Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 11)
Qui-Gon watched as the medical droid assembled the prosthetic arm, attaching each section with mechanical precision to what remained of his former apprentice's arm. Xanatos winced as the neural attachment points connected. He resolutely looked away from the droid and its work, glancing at the data pad he still held in his left hand.
"Thank you for your advice, Master," he muttered.
A smile twitched at the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth. "I was glad to be of service, though you may find you wish to change some of your choices after you begin training."
"I thought I might start tonight, after I've had a chance to settle back into my quarters." The remark sounded casual, emotionless, but Qui-Gon knew Xanatos had not yet dealt with his demons.
"That might do you good after so long a confinement to the Healer's Dome. But don't overdo it."
"I'll keep it simple," Xanatos replied. "First forms, nothing fancy. You could join me if you like."
"Perhaps." Qui-Gon despised the sound of his reply. He knew it was an evasion-he had plans with Obi-Wan, but was not sure how to tell Xanatos. Yet Xanatos must be told-preferably before anyone else. For him to hear of his former Master's relationship through Temple gossip would be the worst sort of insult. He decided to plunge ahead. "I was going to show Obi-Wan some simple forms. It might be a good refresher for you, if you cared to lend a hand."
"Could it be the mechanical one I lend him? I'm rather too fond of the other." The tone was light and wry, but Qui-Gon read his friend's pain all too easily.
"None of that, Xan," he said, hoping for a stern but gentle manner. "Self-pity does you no credit."
"I suppose it doesn't." Xanatos sighed, fixing Qui-Gon with his clear blue gaze. "He's been good company for you, then?"
"Yes." Qui-Gon did not hesitate; he gave Xanatos the full answer to the question he had not quite asked. "We've become rather close, what with defying the Council to take Knight Chun away and search for you."
"But that's not the only way you've defied the Council, is it?" Xanatos looked away, fiddling with his data pad.
"No," Qui-Gon admitted. "I may be leaving the Order."
The blue eyes flashed, lit with anger and impossible pain. "You're leaving the Order for a whore?"
The words hit Qui-Gon like a slap to the face. He let his shock pass through him and released it to the Force. "You know I have always struggled with a desire for attachment."
"Even so, you don't need to leave the Order." Xanatos frowned, but his voice remained calm, casual. "The Council has permitted attachments among Jedi in the past."
Qui-Gon noted with surprise the moisture collecting in Xanatos' eyes. Had his apprentice considered such a bond with him? It couldn't be, but in that moment he was certain of it. "Occasionally, they have, but they would not do so for me."
"You sound certain."
"I had occasion to ask, once. Somewhat informally, you understand." Qui-Gon hoped Xanatos would understand. He had never thought his former apprentice cared for him that deeply, but when Qui-Gon himself had started to fall...
"They said they would expel us both, didn't they?" Xanatos spoke calmly; tears no longer threatened.
"You had become such a fine Knight, Xanatos." I could not destroy your future for my own selfish desires. Please understand.
Xanatos nodded. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Master," he said. "Durante all but claimed to be Kenobi's father."
If his earlier words had been a slap to the face, then this was blow to the gut. Qui-Gon staggered under the force of it, unable to give answer.
"He said he had an affair with a princess from some xenophobic rim world, and got her sold to a brothel on Iptura for her trouble. He said she had his son before she died." Xanatos looked at him now, cold and closed. "Be certain you're not being played, Qui-Gon. You've never had the best separation between your heart and your cock."
"He helped me rescue you." Qui-Gon's voice came quietly, more controlled than he imagined it could be, given what he felt inside. "He was terrified of Durante, especially when he saw the boy."
"The boy's name was Fawks." Xanatos examined the droid's handiwork. His new limb was now fully attached. He wiggled the fingers absently. "Durante raped and gutted him in front of me, and I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop any of it."
"Durante could have been lying to you."
"That's the funny part," Xanatos answered with a mirthless twist to his lips. "He never lied, even to Fawks. He deceived and misled, and stacked the cards in his favor, but he never lied."
Qui-Gon watched with growing horror as his dry-eyed apprentice went on, detachment marking every syllable. "Even when he said he'd let every space rat on his ship have me until they couldn't do it anymore, I knew it wasn't a lie, or a threat."
"What happened to you was horrible, but none of it was Obi-Wan's fault," Qui-Gon whispered, as gently as he could manage. Xanatos went on as if he had not heard.
"Every awful thing he promised me became a vow of honor to him," Xanatos muttered, staring at the wall, eyes unfocussed. "And he made good on every... last... one."
Qui-Gon reached out to him, slowly, but Xanatos flinched away. He blinked up at Qui-Gon like a man newly awakened from a bad dream. A moment passed when they looked at each other, then Xanatos looked away.
He rolled the sleeve of his tunic down over his new arm, and slowly fitted a black glove over the prosthetic hand.
