of receiving coded messages with unpredictable frequency, seeing Obi-Wan on that ship had been wonderful. At least for the first 30 seconds, until he'd realized what the boy was going to do.

He groaned at the sheer humiliation of it all, at the fact that his apprentice had sucked him off in front of a room full of people. And that he'd allowed himself to enjoy it. And then there was the encounter in the cell, and the morning in the shower. He felt himself start to grow hard just thinking about it. How were they going to get past this? He was surprised he could even face his apprentice after all that had happened between them.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he groaned again, already knowing who was on the other side.

He could feel it.

"Come," he said, just as it occurred to him that he could have pretended to be asleep.

The door slid open to reveal his padawan silhouetted against the harsh light of the corridor, shirtless, leggings slung low on his narrow hips. Qui-Gon grimaced.

"Did I wake you, Master?" Obi-Wan stepped forward, and Qui-Gon couldn't help but notice the husky sound of his voice.

"No, no. I was awake," he sighed, closing his eyes and hoping his apprentice would remain on the other side of the room. To his great distress, he felt the thin mattress dip as Obi-Wan sat next to him, fingers brushing against his own.

They were both silent for a moment, and then Obi-Wan took his master's hand. "I'm sorry for my behavior," he whispered.

It was all Qui-Gon could do not to ask which behavior?, as all of it had been disturbing, truth be told. He decided to say nothing, and squeezed his padawan's hand instead. Obi-Wan's fingers interlaced with his own, and his thumb stroked Qui-Gon's palm. Qui-Gon knew he ought to say something, but he didn't trust his voice at the moment. Maybe this was all Obi-Wan had wanted to do: apologize. Maybe he'd jumped to a conclusion too quickly.

He felt a tentative hand on his bare chest. Surprised, he inhaled more sharply than he'd intended, and Obi-Wan seemed to take this as a positive sign. The hand stroked across his chest, brushing an instantly taut nipple, and then moved down towards his waist.

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's wrist. "Padawan," he groaned.

Obi-Wan pulled his hand away and sighed in the darkness. "Why not?"

"You know why not."

"But… after the last few days, I thought--"

Qui-Gon sat up, scooting away from his apprentice and leaning against the wall. "You thought what, Obi-Wan? That we could be lovers, now that my celibacy has been completely shattered?" Obi-Wan's face remained carefully blank. "This situation was forced on me. I did not enter into a physical relationship with you willingly, and I imagine that, given another option, you would have avoided it as well." Even in the dark, he could see Obi-Wan look away, and he silently cursed his tactlessness. The boy was confused and disoriented, and it was Qui-Gon's job to guide him back to his place in the Order. "I'm not saying it was a wholly unpleasant experience, Padawan. I don't have to explain to you why it would be inappropriate to continue."

"I apologize for forcing myself on you, Master." Obi-Wan was clearly struggling to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon sighed, leaning forward to catch the boy's hand. "I know it wasn't your fault, and that you were trying to protect me from something worse. I imagine I would have done the same were I in your position."

He could feel Obi-Wan relax at that. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to his apprentice, and stroked the boy's cheek with his free hand. Obi-Wan's eyes were large and dark. He looked almost childlike sitting there, and it gave Qui-Gon confidence to continue speaking.

"You've had a very intense experience these last few months, and it's only natural that your feelings for me are a bit confused after what has happened. Given some time and meditation, everything will work itself out."

"Master…" Obi-Wan looked blankly at him, but said nothing more.

Qui-Gon kissed him on the forehead. "Get some rest, Padawan. We'll talk about this later."

After his padawan left and the transport grew quiet once more, Qui-Gon settled back into his bunk and stared at the ceiling.

The rhythmic buzzing of the comm unit woke him. Qui-Gon squinted at the chrono and sat up, shaking off his grogginess with practiced ease.

"Yes?"

"Captain Talik wishes to speak with you, Master." Obi-Wan's voice sounded relaxed, calm. Normal. Maybe a good nap had helped him clear his head, Qui-Gon thought.

"On my way," he replied, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

Captain Talik's figure was waiting on the holographic panel, glowing an eerie reddish-gray. He looked as if he hadn't had any sleep at all.

"Captain," Qui-Gon said by way of greeting.

"Master Jinn, my apologies for disturbing you." The figure fiddled nervously with its hat. "I won't waste your time. I was hoping you might be willing to participate in the next phase of the plan."

Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's pulse of excitement. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'll need to check with the Council first, as we're expected back on Coruscant. What assistance do you require?"

