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Coda

by Diotima

Title: Coda
Author: Diotima
Editor: Merry Amelie
Archive: Yes
Category: Angst
Rating: R
Warnings: Some explicit content
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sequel to “Aloneness”. Obi-Wan comes to a decision.
Feedback: Yes! Please! Email me!

Part I

When Obi-Wan entered the sparring room that morning, he immediately knew something was very wrong. Instead of practicing, the Padawans were standing around in small groups and talking in hushed tones. Even more strangely, the Masters who were usually present to observe and mediate were absent.

Obi-Wan, curious, approached the nearest group. Milon, his sparring partner and friendly acquaintance, was among them, and nodded in greeting. A few other Padawans that Obi-Wan knew were with him, among them Basanaith, a red-skinned Togruta; the arrogant human, handsome, black-haired Tarquinus; and also Lyssa, one of the youngest Padawans in Obi-Wan’s year, a small-boned human girl whose blonde head did not even come to Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“What is going on?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The Masters are at a meeting,” Milon replied.

“All of the Masters? Nothing was announced. What is the meeting about?” Obi-Wan asked, puzzled.

The group of Padawans exchanged significant looks with each other. “No one knows,” Milon finally said, “But there are all sorts of rumors.”

“Rumors? What kind of rumors?”

“Rumors that one of the Masters is in serious trouble,” replied Milon.

Basanaith chimed in, “If the rumors are true, this particular Master is more than ‘in trouble’. He is going to be expelled from the Jedi Order.”

Milon gave him a sharp look, “That’s speculation.”

“Well, if the rest of what I hear is true, he should get kicked out,” Basanaith shot back.

Lyssa put in doubtfully, “It can’t be true. How could any Master do something that—that—revolting?”

At the last statement Obi-Wan felt dread clutch as his stomach, his blood running icy cold.

“Speak plainly,” Obi-Wan demanded sharply, “what is this Master accused of?”

“Something that is better notdiscussed,” Milon replied emphatically. “It will shock and disgust you.”

“Tell me,” Obi-Wan insisted.

The Padawans all looked at each other again.

“You tell him,” Lyssa said to Milon.

Milon hesitated, but then finally said in a low voice, “The Master is accused of—apechthema. Abomination with his Padawan.”

“W-What?” Obi-Wan stuttered. He was forced to take a step back, having almost lost his balance for a moment.

At his shocked expression, Milon patted his arm, sympathetically, “I told you that it was disgusting. That was my reaction, too.”

“And who—“ Obi-Wan suddenly had to clear his throat, “which Master is it?”

Milon shrugged, indifferently, “No one knows.”

“What I heard,” Tarquinus put in, with some self-importance at having choice gossip, “is that they called him in with this pretext of the Masters' meeting, to denounce him.”

Obi-Wan clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling. Cold sweat was running down the small of his back. His heart was pounding wildly, loudly in his ears; he would have sworn that everyone in the room could hear it.

Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan had hurried out the door this morning, as had become his usual habit, to avoid too much time alone with his Master. He had called out over his shoulder that he was heading for the sparring room. His Master, who had been occupied reading a text, had looked up and gently reminded Obi-Wan that his sparring was still to be closely supervised by the Masters, so he should be careful and always use good judgment. Obi-Wan, suddenly irritated by this reminder, only jerked his chin in acknowledgement, and barely registered that Qui-Gon went on to say that he would be home late, as he had been called to a meeting.

Called to a meeting.

Obi-Wan forced his voice to be calm, detached, “But someone must know which Master is accused—if these rumors are true. For certainly, if a Master was accused of that, the Council would not move forward, without questioning the Padawan first.”

Milon shook his head. “Who knows? Like I said, it’s all rumors. But one of the rumors floating around is that the Master had been secretly denounced to the Council, and the Council has decided to rush to judgment."

“Without any other evidence? On only an accusation?” Obi-Wan asked indignantly. He realized that his tone was too strident, so he went on, more moderately, “What I mean is, it seems very premature.”

“Well, obviously, the Council would want to purge even the slightest suspicion of such things from the Jedi Order,” replied Milon, who then shrugged again. “Although who can say what evidence they have?”

Obi-Wan was now in complete agony. The Master being accused must be Qui-Gon, for how likely was it that another Master and Padawan had committed something so forbidden, so unknown, as such an apechthema? Obi-Wan had never even heard of another Master ever being so much as suspected of such a thing. And even though he had tried his best to dissemble, to act as if Qui-Gon meant nothing to him other than as

his Master, had he somehow inadvertently revealed his secret?

Obi-Wan’s mind raced, running through far too many possibilities.

Master Asklepia. Obi-Wan remembered, uncomfortably, her probing looks. Had he said too much in his delirium? He could hardly remember anything of that time. He vaguely recalled that he had said something shocking in the procedure room, but he could not remember what it was. And afterwards during his convalescence, he could tell she could sense his pain, and had been determined to find its cause, if only to heal him. During that time she had forbidden his Master from seeing him. At the time, he had been grateful, but had that meantsomething?

The other Jedi Masters. He had been preoccupied, distracted, and distant, the Masters now said. There had been no complaints about his performance in his studies, but there had been questions about too many hours in the Jedi library, excessive studying, and the physical abuse of the drilling. He had seen the Masters look at each other, shaking their heads when they thought he was not looking. He hadn’t cared at the time, so caught up in his own pain, but perhaps he should have. Had his behavior seemed not merely strange, but also suspect to them?

His heart began to pound faster, remembering an exchange he’d had only a few days ago, when he had run into Master Brabeuo in the hallway.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Brabeuo had said insistently.

Obi-Wan, startled out of his thoughts, managed, “Greetings, Master Brabeuo.”

“Obi-Wan, are you feeling all right?” Master Brabeuo was gazing at him with curiosity, and more than a little concern.

“Why, yes, of course,” Obi-Wan stammered. “Why do you ask?”

“Because this is the third time I have spoken to you in greeting, and you did not hear me,” Master Brabeuo replied, still looking at him fixedly. “Are you sure you are entirely well?”

“I am fine,” Obi-Wan answered quickly, “I do apologize, Master Brabeuo. I do not know where my mind is today.”

“I suppose it is natural,” Master Brabeuo said, smiling, “As it is spring, all the younglings’ minds are easily distracted.”

At this statement, Obi-Wan, already flustered, became immediately defensive at the possible implication. “I am not in love,” he snapped.

Master Brabeuo seemed stunned for a moment at the vehemence of the reply, but then said, frowning, “It was only a joke, young one. And I was not implying that you lack detachment, but rather I was referring to all the sporting events at this time of year that distract our younglings from their studies.” Master Brabeuo went on, still frowning, “Did it seem that I was implying anything else?”

“No—not at all,” mumbled Obi-Wan, his face flaming. “I apologize, Master Brabeuo.”

“No apology is necessary,” replied Master Brabeuo, who was nevertheless regarding him warily. “And has Master Qui-Gon spoken to you?”

At the mention of his Master’s name, so close to his own denial of being in love, Obi-Wan felt his face grow hotter, flushed almost to the roots of his hair.

“My Master? About what?” he blurted awkwardly.

“About your sparring,” Master Brabeuo said, with emphasis. “Master Qui-Gon and I have discussed your supervision in the sparring room—it will be far more extensive, considering what an exceptionally hard worker you are.”

“Yes, yes, he did, Master Brabeuo,” Obi-Wan said quickly.

“We do not want to dampen your enthusiasm, but we want to keep you from going to extremes and possibly injuring yourself.”

