Master Apprentice Archive Improvisation, in three parts Quick search:

Rating: R

Archive: Yes, and at my site, www.wyomingnot.com/rita/rita.html

Category: Obi/other, angst

Summary: After the battle of Geonosis, everything seems to be changing. Obi-Wan wants his relationship with Mace to change, too.

Note: I've actually written a story that is not part of my Obi/Bail saga! I've been whining for some Mace/Obi for ages. Gloriana pointed out to me that the problem is they are so much alike. However, I still wanted it, and since no one was prepared to give it to me, I had to write it myself. I think I managed to make it work.

Feedback: Well, do you think I managed to make it work?

Disclaimer: Does anyone REALLY think I made up these characters?

I.

The Temple had changed.

It didn't seem possible. The Temple had existed on Coruscant for thousands of years. Change happened, of course. Additions and modifications were made to the building, rules and customs evolved. But the pace of change was so gradual that even Master Yoda was hard- pressed to say when they occurred. But now....

Now the Temple had changed, and everyone could feel it.

Scores of Jedi, including one-fourth of the Council, dead on the sands of Geonosis, the Republic at war for the first time in its history, the Jedi order at the head of an army. The very feel of the Force in the Temple had altered. No longer calm and wise, but troubled, even angry -- a reflection of the inner conflict of all the Temple's inhabitants.

Obi-Wan's heart almost burst under the strain of such intense emotions. He was in enough turmoil of his own, and the trouble in the Temple only added to his disquiet. His padawan was slipping even farther away from him. Anakin had come back from his mission with secrets, and Obi-Wan no longer knew his own padawan well enough to know whether he ought to pry into those secrets or leave them alone. He sensed that he needed to know what had happened, but he knew just as surely that if he tried to force Anakin's confidence, it would only further strain their relationship. He had to trust Anakin. It was the only way to repair the damage. But in his heart of hearts, he feared that Anakin was no longer trustworthy.

Obi-Wan walked slowly down the hallway from the council chamber, not wanting to think about Yoda's rebuke. Geonosis was not a victory, the master had said. The shroud of the dark side had fallen. Obi- Wan shivered and drew his robe tightly around him. He felt so old, aching from his recent injuries. The wound on his left thigh would be a long time in healing fully. He walked slowly, favoring the injured leg, but his thigh muscles twitched in protest. It was such a long way back to his quarters. Each step would be a painful penance, but for what? What had Obi-Wan done wrong? Where had been his error? Why had he lost his padawan's trust? He sighed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, fists clenched in his armpits.

"Obi-Wan!" a voice called behind him.

He paused and turned, leaning on his good leg as he glanced back at Mace Windu approaching him, the councillor's long, purposeful gait quick but dignified. Obi-Wan quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. "I thought Master Yoda wanted to confer with you."

"Not confer," Mace corrected. "Just a couple of quick items of business." He reached out to take Obi-Wan's elbow, as if offering him support. "You didn't get very far. Is that leg of yours bothering you?"

Obi-Wan instinctively opened his mouth to deny it, then thought better of it. "Standing all that time in the council chamber didn't exactly do me any good."

"Does it hurt?" Mace asked, and Obi-Wan only glared at him in response. "Right. Stupid question. A lightsaber puncture wound is particularly nasty."

"I know," Obi-Wan spat. Bitterness had risen in him faster than the memory that caused it: a puncture wound to the chest, like the full stop at the end of a sentence, seared through Qui-Gon's heart by a scarlet blade. You don't recover from that kind of thing.

A scarlet beam piercing his thigh, burning through muscle in fierce agony. When was the last time any Jedi had received such an injury? Puncture wounds didn't occur in training mishaps, and who among the Jedi's enemies wielded a lightsaber? Only the Sith. Gone for a millennium, and then within the span of a decade, Obi-Wan had fought against them twice. A puncture wound to the chest: his master dead. A puncture wound to his thigh: his master's master's betrayal.

It's a pity our paths have never crossed before. Qui-Gon Jinn always spoke very highly of you.

Such pernicious flattery, and from a man who had betrayed the order and would have tortured his grandpadawan to death.

