Master Apprentice
Archive
|
|
|||
His unsuspecting victim sat quietly on a bench near the center of the fourteenth-level quad, studying a datapad. He glanced around, noting with satisfaction the relative emptiness of the quad at this early hour, used by the Padawans as a break area from classes, and by Knights and Masters as a place to connect with a bit of the Living Force without having to defer to the rituals imposed by the more formal meditation gardens.
There would be no witnesses, then, no one to give warning of his impending attack. His heart pounding in anticipation, he crept forward, his footsteps muffled by the springy grass. He held his breath as he drew near, then struck with lightning speed, his fingers unerringly finding the sensitive spots beneath his victim's shoulder blades.
Said victim let out a most undignified squeal and leaped from the bench, whirling around, lightsabre at the ready, but not ignited.
Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest and grinned. "You've missed me desperately, haven't you?"
Bant glared at him, her 'sabre still held tightly. "You little shit! You almost gave me -- " She broke off, blinking at him in astonishment. "Obi-Wan, you -- you remember me?"
His grin widened. "I remember where you're ticklish, at least."
With another squeal, this one less outraged but just as undignified, she hurtled over the bench and tackled him, eliciting a startled grunt when he hit the ground.
Unfortunately, she remembered where he was ticklish, too.
They wrestled around in the grass until both were breathless with laughter. Propping her head up on one hand, she looked down at him with a happy sigh. "You need a haircut."
Obi-Wan ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "I know. I'm going to have to ease myself back into feeling like a Padawan again. Hell, I can't even feel like a Jedi yet."
Bant eyed the collar around his neck. "I've been wondering why they haven't taken that off you. Want to talk about it?"
He crossed his arms under his head, a smile crossing his face that he was certain looked as silly and dreamy as it felt. "Before I went missing, Qui-Gon and I formed a soulbond."
"Oh, Obi-Wan! That's wonderful!"
"Not quite yet, it isn't. It was ... broken, I guess, so I have to wear this thing until we have a chance to reconnect it." He sighed heavily. "And we have to wait for the healers to approve our mental health before we can."
"How is your mental health?" she asked quietly.
"It's been better," he said, just as quietly. Before things got too maudlin, he smiled. "But it's been a lot worse, too. I'm just happy to have my head back in some sort of order right now."
Bant cocked her head to one side. "Your head's order wasn't all that stellar to begin with, Kenobi," she said with a sly grin.
"Blow me, Eerin," he said, returning the grin.
"Sorry," she said smugly. "Non-compatible species."
Obi-Wan sat up, laughing. "Listen, I have to meet Qui-Gon at the healers ward -- can you have noonmeal with me?"
"Love to. Dining hall?"
"Fine. Are Garen and Reeft in-temple? I'd like to see them, too."
"Garen's on a mission, but Reeft is here. I'll drag him along."
"Thanks, Bant." He got to his feet and helped her up, then kissed her cheek. "I'll see you then."
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. "Welcome back, Obi-Wan."
Fetra shook his head with a frustrated noise. "I can't get any kind of a grip on it. It slides right out of my grasp every time I try."
Obi-Wan rolled his head on his shoulders, working out the tension in his neck. "That's exactly the way it feels when I try to remember his face -- I slip around it." He smiled at Qui-Gon as his Master put a warm hand to his neck and rubbed. They sat in the chairs in front of Fetra's desk, having already gone through an exhaustive round of physical exams at Devi's hands.
"Well, if it's any consolation, your ability to shield is more impressive than any I've seen before." Fetra's lips quirked in a wry smile. "Even from yourself." He sat back in his chair and studied his patient intently. "Obi-Wan, you've told me what this man did to you -- what do you think makes him different from any of the others who abused you? Different enough that you felt the subconscious need to protect yourself from his memory?"
Obi-Wan looked down at his hands. "When he first brought me on board his ship, he told me -- " His voice quavered and he cleared his throat. "He told me that he knew me, and that he was taking me home, back to the people who loved me." He heard Qui-Gon make a small, strangled sound. "And then when he ... when he started to hurt me -- " His voice dropped to a whisper. "It was the first time that I truly wanted to die, just so it would all be over, so it would ... stop hurting."
Qui-Gon's hand found one of his own, and he squeezed it hard, grateful.
"All of them tortured me, in one way or another," Obi-Wan continued, still studying his hands. "But he was the one who destroyed whatever hope I had left."
"I see," Fetra said quietly. "That would explain your resistance to Qui-Gon when he first arrived."
"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered. "I thought it was going to start all over again, that he would torture me with false promises and then -- " He swallowed. "When we landed here, and I saw the tunics and robes, I -- " His voice broke and he shook his head, remembering how close he had come to throwing himself off the landing platform.
Qui-Gon slipped out of his chair and knelt before Obi-Wan, pulling him close. He rested his head on the strong shoulder, Qui-Gon stroking his hair, and slowly, his composure returned. He raised his head, giving his Master a watery smile. Qui-Gon kissed his forehead, then returned to his chair, still keeping a firm grip on Obi-Wan's hand.
"I need to do some research on this type of block," Fetra said, entering notes on a datapad. "I know Devi has cleared you physically, but I just can't approve the bonding reconnection until we know more about the state of both of your minds."
One of Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose. "Is there something wrong with mine you haven't been telling me?"