“Yes, Master Brabeuo,” Obi-Wan agreed.

Master Brabeuo nodded. “I am glad we are all in agreement on this matter.” Then ,looking intently at Obi-Wan, he asked, after a moment, “Padawan Kenobi, are you having any other…issues?”

“No, Master Brabeuo, not at all,” Obi-Wan said, but refusing to look back at the Jedi Master. He felt as if he could not catch his breath. I am not in love. Inwardly Obi-Wan had cringed at the lie. Certainly Master Brabeuo could see right through him.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long moment, Master Brabeuo finally said, “I will be seeing you in the sparring room, then, Padawan Kenobi. Good day.”

“Good day,” Obi-Wan had said gratefully, rushing off to his next class.

The other Padawans. Even my friends. For with them, Obi-Wan had become sharp, irritable, and close to unapproachable. He had found it impossible to go to most of the social events that he was invited to, unable to pretend he was cheerful and talk about meaningless inanities, all the while the pain cutting him down to the bone. When one of his friends would refuse to take no for an answer, and insist he attend some party, he would be quiet, distracted, either studiously avoiding talking about his Master, or finding excuses to talk about Qui-Gon as much as possible. He would then, as early as he could, courteously make his leave, to go back to studying in the Jedi Library, or the relentless punishment of the sparring room.

When one of his friends attempted to ask him what was wrong, Obi-Wan would act profoundly puzzled at the question, asking in turn what could possibly make his friend think anything was wrong, shutting out any further inquiry with a cheerful smile that never reached his eyes.

He had been able to deflect most questions this way, until he had been at a tedious party only a week before, staring moodily out the window with an untasted drink in his hand, when he had seen the ghost of Bant’s reflection before him in the glass.

“Hello Obi-Wan,” she said.

“Hello, Bant,” he replied, managing a smile. “How are you?”

“I am fine,” she said, “And how are you?”

“Fine.”

“Are you really?” she asked suddenly.

At the question, he turned to face her. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, more irritably than he intended, so he quickly amended, “That is, what are you talking about?”

“You tell me,” she said quietly.

“I am fine, Bant,” he said, too ashamed to meet her eyes directly with the lie. When she did not reply, observing him in utter silence, he became uncomfortable, and added defensively, “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“I—I don’t know!” she burst out. “But I doknow something is wrong. You are so quiet these days….”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” she demanded.

Realizing that he was caught, he could only reply lamely, “Things. But there is nothing wrong with thinking, is there?”

“No, not with thinking, not if you can share it with someone. But now you are so alone all the time, you never talk with anyone …”

“I am talking with you now.”

“No, not really. And you never want to spend time with any of your friends, unless you are sparring with them….”

“I am here tonight,” he said with a sigh.

“But you don’t want to be here. I think you would rather be in the library, alone, studying again…”

“I am trying to do well in my studies,” he said tiredly, but it sounded false even to his own ears. “Really, Bant, it is nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” she answered, not angrily, but almost as if she were trying not to weep, if the Mon Calamari could cry.

Obi-Wan knew he should have denied everything, but she looked so small and vulnerable that he choked on the lie. Stalling for time, he took a sip from his drink, but, answering the question in her hurt yellow eyes, he said finally, “I have just been through a lot lately….”

“On Pyades,” she finished for him.

“Yes—on Pyades,” he said quickly, trying not to stumble over the name. “But I will be fine. Really I really will,” he said, managing a smile, “Don’t worry.”

She surprised him with a fierce hug. “You had better be fine, Obi.” Then she said, into his shoulder, her voice muffled, “I am sorry.”

“Sorry—for what?” he asked, confused at the sudden apology.

“For being so insensitive. You came close to dying, and here I am, asking stupid questions about why you have things on your mind…forgive me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling profoundly guilty at not correcting her assumption. He patted her shoulder, awkwardly, with his hand, knowing himself to be the falsest of friends.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice rough because he was struggling with his emotions, “Don’t worry about it.”

Had Bant believed his clumsy denials? Or had she somehow come to suspect that something had occurred on Pyades that was a matter for the Jedi Council?

It could have been anyone, Obi-Wan thought miserably. His Master, possibly accused, cast in the role of a vile betrayer, a seducer of his innocent Padawan. At this thought, Obi-Wan clenched his hands so tightly that his nails bit into his palms.

My weakness has betrayed him. At this thought, the pain in his body was so tremendous he felt unable to catch his breath, as if he were pinned with a knife. Instead of protecting him by controlling my emotions, I have been clumsy and obvious in my pain. I have brought disapproval down on myself with my extreme behaviors, bringing attention to me, and to him.

He was in agony for the next quarter hour. He found it hard to concentrate on what the other Padawans were saying, struggling to make appropriate replies, until enough time had passed that he could make his excuses and leave without arousing suspicion.

He walked casually to the door, but once it had closed behind him he hurried away, walking as fast as he possibly could without breaking into a run towards the Council room. He thought desperately, over and over, I will tell the Council it was all my idea. There was no seduction. I will make them understand this. I will make them hear me. I must make them hear me ...

At this thought, he no longer cared about appearances, and ran down the hallway. He ran to the Council room, and stood outside the closed door, his heart pounding from anxiety, his forehead running with sweat. After a few moments, he realized that he was being utterly irrational—What was he doing, standing outside the Jedi Council room, frantically awaiting word ? Did he want to accuse his Master outright? At this horrifying thought, he hurried away.

Back at their rooms, he paced the floor, unable to control his racing thoughts, unable to do anything but pace, his emotions raging.

It is my fault. That night on Pyades, he did try to refuse me. Remembering the gentle but firm way Qui-Gon had spoken of keeping to the Code, even unto death, Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, in pain. If he had only listenedto his Master, accepting the refusal, instead of pleading for his Master’s love, Qui-Gon would be safe now, perhaps just now returning home to his Padawan to share their dinner, instead of standing alone before the Council, accused.

I did not think of him enough. I was selfish, needing too much; wanting too much…

He remembered his irritation with his Master that morning, the insolent jerk of his chin when his Master had reminded him to be moderate in his sparring. Obi-Wan had been annoyed at his Master’s reminder, for the cruel abuse of his own body had become one of the few things that could numb his tormented emotions. But how unkind, how disrespectful, he had been, on what could be their last morning together!

Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles going white with the strain. He wanted to pound his fist into the wall, but it was no use, no physical pain could touch what he was feeling now.

Master, I have done you many wrongs. Forgive me.

“Please,” Obi-Wan whispered, to the empty room, sinking his face into his hands.

Hours later, the door opened, and Qui-Gon entered, his expression deeply fatigued. Obi-Wan, who had continued to pace restlessly the entire time, was so overjoyed to see him that he almost lost all composure. He took a few steps towards his Master but quickly checked himself, for he would have thrown his arms around Qui-Gon otherwise..

“You heard, didn’t you?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon sighed. Pulling off his cloak, he wearily sank into a chair. He looked up at his Padawan. “Did you think they were accusing me?”

Obi-Wan thought he should attempt to dissemble, to reassure his Master, but he was so overwrought emotionally it was beyond him, so he said only, “Yes.”

“As you can see, it wasn’t me,” Qui-Gon said flatly.

“Who was it?” asked Obi-Wan.

“Master Stragos Ysi.”

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. “But—but he is one of the most highly regarded Masters in the Order.”

“Was.”

Obi-Wan paused, but asked, after a moment. “And were the accusations…true?”