"The team that was going to intercept the slave buyer suffered casualties during the raid. We've also discovered that one of our ships was badly damaged in the operation. We are... terribly short-handed, and there isn't time for reinforcements to come." The man was very nearly pleading. "I respectfully ask you to lead the mission, Master Jinn. I can provide you with a team of eight Judicial troops. Master Benica wishes to join you as well."

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. "Yes, I imagine she does." He turned to look at Obi-Wan and saw his apprentice was nearly bouncing with anticipation. He sighed. This wasn't a good idea. Obi-Wan needed to return to the Temple. He needed to be debriefed, and he needed some time to reflect on his experience undercover. Hells, I need some time, he thought. He turned back to the holographic display, noting the hopeful expression on Talik's face. "We would be happy to be of service, Captain," he said, feeling his shoulders tense at his own words. "However, we have been summoned to return to Coruscant. I will contact the Council, and the decision will be theirs."

"The meeting is scheduled to occur in twenty-four hours, Master Jedi, so please... Thank you," Talik finished, bowing, and the image winked out.

"Master, with all due respect--"

Qui-Gon cut his padawan off with a gesture. "There is nothing to discuss. The decision belongs with the Council."

"That is utter shit and you know it!" Obi-Wan spat. Qui-Gon's mouth fell open in response. "You've never needed to ask the Council for permission before. You do what you choose, what you feel is right. Why this sudden allegiance to the rules?"

Qui-Gon took a measured breath, fighting the urge to grab the boy by the front of his tunics and slam him into the wall. Obi-Wan flushed, apparently sensing his master's reproach, and said nothing more.

Qui-Gon studied him for a long moment. "You're right," he said at last, "that I follow the will of the Force. In this case, I feel it would be a mistake for us to continue participating in this mission." He paused, watching Obi-Wan's face carefully. "I sense a disturbance in the Force, something neither of us is prepared to face. We need time. You need time." Qui-Gon suddenly felt drained. A mild headache was beginning behind his eyes, and he exhaled.

Obi-Wan folded his arms into his sleeves and was silent for a moment more. "Master, we don't have the luxury of time. If we don't lead this mission now, the client will likely escape, and we may not have another chance." He paused, and Qui-Gon looked up to see those blue-green eyes burning into his own. Obi-Wan was so young, and so determined. So idealistic. Qui-Gon barely remembered feeling that way himself, but he remembered being admonished by his own master for his youthful enthusiasm. He'd always hated it, too.

"I'll contact the Council," he said with a soft sigh. "We'll go wherever they need us."

Obi-Wan nodded and left the room. Qui-Gon's headache throbbed.

Qui-Gon stood in the cargo bay of the transport, waiting for the dim clank of metal on metal that would indicate they had re-docked with the Judicial cruiser. He took a long breath and released it slowly, concentrating on the sound it made as it passed through his nose: a calming, focusing sound. He centered his balance and stood in a standing meditation pose, hoping to gain a few moments' serenity before -- in all likelihood -- hell broke loose.

He'd been unhappy when Mace had instructed them to remain in the sector and assist the Judicials. He'd made the call in private, just so he could explain to his colleague exactly why it was a bad idea for them to continue.

Mace had listened, and nodded, and then promptly dismissed Qui-Gon's concerns. "You should have more faith in your apprentice, Qui-Gon. After all, you have trained him well."

"It's not about faith," he'd replied testily. "I know my padawan, and I know his emotions are running high now. He needs time to sort out his experiences. He was away from the Order for six months."

"Qui-Gon, something more is troubling you," Mace said, steepling his fingers in that way Qui-Gon had always found infuriating. "Did something happen to Obi-Wan on this mission? Something I should know about?"

He'd paused then. Something had happened, of course, but he wasn't sure it was something he wanted to share with the Council. Not yet, at any rate. Not until they'd had a chance to discuss it between themselves.

"No," he'd sighed. "Nothing."

Mace had watched his face for a moment, and then nodded in response. "Very well. I see no reason why you shouldn't remain where you are. May the Force be with you, my friend."

A thick clunk resonated throughout the bay, bringing Qui-Gon out of his thoughts. He waited until the light above the airlock turned green, and then keyed in the code to open it.

A tall, thin woman stepped through, flanked by two children. She bowed at Qui-Gon in greeting.

"Master Benica," he said, returning her bow. "Welcome aboard."

The children at her side bowed more deeply to Qui-Gon, and he acknowledged their show of respect with a smile and a nod of his head. "Padawans Manya and Rill Vees, I believe?"

