Master Apprentice
Archive
Mary Sue Comes to Coruscant, or The City Padawan and the Country Mary Sue
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Archive: M_A; anyone else, just ask
Category: humour/parody, Q/O, first time
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Mary Sue ahoy. M/M slash (of course), and F/F implied
Spoilers: no
Series: no
Summary: Qui-Gon gets a visit from a special young lady, all thanks to Master Ruth's Mary Sue challenge.
Disclaimers: You the man, George. The only thing I'm getting for this is some cheap thrills and (hopefully) some feedback.
An odd smell greeted Qui-Gon as he strode through the door to the small apartment he shared with his padawan, but the significance did not strike him until he hit the kitchen and saw the mess.
"Oh, hello, Master," Obi-Wan said, barely glancing up from the cookbook. "You said you were tired of take out, so I thought I'd attempt some dassa ni chura and shada-fried frog."
"You're making Huttese? Tonight?"
"I thought you liked Huttese, Master."
"But the mess... look at the kitchen! Obi-Wan, my niece from Alderaan is coming to visit. Her ship arrives in half an hour."
"You could have told me sooner. Don't worry, Master. I'll have the kitchen cleaned up--"
"But the stench! You can smell fried frog halfway down the corridor."
"I turned the ventilation on max--"
"And we have to find something suitable for dinner..."
"She doesn't like dassa ni chura?"
Qui-Gon drew himself up to his full -- considerable -- height. "My niece is a well-bred young lady, Obi-Wan, and Huttese food has, er, certain unfortunate digestive... consequences..."
Obi-Wan gave him a puzzled glance, and absently stirred the shada-fried frog. "We'll just open a window like we always do."
"We are going out for dinner, Padawan," Qui-Gon said through clenched teeth. "I'm going to arrange a cot for you -- Violette will take your room, and you'll sleep with me. You are going to bathe, put on your dress uniform, polish your boots, and redo your braid. And do not use that ridiculous smiley-face hair tie."
"But Bant gave me tha--"
"And don't forget to brush your teeth. And wear deodorant. And for Force's sake, put on some cologne!" Qui-Gon stomped out of their quarters, but not before he saw Obi-Wan surreptitiously sniff himself.
"I don't smell that bad..."
Violette LeLonde stepped daintily from the transport, clutching her smallest travel bag in one hand, and pressing her wide-brimmed hat to her head with the other. Between the ship's engines and the height of the hoverquay, the wind was enough to make her wish she hadn't worn a skirt, but the sky-blue sundress went so well with her gold-flecked cerulean eyes, she couldn't resist. Besides, it matched her hat, and her best friend Amabelinda had assured Violette she would need something to protect her silky wheat-coloured curls from Coruscant's infamous pollution.
Trying to tug her skirt down without losing any accessories, Violette finally spotted a familiar figure striding towards her. "Uncle Quigley!"
"Vivi!" Qui-Gon scooped her up into a Wookiee hug, just like when she was a little girl. She giggled, but he was already spinning her around to face the young man at his heels, who was apparently recovering from some sort of coughing fit. "Vivi, this my padawan learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan, this is my sister's youngest, Violette LeLonde."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss LeLonde," Obi-Wan said, bowing. When he came up he was flushed, and he shot a glance at Uncle Qui-Gon. "My apologies. Lady LeLonde."
"You must call me Violette, of course, and I hope I may call you Obi-Wan." She smiled up at him. "Uncle Quigley has told me so much about you that I feel I know you already."
There it was again, that small choking sound, and Obi-Wan threw another look at Uncle Qui-Gon, then cleared his throat. "I would be honoured, Violette."
"Good." Violette handed her bag to Qui-Gon, and threaded her free arm through Obi-Wan's.
"Vivi, is this all you brought?"
"No, Uncle. The spaceline official said they'd deliver the trunks to the temple. That's just my personal products."
"Oh." Qui-Gon's firm grasp on the handle suddenly became a dainty, two-fingered grip. "If you're feeling up to it, Obi-Wan and I planned to take you out to dinner. Perhaps Mandionini's, or the Gilded Rancor."
"Oooh, I've heard so much about the Gilded Rancor. Can we go there?"
"Of course, dear." Qui-Gon beamed at her and Obi-Wan, then turned to hail an aircab.