“I believe they were. He refused to answer the charges—perhaps to shield his Padawan—but there was more than enough evidence against him. Apparently his accuser –a fellow Jedi Master—had become suspicious of their behavior towards each other, and had contrived to come upon them practically in the act itself. The Council had no choice.”

Obi-Wan frowned, puzzled, “If his guilt was so apparent, why did the meeting take hours?”

Qui-Gon smiled sardonically. “I imagine that the meeting would have been concluded much sooner, if I had not spoken up in his defense.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, open-mouthed, for a moment, before blurting, “You didn’t!”

“I did. Do you think so little of me, that you believe I would remain silent?”

“No—of course not. But was that—wise?”

“Probably not,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“What did you say?”

“I did not defend his actions,” answered Qui-Gon, looking at Obi-Wan significantly. “They are indefensible. But I asked if the Council could not find some mercy for him, especially considering his Padawan, Inanna, is not a child.”

“You mean, they were in love,” Obi-Wan volunteered, suddenly shy; he could not meet his Master’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon added, but his voice was crisp, unforgiving. “But the motivation—at least for the Master—makes absolutely no difference. He was solely responsible for everything that happened, and utterly wrong, no matter what he felt or thought he felt. But I conceded that it was at least not the monstrous evil of violating a little girl.”

Obi-Wan nodded, disappointed, despite himself, at his Master’s response. “So your defense helped him, then? The Council will consider reform?”

“Not at all, and absolutely not,” Qui-Gon replied, “He is to be expelled from the Jedi Order, and barred from the Jedi Temple, forever.”

“And—Inanna?”

“Banned from advanced duties. She will be reeducated, and then gradually assigned to another Master, with close supervision by the Council.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Qui-Gon paused. “Obi-Wan, you must promise me something.”

“Anything, Master.”

“If you are ever questioned about…what happened, you must tell the entire truth.”

Obi-Wan was shocked into complete silence for a moment, staring back at his Master. Not only by this request, but by his Master explicitly referring to something that they had both strenuously avoided discussing—that night on Pyades.

“I cannot!” burst out Obi-Wan. “You cannot ask me that!”

Qui-Gon smiled. “You just said that you would promise me anything.”

“Not anything that would hurt you!” exclaimed Obi-Wan defiantly, eyes blazing. “I will not do it.”

At this protest, Qui-Gon became, uncharacteristically, irate. “You are not to lie on my account, for any reason!” he insisted, angrily. He slammed his large hand down on the table in front of him, making Obi-Wan flinch.

Seeing Obi-Wan’s reaction, Qui-Gon suddenly realized how harsh and angry he sounded, so he immediately became apologetic. “I am sorry, Padawan,” he said gently. “It is just that I cannot bear hurting you. For don’t you see, Obi-Wan, that I have already harmed you—corrupted you—enough? Should I turn you into a liar, as well?”

“So you would ask me to consign you to exile, instead,” Obi-Wan said bitterly.

“Yes.”

“I won’t do it,” Obi-Wan insisted vehemently, “You say you cannot bear hurting me, do you think it is any easier for me to hurt you? I would never let anything bad happen to you!”

Qui-Gon smiled very tenderly, and then said softly, “I know. But it is not the place of the Padawan to protect the Master.”

“I will not betray you.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “It is not that simple.”

“It is.”

“No, Padawan, you are wrong. It is not a betrayal. I would rather suffer any consequences of what I have done wrong, than hurt you any further. I will not have that on my conscience, as well. If you are ever questioned, you must tell the entire truth.”

Obi-Wan began to protest, but Qui-Gon cut him off sternly. “May I remind you, you are bound to absolute obedience. So do not lie to protect me. Ever. Have I made myself understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

Qui-Gon looked at him, sharply. “That is not good enough. You must promise me.”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, Obi-Wan’s eyes rebellious, Qui-Gon’s unyielding.

Obi-Wan was the first to look away. “I promise,” spat Obi-Wan.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said tiredly. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest a little before making the evening meal. It has been a long day.”

“I can make dinner,” Obi-Wan volunteered, “It won’t be as good as yours—but it will be edible.”

“I am sure it will be absolutely delicious.”

“Rest. I will call you when it is done.”

Qui-Gon nodded gratefully, and then slowly headed to the sleeping room.

As Obi-Wan began to cut up the vegetables for the broth, his emotions were still in a tumult. He was so distracted that he was uncharacteristically clumsy, and cut his own finger deeply with the sharp knife he held in the other hand.

“Frak!” he cursed. Cursing was also uncommon for him, and he quickly looked to the closed door of the sleeping chamber, embarrassed, hoping that his Master had not heard him. He then stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting the coppery tang of blood.

He still could not believe what had happened today. He did not know Master Stragos Ysi well but he was renowned by reputation, respected in the Jedi Order, a distinguished Master who was renowned for his extensive scholarship and teaching ability. It was very strange to think that he was the one accused of an abomination of such passion, for Master Stragos seemed very cold and reserved. And Master Stragos’s Padawan, Inanna, who Obi-Wan knew only slightly better, was also an unlikely participant in such an apechthema, for she appeared largely colorless in both her appearance and personality. She was quiet in most of her classes, so shy and timid she rarely volunteered an answer, and her looks were not displeasing, but were so bland as to barely make an impression, wispy hair sandy fair, nose a characterless snub, her pale blue eyes seeming lashless.

Had the two of them been lovers? At this strange thought, Obi-Wan felt the slightest tinge of…relief Although horrified about the consequences of this apechthema for both of them, Obi-Wan could not help but feel liberated in realizing he was not utterly and completely alone, as he had always thought. He had become used to considering himself apart from the rest of the Jedi Order, as if he were an exile on a strange planet, his feelings and desires not only forbidden, but an abomination, unintelligible and repulsive to those around him. But Inanna would have understood him, for she struggled with the same feelings, the same desires. He was not the only Padawan who had ever felt such things, done such things….

But at the same time, he felt—fear. Not for himself, but for his Master. Before this, Obi-Wan had of course known that relations between Master and Padawan were apechthema, but Obi-Wan had never even heard of someone so much as being suspected of it. Of course, some of the ancient Jedi texts described the severe punishments meted out to those found guilty of this abomination, but such things had seemed to Obi-Wan mere ancient history, so long ago as to be faintly unreal. And because he had never observed someone being accused of it, Obi-Wan had somehow convinced himself that his Master could never be punished for what had happened between them.

I was wrong. Distracted by this unsettling thought, Obi-Wan burned his right hand reaching for the handle of a pot cooking on the stove without a cloth; he made a violent noise of disgust and almost dropped the pot on the floor.

He shook his head at his own clumsiness. Qui-Gon makes it look easy.

When Obi-Wan finally finished preparing the meal, he set the table. Hesitating a moment, he picked some flowering blooms off the muryx plant in the common room, and placed them in a vase filled with water in the center of the table.

Qui-Gon’s voice came suddenly from behind him. “It looks beautiful.”

Obi-Wan turned to smile at his Master. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Qui-Gon admitted. He reached out and very gently touched one of the purple-blue petals of the muryx flower with the tips of his fingers.

Something about that gentle caress hurt Obi-Wan almost physically, and he was forced to look away. Gesturing at his Master's chair, Obi-Wan asked, “Why don’t you sit down? I was about to get you anyway, as the food is ready.”

“Do you need any help?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Not at all.” After Qui-Gon had sat down, Obi-Wan went back and forth from the kitchen, bringing out hearty soup and bread, along with some lightly grilled vegetables.