"Not at the moment, but you have to understand what you'll be letting yourself in for when the bond is healed -- you'll be experiencing every single thing Obi-Wan has gone through, and in a very short space of time. I'm frankly astonished Obi-Wan has managed to emerge as relatively unscathed as he has, and he had time to process his experiences as they happened. If we're not careful, if your will and spirit aren't strong enough to absorb those blows, we might lose you."
"And you won't have the advantage of being mindwiped," Obi-Wan said softly.
Qui-Gon stared at him. "Advantage?"
Obi-Wan glanced at Fetra, who gave him an encouraging smile. "Qui-Gon, what happened to me was bad enough when I thought I was just a slave. If I had known who and what I was ... if I had remembered what I'd been before, what I'd lost ... ." Tears stung his eyes again and he blinked them back. "I don't think I would have survived."
"Well, I don't know about that," Fetra said. "You have a fierce will, Obi-Wan, one I've become quite familiar with. I think Qui-Gon's will matches your own, but I want to be certain before we proceed." He stood, signifying the end of the session. "Qui-Gon, I'm going to give you some anger meditation exercises that don't require use of the Force." He waved at Qui-Gon, who looked as if he were about to protest. "Don't bother denying it -- you know perfectly well you have rage issues with what happened to Obi-Wan, even if you haven't been showing it. I want the both of you to be in the best possible state of mind when the bond is healed -- you don't need to trade baggage with each other."
"Thank you, Healer Fetra," Obi-Wan said as they rose to leave.
Fetra smiled. "Don't worry, either of you. Everything will work out fine."
Obi-Wan felt the weight of the stares as he carried his tray through the dining hall. He felt an absurd impulse to start babbling and foaming at the mouth, tearing his hair and clothes, just to give them a good show. He snickered, wondering what Qui-Gon's reaction would be. His Master sat with his Councilor cronies at their table, and he could feel those midnight eyes on him as well. It brought a warm, pleased glow to his stomach.
He made his way to the table already occupied by Bant, Reeft, and a few more of their agemates, sitting next to Bant, who was contemplating her meal suspiciously.
"I didn't think they were supposed to serve us things that are still alive," she said, poking at a mound of green-grey slime.
"They're not," Obi-Wan said, popping a nefla root head in his mouth.
"I'd swear before the Council this just moved." She jabbed the mound again, then shrugged.
"If you don't want it ... ." Reeft began hopefully.
"I couldn't do that to you, Reeft," she said, lifting a forkful to her mouth. "Into the breach."
Obi-Wan chuckled to himself, eternally grateful to Bant and Reeft for not treating him like he had suddenly grown a new head. His friends were as constant as Qui-Gon, and he knew how lucky he was to have them.
He felt an unsubtle elbow in his ribs. "Asshole alert," Bant murmured, nodding to her right.
Obi-Wan looked up in time to see Bruck Chun sitting down at the table opposite theirs. The Padawan's icy blue eyes met Obi-Wan's briefly, then looked away, dismissing him as unimportant.
"I knew there had to be drawbacks to regaining my memory," Obi-Wan said in a low voice. Bant snickered, and they continued to eat in silence for a few minutes. "What happened to his head?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Whose head? Chun's?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "He's got a new scar since the last time I saw him."
Bant made a disgusted noise. "He was showing off in the salle a few cycles back. Tried some spectacular aerial he wasn't ready for and landed wrong. I guess Master Jethyn made him keep the scar to remind him that idiocy is not becoming to a Jedi." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Reeft, where did you get that?"
Reeft looked at her with wide, innocent eyes, a muja-fruit tart halfway to his mouth. "Merta said I could have it -- she's on a diet."
Bant rolled her eyes at Obi-Wan and went back to her meal.
Obi-Wan shook his head in mock despair as Reeft slowly devoured the sticky pastry, making little noises of delight. Something tickled the back of his mind, some bit of memory floating to the surface ... .
He was back on the ship, chained to the metal table, straining with all his might for the remains of a muja-fruit tart. Snatches of conversation floated out to him as his big toe brushed the tart.
" -- ning accident ... healer's ward ... head trauma ... . "
" ... understand ... soon as possible ... ."
A wave of nausea slammed into him as his fork clattered to the floor. He moaned, bending low over the table, his head spinning as something inside tore free, slicing into his consciousness.
"Obi-Wan?" Bant's voice, alarmed.
He forced himself to straighten, schooling his features into a tightly controlled mask.
"Are you sick?"
He shook his head, his heart pounding as he looked around the dining hall. "Just ate too fast." There, at one of the Masters' tables. The tall man with short brown hair and pale blue eyes.
Kinver Jethyn. Bruck Chun's Master.
Qui-Gon was in the midst of laughing at Mace's incredibly crude joke when he spotted his Padawan, white-faced and trembling, stalking toward one of the Masters' tables.
He was on his feet in an instant, moving on an intercept course. He reached Obi-Wan's side at the same time Obi-Wan stopped at the table, staring fixedly at Jethyn.
"Get up."
Qui-Gon had never heard his Padawan's voice sound so low and deadly. "Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan's eyes never left Jethyn's.
The Master looked up with polite concern. "Padawan Kenobi. Is there a problem?"
"Get on your feet, and face me." The tone of Obi-Wan's voice had not changed, he had not moved or blinked.
