Master Apprentice
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Stepping lightly down the corridor, Obi-Wan Kenobi turned into the Temple dining hall and paused for a moment, gathering himself. It wouldn't do to enter while broadcasting quite this level of happiness; it wasn't compatible with serenity. And, really, it wasn't like it had been months. He'd seen Qui-Gon only this morning, dropping a kiss on the still-sleeping man's forehead as he'd slipped from the bed they shared, shivering slightly at the loss of contact, making it a point to meet up with Bant for the early-morning sparring session they always scheduled when both were at Temple.
This week was the last cycle of the Council Rank-and-File competition, affectionately known as the Jedi Games among the masses. The actual competition took place over the course of a full year, with four individually scheduled weeks dedicated to it. Any Jedi who could not get to Coruscant during one of those weeks could request an opportunity to perform and post scores in some of the matches, the ones where they were scored individually, but many were direct competitions and you just had to be there.
The Games established a Jedi's rank and status for the next five years, when they would beheld again. They were conducted in an atmosphere of healthy competition, but also closely watched for any problems; the stress could reveal unsettled feuds, poorly-controlled tempers, dangerous arrogance. Any emotion that the Knight in question was not dealing with properly.
Obi-Wan could barely imagine what the response would be if he and Qui-Gon let their shields slip for even an instant; their love for each other, the need and desire, would doom them within seconds of its release.
Reminding himself of this fact, drawing a deep breath, wishing; briefly, futilely - that he dared reached out over the link and touch Qui-Gon, just for an instant, he stepped into the dining hall.
There. Third table on the Master's dais, sitting between Windu and a Wookie Obi-Wan didn't recognize. Qui-Gon turned his head, slowly, as if curious, and gave him a short nod that Obi-Wan returned. Then he went to join the other young Knights, spotting Bant and T'Laron, collecting a tray, accepting a portion of the main course and opting for a side dish of raw Eustrusian snowbird, a delicacy among the reptilian races, and sitting, began to eat.
It was not safe here, not for a moment. Hearing his Master's voice give short bark of laughter, he resisted the urge to look over, and suddenly found Bant's hand on his own, touching lightly. The gentle wave of strength and comfort she offered was so typical of her that he had to fight the completely inappropriate urge to grab her into a hug.
She had noticed. Knowing him better than anyone save Qui-Gon, she didn't know this. Did she suspect or had she already made up her mind? It didn't matter. If she suspected she had not asked, and if she knew, she would not tell.
Turning his hand over he gripped hers and then released it, setting himself to his food. The snowbird was one of Qui-Gon's acquired tastes, and it was every bit as bad as he remembered. Rank and stringy, he couldn't imagine anyone but a lizard to eat it voluntarily, yet his master did. Whenever it was offered. Perhaps he had some chemical in his saliva that made it tolerable. As Obi-Wan wrestled with himself over the last few bites, he grinned suddenly, thinking of the research he would have to do to test that theory.
As always, he did not finish it.
"You and Master Jinn will be doing the Two-Sided Mirror tonight, won't you? I saw you signed up." Bant spoke cheerfully. Their sparring session this morning had been good for her, she had come that close to disarming Obi-Wan, a first. They fought at different levels and would probably never meet in competition, but he learned from her just as she learned from him. There were ten ranks of lightsaber proficiency and Bant, along with the majority of masters and a decent percentage of Knights, was at level 7. Obi-Wan held firm at level 9, where the rankings were only a few hundred, mostly because he had been trained by Qui-Gon, who was among the handful of level 10s alive today. Though he worked hard at it, that last step eluded him, and he had begun to suspect that it always would; that his failure was more a result of body-structure than skill. Unlike the five Masters who held rank 10, he was not extremely tall, and would never be able to make up for that lack of reach. He was strong and fit and very fast - but he would never be tall.
