Master Apprentice
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Obi-Wan clung to Qui-Gon like a frightened child as the lift doors opened. The others had left them, after some murmured conversation with Qui-Gon. The dark-skinned man had offered Obi-Wan his cloak, provoking a violent reaction that ended with Qui-Gon saying they'd just have to endure the stares.
Qui-Gon urged him out of the lift, and they walked down a wide corridor with gleaming floors. Others drifted through the corridor, or gathered in small groups, talking quietly, all dressed in similar uniforms. The two of them caught the notice of everyone they passed, but Obi-Wan noted only the youngest ones stared outright. He shivered when he noticed that all the younger ones wore braids similar to his own.
After what seemed the longest walk of Obi-Wan's life, Qui-Gon stopped before one of the ubiquitous doors lining one side of the hallway and palmed the controls. "Lights," he murmured as they stepped through the doorway, and Obi-Wan looked around.
They stood in a spacious common room, filled with comfortable-looking furniture. Obi-Wan gasped at the view from the large windows opposite the door, the twinkling lights of speeders and transports flowing by in a steady stream.
Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's temple. "This is where we live."
Obi-Wan blinked at him, then looked back at the room, warmed by the thought.
"Explore if you want," Qui-Gon said, heading for the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea."
Obi-Wan did just that, his ragged nerves soothed by the plain yet homey living quarters. A large desk sat in one corner of the common room, its surface taken up by a comm unit, a few datapads scattered here and there and books, more than Obi-Wan could ever remember seeing gathered in one place before. His gaze fell on a holopic next to the comm unit, and he picked it up, astonished to see himself again, this time with his arms slung around another humanoid male and a Calamarian. All three of them wore the cream tunics. And big, goofy grins.
Obi-Wan shuddered, setting the pic down, and resumed his exploration. The common room led to a short hallway, off of which he found a fresher and two bedrooms. He entered the smaller of the two bedrooms first. Various mementos and articles of clothing lay scattered about in profusion, and he picked his way across the room carefully, not wishing to tread upon anything valuable. On one of the shelves above the bed, he found a collection of rocks, laid out in a row, with one rock elevated above the others on a small crystal stand. He ran a finger over its striped surface, wondering what made it a special rock, then moved on.
Another holopic rested on the table by the bed, this one showing himself and Qui-Gon, both naked to the waist, engaged in combat with the glowing tubes of light like the one he'd nearly singed himself with on the ship. They both wore smiles, so Obi-Wan assumed it was mock combat of some kind.
He went to the other bedroom, this one as neat and spare as the other was cluttered. More books marched across shelves on one side of the room, and several plants spilled out of various containers placed in strategic locations.
"Good, they watered my plants," Qui-Gon said from behind him. He turned, and Qui-Gon smiled. "Housekeeping kept the place dusted while we were gone, but I asked them not to tidy up too much."
Obi-Wan grimaced. If this was Qui-Gon's room, that meant Obi-Wan was the slob.
Qui-Gon slipped an arm around Obi-Wan's waist. "Come. The tea's ready and we have some things to discuss."
They seated themselves on the sofa in the common room, and Qui-Gon handed him a cup of fragrant tea. After an experimental sip, Obi-Wan decided it would do, but he still liked hot cha much better.
"Obi-Wan, on the landing platform ... what frightened you so?"
Obi-Wan let out a long, shuddering sigh, and set his teacup on the low table by the sofa. He plucked at his sleeve, then did the same with Qui-Gon's collar.
Qui-Gon frowned. "Clothing?"
Obi-Wan raised his hands over his head in an imitation of a hood.
Qui-Gon's eyes gleamed in understanding. "The way the others were dressed frightened you? Why?"
With Qui-Gon watching him intently, Obi-Wan drew the figure of a man in the air, then repeated the hood motion. He pounded one fist against his palm, then pointed to himself.
Qui-Gon's jaw clenched. "A man dressed like that hurt you?"
Obi-Wan nodded solemnly.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "And you thought I had betrayed you by taking you to a place filled with people like that." He opened his eyes.
