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The Letter

by Lady Salieri (ladysalieri@aol.com)

Spoilers/Series/Warnings: None.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Q/O

Category: Humor (maybe)

Feedback: Yes, please! To: ladysalieri@aol.com

Archive: To M/A and my site (www.geocities.com/ladysalieri)

<<<To: Bant Eerin, c/o Jedi Master Rihn Zer-Al, Republic Embassy, Dravin IV
From: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Greetings, Padawan Bant!

Wouldn't you know it? Qui-Gon and I finally receive a two-month leave from field work, and you and your master get sent off to the Outer Rim! Still, I was happy to receive your last message, and even happier to hear that the peace talks on Dravin IV are progressing nicely. Here's hoping that the trend continues, and that you'll be home in time for us to finally catch up on old news in person.

It's been just over a week, now, since Qui-Gon and I returned to Coruscant, and I'm beginning to understand how much in need of this break I really was. Not to say that twelve months of hopping from one planetary crisis to another has made me exactly jumpy... but I was jogging through the Lower Gardens yesterday, and a small fruit dropped from a muja tree just off the path. Before I knew it, I'd made a headfirst dive over the nearest bush, much to the surprise of a certain green-skinned Jedi Master, who was fast asleep on the other side...

I can almost hear you laughing as you read this, Bant, but let me assure you: Funny, this was definitely not! The only reason I'm not now spending every free moment meditating on the Living Force is that Master Yoda seemed more upset at being caught napping than at my failure to look before I leapt. Strong in the Force, Master Yoda may be, but I guess even HE has to yield to those 800-year-old bones now and then.

So... how have I been spending my first Council-prescribed vacation in years, you ask? Well, my friend, the stories I could tell you of wild parties and lewd behavior would make your SCALES flake off... but then, I suppose you'd prefer the truth, wouldn't you? Actually, so far I've spent most of my time catching up on my in-Temple credit requirements. I just finished the short course on Hutt Diplomacy, I've got Quadruped and Triped Physiology next week, and I'll be taking Econ 12 and Philosophy 5 at the turn of the month.

Still, it hasn't been all work and no play for me. Yesterday, for instance, I attended a day-long workshop on survival mechanics for space vessels in the field. The workshop focused on how parts from non-essential ship equipment can be cannibalized to make essential repairs... and it will certainly come in handy if, say, our hyperdrive fries on a mission and we're forced to land somewhere without a fully stocked spaceport.

I know, I know... not exactly your idea of fun, is it? What may interest you about it, though, is that--along with Zidriv Pel, Adra Mid-Wari, and the usual crowd of tech-heads you'd expect to see at this thing--Garen Muln attended the workshop, too.

I'm sure you're surprised to learn this as I was. After all, with two decades of studying ship diagrams and flight manuals, not to mention a Master who knows more about spaceships than the Senior Craftsmith of the Mechanics Guild, Garen seems more qualified to teach this kind of class than attend it. But then, you have to understand that the woman teaching this course was none other than Knight Midri Akar... the very same Midri Akar Garen's been pining for these past eight months. Poor, love-smitten Garen! He spent the entire day flubbing up simple repairs and looking helpless, just so the lovely Knight Akar would lean over his shoulder and point out the error of his ways. I didn't know whether to laugh, or just applaud his dedication!

Qui-Gon (and can you believe I've made it this far into my letter without speaking of him?) has not been nearly as lucky with his free time. It seems the Council is concerned with what it terms the "growing disparity between the extended Code and its implementation in the field." To address this problem, the Council (in its infinite wisdom) has established an Ad-Hoc Advisory Committee on Jedi Policies and Practices... and guess who they've selected to chair it?

So now, poor Qui-Gon gets to spend upwards of ten hours a day, every day, working to find a polite way of stating what every first-year Padawan could explain in half a minute: That if the Council behaved more like a guiding force for change in a dynamic universe, and less like petty dictators, out to crush every impulse of independent thought in the Order, there would never BE a difference between policy and practices in the first place!