Recently it had occurred to him that accepting his level and working on bettering himself in it would be wiser than striving for something he could not achieve. A lesson he was teaching himself, to his amusement. He would have to discuss it with Qui-Gon and discover if his lover had already reached that conclusion and was only waiting for Obi-Wan to realize it himself.
"Yes. Master Windu suggested it to us last year, when we were sparring hand-to-hand." He answered his friend, his thoughts having taken only a few seconds. In truth, neither of them wanted to compete in the Mirror, but Windu's suggestion made it awkward to refuse. Though it was unlikely anyone would ask, there would be curiosity about the refusal, and perhaps scrutiny that they couldn't afford. "Since we are both here and we plan to compete in the Grand Dance and the Lightsaber doubles, we agreed." They had not been together to practice in months. If they won any of their matches it would be remarked upon. Damned if we do and damned if we don't, he thought with a mental sigh. Then he twitched, as his mind automatically tried to reach for his lover, anxiety welling, and he had to firmly squash the urge, which started an instant headache.
There was more to this bond between them than either of them knew, but they didn't dare explore it for fear that it would grow stronger and overwhelm their ability to hide it. These moments of need, during which they reached for each other instinctively, we almost uncontrollable now, there was no way they would be able to shield them if they were more powerful or more frequent.
The headache was simply another portion of the price. Qui-Gon had paid it last night, after he had arrived on planet late and slipped into their quarters silently, hitting the bed like an out-of-control hovercraft and taking Obi-Wan hard and fast, satisfying the need with as much passion and love as they could spare without being caught. Here they had to shield so tightly that the backlash from the Force had left Qui-Gon shaking and in pain for nearly an hour, which was why Obi-Wan had not woken him when he left, choosing instead to let him rest. Tonight would be different, he would take over the shielding and let his lover enjoy their time together. Spare him the pain.
"I'll get there early to get a good seat. The two of you are so close, you always had such a strong training bond, I can't wait to see you perform at this level."
"Be sure to bring a few flowers to toss." T'Laron teased. He, like many, believed that Obi-Wan and Bant were casual lovers, the kind that Council and Code encouraged. A child between them would be welcomed.
"Of course." Bant grinned. "What should I bring, Kenobi? White Alderan Roses for purity or blue Naboo Orchids for serenity?"
"The orchids, definitely." Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan finished his meal and stood. "Master and I need to spend some time in meditation before the competition. If you'll excuse me." He nodded to them both, and turned, just in time to see Qui-Gon also rise, nodding at Windu and laying a hand on the dark man's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Obi-Wan knew that touch well, it was one he treasured when they could risk no other. They met at the door, with a nod, and proceeded down the corridor, turning into the practice hall, where Qui-Gon led him to a small, shielded and padded room. Intended for use by those practicing the more extravagant acrobatics the Force could allow, it was shielded so that the bursts of energy would not distract others from their exercises. Infrequently used, it had gained popularity as a meditation room as well, allowing levitation with the assurance that to fall would not mean injury.
No sooner had the door closed behind them, leaving them alone, shielded, and Qui-Gon grabbed him, lifted him, held him close and kissed him like a drowning man.
I missed you this morning! It was a moan of anguish and Obi-Wan responded in kind, opening himself, mind and body, to the man that needed him, held him.
You needed rest.
I'm rested. Big hands - huge hands - worked their way under his cloak and tunics, seeking bare skin, caressing it, rubbing heat into Obi-Wan.
Qui - we can't. Not now. It was so hard to fight, to resist; his entire being sang with the need for this, the desire for this touch, this joining. Another moment and he would not care, would return it all and more.
We're shielded. Imagine it with no pain to follow... Lifting him higher, the bigger man encouraged Obi-Wan to wrap his sturdy legs around Qui-Gon's waist, to hang onto him and love him.
They will know! Desperately Obi-Wan tried hold back, squirming in the tight grip, knees clenching on the taller man's thighs. They will know as soon as we leave! Qui-lover, we can't.