Obi-Wan nodded again, tears filling his eyes. It would take him the rest of the night to explain precisely what the man had done to him, and how Qui-Gon had unwittingly followed a similar path. The explanation Qui-Gon had arrived at was close enough to the truth.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly, stroking his cheek with one finger. "Do you know what the Jedi are?"
He frowned. During one of his stays at Brelk's he'd heard the other slaves talking about the Jedi. None of them had any concrete information, but he'd picked up the general impression that the Jedi were fierce warriors, and not to be messed with. He held his thumb and forefinger apart a little.
"The Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy. They are both warriors and diplomats who serve the Senate and the Supreme Chancellor. They are lovers of peace and knowledge." Qui-Gon gestured around them. "This is the Jedi Temple. Everyone you have seen here is a Jedi. As am I. As are you."
Obi-Wan blinked, trying to absorb the information.
"The man who hurt you, regardless of how he was dressed, was not a Jedi. No true Jedi would ever deliberately hurt another living creature. Even in combat, we try to wound, not kill." Qui-Gon leaned in closer, cupping Obi-Wan's cheek in his palm. "No one here will hurt you. You are home, and no one will ever hurt you again."
Obi-Wan leaned into the touch, the knot in his chest loosening.
Qui-Gon pulled him into a close embrace. "Master Devi and Healer Fetra will be here in a little while -- they were part of the group that met us on the platform. Healer Fetra is going to try to restore your memories." He kissed the top of Obi-Wan's head. "I asked them to give us some time alone, so you could relax and prepare yourself. Is that all right?"
Obi-Wan looked up at him, his eyes shining. Memories of his life with this man? It was more than all right.
Fetra pulled his chair up close to the sofa, the low table having been moved out of the way. "Obi-Wan, I'm going to try to make this as stress-free as possible, but you may experience some things that frighten you or cause you pain. If you feel overwhelmed, let us know immediately, and we'll stop."
Obi-Wan nodded, liking the purple-skinned healer's low-pitched, soothing voice. His brilliant violet eyes were kind and intelligent, and Obi-Wan trusted him as much as he was able to trust anyone.
"And know that whatever happens, I won't let you go," Qui-Gon murmured in his ear. They were propped up on one end of the sofa, Obi-Wan held in Qui-Gon's arms, nestled between his legs, his back against the broad chest. He felt warm and safe and loved.
Master Devi checked Obi-Wan's vital signs one last time, then nodded at Fetra.
"Are you ready, Obi-Wan?" Obi-Wan nodded, and Fetra placed long, slim fingers on his temples, the touch light and cool. "Let's begin. Close your eyes."
As Obi-Wan obeyed, Qui-Gon glanced at Devi, who gave him a reassuring smile, then turned her eyes to the portable monitor she held, which would continuously scan Obi-Wan's heartrate and blood pressure.
An hour passed without incident, Fetra murmuring the occasional reassuring word to Obi-Wan, whose breathing remained deep and even. Without warning, Fetra's face spasmed in pain, at the same time Obi-Wan cried out.
"Heartrate's increasing," Devi warned. "Sharp spike in the pressure."
Fetra drew in a deep breath, his features smoothing. "It's all right, Obi-Wan -- none of this is real. It's just a memory."
Qui-Gon tightened his arms around Obi-Wan, who slowly relaxed against him again.
"Stabilizing," Devi reported.
Several more minutes passed quietly, then Obi-Wan began moaning in fear, the sound nearly breaking Qui-Gon's heart.
"Stay with me, Obi-Wan," Fetra said. "You're safe with me, it's all right."
"He's spiking again," Devi said quietly.
"You're doing fine, Obi-Wan," Fetra soothed, "you -- " The healer cried out sharply, jerking his hands from Obi-Wan's face before collapsing back in the chair.
Obi-Wan arched up with a cry, his face a rictus of pain.
"Devi!" Fetra called weakly, and the Master Healer flew to Obi-Wan's side, laying her palm against his forehead.
"Sleep, Obi-Wan," she said gently, and he fell back into Qui-Gon's arms. She turned her attention to Fetra. "Are you all right?"