"Yes, Master," they replied in unison, looking up at him. They seemed quite young, Qui-Gon thought. But then, they were twins, and that made them special.

"I'll show you to your quarters, and then we'll make arrangements to meet shortly," he said, starting towards the corridor. They walked in silence, footsteps echoing around them. Qui-Gon stopped outside the door that was previously his own small room. "I'm sorry there isn't much space," he said. "We're doubling and tripling up, it seems. There's going to be a squad of Judicials joining us as well, but we kept the largest room for the three of you."

"It will be adequate." Master Benica replied, gesturing the children in with a nod of her head. She bowed to Qui-Gon and turned to follow them.

"Alissi," he said, catching her elbow. She turned back. "I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about Rollan. He was a great Jedi." He paused, words seeming horribly inadequate.

Alissi smile's was strained. "Thank you, Qui-Gon. My brother will be sorely missed." With that, she slipped through the door and closed it.

Qui-Gon stared at it for a moment before returning to the small bridge of the transport.

He found Obi-Wan in their room, meditating.

"They're here," he said.

Obi-Wan nodded, but did not open his eyes. Qui-Gon noticed that Obi-Wan had pulled down the upper bunk for him from its storage spot in the wall, and had placed a folded blanket and a pillow on it. He somehow doubted he'd have a chance to use it any time soon.

"We'll meet in the galley in ten minutes," he said.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. "How are the children?"

"They appear to be fine," he replied. "I'm sure they'll need some time to deal with their grief. Losing one's master is a most traumatic event in the life of a padawan."

"I can only imagine," Obi-Wan muttered, stretching. "The Benicas were twins, weren't they?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon sighed. "They aren't many pairs of twin Jedi these days. I'm not certain who will complete the training of their padawans."

"They won't remain with Master Benica?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Twin Jedi are far too valuable. Their training is handled with the utmost care, and they are only apprenticed to twin masters."

"Is it true that twin Jedi are naturally telepathic?"

"That's what I've always heard. Perhaps you should ask the Vees twins yourself, since you know them so well."

Obi-Wan smiled -- it was the most genuine expression he'd displayed in hours. Qui-Gon returned it, feeling a flutter in his stomach. There was never going to be a good time to say this.

"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry for my shortness with you earlier. I don't want what happened on the slaver's ship to drive a wedge between us."

The smile faded, but Obi-Wan did not drop his gaze. "It doesn't have to be a wedge, you know."

Qui-Gon's jaw tightened. "There's nothing else it could be. I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

Qui-Gon sighed and sank to the floor to sit next to his apprentice. "Obi-Wan, please don't do this. You, of all people, should understand."

"That you're afraid?" Obi-Wan said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. "Yes, that much is clear."

"I'm not afraid," Qui-Gon replied. "I took that vow of celibacy for good reason. You know that."

"She's been dead for six years, Master," Obi-Wan whispered. "When are you going to let her go?"

"I'm not clinging to a ghost," Qui-Gon replied, a little more strongly than he'd intended. Thinking about Tahl always made him a bit defensive, for some reason. "And you're hardly in any position to judge my feelings on the matter."

"I thought we were honest with each other," Obi-Wan muttered, hugging his knees to his chest. "Or would you prefer I hide behind the Code and pretend it was nothing more than duty when I made love to you?"

"That wasn't making love," Qui-Gon heard himself hiss.

Obi-Wan smirked. "Well, if we're going to be honest, you're right. You fucked me, plain and simple. You'd rather think of it that way?"

"I'd rather not think of it at all."

Obi-Wan raised a carefully controlled eyebrow. "Then don't mention it again. As you've already made quite clear, it wasn't your choice. You've nothing to be sorry for."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say to that. The boy was correct, to an extent. I'm the one who keeps bringing it up, he thought. I never wanted it. It wasn't my choice. He nodded, standing, and left the room, struggling to shield his dark thoughts.

"We need to be at the rendezvous point in eighteen hours," Obi-Wan began. "Master Benica will pose as the slaver C'Lon and will contact the suspect. The boarding teams will be waiting in the cargo bay." He paused, remarkably poised, Qui-Gon thought. "Manya, Rill, and Qui-Gon will be taken aboard first. I'll accompany the boarding team. On my signal, we'll begin the operation."

"How do you know the real customer is coming?" asked one of the Judicials, a sharp-faced woman called "Bangs" by her comrades.

"We don't," Obi-Wan replied. "C'Lon never had direct contact with him, only with his personnel. We really have no idea what we're going to find." Qui-Gon thought Obi-Wan sounded almost excited by the thought.