With a roar - of pain, of anguish, of despair - Qui-Gon dropped him abruptly to the ground and turned away, leaning against the nearest wall, pressing his face to the slick, cool surface of the padding. His breath came in gasps, lungs heaving like bellows as he fought for control of himself.
Retreating to the other side of the room, arms wrapped around himself, hair falling into his eyes, Obi-Wan watched, dismayed by how close they had come. Terrified, truly, but he was not ready to admit to or acknowledge that feeling. Time enough to deal with it later.
I'm sorry. Qui-Gon's mental voice sank into his mind, weighted with desperation and despair. I am so sorry, Obi. Pressing himself to the wall, he whispered it. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course, Qui-Gon." With a sigh he forced himself to relax, a bit at a time, knowing the other man was doing the same. At last Qui-Gon turned to face him, arms in his sleeves, and the older man smiled, looking faintly abashed, and sighed again.
"I suppose that was a remnant of last night." He offered in a conversational tone.
"Must have been." Giving a little smile of his own, Obi-Wan moved a few steps away from the wall and then sank to his knees. "It was like the bond was trying to take over, and damn the consequences."
Mirroring his movements and final position, Qui-Gon tilted his head. Obi-Wan's fingers twitched with a tactile memory of that hair sliding through them, and he stifled a shiver.
"Do you ever feel that way, Obi?" They seldom used the contracted names aloud and it made the moment more serious. "That we should love each other and damn the consequences?"
"I might." He confessed honestly. wondering. After nearly two years of this secret, why were they only now beginning to talk about it? They had never discussed the possible repercussion beyond agreeing that they would be disastrous. "If I had a better idea of what the consequences could be. Not like we can ask."
Qui-Gon snorted expressively, an odd sound that Obi-Wan knew well, part sarcasm and part disgruntled humor.
"No, I do not believe that is an option. But - if we were to be found out. If someone were to notice." Their eyes met and Obi-Wan realized that Qui-Gon was concerned about the competition, that their performance would give them away. They could not do badly on purpose, that would draw as much notice as opening the bond in public. "If they separated us permanently? Would we leave the Jedi?"
"Yes." Once upon a time, Obi-Wan Kenobi had wanted nothing but to be a Jedi Knight. He had wanted it with his heart and soul, and when that dream seemed to have moved out of reach, he had despaired. His life had felt meaningless.
But now he would give it up in an instant if it meant he would keep the man who had given that dream to him.
"I, too." Bowing his head, Qui-Gon emanated shame. To admit such a thing. For love. To even consider it. After a moment of silence he raised his head again, met Obi-Wan's eyes. "But to do so would wound me deeply."
"Then we should spend our time in the fifth meditation of control." Obi-Wan said softly. "Perhaps it will allow us to perform the Mirror without giving ourselves away."
"The fifth of control and then the third of serenity." His master agreed, just as quietly. "Between the two, they should last us until the evening."
Having made their choice of meditations, and admitted their choice of life, both men closed their eyes and sank into deep trance states. First the Force would have to be soothed, as they had refused its wishes once again, and then they would be able to take the strength they needed from it.
"They're about to start - shhh." Shushing the group of young Knights that sat around her, Bant glanced apologetically at Master Windu, who had taken a saved seat beside her. Arriving early, Bant had claimed a complete row in the circular ampitheatre, and when Master Windu had arrived at the last minute there had been no seats left in the Master's section, so she had shoved T'Loran aside and offered the spot to him.
He gave her a quick dark smile and she focused her attention back on the floor, where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were just sinking to their knees. It was an unusual starting position for the Mirror, but each team performed the basic elements embellished with their own katas, and so no two were the same.
Like the Grand Dance and the Et'Te'Fa, the origins of the Mirror were not documented in the histories of the Jedi. There were mentions of it in the Games dating from the last six centuries, so it was generally assumed that it was not quite as ancient as the Dance, but older than the Et. Where the dance celebrated two bodies in conflict and the Et featured two or four or more in concert, moving side-by-side, the Mirror was about opposites. Every move repeated on the other side. If one went forward, the other went back. Left went right, up went down, and on and on.