Qui-Gon studied his niece and padawan over the top of his menu. Violette was chattering about her charity work with Alderaan's underprivileged children while Obi-Wan politely feigned interest. Qui-Gon knew the interest was feigned because he and Obi-Wan were having a private discussion over their training bond.
//It's a family thing, Obi-Wan. She couldn't pronounce my name when she was small... and need I remind you that you are not too old to turn over my knee? One giggle from a padawan in the hallways, one smirk from a master, and you are in big trouble, Padawan.//
//I wouldn't dream of telling anyone, Master Quigley. There's far too much blackmail potential.// Obi-Wan took a small sip of wine to conceal his smirk. //Master? I didn't think there were underprivileged children on Alderaan. Their standard of living is quite high.//
//Everything's relative, Obi-Wan. I imagine she's speaking of skiing trips to Hoth, and shurna-riding lessons.//
//Ah. And is she going to order soon? I'm getting hungry.//
//She expects you to order for her.//
//Me? Why me?//
//You're her dinner partner.//
//Only because you sat on that side!//
//Why, so I did.//
//But I don't know what to order for her.//
//Go with something mild and expensive. That's always safe.//
//Master...//
Qui-Gon nodded encouragingly at his apprentice, who hesitantly told the waiterdroid the young lady would have the arsup-fowl in tarsay sauce. There was no protest from Violette, and Obi-Wan relaxed. Qui-Gon carefully hid his glee from Obi-Wan, and ordered his own meal.
"Good night, Uncle Quigley. Good night... Obi-Wan. Thank you for a lovely evening." Violette curtsied to her uncle and his padawan, then collapsed against the door as soon as it closed, fanning herself. Obi-Wan Kenobi was everything Uncle Qui-Gon said he would be, and more. The holopic had not done him justice. Those eyes... that chin... that adorable braid...
Thank every god anyone had ever prayed to that Amabelinda had talked her into giving the Jedi padawan a chance.
"Your uncle isn't stuffy or boring, is he? At least go and meet this Obi-Wan, for your uncle's sake. Besides, you'll get a trip to Coruscant, Vi. Coruscant!"
Violette was very glad she had listened. And Uncle Qui-Gon had promised at least a week of Obi-Wan's undivided attention. Humming to herself, Violette waded through her trunks in search of her allergy medication, praying she would find it before the tarsay sauce she'd choked down could turn her face purple.
"Padawan, Violette needs someone to escort her to the market district, and I'm afraid I have a meeting with Master Windu this afternoon."
Obi-Wan looked up from his battle with the cot, which was refusing to meekly fold up. "Er... all right, Master. I'll see if Bant and Garen want to come, too--"
"No! I'm sure your friends have better things to do."
"Well, I have better things to do. That's not stopping you from asking me."
"Don't be cheeky. Violette will meet you in the hangar. Here's my credit chip -- buy her whatever she wants, and make sure you take her someplace nice for lunch. And, Padawan? 'Someplace nice' does not mean McAntilles."
Obi-Wan sighed as the cot skillfully avoided capture and sprang open once more. "Yes, Master."
"You're back early. How was your day?" Qui-Gon asked as a stream of delivery droids followed Violette into Obi-Wan's room.
Obi-Wan hung up his robe, kicked off his boots, and flopped onto the sofa. "Fine. Your niece is a... fascinating, and... complex person."
"I knew you two would get along. I'm glad you like Violette, particularly as I'm unable to attend the theater tonight. You'll have to escort her."
Obi-Wan stared flatly at Qui-Gon for a moment, then smiled, a rather nasty expression. "Here's your credit bill."
Violette opened the door with a regal swish, and a cloud of Midnight Citrus perfume wafted into the common room, sending Obi-Wan into a sneezing fit. She took in the padawan's formal uniform and the slightly squashed corsage in his hands; the orange and yellow flowers clashed horribly with her mauve dress, but she smiled bravely and offered her wrist. The huge blossoms swamped her delicate limb.
The theater district for the south east quadrant was some distance from the temple, and they were nearly late since Obi-Wan insisted on taking the shuttlebus instead of an aircab. They received many strange glances from the other passengers, which Obi-Wan cheerfully ignored. Violette struggled to do the same as she fought to keep the hem of her formal dress off the dirty floor. She lost both battles.