"We're holding the slaver on the flagship," another Judicial said. "Perhaps she would be willing to help us, in exchange for a reduced sentence."

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, uncertain. "She could be useful," Qui-Gon told him. "It would be best if you were the one to contact her."

"She thinks I'm dead," Obi-Wan mused. "This could be a bit of a shock."

"She also thinks she's spending the rest of her life in prison," Bangs added. "This could ease the blow."

Obi-Wan nodded. "When can I see her?"

"The sooner, the better," Qui-Gon said. "This ship is fast enough to get us to the coordinates in twelve hours, but we shouldn't chance being late."

Bangs stood. "I'll call the officer in charge of the prisoners and make the arrangements."

They watched her leave, and then everyone looked back at Obi-Wan.

"Padawan Kenobi," Manya began, and then pursed her lips, as if hesitant to speak. Obi-Wan tilted his head, and waited. Rill met her eyes and nodded. "If anything goes wrong, should we allow ourselves to be taken captive?"

"We're what he wanted, after all," Rill continued.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Obi-Wan spoke first.

"What would that accomplish?"

"We could learn what he wants, who he is. We could pretend to accept our fate, but collect information on him."

"Or we could kill him," Rill said, voice flat.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Alissi. She returned the expression. Obi-Wan returned his gaze to the children.

"You must follow the will of the Force," he said softly. "Those who love you would tell you not to follow such a course of action."

"But there are more important things than love," Rill replied.

"Indeed," sighed Alissi, looking down at her clasped hands.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, and then looked away again. The meeting broke up, but Qui-Gon remained sitting at the table, lost in thought.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Yes... no." He shook his head. "I didn't think I'd see her again."

"Does it bother you that you deceived her?" Qui-Gon asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted, glancing up at Qui-Gon with wide eyes. "She cared about me. She trusted me."

"She was a slaver, Padawan. She sold sentient beings, after torturing and abusing them."

Obi-Wan snorted. "I see you've read my report."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "This is exactly why debriefing is so critical after undercover missions." For the hundredth time, he wished they could have simply returned to the Temple.

"It's complicated," Obi-Wan sighed. "She did terrible things, but... I liked her."

"And that is what makes us human, Padawan." Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "Your affection for her may save her, you know."

The door slid open and a Judicial trooper waved them through. They followed him down a corridor, past rows of doors. The trooper paused before one and tapped a code into the panel. The door slid open.

Obi-Wan stepped through first, and Qui-Gon followed. C'Lon was sitting on a hard bench, facing away from them. Her extravagant clothes had been exchanged for the orange coveralls of a Judicial prisoner, and her once-spiky gray hair lay flat against her head. She looked like the old woman she was, and not the tough slaver who'd threatened him with a blaster and taken him captive only a few days ago. Qui-Gon suppressed an un-Jedi-like smirk.

"C'Lon," Obi-Wan said.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. For a moment, she didn't seem to recognize him, and then her face paled. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she said nothing. She glanced at Qui-Gon, then back to Obi-Wan, taking in the Jedi tunics with narrowed eyes. She finally made a sound like a strangled laugh.

"Fuck me," she muttered, shaking her head. "I should have known."

Obi-Wan only stared back at her, hands tucked into the sleeves of his cloak. He didn't seem to know what to say in response.

"Here to gloat?" C'Lon asked.

"Actually, we could use your help," Obi-Wan replied.

"My help?" C'Lon repeated. "Oh, fuck you." She stood and walked towards him. The trooper stepped forward, but Obi-Wan waved him back with a gesture. "Here I've been so worried, and sick, and guilty, thinking I'd sent you to your death, and you..." She flailed her hands in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he said. His tone was sincere, but C'Lon didn't seem to notice. She glared at him, and then slapped him hard across the face. The Judicial leapt forward and pushed her against the wall, growling a threat. Obi-Wan put a hand on the man's arm, stilling his movements. The Judicial rolled his eyes and then released C'Lon with an exasperated sigh.

C'Lon stared at Obi-Wan for a long moment. Finally, she folded her arms across her chest and waited for him to speak.

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he told her. "I'm a Jedi padawan. I've been working undercover to infiltrate your operation."

She shook her head and snorted. "Well, you certainly did your job well. Thanks for nothing. Now get the fuck out of my ruined life, why don't you?" There was pain in her voice, Qui-Gon noted.

Obi-Wan caught her wrist as she tuned away. "C'Lon, please," he said.

She jerked her arm away and glared at him. "Get OUT!"