The Mirror had a first and second position, first being the leader and second the follower. Traditionally first was held by the elder of the pair, or the higher-ranked one.
Rank was such a complicated formula that only the Council really understood it. Composed of one part mission ratings, one part natural ability and one part scores from the Games, it determined eligibility for many things, such as missions, training, and teaching positions.
A natural hush fell over the ampitheatre. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were the first of four pairs competing this year. Though they had never competed in the Mirror before Windu had assigned them the rank of 7, and no one had objected.
There was a quiet murmur of surprise when Obi-Wan moved first. "Qui-Gon does love to stir things up." Master Mace commented ruefully beside Bant, and she had to smile agreement. For Obi-Wan to lead the Mirror was a break with tradition, but probably not one they would be faulted for. It shouldn't cost them points.
It quickly became apparent that it was a good choice, as Qui-Gon matched his partner's moves with almost no hesitation. Obi-Wan lunged, Qui-Gon parried as they opened with what appeared to be a lightsaber drill, minus the sabers. Caught up in the rhythm and grace of the movements, the audience began to see the sabers in their minds and anticipate the next moves even as Qui-Gon reacted to Obi-Wan's almost before he had completed them.
The Mirror at it's best was supposed to 'picture a small child playing with his reflection and as the sternness of Obi-Wan's face faded, to be replaced by a sparkling grin, everyone could see that he was performing a frank interpretation of that. His movements became larger, more exaggerated, his smile wider as it changed, sliding from a lightsaber drill into an acrobatic kata.
He lunged, shoulders forward, arms back, teeth bared, and Qui-Gone retreated, shoulders back, arms forward, matching the grin. Even their hair tossed in the reflective patters, Obi-Wan's swinging forward, Qui-Gon's swinging back. It was an exquisite show of Force control.
When Obi-Wan took to the air, flipping forward, above Qui-Gon's head, and the older man rolled forward, beneath his passing body, and they stood and faced each other, scant inches between them, they paused, and the audience held their collective breath.
Then Qui-Gon smiled, and he moved.
A shout went up, the watching Jedi caught up in the excitement as they saw something truly innovative. Suddenly Qui-Gon was the first, and Obi-Wan the second, their positions exchanged, and the Mirror was suddenly more than a single performance, it somehow became a circle, a repetition that enforced the continuity of the original and yet opened the door to the next step.
The noise did not distract the performers. Beside Bant Windu was on his feet and she realized, belatedly, that she was too, staring, hands gripping the smooth stone wall before her, eagerly watching her best friend as he and his master re-wrote one of the most ancient arts of the Jedi.
Qui-Gon did not merely repeat what Obi-Wan had done, he adapted the same patterns and offered them anew, refreshed and revitalized. Obi-Wan responded with the exact same speed, at the exact same tempo Qui-Gon had, increasing the sensation of continuity.
Then, just as suddenly, it was over. With a twist in the air - an astonishing feat in itself for a man his size, even with the help of the Force - Qui-Gon landed on his shoulders, back to the ground, and rolled out flat, to have his body shadowed by Obi-Wan's seconds later, the younger man doing a reverse twist backwards - which brought him to Qui-Gon - and executing an impossible-seeming landing on his chest, rolled forward and flipping up to plant his feet on the other side of Qui-Gon's stretched form, hands securely placed. For a second he remained in position, arched over his master in a backbend, and then he collapsed slowly, his back to Qui-Gon's torso, lying across the older man at a ninety-degree angle.
They lay very still, and then the stamping started.
The ampitheatre filled with the sound of heavy Jedi boots thumping on stone, a low, deep vibration that threatened to shake the building. No screaming of clapping, only this forceful stomping, signifying the deepest level of approval the performers could be given.
