JAOA: The Clone Wars
Casualty
Year of the Republic 24,988
Black Rose, 1999
lenoirrose@softhome.net
The chaotic roiling wave of emotion that flowed through the
chamber jerked Obi-Wan from a light doze and propelled him out
of bed before he could even pinpoint what had disturbed him.
Shaking his head to clear the last of the fog from it, Obi-Wan
reached up, raking back the loose fall of his hair and trying
to find any disturbance in the quiet sleeping room.
The signature ripple threading through the disturbed whorls of
Force reached him a moment later, replacing confusion with
alarm. Startled, Obi-Wan strode towards the door and out into
the main room. Anakin was framed in the doorway of his own
room, the short spikes of the boy's hair disarrayed and face
flushed from sleep. "What...?"
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan breathed, but Anakin's blue eyes widened as
he too recognized the source of the disturbance. Obi-Wan's
voice was a low bark of warning as the boy lunged for the door
panel leading to the corridor. "Anakin, don't..."
The door slid back on its own, triggered from outside. Trained
reflex curled Anakin's body into a loose ball as two
conflicting waves of Force reached out, one tossing him back
into the room like a rag doll, the other grabbing and catching
him, lowering him to the ground.
Framed in the door, Qui-Gon glared at them both equally. A
maelstrom of emotion rolled off of him in waves, dark and icy.
He said nothing, lips pressed into a tight line. Anakin shrank
back slightly, his back pressing to Obi-Wan's knee. The large
man's boot heels rang sharply off the floor as he strode into
the room, stepping across Anakin and past Obi-Wan to reach
their shared sleeping chamber. The door hissed open and snapped
shut again behind him.
Obi-Wan swore softly, rubbing a hand across his face to clear
sleep from his eyes. "Go back to bed, Anakin," he instructed
quietly.
The boy climbed gingerly to his feet. "Master... I didn't
mean..."
"No, you did nothing wrong," Obi-Wan reassured him. Reaching
out, his fingertips brushed the braid that trailed over
Anakin's bare shoulder, tweaking it softly. "I'll see to him,
Padawan. Now try to get some sleep."
Anakin's nodded hesitantly. "Yes, sir." He half turned back to
the closed door from which the feeling of disturbance still
radiated . "If you need me..."
"We'll call you," Obi-Wan agreed. "But don't wait up listening.
Sleep, if you can."
"Always," Anakin replied, eyes crinkling with a wry grin. "And
anywhere."
"Then go do it," Obi-Wan reproved softly. "And don't prove it
at lessons tomorrow."
The grin had a cocky glint to it, red eyed and bleary or no.
"Yes, sir." Obi-Wan waited until the boy had turned away, the
door to his chamber shutting and leaving the Knight in the
silence of the main room.
Sighing, he gathered the Force to him and strode back into his
own chamber.
Qui-Gon had flung himself across the sleeping couch, tall frame
splayed out, one arm thrown across his eyes. Obi-Wan dimmed the
lights, returning to the couch and seating himself on the edge.
The Force spread out and solidified at his touch, reinforcing
the shielding of the room. "You've probably woken up everyone
from here to the Council chambers," he said mildly. "Take your
boots off," he added, tapping the Jedi Master's long legs.
Wordless, Qui-Gon reached down without opening his eyes,
loosening and pulling off first one boot and then the other,
tossing them both roughly past Obi-Wan's head to land with a
clatter in the middle of the chamber floor. Obi-Wan sat still,
waiting patiently.
The answer to the unspoken question was some time in coming.
Large hands reached up to press to temples and over eyes,
muffling the low, toneless voice. "I've been asked to take a
seat on the Council."
Obi-Wan blinked slowly, letting his breath out in surprise.
"What?"
"I've been asked to take a seat on the Council," the Jedi
Master repeated, the words bitten off sharply.
Obi-Wan leaned back on his hands, frowning. "Who's stepping
down? I hadn't heard..." But Qui-Gon's shaking head cut him
off.
"Not stepping down," the older man said heavily, voice fraying
at the edges. His eyes were closed, heels of his hands pressed
to them. "Mace Windu's seat has become available."
"Windu," Obi-Wan repeated, breathing the name. He let the shock
roll through him and out, into the Force. "Sith. How? When?"
"The Council doesn't know yet," Qui-Gon growled. "Depa felt his
passing an hour after evening meal. The officials on Alderaan
don't have any specifics for us - Mace was reported missing
only when the Council contacted them."
Obi-Wan shook his head, drawing in a hissed breath through his
teeth, trying to take the news in. He closed his eyes, bowing
his head. "Alderaan. Sith. He shouldn't have gone alone."
