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(continued from part 10)

Bruck shifted in his sleep couch, waking ungently from strange dreams. All his life, he had experienced these vivid dreams, full of distinct people and places. They left him disoriented at first waking, as if uncertain which reality belonged to him—-the dream he had just left or the room in which he lay. That, like so many things, had changed with the fusion; now he knew what the dreams were. What to do about them was another story.

It was odd to be back in the rooms he once shared with his master, especially since his feet hung off the bed which had fit him perfectly less than two months before. So many changes in that time, some of them expected, but coming in unexpected ways. His Knighting, for example. Most of what happened, no one anticipated.

The floor was cool and hard against his feet, an oddly unpleasant sensation to which he was growing accustomed. So much of the Temple seemed new to him, but it was Bruck that was new. He walked directly to the ring of soil in the common room, and stood beneath the trickle of water that fell there. The Council would be expecting him today.

As the delicious trickle spread down his body, Bruck cleared his mind and touched the Force. He must find peace with his role in the unfolding events before he faced the Council. Though he did not know for certain what the outcome would be, he knew what he had to do. He must commit to his course of action with his entire being. He sighed and let go his anxieties, letting the Force in to fill the places they left behind.

Unexpectedly, his consciousness lurched to The Place Between. Bruck resisted at first; something about touching the brightness there felt odd, alien to what remained of his humanity. Quickly enough, he relaxed and fell fully into its grip.

So much to see; so much he did not wish to see.

Qui-Gon had not slept at all, though he had managed some brief, refreshing bouts of meditation. He retreated to his sleep room until he heard Kenobi enter the Padawan room and close the door.

First, he had emerged and gone to his data console, searching the holonets for government studies on the long term health and survival rates for licensed prostitutes and courtesans. The courtesans appeared to fare better when it came to trade-related illness and injury, but their careers did not last significantly longer than their low rent counterparts.

He left the statistical comparisons on the screen when he returned back to his sleep room.

A not very subtle gesture, to be sure, but he was desperate. And very angry. That had been the hardest part of the night for Qui-Gon—-letting go of his anger. If only he could have stayed with Kenobi a little longer at the gala, perhaps things would have gone differently. But the truth was that Xanatos had needed him, and Qui-Gon had been all too happy to leave the gala and avoid answering Kenobi’s challenge to love him or let him go.

Mostly, Qui-Gon had been angry at himself. He should have been able to find the words that would convince Kenobi of his worth, even if he couldn’t find the words to tell him how he truly felt. Then there was Kenobi. The young man’s pride was unbelievable. Kenobi had entered Qui-Gon’s quarters in obvious distress, but immediately became defensive, dismissing any harm he had suffered as though it were nothing. Kenobi had also managed, once again, to make it clear that Qui-Gon had no right to question him.

You don’t get to play the jealous lover. Because you’re NOT my lover.

The words had been a slap in the face, the truth behind them only adding to their sting.

Qui-Gon had meditated long and hard concerning his feelings for Kenobi and his own place among the Jedi. The truth of the matter was rather on the simple side. Qui-Gon was in love with his young companion. The thorny part lay in deciding what to do about his feelings. Qui-Gon had already faced the fact that he was not meant to live without attachments, which would probably lead to his leaving the Order. If he left the Order, he would have to find means for making his way in the world, and if he did that, why couldn’t he and Kenobi be together? Surely Kenobi would not want to put himself at risk with “patrons” if he didn’t have to do so?

Resolving to speak honestly with Kenobi in the morning had helped him to meditate productively and find his center and his calm.

Now that morning had come, though, he found himself in an unusual state of agitation. It probably didn’t show, but Kenobi would sense it easily enough. Qui-Gon busied himself by making a simple firstmeal for two.

He heard Kenobi emerge from the Padawan room and hit the ‘fresher. When he came out, he walked past Qui-Gon’s data console and grunted, closing the file. Qui-Gon chose that moment to enter, carrying two bowls of sweetened boiled grains and toast. He placed one in front of Kenobi, who glared up at him.

“Consider it a peace offering,” Qui-Gon said.

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Porridge makes everything better.”

Qui-Gon shrugged and took a seat, sampling a bit from his own bowl. “I’m told it keeps one regular.”

The Jedi Master was not prepared for the reaction this comment provoked.

“Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kenobi’s voice was low but strained. “You think that’s funny?”

Qui-Gon dropped his spoon into his bowl and stared. A moment passed before he realized his mouth was open. “I-I... I’m sorry?”

Kenobi stood, turning his back to both Qui-Gon and his own untouched bowl. He seemed to be rubbing his face with his hands, and breathing roughly. Qui-Gon stood and approached Kenobi, but did not reach out to touch him, uncertain of how the volatile young man might react.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Kenobi,” he said softly. “Is there a problem? I can call a healer for you.”

Kenobi sighed deeply and shrugged. “No. I’m fine.”

Qui-Gon did not think that now would be the best time to point out that he was obviously not fine, so he moved away and let Kenobi return to his meal.

They ate in silence for a time. When Kenobi finished, he looked up at Qui-Gon and grinned sheepishly. “That was actually pretty good. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Qui-Gon took their bowls and puttered around for a bit. Simple domestic tasks worked well enough as delaying tactics, but soon he had finished. When he returned to the common room he found Kenobi staring out the window at the distant blur of cloud and sky traffic.