As Obi-Wan placed a full plate of food in front of his Master, Qui-Gon noticed the bandage that Obi-Wan had tied tightly around the index finger of his left hand, now soaking through with blood.

At the sight of the wound, Qui-Gon’s face became very stern. “Is that from sparring?” he demanded harshly.

Obi-Wan grinned. “No, cooking. Or to be precise, chopping.” Lifting up his right hand, he opened his fingers, revealing a raw pink area of his palm. “I burned myself, too.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, in mock disgust, but he was smiling. “Am I supposed to be relieved?” He made a sudden motion to take Obi-Wan’s wounded hand between his own, but after an awkward hesitation, Qui-Gon placed his hands deliberately back on the table, and then went on quickly, “But I have healing ointment; make sure you rub some on your hands before you sleep tonight.”

Obi-Wan noted the careful way his Master indicated that he was not going to touch Obi-Wan by tending to his Padawan’s wounds. Obi-Wan, remembering the last time his Master had cared for his scrapes and cuts—the touch of Qui-Gon’s hands on his chest, his own extreme, almost painful, reaction—did not t meet his Master’s eyes, only nodded, and said, “I will be sure to, Master. Thank you.”

As they ate the evening meal, they did not make a great deal of conversation, for it would have been a strain to discuss anything other than the exile of Master Stragos, and it was obvious Qui-Gon was weary and did not wish to pursue that topic. Qui-Gon seemed to be trying to eat as much as he normally did, to praise his Padawan’s cooking, but it was apparent he was too upset to have his normal appetite. Obi-Wan, watching his Master, merely picked at his food, rearranging it on his plate.

“Thank you. It was delicious,” Qui-Gon complimented, finally pushing away from the table. “I will do the dishes, as you did all the cooking.”

“I’ll help,” offered Obi-Wan, picking up his dishes.

“But your hands are hurt,” gently protested Qui-Gon.

“It is nothing,” replied Obi-Wan, and at Qui-Gon’s dubious look, he added, insistently, “Truly. Let me help you.”

“If it hurts you…”admonished Qui-Gon, but he was giving in.

“It won’t,” reassured Obi-Wan, carrying a stack of dishes into the kitchen.

As they cleaned up, they completed their tasks in silence, as always a perfect working team, Qui-Gon washing, Obi-Wan drying, and replacing the dishes, side by side, on the shelves.

When everything was put away, Qui-Gon leaned wearily against the counter for a moment, so alone and so tired that it struck Obi-Wan painfully to the heart. Behind his Master’s back, Obi-Wan lifted his hand, to gently touch his Master’s shoulder in consolation, but he suddenly remembered that Qui-Gon probably did not want his touch. Obi-Wan let his hand fall helplessly to his side.

“If you don’t mind,” Qui-Gon said tiredly, not turning around, “I think I will turn in early tonight, unless you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything, thank you for asking,” Obi-Wan said. He had quickly grabbed a towel and was drying off the counter.

“I will leave the healing lotion out for you in the ‘fresher. Make sure you use it.”

“I will, thank you, Master. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan, was in no rush to join his Master in the sleeping room, so he took his time to carefully straighten up the kitchen. His left index finger was now slightly swollen and throbbing, and the palm of his right hand had started to weep.

Obi-Wan, like most Jedi, was largely unmoved by pain, but he grimaced to himself, imagining his Master’s reaction, should his hands become infected through any neglect on his own part. He hurried into the ‘fresher, picking up the lotion on the counter that Qui-Gon had considerately left out for him, and began to rub the soothing lotion into his wounds

As he massaged the lotion into his hands, Obi-Wan was desolate, feeling abandoned by his Master, despite the wisdom of Qui-Gon not assisting him him. Qui-Gon had always been the one to take care of him, tending to his Padawan’s cuts and scrapes, and muscles strained and aching from training. It had been a standing joke between them that Qui-Gon had missed his calling as a Healer, for his strong hands had been efficient but extremely gentle as he had rubbed salve, bandaged wounds, and massaged strained muscles. And although Qui-Gon had always answered the jest with a modest demur that his skills were actually quite limited, he had also always smiled at the compliment.

Even after everything that had happened on Pyades, Qui-Gon had still tried to tend to him. Qui-Gon had cared for him that night when Obi-Wan had returned from sparring black and blue from beatings, and his ribs close to broken. Obi-Wan remembered the touch, and his own reaction, his body shivering, not from cold, but from desperate desire. He remembered, too, his Master’s quick pulling away, his attempt to smooth over the uncomfortable moment with a kind word.

His Master must have seen, by Obi-Wan’s violent reaction, that even the most innocent of touches had now become dangerous.

His Master would never touch him again.

Obi-Wan blinked, hard, against a suggestion of wetness in his eyes, irritated by his own self-pity. His Master’s decision was wise. Who was he to question it?

And dwelling on it changes nothing, Obi-Wan insisted to himself angrily. But he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut a few more times to clear his vision.

Obi-Wan did not turn up the light in the sleeping room, since his Master was sleeping, but quietly slid into his sleep-couch, and, exhausted from the day, fell deeply asleep despite the pain in his hands.

Part II

It was a few hours later when he suddenly awoke. Obi-Wan was not altogether sure why he was roused from sleep; he had a vague recollection of a disturbing dream of some kind. Although he could remember nothing of it, he still had an irrational feeling of dread.

He sat up in the darkness. In the shadows he could see his Master’s sleep-couch was empty.

He did not know what he should do. Perhaps he should leave his Master alone. Perhaps his Master was deep in meditation, or was seeking privacy in the hours of the night.

But maybe he needs me….Obi-Wan thought. Hurrying to his feet, he strode into the common room.

Qui-Gon was there, in a posture of deepest meditation, up on bent knees, and despite his uncomfortable position, he was utterly still. His eyes were closed, and his head was bent, his dark hair, free from its usual tie, flowed in soft waves almost covering his face. The shade of a single window was open, and although the room was dark, Obi-Wan could see his Master silhouetted by the distant lights of the city.

Obi-Wan knelt beside his Master. Qui-Gon’s long hair had fallen back over his face, and Obi-Wan reached out a hand, to push back its softness, but he then thought better of it.

After a moment, Obi-Wan spoke. “Master,” he whispered. Qui-Gon, deep in meditation, seemed not to hear him, for he made no sign.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Qui-Gon. Master,” Obi-Wan said, a little more insistently.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Seeing Obi-Wan he smiled, but his expression was of profound melancholy. “Obi-Wan. You should be sleeping, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon admonished gently.

“I could say the same to you,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Old Masters don’t have the same habits as younglings,” Qui-Gon said lightly.

“I am not a youngling,” corrected Obi-Wan, stung.

“Young Padawan, then,” agreed Qui-Gon, not taking offense. “In any case, you need your rest.”

Ignoring the gentle command, Obi-Wan asked suddenly, “Master. Are you—all right?”

“Don’t worry about me, Padawan,” replied Qui-Gon, “All will be well.”

This answer did not comfort Obi-Wan, but instead made him frustrated, for Qui-Gon, in his attempt to shield his Padawan, was also shutting him out.

“Don’t protect me,” Obi-Wan snapped.

“It is the Master's place to protect the Padawan,” said Qui-Gon, not answering the accusation.

“I don’t need you to protect me. I am no longer a boy,” Obi-Wan insisted. “Let me help you, Master.”

“There is nothing you can do, Padawan. There is nothing anyone can do,” Qui-Gon said gently.

“Let me try, please,” Obi-Wan pleaded, “Master. Please. Tell me.”