"Chancellor Palpatine requested him personally, on behalf of
the Senate," the Jedi Master replied flatly. His voice broke
slightly, roughening. "Mace knew Senator Antilles. He was the
right choice."
"He still shouldn't have gone alone," Obi-Wan insisted
bitterly. "What is the Council going to do?"
"The Senate and Alderaan have both requested a complete
investigation of Senator Antilles' death," Qui-Gon said
tiredly. "The Council will look into Mace's passing as well."
"Senator Antilles," Obi-Wan said heavily, frowning. "Senator
Aks of Malastare, Senator Baht of Calamarii, Senator Bibble of
Naboo, two attempts made on Chancellor Palpatine's life right
here on Coruscant... and now a Jedi Master and a member of the
Council." He worried his lower lip, eyes unfocused. "Sith," he
hissed softly, but the word wasn't a curse.
"We don't know," Qui-Gon snarled, shoving himself up and past
Obi-Wan. He stripped off his outer tunics as he strode across
the room, flinging them to the floor with rough gestures. "We
don't know."
Obi-Wan laid back against the couch as he heard the door to the
changing room hiss shut. Moments later, he heard the shower
hiss on, heard the splash of the water as a body moved under
it. Lifting his hands, he combed his fingers through his hair,
massaging the tension in his scalp.
Mace Windu... dead. It didn't seem real. The deaths that had
rocked the Senate over the months had been disturbing but
bearable - to think that the chain of deaths had now reached
out to not only touch the Jedi, but the very Council, was a
chill that seeped into his soul.
"Sith," he whispered again, tasting the bitterness of the word.
Feeling the cold, creeping certainty of the chilling memory.
Pushing himself up, he walked across the room, stooping tiredly
to pick up Qui-Gon's discarded clothes. The door to the
changing room slid open beneath his hand, wisps of steam
escaping.
Obi-Wan stepped out of his trousers, shoving the lot of clothes
into the laundry. Qui-Gon stood beneath the hot spray of the
shower, head tilted back to let the water cascade across his
face, the short brush of his hair slicked back against the
shape of his skull. The younger man stepped into the shower
quietly, hands reaching to glide gently down his lover's back.
"What are you going to do?" he asked softly, voice pitched
barely above the hiss of the shower.
Qui-Gon let his head tilt forward, hands bracing himself
against the wall of the shower. He flinched slightly as
Obi-Wan's hand slid over the scars on his back. "I don't know,"
he said roughly.
The smaller man leaned into him gently, arms circling his
waist, lips pressing lightly to his water slicked shoulder as
the spray surrounded them both. "What would you like to do?"
Qui-Gon shook his head slowly, hands clenching against the
smooth surface of the shower. "I don't know," he
repeated harshly. The flat of one hand pounded against the
shower, slapping loudly. "Force. I don't want a seat on the
Council. I don't want Mace's seat."
Obi-Wan held him tighter, closing his eyes against the water as
he pressed his cheek to one broad shoulder. "Then don't take
it," he suggested quietly.
The dark morass of emotion flared around them, thrust
haphazardly into the Force. Qui-Gon pulled away, pushing the
younger man back almost roughly, his eyes a hard blue as he
turned to face him. "I can't do that," he snapped. His
expression twisted for a moment and he ducked his head, closing
his eyes. "Mace deserves better than this," he said at last,
harshly.
"Better than what?" Obi-Wan inquired mildly. "Better than to
have someone he knew and trusted take his seat? Or better than
to have you take it unwillingly?"
Qui-Gon snorted. "Either. Both." He started to reach up,
pushing back the wet tendrils of his hair, and winced slightly.
Obi-Wan reached for his arm, pulling him from beneath the
spray. "Sit," he said shortly, gesturing to the floor of the
shower outside of the cascading water. "I'll wash it for you."
But the Jedi Master shook his hand off angrily. "I'll do it,"
he ground out, and Obi-Wan sighed. There was no arguing with
that tone, so he stepped back, giving Qui-Gon room as the older
man ducked his head beneath the spray and reached for the soap.
He could do it but it was an awkward task, one arm raised to
scrub the lather across his scalp, the other hugged close to
his chest to minimize the pull of muscles in his chest and
back. Obi-Wan crossed his own arms, holding them tight as he
watched. Part of him ached to help, to reach up and take the
fine strands of silvering hair in his own hands, but he knew
better than to suggest it with the tension radiating from the
other man's body and mind.
Done, Qui-Gon stepped back from the spray, wiping the water
from his face. The swirl of his emotions had dampened slightly,
quieting, but his expression was still tight. "I'll take the
seat," he said quietly. "Master Yoda already knows. I can't...
I won't dishonor Mace by turning it down. I don't think I am a
good choice - but I will try."