“Kenobi-“

“I’m fine. Drop it, okay?” Kenobi’s voice was soft, and he didn’t look at Qui-Gon when he spoke. He let out a sigh and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “I just feel so stupid.”

Evidently, the command to “drop it” only applied to Qui-Gon. He took a seat at a distance from Kenobi, and made a point of looking over the skyline himself. “I doubt you’ve any reason to feel that way.”

“I didn’t go last night planning on turning a trick, if that’s what you think.” Kenobi picked at the ragged hem of his sleep pants; he wore Qui-Gon’s old pair that he had cut to fit. “He didn’t really hurt me or anything. He’s actually a very nice man. Things just got-“

“I don’t need to hear about the virtues of the man who forced unprotected sex on you, if you please.” Qui-Gon’s tone was gentle but firm. “There is no excuse for his behavior.”

“You’re wrong, Qui-Gon,” Kenobi said. “There is an excuse—-a good one. See, I’m a whore—-I know how to be clear about certain things. I didn’t set the ground rules because he was obviously a nice guy. I didn’t think… I mean, he was so shy at first...” Kenobi covered his face with his hands. “I’m a fool.”

“No, you-“

“I forgot Lady Essa’s lessons, just like that. I thought I could handle him my way. A little finesse, a little friendliness. Like we were equals. I thought that being a courtesan would make the difference, you know? It’s not the first time things have gone a little wrong, and he didn’t hurt me, or hit me. It wasn’t bad, really.”

Qui-Gon took a deep breath, releasing his anger before speaking. “Your right to control your own body is a sacred one, Obi-Wan. Anything not done by your consent is a violation of that, whether it was violent or not.”

Kenobi shook his head. “I think it was just that I was thinking about Lady Essa, wondering what happened to her. I started thinking, was that what it was like for her, even as a courtesan? She made it seem like her patrons were her lovers. I guess I kind of... expected more consideration from such an obviously genteel person.”

Qui-Gon’s blood ran cold. “Was it the Chancellor?”

“No.” Kenobi frowned, wriggling in his seat. “You have a fairly low opinion of my standards, don’t you?”

“I must admit, I had hoped your best judgment would have turned out better than this.”

Kenobi’s face reddened. “It’s easy for you to judge me, isn’t it, Master Jinn? Well, some of us don’t have the Jedi Order to feed and clothe us all our lives.”

The distressed, angry look in Kenobi’s eyes wrung Qui-Gon’s heart. He had not meant to hurt him, but everything he said seemed to make things worse. Perhaps it was time to tell him the whole truth.

“I don’t believe the Order will be providing for me much longer,” he said.

Kenobi looked up at him, wary but interested. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that, in all likelihood, I will be leaving the Jedi Order fairly soon. I have already made inquiries into other means of supporting myself. I have made a few friends in high places across the galaxy in my years as Jedi Master, you know.” Qui-Gon grinned self-consciously at Kenobi. “I... there is something else I wanted to tell you, as well. Until now I haven’t had the courage.”

Kenobi cleared his throat before speaking, but his words still came in a whisper. “Out with it, then.”

“I’m in love with you.” Qui-Gon felt his throat constrict at the admission, but he forced himself to go on so that there would be no mistaking his meaning. “I love you. I want you. I want to be with you—-I want us to be together.”

Kenobi blinked at him, slowly. “But?”

“But nothing,” Qui-Gon answered. “I cannot live life after this, wishing I had tried to make things work for us, wondering if I could have succeeded.” Qui-Gon paused, seeing that Kenobi had looked away from him. “I’m sure I can find some gainful employment that will allow us to be together. Maybe I could get my own ship, and we could work together—-I don’t know. The important thing is that I cannot let this chance pass. I’m certain I can make it so that you wouldn’t have to sell yourself anymore.”

Kenobi frowned. “I see.” He stood and paced around the common room. “You’ve got it in your head to save me from myself, is that it?”

“No.”

“The big Jedi Master has decided to sacrifice everything and rescue the poor whore from his life on the streets.” Kenobi snorted contemptuously. “Well, let me tell you something, Qui-Gon: I’m not that helpless—- I don’t need you to save me—-I do just fine on my own.”

“Was last night ‘just fine’ for you?” Qui-Gon stood and stepped toward Kenobi. “I can see the way you’re walking today. Do you like having people use your body without regard for how you feel? Force forbid that I should object to having someone I care for used so callously!” Qui-Gon grasped the younger man’s arms, and Obi-Wan looked up at him, eyes brimming with raw pain. “I must want to ruin your life—-it’s the only sane explanation.”

Obi-Wan tried to pull away, but Qui-Gon would not let go.

“You have an angle, Jinn.” Obi-Wan gasped out his words, as if fighting back sobs. “I know you do.”

“I do,” Qui-Gon answered fiercely. “I love you, Obi-Wan. I’m half crazed with it. Last night I wanted to kill the man that hurt you. I wanted you to tell me his name so I could hunt him down and tear him apart with my bare hands!”

Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan close, felt him yield, weeping against him. He stroked the golden head, speaking softly. “Do you have any idea how wrong it is for a Jedi Master to feel rage like that? This is why the Code forbids attachments. But I don’t care. I want to feel this, Obi-Wan. I cannot help but love you now. It’s done. The battle was over before I started fighting it.”

“No.” Obi-Wan sobbed harder than before, hands knotted in Qui-Gon’s tunics. He began shaking his head from side to side. “Y-you’ll change your mind. You won’t w-want me after... No one ever does.”