Qui-Gon sighed, a deep sound of grief, closing his eyes again. After a moment, he spoke. His voice was soft, but full of bitter self-recrimination. “Do you think I can rest easily tonight, when a fellow Master will be kicked out of the Jedi Order, for something I have also done?”

Obi-Wan started, shocked, before blurting, awkwardly, “But it's not as if we—not all the time—we were going to die—it is not the same!”

“Isn’t it?” Qui-Gon smiled bitterly. “My punishment should be the same.”

There was something very heavy and ominous in that last statement that made Obi-Wan frightened. “Punishment?” Obi-Wan echoed, almost whispering in his fear.]

Qui-Gon paused for an almost imperceptible moment ,before saying deliberately, “Tomorrow, I will go to the Jedi Council and confess everything.”

Obi-Wan stared at him in stunned silence, heart pounding, for a moment, before protesting, “You cannot—“

“I will explain it sufficiently to the Council that no blame falls upon you.”

“I don’t care about that!” Obi-Wan burst out, “You have gone completely insane! You have spent your entire life being good and honorable, and now, for one mistake, one mistake—you would destroy yourself?”

“What happens to me is for the Council to decide,” Qui-Gon said firmly.

“I will deny everything!” Obi-Wan snapped.

“No, you will not,” ordered Qui-Gon sternly.

“Yes, I will—“

“You will not,” Qui-Gon repeated, resolutely. “You will deny nothing because of the promise that you made to me tonight. You will tell the truth about what happened.”

At this, Obi-Wan became so angry he was forced into silence for a second; there was a tremor in his body of barely contained fury at his Master, “I did not make that promise to help you destroy yourself!” he snapped vehemently, blue eyes flashing.

“And I did not have you make that promise tonight with a plan in mind,” Qui-Gon said, answering his Padawan’s betrayed look. “Thinking of what happened with Master Stragos, I only wanted to ensure that you would never hurt yourself trying to protect me, should you ever be questioned. But now, tonight, when I realized what I must do…I understood that the Force had led me to insist on that promise for a greater reason.”

“To make me destroy you, you mean,” Obi-Wan said, bitterly, then exploded, “You cannot expect me to keep that promise!”

“You are not to lie to protect me, for any reason,” Qui-Gon responded obstinately, “When the Council questions you, you will tell them everything.”

Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet. He did not know what to do, he was angry and in agony all at once, tears coming to his eyes, not of grief, but of rage, in so much pain that all Jedi control was utterly lost to him; he made to run from the room.

Obi-Wan had gotten as far as the doorway, when a sudden idea struck him. Completely transfixed by this new thought, he stopped in the doorway, as if frozen, his heart beating hard with his own audacity.

After a long moment, Obi-Wan turned back to his Master, and said quietly, “You win, Master. Just as I promised, I will tell them the truth.”

Qui-Gon let out a breath. “Thank you—“

“I will tell them the truth,” Obi-Wan said harshly, “But I will tell them the entire truth. Tomorrow, right after you confess to the Council, I will suddenly have an attack of conscience, and make a confession of my own.”

Qui-Gon frowned, puzzled, “But Obi-Wan, you have nothing to confess. You are innocent—“

Obi-Wan smiled. “Perhaps” he mused aloud, “But it is, after all, your word against mine.”

At the smile, and the change of tone, Qui-Gon 's expression was of dawning incredulity, as he began to realize the possible implication of Obi-Wan’s statement. “What does that mean?” he demanded.

“It means—I think the Council would believe me when I confess to them just how promiscuous and utterly debauched I am.”

“Now it is you who are insane,” snapped Qui-Gon, “You were a virgin. You hadn’t even been kissed—“

“But theydon’t know that,” answered Obi-Wan, still smiling. “Tomorrow, after you confess to the Council, I will break down and confess to them that I have been blatantly and repeatedly violating the Jedi Code for years, with a veritable multitude of sexual partners.”

“And you would call this the truth?”

“Close enough,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging, “I will explain to them that my indiscriminate and shameless promiscuity had utterly corrupted me. I had become so depraved that I did not hesitate to try to seduce my own Master. Knowing that you would not willingly accede to such an apechthema, after getting you alone, I first plied you with copious amounts of alcohol—“

“Obi-Wan—“ said Qui-Gon, warningly.

“Let me finish, please,” Obi-Wan went on, cutting Qui-Gon off. “Of course, you hadn’t meant to drink so much, but I kept refilling your glass, and acting profoundly hurt if you did not want to drink to my repeated toasts. Then, after you had become very intoxicated, I attempted to seduce you, without much success at first. I became insistent, and when you resisted, I became extremely aggressive.”

Qui-Gon got to his feet, his expression one of disgust. “I can’t listen to any more of this nonsense!”

Obi-Wan went on, insistently, as if Qui-Gon had not spoken. “Even though you could have protected yourself by physically injuring me, your concern for me would not allow you to do so, despite the fact that I had just revealed my true nature. And, like I said, you werevery drunk, so in the end, I took from you what you would not give to me, forcibly taking your virginity— “

At this last part, completely revolted, Qui-Gon blurted, “Obi-Wan, no one would ever believe that of you!”

“We’ll see,” Obi-Wan said evenly.

“No, we won’t,” Qui-Gon corrected him, harshly. “And your attempt to make me seem an innocent is not only sickening, it is obviously untrue. The Council knows that I have already failed in this regard— “

Obi-Wan, without missing a beat, changed his story without the slightest hesitation, “Then, I (will say, despite those previous failings that the Council already knows about, you had since led a life of complete reform and perfect chastity. I had viewed your purity as a challenge and was utterly determined to corrupt you, obsessed with the idea of being the first man to have you.”

“You weren’t—“

“You don’t need to remind me,” Obi-Wan cut him off, tightly, “I know. But the Council doesn’t know everything about you.” He continued on, “And, in any case, my practiced seduction—or coercion—worked, and I managed to possess you, even if it was against your will.”

“Enough!” shouted Qui-Gon, angrily, slamming his fist into his other hand. “There will be no more of this! Did you not promise me to tell the truth?”

“I promised that I will not deny what happened,” Obi-Wan said serenely. But then he smiled mischievously, “But I never promised I would not make any, shall we say…additions.”

“What a sophist you have become!” snapped Qui-Gon. “If you even think I would ever allow you to take the blame for me like that…I will deny everything you say.”

“It’s your word against mine,” Obi-Wan repeated defiantly.

“But you are lying. Within five minutes, I will be able to prove to the Council that you are lying.”

“Good luck,” Obi-Wan said sarcastically.

“When I question your story in front of the Council, since you are so promiscuous, I am sure you will have absolutely no problem whatsoever reciting the long list of names of all your previous sexual partners,” Qui-Gon replied triumphantly. “I doubt your creativity will extend that far—that is, unless you don’t mind implicating innocent people.”

“You are right. I won’t be able to provide to the Council any names,” agreed Obi-Wan.

“Exactly.”

“They were always strangers I picked up,” Obi-Wan replied glibly. “And I usually didn’t ask them their names.” At Qui-Gon’s completely shocked expression, Obi-Wan grinned, and added, “Well, if I am going to look bad, there is no sense in doing it halfway. I might as well look as bad as possible.”

“This is absolutely crazy!” exploded Qui-Gon. He turned away, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggled for some semblance of composure. He went on, bitterly, “Why would you do this, Obi-Wan? I know that this is some insane idea of yours to protect me, but believe me, it will make absolutely no difference.”

