Master Apprentice
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Following
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Title: Following
Author: micehell (micehell at rodentinferno dot com)
Category: Q/O; implied OC/O; AU, drama
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con
Summary: It was on Salemar that he'd seen him again.
Feedback: As you will.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is a little effort and a lot of debt. Everything else belongs to not me.
~1~
It was on Salemar that he saw him again.
:::::then:::::
"But, Master, this is exactly what the Council warned us not to do." The we was slightly inaccurate, the Council's warning having been heavily directed at Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan liked to practice tact when he could.
Qui-Gon's demeanor was calm, but Obi-Wan could tell he was irritated. Long exposure had taught him to read the subtle layers of serene. "The Council isn't here, Padawan, and it is the duty of every knight to aid those in need, and that's what we're going to do."
Obi-Wan felt like pulling his braid out, like screaming and shouting and stamping his feet. No one could reduce him to wanting to act like a child, to feeling like a child, the way his master could. He did none of those things, of course, but the thought of it was like a small, warm glow in an otherwise dark mood.
Even knowing that he was going to lose any argument he made, he couldn't help but try to get Qui-Gon to see reason. "There are political ramifications to our actions here. If we rush ahead without considering that, we may do harm to any position the Senate might try to take later, which could just lead to more conflict down the road. What good does it do to save a few now if by doing so we set in motion actions that could kill many later?"
Qui-Gon's face had always fascinated Obi-Wan: the crooked nose, the arch and plane of brow and cheek, the blue of eye that shaded so dark, water at depth. But one thing he'd never appreciated in that face was the stubborn tilt to the jaw, which was poking out even further now, as Qui-Gon put on his best 'dealing with idiots' manner. "Obi-Wan, you are talking of potentials, things that only might come to pass. What we're dealing with here, this is blood that is most certainly going to be spilled. Should I sacrifice these lives for something that might never come to pass?"
"But the Council-"
"The Council isn't my conscience. The Council isn't what informs my decisions. The Force is, and it says - Move!"
Even when arguing with him, Obi-Wan knew when to obey without question. It saved his life, as a blaster bolt he hadn't felt coming blazed by him, missing him by the inches that separated him from where he'd stood only moments before.
Obi-Wan was drawing his lightsaber even as he was moving, its hum a match to Qui-Gon's blade, the sound fading and warping in and out as the blades flashed, a blur of speed and light, mixing with the staccato sizzle and flare of the blaster strikes.
The shots were coming from all around. All over the street there were people ducking for cover, people shouting, people dying or dead. Obi-Wan adjusted his blade, cursing under his breath at their presence, which meant that he was having to deflect the blasts high, away from the streets and the buildings surrounding them, to keep from hitting those people who were only trying to get away. It was an entirely defensive move, hardly likely to deter anyone firing at them, and Obi-Wan knew it was only a matter of time before things escalated.
He stood at Qui-Gon's back, a circle of defense, their argument of before forgotten, pointless, now that the battle had come to them. Obi-Wan only hoped that they could hold out until help came.
A woman with a small child held close in her arms was frantically looking for some place to hide. Panic was in her face as she darted out into the street, aiming for an alley on the other side. Obi-Wan didn't even need the Force to tell him what was coming, and he was moving to protect Qui-Gon even as Qui-Gon was moving to protect the woman.
Qui-Gon's large body nearly bowled her over, but the speed and force of it was enough to push them into the alley, all three of them scattering, momentarily out of harm's way. Qui-Gon was up in an instant, fluid in a way that his size would seem to negate, hardly any gap in his defense as turned back to the fight.
Hardly any gap, but just enough, and Obi-Wan could only throw himself at it, at that space filled with the sound of blasters firing and the Force screaming its warning.
Relief that he'd made it hit him moments before the pain. Qui-Gon's face, serenity shattered, was the last thing Obi-Wan saw before the darkness washed it away.
His last thought was that the Council was going to be disappointed.
:::::now:::::
He might have passed it off as mistaken identity, a bit of wistful thinking producing the image of someone he hadn't seen in years, except for one thing.
It didn't matter that he looked older, hair shorter and grayer than before, beard and mustache just a suggestion, a three-day shadow of stubble. It didn't matter that he was dressed like a smuggler, nothing of a Jedi in his drunken stagger, in the raucous song he was shouting more than singing. It didn't matter that nearly ten years had passed since he had last seen him, because not appearance, nor bad singing, nor time could make Obi-Wan forget what Qui-Gon looked like, sounded like, in the Force, and the training bond that had fallen silent long before Obi-Wan was ready for it to was telling him that his former master was right in front of him.
"Qui-Gon." It was barely a whisper, an exhalation that had escaped from Obi-Wan's control.
It might have as well have been a shout, stopping Qui-Gon in his tracks, the drunken steps abandoned in favor of sober regard. Dark eyes, once familiar, looked at Obi-Wan like a stranger, but Qui-Gon didn't try to deny his name. Instead, he inclined his head in a small bow, faintly mocking, faintly wary. "Obi-Wan. Or I should say Knight Kenobi now, shouldn't I?"
Obi-Wan's hand went to the empty space where his braid used to be, habit not quite broken even after three years. He started to say something when he realized he had no idea what is was, and just nodded instead.
Qui-Gon brought his hands together in front of him, and the only thing missing from the familiar gesture was his robe. It made Obi-Wan feel a little better that he wasn't the only one still falling into old habits, but only a little since Qui-Gon's voice was ice-cold when he asked, "Are you here to arrest me?"
Surprise made Obi-Wan stutter a little, his "N-no" rising up on the end like a question. And it should have been something Obi-Wan questioned, because it was a matter of duty after all. Obi-Wan had always been proud, careful, to do what duty demanded of him.
Qui-Gon raised a brow at him, as if he knew the confusion that Obi-Wan was feeling. And maybe he did. They'd been close. Once.
Obi-Wan didn't have a chance to figure out why, for the first time since his very reckless youth, he was going to ignore duty and not arrest a wanted fugitive, because the blare of a siren sounded behind them, loud voice calling out, "Hold it right there! You're under arrest."
They both turned to look, but Qui-Gon turned back while Obi-Wan was still assessing what was going on. Which is why Obi-Wan didn't see the hand that hit him on the jaw. He only saw the ground rushing up to meet him, and then he didn't see anything at all.
~2~
It was on Olrane that he'd seen him last.
:::::now:::::
The room was windowless, bare, with a floor that was almost completely covered in dirt due to an extended lack of care. Obi-Wan was thankful for it, as he was lying on the floor when he woke, and the dirt was softer than the stone underneath it. For all that it didn't have windows, the room held some light, sunlight creeping in through spider-web cracks in the framing, in the corners, a dimmer glow coming from all around. The walls were made of duratex, an ultra-thin material that was treated to resist the elements, but wouldn't hold up against a strong wind. Or a good punch, for that matter. It also burned like gelled gas, and only those so poor they had no choice lived in anything made from it.
Even though the light was dim, it was still stabbing into his eyes, and he could only wonder how he'd wound up in a shanty on what was obviously the poor side of… Obi-Wan's head hurt too much to worry about what city he was in, or on what planet either. He closed his eyes again, willing to risk burning to death in cheap lodging if he could just sleep until his head stopped pounding.
"You're awake."
That voice brought it all back. He was on Salemar. He'd seen Qui-Gon again, only to then have the bastard hit him and cause this headache. If it weren't beneath a Jedi to growl, Obi-Wan would have thanked Qui-Gon properly for that. Instead, he opened his eyes again, willing the pain into the Force. It had never been one of his greater talents, and it had been something that Qui-Gon had been working with him on, when… well, now wasn't the time to think about that.
When Obi-Wan had achieved some success with damping down the headache, he asked, "Where are we?"
"We're safe. Marginally."
No, still not the time to think about the past, but Obi-Wan had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something cutting. All these years and the man could still make him want to stamp his foot like a child. But, still, he was a picture of Jedi calm, without any trace of sarcasm showing, when he said, "That's how we are… marginally. The question was, where are we?"
Qui-Gon smiled, apparently amused by Obi-Wan's lack of sarcasm. "If I tell you we're in the Old Quarter behind Jasnor's stables, will that mean anything to you?"
It didn't mean anything to him, but Obi-Wan didn't want to admit it. He was already at a disadvantage here, and it wasn't just the headache by any means. Qui-Gon had been his master, and it didn't matter that he hadn't been for years, or that the man was a wanted criminal; Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling that Qui-Gon was someone he should obey. It was instinctive, down to the lingering traces of the bond that had waxed and waned in the years since they'd first met.
There was also the fact that Qui-Gon knew exactly what was going on, knew exactly what had happened on Olemar, and Obi-Wan didn't, or at least not fully. Even though he was a knight now, and had been for a few years, it still felt like he was running to catch up with the man, even when he was standing still.
Knowing that lying on the ground wasn't helping him to feel anymore equal to the enigma before him, Obi-Wan cautiously climbed to his feet. He brushed at the dirt that clung to his clothes, finally noticing that they weren't his robes. Between the now-fading headache and his discomfiture with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan wasn't exactly at his best. "Why did you change my clothes? And where are they now?"
Qui-Gon didn't skirt the question this time. "I changed your clothes because Jedi robes would not have been any protection for you on Salemar. I'm surprised the Council didn't warn you of that." There was a hint of old anger in his tone, but he didn't give Obi-Wan a chance to respond before he continued, "Rather they would have made you a target. And I'm sorry, but getting you here proved to be somewhat difficult, and I lost a couple of things along the way. I'm sure the Order will provide you with a new robe."
"Yes, the Order's good at replacing things I've lost." There was more than a hint of old anger in Obi-Wan's tone. He didn't know where it came from, as it was all so long ago. It would be a bad Jedi who didn't release such dark emotions into the Force, and Obi-Wan wasn't that way, following the code as closely as he could after making such a rocky start in his training. He always kept his emotions calm, under control.
And that was a lie. Oh, not all of it; he did mainly succeed in keeping a tight rein on himself, but it was never with ease, and it didn't mean that there weren't things that he hadn't truly dealt with lying underneath the smooth surface he presented. Even fifteen years later, he sometimes still dreamt about Bandomeer.
Dreamt about his first disaster with Qui-Gon, dreamt about the last one on Olrane. It was the hurt from that one, still held close even though he'd hidden it from himself, that prodded him to say, "If I would have been a target, it was all the more reason for you to have left me. It would have been a distraction, increasing your chance of escape. It's not like you haven't used that technique before."
It felt good to see Qui-Gon flinch, to see the pain he'd caused in his turn. Only fair, a dark little voice whispered to him.
Qui-Gon started toward him, little distance between them in such a confined space, but he stopped short, seeming lost. "Obi-Wan…"
Obi-Wan didn't want to hear, not right now. Reason was for later. "Ten years, Master." Emphasis on Master, colored with the betrayal he felt.
Whatever Qui-Gon would have replied to that, whatever explanation he would have offered was lost, as the Force set off warnings in both their heads. Someone was coming, and it wasn't with good intent.
Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber, searching the unfamiliar clothes for the familiar weight, but it wasn't there. He looked to Qui-Gon just in time to catch the blaster that he threw. "A blaster? Where's my blade?"
Qui-Gon almost looked sheepish, or as sheepish as a man wielding a very large blaster of his own could look. "I told you that I'd lost some things along the way. I was in something of a hurry, and you weren't exactly easy to move."
His reply to that would have to wait, as they both jumped to the side, avoiding the blaster fire that punched through one thin wall, exploding in a blaze of heat and light.
The walls flamed and melted, rivulets of fire spreading across the floor, stray bits of organic matter in the dirt sparking and firing in its path. The blaster fire continued, fuel to more flame, and though they avoided direct hits, they were drowning in a sea of heat that was cutting off their escape.