I wish Qui-Gon were still alive. I could use his help right now.

How could it be possible that he and Dooku could share the same thought? Bile rose in Obi-Wan's throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling not to vomit, not to scream in rage.

He felt the grip on his elbow tighten, and he opened his eyes again to see Mace watching him in concern. "Why don't we stop at my quarters?" the councillor suggested, his voice studiously calm. "Give you a chance to rest a bit before you head home. It's a long way to your room."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, releasing some of his tension in a long sigh, and nodded.

They walked slowly down the hall. Mace kept his hand at Obi-Wan's elbow, and Obi-Wan uncrossed his arms, slipping his hand through the crook of Mace's arm so he could lean on him. Obi-Wan would not have allowed anyone else to offer him such support, but Mace was different.

He was standing too close to the pyre. His face stung, and he suspected that the heat had caused first-degree burns on his cheeks and chin. But he did not move back. He let the heat from the embers sear him.

No, there were no words. Just the soothing pain of this heat, scorching his chin, chapping his lips, vaporizing any tears before they could fall. Obi-Wan could feel their steam scalding his cheeks.

The councillor had said nothing further, and Obi-Wan had not replied. Others had offered words of condolence and sympathy, other Jedi, the queen, Senator Palpatine. Anakin had rubbed his nose, striving valiantly not to cry. But Mace Windu said nothing over the succeeding days of the celebration, nor on the trip back to Coruscant as Obi-Wan and Anakin settled into their new relationship. Mace never tried to get him to talk. The councillor wasn't given to heart- to-heart chats any more than Obi-Wan was. But he was always there, helping Obi-Wan sort through Qui-Gon's belongings, carving the master's name in the Memorial Hall, assisting in setting up a training schedule for Anakin. When they talked, Mace gave advice on how to deal with a new padawan, or recommended a book he was reading that he thought might interest Obi-Wan. They took to sparring together. They shared meals. They argued fine points of the code.

Qui-Gon never used to argue the code. He just followed his instincts and saw no point in trying to justify himself. But Mace and Obi-Wan had a mutual love of the intricacies of code theory and ethics. Sometimes in their discussions, they would recall Qui-Gon's liberties. While Qui-Gon had lived, those liberties had infuriated both Obi-Wan and Mace, but now that he was dead they could remember Qui-Gon's maverick ways with fondness, laughing together as they agreed that Qui-Gon was a crackpot.

A crackpot they had both loved.

Their friendship had grown, calm and reserved, where Qui-Gon had been quixotic and passionate. Aside from temperament and philosophy, Obi- Wan and Mace had had little in common except Qui-Gon. Now they were drawn together by Jinn's death. Qui-Gon became the fulcrum of their friendship.

By the time they reached Mace's quarters, Obi-Wan was leaning heavily on the councillor's arm, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. Mace helped Obi-Wan out of his robe, then led him to the couch, reaching a strong arm around his back to help ease him onto the cushions.

"Would you like some tea?" Mace's lips quirked. "Or perhaps something stronger?"

How about some morphine? Obi-Wan thought. "Something stronger."

"Something much stronger," Mace agreed with a grin. "Windu's Amazing Wonder Tonic. Cures all ills."

"And strips paint off metal, cleans engine systems, and dissolves solid rock." Obi-Wan scowled theatrically. "Make mine a double."

Mace chuckled and moved into the kitchen.

Obi-Wan placed a cautious hand over his injury. His leg throbbed and felt hot even through the fabric of his pants. Gingerly he stretched out his leg, resting his foot on the coffee table. "Did I thank you for coming to get me on Geonosis?" he called out.

Mace's voice returned from the kitchen. "As a matter of fact, you did not."

"Hmm. I'll make a note of it on my schedule. Though I have to say, your timing could have been better."

Mace reappeared with two glasses of smoky liquid in his hands. "I happen to think my timing was quite dramatic. Showed a lot of style. Besides, you were doing well enough against your giant grasshopper."

Obi-Wan shot him a sardonic look as he took the offered glass. Mace settled down next him on the couch, and they clinked glasses. They each took a deep drink and fell silent. There weren't really any safe topics, and neither of them wanted to talk about the things that weighed on their hearts.