The play was wonderful, just as Violette knew it would be, and more than made up for the mode of transportation. Coruscant theaters had the latest holo-scenery projectors, and the set looked very real. It was an all-star cast, and Violette hung on her favourite actor's lines, clutching Obi-Wan's arm at every plot twist.
"He's a nobleman and I'm a public servant. There can never be anything between us. Society would not approve, and our families! Our families would disown us. Our love was doomed before it began."
"Oh," Violette whispered, sympathy welling for the heroine.
Obi-Wan, for his part, sat up straight and paid attention, a statement of polite interest on his face. Afterwards, he escorted her to Mandionini's for a late meal.
"... and when the viscount revealed the senator's sister hadn't died... oh, I could have cried. I love Yole Dausicati. I've seen everything he's ever done."
"Which one was he again?"
"The viscount."
"Ah. He seemed adequate."
Violette, confronted with someone who thought Yole Dausicati 'adequate', was momentarily rendered speechless. "You did enjoy the play, didn't you?"
"I'd already seen it. Eighteen times."
"A true fan!"
"Not really. I always end up escorting this princess or that delegate out on our missions. I wish Qui-Gon would just tell them the Jedi are peacekeepers, not an escort service."
Violette's smile wavered. "So, you didn't enjoy it?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't understand the plot. Why doesn't the viscount just tell Lady Whatshername he loves her?"
"Oh, but she's engaged to the supreme chancellor's son." Violette launched into a detailed explanation of the plot, and why the ending, while seemingly tragic, was in reality a testament to the glory of True Love. Partway through she noticed Obi-Wan's eyes beginning to glaze, and recalled Amabelinda's tried and tested advice: always devote ten percent of the conversation to Subjects of Male Interest. Without pausing for breath, Violette switched from romanticism in Corellian literature to the prospects of Coruscant's galactic league blasterball team.
Eventually, she had to stop to sip some water for her parched throat, and Obi-Wan spoke up. "That's very... interesting. I wasn't aware Coruscant had a blasterball team."
Violette laughed weakly, uncertain whether this was Jedi humour.
"I'd seen children playing it, but I wasn't aware they have professional teams," Obi-Wan continued, oblivious to her shock. "Though that would explain why Bant is always chattering about the blasterball finals."
A bright smile broke over Violette's face, displaying her perfect white teeth. "So tell me, Obi-Wan. Do you cook?"
Obi-Wan laughed, but went with the subject change. "Of course. You don't think I'd eat Qui-Gon's cooking, do you?"
Oh my, Violette thought. He can cook and he's indifferent to sports. Wait until Amabelinda hears about this.
The opera. The floating zoo. The droid museum. The charity fashion auction.
By the end of the week Qui-Gon was running out of excuses not to attend events with Violette, and Obi-Wan was running out of civility.
"No."
"But, Padawan--"
"No," Obi-Wan whispered furiously, craning his neck to see around the door. Violette was arranging some flowers in the common room, oblivious to the hushed conversation in Qui-Gon's bedroom. "I won her a giant teddy bear at the cross-Coruscant fair. I endured six hours of bad poetry written by bored society ladies. I bought a hat at the fashion auction, for Force's sake!"
"Obi-Wan--"
"A hat. With a purple fringe. I will not be Violette's... date for the senatorial ball, particularly since you're going, too."
"I already have a date, Padawan."
"So. Do. I."
"Bant doesn't count. I don't want to order you to go with Violette, but I will."
"Master! All my friends will be there!"
"Formal tunics, Obi-Wan. Nine o'clock. Bring flowers. And, Padawan," Qui-Gon hissed as Obi-Wan stalked off to change, "for Force's sake, hire a cab this time!"
Amabelinda advised caution this time, so Violette chose a white dress. Though it was not her best colour, it could not possibly clash with anything, and it did compliment the distinctive streak of white in her hair.
Violette had not reckoned with a Jedi's ability to do the impossible, however, for Obi-Wan arrived armed with dozen Alderaani roses the colour of antique lace -- the combination made her dress seem blinding and the flowers look diseased. Violette thanked her date, and promptly put the flowers in water, getting them far away from her dress as possible.