“I will always want you.” Qui-Gon held him closer, making soft, soothing sounds. “If you leave me now, I will still love you. No matter where you go or what you choose. It’s done. I’ve never given my heart before, and I never will again.”

The words sounded a bit dramatic to Qui-Gon’s ears, but he knew they were true. He was caught in a snare the Force had laid for him, and he would never be free. If only he could convince the man in his arms.

“If you want to leave, Obi-Wan, I-I will let you go.” As he spoke the words, Qui-Gon felt a pain wrench through him, of foretaste of the loss he dreaded. “But wherever you go, I will love you. Always.”

Kenobi pulled away a little, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“I know you do,” Qui-Gon whispered. “But you’ve been wrong before.”

Kenobi laughed, turning away from Qui-Gon and toward his favorite seat. The Jedi Master let him go, and sat beside him.

“Yesterday, this was exactly what I wanted.” Puffy, reddened eyes made Kenobi look more than simply tired. “I even brought a barrier and some lubricant with me to the gala.” He laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound.

Qui-Gon felt his insides tighten up. He let Kenobi talk, though he knew it would not be enjoyable to hear.

“When you left, I figured I might as well live a little, you know? I knew you didn’t want me, so...”

Qui-Gon started to object, but Obi-Wan raised a hand to silence him.

“I collected some contacts for possible patrons.” Kenobi shrugged, dismissing his actions as unimportant. “Then I saw... this guy. Went after him. Didn’t really expect anything to come of it.” Kenobi took a deep, shaky breath. “It’s almost like a drug, sometimes. When someone like that wants you, you feel... powerful, I guess.”

Qui-Gon nodded. He thought he could understand that feeling. “So why didn’t you use the supplies you had with you?”

“We did. The barrier, anyway.” Kenobi picked absently at the hem of his sleep pants. “He was a little rough with me, but he was so sorry afterward... I don’t know. I thought that was it, but he wanted more.”

Kenobi’s lower lip trembled, and he pressed his lips together in a hard line to still it. Qui-Gon moved closer, taking Obi-Wan’s hand in his. It felt cold.

“I told him I could lose my license, but he didn’t listen. I told him ‘no’ but it didn’t...” Kenobi let out another bitter chuckle. “The kicker is, I don’t think he noticed that I was upset about it. Like I was just this thing.”

Qui-Gon moved to enfold him in a comforting embrace. “Obi-Wan-“

“Don’t.” Kenobi spoke with a tone so sharp and commanding that Qui-Gon found it difficult to believe anyone could mistake his objections, even under other circumstances. “It shouldn’t have been this big a deal, you see? I’ve had much, much worse. A month ago, I’d have pissed myself with joy for a client like him. You have no idea.”

The tears rolled silently down his face now, and Qui-Gon waited. He had to let the young man talk it out, but the pause was excruciating. He nodded for Kenobi to go on.

“I knew it was wrong from the first. I didn’t want to do it, but there was no reason to hesitate. I just... All night, all I could think of was you. How it should be you. Wanting you has ruined me.”

Qui-Gon brought the cold hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “We can make it right, Obi-Wan,” he whispered. “It will be all right.”

“No it won’t.” Kenobi ran his other hand over Qui-Gon’s hair and then looked away. “Because I am that thing, Qui-Gon. A warm hole—-that’s all I’ll ever be. Even to you.”

Obi-Wan drew his legs up and hugged his knees with his free hand, but he didn’t pull the other one away from Qui-Gon.

“There is a lot you don’t know about me, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon squeezed his hand, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why you would want a... someone like me.” Kenobi’s face was wet, his voice soft, raw with emotion. “For more than an hour or two, anyway.”

“Now you’re being silly.” Qui-Gon pulled him to his feet and held him close, wiping his tears with gentile fingers. “You’ve so much more to offer than you realize—-a quick mind and charmingly wry sense of humor, for example. It is a mistake to consider something without value simply because others do not pay you for it.”

“Says the man who wants it for free,” Kenobi snorted.

Qui-Gon flinched, stung by the implication. “You do not honestly believe that I would forsake my life as a Jedi Master just to get you into bed without paying.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. A confusion of conflicting emotions played across his features. “No, I don’t believe that of you, not really. I-I’m sorry, I... I don’t want to talk anymore. Why can’t you just kiss me?”

Despite the most recent topic of conversation, Qui-Gon complied with his request eagerly. Obi-Wan’s lips felt soft and moist under his, and soon the younger man deepened the kiss with great enthusiasm. Cool, clever hands soon worked their way inside Qui-Gon’s tunics; he trapped them with his arms and broke the kiss.

“This is about what you want, Obi-Wan,” he whispered. “How may I please you?”

“Anyway you like, as long as you hurry.”

“I don’t want to hurry.” Qui-Gon’s voice was a deep, husky purr, sounding strange to his own ears. “I intend to take my time with you.”

Obi-Wan moaned, a squeaky, unrehearsed sound from high in his throat. His eyes closed and he tilted his head, granting Qui-Gon access to the pale flesh of his neck. It was an invitation that Qui-Gon found impossible to resist.

Obi-Wan tasted clean and salty; Qui-Gon took his time enjoying the tender skin, kissing and nibbling his way from nape to ear and back to Obi-Wan’s collar bone. Even more delicious were the noises he made.