Practically bouncing up and down in her happiness, Bant stomped alongside Master Windu, who was grinning like a fool, something she had never seen before. But Master Windu and Master Jinn were creche-mates and had been lovers as padawans, it wasn't odd that he would celebrate his friend's success with enthusiasm.
The rest of the competition would be anticlimactic at best. The Mirror had never been performed so well or with such innovation and Bant was sure Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would win. She watched as Obi-Wan rolled gracefully off his Master and offered him a hand up, both taking a step to the side to put space between them, arms folded into sleeves, heads bowed, accepting the praise of their peers.
"It was a brilliant performance, Obi-Wan." Stopping at the door to hug her friend tightly, Bant looked past him to Qui-Gon and Master Windu still sitting on the sofa chatting and sharing the bottle of Golden Alderaan that Mace had brought for the celebration.
A small celebration, and private, as Qui-Gon prefered things. A few close friends, a quick visit from his master, Yoda. Told to invite his friends as well, Obi-Wan had asked only Bant, knowing that if he slipped up in front of her it would be okay. Hoping that she would cover for him as well.
The aftermath of the competition had left him energized and sensitized and desperate to touch his lover - to bury himself in him; his strength, his scent, his skin.
This was a particularly dangerous time.
"Come see me later." Bant whispered into his ear, giving the perfect image to Windu.
"I may have to." Restraining a grimace, he dropped a kiss on her mouth and felt her grin beneath his lips. A last squeeze and she was leaving, and Obi-Wan went back to the living area, beginning to clear up the dishes and residue of the party. For such it had been, Jedi-style.
Frankly, he was surprised that they had won. The Council was so determinedly traditional, so set in stone, he had told his Master that they were not ready for the evolution of the Mirror.
But Qui-Gon had insisted, in his quiet way. "The exercise has been on the verge of this for decades. Since I first learned it. Every Jedi who performs it can feel the next step calling. It's there, it's ready. We will be the ones to take the leap of faith."
When Obi-Wan had frowned, trying to find a way to compare that to their circumstance, Qui had cuddled him close, stroking his hair as he had when the younger man was a distraught teen.
"It's not the same. This will not affect anything but the performance of the Mirror, and not even that so much as many will refuse to leap after us. For them to change the rules regarding relationships would be to throw open a door that has been locked shut for a thousand years."
"And people would be hurt." Obi-Wan said softly.
"We are hurting now." The older man sighed and lowered his head to nuzzle into sweat-dampened hair.
"Better that we hurt than everyone get the chance to feel what we do?"
"To feel what we do." Qui-Gon mused and Obi-Wan wriggled, knowing he would not like to hear what would come next.
"We have spoken about this, Obi. About whether what we feel truly belongs among the Jedi. It's so powerful, and so much, and so distracting; can you imagine a hundred knights in relationships like ours? A thousand? Nothing would get done."
"We manage."
"I would hesitate to say it, Obi-lover, but we may be the exception that proves the rule."
"Does that mean you want to stop?"
Pulling back, meeting blue eyes darkened by love and passion.
"I will not." Big hands on his face, tilting it up, the warm waft of wine-tinted breath that signalled the kiss that came.
It swallowed him, swallowed his identity with a completion he couldn't resist, and he had to admit silently that he shared his lover's misgivings.
This was blasphemy, to feel this and not give it to the Force. To embrace it and hold it between them where it could rise and smite them down in any moment of weakness.
It was madness.
But he loved it. Loved his master, with every cell of his being. He vibrated to the currents between them. They had opened the bond during the competition - just enough, just so - and it had allowed them to perform in perfect synchronicity, they way they made love. Thinking of that, remembering it while Qui-Gon tried to suck his lungs out through his tongue, brought the return of the same tactile memory and he reached for the mass of silky hair, wound his hands through it and held on.
Qui-Gon broke the kiss, grinned at him, and pushed him back on the bed.
"Lie down."
Returning the expression and not relinquishing his hold on the silvered tawny hair, Obi-Wan eased down, spreading his legs invitingly.