"We'll be sharing a cab with some friends of mine," Obi-Wan said as he took her arm. "I felt kind of bad for Bant since I cancelled last minute on her, so I thought we might all go as a group. That way no one feels left out." Obi-Wan beamed at her.
Ignoring the fact that Obi-Wan had apparently planned to go with someone else, Violette struggled to process the information that this Bant person he'd been chattering about all week was female.
Amabelinda advised grace when dealing with potential rivals, so Violette decided to reserve judgement. She was the future Marchioness of Tegueldii, after all, and she doubted some tomboyish Jedi with the unfortunate name of Bant would be any threat.
"What a lovely idea," she said brightly. "Very charitable of you."
Obi-Wan conveniently neglected to mention that the 'group' consisted of nearly thirty people, all of whom wore formal Jedi tunics and -- species permitting -- padawan braids. Crammed into one of four cabs, Violette would have been pleased with the close quarters if a Mon Calamari hadn't managed to sit between her and Obi-Wan. To keep her dress from getting salt water on it, Violette shifted the other way, and found herself pressed up against a stunning padawan whose short, spiky blonde hair miraculously did not throw her gender into question.
As the blonde exchanged rather ribald comments with Obi-Wan and the Mon Calamari over Violette's head, she realized with a sense of horror this must be Bant; Bant the childhood friend, Bant the blasterball fan, Bant the tomboy Jedi... who could have modeled for Galactopolitan holozine.
Plastering a bright smile on her lips, Violette engaged her rival in conversation, swiftly discovering that Bant was intelligent and opinionated and disgustingly self-confident.
Amabelinda would never speak to her again if she gave up after coming so far, however, so Violette silently reminded herself just who she was, and prepared for war.
Qui-Gon surreptitiously helped his date from the cab. He couldn't really offer his arm, not if he expected to be able to walk the next day, but he assumed his date was used to compensating for her stature.
Qui-Gon only hoped he could avoid Obi-Wan in the crowd.
Luck had apparently abandoned the Jedi master, however, for his late appearance coincided with that of a large group of padawans, who were bogged down attempting to keep thirty beings together. Obi-Wan, predictably, spotted Qui-Gon right away, and ambled over with a slightly feral grin on his face.
"Good evening, Masters." Obi-Wan performed an ostentatious bow to Qui-Gon and his date.
"Good it is indeed, young Padawan," Yaddle said, the four-foot height difference not stopping her from reaching for Qui-Gon's hand. "Pleased I am to see you here."
"Yes, well, enjoy your evening, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, accepting Yaddle's clawed hand, and trying not to wince as the reach stretched his shoulders out of alignment. He escaped Obi-Wan's sharp gaze as fast as Yaddle's legs would allow, practically dragging the little green master up the steps to the supreme chancellor's residence.
"Slow down you will, Qui-Gon," Yaddle grumbled.
"My apologies, Master. I'm eager to..." Eager to what? "...speak with Chancellor Valorum." There. Chatting with Finis was safe enough.
The words had hardly left his mouth before Yaddle's walking stick caught him across the shins. "Invited me to a party you did," she said, sounding quite placid. Qui-Gon wondered why he had ever thought he could put anything past a council member -- he would bet his lightsaber she knew exactly what he was up to. Yaddle glanced up at him, unholy glee lighting her eyes. "Dance we will," she announced.
Qui-Gon bit back a moan of pure terror, and fervently hoped Obi-Wan and Violette would be married and expecting triplets by the end of the evening.
Obi-Wan resisted every attempt to separate from the group, so Violette was forced to endure Bant's tales of heroics, surely exaggerated. No one could possibly save the galaxy that many times in one week. Fortunately, Obi-Wan seemed more interested in talking to the Mon Calamari padawan, and Violette contented herself with intercepting Bant every time she drifted towards them.
After several rounds of this, Obi-Wan took an abrupt interest in Violette, and dragged her off to the punch bowl. He refused to look at her as he ladled out a glass of the thick blue... whatever it was... and visibly drew his thoughts together a before handing her the glass. "Violette... may I ask you something?"
She caught her breath. "Of course, Obi-Wan."
He met her eyes at last, and asked, very seriously, "Do you have a problem with inter-species relationships?"
"I-- what?"