“You’re very sensitive,” Qui-Gon whispered.

“Your beard feels... nice.” Obi-Wan shifted in his grip and pulled Qui-Gon toward his sleep room. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

For Qui-Gon, it was like a dream, or at least similar to several dreams he’d had recently. Part of his mind schooled him to patience, warning that perhaps it was not wise to make love with a young man so clearly in a state of emotional upheaval. But the moment felt right, and he gave himself up to it willingly.

“Easy now.” He pulled Obi-Wan close, resting his cheek against that golden head. “If you’ll trust me, I’ll make you feel better than you ever have before.”

“That’s quite a campaign promise, Jinn.” Obi-Wan chuckled, but Qui-Gon felt his trembling. “But you’ve already got my vote.”

They made their way to Qui-Gon’s sleep room together. Qui-Gon stilled his mind and reached out to the Force to calm himself. He wanted this to be a joining of more than just their bodies, but Obi-Wan charged ahead, managing to strip them both with unusual speed and dexterity.

“Obi-W-” A hand covered his mouth as easily as the other slid his tunics off his shoulders.

“No talk,” Obi-Wan said, shortly. His eyes were half-closed with lust. The sight of him in such a frenzy almost finished it for Qui-Gon long before he intended.

The thought, I’m young again flitted through his mind a second before he got control of himself. He had to force himself to concentrate just to help Obi-Wan with the task of disrobing. He wouldn’t speak, if that was what his young lover wanted. There would be time enough later to say whatever lay in their hearts.

Once the clothes were gone, Qui-Gon was lost. Lost in the moment, lost in warm hands and lips so hot they seemed to burn him. He couldn’t stop kissing those lips.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of his young lover, the feel of firm flesh beneath his hands. Before he knew for certain what was happening, Obi-Wan had him lying back on his sleep couch, pressing his hands against it as if to restrain him.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, catching the sly look on Obi-Wan’s face. He wanted Qui-Gon to restrain himself, by will alone. Qui-Gon smiled, remembering not to speak. He was uncertain he could in any case; his breath came in gasps.

Obi-Wan caressed Qui-Gon firmly, kissing and licking his way across his chest and straining arms. Qui-Gon wanted so badly to touch him, to possess every centimeter of that golden body. He refrained, but even the control of a Jedi Master has its limits. The horrible tease gave his needy cock a cursory lick before moving on to his legs. Every moment of it was delicious torture.

When he saw his lover reach for the box of barriers Xanatos had sent him what seemed like a lifetime ago, Qui-Gon nearly wept with joy. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so aroused that it hurt; the ache in his balls had become agonizingly sharp.

But he could wait; when he saw Obi-Wan move to put the barrier on him, he knew he would have to.

When his decision was made, Qui-Gon moved with the lightning fast agility for which the Jedi are known throughout the galaxy. He took the barrier from Obi-Wan, and pushed the smaller man on his back against the sleep couch.

Fear flitted across Obi-Wan’s face, and Qui-Gon slowed his movements, stroking the younger man’s face gently. He reached out to the Force and sent a wave of love and reassurance in Obi-Wan’s direction, watching as the lithe body beneath him relaxed. Qui-Gon felt he owed Obi-Wan his complete honesty, his devotion. He wanted the younger man to know it, to feel it in his touch.

He kissed Obi-Wan gently, exploring the pale flesh before him with reverence and ardor. He wanted to know his lover’s body—-where he liked to be touched, where it tickled. Part of that desire was rooted in tenderness, but the other portion was pure greed. The deep, unsatisfied need to possess that Qui-Gon had denied for so many years.

My lover. My lover’s body; the sound of my lover’s moans.

Qui-Gon reached out through the Force to feel Obi-Wan’s presence, still shining in the purity of the Light.

Are you mine? he thought.

Obi-Wan gave him a pleading look. Qui-Gon could feel the young man’s need through the Force, deepening his own, yet Obi-Wan didn’t speak, content to keep his own rule for this encounter. He trusted Qui-Gon to see them both satisfied, and Qui-Gon did not intend to fail him.

He opened the barrier, and slipped it carefully onto Obi-Wan’s eager sex. The younger man gasped with surprise and pleasure at the touch. Quickly, Qui-Gon summoned a vial of oil to his hand using the Force, slicking his backside and somewhat haphazardly stroking the rest onto the barrier. Obi-Wan moaned loudly, his chest heaving with every breath.

Qui-Gon wasted no time positioning himself over Obi-Wan’s cock and impaling himself on it in a single thrust. Obi-Wan vocalized inarticulately, something between a moan and a shout.

How long had it been since Qui-Gon had taken a lover this way? He wasn’t sure it had ever felt quite so good. This was better than anything he remembered—-full and hard and perfect. It couldn’t last long, but it hardly mattered, now.

Qui-Gon pushed down as Obi-Wan lunged up, setting a frenzied rhythm. Oh, gods. So good. They were close, both of them together, riding a wave of love and lust. He felt the Force wrap around them, close and warm, a conduit of more than pleasure.

When Qui-Gon felt the excitement of his young lover cresting, he stroked himself in their rhythm with his oiled hand, bringing them to climax in tandem. Together they rode the waves of it as inescapable joy pulsed through them; the Force itself seemed to resonate with bliss. Through the ringing in his ears, Qui-Gon heard the shouts that Obi-Wan could not suppress.