The big hands were also quick, getting his leggings unfastened and letting his thick cock bounce into the air, which made Obi-Wan tug gently on that hair, urging his lover to go where he needed him.
Reading the desire from his thoughts, Qui-Gon twisted his neck and let the fall of hair trail over the swollen cock, and Obi-Wan groaned, thrusting helplessly.
They had made love twice the night before, the edge was off, this time they could play. They almost never got a third time when they saw each other, it was a like a gift.
A gift with a high price tag. Remembering his thoughts earlier in the day, Obi-wan reached out his mind and slipped around the shields Qui-Gon was maintaining.
Let me, love. Let me. He urged affectionately. My turn.
If you are sure, Obi. Giving them up without a fuss, giving Obi-Wan the trust he had earned, Qui-Gon opened his mouth and sucked the head of the younger man's cock into it. When Obi-Wan groaned more loudly and grasped for the bedclothes Qui-Gon took a handful of his own hair and wrapped it around the base, using it to stroke there while he sucked greedily.
"Qui..." Moaning again, wondering if he was up to this, Obi-Wan shuddered and reached for him again. "I want more. I want you."
Always more. Smiling around the flesh in his mouth, Qui-Gon sucked air and chuckled at the shiver that produced.
"Anything you want." He said, letting the engorged organ slide from his lips, moving away slowly, letting the hair slip over it and caress as he pulled it free.
"On your back." Obi-Wan mumbled, almost beyond words. The Force was pulling at him, demanding it's due, and he refused to give it. Here they were especially vulnerable.
They were both still dressed, but Qui-Gon only pulled off his leggings, leaving the undertunic on, but it fell open without the sash to hold it, and Obi-Wan fell upon his chest, sucking and licking, nuzzling into the hairy armpits, scenting deeply of his love. He licked and Qui-Gon made a rumbling noise in his chest, a warning, and it was heeded.
Licking an idle path downwards, Obi-Wan pushed the long legs up and suckled the velvety sac, Qui-Gon's soft moans music to his ears.
They could never give this up.
He would never give this up.
Each time they came together the determination grew.
Never be separated.
The oil was still on the sidetable. It had been there, in one form or another, for as long as Obi-wan had known Qui-Gon. He thought it serendipitous, that this was one important thing they would never have to disguise or explain away. Qui-Gon had been oiling his feet and hands, elbows and knees, since he was a teenage padawan in Yoda's care.
It had started with him oiling Yoda's ears, caring for his master, and he had found that the oil soother stretched and abused skin, increased the flexibility of his fingers just that teeny bit.
Now it gave them an excuse to have it there, waiting for when they needed it.
With Qui in his tunic, the cream color setting off skin tanned dark from his last mission on a desert planet, where clothing was essentially forbidden - Obi-wan had dreamed of that image for a few hot nights - he slipped a hand beneath the larger man and slid a slick finger into him.
It never failed to surprise him, though they divided roles fairly evenly, with Qui dominant perhaps a small percentage more often, because Obi-Wan loved receiving, but Qui-Gon scarcely ever needed serious preparation. It was like his body recognized Obi-Wan's and opened for it.
Two fingers and Qui-Gon moaned and Obi-Wan gave it up.
Lifting the long legs, urging his lover to wrap them around his waist, he leaned forward on his elbows, fingers stretching for the hair they itched to touch.
Qui-Gon's heels settled in the small of his back, ankles locked, and the bugs hands closed on his shoulders. Breath ragged, face dusky with need, he opened his tightly clenched eyes and gave a single order.
"Move."
Needing no more than that - and no more than this - Obi-Wan did.
Each thrust pressed Qui-Gon's cock - longer and thinner than Obi-Wan's own - between their straining bodies. The rhythm was there, always there, waiting for them, and Qui-Gon lifted his head, it was held in Obi-wan's hands, fingers tangled tightly in that hair now, and they kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed.