He nodded, breathing hard.
Devi turned back to Qui-Gon. "I put enough Force behind that suggestion to keep him out until morning -- you might as well put him to bed."
Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan around, then stood, lifting his Padawan in his arms. "Fetra?"
The soul healer waved him off. "I'm fine -- take care of Obi-Wan."
Qui-Gon carried Obi-Wan to the larger bedroom, propping him up long enough to remove his tunic, then carefully positioning the limp body on the bed. He pulled the covers up to Obi-Wan's chin, then sat quietly for a moment or two, stroking the soft, coppery waves of hair. When he was assured that Obi-Wan was sleeping comfortably, he kissed softly parted lips, then went back to the common room.
Devi, with her usual efficiency, had made tea, pressing a cup on Fetra before turning the vitals monitor on the soul healer.
Qui-Gon sat heavily on the sofa. "What happened?"
Fetra sipped his tea, then let out a deep sigh. "He kicked me out."
Qui-Gon's brows rose. "Is that good or bad?"
"Both, actually." Fetra rubbed his eyes, then fixed Qui-Gon with a sober gaze. "Bad that he forced me to leave his mind, and during a particularly gruesome memory, but good that he had the strength to boot me. Qui-Gon ... Obi-Wan has undergone truly horrendous abuse. Some of the things I experienced ... ." He shuddered, setting his teacup down. "Frankly, I'm amazed he's able to function at all, much less interact with us fairly normally. That he is able to is a testament to Obi-Wan's strength of will and, I think, his love for you."
"But he doesn't remember me," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"That doesn't matter. What he's learned of you in the short time you've spent together since you found him, the way you've treated him ... Qui-Gon, as far as I can tell, you're the only one who's shown him even the smallest kindness since the mindwipe. And it's obvious to both him and anyone watching that you love him."
"Yes," Qui-Gon whispered.
"What about the mindwipe?" Devi asked, sitting next to Qui-Gon. "Was it intact?"
The corners of Fetra's mouth turned down. "Unfortunately, no. Not only has it begun to decay, it's fractured in several key areas."
"What does that mean?" Qui-Gon asked.
"Well, in a 'normal' mindwiping procedure, the paths to the existing, specific memories are blocked off, contained behind a sort of psychic wall, if you will. Everything experienced after the mindwipe is stored in a different area, accessible by the wiped person, along with the memories deemed necessary to retain, such as language, motor skills, etc."
"But Obi-Wan's speech is affected," Qui-Gon said, frowning.
"That's because whoever performed his mindwipe did a clumsy, hasty job. His verbal skills were blocked off along with the self-specific memories."
"You said the wipe was fractured," Devi prompted.
Fetra sighed again. "Yes. The 'wall' containing his prior memories is no longer whole. Part of it is due to inadequate structuring of the wipe in the first place, and part of it is due to trauma experienced afterwards. Essentially, there are bits and chunks of the block all over his mind. It may take several tendays before I can locate them all."
"What happens to Obi-Wan in the meantime?" Qui-Gon asked.
"If he begins to remember his former life in pieces, I believe it will only cause him more stress, which will lead to the remaining blocks being fractured even further. So I took the liberty of building a 'safehouse' in his mind -- every memory I retrieve successfully will be stored there until he's able to fully assimilate all the old memories, and integrate them with the new." Fetra leaned forward and put a hand on Qui-Gon's knee. "This will not be an easy journey, Qui-Gon, not for either of you. But I think Obi-Wan is strong enough to endure this, and with your help, he'll be well again."
Qui-Gon's shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. "What can I do?"
"He finds your presence enormously comforting -- just be with him, let him know you love him. I would restrict your activities around the Temple for the time being -- interaction with his old friends might do more harm than good at this point, but if you want to use the training facilities for light exercise, or take him to the meditation gardens, just reserve them in advance so the two of you can be alone. You can take him to other places on Coruscant if you wish, places he hasn't been before." The corners of Fetra's mouth quirked. "He also seems to be inordinately fond of Master Yoda, so if you wish to visit with him, that will be acceptable."