Qui-Gon was unnerved by the sudden silence of the table, the other Masters sitting frozen, their attention riveted to the scene playing out before them. Jethyn looked at Qui-Gon with an apologetic smile, the kind that said How distressing this must be for you. "Master Jinn, is there some medication your Padawan has missed taking?"
Qui-Gon felt totally lost, as if he'd wandered into the middle of a play, scriptless. "Obi-Wan, what is going on?"
Obi-Wan kept his gaze fixed on Jethyn, a small, cold smile curving his lips. "He has a head now."
The significance of Obi-Wan's words rammed into Qui-Gon like a blow to the stomach.
Faster than thought, he whirled, his fist crashing into Jethyn's face, feeling a satisfying crunch as the nose collapsed under his knuckles. Everything seemed to happen very slowly then -- Jethyn flew backwards, blood squirting from his nose, his chair toppling to the floor. Qui-Gon launched himself at the falling Master, bearing him to the floor, his only intention to hurt and keep hurting until the man was dead.
He felt hands on his shoulders and arms, pulling him back, heard shouts and cries, and one or two lightsabres being ignited, and he struggled, his entire being focused on destroying the man who had nearly destroyed his Obi-Wan.
The entire dining hall erupted into pandemonium as Knights and Masters attempted to stop the fray, and Padawans and Initiates climbed up on tables and chairs to see what all the fuss was about.
Only three figures remained still in the ensuing chaos -- one Padawan, who stood near the center of the storm, as regal and proud as an avenging angel, another Padawan, who sat staring at his uneaten food with tears streaming down his face, and the little green Master who watched them both, filled with sorrow.
"It evidently started just after Jethyn took Bruck as his Padawan," Fetra said, holding back a yawn. The healer looked as tired as Obi-Wan had ever seen him.
They were gathered in one of the waiting lounges in the healers ward -- Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Fetra, Devi, Mace and Yoda. After Qui-Gon had been pried off Jethyn, Mace had ordered the bloodied Master taken to the healers, where he currently slept off his injuries under restraints in a Force-shielded room. Yoda had escorted Bruck here himself, followed closely by Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.
"Jethyn appears to be a natural predator -- Bruck's self-esteem was already low before he was chosen, and Jethyn honed in on that characteristic and used it to his considerable advantage." Fetra shook his head. "Padawan Chun has spent the last nine years being abused as badly as Obi-Wan was aboard Jethyn's ship -- perhaps worse."
"I only had to live through three days of it," Obi-Wan said, leaning against Qui-Gon. "Poor Bruck."
"How could this happen?" Mace asked. "How is it that none of us knew what was going on?"
"None of us wanted to know," Qui-Gon said wearily. "Instead of wondering about the reasons behind Bruck's obnoxious behavior, we just avoided it, or him, entirely."
"Failed Padawan Chun, we have," Yoda said. "All of us."
"Healer Fetra," Obi-Wan said hesitantly, "did Bruck say anything about ... I mean -- why me?"
Fetra gave Obi-Wan a measuring look. "Are you sure you want to hear this right now?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Will it be any easier to hear later?"
Fetra acknowledged his point with a small nod. "It seems Jethyn wanted you as his Padawan, but had been assigned so many missions during the timeframe when you might have been chosen -- " Fetra looked pointedly at Yoda. " -- that by the time he returned, you had already left for the Agricorps, and of course, were eventually chosen by Qui-Gon."
Yoda harrumphed. "As it should be."
"Jethyn started Bruck's training in a fairly normal manner," Fetra continued, "but inserted subtle reminders now and then that Bruck had not been his first choice. He began needling Bruck constantly, always pointing to Obi-Wan as the ideal he should be trying to exemplify."
"No wonder he hates me," Obi-Wan murmured.
"The physical abuse began about a year after he became Jethyn's Padawan, little things like a cuff on the head or a slap whenever he'd performed incorrectly, but they eventually built up into full-blown beatings, which Jethyn would then heal to avoid detection." Fetra closed his eyes and let out a harsh sigh. "When Bruck was fifteen, the abuse turned sexual. Shortly thereafter, Bruck began disassociating, and experiencing psychotic breaks, fugue states where he would behave irrationally. By that time, however, Bruck's reputation as a bully was well-established, so most of the incidents were passed off as normal disciplinary problems."
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Jethyn and Bruck came to me the day I left in search of Obi-Wan. Bruck apologized for the prank he'd played on Obi-Wan in the creche. He seemed sincerely contrite."
"I'm sure he was," Fetra said. "He thought he might have played a part in the disappearance of his Master's fantasy figure, something Jethyn readily blamed him for, and for which he no doubt punished him accordingly."
Obi-Wan shivered. "So when Jethyn found me on Sindara ... ."
"It was a dream come true for him, I'm sorry to say." Fetra shifted in his chair. "He might have had the idea to actually rescue you initially, but once he discovered you'd been mindwiped, an ideal opportunity presented itself. He could finally act out every sick fantasy he'd constructed for himself, punish you for not being his. He may have been planning to hide you somewhere on Coruscant, a brothel or another sordid place where he could see you whenever he wanted. However, Bruck's training accident aborted those plans, and he was forced to take you back to Sindara, no doubt planning to return when he could and buy you again."
"Thank the Force Qui-Gon found you first," Mace said.
Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, his Master's arms tightening around him.