The hair slid under and between his fingers and lifted with husked breaths to tickle his nose and stick to sweat-slick skin.
"I love your hair." he didn't think he'd ever said that before, but suddenly he wanted to, to blurt it out, tell everything.
Mindful of the shields! Qui-Gon snapped, momentarily distracted from his pleasure and Obi-Wan realized that he had let them slip, just a teensy bit, but he grabbed them back up and it was okay, it was good, it was perfect.
It was movement, and love and life and laughter.
"I love - you." His Master gasped, and then life gushed between their bodies as he lunged forward, mashing his face into Obi-Wan's chest, breathing in great, hollow whoops as the sensation took everything from him.
With only a few seconds to prepare Obi-wan came too, arched and shuddering, the pain following directly on the heels of the pleasure, and he fell into the arms and embrace that awaited him.
It wasn't so bad this time, not with the memory of Qui-Gon's face as he came to replay before his mind's eye.
Sitting at the table the next morning, a trifle carefully - Qui-Gon had felt it only right to return the compliment Obi-Wan had paid him. had taken him as soon as they recovered from the first session - Obi-Wan smiled at Bant, who smirked knowingly at him.
Then the expression faded, and a look of worry replaced it, to be blanked professionally and replaced by friendly neutrality.
Looking up, Obi-wan saw immediately why she had stopped teasing him.
Master Windu was approaching them. This morning Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had parted ways at the door. They both needed to stretch and meditate before the afternoon, when the higher-level saber duels began.
Obi-Wan was looking forward to the competition today, after the success of the day before. Qui-Gon had, as he usually did, opted for extra meditation in leu of food.
"Kenobi." He greeted Obi-Wan as if they had not laughed themselves silly the night before over a series of pathetically bad puns involving food.
"Master Windu." He could be just as formal, but his heart was racing and he consciously eased it, knowing it would give him away.
The big man leaned on the table, hands spread flat, very dark against the light-colored plexsteel. "Your performance yesterday was remarkable. That you and Qui-Gon have managed to retain so much of your training bond."
"We are also bound by friendship, Master, just as you and Master Jinn are." He offered cautiously. Was he being warned?
Bant was sitting stiffly beside him.
"You had a private celebration after the party, I know. Several people mentioned it, and the intensity of the contact.
"I, ah -" He stared. There was nothing he could say. What was he supposed to say?!
"That was my fault, Master Windu." Bant spoke up quickly, her small self projecting honor and trustworthiness, so strongly Obi-Wan marveled that Mace didn't smack her down for it.
To lie bold-faced to a Council member - and she called him the daredevil?
She continued matter-of-factly.
"I had some Saurian brandy in my quarters and we may have-"
He made a haruphming noise, stood back up. "See that it does not. And no more contact between the two of you, the intensity of that slip warns that you are getting too close. We do not need the interference."
"Yes, Master." They both bowed their heads, and then Obi-Wan stared at his tray, sneaking a look sideways at Bant. She was blushing faintly, which fit what she'd said, but why had she said it?
"Don't be stupid, Kenobi. You're my best friend. I will do what I have to to protect you - and your master." Her whisper was soft. "But I cannot see a way for this to end anything but badly."
With those final words she stood abruptly, delivered her half-full tray, and left the dining hall. Obi-Wan felt Mace's eyes on him.
Perhaps he would not win in the saber competition today. Perhaps he had already lost the most important battle of his life; the one to stay beside Qui-Gon. Time would tell. Meanwhile there were drills to be drilled and meditations to be meditated.
He'd best start his day.
And find Qui-Gon and warn him of this new development, in case Mace decided to question anyone else about Obi-Wan's whereabouts last night.
"Sith." He muttered softly, disgusted with himself. "The dark side beckons. I'm lying to a council member and suborning the perjury of others, including my master."
Anything, his mind repeated. Qui-Gon would do anything for him. Just as he would for the older man.
This was the right path for them.
End.