Holding their breath against the acrid smoke, closing their eyes to it, they could only rely on the Force to get them out, as they leapt out of the fire of their refuge and into the fire waiting outside.
:::::then:::::
There was a lyran tree up ahead, its enormous size made insignificant by the distance. Its deep green leaves were faded by the shimmer of heat that was washing over the plain, and it had an odd alignment of branches, poked out to either side, that reminded Obi-Wan of ears. The whole thing actually looked a bit like Yoda, and Obi-Wan held the image in his mind, made it his goal as he trudged each step closer to it. Qui-Gon had told him they had to keep going, that the rebels were too close behind, but Obi-Wan had promised himself, if he could just get to the Yoda-tree, he could rest for a while.
The tree was still impossibly far away when Obi-Wan shivered, hugging his arms tighter around his shaking body. Nothing could touch the cold inside; not the heat on the plain, not Qui-Gon's robe pulled close over his own, not the blaster burn firing his back. It was only stubbornness and the worried look in Qui-Gon's eyes whenever he came to check on Obi-Wan that kept him walking instead of curling up in a little ball and crying like an infant for its mother.
The tree was still impossibly far away when Obi-Wan fell, the pain in his knees momentarily overcoming the pain in his back. The pull of the hard-baked earth beneath him was strong, and he wanted to just sink down into it, but he kept his eyes on the Yoda-tree as he pulled away from gravity's embrace.
The tree was tantalizingly near; the giant roots of the lyran looking like hundreds of knobby knees. He thought of Yoda having hundreds of knees, and the image made him smile even as he wondered at how the tree had gotten so close. He must be losing track of time, running out of it. But it didn't really matter, because the tree was just there, and Obi-Wan had promised himself he could rest.
He was so intent on his goal that he didn't hear Qui-Gon come up beside him. He felt the hand on his shoulder, painfully near the burn that made up the center of Obi-Wan's world, but he couldn't stop, not when he was so close. He heard voices all around him, but he didn't know what they were saying, and didn't really care. The Yoda-tree was just ahead, the lyran so large that it blotted out the sky around it.
Obi-Wan was still about one hundred meters from the tree when Qui-Gon pulled him to a stop. He pushed at his master's hands, trying to get free. "Please, Master." If Obi-Wan had had the energy to care, he would have been embarrassed by how weak and pathetic he sounded, but he needed all he had just to stay on his feet, just to stay on his course, and Qui-Gon was still holding him back. "Just to the tree, and then I can rest. I know you said we shouldn't, but just for a minute."
The hands holding him back pulled him into a careful embrace. Qui-Gon's voice was soft, ragged, when he said, "It's okay, Obi-Wan. It's okay. You don't have to go any further. Just sit here and rest. Rest."
Obi-Wan sat, the command more than welcome. He looked up, and up, Qui-Gon like the lyran tree, blotting out the horizon. His face was troubled, but it kept graying out around the edges as Obi-Wan's sight came and went, and Obi-Wan was really too tired to ask what the matter was. The pull of the ground was getting stronger, and he lay on his side, trying to soak up its heat.
His was drifting, half-asleep, but he could still see Qui-Gon, growing smaller. Rubbing a heavy hand over his eyes, Obi-Wan wondered if it was his vision that shrinking. But the rest of the world held steady, only Qui-Gon getting further and further away.
Obi-Wan was shaking, the ice at the core of him coiling out along his nerves, a horrible suspicion working through his veins. He wanted to get up and follow his master, ignore his last words, but his arms wouldn't hold him up, his attempt to stand nothing more than a spasm of limbs. Even as he tried, Qui-Gon was fading, faded, gone, his presence in the Force sliding after him.
But Obi-Wan wasn't alone. He could feel others in the Force, many of them, approaching from back the way they'd come, and he knew what had happened, what was going to happen, before they got to him. He knew before they cursed his solitude, before they bound his hands and put him on a transport, the Yoda-tree growing smaller again as they stole back all of the distance he'd gained.
There were voices around him again, most of the conversation lost to Obi-Wan as the sound seemed to warp in and out, but the word rebels caught his attention. He almost laughed; it hadn't been that long ago that Qui-Gon had called them that. But Qui-Gon was gone, and Obi-Wan knew it was all a matter of perspective.
"… escaped. They're still… hard to find. They know these lands… only caught this one… he's almost dead."
"… question him… make sure it stays at almost."
"Yes…"
Obi-Wan let the voices blend back into buzzing, wordless sound. He told himself that he was happy that Qui-Gon and the others had escaped. He determinedly didn't think about what part he'd played in that, or what part he was going to be playing in the future. But then hands were pulling at his tunic, moving across his back, and the pain pushed everything else away. The world, the lyran tree tiny on the horizon, faded from his sight as darkness moved in.
~3~
It was on Salemar that he last chose his master.
:::::then:::::
After almost a week as their guest, Obi-Wan felt he could safely say that Yorian hospitality left something to be desired. He choked out a laugh at his joke, his voice still rough from earlier, the sound strangely muted in the small cell. He felt strangely muted in the cell, too, dimming around the edges. But Qui-Gon was coming, and Obi-Wan could hold on, just a little while longer.
His days were now full of a mix of terrifying, violent moments mixed into seeming eons of nothing but his own dark thoughts for company. The cell was tiny and dank, empty of anything save a cot, a bucket, and time that seemed to crawl by, until he almost could wish for the guards to come just to end the waiting. But then he'd hear a sound, a soft tread approaching, and he'd sink into himself, trying to draw the boredom around him like a cloak and shield. The door would open, knocking into him in the too small space, and the cloak and shield would fail to keep the boredom in, or keep the guards out.
Obi-Wan shook his head, shaking the hovering memories away. He tried to count the cracks in the walls again, desperate for distraction, but though memory supplied the number, his sight was graying too much to verify it. He knew he didn't have much time left to be bored now, days at most, one way or another. But even though part of him welcomed any end to the waiting, he pushed it down, determined to deny the encroaching darkness a little longer. Qui-Gon would come, and Obi-Wan would wait a little longer.
Long hours had given him plenty of time to decide that Qui-Gon had deliberately left him behind, a way to get him medical help, to keep him alive. The Yorians had only given Obi-Wan enough of that help to keep him from dying quickly, to keep him healthy enough to survive the interrogations for a while, but Qui-Gon had done what he'd had to. Now it was just a matter of whether he'd find Obi-Wan soon enough for it to matter.
He was drifting, half-dreaming about the Sea of Sand on the Abeyos Drift, but he sat up at the sound of keys jangling, an ominous sound, coming closer. The key scraped against the lock on his cell. The nausea that hit Obi-Wan at the sound was a conditioned response, but he willed the bile down. It just gave him a reason to be happy that he hadn't eaten in days, and he pushed himself back into the corner as well as he could, ignoring the pain from cuts and burns to draw his legs up close, trying to give the door enough room to avoid hitting him on its inward arc. Even in the dim light, even with his fading sight, Obi-Wan could recognize that it was Palak in the doorway, and he shivered, trying to hide it, wishing, as ever, that he was still bored.
But Palak didn't come in, simply standing there a moment before moving aside, giving Obi-Wan a hazy view of brown robes. His heart sped, hope warming him for the first time in a week, and he tried to stand to greet his master as he should, but he couldn't make it up.
Strong hands had him, though, helping him stand, but even though he was grateful, it was all Obi-Wan could do not to sigh when Master Windu's face came into focus. He bit it back, reminding himself that any savior was welcome at this point, even if it wasn't the one expected. Mace's face was calm as usual, and if he could guess what Obi-Wan had been thinking, he didn't show it. "Padawan Kenobi. It's time to leave now."
It was understatement as far as Obi-Wan was concerned, but he hesitated still, his sense of the Force, weakened as it was, telling him that something was wrong. "My master? Have you had contact with him yet?"
His expression didn't alter, but Mace's grip tightened momentarily. "Obi-Wan…"
The use of his name, not his title, the tight grip, the Force… it was ominous, and Obi-Wan wished his thoughts weren't so muddled as he reached for answers to questions he couldn't fully articulate. "I'd know if he were dead."
The grip on his arm eased, one large, warm hand briefly rubbing along it. The touch was painful along cuts and bruises, but Obi-Wan took the comfort from it that was intended. "He's alive."
There was more, and it was obvious that Mace didn't want to tell him, but for Obi-Wan the ignorance was worse than the knowledge could be. Or so he hoped. "Just tell me!"
An arched eyebrow reminded him whom he addressed, and he bowed his head, the movement making his balance falter in sickening ways. "Please, Master Windu."
Mace glanced at Palak, still standing near, all malicious attention. "Come, I'll tell you as we go. We need to get you to a medic as soon as possible."
Obi-Wan pulled away from Mace's hand, straightening his back, determined to walk from the cell. He wouldn't let Palak have any more of his dignity than he'd already taken.
His determination lasted all of one step before he was falling, his legs too weak to be concerned with dignity. Fortunately, Mace had dealt with those whose pride got ahead of their sense before, and he caught Obi-Wan's arm again, gently pulling him up and along, a subtle application of the Force making it look like he was simply guiding Obi-Wan down the long hallway rather than carrying him.
Obi-Wan let Mace do all the work, saving his strength to listen to the explanation he dreaded hearing.
"We had figured out the two of you were in trouble when you didn't report in as scheduled. However, at the same time, the Senate had entered into negotiations with the both factions on Olrane, trying to work out a settlement to the conflict here. We were stymied, not being able to search for you without possibly causing further problems. In the end, the Lanasts refused to come out of hiding, and wouldn't deal with either the Yorians or the Senate. Two days ago, the Senate worked out an accord with the Yorians, recognizing them as the legitimate government on Olrane, and giving us access to the planet again."
Obi-Wan wasn't surprised, but he still felt a little sick. He knew that what had happened to him would never have held any weight with the Senate's decision, but the Yorians had been the ones who initiated the hostilities, and he would have hoped the Senate might have hesitated to deal solely with them because of that. Obi-Wan could almost hear Qui-Gon's voice telling him that as long as they got a favorable trade agreement out of it, the Senate wouldn't care who held power on Olrane, or how worthy they were of it. If there was one thing his master had successfully trained him in, it was in distrusting politicians.
They were passing some cells with doors standing open, guards in the doorways, watching them. Mace gave a slight bow of his head, acknowledging them, but Obi-Wan kept his focus on Mace, not wanting to see any of their faces. His cell still felt too close, and after waiting so long for Qui-Gon to come, it didn't feel real to be leaving with Mace, like a dream he might wake up from at any moment, only to be right back where he'd been. But Qui-Gon… "Qui-Gon didn't accept the agreement, did he?"
"That's something of an understatement, Padawan." Mace grinned, memories of other examples of Qui-Gon's obstinacy lightening his thoughts for a moment, but it faded as he continued, "We managed to contact him on his comm, but he refused to leave the Lanasts, choosing to stay in hiding with them. The only thing he wanted from us, besides the impossibility of getting the Senate not to deal with the Yorians, was that we help you. The Yorians had," and here Mace's lips pinched in, as if tasting something bad, "failed to mention during the negotiations that they had you in custody."
Obi-Wan shivered in Mace's hold, knowing that the Yorians hadn't simply been forgetful in the matter. There was movement up ahead, a large group of guards gathering in front of the doors that lead out of the building. Obi-Wan felt sick, fear he couldn't yet release coiling low in his belly, but the guards moved aside, letting the Jedi pass without interference.
Mace didn't even acknowledge them as he pushed open the doors, letting in sunlight that Obi-Wan had begun to doubt he'd ever see again. It hurt his eyes, making them tear, but he kept them slitted open, drinking in the sight, watery as it was, of something besides stone walls.