"The idea of a human with a Mon Calamari seems to bother you." Obi-Wan's statement turned sad. "I hate to think any relative of Qui-Gon is that small-minded. Bant is really a nice person if you'd just try to get to know her."
Shocked, Violette barely noticed she had spilled her drink. Bant was the Calamari padawan, not the blonde human. While Obi-Wan searched the table for napkins, Violette fought a quick battle; she had never given inter-species relationships much thought, as the population of Alderaan was mostly human, but she was now trapped. If she objected, Obi-Wan would think she was prejudiced, and if she gave her blessing, Obi-Wan would abandon Violette to pursue Bant.
"Cry," Amabelinda advised. "Men can't stand a woman in tears."
"Oh, shut up," Violette muttered.
Obi-Wan's eyebrows raised, and he paused in the middle of handing her a wad of napkins.
"Not you," Violette said, then bit her lip, knowing she was ruining any small chance she had with him. There was no helping it now; he would have to be told. "Obi-Wan, can I tell you a secret?"
He nodded, still wary.
Violette's lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. "I see dead people," she whispered.
"Oooh, playing a tango they are!"
The Force hates me, Qui-Gon thought.
Obi-Wan did not appear impressed with her confession. "I'm not surprised, you being Qui-Gon's niece. Jedi see dead people all the time. Blue and glowing, right?"
Violette nodded.
"Yeah, the temple's full of them."
"Oh." She glanced at Amabelinda, who shrugged and disappeared. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry about tonight. If you want to date Bant--"
"What, me? I'd go out with her, but I'm afraid I'm not to Bant's liking."
"Don't tell me she's a speciesist?"
Obi-Wan flushed. "No. More of a sexist. She, er, doesn't like boys."
"Oh." A little more thought, and Violette made the connection. "Oh! But then, why would you ask if I don't approve of inter-species relationships?"
"Well, with the way you kept Siri away from Bant all night..."
Siri? Violette thought. That must be the blonde.
Obi-Wan's eyes suddenly widened. "Unless... I'm sorry for misreading the situation. I truly thought you were trying to keep Siri away from Bant and I." He appeared to fight a battle with himself. "Although, I have to say... Please don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't think you're Siri's type."
Violette gaped at him, then closed her mouth with an audible click. "I quite agree with you, Obi-Wan." She gazed up at him, wondering if she could work the heartbreak angle from a nonexistent crush, but he was busy staring across the room, a funny half-smile curling his lips.
She followed his gaze, and spotted the blonde padawan, Siri, who had finally made it to Bant's side. Siri was twirling her padawan braid in a predatory fashion, while Bant shyly toyed with the edge of her tunic.
Obi-Wan sighed. "Isn't that the sweetest thing you've ever seen?"
Just about bursting with relief, Violette could not agree more. "I wish them all the luck," she said sincerely, then, feeling bold, she pulled Obi-Wan down and kissed him.
"A boring dance partner you are. Show a little enthusiasm you will!"
Qui-Gon obediently sashayed harder, wondering why he hadn't joined Yaddle in her monumental effort to drain the bar. He did not want to remember this night, and an alcohol-induced haze seemed very desirable at that moment.
"Shake that booty!"
There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no embarrassment, there is compassion for those with intoxicated dates. Qui-Gon wondered exactly how much more alcohol it would take to overwhelm Yaddle's metabolism, and whether it would be worth the increased embarrassment factor during the interim before she passed out.
His musings were interrupted by the sight of Obi-Wan kissing Violette by the punch bowl, and Qui-Gon nearly tripped over his date in shock.
Suddenly, the whole night seemed worth it. He finally had some progress to report to his sister, and perhaps she would stop inundating his in-box with pleas to find Violette a husband, preferably one who lived far from Alderaan. Grinning, Qui-Gon twirled Yaddle closer to the punch table, straining his ears as Obi-Wan broke off the kiss.
"Violette... You're a lovely young woman, but there's something you should know. I... I'm in love with Master Qui-Gon."
Astounded, Qui-Gon released Yaddle's hand at the height of a spin, barely noticing as the little master careened into the crowd, twirling like a child's top. Cries of alarm mingled with Yaddle's shouted, "Wheeeee!", and a cheer in Master Yoda's distinctive voice.
"Go you will, girl!"