Mace noticed Obi-Wan lightly rubbing his wound, and said, "Painkillers aren't fatal, you know. You could just give up the tough guy act and take some."

"I had two an hour ago." Obi-Wan tilted his glass, examining the contents. "In fact, I shouldn't be drinking this firewater when I'm on the stuff."

Mace's brow wrinkled slightly. "And you're still in so much pain?"

Obi-Wan grimaced. "As you said, lightsaber puncture wounds are nasty."

Mace leaned forward, setting his glass on the table, and turned to Obi-Wan. "Let me."

Obi-Wan raised a hand to protest, then changed his mind and nodded.

The councillor pressed his palms together, concentrating on summoning the Force, drawing its healing power into his hands. Leaning closer, he reached across Obi-Wan's lap and placed his right hand over the wound. Warmth emanated from his touch, and Obi-Wan gave a small sigh of relief. Mace's hand felt heavy on his thigh, pressing down against the pain, breaking it up and dissolving it. His long fingers splayed slightly, a dark contrast to the cream color of Obi-Wan's leggings.

Their posture was disturbingly intimate, Mace's hand on Obi-Wan's thigh, Obi-Wan's shoulder nestled against Mace's chest, their heads close together. So close together. There had been many intimate postures over the last ten years, touches while sparring, sitting side by side at a lecture, leaning together across a dejarrik board, their foreheads almost touching. Obi-Wan felt something in those moments, more than friendship, more than respect. He was fairly sure Mace felt it, too. The councillor never pulled away from those inadvertent touches, but neither did the touches become more intimate.

While permanent attachments were forbidden, many Jedi pursued relationships. They were usually fleeting, but some spanned many years. Mace and Obi-Wan were too dedicated to duty, however. Obi- Wan had had a few partners over the years, and he suspected Mace did, too. But the liaisons were always brief. Obi-Wan himself had been in Mace's bedroom only twice, and then only for platonic purposes. Yet he did think about Mace, fantasized about him when he touched himself, dreamed about him and woke up hot and sticky. Not like an obsession, though. He thought of Mace, because over the past decade Mace had always been there. A pillar of strength. A shelter. A mentor. A companion. Obi-Wan might have called it love, if he'd been accustomed to thinking of any of his relationships in those terms.

But words chased away feelings. Because Mace never forced them to talk about things, Obi-Wan could allow himself to feel them instead: grief for Qui-Gon, old anger at his master, doubt and fear. Leave it unspoken, and he could allow it to exist. But sex threatened intimacy. Act on this desire and it becomes love. Express this affection and it becomes attachment. But as long as they didn't act on it, they could allow it to exist, pulsing between them, offering comfort and security, even a kind of release.

But everything was different now. The Temple had changed. Even this quiet companionship between them could offer no peace when the Jedi would be marching at the head of an army into a galaxy at war. Obi- Wan felt his flesh tremble beneath Mace's palm -- tremble in fear as much as desire. He wanted something more than random touches.

Mace's thumb softly stroked the inside of Obi-Wan's thigh. Obi-Wan doubted the gesture was conscious, but the touch sent hot shivers up his leg to his groin. He felt himself harden, but he knew Mace would not say anything even if he noticed. Obi-Wan turned his head slightly so that his breath ghosted against Mace's neck. His gaze had been fixed across Mace's shoulder at a spot on the far wall. But now he allowed himself to look, to study the smooth brown skin just inches away from his lips. He could see the pulse point in Mace's neck, the worn collar of his undertunic. It gapped slightly in the back, and Obi-Wan let his gaze fall where Mace's spine disappeared into that hollow of cloth, imagined sliding his hand down into that opening. How smooth the skin would feel, how warm beneath the layers of tunic, the muscles firm and sleek.

Did Mace notice Obi-Wan's erection? Could he feel Obi-Wan's pulse speed up beneath his palm? Did his eyes trace the neckline of Obi- Wan's tunic? Did he think about shifting his hand just a few centimeters higher, skimming up the leggings to the heat that waited for him? Could he feel Obi-Wan's breath upon his neck?