The street outside was ordinary, like scores of others on worlds across the galaxy, sidewalks filled with people going about their day as if nothing unusual had happened. Obi-Wan laughed at his surprise; he'd become so wrapped up in his troubles that he'd forgotten other people had their own lives. He allowed his eyes to close, but tilted his face towards the sun, trying to will some of its warmth into him. He felt the heat prickle against his skin, but his pain and worry over Qui-Gon were still cold within him.
Mace started leading them slowly away from the prison, careful of his condition. Obi-Wan was too tired to question their destination.
"Something else has happened besides you getting me out and Qui-Gon refusing to come out of hiding." It wasn't a question; Mace wouldn't have been so reluctant to tell him if it was only that.
Not answering directly, Mace said, "It took longer to get you than we wanted. I had to use a Force compulsion eventually. It was either that or I wasn't going to be responsible for what I did to General Tila, who is the most annoying sentient being I've ever come across, and that includes all the Hutts I've met… and your master. The compulsion seemed the more diplomatic solution."
Obi-Wan smiled even though he knew the humor was supposed to distract him. He'd met Tila before things had fallen apart, and could certainly sympathize with what Mace had done. Annoying didn't begin to cover it. But he wasn't distracted. "Qui-Gon?"
Mace didn't actually sigh, but Obi-Wan could almost hear the impulse. "Yesterday he and the Lanasts staged an attack against a supply depot. It gained them more weapons, some short-range ships. No one was hurt, but the Yorians declared it a terrorist attack. I commed Qui-Gon again, hoping to talk some sense into him, but he wouldn't agree to come back, not even after I told him that you-"
He trailed off, but Obi-Wan could guess at what he'd said to Qui-Gon. That his apprentice was still in jail was probably the least of it. Obi-Wan knew that his master couldn't have known how bad things had been, that Qui-Gon had only been helping those he felt needed it more, but it was still a sting to insecurities he'd thought he'd outgrown.
He tried to keep it from his face, but he was sure Mace could read it in him, another weakness, especially when he drew them to a stop, running a hand across Obi-Wan's hair, large fingers careful and warm, offering friendly touch and comfort.
Ignoring what he'd started to say, Mace continued. "Last night, the Senate offered the Lanasts asylum if they would turn themselves in and agree to be relocated to another planet. Their answer was another attack this morning."
Mace turned Obi-Wan towards the wall of the jail, papered with flyers like many of the buildings lining the street. The edges of the flyers were peeling away, more speed than care used in putting them up, but Obi-Wan could clearly read the message that was splashed across them. His sight narrowed, dimming again, but Mace held him up as his legs wanted to buckle, held him close as the cold pressed deeper in.
Leading them towards the corner where a transport had just pulled up, Mace said, "It's strange," emphasis on that word, a wealth of cynicism in it, "how slow the Yorians are about releasing someone from their jail, considering how quick they are about sentencing them to it."
Obi-Wan thought he might have nodded, but he couldn't be sure. Mace's voice seemed to be coming from a distance now, as muted as his touch through the cloth of the robe he draped over Obi-Wan's shivering body. Obi-Wan didn't want to be touched, but he couldn't stop it, didn't try. Instead he let them guide him into the transport, down onto a seat in the back. Let them tend his wounds, let them move him from transport to ship, let them do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't require him to think, just drift in the quiet place he'd found.
The place where there were no wanted posters with his master's face on them, and the words use lethal force below.
Soft voices were close by, talking about him, but he missed most of the words to the white noise that filled his head. But close beside him he heard an unfamiliar voice say, "He seems very withdrawn, even considering the pain he must be in. Is there anything else we should be aware of? Some kind of abuse that wasn't apparent?"
There was a sigh, then a laugh that wasn't amusement. Mace's voice, which had always been welcome before. Before Olrane. "Force knows everything the Yorians did to him. But I would imagine that it's the loss of his master that's the worst."
A blanket of gravity settled over Obi-Wan as the ship escaped from its well, dimming his vision again. As the welcome darkness closed in around him, Obi-Wan could only agree.
:::::now:::::
When he wielded his lightsaber, when he had even a tiny bit of maneuvering room, Obi-Wan could fly, fluid and deadly. It was nothing to the damage he could apparently do with a blaster and even less room. He'd never gone through so many people, so many lives, so quickly. Amazing, appalling, what desperation could do.
But he hadn't been in a prison, at least not as an inmate, since the last time he'd been with Qui-Gon, and he wasn't looking to repeat the experience, assuming the troops hunting them gave them that option.
Obi-Wan knew he should be concentrating on the here and now, not worrying about a future that might not come, or thinking about a past that was long gone, but fighting along side Qui-Gon, moving through the warren of streets and alleys that made up the lower city, was keeping the worry and the memories close to the surface. It was distracting.
The distraction cost him, a moment of inattention making him slow, and he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He reeled with the impact, and would have fallen, but Qui-Gon was there, quick where Obi-Wan had been not. Instead of falling, Obi-Wan found himself floating, blood rushing to his head as a hard band of warmth gripped around his legs.
He knew Qui-Gon was carrying him, and that things weren't looking particularly good for them right then, but he couldn't help the niggle of pleasure he felt at the feel of a broad, warm hand resting so near his ass. He'd had fantasies that started like this, back when he was young and foolish. As opposed to being older and foolish, and he pulled his mind firmly back into the moment, almost hearing Qui-Gon's voice make the admonishment.
His shoulder hurt, and he was sure there was some blood, but it didn't burn like a blaster shot, something he was all too familiar with. Probably shrapnel from a shot hitting a wall, but while it wasn't good, it wasn't debilitating, either. He caught at Qui-Gon's tunic, squeezing "I can walk" past the shoulder pressing into his stomach.
Qui-Gon didn't slow, twisting and turning around bends, finding alleys barely wide enough to allow them to pass, and a doorway, invisible in the shadows made by walls crowding in from all around, the edges of the door fading into the cracks and stains of a building long past the point when it should have been pulled down.
Once they were inside, Obi-Wan's feet met the floor again rather faster than he expected, and he couldn't help but protest the jolt to his shoulder. A hand clapped over his mouth, the rest of Qui-Gon nearly hidden in the gloom even though he was standing so close his breath puffed hot and fast against Obi-Wan's cheek. His whispered, "Quiet," was more a matter of breath than sound.
Obi-Wan nodded his understanding, and they waited, neither moving, as the sound of pursuit came and went from the passage outside.
Obi-Wan could almost feel Qui-Gon counting after the last of the sounds faded away, marking out some time until he felt it was safe. Then, still quietly, "I think they're gone. We should be safe enough here; the rooms belonged to someone who won't be using them again."
He might have asked why, but Qui-Gon's hand was still against his lips, and Obi-Wan had to remind himself again that now was neither the time nor place. He jerked away from the distracting touch, gritting his teeth against the pain as he jarred his shoulder. Qui-Gon reached for him again, then hesitated, and Obi-Wan was pleased he wasn't the only one that was struggling.
The lights flared on though Qui-Gon hadn't moved. The man who'd been his master would have frowned at such a frivolous use of the Force, but this new incarnation seemed to be more pragmatic. Just another of the differences.
The room might have been someone's home, but it was using the word loosely. It was nearly bare of anything but dirt and random debris, the remains of a long dead plant in a bright red pot the only color. Of furniture, there was only a low bench sitting beside an enormous table, both sturdy, the wood thick and sound, if scarred from long use, and Obi-Wan was happy to sink onto the bench and rest.
He knew there were things he and Qui-Gon should be talking about, but Obi-Wan was drifting, exhaustion tugging at him. The pot kept catching his eye, the vibrant red all the more noticeable against the dreariness of the room. It was almost hypnotic to stare at it, but he broke out of his near-trance when Qui-Gon pulled at his shirt.
He flinched away from the touch, his reaction when those hands had been on his legs making him shy away from the too-welcome touch considering the circumstances, but Qui-Gon held him still. "Stop squirming and let me look at this. The bleeding appears to have stopped, but let me see how bad it is."
Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon strip him of his shirt, trying not to think of all his youthful fantasies that had started this way, too, but might as well try not to think of pink banthas as try to ignore what those strong hands, those long fingers, did to his control. He decided to be thankful for the little jabs of pain that even those careful fingers caused, since they kept down any outward sign of the pleasure that went with their touch. He bit his lip as Qui-Gon hmmed at his shoulder and tried very hard not to puff out his chest.
Reaching into a fold of his tunic, Qui-Gon pulled out a small bag. It was filled with basic first aid items, and a roll of bacta-laced bandage was looped carefully under his arm, around his shoulder, another loop going around the other shoulder to anchor it in place.
The pattern was almost as hypnotic as the pot, and Obi-Wan almost missed the light brush of fingers further down his back, tracing out the scar that was there. He shivered, part memory, part need, when Qui-Gon spread his fingers wide over the most obvious mark Olrane had made on him. He could only feel the touch at the edges, nerves too damaged to distinguish anything but pressure, but it felt unbearably intimate all the same.
"Why didn't you have this removed?"
Why hadn't he? The healers had tried to talk him into it, and so had Master Windu, but Obi-Wan had just wanted to be away from the infirmary. And, "I didn't want to forget."
Qui-Gon pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned. "I don't see how you could."
And he wouldn't have, but Obi-Wan had never questioned why he kept the scar. He could see now that it had been almost a memento, a talisman from his last sight of Qui-Gon. Amazing the things he'd hidden from himself. Ten years since Olrane, five years as a knight, and even now he was questioning Riisha's insistence that he'd been ready for his trials.
Obi-Wan threw off the epiphany. It had been years, after all, it could wait a time longer. He was silent as he watched Qui-Gon put away his kit, but felt a growing sense of disquiet when he moved to stand by the door. "Shouldn't we plan where we're going before we leave? We can't use official sources, considering that you're wanted and it's obvious that someone here is well aware of that, but you must have some contacts that could help us out. If we could get off the planet, we could at least catch our breath before deciding what to do next."
Qui-Gon was trying to present a blank façade, but even lacking recent experience Obi-Wan could still read that look. He was going to say something he knew Obi-Wan would object to. Already guessing what it was, Obi-Wan could feel the anger stealing back in from where their circumstances had tamped it down.
"There's no need to make any plans since you're not going with me."
He held up his hand, the stern master, to keep Obi-Wan from interrupting him. Obi-Wan let him continue, but was irritated both by Qui-Gon's high-handedness and his own acceptance of it. "I couldn't leave before because you didn't understand the situation, and I didn't have time to explain, but now that you're aware…" He paused, and even though Obi-Wan had sometimes resented the man's serenity, it disturbed him now to see it waver. Before he could address it, though, Qui-Gon continued. "When I go, I'll make sure they follow me. You wait here for an hour, then make your way as carefully as you can to the spaceport. Up on the second tier, over by the freight offices, there's a ship in dock, called Myo's Run. Just tell the pilot that Jinn sent you, and he'll get you off planet. You can contact the Council when you get somewhere safe, and you can just tell them that you saw a fugitive, but that he got away in a skirmish with the locals. They won't hold anything that happened here against you, and you can get on with your life as it was before I interrupted it."
Obi-Wan found himself shaking his head so hard he felt his hair slap against his face, knowing he must look like he was three and refusing to lay down for nap-time, but he didn't care. He was angry at Qui-Gon, this was a certainty, but he wasn't going to just let him leave anymore than he'd been going to arrest him before. He wanted answers to why Qui-Gon had never contacted him, to why he'd stayed with the Lanasts even when things went so obviously wrong. Beyond that, he wasn't sure he could bear it again, the uncertainty over where Qui-Gon was, over whether he was alive and well. They'd have to find some way to get around the judgment, some way to get Qui-Gon back, even if he wouldn't stay. "I'm not letting you leave without me. Not again."