Qui-Gon nodded. "What about the soulbond?"
Devi shook her head. "It's too dangerous for both of you to allow completion until he's well again. You might end up with a damaged psyche as well."
"I know it will be hard on you to continue the drug schedule," Fetra said, rising to his feet. "But the hardest part is over -- Obi-Wan is home again."
Qui-Gon thanked both healers warmly and saw them to the door. They would return again the next evening, and the long process of unlocking Obi-Wan's mind would resume.
He puttered about for a bit, tidying up the common room, washing the teacups, then shut off the lights and entered his bedroom. Obi-Wan still slept soundly, and Qui-Gon removed his tunic and slipped into bed beside him. He gathered his lightly snoring Padawan into his arms, rested his cheek against the soft hair, and closed his eyes.
But it was nearly dawn before he slept.
The next few days passed relatively peacefully -- Qui-Gon thought it might be better for Obi-Wan if they nested a bit, so they stayed in their quarters, spending time in quiet activities such as reading, cooking and watching the occasional holovid. Obi-Wan grew more comfortable and relaxed as the days passed, even though the evening sessions with Fetra stirred painful memories. He no longer suffered from nightmares, and Qui-Gon suspected Fetra had more to do with that than the healer was letting on. Whatever the reason, Qui-Gon was grateful.
They had not been intimate since their second night aboard the ship, although wherever Qui-Gon planted himself, Obi-Wan was sure to follow, snuggling close.
Qui-Gon minded this not at all.
He had no intention of pursuing anything more physical with his Padawan until Obi-Wan was ready. The fact that Obi-Wan trusted him enough to allow any sort of physical contact was nothing short of a miracle, and having been deprived of his Padawan's presence for over a year, Qui-Gon enjoyed the hugs and soft kisses, the gentle touches, simply being in the same room with him.
Fetra would not disclose what his sessions with Obi-Wan revealed, saying Qui-Gon would find out soon enough when their bond was restored, and that once was more than enough for anyone to experience such horrors. Fetra had also expressed disappointment when Qui-Gon confessed their lack of intimacy, saying that Obi-Wan needed more than the one positive sexual experience to counter the overwhelming number of negative ones he had endured. But he agreed with Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan should not be pushed into anything.
When Obi-Wan started to appear restless, Qui-Gon booked a training room for the two of them, and led his Padawan in a series of simple exercises -- nothing as elaborate as a kata, for neither of them could access the Force, but enough to stretch underused muscles and begin recapturing lost tone and flexibility.
Once Obi-Wan stopped cringing every time he saw the Jedi robes, Qui-Gon took him on small excursions throughout the Temple, to the library, the starmap room, the meditation gardens. He chose the times of day when the crowds would be at their smallest, for although Obi-Wan had relaxed considerably around his fellow Jedi, some still stopped and stared, which made both of them uncomfortable.
Qui-Gon had not dared to dress in his own tunics and robe since their return, sticking to civilian attire exclusively. Without the Force, he didn't feel like much of a Jedi anyway, and he knew Obi-Wan would not react well to the sight of him dressed as one.
As for Obi-Wan, although he was pleased by his Padawan braid, and went to Qui-Gon every day to have it re-plaited, Qui-Gon couldn't quite bring himself to cut the softly waving length of that beautiful hair back to the brushy spikes he'd grown accustomed to. It was far too pleasing to the touch.
After the first tenday, Fetra gave Obi-Wan a two-day break from their sessions, saying he was happy with the progress made so far, but thought everyone involved could use the time off.
Qui-Gon decided to spend the first day of the break shopping.
Obi-Wan looked around with undisguised delight at the wide, airy market, teeming with every kind of life form imaginable. No one here spared him more than a glance, if that, no one stared or discreetly looked away as if they hadn't really seen him after all. He was one of thousands, ignored and happy to be so. Except by the man at his side, of course.