But enough of that. On a personal note, much as I sympathize with Qui-Gon for being trapped in those endless meetings, I must admit, the time away from him has been a welcome relief for me. I can't even begin to describe to you how difficult these past several months have been, Bant... how day after day of working with him, eating with him, often sleeping in the same pallet with him, have stressed all my hard-won Jedi control to its limits.

I know the risks involved in seeking to change things with my Master now... and I thought I'd made peace with the idea of waiting till my Knighthood before I make my move. But never does that goal seem so distant and remote, and the way so impossibly difficult, as when we're alone together on some far-off planet, and every cell in my body is screaming with the urge to just reach over and...

...Well, you know. On the other hand, I flatter myself that nothing the Council could possibly throw at me in my Trials could top the ones I've already faced on a hundred such planets, on a thousand different nights, in Qui-Gon's presence. In fact, I wonder if the Council might consider giving me a field promotion, if I approached them and explained my situation?

Hmm. Well, on that especially ridiculous note, I suppose I should end this letter. I'll write again as soon as I can spare a moment from cloud-gazing and holo-watching and all those other obsessive pastimes of the Padawan-at-leisure.

Till then, Force be with you, my friend!

Obi-Wan>>> Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat at the comm terminal and grinned as he sent off the message. Though he truly did regret that his oldest friend was not here to speak with in person, this simple letter had eased his disappointment to a great extent. It was Bant--whose Master was head of one of the lesser Jedi Councils, and who thus spent much of her time on Coruscant--who usually sent long, detailed missives to her friend. Obi-Wan loved the Mon Calamari's dramatic flair for reporting gossip, the dry wit that could lift his spirits on even the most troublesome of missions--but often he could send only a one or two sentence note in reply, dashed off in mid-spaceflight, between mission reports and shifts in the cockpit. With their circumstances reversed, and Bant off on a field mission of indeterminate length, Obi-Wan vowed to do all he could in the coming weeks to return the favor to her.

He had just risen from the comm terminal when a sudden bleep announced the presence of a newly arrived transmission. He leaned back over the comm panel to call up the message--and frowned in confusion when he saw it was a copy of his own letter to Bant.

//That's funny,// he thought. //I don't remember copying myself on this message.//

Obi-Wan scrolled quickly through the contents of the message, paying particular attention to the route information at the end of the message.

<<Data Transmitted to Eerin, c/o Zer-Al, via Galactic Comm Station XP-2724, Time: 05:34:21
Data Copy Transmitted to Coruscant Temple, All Residents, Time: 05:34:23>>

Obi-Wan dropped back to his seat, a blast of pure horror driving the air from his lungs. "Oh, hells," he wheezed.

Thirty seconds later, Obi-Wan was scowling furiously down at his comm panel speaker. "What do you mean, you can't unsend my message?" he snapped at the unfortunate being on the other end of the transmission.

"I'm very sorry, Padawan Kenobi." The calm, disembodied voice of Rizel Fahr, Communications Master at the Jedi Temple, was a stark contrast to Obi-Wan's belligerent tone. "I'm afraid our system isn't set up for that type of request."

"But..." Obi-Wan's voice had grown dangerously close to a squeak; he stopped, cleared his throat, then went on. "But how difficult could it be? All you have to do is access the central computer core and ask it to erase the message from its memory!"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," came the response. "Messages sent on the infonet aren't stored in the central server. The main computer only passes the datastream along to the recipient computers. The only way to erase your message would be to visit every terminal in the Jedi Temple and perform the data recall at each location."

Obi-Wan gaped down at his comm panel, unable to believe what he was hearing. "But... but these comm systems are all slaved to the main terminal!" he protested. "Can't you issue some sort of override command to have all these panels delete that message?"

"I'm afraid not."

A white-hot surge of helpless fury was sizzling through the neurons in Obi-Wan's brain. "Let me see if I've got this straight," he repeated dangerously. "You mean we Jedi can defy gravity, perform miracles of healing, and control short, incredibly powerful beams of energy with a foot-long metal STICK, but we haven't the skills, the knowledge, or the Sith-damned Force ability to erase one TINY peace of data from the Temple infonet?!?"