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, frustrated. "We can help you, if you cooperate. They've agreed to reduce your sentence considerably in exchange for information. Remember that beach?"

"I dream about it." She paused, eyes narrowing. "Reduce my sentence? By how much?"

Obi-Wan smiled, ducking his head and looking up at her through his eyelashes. "That depends on how much you help us." It was a coy gesture, one Qui-Gon could only assume he'd used with C'Lon before.

C'Lon pursed her lips. "Aren't I supposed to get a lawyer, or something?"

"The Jedi operate outside the legal system," Qui-Gon interjected when Obi-Wan hesitated. "We can take care of this quietly, perhaps get you the minimum sentence."

"For slaving inside the boundaries of the Republic?" she retorted. "The minimum sentence is twenty years."

Qui-Gon smiled. "We have a great deal of influence. At the time of your arrest, you were merely an accessory to kidnapping. The minimum sentence for that charge is only two years."

C'Lon raised an eyebrow. "Funny. I thought the Jedi only bent the law when it benefited one of their own."

Obi-Wan ignored the jibe. "This is bigger than a slaving operation, C'Lon. We're interested in the client."

"Of course you are," she smirked. "Since when did the Jedi give a shit about anyone but themselves?" Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, and C'Lon turned to Qui-Gon. "I suppose I'm cooperating, then. Do I need to sign anything?"

"We'll take care of it," Qui-Gon replied.

"I refuse to sit at the table with this criminal," Alissi hissed.

C'Lon said nothing, staring resolutely at her plate.

"Alissi, please," Qui-Gon whispered, taking her hand and tugging her towards the table.

"It's because of her that my brother is dead," Alissi retorted, standing her ground. The cold anger in her tone sent a chill down Qui-Gon's spine. It was far too familiar.

"Well, I won't argue with you," C'Lon muttered, looking up. "But keep in mind that I know the name and coordinates of the man who actually pulled the trigger." Her eyes met Alissi's, and the women glared at each other for several long seconds.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, face taut with tension. Qui-Gon sighed. "And that's why you're here, C'Lon." He released Alissi's hand and sat across from the slaver.

A small gasp at the door signaled the arrival of the twins. They looked up at Alissi, uncertain. Alissi made a disgusted sound and left, the padawans following at her heel.

"I can't say I blame her," C'Lon said between bites. "I wouldn't want to eat with me either."

They continued to eat in silence, and Qui-Gon once again questioned his decision to bring C'Lon with them. They didn't have much time before they had to be at the meeting point with the client, and it had become clear that negotiating with C'Lon wasn't going to be easy. Inviting her to eat latemeal with the team -- rather than locked in her cabin -- had been Obi-Wan's idea. He seemed to think C'Lon would be more cooperative if she didn't feel so much like a prisoner.

"If you lot are trying to butter me up, it's working," C'Lon quipped, smirking at Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan pushed his half-empty plate away and glanced back and forth between C'Lon and Qui-Gon.

"Go check on Alissi," Qui-Gon told him. "See if you can reason with her. We need to solidify our plans for tomorrow."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, nodding his head in a bow as he stood.

C'Lon watched him leave, then turned an incredulous face to Qui-Gon. "Did he call you master?"

"He's my apprentice," Qui-Gon replied.

"I'll bet," she snorted. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in query. C'Lon smirked. "So all of that was just for show on my ship, with you resisting him?"

"What?" Qui-Gon knew what she meant, of course.

"Oh, come now," C'Lon grinned, picking up her cup. "I've heard about what goes on between Jedi and their apprentices."

Qui-Gon snorted. "Obi-Wan is my student, nothing more."

"You seemed to enjoy fucking him."

"My relationship with my padawan is none of your concern," Qui-Gon replied, a bit too curtly. "You clearly know very little about the Jedi."

"I know more than you might imagine," she muttered, holding his gaze. He didn't reply.

"Master, we're in the cargo hold." Obi-Wan's voice on the commlink broke the silence between them.

"On our way," Qui-Gon replied, then clipped the device to his belt. "We'll need your help now," he told C'Lon. "If you don't plan to cooperate, I can escort you back to your cabin."

C'Lon pushed away from the table and stood. She looked more herself in civilian clothes, hair resolutely spiked up once more. She raised herself to her full height and stared up at Qui-Gon. "I plan to cooperate. I may be a stubborn old bitch, but I'm not stupid, you know." Her lips quirked into a smile. She had her moments, he had to admit. If one overlooked her chosen profession and criminal past, she could even be endearing.

Qui-Gon smiled and gestured towards the door. "After you, milady."