Qui-Gon had awakened him with a smiling kiss that morning, then after breakfast had taken him on a series of public transports to the marketplace, which was a sprawl of small shops, boutiques and restaurants connected on one of the mid-levels by a series of intricate walkways. Obi-Wan was to have new clothes, new shoes and boots, new books and holovids, whatever he wanted. After a year or so of being denied almost everything, Obi-Wan discovered his wants were simple. He wanted to remember his old life, and he wanted to be with Qui-Gon. Everything else was just a bonus.
They spent the morning being fitted with new clothes. Both men had exhausted their limited supply of civilian attire, and Obi-Wan took great pleasure in picking out new things for both himself and Qui-Gon to wear. They took a leisurely lunch in a garden restaurant, its high, vine-covered walls blocking out the crowds. Obi-Wan ate all of his dessert and most of Qui-Gon's.
The afternoon was spent strolling hand-in-hand through the more eclectic shops, browsing for the antique books Qui-Gon held so dear, the holovids Obi-Wan enjoyed. Qui-Gon noticed his Padawan shied away from the action-packed vids he had once devoured with rapt attention, choosing instead more intellectual fare -- and the ones with happy endings.
On their way back to the transport station, Obi-Wan's attention was caught by the window display of an art gallery. He raised an inquiring brow at Qui-Gon, who smiled and shook his head before stepping inside with his Padawan. They spent several minutes admiring the collection, then Obi-Wan's gaze fell on a small painting in one corner.
He moved closer, drawn by the bright colors. The painting depicted a tropical oasis at sunset, the sky a mix of orange and yellow, the palm trees in brilliant shades of red, blue and purple. A small stream cut through the oasis near the bottom of the painting, and Obi-Wan could almost hear the running water, feel the cool breeze of approaching night on his skin. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.
"Do you like it, my Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan tore his gaze away from the painting long enough to favor Qui-Gon with a brilliant smile.
Qui-Gon laughed, kissing Obi-Wan's brow. "Then you shall have it. It's small enough that I should have enough credits left. Stay and admire the view -- I'll go arrange for its delivery."
Obi-Wan turned back to the painting as Qui-Gon went in search of a sales clerk. He looked forward to going home and plowing through the mountain of purchases they'd had delivered today. Shopping, he decided, was an activity he thoroughly enjoyed and hoped they could do it again as soon as possible.
"Is that Master Jinn? It is! How wonderful to see you again!"
Obi-Wan turned to see Qui-Gon bend in a respectful bow. "How are you, Senator Torian?"
Obi-Wan poked his head around a large display easel and saw a man with a solid build and iron grey hair. A man with twinkling eyes and a ready smile, a man with a booming, genial voice.
A man who had once owned him.
His first instinct was to flee, but there was nowhere to run that wouldn't lead him smack into the man. He ducked back behind the display easel, frozen with indecision as memories flooded through him.
He'd never known his owner's name -- slaves had no need of such details. Nor had he known the man was a Senator, nor likely would have cared if he had. What did concern him, and the half-dozen other slaves he was quartered with, were the Master's strange tastes in entertainment.
The Master kept only one personal bedslave at a time -- the others were there to perform menial tasks and, as Obi-Wan discovered on his third night at the palatial home, to provide amusement for the Master's guests.
He'd been taken off kitchen duty by the overseer that afternoon, and spent the next several hours being carefully bathed and powdered and oiled until his skin shone with a metallic golden gleam. The Master was having a dinner party, it seemed, with several very important guests, and for them, the night promised incredible food, music and the Master's refined diversions.
Obi-Wan was the centerpiece.
His arms were bound behind his back with silk cords, and he'd been blindfolded before being placed on top of the long table. He was to kneel with his head bowed, legs apart just so, then remain perfectly still until called upon to perform. The overseer then pressed a hypo to Obi-Wan's neck and departed, leaving the slave to wait in silence for the guests' arrival.
The room gradually filled with talking, laughing people. Obi-Wan recognized the Master's voice, pitched to carry above all others, graciously accepting compliments on the table arrangements, the lighting, etc. Musicians began to play in one corner of the room, soft, smoky music with a sensual rhythm.