Qui-Gon looked down his nose at him, the stern master again, setting his recalcitrant student straight about who was in charge. "I'm not going to let you throw your life away like that. I've already made my decisions, my mistakes, and I'll live with them, but I won't let you follow in my path."
When Riisha had first told Obi-Wan she thought him ready for his trials, he had laughed. He hadn't felt ready, hadn't felt anything but young and gauche and still somewhat lost even three years after Olrane. He'd let her smile and chide him into taking his trials, let Riisha cut off his braid, let himself be sent here and there to settle things that sometimes remained unsettled. Passive through it all, letting himself believe it was okay. But he hadn't chosen. But this -- this argument, this man, this time, this place -- was all his. "Fuck you, Qui-Gon. You don't get to make those decisions for me. You gave up that right, if you'll recall."
Qui-Gon looked like a bantha that had just realized that desert-pears had thorns after he'd already taken a bite. He eyed Obi-Wan warily, but tried to keep his stance. "You don't realize-"
"I do realize. I've been going on missions, as padawan and knight, for fifteen years. Do you really suppose I'm so naïve after all this time?"
"No, of course not, but the Council won't-"
"No talk of the Council. They don't make my decisions either. Isn't that what you were always trying to teach me? I understood what I was doing when I didn't try to arrest you, and I knew they wouldn't be happy about it. My decision. And I understand that there's danger here, but I can deal with it. It's not like the life of a Jedi is easy, and I chose that, too, after all."
Qui-Gon's face went still, but his eyes were intent. "Did you? Did you really choose that life? When you were a child, did you really dream of being a knight so that you could throw your life away due to bad information, like not being informed that Jedi aren't welcome on the world you've been assigned to?"
He talked over the objection that Obi-Wan had started to make. "Did you think to yourself, I want to be a Jedi so I can watch injustice after injustice go on as long as the Republic isn't inconvenienced? That you were going to have to give up personal causes, personal goals…" he trailed off, his breath ragged as emotion took away his usual calm. "That you were going to have to give up people you cared about so that the Senate could get a really good trade agreement?"
"That's not-"
"Not what, Obi-Wan? Fair. It's not. It never has been. Did you really think about what being a Jedi was going to cost you when you were young?"
He truly sounded curious, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but answer with the truth. "No. Not then."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Not then. But you have since, when the doubts, the compromises, the sacrifices started to accumulate, and you wondered if it was worth the cost?"
There was a hard knot in the center of Obi-Wan's stomach, his anger giving way to weariness. He never had won a fight against Qui-Gon; the man was too good at making Obi-Wan question things. It was what had made him such an excellent teacher, if not the easiest of companions. "Yes. Sometimes."
The tilt of Qui-Gon's head, the sad smile on his lips, told Obi-Wan that he'd heard the tacit 'too often.' "What happened to the little boy whose beliefs were so strong that he gave up the only life he knew to help the Young?"
Obi-Wan let his breath out in a rush, sagging back on the bench, the table's edge digging into his back. It always surprised him how much memories could still sting long after they should have faded. "He met a man who told him that he could do far more good for far more people if he learned to work on a grander scale. What happened to that man?"
The laugh was both amusement and bitterness. "He screwed up."
Anger and irritation flooded Obi-Wan again, clipping his words. He'd waited too long for explanations, and he wasn't going to accept sidesteps and elisions again. "Not an answer."
"But he did screw up, Obi-Wan, in so many ways."
Qui-Gon sighed, tiredly running one broad hand over the stubble on his chin. He sat down on the table, his body falling into the storytelling mannerisms that Obi-Wan remembered so well. The familiarity was soothing, and he had to fight not to draw his legs up, not to rest his chin on his knees, his ages-old pose when listening to his master's tales. Qui-Gon must have caught the aborted move, because he smiled, a hand moving out to brush at the hair that used to be Obi-Wan's braid. "Screwed up in so very many ways. But he didn't know that then, and probably wouldn't have listened if someone had tried to tell him. How many times did you warn me when you'd sensed possible trouble approaching, and how many times did I ignore you, telling you to keep your mind on the moment?"
It was a rhetorical question, but Obi-Wan couldn't help the, "Too many to keep track of, Master," that escaped him in a rush.
Qui-Gon nodded at that. "Exactly. He was… I was so very sure of myself. That I was right. My connection to the Force, it was always so strong, and had served me well for so long that I trusted it above everything else. Not in itself a wrong, but anytime you stop listening to any voice but your own, you're simply asking to fuck up badly."
Obi-Wan started at the curse, not used to hearing anything more than a mild damn from Qui-Gon, and only then in dire circumstances. Looking at Qui-Gon's clothes, at the disreputable leathers that showed off his body far more than Jedi robes ever had, he reminded himself that he didn't necessarily know this man anymore. Qui-Gon looked good like this, though, and Obi-Wan felt attraction nibble at him again. "You never even tried to get in touch with me. Why didn't you at least say goodbye?"
"It was never supposed to be goodbye. And then as time passed, and the situation remained unchanged, I just thought it would be easier for you. Easier for me, maybe."
Never supposed to be goodbye. Which was what Obi-Wan had thought at the time, just out of bacta and arguing with the Council over getting another master. He'd insisted that Qui-Gon would come back. Mace had pointed out that it was a death sentence to do so, but Obi-Wan had been so sure that Qui-Gon had some trick up his sleeve. But the trick had been on Obi-Wan, months passing and still no word. After Riisha had taken him as an apprentice, he'd stopped expecting it.
Or at least told himself that he had. "Maybe it was easier, but it hurt like hell all the same."
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."
"As am I. What happened? What really happened?"
Qui-Gon placed his feet wide on the bench, and rested his forearms on his knees, torso slumped over them, his large body almost folding into itself, exhaustion and defense. "I don't know."
He almost protested then, irritated at another evasion, but the slump of those shoulders, like the weight of the galaxy would be light in comparison, gave him pause. Wouldn't it be just like Obi-Wan's life to have the spent the last decade separated from his master and neither of them know why? Giving in at last, he pulled his knees up, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, resting his chin on top while giving Qui-Gon time to tell his story.
Earnestness, his desire to get Obi-Wan to understand, stripped Qui-Gon of his normal reserve. "I truly don't know what happened, Obi-Wan. We knew even then that the Yorians had stepped up their aggression, but we didn't know why. There was a long history of discord between they and the Lanasts, but it had always been more a matter of grumbling and derision before. The Yorians were especially dismissive of the Lanasts, thinking them shiftless and a little too fond of sampling their own wares."
Obi-Wan smiled at that, remembering his first taste of the wine the Lanasts made. He'd been fourteen and feeling so very mature when Qui-Gon had let him join in a state toast with the 'rane wine everyone else was drinking instead of juice. He hadn't been feeling much of anything after one sip of the very potent wine, floating along after his master as he led him to his bed, not even minding when Qui-Gon laughed at him for saying he could fly.
"But then insults turned to fights, the fights then escalating in their violence. Of course, we probably would never even have heard about it if it weren't for the trade agreements the Senate was trying to negotiate. They called the Jedi in to report on the situation, and… things went from bad to worse."
His mouth quirked in a wry grin, Obi-Wan said, "I remember that part."
Qui-Gon huffed out a laugh, regret and amusement in equal measure. "Yes, I'm sure you do. But even after all this time I don't know why things escalated. I don't know why our presence set off what was basically an invasion. I don't know why someone was so determined to push the Lanasts from their homes that they would declare us criminals, even making up crimes that we committed, all in the name of having them gone. I don't know."
"Maybe the Yorians wanted the wine industry for themselves. 'rane wine is the most expensive in the galaxy."
"The Yorians tried to steal the grapes it was made from years ago. They could grow them, but they could never get the wine to taste the same. The Lanasts have very little arable land, most of their territory being desert, but there's either something in the climate and light conditions, or maybe something in the sand that can't be duplicated. Since the grapes can only be grown in that one place, on a tiny strip of land that gives way to rock on one side and desert on the other, even the Lanasts can't expand beyond, only able to produce about a thousand bottles per year. As expensive as the wine is, I can't see someone going to all that trouble for such a constrained industry."
Qui-Gon looked so confused, so lost, that Obi-Wan slipped a hand over to grab one of his. Large, warm hands that gave as much comfort as they took as Obi-Wan slid their fingers to intertwine. "So you don't think it was simply a matter of cultural differences, and you don't think it was to steal from the Lanasts--"
"But I do think it was to steal from them," Qui-Gon interrupted. "I just don't know what. I don't think you remember this, but some of the people in the refugees we were running with were actually Yorians. Most of them had just been frightened of the violence, and had simply run to get away from it, making their way back to their territory later, but some of them were there because they disagreed with what was happening. Piro was one of those. He was a small time con artist usually, tending towards odd, marginally legal jobs. He'd been approached by some of Tila's men, paid to do some random bits of bullying: picking fights, stirring up the latent prejudice against the Lanasts, whatever. The problem was that even though he was more than a little larcenous, he didn't have a violent bone in his body, and so he was very bad at the job."
Qui-Gon was smiling; Piro was obviously a fond memory. "You liked him."
The smile faded even as Qui-Gon nodded. "I did. But I was also the one that sent him back to Olrane, to try to work his way inside what was going on. He died… a very violent death. After the others found out, they scattered. We still have information drops, but none of us know where the others are. Or if the others are even still alive and fighting. Perhaps most of them have given up by now, gone on to lead less violent lives. It's what a sane person would do."
He tugged Obi-Wan's hand up to his chest, circling both his hands around it, wedding them together tightly. "Piro did know from things he'd heard that Tila was working for someone else, someone who wasn't Yorian at all, but who wanted something of the Lanasts'. He also knew that they had a contact in the Senate that was engaged to help them get it. We had verification of that when the Senate representative refused to even negotiate with the Lanasts."
Obi-Wan started. "They said that the Lanasts refused to deal with them."
Qui-Gon gave him the are you an idiot look, saying, "Palpatine would hardly have admitted to the truth, would he?"
Fighting the blush, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I guess that might not be the most… politic thing." But then thinking on what had happened, and what hadn't, he asked, "Why didn't you tell Master Windu, though? Why didn't you bring the Lanasts before the Council and let them petition for asylum?"
Not letting go of Obi-Wan's hand, Qui-Gon rose, moving to stand in front of him. Standing like that, holding his hand, he looked somewhat like he was proposing, and Obi-Wan had to wrench his eyes up from where their bodies joined. Qui-Gon's face was serious, but there was mischief lighting his eyes. The bastard knew, had probably always known, and he was teasing, even in this.
Obi-Wan was drowning in a swirling pool of emotions: embarrassment, fear, hope, and pleasure, the pleasure bolstered by relief that all that had passed hadn't destroyed the intimacy between them even if the hope proved false. If nothing else came of this, at least he knew he still had Qui-Gon's regard. But hope was for the future, and the fear had to be addressed now. He raised a questioning brow, encouraging Qui-Gon to continue.
"Answer a question for me first. Did the Salemarians ask the Council for Jedi help, or did they ask for you specifically? Or did the Council explain why they had chosen you for this assignment at all?"
Not a question Obi-Wan had been expecting, and he didn't know the answer, but he could hazard a guess over why it had been asked. "I have no idea who was requested, or why I was chosen. But you think you do, don't you? You suspect someone on the Council of helping the Yorians."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "Not really. But I can't quite not believe it either, and there's the problem. But think on this. The Salemarians have a long history of hating Force users. They have dark myths about abominations practiced by them: blood sacrifice, mind rape, stealing children to raise in the dark arts. Why would they ask for a Jedi now? Now, when there's no particular problem that would need outside intervention at all, forget a Jedi, and now, when I was following a lead here? Not that I expected much of the lead, as they all tend to trickle away. Years of searching, and yet I'm no further than I was to begin with, the quarry I'm after always one step ahead. And yet here I am, and here you are, too, with the remnants of a bond that could identify me regardless of my appearance."