A moment later, Qui-Gon came to himself—-sweaty, sated and out of breath—-lying beside his lover. Obi-Wan regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. When he saw Qui-Gon looking back, the cocky smile broadened.

“You’re just a big ol’ bottom,” he teased. “I never would have guessed.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Experiences with Lentrebi pollen notwithstanding, yes.”

Obi-Wan stretched and placed his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. “You should have been a whore, Jinn. You would’ve made a bundle.”

Qui-Gon felt a chill spread through his chest. He turned and sat up in order to look Obi-Wan in the eye. He spoke softly, a deep rumble even to his own ears.

“Don’t cheapen this.”

Obi-Wan’s jaded mask fell, and Qui-Gon saw the fear in his eyes—-fear that it wasn’t real, fear of another disappointment in what Qui-Gon could only assume was a long string of them. Perhaps it was only Qui-Gon’s imagination, but he believed he felt a connection between them in that long, silent moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Obi-Wan was the first to break away.

“I’ll make tea,” he muttered, slipping off the sleep couch and out of the room.

Even the halls of the Temple seemed different as Bruck made his way to the Healer’s Dome. He knew the Temple remained the same; the change existed in Bruck’s perspective. Much like the first time he returned after a field mission with his Master, it seemed smaller. This time, as before, it was Bruck that had changed.

The fusion with part of his Master’s graft made Bruck taller, changed his perceptions, even the color of his skin. He glanced down at his hands, noting the shimmer that enhanced his original honey-colored tone, the hints of dark lines scattered across his fingers. Too fine to be tattoos, the look of them pleased him. He had always been vain--perhaps that had not changed, at least.

When he reached Xanatos’ room, the Healer’s assistant asked him to wait. She returned a moment later, to tell him what he already knew. Knight T’Crion would not see him. Bruck walked to the door that separated him from his sometime lover, placing a long-fingered hand against it. The Healer’s assistant moved to stop him.

“I will abide by his wishes.” Bruck spoke softly, but he knew Xanatos could hear him. “I only wish to be as near to him as I can be without intruding upon his rest. Will you allow me this?”

The assistant paused, regarding him with sympathy. She glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting her Master to appear and disapprove. “I suppose there’s no harm in it.”

“Thank you.” He watched her go, resting his cheek against the door. Xanatos lay inside, resolutely ignoring his presence. Bruck could feel the raven-haired Knight’s anxiety, his anger. The Dark Side felt very near as it closed in around Xanatos during this time of forced inactivity.

Bruck’s eyes itched. He had not shed a single tear since waking after the fusion; perhaps he was no longer able to produce them. No matter how great their sadness, Lentrebi never wept the way humans did. Bruck smiled, his cheek still pressed against the cool metal of the door. At least he had identified an aspect of his humanity that he regretted losing.

“I’m sorry, Xan,” he whispered. “I cannot expect forgiveness, but I am truly sorry. Come to me when you are ready and I will answer for what I have done.”

The words were an evasion; Bruck did not deceive himself on that point. He simply could not bring himself to confess his guilt to a locked door. This was his weakness, this desire to see those midnight blue eyes before telling him the truth. Xanatos would seek him out eventually, and he would tell the Knight to his face. Bruck expected his sometime lover’s hatred; for that, he could wait.

At the moment he could sense Xanatos’ confusion and his pain. With his new Lentrebi senses, Bruck heard his lover whisper, “Go away. Please, go away.”

What could he do but obey?

He made his way out of the Healer’s Dome, heading for the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The Council expected him soon, but he could spare a few minutes. Bruck followed his thoughts to an isolated pool with a cascading waterfall. Master Leem had taken him there to meditate quite often during the first few years of his apprenticeship; only since the fusion had Bruck learned why his Master had chosen this place in particular.

The water always fell in the same general way, but the patterns of droplets and spray varied in an infinite and ever-changing flow. A beautiful metaphor for fate, responsibility, and choice. Bruck had begun to feel the weight of each choice he made, the way a Lentrebi would feel it. He could see the pattern now, in a way that no humanoid ever had.

The Lentrebi carried their knowledge well by nature; Bruck wondered if he would bear up half so well. Would he snap under the weight of it, like some untested sapling? Lehanna-ma had not thought so. The memory of her comforted him. He ceased rubbing absently at the corners of his eyes as their itching eased.

Bruck had found his center, his path through the maelstrom of fate that played out around him. His comlink chimed.

The Council awaited him.

Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan from the sleeproom, not bothering with clothing. He found the younger man in the kitchen, his arms braced against the countertop, staring down at the tea kettle.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Obi-Wan muttered.

Qui-Gon reached around him to take the kettle. “Water goes in here.” Qui-Gon grinned when he spoke, but the face Obi-Wan turned to him looked pale and somber.

“I mean this.” Obi-Wan gestured between the two of them, his voice scarcely a whisper.

Qui-Gon filled the kettle, his face turned away. He found it difficult to meet Obi-Wan’s stricken gaze. He knew he must tread lightly.

“I have little personal experience with this sort of relationship as well, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon set the kettle on a heating element and pulled his lover close. “But I think we’re off to a decent start.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan’s rigid stance softened, and he leaned into the embrace. Qui-Gon felt the younger man’s cold hands on his back in contrast to the warmth of his body as they held each other.