The Master's voice took in a decidedly chill note. "That is correct, Padawan."

With a growl of unbearable frustration, Obi-Wan cut the connection short and grasped the short ginger hair atop his head in two fists. The resulting pain did much to counter the throbbing ache in the Padawan's temples, but very little to resolve the situation.

//Serenity, Obi-Wan,// he told himself, taking what he hoped would prove to be a calming breath. //There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no emotion, there is... Sith take it!//

Obi-Wan jumped up from his seat in a burst of nervous energy and began pacing back and forth through his quarters. //Okay, Kenobi,// he mused, //let's be rational about this. Sure, you've just sent an incredibly private message to the whole Jedi Temple. Does that mean that everyone's going to read it? I mean, we're Jedi, for Light's sake, not... not junior level prep students! Respect for other people's privacy is a basic tenet of our philosophy! Most people will probably delete that message as soon as they realize it wasn't intended for them. Won't they?//

Obi-Wan considered the point for a moment, then his face fell in utter despair. "Oh, hells," he muttered again, burying his face in his hands. "I don't think anyone follows the Code that well."

Shuffling back into his bedroom, Obi-Wan tore off his exercise clothes and tossed them to the floor. Perhaps this was a good time to catch up on all the sleep he'd missed while away on mission. He'd pass on his morning run, take a short nap, then find something for first meal in his own kitchen. After that... meditation, perhaps, or a few hours perusing the latest astromech journals. With any luck, by the time he decided to surface again, this whole mess would have blown over.

It probably wasn't the most Jedilike way to handle the situation, Obi-Wan admitted, as he curled up on his sleepcouch and pulled the thick covers up to his ears... but he just didn't feel like being a Jedi today.

Obi-Wan stepped furtively from his quarters and headed for the Dining Hall, cursing himself under his breath as he went. Cooking had never been one of Obi-Wan's great talents, of course, and he generally chose Temple service when left on his own at mealtime--but was that any excuse for letting his food supply dwindle to nonexistence? He had searched every shelf, drawer, and surface of his tiny kitchen--once upon waking from his nap, then again only a few hours later--and had turned up nothing even distantly edible. He had placed a call to the Temple procurement staff to restock the kitchen, but the food would not arrive till the next day, and until then, Obi-Wan had nothing so much as a biscuit to eat.

The Padawan had gone far longer without food, of course, than the sixteen or so hours since his last meal--had even considered using the day to practice channeling his hunger into the Force--but at last, a sense of shame at his own cowardice had propelled Obi-Wan from his refuge in search of a meal.

...A few hours after the second meal rush, of course, at a time when he hoped most Jedi would be nowhere near the Dining Hall.

Choosing a path through the less commonly traveled corridors of the Temple and aiming for a side entrance to the Dining Hall, rather than the main entrance across from the central turbolifts, Obi-Wan managed to make his way down to the dining area without incident. He stopped just inside the doors to the Hall and peered carefully out into its vast interior.

It seemed Obi-Wan had timed his entrance well; the Dining Hall was indeed almost completely empty. A group of elder Jedi chatted amiably over tea in the corner farthest from Obi-Wan; the Padawan thought it likely that he was as unfamiliar to them as they certainly were to him. One long table to Obi-Wan's left was filled with children noisily enjoying a snack. Fourth year initiates, Obi-Wan believed--too young to have infonet access just yet. A few other beings were scattered across the room--a Master and Padawan in travel-stained clothes, obviously just in from a mission; a pair of Knights sharing an apparently intimate conversation--but none of these seemed likely to know or care about Obi-Wan's unfortunate gaffe. In fact, the only occupants of the Hall who would even recognize him, Obi-Wan thought, were the seven fellow Padawans at a table near the hot food counters... and from the many books and datapads scattered across their table, it seemed they were far too busy with classwork to concern themselves with him.

Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Obi-Wan continued into the Hall. The tantalizing smells wafting up from the food counters were doing wonders for the Padawan's uncertain mood; his confidence growing with every second he remained incognito, Obi-Wan filled a tray up with food, grinned his thanks at the service droids behind the counters, and seated himself quietly by the side entrance.

He was halfway through his roast nerf when his lucky streak ended.

"Heads up!" the cry came, moments before a small muja fruit dropped with a squelch onto Obi-Wan's tray.

A burst of laughter followed the fruit's landing. Obi-Wan looked up into the grinning faces of his seven yearmates, their classwork apparently abandoned in favor of a more amusing subject.

"Aw, there's never a big bush around when you need one," smirked one, a Bothan male Obi-Wan vaguely recognized as a friend of Reeft's. "Or have you already flattened enough Councilors this week?"

Another member of the group snickered loudly. "It's more likely they'll flatten him, when they get through with that letter of his."

"You know, when you screw up, Kenobi," said a third, "you certainly do it on a grand scale."

Obi-Wan sat there, simmering in silence, as still another member of the group spoke up. "Hey, come on, folks," this fourth Padawan said, "be a little kinder to the recently condemned." She eyed Obi-Wan with an air of sympathy that was almost entirely ungenuine. "You may not want to stick around here for long, Obi-Wan. Master Yoda was in here a few minutes ago, asking if we'd seen you."

Obi-Wan's meal turned to ashes in his mouth. He choked, then swallowed painfully, forcing his last bite down past his dry, constricted throat. "He was?" he finally managed to ask.

"Mm-hmm. Of course, he didn't actually say why he was looking for you, but..." The Padawan's shrug was eloquent. "...I guess you can draw your own conclusions."

Suddenly, the thought of channeling his hunger to the Force didn't seem like such a bad move at all. Without saying another word to his richly amused yearmates, Obi-Wan shot up from his seat and was off, tossing his nearly untouched tray of food in a disposal unit near the door.

"Force be with you, Kenobi," one of the group called out, as the doors slid shut behind Obi-Wan. "You're going to need it!"

The secondary turbolifts to the residence tower were only a few corridors down from the hall, and Obi-Wan took the distance at a sprint. He had just rounded the last corner when a small being in voluminous robes appeared before him.

"Padawan Kenobi," the wizened Jedi master greeted. "Looking for you, I have been."

"Master Yoda!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. "Er..." He paused, considered his words, then decided to brazen it out as long as he could. "Er, yes, Master? How may I help you?"

"Requested an assistant for the aerial training course, our senior initiate instructor has," Yoda replied. "If too busy with classes you are not, Padawan, ideal you would be for the job."

Obi-Wan smiled pleasantly, though what he really wanted to do was laugh. Master Yoda had not read his message after all! It made perfect sense, of course, now that he thought of it. With all Yoda did at the Temple--his work on the Council, his gardening duties, and his supervision of initiate training--the tiny Master must be far too busy to check his infonet often. If Master Yoda read that letter at all, it would be days--if not weeks!--in the future. How silly he'd been for worrying in the first place!

"It would be an honor, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan answered, truthfully enough--though the gratitude in his tone had more to do with his narrow escape than the thought of training a dozen twelve-year-old sentients. "I do have a few classes scheduled in the coming weeks, but I'm sure I'll be able to arrange a suitable time to work with the initiates."

Master Yoda gave a nod. "Good. Then trust you to discuss this with Master Xirxes, I shall."

Obi-Wan signaled his understanding and made as if to leave, but the Master's call stopped him in his tracks. "Padawan Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan turned back to face him again. "Yes, Master Yoda?" he asked.

"Carelessness, a poor trait is in a Jedi student." Obi-Wan looked on in dismay as Yoda's face transformed from its usual tranquility to the scowling mask Jedi for centuries had learned to dread. "If in the here and now, your thoughts had been, sent your letter to everyone in the Temple, you would not have, hmm?"

"Yes, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan replied dutifully. Inside, he was cursing fluidly. How could he have thought for one moment his mistake would slip by the Jedi's most uncannily omniscient green troll?