Obi-Wan bowed his head toward Mace, leaning closer. A lock of his hair fell forward and brushed against Mace's ear. His lips parted, almost touching that smooth skin. "I haven't thanked you," he breathed against Mace's neck.

Mace did not move. His hand lay still on Obi-Wan's leg. Obi-Wan waited, his breathing even and calm. He pictured his breath blowing against Mace's skin, so close he could feel the warm air reflecting back against his own lips.

Mace drew back, turning to look down at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "No, you haven't."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure what that meant. An acknowledgment, certainly, but nothing more. He raised his hand and rested it on Mace's cheek. Rising up, he caught Mace's lips with his own. One of those not-so- accidental touches, this lip brushing against lip, tongue tracing the edges of the mouth, that mouth opening against his. He felt Mace's hand slide up his leg, not inside but up under the edge of his tunic, around his waist, pressing against the small of his back, warm flesh against warm flesh, that healing energy tingling down into the cleft of his buttocks, down to a dark, hot place inside him, and Obi-Wan surged forward, arm sliding around Mace, his injured leg, now free of pain, swinging around Mace's hip, and he slid into the councillor's lap, pressing against him, tongue diving into his mouth, hand sliding into that opening at the back of his tunic.

Sensation flooded Obi-Wan's nerves, as sharp and painful as a jolt of electricity. Too long had he suppressed these desires, and now at this touch he threatened to burst like overripe fruit. This sweet, agonizing lust drowned out all thought or feeling, anxieties about the war and his padawan. All he could do was just be, and what he was was a creature in heat, starved for touch, craving release. And with this man who had been at his side for a decade.

Mace's lips devoured his with kisses, his hands tore at Obi-Wan's tunics, unwrapped his sash, pulled away the layers, sliding them down over his shoulders and freeing him. Obi-Wan likewise dove into Mace's tunics, uncovering the landscape of skin and muscle. He ached to drive himself hard against Mace, but couldn't get into the proper position. He thrust and made impatient, greedy sounds, even while his lips never stopped tasting Mace's skin.

Tunics shed at last, they wrapped their arms around each other, hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin, moving lower, and Obi-Wan grew desperate, whimpering, his leg locked tightly around Mace's hip. Mace's hands hooked beneath Obi-Wan's legs and he stood, carrying Obi-Wan into the bedroom.

They stripped the rest of their clothes away, and then Mace was on him, sliding his hands up Obi-Wan's thighs and under him. He pressed in steadily, and oh, Force, it really hurt, but it felt so good, too, piercing and burning, and Obi-Wan wanted to be devastated, obliterated. He bit Mace's lip hard, squeezed his arms tight enough to leave bruises, as Mace plowed into him. Obi-Wan wanted him deeper, all the way inside. A decade of banked desire springing to life like dormant embers exposed to air, and Obi-Wan didn't care what might be destroyed by this fire. Let it scald him, sear his skin, vaporize his fears and burn away his isolation. Why hold back? Why be alone, especially now?

Obi-Wan screamed when he came, orgasm ripping through him for an eternity, tearing him up inside. He lay utterly spent, breath coming in ragged gasps, as if his lungs had forgotten how to work. He slowly became aware of Mace lying next to him, breathing equally as hard. Mace's eyes drifted slowly opened and met Obi-Wan's gaze. It seemed like they ought to say something, but Obi-Wan didn't know what. He didn't want to put words to what had happened, to give it any kind of name. So he said nothing.

Mace reached a trembling hand toward Obi-Wan, fingers combing through his hair, thumb brushing against his cheek, just above his beard.

"Come here."

Obi-Wan rolled over into Mace's arms, and they slept.

It was late when Mace finally returned to his quarters the next night. He hadn't seen Obi-Wan since that morning. He was trying not to think about it, which wasn't too hard, given the turmoil in both the Senate and the Council. He didn't want to have any expectations. Now more than ever he could not guarantee anything in his personal life. He tried to just accept last night as a gift, one that he might never be given again. No attachment. No clinging to any particular hope or expectation. Accept it when it comes, and let go when the moment passes. All things that are born must someday die. They are no less precious for being so short-lived.