Obi-Wan felt strangely warm, and wondered in a disconnected way what he had been injected with. He knew, when one of the unseen guests ran an appreciatve finger over his flank, that it was an aphrodisiac of some sort. He had to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood to avoid responding to the unexpected touch.
By the time the guests were seated around him, his senses were exquisitely refined, to the point where even the sound of the Master's voice sent little shivers down his spine. He felt pleasantly detached from the proceedings, his mind floating in a space of its own, able to analyze and process data, but unable to evoke any feelings about it one way or the other.
As the meal progressed, the touches to his body became more frequent, more bold. His genitals were casually fondled, the cleft between his buttocks stroked and prodded, the strange lock of longer hair caressed. He stayed perfectly still throughout, not knowing what his punishment would be for breaking his pose, but having been a slave long enough to know it was always best avoided. He could not, however, avoid his body's reaction to the drug coursing through his veins.
"This one's divine, Tori," one woman exclaimed. "Where did you find him?"
"I leave those details to Sibi," the Master replied. "He knows my tastes." Sibi was the Master's current personal bedslave, a large, muscular man with not one hair on his body save his brows and eyelashes. The Master's favorites received a greater degree of freedom than the other slaves, and the competition to win the coveted role in the Master's bed was fierce. Sibi had purchased Obi-Wan from Brelk, after a lengthy haggling session.
"Well, he's just lovely," the woman continued, wrapping slim fingers around Obi-Wan's now fully erect cock. "I can't wait for the show."
"Careful, Rima," a male voice cautioned. "You don't want anything dripping in your soup."
"I might," she responded pertly, and the table erupted in laughter. Fortunately, her attentions strayed elsewhere, or Obi-Wan might have lost control and contaminated more than her soup.
Conversation gradually died down as the music increased in volume. When Obi-Wan heard an appreciative murmur rise from the guests, he knew his part in the evening's entertainment was about to begin. He had no idea what to expect -- he merely hoped it wouldn't be too painful or humiliating.
He heard the sounds of chairs being pushed back all around him, and managed to hold back a gasp as strong hands slid over his oiled chest and abdomen. He felt warmth behind him, and smelled a sharp, spicy scent he recognized -- Sibi.
Hot breath caressed his ear, and Sibi murmured, "Movement is allowed, but you may not resist."
Obi-Wan gave him a tiny nod, the drug helping to quell a sudden, distant throb of fear.
Sibi dipped his head and nipped at Obi-Wan's shoulder, his fingers finding over-sensitive nipples, plucking and pinching. Obi-Wan let out a soft moan, arching helplessly into the touch. He'd never been given an aphrodisiac before, and this was the first pleasant sexual contact he'd had since T'min.
Sibi kept one hand busy with his nipples, while the other strayed farther down, finding his straining cock. Obi-Wan hissed at the contact, his head falling back to rest on Sibi's shoulder. After a short bout of agonizingly light, exploratory caresses, Sibi pushed him forward until he was bent low over the table. He was kept him from falling face first onto the surface by Sibi's firm grip on his lock of long hair.
Keeping his grip tight, Sibi climbed up on the table behind Obi-Wan, who tried not to tense as he felt the hard, blunt tip of what had to be a massive cock nudging his cleft. The overseer had oiled him everywhere, but it had been quite some time ago, and he'd had no other preparation.
Sibi put a hand on his hip, and with no other warning, plunged himself to the hilt inside Obi-Wan. His sharp cry was drowned out by applause and whistles from the guests.
Obi-Wan drew in a sobbing breath, desperately trying to relax himself. Sibi sped things along by thrusting in earnest, forcing the tight muscles to loosen. Each thrust was accompanied by a sharp tug on Obi-Wan's hair, forcing his head up and back.
After a few moments of shouted encouragement from the guests, Sibi shifted slightly, and Obi-Wan felt a rush of pleasure as the cock inside him found his prostate. The drug was doing its job well, and his flagging erection sprang back to life, to the cheers of the assemblage. Sibi's hand left his hip, fastening on his pulsing shaft, and with only two short, hard strokes, brought Obi-Wan to screaming, shuddering completion.