"Perhaps help you stay focused on the Living Force, some time in the Gardens would." Yoda snorted disdainfully, his small figure bristling with affront. "Help an old Master rest his old bones it would, too."

Yoda lifted his gnarled gimer stick and tapped it on the floor at Obi-Wan's feet--a sign the Padawan had long since learned was his cue to offer the Master a lift.

"Yes, Master Yoda," he sighed heavily as he knelt to help the tiny Master onto his back.

Obi-Wan trudged through the Temple's fitness arena, moving his shoulders in careful circles as he went. For the past three hours, Obi-Wan had carried Yoda up and down the rows of the Master's private vegetable garden, stopping and crouching at each step while the wizened being examined his plants for the smallest traces of damage or disease. With an instinctive flair for torture borne of several centuries training Padawans, Yoda had not released Obi-Wan from his clutches till the Padawan's back and neck were screaming in agony, and his shoulders seemed to have curled into a permanent stoop. Obi-Wan wanted nothing so much as a hot shower and a nap, but first he thought that a short run and some aerial routines might help loosen some of his miserably constricted muscles.

His head down to avoid eye contact with other sentients in the arena, Obi-Wan slipped into the locker room and moved through the rows to his own locker on the back wall. He keyed in the combination to his lock and opened the door, reaching in for the sleeveless exercise tunic hanging inside.

"YOU!" The enraged shout startled an exclamation of surprise from Obi-Wan as well; heart thundering in his chest, Obi-Wan spun to face his attacker.

The figure standing several feet to his left was a cross between an enraged rancor and one of Obi-Wan's best friends. The young man's eyes shot sparks of blue fire, his face was red, and the fists that clenched and released at his sides seemed to be pumping energy into a figure already nearly exploding with anger.

"Garen!" Obi-Wan gasped, his voice bearing an uncanny resemblance to the cry of a Niberian field mouse. He backed carefully away from his incensed friend, hands thrown up before him in a placating gesture. "Garen, uh... I-I can explain..."

"Explain?" Garen bellowed, stalking his prey across the floor till the other Padawan was quite literally backed into a corner. "Explain?! Okay, Obi-Wan, explain. Explain how YOU'RE the one passing a gossip rag to every sentient in the Temple, and yet I'M the one taking the heat for it?"

"Uhm..."

"A full hour's lecture this morning from Master Clee on the proper use of my elective class time," Garen cut in, obviously less interested in explanations than he'd claimed, "three weeks' worth of assigned meditations on releasing my passions to the Force... every Padawan in the Temple snickering at me behind my back... and, on top of that... on top of ALL that, Kenobi, I get a note from Knight Akar saying I'm a really sweet boy and she's very flattered by my attention, but she's quite happily involved with another woman. A sweet BOY, Kenobi," Garen repeated, his face now a distinctly unhealthy shade of purple, "do you understand me?!?"

Obi-Wan winced, half in sympathy, half in pain--as the last of Garen's words had been shouted almost directly into his right ear. "That's... that's awful, Garen," he ventured carefully. "I really am sorry about all this."

"Oh, no, Kenobi," Garen snarled, jabbing a sharp finger into Obi-Wan's breastbone, "you haven't even begun to feel sorry yet! You think YOUR letter was incriminating--just wait till you see the one I'M getting ready to send out! Just wait till the whole Jedi Order hears how you started having lifts built into your boots two years ago so you'd be in closer kissing range for a man your Master's height, huh? Or... or how that mysterious allergy that knocked you out of last year's saber tournament was caused by the pheromone spray you bought in hopes of seducing him! Just wait till YOU'RE the one with his pathetic love life on display, old friend, and THEN we'll see who's sorry!"

With his final threat still hovering in the air around them, Garen spun on his heel and stormed off, slamming Obi-Wan's locker door shut as he passed. Obi-Wan flinched at the sharp bang of the locker door, then heaved a sigh of relief, resting his head against the cool wall of the small locker room.