But when he palmed open his door, he found the lights already on. Someone was stretched out on his couch, reading one of his books and drinking a bottle of ale from his cooler. He removed his cloak and hung it up, then turned a stern eye on his interloper. "I wasn't aware that I had acquired a roommate."

Obi-Wan shrugged, not looking up from the book. "My quarters are on the other side of the Temple. It's a long way to walk on this bad leg."

"So you thought you'd help yourself to my ale?"

"I knew you wouldn't mind. Dinner's waiting for you in the kitchen."

Twelve years on the Council enabled Mace to hide his surprise. He crossed the room to the kitchen, saying, "Your cooking is hardly a recommendation, Kenobi. I'd rate it about two notches above ration bars." He found a pot of stew simmering on the stovetop.

"I added extra chili, the way you like it."

Mace dipped a spoon into the sauce and sampled the contents. Not too bad. Not as good as when he made it, but it would serve. "I expect to see improvement, Kenobi. I will not allow my digestive system to suffer from your bland concoctions. I'd rather eat in the dining hall."

"I will not allow it to come to that, Councillor," Obi-Wan called out from the living room.

Mace filled a bowl with stew, grabbed a bottle of ale from the cooler and returned to the living room. Obi-Wan made room for him on the couch, and Mace settled down next to him. "What are you reading?"

Obi-Wan flipped the book over to read the cover. "Marianas's treatise on serenity."

Mace grunted. "I haven't read that in ages." He took a sip of ale, then raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. "Well? Go on."

So Obi-Wan read aloud while Mace ate.

Anakin was not surprised when his master was there to meet him upon his return from Naboo. But he had not expected to see Master Windu waiting for him as well. He suppressed a nervous shiver. They couldn't know. No one knew. He couldn't possibly be in trouble. He kept his expression calm as he exited the starfighter and approached them.

That's when he noticed it: the way they were standing. Side by side, hands buried in the sleeves of their robes, the picture of two serene Jedi masters. Except they stood a fraction too close, their bodies turned imperceptibly toward one another, their heads just barely inclined together.

Well. That was interesting.

"Greetings, Padawan Skywalker," Windu said. "I trust you left the Senator well?"

"Very well, Master." His face was perfectly expressionless.

"And how is your arm doing?"

"Just fine, Master."

"Good. You should have the healers look at it just to make sure. If they declare you fit, we have another small task for you at the request of the Chancellor. I'll leave your master to give you the details." He nodded toward Obi-Wan. "I'll see you later," he said, then left.

Anakin logged his ship in at the register, then fell into step beside Obi-Wan as they walked slowly down the halls. "How is your leg, Master?"

"It's healing," Obi-Wan said.

They fell silent. Anakin slowed his pace to keep even with Obi-Wan's hindered gait. He did worry about his master. Though his own injury had been more radical, Obi-Wan's would take longer to heal. But he did not let his concern show. He schooled his features into a mask of serenity, mirroring Obi-Wan's expression. He would not let his tumultuous emotions show. So much had happened, and Obi-Wan only knew a tenth of it. Anakin was dying to tell Obi-Wan everything, even while he was terrified that his master would reject him if he knew. He still wasn't certain where things stood between the two of them, and he didn't like having to lie to Obi-Wan, but he was prepared to do it if he had to.

They continued in silence, heading toward the healers' wing.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, his hands buried in the sleeves of his robe, "I don't need to hear about what happened on Naboo. That's your business."

Anakin pondered this. His master could be incredibly understated, and Anakin often had to struggle to understand him. But as he examined it, he realized that Obi-Wan suspected something even if he didn't know all the details, and he was giving it his tacit approval. Or at least, he was willing to overlook it. Anakin wouldn't have to lie after all. He just didn't have to tell the truth.

He smiled. "All right, Master. I won't tell you about Naboo, if you promise not to tell me about you and Master Windu."

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly and gave Anakin a stern glare. But Anakin could tell the subtle difference between genuine disapproval and mere show.

Obi-Wan returned his gaze to the path ahead of him. "Very well, Padawan."

Anakin beamed. "It's good to be back, Master."