Liquid heat spurted inside him, and Sibi let out a harsh grunt, which Obi-Wan only dimly heard above the roar of approval from the crowd. Strong hands found his shoulders and pulled him up to his knees again. He sagged back against Sibi's muscular frame, spent and gasping.
But that was only the beginning. After Sibi had received the proper accolades from the Master and his guests, Obi-Wan had been handed around to whoever expressed an interest in him, and most did. The drug had worn off shortly after his encounter with Sibi, and the rest of the night passed in a haze of pain and shame, as some of the guests were quite inventive, and eager to show off their cleverness.
Four days later, the Master had sold him to one of the guests, without once laying a hand on him.
And now that same man stood only a few meters away from the slave he'd once owned, having a perfectly normal conversation with Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan stood trembling behind the big painting on the easel, tears streaming down his face as he recalled that night at the Senator's estate. He wrapped his arms around himself, praying that the man would just leave, that he would never see him huddled there, would never share with Qui-Gon the story of that night, of how his slave had rutted like an animal before his privileged guests.
And enjoyed it.
"Obi-Wan?"
He jumped back with a small cry at the sound.
Qui-Gon stepped torward him, alarmed. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
Obi-Wan looked frantically around, then risked a glance beyond the painting. The Senator was nowhere to be seen. With a moan of relief, he sagged into Qui-Gon's waiting arms.
"Oh, my Obi-Wan -- what is it?"
Obi-Wan lifted his tear-streaked face and pointed to where the Senator had been standing, drawing the shape of a man in the air.
Qui-Gon frowned. "The man I was talking to? Senator Torian?"
Obi-Wan nodded miserably.
"What about him?"
Obi-Wan let out a long, shuddering sigh. He touched the metal collar around his neck, then grasped his wrists in an imitation of cuffs. Bowing his head in shame, he then pointed to himself.
Qui-Gon did not make a sound, and after a moment, Obi-Wan raised his head. Qui-Gon's face was white and still, his jaw clenched. "He owned you?" he finally said in a low, deadly voice.
Obi-Wan nodded again, more tears spilling free.
Something murderous flickered in Qui-Gon's eyes, and his hand fell to the hilt of his lightsabre. "Stay here," he said in the same quiet voice, and turned to leave.
Obi-Wan knew if Qui-Gon caught up to the Senator, he would kill him.
And they would take Qui-Gon away from him.
He threw himself at Qui-Gon's retreating form with a soft cry, clutching at his arm. He shook his head violently, refusing to let go. For a moment, he thought Qui-Gon might actually snarl at him, then the dangerous gleam faded from his eyes, replaced with love and overwhelming sorrow. "Obi-Wan," he said in a broken moan, the depthless blue eyes filling with tears.
Obi-Wan buried his face on Qui-Gon's chest, and strong arms slipped around him, holding him tightly. "Oh, my heart," Qui-Gon whispered. "I'm so sorry."
"Sirs?"
They turned to see the young M'garan sales clerk holding up a credit chip and staring, aghast. "W-would you like the painting delivered, or ... ?"
Qui-Gon snatched the chip from her webbed fingers. "That will be fine, thank you."
The clerk blinked and tried a weak smile. "Thank you for shopping with us."
Obi-Wan was eternally grateful to Qui-Gon for sparing him the ride back on the public transport. They took a hovercab, and during the trip Qui-Gon made two quiet calls on his comlink. He kept his arm around Obi-Wan the entire time, occasionally pressing a tender kiss to his temple.
When they finally arrived at their quarters, both Fetra and Mace were waiting for them. They made their way past the mound of purchases delivered via droid and into the common room, where Fetra led Obi-Wan to the sofa, while Mace followed Qui-Gon to the kitchen.
"Obi-Wan, can you tell me what happened?" Fetra asked, taking his hand and patting it gently.
Obi-Wan cast a longing glance at the kitchen, then took Fetra's hand and placed it on his forehead. He replayed the entire incident, including his memories of the horrid dinner party.
Fetra took a deep breath and sat back, dropping his hand. "Obi-Wan, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that happened to you was your fault."