"When you and Qui-Gon returned to the Temple," Fetra went on, "it sent Jethyn into a momentary panic. When he heard through the grapevine that you were having problems recovering from the mindwipe, he relaxed somewhat, especially after it became obvious that you didn't remember him. Evidently, Jethyn had worked out a very elaborate plan to kidnap you again, which set off another psychotic episode in Bruck, resulting in the beating you received in the training room. His reasoning, fractured though it might have been, was that if you were no longer attractive to his Master, if Jethyn was no longer able to fixate on you, perhaps his own torment would cease. He couldn't quite bring himself to kill you, but it was a near thing."
Obi-Wan let out a long, shuddering breath. "Can I see him?"
Fetra pursed his lips. "Obi-Wan, I don't think that's -- "
"Just for a minute? Please."
"Go with you, I will," Yoda announced, as if the matter was decided. He got to his feet and followed Obi-Wan out of the waiting lounge, Devi right behind them.
Qui-Gon watched them go, then turned back to Fetra. "What about Xanatos? What has he got to do with all this?"
Fetra grimaced. "I'm afraid Xanatos was merely a random cog in this particular machine. As far as I can determine, he had no connection with Jethyn whatsoever."
Qui-Gon leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. "And he's still out there somewhere. Watching the calendar."
"He's under a very mild sedative," Devi said. "But he's conscious and fairly lucid. I don't want you throwing any blame or accusations at him right now."
Yoda looked up at Obi-Wan, his eyes narrowing. "About blame, this is not, Master Devi. Yes, young one?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered.
"Go ahead then," Devi said, palming the door control. "Five minutes, no more."
The door slid shut behind Obi-Wan, and Devi looked down at Yoda. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Yoda closed his eyes with a small crooning noise. "Heart as big as the sky, that one has. Worry, you should not."
Obi-Wan felt a small tingling at his throat as he crossed the threshold, and realized his collar was reacting to the room's Force-shielding. The lights were off, the only illumination coming from Coruscant's setting sun as it shone through the window.
Bruck sat on the bed, his back to Obi-Wan, watching the night fall.
Obi-Wan took two cautious steps forward. "Bruck?" he said softly.
Bruck turned his head slightly toward the sound, then resumed his study of the window.
Obi-Wan took another few steps, studying the slumped shoulders of the man on the bed. His throat tightened as he tried to imagine the horrendous life Bruck must have led, wondered what he would have been like if Qui-Gon had been an abusive monster. Gods, I'm lucky, he thought.
"I love him, you know," Bruck said quietly, freezing Obi-Wan in his tracks. "I can't help it. He's my Master."
"Bruck, I'm so sorry," Obi-Wan whispered.
"It's not your fault." He let out a short, bitter laugh, one that hurt Obi-Wan's heart. "Some days I know that, some days I don't."
Obi-Wan bowed his head, fighting back tears. "I understand perfectly if you don't ever want to see me again. But I just want you to know that if you ever ... if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who ... who might understand -- " He swallowed, hard. "I'll be here."
Bruck said nothing for a long moment. "I think ... I think I would like that. I never had anyone to talk to, not really." He turned his head, his icy eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Will you be my first friend?"
Obi-Wan smiled, his own tears sliding down his cheeks. "Promise to stop calling me Oafy-wan?"
The ghost of a smile curved Bruck's lips. "Deal."
When the door to their quarters opened, Obi-Wan didn't stop walking until he reached the bedroom, knowing that he would drop wherever he paused. He felt a bone-deep weariness, and knew Qui-Gon couldn't be too much better off.
He sank down on his side of the bed and leaned over to pull his boots off as Qui-Gon came in. His Master sat on the foot of the bed and began tugging on his own boots.
Neither had spoken a word since leaving the healers ward.
Obi-Wan sat and contemplated the floor, his head filled with images of Jethyn aboard the ship, imaginings of what Jethyn had done to Bruck, the utterly defeated look in Bruck's eyes. Obi-Wan never wanted to see that look on another face again, much less the face of a fellow Jedi.
"I wanted to kill him."
Obi-Wan lifted his head and looked at Qui-Gon's back. "I know," he said softly. "I wanted you to kill him." He remembered standing like a statue in the dining hall, practically glowing with vindication and fury as Qui-Gon had attacked Jethyn. He had never felt less like a Jedi in his life. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Qui-Gon turned his head and looked at him. "Obi-Wan, in this entire, convoluted mess, there is no one more blameless than you. You have nothing to be sorry for."
"Don't I? Would it have killed me to spare a minute's thought for Bruck? To wonder why he seemed to single me out? If I had bothered to take the time, I could have sensed something horribly wrong with him. Instead, I just suffered his attacks with quiet dignity, like a good little Jedi, like the self-righteous prick he thought I was."
Qui-Gon slid across the bed and put a hand on Obi-Wan's back. "No. Don't do this."
Obi-Wan let out a trembling sigh, touching the bearded face, drawing it close. "Make it stop," he whispered against Qui-Gon's lips. "Please, just make it all go away, make it -- " Qui-Gon claimed his mouth with a heat and urgency that matched his own.
Hands roved over his clothing as his mouth was plundered, deft fingers loosening and untying. His own hands scrabbled at Qui-Gon's clothing, desperate with the need for warm skin against his.