“I’m much better than ‘decent’ thank you,” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

“I didn’t think we were talking about the sex.” Qui-Gon looked down into Obi-Wan’s eyes, stroking a thumb across his cheek.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Obi-Wan leaned in to rest his face on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Why is this so difficult?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s difficult for me because I’ve never given my heart before.” Qui-Gon ran a soothing hand over Obi-Wan’s hair. “I think it’s difficult for you because you have.”

Kenobi said nothing for a long moment. Qui-Gon felt content to hold him, but soon the younger man pulled away.

“It’s considered unwise for a person in my profession to fall in love.”

“I’m sure it is.” Qui-Gon remained still. “But sometimes the heart goes where it will.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Yeah.”

He walked to the broad window, the fine hairs on his body catching the morning light. Qui-Gon, content to watch his naked lover move, drank in every detail.

“You really are a marvel, Obi-Wan.”

The young man turned to Qui-Gon, sporting a sly smile. “You want another go, then?”

Qui-Gon’s mouth felt suddenly dry. There was no doubt that he wanted Obi-Wan, no use denying it, but did he truly understand how much Qui-Gon cared for him beyond the physical imperatives of the moment? Was Obi-Wan still guarding his heart the way Qui-Gon had once guarded his celibacy?

The beep of his comlink solved his problem of what to say next. He had to retrieve it from his pile of clothing in his sleep chamber.

“Jinn.”

“Qui-Gon?” Xanatos’ voice, sounding uncharacteristicall y hesitant.

“Xan. Is something wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.” Xan’s voice trailed off. “I mean, when you have a moment.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan’s gaze. The younger man smiled weakly and resumed his examination of the city outside.

“Good,” Xan answered. “Perhaps you can help me persuade them to release me. This place is driving me mad.”

“We’ll talk about that when I get there.” Qui-Gon shut off his comlink. “Would you care to join me, Obi-Wan?”

The younger man shook his head, managing the ghost of a smile. “He doesn’t need an outsider gawking at him now. He needs his Master.”

“You’re probably right that now is not the best time for you to visit.” Qui-Gon dressed hurriedly, as Obi-Wan watched, leaning against the door way to the sleep room. “But you helped to rescue him. I’m sure he’s grateful.”

“I’m still the outsider here.” Kenobi walked over to the sleep couch and sat. “We’ve yet to see how well your Jedi brethren will take our current arrangement.”

Qui-Gon looked up from buckling his boots, and nearly lost his breath to the sight before him--Obi-Wan sitting naked in the dim light from the window. At a loss for words, he allowed himself to take in the view for a moment.

Kenobi merely smiled at him, no doubt aware of his native gifts. “I look forward to continuing our conversation. Come back to me quickly.”

Qui-Gon nodded, collected his things and left without another word.

Xanatos lay staring at the lights above as the droid prodded the stump of his right arm.

“The neural implant nodes are integrating nicely, sir,” it said. Xanatos did not feel the need to respond, and the droid did not seem to expect him to speak. “The preliminary prosthetics are responding well. Have you given any thought to the specific features you would most like to have in your permanent replacement limb?”

“No.” They had given him a data pad explaining various options, and he had tried to read it. Several times, in fact. Every time he found his attention wandering, his eyes following the words without registering their meaning.

“You should make your selections before I discharge you,” Healer Phol said from the doorway. “You’ll want to resume your physical training soon, and we will need time to calibrate the reflexes to match your previous ability. Of course, we can always change it later if you find you would rather have smaller fingers with increased fine-motor control as opposed to standard sizes with greater tensile strength. I find that going for symmetry usually works best, though.”

Xanatos smirked. “You think I’ll find it easier to accept if it is more like the original.”

“Yes.” Phol pressed her lips together, her expression blank and emotionless. “Available data supports that conclusion.”

“’Available data’ taken from studies of other limbless Jedi or the general population of poor, hacked-up civilians?” The bitterness in of the words burned Xanatos’ throat like bile, but there was no keeping it inside. Not anymore. Phol regarded him solemnly before answering.

“Both.” She moved closer and took a seat by his bed. “I suspect, however, that you do not truly care, Knight T’Crion. Your anger is-”

“Quite normal under the circumstances,” Xanatos smirked at her, hoping his mockery would wound her, even a little. Why should he be the only one to suffer?

“I was actually going to say ‘dangerous,’ but your answer works as well.” She smiled, and for some reason Xanatos found her smile did not bother him as much as her sympathy had. “I can help you adapt, Knight T’Crion. I can help you choose the replacement limb features that best suit you, and I can help you adjust to their use. But only you can find a way to deal with the anger you feel.”

“And here I thought you were going to refer me to a mind healer.”

“I am,” Phol sighed. “I believe the Council would agree with me that the experiences you have to cope with are well beyond the pale, even for a Jedi.”

“Spilling my guts to some idiot healer who has never done a day of field work in his life isn’t going to change anything.”

“You’re right,” Phol said. “Your healing in this matter is entirely up to you.”

Xanatos chuckled bitterly, but said nothing.

“As soon as you make the choices for your permanent prosthetic, I will have them installed and release you. Healer Tand will be expecting you.”

Xanatos looked into Phol’s dark, slanted eyes, wishing he could make her feel the way he felt, wishing he could make her see how useless a mind healer would be. “When?”

“Whenever you feel ready,” Phol said, calmly bearing his burning gaze. “I suggest you feel ready before you testify at the Senate hearings. I have a feeling they will be scheduled quite soon.”