A snort of laughter echoed in the now-silent room and an anonymous voice piped up from the other side of the row of lockers to Obi-Wan's left. "Pheromone spray, huh?"

The turbolift doors hissed open before him, and Obi-Wan trudged wearily in. His encounter with Garen had been the proverbial last straw; he was going back to his room, and this time nothing short of a Sith invasion would drag him from his refuge again.

The lift doors were only a few inches away from closing, when small surge of the Force halted their motion. Obi-Wan had barely enough time to cringe in recognition of the Force signature before the doors opened once more and Mace Windu stepped in.

"Greetings, Master Windu," Obi-Wan murmured, moving to the back corner of the lift and wishing with all his heart he could render himself invisible. Mace Windu was one of the senior members of the Jedi Council--and one of the strictest in enforcing the letter of the Jedi Code of Conduct. His frequent clashes with Qui-Gon over the latter's unconventional methods had made the pair enemies in all but name, and rightly or wrongly, the Councilor had always considered Obi-Wan a troublemaker by association. Obi-Wan's letter was hardly likely to dispel Master Windu's preconceptions.

The Councilor's response was cordial enough, and Obi-Wan allowed himself a spark of hope. If there was one person in this Temple, he thought, whose interpretation of the Code should prohibit him from invading another's privacy, it was this man. Perhaps his luck had finally turned again, and he would get through the rest of the day without an absolute catastrophe.

"It may interest you to know, Padawan Kenobi," the Councilor remarked suddenly, his eyes coolly watching the floor numbers flicker in and out on the digital display above them, "that just this morning, the Policies Committee was discussing plans to allow all Jedi the chance to voice opinions on Council policies, the extended Code, and various other points of contention."

Obi-Wan regarded the dark-skinned man warily. It didn't take a Jedi to sense there was more to this than idle conversation, and wherever the Councilor was heading, Obi-Wan was sure it wasn't good. "I'm sure there are many who would welcome the opportunity, Master Windu," he replied tentatively.

"Mmm. The discussion was tabled, though, till we could find someone willing to assume the task of assembling and coordinating a infonet survey of all active Jedi. It's a large task--and I imagine that much of the transcription work will be tedious--but..." The Councilor's eyes swept briefly over the Padawan, before returning to the overhead display. "...given your familiarity with the infonet and your apparent interest in the subject, Padawan Kenobi, I think we may just have found our volunteer."

Obi-Wan snapped his mouth shut to hold back an embarrassing whimper. To collect and tabulate the responses of some ten thousand sentients on a topic as hotly debated as the Jedi Code of Conduct--! He could enlist every Padawan on Coruscant, call in every debt he'd accumulated in the course of his lifetime, commandeer a dozen droids from the Research Department, and still have every second of his leave consumed by this project!

Obi-Wan sighed. On the other hand, should he refuse this task, the Councilor was sure to find an even more excruciating task to assign the Padawan--and besides, if he was chained to his comm terminal for the next several weeks, his letter would surely be old news by the time he resurfaced.

"Yes, of course, Master Windu," he replied miserably. "Anything I can do to help."

The turbolift doors opened on Master Windu's floor, and Obi-Wan struggled to find a parting smile for the man--but the Councilor was far from finished. Holding the doors open with an outstretched hand and a deft manipulation of the Force, the Jedi Master turned and pinned Obi-Wan to the wall with a blistering glare.

"A word of caution, Padawan Kenobi," he went on, pure venom infusing every syllable of his cold, precise words. "I realize your contempt for the Council's authority is due largely to your own Master's teachings--but you would do well to remember that what MAY be tolerated from one of Qui-Gon Jinn's rank and unquestioned ability is most definitely NOT acceptable from a boy still years away from his Trials. I suggest you take a good, hard look at that braid on your shoulder and rethink the sort of behavior you want to emulate if you ever hope to see that thing clipped."