Searing heat trailed down his throat, and he groaned, pulling Qui-Gon down with him to the bed, gasping as callused fingers brushed a nipple. Supple lips traced a path downward, and Obi-Wan, realizing Qui-Gon's intent, put his hands on either side of his Master's face. "No," he panted. "Inside me. Please."
Qui-Gon met his eyes for a long moment, then reached over Obi-Wan's head, plucking the vial of oil from the table beside the bed. Obi-Wan gasped involuntarily when a cold droplet landed on his stomach, then his gasp turned to a moan of frustration as one slick finger invaded him. "No," he groaned. "All of you, now, need you, please, need you, need ... ."
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon moaned, then he was slipping inside, slowly, carefully. Obi-Wan grabbed his hips and pulled, impaling himself fully, and Qui-Gon let out a low, surprised cry.
It hurt, he wasn't ready, but he wanted it to hurt, needed it to, just a little. He suspected Qui-Gon needed it this way, too, needed to purge his anger and frustration. Obi-Wan made a soft, needy noise and Qui-Gon began to thrust, instinct taking over where reason had fled.
They clung to each other as they rocked, banishing their demons together. As Qui-Gon's climax filled him, Obi-Wan let go, howling his completion, unsure if the tears on his face were Qui-Gon's or his own.
After two hours, Qui-Gon gave up. Tired as he was, sleep was not coming. Worries chased their tails in his mind, an endless whirling that could only be banished by meditation or conversation.
Option A was out.
He looked down at Obi-Wan's face, cast in a ghostly light from the reflections of myriad vehicles steadily trailing past the window. So beautiful when he slept, embarassingly long lashes resting on the delicate skin beneath his closed eyes. Finely made lips softly parted, such a contrast to the pugnacious jaw, the cleft Qui-Gon held so dear.
He still didn't quite know how he'd managed not to go mad after even one day away from that shining presence.
With a regretful sigh, he eased himself out of bed, careful not to disturb his slumbering Padawan. He ran a hand through his hair, tucked it behind his ears, then dressed quickly and quietly before slipping from the bedroom. He left a brief message on the comm, in case Obi-Wan should wake before his return, threw his cloak on and exited their quarters.
The Temple was quiet, only a few Jedi wandering about -- the nocturnal races, a few teams returning from missions. Qui-Gon could hardly remember their last mission -- ah, yes. Ramisa. His gut clenched at the memory of Obi-Wan lying motionless at the foot of the transport ramp, his tunic still smoking from the blaster hit. And the boy had been trying to reassure him through the bond.
Qui-Gon's step faltered as he realized he couldn't quite remember what the bond felt like. To have that comforting presence always in the back of his mind, to know that Obi-Wan was gloriously alive and in the world.
If he had to endure much more of this, he would go mad.
He found the door he wanted and pushed the chime. Before it had even begun to ring, the door slid open.
"Late, you are. Cold, the tea is."
Qui-Gon didn't bother to ask how his Master had known he was coming. He'd learned that particular lesson many years ago.
"Have all night to wait, I do not." With that, Yoda turned from the door and stumped into the common room.
Shaking his head, Qui-Gon followed, removing his cloak. "I suppose you know why I'm here as well."
"Do you?" Yoda settled himself into the low chair nearest the table, eyeing the tea service with disgruntlement.
"No." Qui-Gon took his place on the pillows next to his Master's chair. "I couldn't sleep and found myself here."
"Worried you are, about my grand-Padawan." Yoda took one of the biscuits from the tray and began nibbling.
"That goes without saying, my Master."
"Worried about his actions earlier, you are, and your own."
Qui-Gon took a biscuit from the tray and studied it. "I've never before wanted to kill another in anger. No, not in anger. In hatred."
Yoda grunted. "Never before have you been cut off from the Force. Unable to release your feelings, you have been."
Qui-Gon ran a finger over the ridged edges of the biscuit. "I shouldn't have had those feelings in the first place."
Yoda's ears lowered. "Know better than that, you do. Jedi you are, but human too. Deny your feelings for Obi-Wan, would you?"
Qui-Gon looked up in shock. "Of course not."
"No different, your feelings for Jethyn." He forestalled Qui-Gon's protest with a wave. "Love, hate -- both are strong, both necessary. Think you to love so deeply and not hate as well? Always seeking balance, is the Force."
"I suppose." Qui-Gon set the biscuit back on the tray. "What worries me is what might happen when our bond is restored. What if my emotions taint Obi-Wan in some way?"
Yoda's eyes narrowed. "Much suffering has Obi-Wan endured. Think you he does not hate?"
Qui-Gon thought of Obi-Wan's compassion for Bruck, and slowly shook his head. "I don't know if he has the capacity for hatred, my Master."
Yoda cackled gleefully. "Human, he is! Blind yourself to that, you should not." He propped himself on his gimer stick and pulled himself up. "Reconnect the bond, you should, and soon. Wait up for you every night, I will not."
Qui-Gon scrambled to his feet, recognizing the dismissal. "But Fetra says we shouldn't until our emotions are more under control."
Yoda snorted. "Dithering, Fetra is. Tell him myself, I will." He stumped to the door, not bothering to see if Qui-Gon was following. "If wait for perfect serenity you do, eight hundred years old you will be."
Obi-Wan burrowed into his pillow with a small, contented noise. He loved sleeping in this big bed that always smelled of Qui-Gon, no matter how freshly laundered the sheets were. However, he didn't recall it having quite this much leg room.