“Duly noted.” Xanatos looked away from her. The droid had ceased to probe his prosthetic attachment points, and he lowered the sleeve of his hospital tunic. At least he didn’t have to look at the thing. “Is that all?”

“No, it isn’t,” Phol said. “I wanted to ask about the young Knight you’ve refused to see on three occasions in the last twelve hours.”

“That is none of your business,” Xanatos snapped.

“That much is true.” She smiled again. “However, I can instruct my staff to admit him against your wishes.”

“Do as you like.” Xanatos glared at Phol, realizing that he wanted to hit her. “He won’t come to me without my permission.”

“Are you so certain?”

“Yes.” Xanatos looked at her for a long moment. A service droid entered bearing a tray for his mid-meal. He wasn’t even slightly hungry, but he took it and gave the food his full attention.

“You can go now,” he sneered, without looking up. “You’ll have my prosthetic selections within the hour.”

She hesitated a moment, but he finally heard her slip out behind the service droid. Xanatos reminded himself that Qui-Gon would be visiting soon. Surely he would help him sort out this prosthetic nonsense. He’d had missions go wrong before; this wasn’t substantially different from those times, not really.

Once he had his mechanical arm, things would get back to normal, surely.

Bruck bowed as he reached his place in the center of the Council room. He had not been here since returning from the mission to Naboo. It seemed different than he remembered. No, Bruck was the one who was different. He could feel things he hadn’t felt before--broad bands of fate choking the place, running thick from Master to Master and even through himself. The Place Between beckoned, but he closed his mind against it. He knew what he had to do.

“Masters,” he said respectfully. Some Council members nodded their greeting, others merely gaped. Was he really so different?

Master Windu was the first to speak. “Welcome Knight Chun. We are glad the Force has brought you back to the Temple safely.”

Bruck acknowledged the greeting with a nod and smiled. “You know that I am not as I was when I left you, nor as I have ever been.”

Master Windu considered this as the other Council members exchanged glances. “What can you tell us of what happened to you on the Lentrebi homeworld?”

“I carried the graft of my Master to his people. He refused to allow them to remove the deepest roots, fearing I would be damaged. The Lentrebi Healers fused what remained with the soul of Bruck Chun.” He waited for another round of glances to pass around the room before continuing.

When the room settled, Master Yoda spoke. “Speak of yourself strangely, you do. More to this story, there is?”

“Yes, Master.” Bruck bowed. “I stand before you more than the being I was, and less than the being I hope to be. I am Bruck Chun al-Leem, brought up by the Jedi Order and grown to new life by the suns of Lentrebi Prime.”

The Council room went still. Yoda stared at him a moment, then broke the silence with a tap of his gimmer stick and a quiet grunt.

Soon the Council had restored its equanimity and continued with their questions concerning the details of the visions that had led him to knowledge of Xanatos’ whereabouts. He answered fully, but when they appeared ready to dismiss him, he felt a pang of regret. They had not asked the questions he longed to answer, so it was left to him to bare his transgressions before them. Lehanna-ma, give me strength.

“Masters, two things remain that you should be told. Though I do it with a heavy heart, I must beg your indulgence a moment more.” He waited for the Masters to return their complete attention to him. “First, you have asked little about my illness before I left the Temple, when I begged Master Jinn to have Knight T’Crion recalled from his mission.”

Master Windu glanced around the Councilors’ faces before he spoke. “We had no reason to recall him at the time. No one knew your illness was the result of joining with Master Leem, or we might have heeded your warnings. I hope you do not bear ill will because of these circumstances.”

“No, Masters. It is I who must beg your forgiveness, and that of Knight T’Crion.” Bruck took a deep breath to center himself. He was very close now, but whatever happened this must be done. “My illness was not solely the result of the graft, as Master Jinn has no doubt informed you. The open training bond served as a place where Master Leem could implant his consciousness, but it left me open to the Sith as well.”

“The Sith you killed on Naboo?”

Bruck nodded. “It was with me until just before Master Jinn and Kenobi helped to wake me. I believe you must know this.”

“Knew of this, we did,” Yoda said. “No need to question you regarding it, we saw.”

“The Sith managed to... assume control of me, while I slept.”

“We saw the records of your activities on the monitors set up in your sick room.” Master Windu looked at him sternly. “The movements were awkward at best. It was obvious the creature did not have full control of your Jedi skills or whatever abilities the Lentrebi graft granted you.”

“That is true, Masters.” Bruck lowered his eyes. He clasped his hands tight to avoid rubbing them; the itching had returned with a vengeance. “It had enough control to jeopardize Knight T’Crion’s mission, however.”

A murmur passed through the Council room. Bruck kept his eyes down; his ears gave him more than enough information.

“Please explain what you mean by this,” Master Windu said at last.

“The night I returned from Naboo, I went to Knight T’Crion for comfort.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Bruck recognized the voice of Plo Koon

“The loss of my Master was devastating to me. I sought ease from sorrow with my lover.”

“Speak of him possessively, you do,” Yoda said, a note of disapproval in his voice.

“I do,” Bruck answered. “And not by accident of the tongue.”

The murmur of the Councilors surrounded Bruck, but he waited for it to pass. Yoda tapped his stick on the floor, and spoke.

“Feel the same, does Knight T’Crion?”