Obi-Wan let a wry smile touch his lips. "Disregarding Master
Yoda's favorite saying," he replied quietly, "I don't think
anyone will ask any more of you." Qui-Gon only stared back at
him, and after a moment Obi-Wan reached to turn off the water,
holding out a beckoning hand. "Come to bed," he said gently.
"Don't make any decisions now."
"If not now, then when?" His voice was tired, tinged with grief
and the still shifting patterns of angry hurt that radiated
into the Force around him. His hand, in Obi-Wan's, clenched
almost bruisingly tight. The younger man said nothing, only
drew him from the shower and, disregarding the trail of dripped
water left behind, through the door and across the floor back
to the sleeping couch.
The tension in the broad shoulders made Obi-Wan's fingers
twitch to soothe the corded muscles, to work their way down the
long spine and ease all of the little knots and points in
loving caress. It was not the time for it, though, and he knew
it. Contented himself with digging fiercely at the iron lines
of shoulder and neck, with the grasp of large hands on his as
they tugged him down and the fiery, demanding crush of lips
against his own. Offered, body and heart, willingly, to
disperse the hurt within his lover's soul.
There was little gentleness in it, rough and hard. The
demanding rhythm of it took his breath away, gave it back in
the rush of sharp pleasure, in the sound of his name on
Qui-Gon's lips, in the arch and twist of his own body as he
cried out. Yet despite the burn of the fire there was still the
love, twining them together, cradling their souls within a web
of emotion sunk so deep across the years that neither could
tell where one ended and the other began.
In the stillness afterwards, with the boneless shocks of
pleasure still caressing his nerves, Obi-Wan could trace the
outline of his lover's fingers in the tingling burn of bruises
across his hip. Qui-Gon's breath was harsh across his chest,
the damp prickle of the other man's hair brushing the tender
skin of throat and chin. Obi-Wan combed his fingers through it
softly, felt the answering caress of hands against his ribs.
Silence and stillness in the darkened room, a measure of peace
in the heart that beat against him in time to his own.
He could feel the whispered words almost as much as he heard
them, spoken against his breastbone where Qui-Gon's voice
rumbled softly. "I'll accept the position."
Obi-Wan said nothing, only tightened his arms, brushing a soft
kiss across silvered strands of hair. The stillness came again,
bringing with it the phantom peace of sleep, cradled close in
each others arms.
"The Council?" Anakin's voice cracked across the last
syllable, a remnant of lingering adolescence that made the boy
flush to the roots of his blonde hair, snapping his mouth shut
quickly.
Qui-Gon finished the last bite of egg upon his plate, pushing
it away as he reached for his tea. His face, in the morning
sunlight that streamed through the window, was all but
expressionless. "Yes, Anakin. The Council."
Anakin turned his gaze to Obi-Wan, blue eyes begging for the
Knight to make some sort of sense out of a world gone mad.
"Master Windu is dead?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Ani."
"But..." Anakin looked back to Qui-Gon, one hand reaching up to
pull distractedly at the pale strands of his braid. "But you
always said you didn't want a seat on the Council!"
The Jedi Master reached out, calmly rescuing the braid from
Anakin's grasp. "Stop that," he said reflexively, and Anakin
clasped his hands in his lap. Taking a sip of his tea, Qui-Gon
kept his gaze firmly focused on the contents of the cup as he
swirled them gently around. "I don't," he said at last,
sighing. "I never have, and I don't now. There have been too
many times the Council and I have been at odds for me to be
comfortable there."
Anakin opened his mouth but Qui-Gon shook his head, glancing
up. "No, Ani. It's not what I want. But if Master Yoda - if
Mace - thought that I could fill that position... then I owe it
to Mace Windu to try."
Anakin closed his mouth again, dropping his head. Qui-Gon
reached over, gently ruffling the fringe of blonde hair until
the boy looked up. "It will be alright," he said gently.
"You'll see."
Cocking his head, Anakin met the Jedi Master's gaze. After a
moment a smile, irrepresible, crept across his face. "No, it
won't," he said impulsively. "Because you're still going to
argue with them... but now they won't be able to just tell you
to be quiet."
Qui-Gon laughed. "You're quite right," he said, reluctantly
pushing back his chair and standing. "Now they'll have to
listen to what I say."
Obi-Wan caught the other man's hand in passing, a wordless
gesture of support that Qui-Gon accepted gratefully. [Listen to
your own words, Master,] he whispered across their bond. [It
will be alright.]
Qui-Gon's grin was wry. "It will certainly be different," he
allowed. Bending, he kissed the other man lightly. "Council
meets today. And what with the matter on Alderaan... I'll see
you by evening meal. I hope."
"Force be with you," Obi-Wan replied, brushing fingertips
across one cheek before Qui-gon drew away.