He raised his head as he became aware of the lack of breathing other than his own. He was alone. "Qui-Gon?" The fresher door stood open, the room beyond dark.
"Quarter lights," he said, sitting up, blinking against the sudden illumination, dim though it was. He pulled on his robe and stepped out into the hallway, already hearing light snores coming from the common room. He smiled, making his way to the sofa in the near-darkness.
The light from the bedroom caught the harsh planes of his Master's face, relaxed in sleep, his long legs dangling off the end of the sofa. Except for boots, Qui-Gon was fully clothed, his cloak slung haphazardly over his frame, half on, half off.
Obi-Wan knelt beside the sofa, nuzzling his cheek against the scratchy beard. Qui-Gon mumbled something unintelligible, then opened his eyes.
"There's a perfectly good bed going to waste in there," Obi-Wan murmured, his lips soft against Qui-Gon's ear.
"You were taking up most of it when I got back." Qui-Gon ran his fingers over the Padawan braid. "I didn't want to disturb you."
Obi-Wan straightened and motioned for him to move back. Qui-Gon shifted, turning on his side to make room on the sofa. "Back from where?" Obi-Wan asked as he lay down, partly on top of his Master.
"Late-night tea with Yoda. Although there wasn't much tea involved, now that I think about it."
Obi-Wan tucked his head into the earthy, clean-smelling hollow formed by Qui-Gon's neck and shoulder. "You only have tea with Yoda when something's troubling you."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said softly. He rested his chin atop Obi-Wan's head. "I'm worried about the bond. What it might do to us."
Obi-Wan, in the process of becoming entirely too comfortable, was suddenly alert. "Because of what Fetra said about the baggage?"
"Yes."
Obi-Wan considered that in silence for a moment. He couldn't blame the man, not really. "Qui-Gon, if ... if you don't want to bond wth me, I'll understand completely." He tried a laugh, to take the edge off, but it didn't help. "I mean, it's sort of a case of love me, love my soul-healer, isn't it?" His voice wobbled a bit, and he silently cursed himself.
Qui-Gon's voice was pure astonishment. "Where in all the hells did that come from?"
Obi-Wan lifted his head and looked into Qui-Gon's eyes, nearly black in the dim light. "You said you were worried about the bond. Isn't that what you meant, that you're afraid all the trauma in my head will ... I don't know ... infect you?"
Qui-Gon laughed, and a tiny knot eased in Obi-Wan's chest. "No, my dearest one. I'm concerned that what's in my head will infect you."
"But ... I want what's in your head." This produced more laughter from Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan felt somewhat annoyed. "I'm serious, Qui-Gon. I love you. All of you. Whatever burdens you carry, whatever fears or worries or -- or whatever. I want to be in your soul."
"You already are," Qui-Gon whispered. "Obi-Wan, there are so many cares in my heart, so much guilt and grief built up over two of your lifetimes. I don't want to add even one more burden to all you've had to endure."
"I don't care." Obi-Wan felt tears threatening, and forced them back. He was heartily sick of being a weepy mess most of the time. "Whatever we have to deal with, we'll do it together. And I know there's so much more in there." He touched Qui-Gon's temple, ran his hand down the length of hair. "There's infinite patience, joy, compassion, honor, love. I want all of it. Everything you possess, good and bad, everything you are combines to make you the finest man I have ever known."
"Oh, my Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his voice hoarse. "You shame me. Would that I could be half the man you are." His arms tightened around Obi-Wan. "You are everything to me."
They held each other close for a moment or two, then Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "There is one more thing."
Obi-Wan lifted his head, eyes full of love and concern. "What is it?"
Qui-Gon grimaced. "I've got a leg cramp that would cripple a bantha -- can we go back to bed?"
Obi-Wan tried to remain calm as Devi and Fetra fussed over Qui-Gon. He'd already endured their poking and prodding, and paced by the small window in the Force-shielded room, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to bleed off some of his restless energy and nervousness.
After a brief meeting with the leader of the Jedi Council, Fetra had reluctantly agreed to allow the bonding reconnection. Obi-Wan had never seen the man so nervous as he was this morning, almost snapping at Devi if she got in his way. He had apologized after a time, saying that it was the total lack of precedent for their situation that made him anxious. When Obi-Wan had asked what they could expect, Fetra had thrown his hands in the air and said he hadn't the first idea. All the healers could do, he said, was keep them monitored and trust in the Force.
"Obi-Wan, we're ready for you," Devi said, and he crossed the room to settle himself on the pillows across from Qui-Gon. The room contained nothing else but the springy mat on the floor beneath the piles of pillows. Both he and Qui-Gon were barefoot, dressed in light, loose exercise clothing, sitting cross-legged on the pillows, their knees close, but not quite touching.
"Qui-Gon, once I give you the injection, I'll remove Obi-Wan's collar." Devi knelt to one side of the two men, Fetra standing just behind her. "I really can't tell you what will happen then, but it will probably involve a great deal of pain until the connection is complete. We'll be monitoring you both from the next room, and if it looks as if either of you is in serious trouble, we won't have any choice but to knock you out, even if the connection isn't yet finished." She turned her attention to Obi-Wan. "Because of the build-up of drugs in Qui-Gon's system, you're likely to feel the effects before he does. Remain as calm and focused as you can, and do not attempt to reach out to the Force until he begins to show signs of feeling it."