“I am almost certain he does not.” Bruck’s tone was cool and calm, even to his own ears. “But that is beside the point. The night after I returned to the Temple with the body of my dead Master, I went to Xanatos. With him, I found comfort. He read over his mission materials while I slept. The Sith had been unable to manifest himself within me, but he became aware of Xanatos’ mission. When Knight T'Crion went to his rest, I remained sleeping on his common room floor. The Sith used my body to upload the mission parameters to an anonymous comdump. He took the disc from the data reader into Knight T’Crion’s com console. It was not a simple task for him; controlling my body was a struggle, even though I was unaware of his actions.”

The room remained so quiet that for an instant Bruck could hear the Councilors breathe. His eyes felt as if they could crawl out of their sockets. The itching had turned into a blazing, aching pain that shot straight to his brain. It took all his strength to stand. Little gods, how he wished he could cry.

“So that is how Orima Durante set the trap Knight T’Crion.” Mace Windu paused. His voice was calm enough, but Bruck could feel his anger pulsing through the space around him as the Jedi Master released it to the Force. “You knew of this betrayal, and said nothing?”

Bruck shook his head in denial. It hurt. “No. I did not know what the Sith had done until just before Master Jinn and that Kenobi fellow helped me expel him from my mind. Even then, I was uncertain whether I could expect the truth from a Sith. Especially when we were locked in a battle for control of my body. I reasoned that he would say anything to keep me bound in endless sleep.”

Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke up for the first time in this session. “The Sith told you what he had done?”

“He told me that I had betrayed my lover,” Bruck said flatly. “He showed me a vision of what he had done. He told me Xanatos would suffer for my weakness.” The muscles in his throat constricted, making it hard to speak, but Bruck soldiered on. “He spoke truly, but I did not wish to believe him.”

“How do you know it was the truth?” Adi Gallia spoke softly.

“After the fusion, everything was clearer.” Bruck ran a finger above his ear where his Padawan braid had been. His hair was long and soft and springier than it had ever been. “I went to Knight T’Crion’s quarters last night, and found evidence of a relay hidden in the coding of his com. I believe the Sith managed to set it to forward com traffic to the comdump. The coding was very simple; I disabled it easily. However, you should assume that the enemy has had access to any information that may have been sent to Knight T’Crion’s com before I disabled the relay.”

Master Windu fixed Bruck with a stormy look. “If you suspected this, why did you not communicate to us the danger before now?”

Bruck breathed deeply, finding his center. He must tread softly here. “That path was far worse than this one.”

The Councilors gaped at him, and then began whispering amongst themselves. Yoda spoke and the others hushed in deference to him.

“Changed in more than appearance, our young Knight has.”

Bruck merely nodded.

“Tell me, young one, share the Lentrebi connection to the Force, do you?” The wizened Master’s eyes searched Bruck’s face. He felt certain it remained still and calm, even as he answered.

“I have seen the Place Between,” he sighed. “My path is neither fully Lentrebi, nor fully human. If that is what you wondered, Master Yoda.”

The Jedi Master humphed and rested both hands atop his gimmer stick. “If true this is, a great asset to the Order you may be.”

“I don not believe I belong on the Jedi path, Master Yoda. I have formed an attachment to Knight T’Crion, whether or not he has to me.” Bruck’s throat constricted; he swallowed hard and found his voice again. “I-I know my weakness in this matter.”

“This sounds familiar.” Master Windu muttered. “Did you happen to discuss this with anyone? Master Jinn, perhaps?”

Bruck nodded. “He urged me not to make such a decision hastily.”

“As well you should not,” Master Yoda answered. “Be released from your commitment to the Jedi Order so easily, you will not.”

“We have lost a great asset in Master Leem,” Master Windu said. “It would be a shame to lose you as well.”

Bruck grinned to himself. He had known his fusion with the Lentrebi would make him valuable to the Council, but he had not expected their interest to be so obvious. Ephemeral beings are usually obvious to our kind, young one, whispered the Lentrebi voice within, which sounded like Lehanna-ma more often than not.

If only I could see myself so clearly, Bruck mused. The feeling of Lentrebi laughter bubbled through him in answer.

“Perhaps we could address this at a later date,” Ki Adi Mundi suggested.

“That is well, Masters.” Bruck bowed. “I beg your indulgence in one final matter. Knight T’Crion--please allow me to tell him of my involvement in his abduction myself. Privately.”

The Masters exchanged pointed looks. Finally Master Windu spoke. “That is not necessary, Knight Chun.” “Knight Chun-al-Leem, if you please.” Bruck smiled coolly, showing a hint of his still human-looking teeth. “I have done him an injustice, however involuntary, and I intend to apologize formally, as a Jedi who has wronged a brother Jedi must. I believe he will accept my sincerity if he hears the truth from me first.”

“Perhaps,” Master Windu said. Another round of glances passed before he spoke again. “Very well, but this must be done quickly.”

“Yes, Master Windu,” Bruck answered.

A brief moment of silence passed before Master Yoda dismissed him. Bruck made it outside the Council room and into a quiet alcove before he began rubbing furiously at his eyes. Damn the itching!

The Council suspected he knew... things. How long would it be before they began asking questions? Bruck knew he could not remain honest and yet stay as truly inscrutable as a pure Lentrebi--he remained far too human for that. Some difficult choices lay ahead, ones he could not fully see at the moment. Other things remained clear. The path he was on had become a knotty one, but it was the only he could take and hope to save those close to him and not cause greater damage to peace in the galaxy.