"So I'm a stalking horse? No one could be sure we would come across each other."
Qui-Gon nodded. "But even if it had failed, they'd be no worse off. If it succeeded? We've been on the run since we crossed paths. Maybe someone was monitoring you. That was the reason I changed out all your clothes instead of simply losing your robe. As a precaution against electronics it should have worked. As a precaution against a Jedi? Still, it could just be coincidence."
The cold lump in the pit of his stomach was expanding, filling his throat, making everything hard to swallow. It couldn't be the Council, as they were too much together, too Coruscant-bound for any one of them to slip towards the Dark without the others knowing. Weren't they? Still. "Too much coincidence. It has to be a Force user." He felt a certainty of that ringing in the Force.
Qui-Gon was kneading Obi-Wan's hand almost unconsciously, holding onto it like it was an anchor. "Piro had heard rumors when he was working for Tila. He wasn't sure how true they were, but there were enough of them to take notice of. Then it took Mace so long to contact me, so long to get you free. And he kept hinting that they'd let you go if I turned myself in, and I started to think… well, maybe--"
"That it was a ransom note of a sort."
Another sigh, long and weary, as if Qui-Gon could blow away all the doubt. "No. Maybe. I couldn't believe it of him, but then I wasn't sure, and while I was still hedging my bets, hoping not to take a wrong step in any direction, we became wanted criminals with a death sentence against us. Which made moot my doubts, since I couldn't chance the Council's reaction even if they weren't involved. I certainly knew how the Senate would react even if I made petition for asylum then. So I kept looking, hoping I could unravel the mystery. But weeks turned into months, then years. I heard… that you had a new master, and I thought…"
And he'd thought that Obi-Wan had moved on, that there was no pressing reason for him to return. Ghods, the misconceptions that they'd both lived with. "I hadn't moved on. I tried to, thought I had, but even though Riisha was a good teacher, she was never my master. I never let her be."
Their failing to bond had been his own doing, he'd known that even then, but while she was open and welcoming in a time when Obi-Wan had so desperately needed the comfort, he'd been happy enough to finish his training without that deeper connection. He was fond of her, but she wasn't who he'd chosen to follow.
He could feel the bond, the one he'd welcomed, even now, thinned edges eased by proximity. Could feel the faintest whisper of something, crackle and spark, that might be more than affection. It fueled the hope to burn brighter, quickened his breath even as it fed back along the connection. The heat between them increased, and Obi-Wan parted his legs without hesitation when Qui-Gon stepped closer, drawing him closer still. Qui-Gon leaned down, across the difference in their heights, across the chasm of lost time, and exhaled Obi-Wan's name onto his lips before they met.
It wasn't a first kiss to make history, hesitant and brief. Obi-Wan could taste the fear on both their lips. Reason said not now, reason said wait, but Qui-Gon cupped his hands around Obi-Wan's face, holding him still for a deeper assault, driven by reason of its own, and Obi-Wan let him.
When they pulled away again, it was with a mutual sigh. Their time was up, the Force singing its warning as they fled into the night, barely ahead of the troops that were following.
When Obi-Wan wielded a blaster, when he had even a little maneuvering room, he was deadly. But even Jedi had limits, and the two of them went down under a flood blasters and fists. As darkness closed over his head, Obi-Wan could only hold tight to the memory of the kiss, regretting only the time they'd lost.
~4~
It was on Coruscant that he first chose his master.
:::::then:::::
The lights of Coruscant were brilliant, a second sun that did more to hide things in shadows than bring them into the light. It was the nature of the place, that darkness in the light.
It hid the monsters, allowed people the illusion of safety. But sometimes, even in the heart of the lights, the monsters struck.
Obi-Wan looked away from the window, back toward the bed. Riisha was still, looking incredibly fragile on an infirmary bed meant to accommodate much larger species than one little Omwaiti. Her skin was pale, almost all the blue washed away, and the few feathers left on her head were disordered, sticking out in all directions. Obi-Wan had never seen Riisha look anything but composed, even in the worst of situations, and it jarred him to see her like this.
He put a finger in the pouch on his belt, touching the braid in it like a talisman. He should have given it to her when she'd first cut it off, but he hadn't. Hadn't been quite ready to let it go, the mix of colors at one end so full of history; the dark brown strands, some limned in silver, that nestled among his own. Obi-Wan promised himself that if… when his former master woke up, he'd give her the braid, accept her finally as his master now that she no longer held the title. He knew it would make her happy.
There was a light creak, the door to the room opening to let Mace in. He stopped by the bed, looking solemnly at its occupant, then came to stand by Obi-Wan. "I take it that nothing's changed?"
"No. Do you have any news on who did this?"
Mace expelled his breath in a rush, the weight of what had happened sitting visibly on him. "No. And Senators Gelrick and T'Man both died. That only leaves Riisha to tell us what happened."
Obi-Wan was surprised. "There was no security feed at all? In an office held by a Senator, and one who had been receiving threats at that?"
"There was a security feed. It just shows absolutely nothing, not even the people we know were in the room. I have no idea how they managed it, but whoever did this covered their tracks well."
"Do we have any idea why Gelrick was getting threats in the first place?"
Mace laughed. "You met the man; surely it was obvious why someone might wish him harm."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I never met him. I was still on Trendor when Riisha got the assignment, though she did say that he was… difficult. Which, coming from Riisha, is saying something."
"Didn't you meet him on Olrane?" Mace stopped, shook his head. "No, of course not. You would have already been off the planet by the time he arrived to take over for Palpatine. I must be getting old; my memory is going."
He gave Mace a polite smile, but he felt a thrill of warning run up his spine at the mention of Olrane. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, then shut it again. It was probably nothing, a remnant of what had happened there. It was best not to talk about Olrane, considering Mace's propensity to lecture him about Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan looked out the window again, letting the silence fall between them, both of them comfortable with it as they waited for something to change. He touched the pouch again, not meaning to, and regretted it when it pulled Mace's attention to it.
"I heard a report about Qui-Gon's latest scandal the other day. He and his men staged a raid on a refugee hospital. Lax security, lots of painkillers available. Must have been a very tempting target. There were few casualties in the initial attack, but a small fire started by a blaster shot went unnoticed too long, spread too far, and caused an explosion when it reached some of the tanked gasses. Thirteen people died in the blast, and many more died later, burns untreatable because the hospital couldn't be re-supplied fast enough to help. There wouldn't have been enough painkillers to make their dying moments easier."
He could have pretended that he didn't understand why Mace had brought up Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan saw the connection. Mace hadn't been happy with him when he didn't give Riisha his braid after his knighting, had been sure that he was still waiting for Qui-Gon to come back. Even now he was trying, in his own not very subtle way, to convince Obi-Wan to let go.
It was pointless, really, because Obi-Wan had let go years ago. He'd waited for Qui-Gon for far longer than the others had been happy with, but eventually he'd gone with Riisha. Eventually he'd let go of the past. And he'd meant to give her the braid, it was just something always came up, or he got distracted. And the braid was a reminder, in the harried days of his new knighthood, of a time when he'd been afraid that he'd never get his chance to ever be a knight, a reminder of the man who'd given him that chance, even if he had waited until the last minute.
Obi-Wan laughed, the old joy he'd felt when Qui-Gon had taken him as an apprentice still strong after all these years, and he didn't mind that Mace was looking at him oddly. No, there was nothing amusing in the story that Mace had related, but then Obi-Wan didn't believe it anyway. Qui-Gon sometimes had to be dragged into doing the right thing, like taking on wayward apprentices, but most of the time he was the one leading the charge, where other, more practical-minded beings held back. "Do you really think that Qui-Gon would do something like that?"
Mace tilted his head, actually considering it. "He's changed, been changed, by what he's done since that last mission. By what's been done to the Lanasts. He felt responsible for them then, to the point of turning his back on his duty."
He paused, looking at Obi-Wan, who nodded, encouraging him to finish, knowing what he wouldn't say, and not wanting to hear it out loud anyway. Just because he'd accepted what had happened, didn't mean he wanted to have it brought up again. His dreams did that far too often as it was.
"He felt responsible for them then, and they're only more desperate now. Who knows what he'd do anymore."
"I do. Qui-Gon may be a lot of things that are less than admirable; stubborn, short-sighted, and with an annoying tendency towards smugness. But even at his worst, he would never have attacked a hospital, especially not a refugee one. No amount of misplaced responsibility in the galaxy is going to turn him into someone who'd deliberately hurt those in need."
Mace sighed, shaking his head. "He's not a Jedi any longer, and you haven't seen him getting on towards ten years. Would you even know him if you met him now?"
Obi-Wan wanted to believe he would, but those getting on towards ten years old feelings of hurt and doubt, the ones that he had mostly gotten rid of, but that still sometimes bit him in the metaphorical ass, made him wonder. He sometimes dreamed he could still feel Qui-Gon; a warm, comforting presence when he saw things he wished he hadn't, when he remembered things he wanted to forget. He believed in the compassionate Jedi he'd known, thought he still would know, but he couldn't be less than truthful, and said, "I'm not sure anymore."
Instead of supporting his argument for him, that confession seemed to make Mace doubt what he'd said. His eyes were troubled in the reflection in the window, and he wouldn't look directly at Obi-Wan as he said, "I miss him, as irritating as he was. And… maybe the story's just that. Those types of reports can be unreliable."
He smiled at Mace, taking the comfort the other man meant to give them both. So many people thought Mace too hard, and he could definitely be cold, but there was a core of caring in the man, underneath the practical side, the thing in him that had chosen to be a Jedi in the first place, before the politics had set in. It was the part that Obi-Wan liked best, the part that made them friends, even with the difference in their relative positions in the Order.
Mace was facing the bed again, watching Riisha like he could will her into awakening. "She's a good Jedi, Obi-Wan. She did the best for you she could." He reached a hand over, touched the pouch at Obi-Wan's waist. "This… is yours to give or not, as you wish. Just think about your reasons for doing so." He moved away then, going over and studying the monitors that spelled out how close Riisha had come to dying.
She had done well by Obi-Wan; comforting him when he was still dealing with what had happened on Olrane, still dealing with losing his master on top of it. Still dealing with the fact that he'd been helpless to stop any of it. She had been open and friendly, where Qui-Gon had been caring, but cool, always that layer of serenity muting the compassion that was at the heart of him.
And where Qui-Gon had often made Obi-Wan want to scream and stamp his foot like a child, she had made him feel like he was the older of the two, her sense of fun and mischief leading her to places that only her obvious lack of malice, and Obi-Wan's burgeoning diplomatic skills, had got her out of.
With Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan had sometimes had to guess what it was the man was thinking, how he felt about Obi-Wan's progress, about Obi-Wan himself. With Riisha, no one was ever in any doubt about how she felt about them, and it was almost universally good. The woman could find something nice to say about a rancor that was about to eat her. That's why her dislike of Gelrick really should have told him what the man was like, because it took a lot to get her to admit anyone was less than nice. The senator must have been either blatantly malicious or obviously greedy.
Maybe both, and perhaps someone had had good reason to want him dead, but there was no reason for killing T'Man. No reason to come far too close to killing Riisha.
Old doubts, new ones, were gnawing at Obi-Wan again. Was being a Jedi worth the sacrifices, the compromises, they had to make? Was it worth the lack of attachments they were encouraged to embrace?