"I understand," Obi-Wan said, smiling at his Master.
"Once you've both established contact with the Force," Fetra said, "then you can begin to reach out to each other. I have no way of knowing for sure, but I believe that is when you'll experience the worst of the pain. Because the bond was severed with such violence, the closer you get to each other, the more shredded the ends of the connection will be. Whatever happens, don't stop reaching for each other." He put a hand on both men's shoulders. "This is going to be an excruciating ordeal for both of you, and I wish there was another way, but the end result will be more than worth it."
Devi looked between them. "Are you both ready?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing.
Fetra went to the door and paused, looking back. "Gentlemen, may the F -- "
"Don't say it," Qui-Gon said with a wry smile.
Fetra laughed. "Good luck, then."
As the door slid shut, Devi pressed a hypo to Qui-Gon's neck, then quickly stepped behind Obi-Wan and unlocked his collar, removing it gently. She smiled at them, then left the room.
Obi-Wan let out a long breath, touching his throat, free of its restraint for the first time in more than a year. He could still feel its phantom weight, and wondered if he always would.
Qui-Gon was watching him with sharp, alert eyes. "Anything?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not yet." He sat quietly for a moment, wondering if he could even remember how to reach out to the Force. "You?"
"No."
Obi-Wan looked around the room. Since they would be in no condition to erect their own shields, the room had been carefully shielded by Master Yoda and a few others exceptionally strong in the Force. Obi-Wan shuddered mentally at the thought of broadcasting some of his experiences to the entire Temple. Although it might do some of them good, he thought with momentary amusement.
"You're fidgeting."
He looked down at the fingers he'd been unconsciously tapping against his legs and stilled them. "Sorry, Master."
Qui-Gon sighed heavily and rolled his head on his shoulders.
"You all right?" Obi-Wan asked, looking for any signs of distress.
"Fine."
Obi-Wan let his thoughts wander again, wondering what Bant was up to this morning, how Bruck was doing. He glanced out the small window, catching a glimpse of one of the new MI-393 speeders from a distance, admiring its sleek curves. After several minutes, he heard an odd humming sound, and realized belatedly it was coming from him, the tune a Corellian drinking song Garen had taught him one night at a party. He looked at Qui-Gon, who watched him with a raised brow, and the sound died in his throat. "Sorry."
The corner of Qui-Gon's mouth rose. "It is a bit of an anti-climax, isn't it?"
Obi-Wan snickered, then chuckled, then gave over to full-blown laughter, letting some of his nervous tension escape. Qui-Gon joined him, and both laughed helplessly for a few minutes.
Obi-Wan wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "Oh, I needed that."
Qui-Gon regarded him with a warm smile. "I love to hear you laugh, my Obi-Wan." He reached out to take Obi-Wan's hand. As his fingers touched Obi-Wan's skin, a fist-sized ball of blue-white energy erupted at the point of contact.
Obi-Wan cried out as searing pain slammed into his arm, flowing up the limb, spreading through his chest, down into his abdomen, his groin, his legs, everywhere. Oh shit, he thought distantly, crying Qui-Gon's name as he teetered on the brink of a precipice, then fell, spiraling helplessly down.
The pain was enormous, terrifying, flooding every cell he possessed. He heard screaming, thought it might be Qui-Gon, realized it was both of them. He tried to focus, tried to get a handle on the energy tearing through him, but he could only flail about, lost and powerless as the Force ravaged his body, his being.
Something large crashed into him, bearing him to the floor, and he writhed at the contact, trying to twist out of its grasp as the agony intensified. He sensed a bright white glow before him, looming over the landscape of his consciousness like a squall line, and he pushed himself toward it, hoping it was the merciful oblivion of death.
The screams grew louder as he neared the brightness, the pain increasing exponentially, and he flung himself forward with the last of his strength, the brilliance of the light swallowing him whole.
"What the hell was that?" Devi almost shouted as Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan's hand.
Fetra stared at the monitor in disbelief. "The Force," he breathed, then blinked as the screen filled with a bright blue-white glow. "Devi, what ... ?"
"The machines are shutting down." Devi leaped to her feet and rushed to the door of the shielded room, stopping as the screams of the two men inside reached her. She looked back at her colleague. "Fetra?"
Fetra stood abruptly, his violet eyes wide. "We have to -- "
He was interrupted by an explosion of energy that blew Devi off her feet, tearing through the shields so carefully erected around the room. Fetra was flung against the bank of monitors as the energy expanded like the blast from a thermal detonator.
Every window on the healers level exploded outward in a shimmering cascade of broken glass.
In the Council Chamber, Yoda was on his feet and moving toward the door before the other Councilors could even register the sound.
In Master Pitfa's philosophy class, located on the level directly beneath a certain room, the students heard the roar, then were all knocked senseless as the energy crashed into them. Master Pitfa, in the process of explaining the ideology behind Segnerian sun worship, collapsed under his desk and was not discovered for several hours.
All over the Temple, even on the levels farthest from the healers level, every Jedi turned instinctively toward the source of the energy.
And in his formerly Force-shielded room, Kinver Jethyn stood calmly by his shattered window, running his palm over the shards of glass embedded in the frame. He lifted his face to catch the cool breeze swirling in, then with a small smile, stepped forward onto empty air.