“Let me try—“

Qui-Gon swung around to look at his Padawan, “It will make absolutely nodifference,” he repeated harshly. “Even if it had happened like you said, such apechthema is always the Master’s fault. You would blacken your own name, and worse still, lie to the Council, and I would still be exiled.”

“I am not letting you stand before the Council alone,” Obi-Wan said, firmly.

“To what purpose? Do you not understand what I am telling you?” Qui-Gon snapped, frustrated at Obi-Wan’s stubbornness. “I have just told you that all such apechthema is always the Master’s fault, without exception. There are no mitigating circumstances. Why would you wish to make yourself out to be without morals, no better than a rapist, for no reason at all?”

“I have a reason,” Obi-Wan replied. “I would want the Council to think I am beyond any chance of reform.”

“And why is that?” Qui-Gon demanded, exasperated.

Obi-Wan looked up, directly into his Master’s face. His eyes were the pure searing blue of a blowtorch.

“Because then I would be exiled with you.” he said softly.

At this simple and direct answer, Qui-Gon was struck speechless for an instant. When next he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse with emotion. He looked deep into his Padawan’s eyes, and said, with emphasis, “You doknow, don’t you, that I am utterly unworthy of such a sacrifice?”

“Not to me,” Obi-Wan replied fervently. Left unsaid between them was the words Obi-Wan longed desperately to say, that he loved his Master and would not be separated from him. Obi-Wan dared not say it, because since that night on Pyades they had both avoided discussing not only what had happened between them physically, but also the words they had said to each other.

Perhaps it was in his eyes, for Qui-Gon looked away uncomfortably, and said, severely, “I will not allow you to accompany me into exile. And there is to be no further discussion about you telling crazy stories to the Council. I will notallow it.”

“You will not let me defend you?” Obi-Wan demanded angrily.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “There is nothing to defend. What will happen is only what I deserve. And Obi-Wan, although you are very clever, you would still be dealing with great Masters of the Force. No matter how well-crafted your story, don’t you think that they can see right through you? They can see into your feelings, and into your heart.”

“Let them look into my heart,” Obi-Wan said, “There is enough there to have me banished a thousand times over.” Once again, there seemed to be hanging between them the words Obi-Wan longed to say, and he hesitated for a moment, but then deliberately pressed on, looking almost defiantly at Qui-Gon. “My feelings for you are also forbidden.”

At this, Qui-Gon caught his breath, closing his eyes at this declaration. He seemed at a loss to reply, but then said only, “No, they would not banish you.Not for yourfeelings. The Council is very wise, and they will not punish the innocent. Your heart is pure.”

Obi-Wan, picking up on what the emphasis implied, asked sharply, “Meaning yours is not?”

Qui-Gon sighed, “No. I am your Master, your teacher. I am supposed to protect you. And how did I protect you? That night on Pyades, instead of protecting you, I seduced you.”

“You did not seduce me,” Obi-Wan contradicted him fiercely. “I asked you.”

Qui-Gon shook his head wearily. His voice was full of self-loathing. “You were not asking me for sexual relations. You were asking for me to love you. You were an innocent, alone, and in pain, and instead of being your teacher, instructing you, directing your feelings towards their proper ends, I violated you. I was selfish, wanting your love, wanting—I can admit it now—your body. We were to die, but that was only an excuse. I was a dissolute old man, with a convenient conscience.”

At these words, Obi-Wan had to catch his breath, shocked and pained by this cruel distortion of what had happened between them that night on Pyades. He knew that Qui-Gon always tried to protect him, and so he would assume all responsibility about what occurred. But these words denied the profound significance of what had happened between them. He had yearned for his Master, even if he had been too innocent to fully understand what that meant, and what had happened between them had been no violation, for he had utterly given himself to Qui-Gon.

“No. That is not how it happened,” Obi-Wan contradicted him forcefully, “I wanted you.”

“How could you even know what you wanted?” Qui-Gon asked scathingly. “You were a virgin. You hadn’t even been kissed.”

“I had tried to kiss you!”

“You kissed me out of regard, confused affection,” dismissed Qui-Gon. “You had no idea where it could lead.”

“Will you ever stop thinking of me as a boy?” demanded an exasperated Obi-Wan.

“You didn’t even know how men had sexual relations!” retorted Qui-Gon. “But I certainly showed you!”

“I wanted you to show me,” snapped back Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon was about to make another sharp retort, but then he caught himself, and went on, wearily, “It doesn’t matter what you wanted—or what you thought you wanted. When you placed your hand on mine that night, whether you knew it or not, you entrusted your innocence to me. I should have protected your innocence, your virginity…instead of being so utterly unworthy of trust.”

He sighed. Looking deep into Obi-Wan’s eyes, he said deliberately, “I am sorry, Obi-Wan, although it changes nothing. I have betrayed you, and betrayed the trust the Jedi Order had in me. You must have another Master, one more worthy of you. It is only what you deserve.”

“No! I can have no Master but you!” pleaded Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon’s face softened for a moment, but then he seemed to steel himself, and replied severely, “You will see, in time, that this was the right decision. You will be far better off when I am exiled, if only to get you away from my influence.”

Obi-Wan’s body was trembling; he was afraid to speak lest he begin to weep. He had seen that unyielding expression on his Master’s face a few times before, usually when he was standing before the Council, and Obi-Wan recognized what it meant. His Master had that expression when he had made up his mind about some moral principle, which he was going to follow through on, no matter what the personal cost to himself.

Obi-Wan knew that his Master could be immutable when he had come to a decision which he believed to be right. If his Master was determined to confess to the Council to protect his Padawan, no fear of punishment or soft sentimentality could move him.

Looking up into his Master’s face, Obi-Wan desperately responded with the one plea that could possibly reach Qui-Gon.

“But you said –you said you would never leave me,” Obi-Wan said, his voice so low that it was barely above a whisper.

He had said it. The promise that Qui-Gon had made to him, that night, after they had made love.

They had been twined together, his Master’s long limbs thrown over his own, their weight not a burden, but security. Obi-Wan had been still a little shy about his nakedness, even after what had happened, but his Master’s body was so warm that Obi-Wan did not want to insist on a blanket. Besides, his Master’s long hair was already partially covering him, like a caress over his shoulders and face. He had buried his face in the softness, weeping, not from sadness, but from a joy so acute that it hurt him.

Obi-Wan had been worried that his Master would perhaps, at some point during the night, wish to retreat to the privacy of his own straw pallet to sleep. Perhaps his Master was not completely comfortable lying there with him? His own body felt intolerably cold to him, particularly when compared to his Master’s heat. Obi-Wan felt so vulnerable in his joy that this would have seemed an abandonment, so he had asked, shyly, not wishing to presume, “Will you stay with me until morning?”

His Master had kissed him on the forehead, close to his hair, and said, with infinite tenderness, “I will never leave you.”

Obi-Wan had held tightly to that promise, but he had sworn to himself that he would never directly lay claim to it, for he had never sought to lay such a heavy burden on his Master.

But now, in desperation, he had finally said it.

At these words, Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, in profound agony, the tendons in his neck standing out like whipcords.

“You said you would never leave me,” Obi-Wan repeated stubbornly.

“I know,” Qui-Gon said, in anguish.

“If you confess to the Council, you will be exiled. I will never see you again,” Obi-Wan went on resolutely, hating himself even as he said it.

Under the weight of these words, Qui-Gon sank back down to his knees on the floor, dropping his head in his hands.

“I cannot bear my guilt. Every time I remember how I wronged you, I hate myself,” Qui-Gon said, desolately. “But I cannot abandon you, either. I cannot hurt you further than I already have.”