Obi-Wan fingered the pouch again, looked at the unmoving figure on the bed, and knew he'd never been very good at that last, anyway. Some causes, some people, he held close to his heart, and he wasn't willing to sacrifice or compromise on that, even if it meant he was never as good a Jedi as Mace was.
Mace was still watching the monitors, but he waved Obi-Wan closer. "Look, these numbers are rising. She's waking up."
Even as Mace was saying it, the numbers spiked dramatically, and Riisha's arms and legs jerked under the sheets. Her head, with its sad lack of feathers, shook in some kind of denial. Her eyes snapped open, but she didn't see them at first, memory closer to her than they were, and a frightened, ragged moan came from her throat.
Obi-Wan took one of her hands, hoping his presence would get through to Riisha, regretting once again that he'd never formed a bond with her so that he could comfort her now. "Master Riisha, it's all right. You're safe now, back at the Temple."
Her shaking slowed, stopped, and she turned her head to look at first Obi-Wan, then Mace. Her eyes were still wary, and she tried to say something, but it just came out as a dry croak.
Mace shook his head at her, putting a gentle hand on an unbruised part of her face. "Just lay quiet until the healer gets here, Riisha. There's nothing that has to be said right now. You're safe."
The nod was little more than a twitch, but she relaxed, her hand lightly curling around Obi-Wan's. He relaxed with her, his relief at her awakening setting muscles that had been held tight for too long to twinging. He rode the discomfort through, stepping aside when the healers came in, relaxing further with the positive noises they were making.
She really had been very good to him. Just as Qui-Gon had been. There were just some people he was attached to, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but clutch the pouch on his belt tightly, holding it, knowing it belonged to his master. Knowing who that was.
He felt eyes on him, looked up to see Mace watching him. Mace's eyes were sad, but understanding, as he bowed his head at Obi-Wan. Then they both turned back to Riisha, who Obi-Wan loved, but who wasn't his master.
:::::now:::::
Whispering woke him up, which surprised him. Not what was being said --
They're creatures of darkness, making deals with Col'k'han. We should just kill them before they kill all of us.
Demas said the collars would take care of that, though if they were to break free of them, I shudder to imagine. I've heard that they can fly, and shoot fire out of their hands. Kill you with a thought.
If they can do all that, how did we catch them in the first place?
It was almost morning, you idiot. Everyone knows they weaken as the nights wanes. --
because he'd heard versions of the like before, but rather the fact that he woke at all. He'd been sure they were dead.
The whispering faded away, the one shy voice of reason having killed off the conversation apparently. Being careful, not wanting to alert anyone to his condition, he slitted his eyes open, taking in the walls around him, which were gray and uniform, broken only by a door in one them, which itself was gray, a tiny square window covered in silver grillwork the only non-gray thing in the room. Except for Qui-Gon.
Moving hurt, his muscles stiff and bruised, his shoulder throbbing, as he fought the bonds around his bare feet, the ones that held his hands tight into the small of his back, to inch his way over to the thin pallet Qui-Gon lay on. Drawing on the Force to aid him was disappointing, fruitless, and Obi-Wan could only guess that the metal collar he could feel round his neck was an inhibitor of some type. The whispers he'd heard had already told him that his captors knew what he and Qui-Gon were, but it was still disheartening to be cut off from the Force, almost like suffocating even while you were breathing. He worked past the difficulties, needing to reach Qui-Gon, to see how he was.
His progress was slow, made slower as he had to pause to rest along the way. Almost drained at the halfway mark, he lay there and thought about their chances for escape. If Qui-Gon's condition were anywhere near his, if Qui-Gon was collared too, both of which seemed likely, it didn't look good for any plans they might form. However, the fact that his shoulder still ached so fiercely, even with the bacta in the bandages, let him know it hadn't been that long since he'd been unconscious. A matter of hours rather than days. They were still on Salemar, then, which is where the Council would send someone to investigate his failure to report. Though any help that might provide wasn't likely to show for several days, it was still nice to think they might have help eventually. If they lived that long.
Obi-Wan finally reached the pallet, almost punching Qui-Gon in the chest with his head in his need to hear that heart still beating, but the oof he knocked out of him was a welcome relief. He laughed out loud, ridiculously happy that he wasn't alone, that he hadn't lost Qui-Gon after all this, but he tamped it down when one of the guards shouted for him to be quiet. Obi-Wan had always found it best not to antagonize people who were already afraid him, especially when they had the advantage in ease of movement and weaponry.
Qui-Gon's voice was rough as he woke. "Obi-Wan?"
But Obi-Wan shushed him, draping himself along Qui-Gon's body to whisper in his ears. "Quiet. The guards are afraid of Force users, those dark myths you'd mentioned, and they don't want us to talk. Where are you hurt?"
Turning his head, his whiskers catching at Obi-Wan's own, Qui-Gon's voice was almost licking at his ear. "Where don't I?"
Unable to stop the shiver from that breath teasing at his ear, from their close quarters, Obi-Wan repeated silently to himself, 'Not now, not now, not now,' until he had control again. Ghods, he needed a chance to get his bearings, to start acting instead of reacting, but whoever was pulling their strings wasn't going to give him that, and he couldn't use the Force to center himself now. He called on his own stubborn will to put it aside until later. "Did they put a Force suppressor on you, too?"
Qui-Gon was quiet a moment before he started wriggling around, a move that drove Obi-Wan back to his new mantra, but then Qui-Gon stilled and sighed, "Yes. And there's no give in my bonds. I'm assuming you're in no better state."
"No, Master. My one happy thought was that we are still in all probability on Salemar, where the Council will eventually send someone to investigate since I haven't reported in."
"If they're not involved."
It was Obi-Wan's turn to sigh, his hope of outside help dimming slightly. He dropped his head down on Qui-Gon's shoulder, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary, partly because he was tired, and partly in retaliation for the cheerful thought. Remembering the overheard conversation from before, he said, "The guards mentioned someone named Demas, who was apparently the one that knew to collar us. Is the name familiar?"
He could feel Qui-Gon's slow nod against the top of his head, more like he was thinking than agreeing, but then he said, "Yes, Piro mentioned the name once. Something about a mining company that Tila was doing business with, though he never did find out what was being mined. If this Demas knows about Force suppression collars, maybe--"
A soft tread in the hallway outside, then a low voice telling the guards they could leave interrupted Qui-Gon. There was a laugh from the door, and Obi-Wan could see the shadow of someone through the grate. "Please continue, Jedi that was. Demas is maybe what, yes?"
Obi-Wan didn't even need the Force to tell them they'd finally found Qui-Gon's quarry. The tone of her voice, the lilting amusement in it, practically declared it. Qui-Gon traded a glance with Obi-Wan, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Obi-Wan shrugged his shoulders as best he could, regretting it when the movement spiked the pain, but he didn't know any more than Qui-Gon. He didn't think they had to lose by engaging with her, and it wasn't like they had much choice.
Raising his voice, Qui-Gon said, "Maybe a Force user. I'd been looking for one in all this."
The door swung slowly open, an Akoan standing on the other side. Around her head was a mass of inky tendrils, the coils waving, a sign of excitement in her species. Her lips were parted, baring her fangs, another sign she was enjoying herself. "So you had guessed. I thought you had. But it wasn't enough for you to avoid me, yes?"
Qui-Gon struggled to push himself up, using the wall to lever himself to a sitting position. Obi-Wan guessed he wanted to face her on more even footing, as it were, and he smiled at the tactic, trying to imitate it himself, though he had to use Qui-Gon as a prop. Qui-Gon gave what little assistance he could even while he answered her. "Not enough to avoid you, no. But now that we are here, and facing each other at last, what do you plan to do."
She didn't answer for a moment, looking at them intently. Then she hissed past the gap in her fangs, an Akoan laugh. Several of the tendrils around her head straightened out, meters long, trailing down to Obi-Wan's bound ankles, wrapping around them even as he tried to jerk his feet away. The tendrils were thin but strong, and Demas dragged him roughly across the cell before dropping him back on the pallet he'd woken on. She looked at him a moment, as if waiting for his reaction, but Obi-Wan simply lay there, knowing he was in no position to fight her now.
Demas turned her attention back to Qui-Gon, stepping closer to him, the extended tendrils now moving over his body, almost teasing as they worked their way up to his neck, wrapping lightly around it. Qui-Gon's face gave nothing away, but Obi-Wan had to bite back a protest, even knowing she was probably looking for a reaction.
Qui-Gon's voice didn't even shake as he asked, "Is this your intention then, to strangle me? Wouldn't it have simply been easier to let the soldiers kill me? You took a chance that I might slip away by having them attempt to capture rather than kill."
"But chance is fun, Jedi that was, yes. The spice of life." She laughed again, whistling in her amusement. "The Spice of life, and that's another thing I'd thought you'd guessed all those years ago, but you hadn't, yes, you hadn't. If I'd known you had no proof in the beginning, no way to raise an outcry against me, maybe I would have ended this then. Though it has been good to make you suffer, yes, so good."
The confusion slipped past Qui-Gon's control, showing on his face, or else he just wanted her to see it. "Spice? I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You didn't know, the Lanasts didn't know, and Piro died before he could tell you, yes. So much furor for something no one knew. But I liked the furor, yes, liked what I did to Piro, to your apprentice. To you, pretty big Jedi."
Something flickered across Qui-Gon's face at the mention of Piro, settling into anger when she mentioned Obi-Wan, and that reaction, that was real, but Qui-Gon tamped it down quickly. "So you were the one that had Piro killed. Over…" and there was a wealth of revelation in his tone then. "Over Spice."
Obi-Wan was confused still, trying to play catch-up, but Demas was enjoying herself, playeing out information like strings to make them dance. "Over Spice, yes. Akoans are burrowers, did you know? Yes, burrowers, and though I'd moved away from the soil in my youth, had been taught a new way of life by my master, I still sometimes like to dig my toes into the soil, to breathe it in, yes. Fifteen years ago, while I was mourning the death of my master," and here she looked at both of them and hissed, nothing of laughter in the sound this time, " I was on Olrane, touring the vineyard, yes. I'd had 'rane wine once, a toast to celebrate the completion of my studies, yes, and I'd thought to drink in his memory again. I dug my toes in, breathed in the soil, and smelled what those around could not. Spice, yes. The secret to why 'rane wine was so potent. A secret that turned out to be worth a fortune of fortunes."
Qui-Gon simply nodded. "I take it the vein lies deep."
"Many kilometers out into the desert, many kilometers deep, yes. I used a surveyor from the mining company my master had owned to map it. The largest deposit of Spice known in the galaxy, yes. Or not known. All my own people, my masters people, working deep in the desert, putting all those poor dispossessed Lanasts, with no one to miss them, yes, to burrowing deep, to getting me my treasure." She was smiling again, happy in her greed.
"As you said, it's a fortune of fortunes. Why not share with the Lanasts rather than go to all this trouble?"
"I worked with Jian, at first, the leader of the Lanasts, yes. But he turned out to be too willful, too resistant to Force suggestion, too greedy of my find. He wanted to share the money, my money, with his people, yes, so exit Jian. And then I found so many of the Lanasts were too lazy, too content to let the days flow by in a Spiced wine haze, to suit my needs, yes, so I went to the Yorians. Tila was much more… suggestible."
Here her body started to morph, the tendrils sinking inwards, her body elongating, broadening, and Obi-Wan only had time to think he'd never seen a shape shifter that could change mass, had never seen an Akoan shape shifter at all, though perhaps she wasn't even truly Akoan, considering that to all practical purposes it was a Yorian who stood before them now. Tila, in all his questionable glory.