Obi-Wan flew soundlessly through the light, the pain blessedly behind him. The incandescence was no longer terrifying, it was warm and welcoming, suffusing him with its essence.
It felt like home.
I'm dead, he thought, I'm one with the Force. No, he corrected as he stared in wonder at the colors sparkling brightly around him.
I'm one with Qui-Gon.
He reached out to one of the vivid glows, and it enveloped him, flooding him with sensation and memory, a memory that left him feeling too tall and awkward, gripped with adolescent insecurity.
He laughed delightedly, spreading out to touch every glow he could, immersing himself in all the colors of Qui-Gon's soul.
/Obi-Wan?/
The response was automatic, as natural as breathing. /Yes, Master?/
/Obi-Wan ... ./
/Oh. Oh, my Qui-Gon./
Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes, and saw Qui-Gon's face close to his, those incredible blue eyes red-rimmed. He saw his own face as well, aqua eyes blinking in wonder at blue, at aqua, and on into infinity like a mirror reflecting endlessly.
They were one.
Obi-Wan had lived Qui-Gon's life along with him, had seen and touched and felt, wrenching grief and loss when Xanatos had drawn his 'sabre against him, a different kind of grief when Obi-Wan himself had nearly done the same. The same desperate feeling of wanting to belong as an Initiate, fears of never being good enough, strong enough, the enormous relief at being chosen, suffering quietly through endless teasing from his agemates about the ridiculous height difference between him and his Master. Qui-Gon had even had his own bully to contend with, a gangly youth with sharp eyes and sharper wit by the name of Mace Windu.
And then the indescribable experience of seeing himself for the first time through Qui-Gon's eyes, wondering that he had ever been that skinny and pathetic, feeling Qui-Gon's absolute terror at failing another Padawan, of letting another heart into his. Obi-Wan had wept when he felt what Qui-Gon had in that mine on Bandomeer, the surge of respect and pride, and the beginnings of love.
He had wept again upon seeing his still, pale form lying on the plascrete on Ramisa, felt Qui-Gon's anguish as he realized he loved too late. The rapture of their first night, the whispered words of love between them as their bodies joined.
And he shared Qui-Gon's mindless, screaming horror as he watched himself being raped by the Krellian. He suffered the endless worry as Qui-Gon searched the galaxy, the unbearable loneliness that invaded every waking moment they spent apart, the dull misery of being cut off from the Force.
Looking into Qui-Gon's neverending eyes, he knew his Master had lived his life as well.
Obi-Wan sent a wave of love and comfort, felt it flood back to him in equal measure. /Are you all right?/
/Much more than all right, my heart./ Qui-Gon trailed a finger down his cheek, and Obi-Wan felt not only his Master's touch, but the smoothness of his own skin.
Awed by the sensation, Obi-Wan wriggled closer on the pillows, felt Qui-Gon's warmth surround him, felt a cool breeze ruffle his hair. He glanced over his Master's shoulder. /Did we break the window?/
Qui-Gon dipped his head, his breath hot against Obi-Wan's lips. /There's a window?/
Obi-Wan sank into Qui-Gon's mouth, nearly overwhelmed by their shared perception. Hands moved in his hair, along his back, every touch and caress magnified into almost unbearable sweetness.
We'll have to get this under control before our next mission, Obi-Wan thought as Qui-Gon's hands slipped inside his loose tunic, gliding over silken skin. We'll never get anything done otherwise.
A growl echoed along the bond. /Live in the goddamn moment, Padawan./
Obi-Wan let out a shout of pure joy, wrapping his legs around Qui-Gon's waist. /Yes, Master./
Fetra surveyed the damage in the monitoring room and sighed, leaning back against the wall. Upon his arrival, Master Yoda had immediately repaired the Force-shielding around the controlled room, joined shortly thereafter by Master Poof, who had added reinforcement, then excused himself to help with the various anomalies being reported Temple-wide.
Devi had left to investigate the rest of the damage to the healer's ward and its occupants, leaving Fetra alone with the little green Master, who sat by the door in apparent meditation. After almost an hour of silence, Fetra finally found the courage to say what was on his mind.
"I told you it was too soon."
Yoda opened one eye and looked at him. "Think you this would not have happened if waited they had?" His eye closed. "Too long apart, they have been. Waiting would only hurt them more."
"I suppose." Fetra sighed again, then looked sharply at the little troll. "Did you know this would happen? You did, didn't you?"
Yoda's expression did not change, but the tips of his ears rose. "Always in motion, the future is."
Fetra didn't know whether to be appalled or admiring. He settled for a combination of the two.
After another half or so, Yoda opened both eyes and grunted. "Check on them now, you may."
Fetra straightened his robes and stepped to the door, gingerly sliding it open with the Force.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan lay sprawled on the pillows, gloriously naked, their limbs entwined. Fetra gently cleared his throat, and both men opened their eyes at the precise same instant, unnerving him.
"I just wanted to be certain you were both all right," he said softly, reluctant to disturb their peace.
"We are," Qui-Gon said quietly, running a hand through Obi-Wan's hair.
"Are you sure? Is there anything at all you need?"
"No, thank you, Healer Fetra," Obi-Wan said. He looked up with a sweet, breathtaking smile, one Fetra knew he would remember for the rest of his life.
"We're good."
The End.