"Good luck," Anakin offered as he watched Qui-Gon gather his
cloak.
"The Force will make our luck," Qui-Gon corrected gently,
ruffling the boy's hair again in passing as he strode towards
the door. "Mind your lessons today."
"History drill," he heard Obi-Wan announce behind him, and
Anakin's groan before the door to their quarters closed off the
sound.
The smile did not last within the bare confined of the
corridor. It slid away as the shadows descended, dogging each
step through the Temple. Qui-Gon shut his eyes and ears to
them, walked briskly, determined. He would do this.
He would.
He repeated it to himself until he stood before the doors of
the Council Chamber, repeated it to himself again, a silent
mantra. Paused to gather himself, to take the too rapid beat of
his heart and the tremble of his breath into hand. He had
entered the Council Chamber hundreds of times. This, he told
himself, was no different.
But it was, and his traitorous heart knew it and reminded him
of it, pounding loud against his ribs.
He closed his eyes, willing calm. "I will do this," he
whispered. Only the silence gave reply and at length, with a
sigh, Qui-Gon reached out to the doors and let them open before
him.
The others were assembled there, eleven in all, eyes turning
towards him as he entered. Habit brought his feet to the center
of the tiled floor, turned him to bow to Yoda's chair as he had
always done. Habit brought him up again, hands folded within
the sleeves of his robe, but there habit deserted him.
Yoda sat as he always had to Qui-Gon's memory, and if his ears
were lowered, his eyes dimmed to the bright sunlight on this
day, then no one could fault him. For long years the dark,
solid figure of Mace Windu had occupied the seat beside the
tiny Master. Qui-Gon could recall the impromptu celebration
that had been held when Mace had first received a Council seat,
could recall the man's slow smile outside the Council Chamber
and his stern faced role within. Years, it had been. They
hadn't always agreed, but surely... surely Mace should still be
there. Mace had been several years younger than Qui-Gon.
But he wasn't. Depa, a smear of ash drawn across her forehead
in grief for her former Master, her eyes red rimmed and
shadowed from lack of sleep, sat tiredly upon the seat that
Mace Windu had occupied. She had wrapped the warm brown of her
robes about her, arms crossed beneath her breasts, her normal
serenity almost fragile in the light of day.
Slowly, Qui-Gon turned, meeting the eyes of each Council member
in turn. There was Plo Koon, his yearmate, expression
unreadable behind the dark shields of his biomechanical eyes.
Ki-Adi-Mundi, who inclined his head gracefully. Saesee Tinn,
fierce looking despite his calm manner. Yaddle, her green eyes
bright in her small face, so silent one might almost forget
her. Eeth Koth, dark faced and quiet voiced. Adi Gallia, with
the beauty of the predator and a quick tongue to match. Andalu
Nia, the crest against the pale blue of her skull darkened
nearly to black in visible grief. Yarael Poof, who's slow,
constant sway spoke volumes in gesture alone. Lin Eret, the
deep lines of his grey face pinched tight about eyes and mouth.
And an empty seat, there, by the doors. An unoccupied chair,
sized and shaped for standard human.
Qui-Gon looked back at the Council members. Grieved, all of
them. Disturbed. It hung on the air like a bitter taste, an
echo of the wrongness of Mace's absence. A living organism,
ripped asunder, limb lost, sight blinded. Wounded.
He met Yoda's gaze one last time. Turning, Qui-Gon stalked
across the room, across the splashes of bright sunlight that
seemed almost to mock the shadows within the room and the
hearts of the occupants. Strode to that single empty chair,
and, taking a deep breath, seated himself in it.
It was an entirely different perspective of the Council
Chamber, viewed from that seat. The view of a peer, of an
equal. Of a Council Member. Qui-Gon released the breath slowly,
placing his hands hesitantly on the arms of the chair.
His view, now. Qui-Gon Jinn, Member of the Jedi Council.
The tip of Yoda's walking stick struck the ground, a soft thump
that drew the attention. The tiny Master drew himself up, but
the sorrow lingered in his voice. "Joined, this Council is.
Senator Organa of Alderaan; wishes to speak with us, he does."
Alderaan, where Mace Windu had breathed his last. Qui-Gon
swallowed back the tremor, steeling himself. The others were
already murmurring their assent and he, perforce, bowed his
head and agreed as well. If his voice had little strength, it
hardly mattered. He was not alone in it, but the sentiment in
all of them was clear.
Yoda's voice it was that spoke the words, quiet in the Council
Chamber but echoing within each of them. "We have lost a great
Jedi. Discover, we will, how this has happened."
Qui-Gon saw it in the eyes of his fellow Masters. A Jedi did
not seek revenge. But they might well seek justice.
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