Obi-Wan looked toward the kitchen again, and nodded reluctantly.
"Listen to me," Fetra said quietly but urgently. "Qui-Gon loves you as much as it's possible for anyone to love another, and I know you know that. He would never hold you at fault for your body's natural response to pleasurable stimulation, much less while you were in a chemically-induced state."
Obi-Wan bit his lip, nodding again.
"I've said this at every session we've had, and I'll say it again -- you are not responsible for what happened to you. You were taken from here against your will, and forced into a life not of your own making. That you not only survived, but survived with such a capacity for love and happiness, and yes, sheer joy truly astounds me." Fetra winked. "Remember, I've been inside your head -- I know what's there."
Obi-Wan smiled, his face growing warm.
"You have a remarkable spirit, Obi-Wan. Your experiences have scratched and dented it a bit, but it's not even close to being broken, and I don't think it ever will be, as long as you don't let it be broken. Do you understand?"
Obi-Wan nodded, and Fetra smiled, rising to his feet. "Good. Now let me go see what's taking them so damn long in there."
"Senator Torian? Of Breya Prime?" Mace stared at him, rather stupidly, Qui-Gon thought.
"Do you know another Senator Torian?" he snapped, then regretted it instantly. "I'm sorry."
Mace waved his apology off with an impatient frown. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but ... is Obi-Wan sure?"
Qui-Gon, in the process of taking four cups from the overhead cabinet, slammed them down on the counter. "He looked fairly sure to me when he was standing in the middle of the damned gallery, crying and shaking with fear." He put a hand to his head, where an insistent pain was forming near the top of his skull.
"So much for not taking it the wrong way," Mace said dryly. "I believe Obi-Wan believes it was the Senator, I just want to know how reliable a witness he would make."
"That's why I asked Fetra here." Qui-Gon filled the cups and thrust them in the heater, stabbing the control panel with one finger. "He'll be able to confirm it."
Mace blew out a long breath, running a hand over his bare scalp. "If Fetra confirms, I'll bring it before the Council tomorrow. We can send a team to Breya Prime, investigate what else he might have -- " Mace broke off as he noticed his friend standing with one hand still on the heater control panel, staring at nothing. "Qui-Gon?"
"I wanted to kill him, Mace," Qui-Gon said, slowly shaking his head. "I wanted to take my lightsabre and burn that smarmy grin right off his face, then work my way down. I think I would have, too, if Obi-Wan hadn't stopped me."
"It's a perfectly natural reaction," Mace said.
"Not for a Jedi." The ache in his head was growing.
"Qui-Gon, you haven't been able to access the Force for over a year now. Frankly, I'm amazed you haven't killed anyone yet."
Qui-Gon snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I'm serious. You've had no way to release any of your negative emotions, and this has been one of the roughest years of your life. Yet you still managed to not only find Obi-Wan and bring him back, but you've been there for him every minute of the day and night since. I think you need a break."
Qui-Gon rubbed his neck, where the collar of his tunic had begun to chafe. "If you suggest a retreat to Dagobah, I might just start my killing spree with you."
Mace grinned. "Do I look like a little green troll?"
"No, but you do bear a suspicious resemblance to a shaved Wookiee."
Fetra chose that moment to make his entrance, and looked between the two men with a raised eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not," Qui-Gon answered. The heater beeped, and he suddenly wanted to smash it to bits just to stop the noise. "How's Obi-Wan?"
"Much calmer." Fetra narrowed his eyes at Qui-Gon's twitchy movements. "Have you taken your meds today?"
Qui-Gon felt a burst of relief at the question. No wonder he was growing hyper-sensitive to every tiny little thing. "No, I've missed two doses. I'll go take care of that now." He took one of the cups from the heater and brought it out to Obi-Wan, who sat forlornly on the sofa, his knees drawn up under his chin.
When Obi-Wan saw hot cha in the cup instead of tea, he looked up at Qui-Gon with shining-sea eyes and smiled gratefully.
Qui-Gon swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat and touched Obi-Wan's hair, wondering how anyone could be cruel enough to try to dim the light that shone from this beautiful man.