Violette reeled from the double blow -- the best kiss she'd ever had followed by the news that the kisser was in love with her uncle. "Does... does Uncle Quigley know?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "And you can't tell him. He's my master and I'm his padawan. There can never be anything between us. The council would not approve, and the order! The order would disown us."
"Oh," Violette whispered. "That's so tragic." She thought back over the last week, seeing all the signs in retrospect. The shared glances, the whispered conversations in Qui-Gon's bedroom, Obi-Wan's continued attempts to include Qui-Gon in their outings... Obi-Wan's baffling resistance to her subtle offers suddenly made sense. "Do you think he feels the same?"
"I will never know," Obi-Wan said sadly. "Our love was doomed before it began."
Tears in her eyes, Violette patted Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"You could offer him solace, you know," Amabelinda said, picking up a spoon and examining her reflection. "Blue is so not my colour."
Violette decided she had had enough of Amabelinda's advice.
The cab ride back to the temple was curiously quiet, for Qui-Gon was lost in thought, and Yaddle was surprisingly sober for someone who had thrown up on Senator Palpatine's shoes.
Obi-Wan is in love with me, he thought, watching Coruscant race by. My padawan loves me. My padawan. Loves. Me.
"Thinking too loudly you are. A headache you are giving me."
"Sorry, Master Yaddle," Qui-Gon murmured, still immersed in the scenery flashing by. "I learned something quite... unsettling tonight."
Yaddle snorted. "Learned you should not be allowed near a dance floor I did."
"You appear to have recovered nicely from your indisposition." The words emerged far sharper than he intended.
"My turn to cause a distraction while Yoda and Mace mind-whammied Valorum into granting more funding it was." Yaddle gave him a sly grin. "And deaf I am not. The council's blessing you have, if your padawan you wish to shag."
"Master Yaddle!"
Yaddle sniffed. "Little green troll I may be, but sex drive I have, too. Meditate on this you will... Your feelings, not my sex drive!" she snapped at Qui-Gon's horrified gasp.
The temple was quiet when Obi-Wan and Violette finally stumbled home, a comfortable truce between them. Violette waited until her erstwhile date vanished into the 'fresher before she knocked on Uncle Qui-Gon's door.
"Don't be stupid, Vi," Amabelinda said, hovering at her shoulder. "You should be comforting the padawan, not giving him away."
"I can't hear you, la, la, la," Violette singsonged, then cautiously opened the door.
Qui-Gon sat lotus-style in the middle of his bed, eyes closed. "Did you need something, Vivi?"
Violette jumped, wondering how he did that. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Uncle Quigley, but can we talk?"
"Of course." Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and patted the bed next to him.
Violette sat, strangely nervous. "It's about Obi-Wan."
"Ah."
"Uncle Quigley, he's in love with you!"
"I know."
"You do? Well, do you love him?"
"I... I think I might."
"Does he know? "
"No." Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "But he will."
Obi-Wan cautiously poked his head around the corner, but the common room was deserted and the door to his room was tightly shut. Sighing with relief, he toweled his hair dry as he ducked into Qui-Gon's room.
His master sat in deep meditation on the bed, and, humming cheerily, Obi-Wan joined him. Within moments Qui-Gon surfaced, and Obi-Wan let a feral grin take over his statement.
"So. Master Yaddle."
Qui-Gon, who had appeared perfectly serene, instantly turned red.
"Honestly, Qui-Gon. Asking Master Yaddle out to avoid taking your own niece to the senatorial ball... I am ashamed of your behaviour, Master. Shocked and ashamed."
Qui-Gon flushed even darker, and lowered his head. "I apologize, Padawan, and not just for tonight. It was inconsiderate of me to force you to spend time with Violette this week."
"It's all right. She's leaving tomorrow, and you can make it up to me by letting me try Master Hiweth's twenty-first kata."
"It's not all right, Padawan. I kept pushing her at you, and all the while you... you were in love with me."
Obi-Wan felt as though Qui-Gon had dumped a bucket of slitherfish in icy brine over his head. The room receded and his breath sounded too loud. "Violette told you."
"Yes, but I already knew. I overheard you at the ball."
"Master, I can explain--"
"You don't have to explain anything, Obi-Wan. I understand. I've been meditating half the night, thinking about how much you mean to me, and how our relationship has grown over the years. I've been blind, Padawan, blind to what a beautiful, graceful, intelligent man you've become. Blind to this." And Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed him.