She circled around, like she was modeling the body, saying with Tila's voice, "Even Tila was too greedy, though, and eventually he had to exit, too, though I found his form to be useful. It made it very easy to condemn you when I felt you got too close, pretty big Jedi. It made it very easy to encourage the guards to make your apprentice feel… welcome, while I waited to see your next move, yes."
Demas was looking at Obi-Wan now, Tila's eyes showing her hate. Why, he couldn't guess, but it was becoming apparent that she wasn't just doing this to protect her find. Their deaths would have done that. She wanted something else.
She morphed again, taking on Palpatine's face, Palpatine's voice. "This form was useful, yes."
Qui-Gon asked, "Has he made an exit, too?"
"No, he still exists. He's still helpful, yes. Sometimes I stand in for him, leave him free to pursue his own interests." An emphasis on that one word, a wealth of meanings. Obi-Wan had always thought there was something oily about the man, and now he could only hope she wouldn't go into too many details.
Demas just morphed again, taking on another shape, one Obi-Wan had hoped to never see again. "This one was very easy to control, wasn't he pretty little Jedi, yes? No Force needed. He missed you when you went, yes, missed his little Jedi. I always wondered what he saw in you, yes, what made him pine."
She stepped closer to Obi-Wan, using a ribbon of Force to pull him up, push him back against the wall. "I always wanted to see what he saw, your face when you cried."
Obi-Wan was fighting memories, not really paying attention to what she saying, but he heard Qui-Gon's voice shouting at Demas, trying to draw her attention away. "Why do this? Why do any of this? You have control on Olrane, the Senate backing you, no one to question if you were to accidentally discover Spice now. The Lanasts that fought you are scattered, perhaps dead, or working in your mine. And I'm in your power. Why not just kill me?"
The diversion worked, Demas turning away, though she left Obi-Wan pinned to the wall. She had good control over the Force, obviously strong in it, and whoever had taught her had known what he was doing. Had probably been trained himself. Had died fifteen years ago. Had owned a mining company. This time Obi-Wan was ahead of Qui-Gon, pieces falling together. The name was almost pulled out of Obi-Wan against his will. "Xanatos."
Qui-Gon couldn't hide his reaction to that name, and Demas certainly made no attempt. She hissed again, the sound almost ludicrous coming from Palak's mouth, but the hate behind it was clear. Qui-Gon was shaking his head, trying not to believe, but the truth was plain before him. "He trained you."
"He was my master, yes. He pulled me up from a simple grubber, from a miner who had only a short life and a pointless one before them, and he taught me how to use what I was. Together, yes, we could have ruled the galaxy, but he was too distracted by you. Always Qui-Gon this, and he's dangerous that, yes, and he'll never stop looking. And you don't know how to stop looking, don't know how to back down, yes. Palpatine tried to force my hand, calling the Jedi to Olrane, calling the two of you, yes, and I almost killed him for it. But then I thought, yes. I thought how wonderful an opportunity. How wonderful a chance. For fun, yes."
She stepped closer to Qui-Gon, reaching down to grab him, to push him back into the wall like she held Obi-Wan, but using Palak's large hands, using a different type of force. "I've enjoyed the game for years, Qui-Gon, yes. You took so much from me, but I took more from you. I took your freedom, your vocation, your apprentice. I took Piro and destroyed him, yes, leaving what was left for you to find. I dangled leads in front of you, pulling you along, pulling them away, leaving you frustrated again and, yes, again. I almost killed you many times, but it was never right. It was never enough."
Obi-Wan thought Demas might once have been normal, might once have been sane, but Xanatos had reshaped that, just like she could reshape her body, and there was nothing left now but malevolence and greed. He had truly trained her in his own image. He had also trained his hate of Qui-Gon into her, driving her on in her quest that he pay. That they both paid, the body she wore now a reminder of just how much.
She looked over her shoulder at Obi-Wan, letting go her Force hold so that he dropped to the floor again. The landing jarred him, but he rolled over, keeping her in sight. She'd turned back to Qui-Gon, though, smiling again, and that expression sat ill on Palak's face. "Maybe this, yes," she pointed at Obi-Wan, "maybe this will be enough. I almost killed your padawan, yes, almost had Tila do it, but the other big Jedi interfered. I waited, thinking to take my chance again, yes, but then you never seemed to care about what I did to him, had done, yes, and you never tried to reach him at all. At least so Palpatine's sources said. I thought maybe I was wrong, maybe taking your apprentice from you wasn't the worst I could do. But now I can see, yes, with my own eyes, now I can tell where it hurt. How to hurt you more. And maybe I'll let him live when I'm done, yes, when I've finished taking him… away."
Demas cut off whatever Qui-Gon was going to answer, the flesh around his neck rippling with the Force hold she held him by. He couldn't even shake his head, only the jerks of his body giving way how desperately he was fighting.
She ignored him, or seemed to, as she came back to Obi-Wan, her clothes seeming to dissolve along the way. Her cock was hard, maybe a function of her ability, maybe a true sign of arousal, Obi-Wan didn't know, but he couldn't help the, "No," that escaped him at the sight. He'd promised himself, after Olrane, after the long months of therapy that he went through, that he'd never let anyone else have the control over him that Palak had held. He'd known that it was possible that he might be raped again, but he'd been so sure he could handle it better if it happened. Faced with it now, he found that his certainty in that had been as much a lie as his belief that he was over Qui-Gon. He wasn't sure he could handle this again, especially not in front of Qui-Gon, with him full able to see how helpless Obi-Wan was.
But he was helpless, and even though he tried to fight, he couldn't stop those hands from dragging down his pants, nails digging deep, leaving bloody trails behind as she pushed his face down, dragged his hips up. He could only try to ignore the sound of Qui-Gon's feet hitting at the wall as he still struggled, could only try to hide exactly how terrified he was.
He was waiting for the first thrust, waiting for the pain, but it didn't come. He twisted his head a little, still held down by her hand, but Demas was intent on Qui-Gon, not paying him any attention at the moment. Qui-Gon, who'd gone silent, his eyes closed, his face still, as if he were unconscious. Demas looked frustrated, obviously wanting to see the signs of his horror.
She looked back at Obi-Wan, tilting her head as she took him in. She grinned suddenly, eyes lighting darkly as her face morphed again, becoming a mirror to the man across the room. One part of Obi-Wan could almost applaud her intuition, that ability that had ferreted out the thing that would truly break him.
From the time he was fifteen, when dreams and fantasies of his master had first started to fill his nights, and sometimes his days as well, he'd known Qui-Gon was who he loved. His friends had told him it was a crush, expected, and sent inviting smiles, veiled and not so veiled invitations his way. Obi-Wan had never accepted, even knowing that Qui-Gon might never return his affection, no matter how long he might wait for sign of it. All that had really mattered was who Obi-Wan wanted.
Olrane had been a shock in so many ways, stealing away things he hadn't ever thought to lose, not the least of which was that choice he'd made, that choice he'd abided by, until Palak had come into his cell that first night, and taken that choice from him.
But after Olrane, after he'd come to terms with what had happened, still Obi-Wan had dreamed of Qui-Gon. Long past the point of sense, years after his master had gone, he'd wanted to see that face above him, wanted to feel that body in his. And maybe Obi-Wan had helped to take Demas' master from her, but she'd already returned that favor, in a way. He wasn't going to let her take this.
Tapping strength born of desperation, he twisted his body sideway, driving his knees up into her stomach, down into her groin, hoping that the area was truly analogous in a shape shifter, that it would be as sensitive in her as it would be to the form she mimicked. She grunted, falling back, but it wasn't enough for Obi-Wan to get away from her, his bound hands still slowing him down, and she hissed her anger, grabbing his head with her hands, pulling at the hair as she shook him. "You will pay for that, pretty little Jedi, yes. Not so pretty when I'm done with you."
She'd increased the size of the cock, holding it in front of Obi-Wan's face so he could see what she'd done, could see what she was going to do. Obi-Wan didn't hesitate, mouth wide, taking as much of it in as he could and still bite down hard, his teeth digging in hard. She screamed, the flesh in his mouth flowing, filling his mouth with something like liquid, something like blood, but not quite. It oozed out of his mouth, and he could see the black of it, like the tendrils that circled her head in her normal form. He coughed it out, trying not to swallow, as she collapsed, seeming to fold in on herself.
He tried to keep what momentum he had, kicking at her, biting what he could, but the black ooze firmed, flowed back into her, and she slapped him away. He hit the wall, his head cracking against it, making the world flare and spin, and when it cleared again, she was already whole, wearing her own face.
Obi-Wan could hear Qui-Gon choking, could see that he'd fallen to the pallet again, his body struggling for air, to get to Obi-Wan. But then his vision was blocked by thin bands of black, tendrils whipping around him, encircling his arms, legs, waist and chest. Slowly twining round his neck, not quite choking him, but not quite not, and it hurt everywhere. He was being crushed, being pulled apart, tissue screaming for blood flow, for oxygen, for release from the pain.
His sight was dimming as he died, involuntary tears further occluding it, but he could still hear the coughing moans that were the only sound Qui-Gon could get out, like strangled screams, could still hear the sounds of Demas' pleasure in his pain.
Could hear the whine and hiss of blaster fire and 'sabers, coming closer all the time.
Obi-Wan barely felt the drop to the floor this time, too desperate to draw in air to notice much else, but he did hear Qui-Gon call his name. He tried to answer, tried to breathe, tried to hold onto consciousness, but it faded away from him, the sharp sounds of approaching battle, the sound of Qui-Gon's voice following him down as it did.
~5~
It was on the Sea of Sands that his master finally chose him.
:::::now:::::
Consciousness returned in small flashes, flaring in and out like colored crystal in a like a kaleidoscope. A glimpse of Riisha, her normally smiling face tight and cold. Another flash of Demas, her form a strange mix of her own face, a Wampa's long arms, a kelk's tail, fighting and clawing at anyone who came too close, even the Salemarians who were on her side. Mace's face strobing by, calm and composed as always, deflecting a blaster shot without even looking.
By the time the images settled down for Obi-Wan, the room was mostly clear, a knight standing guard in the door, but all the Salemarians gone. Mace and Riisha were standing nearby, as was Qui-Gon, all of them watching Demas, lying broken on the floor, mostly in her own form, but some parts of her half-changed, as if she'd forgotten to finish what she'd started. Black blood like rivers was flowing away from her, her eyes still glaring hate at Qui-Gon even as they dimmed. She smiled, and said, her voice little more than fading breath, "Took him away from you, yes." Then the smile died, body going still beneath the blanketing odor of burned flesh and ozone.
Riisha was the first to notice Obi-Wan's awakening, almost fluttering as she came to him, so much like the bird her species evolved from. But deadly all the same, her lack of mass more than compensated by her amazing control, especially when someone threatened her padawan, knighted or not, which Demas had learned in the end.
She patted his face, telling him nonsense things, that everything would be all right, and Obi-Wan believed her as he always had. He let her help him up, help him get dressed again, never mentioning what the lack of pants had meant, but keeping up a steady stream of soft touches until he was ready, then hugged him close, careful of his injuries.
Obi-Wan returned the hug, but took the opportunity to look at Qui-Gon, taking in his condition. He seemed to be standing on his own, though he looked like ten kinds of Sherpan's Hell. He was a beautiful sight for all that. Obi-Wan smiled at him, his voice croaking a little as he said, "Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon returned the smile, but it was soft, sad, and Obi-Wan couldn't figure out why. They'd been saved. Everything was all right. Then he remembered. Qui-Gon was still wanted on Olrane, still not safe. Well, Obi-Wan knew he could do something about that. He tried to tell Mace what he'd heard, but his voice kept breaking, and Mace waved him off. "It's fine, Obi-Wan. There's nothing here to worry about now. Nothing at all."
Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, expecting him to exhibit some pleasure at that news, but Qui-Gon was still looking sad, avoiding his eyes.
Riisha's own sharp eyes were taking them in, but Obi-Wan wasn't sure what she was seeing. Whatever it was, she decided to fill him in on what had happened in her own inimitable way. "I knew they shouldn't send you to Salemar. Well, any Jedi, really, but you especially. I could feel it. But would they listen to me? No, I'm just crazy old Riisha who no one listens to."
Mace tried to cut her off. "Riisha, you know that's not true--"
But Riisha didn't want to hear reason, far too enamored of her specious complaint to let details throw her off. "But then I remembered. You remember? Oh, but you don't know what I'm talking about. It was that attack on Senator Gelrick, and poor T'Man got killed. So sad, she was such a wonderful woman. And her daughter had just given her her first grandchild, the most adorable little girl, with the most perfect little tentacles you have ever seen."
Mace tried to derail her again. "Riisha, please--"
Riisha ignored him, already back on her previous track. "But it was about Gelrick I remembered. The pain after the attack was so bad, but I was still conscious when Palpatine came in." Here she paused, looking to the still form on the floor. "Or maybe not Palpatine at all. A curious specimen. I've never seen a shape shifter that could alter their mass."
"Riisha--"
Blithely continuing to ignore Mace, she said, "I didn't hear everything thing they said, mind you, because it really was a lot of pain, Obi dear, but I did hear them mention Olrane, and Palpatine, or the maybe-Palpatine, told Gelrick that he hadn't done enough to have a greater share of the profit from the Spice. Then Gelrick said something about wouldn't Jinn be interested in what he knew, and maybe his silence was worth a greater share, but then there was another blast, and the maybe-Palpatine said there was an easier way to buy his silence."
"Riisha…" Mace paused, waiting for her to override him again, but she just looked at him curiously. "I think the explanations can wait. These two need medical treatment first. Afterwards they'll both want to hear all about what we've found. Especially in the real Palpatine's office, since it's enough to exonerate Qui-Gon, something I'm sure he's happy to hear."
But Qui-Gon didn't look happy, staring at all of them like they were strangers. Like he'd never met them and couldn't understand why he'd want to. "I'm not sure that it matters anymore. It has been… a long time."
Mace and Riisha looked surprised, and not a little sad, but there was acceptance in their eyes. Obi-Wan thought that maybe they understood what the years of separation had cost Qui-Gon, understood that he might not want back what he'd lost, but Obi-Wan didn't. Not now, when he'd come so close. And maybe that was selfish of him, to want Qui-Gon back as a Jedi just so they could be together, just so Obi-Wan didn't have to give up something he'd worked so hard to earn, but he didn't care just then. He wouldn't just let him go this time. "Qui-Gon…"
His voice broke again, but he could see it didn't matter, that words wouldn't fix this. Qui-Gon wasn't looking at him, wasn't going to. And Obi-Wan had learned a lot of things from the man, but apparently he hadn't learned how to take the distance out of those eyes. Hadn't learned how to keep the life in a bond he could feel fading as Qui-Gon withdrew even while he held still. He let his head drop, realizing he'd lost another argument with Qui-Gon, and he hadn't even started. Apparently whatever had started between them in that other small room had died in this one. Obi-Wan almost laughed at the irony that let Qui-Gon finally kill the dreams that neither Palak nor Demas had managed to break.
Later he might wonder why, why Qui-Gon would pull away after all that had been between them, but then and there his own hurts were too close to wonder at Qui-Gon's, and he'd been left behind before. Pulling away form Riisha, bowing stiffly to Mace, Obi-Wan moved to leave.
He wanted a dignified exit, but his body was too stressed, his reserves gone, and he almost fell before a hand caught him. He looked up, wanting Qui-Gon's face, had only Mace's. Which called to mind a memory of a close cell, his body pushed to its limits, Mace helping him, Qui-Gon somewhere that Obi-Wan was not, even though he was actually there this time. It was too close, the past trying to overlay the present. Obi-Wan jerked out of Mace's grasp, tapping the fading touch of the bond for energy even as he shied away from the deadened feel of it. He stumbled out of the room and away from all of them.
He'd not gone far, barely able to stand without using the wall as a crutch, when Riisha caught up to him. He expected her to say something about his display, something about Qui-Gon, but he should have known better. She was definitely of the rip the bandage off slowly school, and was still prone to kissing Obi-Wan's hurts even though she'd never known him as a child. Still prone to coddle him in his misery even now that he was knighted.
Taking his arm in hers, holding him up with a subtle Force grip, she led him down the hall. Ignoring everything that had just happened, she twittered on about the incredibly nice human she'd met at the spaceport, who'd apparently been so drawn to her that he'd felt the need to share all of himself with her. "Really, Obi dear, it's a wonder you humans don't freeze to death with your sad lack of feathers. Though he did have some fur in some interesting places. Not that I had time to see much before Mace, in a display of what was truly an appalling lack of manners, felt the need to intervene. I don't know why, though, since the man was apparently in the grip of a very strong reproductive desire, since he'd asked me, quite succinctly I might add, if I wanted to breed, and who could hold such primal instincts against a being?"
Obi-Wan knew she knew exactly what the man had been really saying. She knew he knew exactly what she was trying to do now. It was just one of the things he loved in her, but he could only give a thin smile to her distraction, his mind skittering back to the man dominating his own thoughts, growing small in the distance behind him. Just like the last time this had happened, his mind urged him to go to his master. But this time he was the one who walked away.
:::::now:::::
The cabin was small, barely large enough for one, but it suited Obi-Wan. The small porch out that ran the length of one side had a comfortable chair, and he could sit in it for hours and let the stillness of the Sea of Sand fill him. It wasn't quite the same thing as peace, but it was close enough for now.
Bacta and several months downtime had healed his wounds. All that showed. But he still couldn't make the emptiness inside him go away. Couldn't help missing what he'd almost had.
It was why he'd let Riisha tell Qui-Gon where he was, even as anger he'd not quite dealt with flared again. She wouldn't have agreed to it if she didn't think it was a good idea, and he took her judgment to heart, not quite sure he could trust his own. Not in this.
He could see Qui-Gon long before he could feel him, a slowly growing line on the horizon, shimmering in the reflected light from the crystalline sand as he crossed its waves. Obi-Wan watched him approach, wondering what he should feel.
Qui-Gon stopped short of the porch, unsure of his welcome. "Riisha said you'd agreed to see me."
Feeling contrary, Obi-Wan raised one eyebrow in question. "Did she?"
Awkward and nervous, things Obi-Wan had never associated with him before, Qui-Gon was almost shuffling his feet as he struggled with what to say. "She made me talk for a long time before she'd even call you. She wants what's best for you."
"And you're what's best for me?"
Qui-Gon didn't answer at first, looking anywhere but at Obi-Wan. He finally said, "Probably not. In fact I may be the worst thing for you." He looked up then, piercing Obi-Wan with all the intensity, all the passion, that he normally kept sheltered beneath his Jedi calm. "But I seem to be what you want. What you'd chose to have. And you're definitely the best thing that's ever happened to me."
They were words Obi-Wan had dreamed of hearing, had despaired of hearing. He wanted to take them in now, to open his arms to Qui-Gon, to finally have what he'd wanted so long. But he couldn't bring himself to trust them, not when he wasn't sure they were his to keep. "You have a funny way of showing it."
"I needed time, Obi-Wan, to figure things out. I handled it badly, I know, but I couldn't be sure, then, didn't want to…"
Didn't want to give him false hope. Much like he'd never said goodbye because he'd waited too long to make it anything but worse. "But you're sure now?"
Qui-Gon stood straighter, his shoulders squared, like he was facing a jury handing down sentence on his life and determined to meet his fate head on. "Yes." He paused, and then innate honesty made him say. "I hope so."
If he'd just said yes, Obi-Wan wasn't sure he'd have believed him. The bond between them was still muted, but he could feel the uncertainty in Qui-Gon, just as he could feel it in himself. Obi-Wan found that not only did the qualification amuse him, it also settled his own nerves. He could deny Qui-Gon now, hold him away, and he might save himself a broken heart. But he might save himself the thing he wanted most.
Not speaking, he held out his hand, drawing Qui-Gon to him. The sun was setting, the air cooling past comfort as he led him inside. But Qui-Gon's arms were warm around him, their kiss a burn through his blood.
He knew they should talk, work things out, but the 'Not now' he'd lived with so long had become right now, and Obi-Wan didn't wait anymore. It wasn't far to the bed, wasn't hard to push Qui-Gon down on it, beautiful and enticing as all that length of body seemed to fill the bed. Seemed to fill the whole room.
He was so intent on getting them both naked, on getting as close as he possibly could that it took him a moment to realize that Qui-Gon had gone still, that his skin was cold, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Qui-Gon? Are you in pain?"
His head shook, but Qui-Gon didn't open his eyes, didn't speak, and Obi-Wan could see the faint sparkle of tears on the lashes. Scared, not knowing what was wrong, Obi-Wan sought along the bond, hoping for answers. Even muted as it was, he could feel Qui-Gon's fear clearly, along with a faint haze of what might be shame, embarrassment.
"Are we going too fast? Did you want to talk for a while?" Obi-Wan's body was still insistent, but he was a Jedi, after all, and this went no further until he knew what was going on.
Qui-Gon rolled away from him, turning to face the wall. His voice was hoarse with unshed tears as he said, "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I thought I could. I wanted to. But I can't."
At first Obi-Wan thought he meant about them being together, and hurt and anger started vying for precedence, but then it dawned on him that Qui-Gon meant the sex. As Obi-Wan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, having walked in at an inopportune moment, that Qui-Gon wasn't a virgin, whatever was wrong wasn't simple fear of the unknown. Had something happened with Demas when Obi-Wan had been unconscious and no one had told him?
Obi-Wan stood up, putting some distance between them, but kept a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder for comfort, wondering how he could ask without making it worse, but Qui-Gon wasn't finished. "I just keep seeing her hurting you. Keep imagining what Palak did. And I tell myself it wasn't my fault, but it was in a way, and I can't seem to let it go like I should. And I want to touch you, to hold you, ghods, Obi-Wan, I want that, but it keeps mixing in with the things I don't want to remember, and I can't get them separated anymore."
His perspective took a hard shift, making Obi-Wan dizzy for a moment as his conceptions reordered themselves. As he realized that he hadn't been the only victim in that room. He'd known, known in his head, that it was hard for Qui-Gon to watch, but he'd never thought it through, never wondered what it had felt like to be helpless to help. He could imagine now, all too well, the results. How the memory of the violence would start to tie in with sex, making even casual touching seem ominous, fueling dreams that were half-arousal, half-horror, until the dreamer just wanted to be done with both.
Obi-Wan could imagine it because he'd lived with that himself, years ago. To a lesser degree, recently. Sometimes still had dreams that left him shaking and cold. But he'd learned to live with it, to live through it. He almost smiled as he realized that for once he was the teacher, the one with experience. In this Qui-Gon would just have to follow him.
So he wrapped Qui-Gon up tight in his arms during the bad nights, let him deep into his body on the good ones. Laughed with him on the good days, and listened to him rant on the bad. Rolled him over in soft sand like sugar as he drank him down, held tight to the edge of the table as he was rocked to the sound of Qui-Gon's moans in his ear, Qui-Gon's weight on his back feeling like the only thing that kept him from floating away. Chose him as he had all those years before, and let himself be chosen.
:::::finally:::::
When Obi-Wan's leave ended, when they left the Sea of Sands, they were arguing. Qui-Gon was winning, Obi-Wan was fighting a strong urge to stamp his foot, and neither of them was naïve enough to believe that their lives would run smooth now.
But they left for Coruscant together.