Obi-Wan had never seen his Master in such pain, for his Master had always been so careful to conceal his own hurts, to protect his Padawan, but he was beyond all such dissembling now. Obi-Wan was struck to the heart with his Master’s pain, which hurt him more than even his own. He did not know what to do.

Falling to his knees, he pleaded, “Don’t leave me, Master. Please.“ And mindlessly he reached out for his Master, to take him in a comforting embrace.

But at the last instant, Qui-Gon, sensing this, automatically threw his arms up, almost as if Obi-Wan were about to strike him. “No!” he exclaimed, “do not touch me.”

At this reaction, Obi-Wan was unable to reply, struck dumb from his shock and his pain at this rejection; he immediately froze, his arms still held out to his Master for a moment, before dropping back down to his sides.

“I am sorry,” he blurted, “I didn’t mean—“

Qui-Gon looked up, and seeing Obi-Wan’s reaction, he sighed, very softly. “Obi-Wan,” he said, gently, “Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Master,” Obi-Wan managed, finally. He would not meet his Master’s eyes.

Qui-Gon ignored the denial. “Obi-Wan, could you please look at me?”

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, but he still did not entirely meet his Master’s eyes; in the manner of a chastised child, he looked down, as if afraid he would cry.

Qui-Gon went on, tenderly, “Your intentions are, as always, the most kind, and the most honorable. But you do understand, don’t you, that to touch me would be a very bad idea?”

“Because you don’t trust me,” Obi-Wan said bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut and pounding his thighs with clenched fists, “Because you don’t think I would be able to control myself.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a few long moments before finally saying quietly, “Obi-Wan, why do you assume that I am talking about you?

Obi-Wan opened his eyes Qui-Gon’s head was bent, his dark locks tumbling down about his shoulders, but he was was regarding his Padawan directly, without embarrassment, his expression was one of stoic and hopeless resignation.

At the question in Obi-Wan’s eyes, Qui-Gon then said deliberately, “I trust you, Padawan. I do not trust me.”

“What?” Obi-Wan stammered, bewildered.

Obi-Wan was stunned. Of all the responses that he could have possibly imagined his Master making, this simple confession was not one of them. With these words, Obi-Wan’s whole body tingled, the blood roaring in his ears like the sound of the sea.

He quickly looked down at the floor, his mind struggling with the strangeness of the idea. Could this possibly mean that his Master allowed himself to remember what they did together on Pyades? And more—did his Master yearn to do it againwith him? Obi-Wan blushed to the tips of his ears, painfully aware of the first stirrings of a shameless erection.

Obi-Wan was now completely conscious of how close he was to his Master, so close he could hear his Master’s breath, and could smell the scent of his hair. This idea of his Master not being fully in control of himself was completely foreign, but also violently arousing.

His Master had thrown up his arms to block his Padawan’s embrace, but he had also admitted he was vulnerable. If Obi-Wan tried to take Qui-Gon in his arms again, ignoring his Master’s protest, what would happen then?

Obi-Wan knew that it would be utterly dishonorable to push forward now, when his Master had confessed to weakness. There was, however, some starving part of him that yearned to do just that. To embrace his Master, but this time, to offer more than comfort.

He would crawl into his Master’s lap, and kiss him on the mouth.

Don’t worry about losing control, Obi-Wan would whisper. You can do whatever you want to me.

At this thought, Obi-Wan was ashamed of his thoughts, and pulled away, clumsily getting to his feet. He was disgusted with his own self-centeredness. At his Master’s confession, his mind had immediately twisted it around to his own desires. And how could he have forgotten the business of the Jedi Council today, the condemnation of Master Stragos Ysi? It could have been, just as easily, his own Master.

And it still could be, if he was not careful.

From a safe distance, Obi-Wan said wistfully, “I wish I could hold you.”

“It is my own fault why we can never do so again,” Qui-Gon said briskly, “So do not pity me.”

“It is not your fault,” Obi-Wan said, almost angrily. “If I hadn’t—if I hadn’t—“
he stammered. His eyes were about to fill with tears.

Qui-Gon cut him off. “No more of this, Padawan,” he commanded, sternly. “Nothing is your fault.”

“But I—“

Qui-Gon stood up, as if to better emphasize his words. “And that is final. I swear to you, on all holy and sacred things that you are blameless in what happened between us. As your Master, I am the one responsible.” He sighed. “This is why perhaps I should go to the Council and confess everything.” He then sighed again. “But sometimes what is right is not always so clear. If I confessed, it would unburden my conscience, but you would suffer more. How could I violate you, and then abandon you?”

At this statement, Obi-Wan let out a deep breath of profound relief, but before he could say anything, Qui-Gon said, harshly, “I will not go to the Council. However, what happened on Pyades can never happen again.”

“Yes, Master,” agreed Obi-Wan quickly, afraid his Master would still change his mind.

“Never again,” Qui-Gon emphasized. “We will go on, and do our best to forget—everything. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master,” affirmed Obi-Wan, but his voice trembled, “I understand.”

“If you don’t mind, Obi-Wan, I would like to be alone to finish my meditation,” Qui-Gon said briskly. He softened the statement by adding, “You should probably get some sleep anyway.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. He was too exhausted to argue more, so he turned to go back to his sleep couch.

But right before he left the room, looked back for a moment, to regard his Master, who had returned to his kneeling posture, to meditate again, nevertheless, Qui-Gon’s face was anything but serene. Seeing that expression, Obi-Wan turned back away, for there was nothing he could do.

Part III

Hurrying into the kitchen, Obi-Wan found his Master sipping a cup of sapir tea. Qui-Gon’s face was fatigued, but calmer. Obi-Wan could not tell if his Master had had a victory over his feelings, or was merely burnt out from exhaustion.

His Master made no reference to the night before, but said only, “Good morning, Padawan. There is still most of a pot of tea, if you would like some.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, pouring himself a cup.

“What did you want for the morning meal? I haven’t felt much like eating, so I didn’t make anything yet, but I can prepare whatever you would like.”

“Do not trouble yourself. I can just have some fruit,” Obi-Wan said, putting a ripe black Barabel fruit and a bitter-skined Jiqui on his plate before sitting down.

Qui-Gon sipped his tea in silence for a few moments, before asking, “Were you intending to go today?”

Obi-Wan did not need to ask what his Master was talking about.”Yes, I was. Weren’t you?”

“Master Stragos asked me not to. I managed a few moments with him after he had been condemned, to offer consolation, and he said he did not want his sole defender to watch his humiliation. For which I am glad, for if he had not, I would have felt obligated to go, and I have no taste for cruelty.”

Obi-Wan was surprised at the choice of words. “Cruelty? So you believe the Council’s decision to be unjust?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said carefully. He placed his teacup down. “Not unjust. But to take a Master who has spent his entire life as a Jedi, who knows no other life than that of a Jedi, and cast him out forever for a sin—a grievous sin, but one done, not out of malice, but of frailty…it is just. But it is also cruel.” Qui-Gon rubbed his temples with his fingers.

After he finished eating, Obi-Wan made to clear the table, but Qui-Gon indicated with a wave of his hand that it was not necessary. “I will take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. And Obi-Wan—“

“Yes, Master?”

“There is absolutely no excuse for Master Stragos’ behavior. None. Remember that.”

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan went quickly to the Main Hall of the Temple. He was walking so fast and his mind was so preoccupied that he ran into Master Asklepia.

“Excuse me, Master Asklepia,” he apologized.

“Hello Obi-Wan,” she greeted him, “you are not usually so clumsy. What’s the rush?”