Oh, sweet Force, Qui-Gon is kissing me, kissing ME, and holy frozen gods of Hoth, my master has his TONGUE IN MY MOUTH!
Obi-Wan shoved Qui-Gon away and stared at him in wide-eyed shock, panting. "Master! You... you think... oh, Force. I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen, but you were the only person I could think of that would make her stop, and Force, she's like a droideka when she wants something, and I should have just kept silent and put up with it for one more day--" He halted at the look of stunned hurt on Qui-Gon's face, which quickly drowned under a smooth mask of serenity.
"I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable or caused any inconvenience, Padawan--"
"No! Master, it's all my fault. I never should have lied to Violette about being in love with you." Obi-Wan couldn't seem to catch his breath, his pulse raced, and his stomach rolled with nerves. He couldn't believe he had embarrassed his master like that, couldn't believe that Qui-Gon had kissed him, had even wanted to kiss him, had thought of Obi-Wan like... like...
His stomach flip-flopped again, and the sensation was rather pleasant. Dimly, Obi-Wan realized his body was responding to things his brain had yet to process.
"I need to meditate," he blurted, then closed his eyes, shutting out his master's wounded statement.
Five minutes later, after every avenue of thought ended in some variation of his more explicit fantasies -- each with a brand-new costar -- Obi-Wan's brain caught up to his body, and he opened his eyes. "I've finished meditating, Master."
"So I see." Qui-Gon appeared amused, if sad. "And what have you concluded?"
"That my subconscious chose you based on more than just your Violette-repellent qualities," Obi-Wan said calmly. "That, while it is surprising to suddenly find one's master's tongue down one's throat, it is by no means unpleasant, and in fact, bears repeating. That the master is not the only blind one, and as such, one should suspect something in the water."
Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. "My padawan. Are you sure you haven't missed your calling? You would do well on the stage..."
Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's hand and raised it to his lips, stomach fluttering once more, which only confirmed his decision. Daringly, he brushed a kiss across the palm. "Only if my audience is you, and you alone. 'For although station and the designs of others bar us, love will not be denied. Though the galaxy lay betwixt us, though the hounds of princes bay at my heels, even though you set a Jedi to guard your heart, that his light sword might pierce all who approach... love, dear lady, will not hear the words can not, nor shall not, nor should not.'"
Qui-Gon stared at him. "What in the lowest sub-levels was that?"
"A sample of that gods-awful play you keep sending me to. I can recite it entirely by now."
Qui-Gon inclined his head. "My sincerest apologies. I shall never inflict it upon you again." His hand drifted sideways to cup Obi-Wan's cheek.
"You had better not." Obi-Wan nuzzled the palm, then tilted his head, inviting another kiss. Qui-Gon complied, and without the elements of shock and guilt, Obi-Wan found his master's lips very enjoyable.
At that moment, the cot in the corner chose to break free of its shackles, and exploded into full size.
"I think the Force is telling us something," Qui-Gon whispered, nibbling Obi-Wan's lips.
Obi-Wan growled. "The Force can suck my--"
"Padawan!"
"Or better yet, you can."
Once again, Qui-Gon complied.
Violette braved the common room the next morning, but only because it lay between her and the 'fresher. If the sounds from the night before were any indication, she fully expected to find her uncle and his apprentice draped across the furniture amidst the wreckage of their clothing.
Instead, Obi-Wan, tousled and yawning, stood in front of the cooker and stirred something that smelled like breakfast, while Qui-Gon blinked at the data terminal, and, by the beeps the machine was issuing, waged war with his mail program.
"High priority this, you little Sith-spawn," he muttered. "Good morning, Vivi."
"Good morning, Uncle Quigley. Did you... ah, sleep well?"
"Very," Qui-Gon said, frown vanishing into a smile.
"Liar," Obi-Wan muttered from the kitchen, but he sounded very... satiated. Violette noted the passion mark peeking over the edge of the too-large green silk robe, and fought down a surge of jealousy. She had to admit Obi-Wan looked adorable in his master's robe, but Uncle Qui-Gon's hair was certainly a mess... and were those bite marks on his shoulders?