His thoughts veering wildly between anger, chagrin, and a bleak amusement at the mess his life had become, several seconds had passed--and the turbolift had once more begun its ascent--before the full extent of Master Windu's remarks hit Obi-Wan. The Jedi Councilor had spoken of the Policies Committee meeting, had apparently attended the day's meeting, and had been out of the meeting long enough to check his infonet and read Obi-Wan's damning letter. But Master Windu would hardly have left before the meeting itself had ended, and if that were the case, then Qui-Gon was...

"No!" Obi-Wan gasped, his heart clenching in his chest.

As if on cue, the turbolift came to a stop and the metal doors opened onto Obi-Wan's floor. Obi-Wan bolted from the turbolift and flew headlong down the corridor, past his own rooms to the door marking the entrance to his Master's quarters. Not even stopping to knock, Obi-Wan keyed open the door and dashed inside... to see Qui-Gon seated at his comm terminal, a look of terrible consternation on his face.

"Master, please...!" Obi-Wan cried, already knowing it was too late.

Qui-Gon started wildly at Obi-Wan's words, then leapt up from his seat from the terminal as if stung by a bristlefly. Obi-Wan stared helplessly at the older man, mind racing for an appropriate explanation... but the words went dry in his throat.

With the small part of his brain that remained lucid, Obi-Wan observed that his Master seemed similarly affected. "Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said finally, "I... I had no idea."

"No?" Obi-Wan managed. His heart seemed to have shriveled to a lifeless husk. Qui-Gon looked positively sick, he thought. He had rendered his Master speechless. //Oh, Force,// Obi-Wan wailed inwardly. //What have I done?//

Qui-Gon had found his voice again. "You must know that I would never stand in the way of your seeking a new Master, P... Obi-Wan," he said. "In fact, if you had just... if I had realized how unhappy you were with me, I would have suggested a change myself. I have only ever wanted what's best for you, Obi-Wan, and if you feel that..."

The suggestion that he find a new Master hit Obi-Wan so hard he almost missed the rest of Qui-Gon's words. When they did sink in, they only added to the swirling confusion of Obi-Wan's thoughts.

"W-Wait a minute... what?" he stammered. "Unhappy with you? How... why would you think that?"

His brow knit with pain, Qui-Gon gestured wordlessly at the comm terminal beside him.

With a puzzled glance at his Master, Obi-Wan stepped past him and leaned over the comm station. The message still showing on the large display screen was quite clearly his, and for a moment, Obi-Wan's vision went red with suspicion. Could someone have tampered with his letter to Bant? he wondered furiously. Made an already unpleasant situation worse by replacing his hopeless ramblings of love for Qui-Gon with remarks more malicious in nature?

He read the message through once, skimming it only, but found no obvious signs that his words had been altered. He tossed another questioning look at his Master, then lowered his gaze back to the screen, shaking his head and forcing himself to read more carefully over the text of his much-lamented letter.

<<<...the time away from him has proved a welcome relief for me...>>>

<<<...can't even begin to describe to you how difficult these past several months have been...>>>

<<<...thought I'd made peace with the idea of waiting till my Knighthood...>>>

//Oh, Force,// Obi-Wan thought, in horrified dismay, //I guess this could be taken the wrong way by someone who doesn't already know how much I love Qui-Gon.//

"No, Master!" Obi-Wan gasped, the words bubbling unconsciously up from his chest. He turned from the terminal and took an impulsive step forward, lifting one of Qui-Gon's large hands in his own and laying it against his thundering heart. "You misunderstand! It's not... I mean... I don't..."

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, struggling with his feelings and the last remnants of fear that had held him silent for so long--but ultimately, all thoughts of pride or self-preservation seemed like distant concerns when compared with the hurt gleaming in Qui-Gon's brilliant blue eyes. He took a deep, calming breath to collect his thoughts, then pushed on.

"I love you, Qui-Gon," he said simply. "I've loved you forever, it seems, only I was so afraid what might happen if I told you how I felt while I was still your Padawan." He dropped Qui-Gon's hand and made a restless circuit around the room, coming to a stop several feet in front of the motionless Jedi Master.