“I hoped to—say goodbye to Master Stragos.”

“It is a sad day for the Jedi Order when a Master is expelled,” she said. “As you can see, I would prefer not to watch.” She indicated her bag of medical instruments. “I was going to see my patients.”

“And Master Asklepia—“

“Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“Do you know how Padawan Inanna is doing?”

“Not well, I fear. Which proves why such things are forbidden.”

“Will she be okay?”

“I think so. She is young. And she is not to be held responsible for her Master’s wrongdoing,” she said, giving him a stern look, “For her sake, I suggest you forget all you know, or all you think you know about what occurred.”

“Yes, Master Asklepia.”

“In any case, you are looking better, Obi-Wan. You don’t look like a carrion bird picked over your bones any more. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Master Asklepia.”

“Still totally against the bacta?”

His mind was so preoccupied that it took him a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. “Oh, you mean my scar,” he said.

“Yes,” she shrugged, “it’s of no concern of mine, but I imagine it must be hard to have on your body a reminder of what happened on Pyades.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly, not meeting her eyes. “Sometimes it is.”

“Well, let me know when you are willing. My patients are waiting, so I bid you good day,” Asklepia nodded her head, before striding off.

In the Main Hall, there were many Jedi, both Masters and Padawans, so many that the room was almost entirely full, but it was strangely quiet, for it seemed no one wanted to make conversation. Towards the front of the hall, near the sacred fire, most of the members of the Jedi Council stood, including Mace Windu, as well as Yoda, who seemed weary and bereft in his hover chair.

Obi-Wan’s friend, the tall black-haired Tarquinus, on seeing Obi-Wan, indicated with a motion of his hand that Obi-Wan should join the group of Padawans close to the door. As he stepped aside slightly to include Obi-Wan in the circle, he whispered, confidentially, to Obi-Wan, “Master Stragos isn’t here yet.”

But there was not long to wait, for within a few minutes the far door opened and in walked Master Stragos, completely unescorted and alone. The crowd of Jedi parted for him, as if afraid to come in contact with him.

He was no longer dressed in a Jedi Master’s robes, but in typical civilian clothes, which looked strange and uncomfortable on him. His dark hair, shot with grey at the temples, had also been severely shorn, cut close to his head. As he strode forward his face was cool, impassive, almost stern, as he ignored the murmur of voices around him, and disapproving stares. He must have heard the whispers of “disgusting” and “apechthema” but he did not react as he walked directly towards the Jedi Council.

But right before he would have gotten to the Council, an Ocsinin Master stepped in front of him, apparently unable to contain himself, his black pupil-less eyes shiny with outrage.

“You are a disgrace,” the Master hissed angrily.

Master Stragos flinched, as if he had been slapped, and for a moment Obi-Wan could see by his expression that Master Stragos was far from emotionless about the proceedings, but barely containing his reaction through force of will. Master Stragos did not answer this attack, but turned his face away, without making a reply.

Coming before the Jedi Council at last, he stood silently in front of them.

“Stragos—“ Mace Windu said, carefully not using the title of Master, “you have been found guilty of apechthema.”

At the word, there were more than a few intakes of breath, and sounds of revulsion. Master Stragos cringed slightly at the term, but otherwise did not respond.

“Do you have anything to say?”

“No,” Master Stragos said.

“You are henceforth banished from the Jedi Order. You are no longer one of us, and you are forbidden to set foot in the Jedi Temple ever again.” Mace Windu was handed a plain brown Jedi robe—apparently it was Master Stragos’—and in a sudden motion he tore it in two, casting the remnants in the sacred fire that burned before him.

“You are dead to us,” Mace Windu intoned.

At this statement, there was a commotion from the back of the crowd, and the sound of someone wailing.

“Stopher!” came a shout.

Inanna, Stragos’ young Padawan, had come running from the back of the crowd. She was disheveled, her fine fair hair flying about her red tear-stained face.

“No!” she cried desperately. She would have thrown herself into Stragos’ arms if not for a few restraining hands on her.

“Padawan Inanna, you are forbidden to be here,” Mace Windu said.

“You cannot banish him,” she pleaded, tears running down her face, “Please!”

“Please take her from the room,” Mace Windu said to the Jedi Healers who were tending to her, who had just caught up to her through the crowd.

“Master—“ she sobbed, “take me with you!”

“Padawan Inanna!” shouted Mace Windu.

As if Mace Windu had not spoken, Master Stragos answered Inanna softly, “Inanna, I could not do that to you. Your life is here. Here you must stay.”

“Don’t speak to her,” one of her keepers snapped at Stragos, “You have done enough harm already. You are never to speak to her again.”

“No! Please! Master!” Inanna was crying, in the open, abandoned way of a child.

Obi-Wan, looking at her, seeing all the love and desperation in her face, suddenly had no doubts. He knew absolutely that all the accusations were true. She had committed apechthemawith her own Master.

And he, alone among all the others in the room, truly understood her.

The Healers pulled her away, but the whole time Inanna was crying, “No, please, no! Please!” It seemed as if her legs could barely support her; if the Jedi tending her had not also held her by her arms, she would have collapsed to the floor.

As they pulled her out the door, she sobbed, “But I love him. I love him. Take me with you, Master!”

Obi-Wan, watching her be pulled away, thought to himself, If it was Qui-Gon who was banished, I would leave with him. No matter what.

A cohort of Temple Guards had now approached Stragos, to escort him outside the hall.

“Non-Jedi are not to be in this section of the Temple, Sir,” their leader said to Stragos, politely but firmly.

“I was a Jedi for over thirty years!” protested Stragos, in anguish.

“And non-Jedi are not to be in this section of the Temple, Sir,” responded their leader, again politely, but with a little more firmness. “If you will not leave willingly, we are instructed to escort you out. You may, however, visit the Visitor area open to the public.”

It seemed Master Stragos wished to protest again, but then seeing that so many Jedi eyes were still upon him, he tried to retain his dignity, and, squaring his shoulders, he walked slowly and deliberately to the door of the great hall, followed closely by the Temple Guards.

When he left, Mace Windu addressed the crowd of Jedi one final time, “So is it with all who would commit apechthema.” He indicated with his hand the remnants of the robe, now burning rapidly to black ash. “Master Stragos has died to us. Let us mourn him.”

With those baleful words, the Jedi Council filed out of the hall, followed slowly by the crowd of Jedi who, sobered by such a tragic display, seemed disinclined to talk among themselves above whispers.

Obi-Wan said a distracted goodbye to his friends, his eyes still transfixed on the remnants of the Jedi robe, now only black ashes, scattered by the slightest gust.

He thought of his Master’s words this morning.

Not unjust. But also cruel.

And then his own words that he had said to Qui-Gon, only the night before.

I would never do anything to hurt you.

In that moment, Obi-Wan knew what he had to do.

“You are perfect,” Master Asklepia said, smiling.

“Excuse me?” Obi-Wan blinked.

“I mean, your body is perfect. Your scar is now totally gone. The bacta treatment worked.”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan looked down at his abdomen. The white scar, which had curved along the lower part of its left side was completely gone, leaving fair skin, without a single blemish.

He was beautiful.

Getting off the table, he pulled back on his tunic and cloak.

Master Asklepia laid a hand on his arm. “And now that you are healed, you can put all this unpleasantness behind you. You can forget that Pyades ever happened.”

“I intend to,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. “And for that, you have my thanks. But you must excuse me.”

He bowed to her with impeccable civility, before walking out, the door closing abruptly behind him.