Violette nibbled her lower lip, possibilities suddenly stirring in her mind... She caught herself just before her imagination went too far. EW! This is Uncle Quigley! Stop it, stop it, stop it! Thoroughly squicked, Violette headed for the 'fresher to get dressed.
The spaceline droids arrived for her things while she was in the 'fresher, and as she sat down to her last breakfast with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, she found her mind wandering again. Had Qui-Gon just fed Obi-Wan a handful of berries, or was her imagination in hyperdrive? To be safe, she decided not to comment.
Absently, she followed them from their quarters. Was Obi-Wan walking unusually close to his master? Had his hips always swayed like that? Was Uncle Quigley... whistling?
As Qui-Gon turned to summon an aircab to take her to the hoverquay, Obi-Wan took Violette's hand. "I wanted to thank you, Violette. Without you, Qui-Gon and I would never have realized how much we mean to each other. It seems it took someone we barely knew to solve all our problems."
"It was my pleasure, Obi-Wan. Perhaps you'll come to visit Alderaan someday." She giggled, a lascivious sound. "We're a very popular planet for honeymoons." Did she say that? Did she really say that?
Obi-Wan gave her a strange look as Qui-Gon returned. The master casually draped an arm over his padawan's shoulders. "Goodbye, Vivi. Have a pleasant trip."
"Bye, Uncle Quigley. Thank you for having me, and don't worry about the council. I know they won't approve of a relationship between a master and an apprentice, but you're a Jinn. You won't let something silly like rules keep you from True Love." Violette waved as she climbed into the cab. She noted that Obi-Wan's hand had crept up to twine fingers with Qui-Gon's.
She sighed as the cab pulled away. "The first thing I'm doing when I get home is checking out the holonets," she told herself. "I can't be the only one who likes the idea of two men together. There must be a club or something."
Amabelinda snickered. "Preferably one that doesn't involve your uncle."
"Oh, do shut up."
"Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, still waving as the cab sped away. "Why does my niece think the council would disapprove of our relationship? I happen to know Yaddle is all for it."
"Er... I kind of told her our love would be forbidden. I was quoting that play again. I just thought it would get her to leave me alone while keeping her from telling you." Violette's cab vanished into heavy Coruscant traffic, and they turned to go. "Master? Why is Master Yaddle so interested in our relationship?"
Qui-Gon gave a small shudder. "Padawan, some day you will learn that there are some questions better left unasked."
Obi-Wan sank down onto the couch next to Qui-Gon, both men clad in nothing but their boxers. Finally, things are back to normal, Obi-Wan thought, handing his master a beer. Perhaps not quite normal, he added, eyeing Qui-Gon's flat belly and the little trail of hair that vanished under the elastic waistband. Recent events gave lounging around in their underwear an extra appeal.
"This is nice," Obi-Wan said as Qui-Gon flicked the holovid to the Jedi channel. JOHV was showing the inter-temple kata competition, and he snuggled up to his master to watch their favourite sport.
"I admit it was a bit stressful having Violette around."
Obi-Wan made a face. "The whole experience has made me realize that girls are kind of weird."
"They can be complicated beings."
"And fussy."
"They certainly don't think like we do."
"And just... icky." Obi-Wan scratched himself in an impolite place, pleased when Qui-Gon didn't even notice, let alone wrinkle his nose. "The whole procreation thing is great, but there's just something about two men in love..."
"I couldn't agree more, Padawan. Are you up for Huttese tonight?"
"Certainly. Can I eat with my fingers?"
"Of course."
"Can I eat with your fingers?"
Qui-Gon grinned. "Only if I can eat with yours, love."
~Finis~
Note: The preceding Mary-Sue was courtesy of the Mary-Sue generator at: http://www.maggiefic.com/marysue.htm
Name: Violette LeLonde
Eye color: Gold-flecked Cerulean
Hair color: Silky Wheat
Signature Scent: Midnight Citrus
Paranormal Power: Sees Dead People
Specialized Skill: Heiress
Distinguishing Mark: Streak of white hair
Newly Revealed Relationship to Major Character: Qui-Gon's niece (I cheated on this one; the first SW-related one I got was Yoda's clone -- *shudder!*)
And yes, this particular Obi-Wan is the Anti-Mary-Sue. ;^)