"This was not supposed to happen this way," Obi-Wan continued. "This wasn't supposed to happen when you could still say I'm too young, or... or it's just the training bond, or I'm mistaking respect and admiration for love. But it's not just the bond, Qui-Gon, and I'm not mistaking anything else for love. And if you could just... if you could just give me the chance, I'll prove to you that I'm not too young to know what I want." He stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath. "That's... that's if you think you could ever want me."

The silence from the other man was deafening. Obi-Wan had acted out this scene a thousand times in his head, had pictured a thousand different ways that Qui-Gon might respond--from anger to affection, from sorrow to amusement--but never this. Never this complete and utter blankness that seemed to have turned his beloved Master into a living doll.

"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan asked finally, his voice shaking with desperation. "Master, please tell me what you're thinking right now."

Qui-Gon was still for another heart-stopping moment--then a fire lit in his eyes and his lips curved in a smile the likes of which Obi-Wan had never seen before. "I'm thinking..." the Jedi Master replied dazedly, "I'm thinking if I could just get my limbs to start working again, you'd never have another moment's doubt about my feelings."

Half-drowning in Qui-Gon's eyes and the wave of love flowing across their training bond, Obi-Wan barely even heard Qui-Gon's response. "Master?" the Padawan asked, afraid to trust what his senses were telling him.

"I love you madly, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon said, his eyes gleaming with a wondrous joy, "and any moment now, I'm going to recover from the shock of having my wildest dream come true, and I'm going to hold you and kiss you breathless and promise I'll never let you go."

As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, even one moment was too long to wait. With a whispered "Qui-Gon" and a gasp of delighted laughter, Obi-Wan launched himself forward and fell into his Master's warm embrace.

<<<To: Bant Eerin, c/o Jedi Master Rihn Zer-Al, Republic Embassy, Dravin IV
From: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

Dear Bant:

I'm afraid this message will be a short one, for reasons I'm sure you already know--even if you didn't catch the data copy line on my last letter. News, it seems, travels just as fast in the Jedi Order as it does in the rest of the galaxy--and, as Padawan Tsii told me last week, not even the Outer Rim is far enough to hide from my infonet goof.

But I'm sure you're dying to hear the fallout from that event straight from the bantha's mouth (so to speak), so here goes.

The life of this particular Padawan-at-leisure no longer involves very much leisure, I'm afraid. By the time I made it through a handful of very unhappy Jedi Councilors, I'd volunteered to assist classes in the creche, tutor junior Padawans in astrophysics and chemistry, dust datachips at the Temple Library, and tabulate responses to the massive survey you'll be receiving in your infomail any day now. The latter is likely to keep me (and, by extension, Qui-Gon) on Coruscant for much longer than our originally scheduled leave, so you can expect to see me here pretty much whenever you return from Dravin IV.

Garen, of course, went completely Sith over his part in my letter, and he refused to speak to me for well over a week. But a few days ago, he tracked me down after Philosophy and apologized for "making a scene over one simple mistake." An example of Jedi benevolence at its finest? Perhaps. But more likely, it's because his public exposure as a star-crossed suitor won him the sympathy of another lovely and lissome young Knight. So high is our friend in the throes of his new love, he's even volunteered to help me with the infonet survey--and who am I to reject a show of friendship like that?

The rest of Temple's reactions have been pretty much what you'd expect: some shakes of the head, a raised eyebrow or two, and a lot of laughter at my expense. What they don't know--and what you won't hear from any other source--is that I'm laughing too. If I hadn't sent that letter to the whole Jedi Temple, I might have waited another four years or more before hearing that Qui-Gon loves me. Did you catch that, Bant? Qui-Gon loves me--and that's something I'd sacrifice a lot more than my pride to hold on to.

I have to go now--duty calls. Take care, and I promise to fill in all the missing details about these wonderful, crazy weeks as soon as you come home to Coruscant. See you soon, Bant!

Love,
Obi-Wan>>>>> Obi-Wan smiled, checked the route address one last time to ensure only one recipient, then gave the command to send.

-The End-