"I'll be meeting with the Council tomorrow, Qui-Gon." The blue gaze was colder, more distant than ever. "Perhaps you should come with me. It might do you good to hear what I have to say."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Of course I will accompany you, if that is what you wish."
"It is." Xanatos stood, gathered his things and left Qui-Gon staring at the empty room.
"Gods," he whispered.
Xanatos stalked through the Temple, making for his rooms at a pace quick enough to discourage casual greetings from passersby. His small pack bounced against his shoulder blades with every stride.
His haste was not born of a desire to revisit his rooms; they had never been more to him than a place to rest between missions. What he wanted at the moment was a place to strip out of his Jedi clothes so he could apply more of the analgesic spray Healer Phol had given him.
He should be healed completely. They had all told him as much, and he was loath to admit to the pain he felt. The sound of his voice whining about the nagging, raw tenderness of his flesh-- the thought of speaking such words set his teeth on edge. No need to bother the Healers with it; it would end soon enough, surely. It had to.
He gritted his teeth as he stepped into the lift. At least there were no other beings inside. When the doors shut, he let the strained breath pass slowly over his teeth. Every little movement of his body made his clothes chafe against him. He felt as though he'd been blasted raw in a sand storm, or stung all over by anemones.
It seemed odd to him that small blossoms of his blood had not begun to form all over his clothes; he kept looking for them, for some outward sign of the pain. It would almost be reassuring to see the flesh drop from his fingers as he pushed the button for the level where his rooms waited.
The silken hairs that pricked his shoulders through his tunic seemed like needles, and the subdued lighting of the lift stung his eyes. Finally, he reached the floor he wanted and the door opened. He made his way to his rooms with the same practiced fluidity.
The door opened for him, revealing a fresh, clean common room. There were flowers on the side table, in a vase of iced water. He did not bother to read the note as he passed, loosening his clothes with one hand and dimming the lights with the other.
His eyes still stung. Perhaps it was dust, or pollen from the flowers, if it wasn't the light. Maybe he was simply tired. His eyes watered as he stripped, but the moisture on his cheeks did not arise from emotion. Still, this was intolerable; what idiot had sent him flowers?
He wasn't angry at Qui-Gon for giving into lust, or for thinking his lust was something grander than it was. Simply put, that was to be expected of a man like his former master, who starved his flesh of warm touches and denied the needs of his body.
He wasn't even angry at Bruck for being right after all. See how chaste he is when you come back. That was what he'd said. Xanatos admitted it was probably Bruck who had sent the flowers, and for that he was annoyed with him. Why couldn't the boy take a hint and leave him be?
His dreams of the young Knight were products of his extreme mental state while he had been held captive. Even in the bacta, Xanatos knew he had not been himself. To entertain the idea that he and Bruck Chun, of all people, had some sort of mystical bond...
Where was that spray?
Leaving his clothing strewn all over, Xanatos grabbed the bottle of analgesic and rushed through his sleeproom to the 'fresher. His pale flesh looked perfect in the reflection--unmarked, whole. How could that be?
He stared for a moment. The mirror was small. He looked down at the rest of his body.
The mechanical arm seemed stark, dark where it attached to his flesh. At least that didn't pain him. His other arm was still well-formed, if some of the muscle tone had been lost during his captivity and convalescence. His middle was unmarked, except by the line of dark hair growing below his navel, pointing the way to his limp cock in its nest of dark curls. The thought of touching it gave him a thrill of horror, as if someone had suggested he pour boiling water on himself.
His skin remained far too sensitive, he had to admit that. He misted on the analgesic, covering himself with it until it began to run in rivulets down his body. That was more than he needed, but he didn't realize it until the bottle was empty. No matter. He could get more.
No, he would order it from the Temple Commissary. Have it sent up by droid.
When the stuff had dried, he found fresh clothes to wear--the softest, least reputable things he had. He could rest now, perhaps have a bit of food sent up with his spray.
The feel of his hair on his shoulders still annoyed him, though it was no longer truly painful. He bound it up loosely; wouldn't want to give himself a headache. He would be fine now. Just fine.
Except his eyes still burned, the irritation making them run streams down his face. What a bother. Perhaps he should put the flowers outside his door before he rested?
He picked them up, noticing for the first time what a huge, showy mess they were. Bruck should have known better anyway, he thought as he opened his door.
Xanatos placed them against the wall outside his door. A cleaning droid would take them away shortly, he was sure. The note fell to the floor, and he picked it up. He hesitated to read it, knowing that whatever it said would give him no comfort. Bruck knew he hated such sentimental trifles--he really should have known better.
But they weren't from Bruck.
The sight awaiting Qui-Gon in his quarters nearly took his breath away. Obi-Wan lounging on the common room rug, naked in the sunlight streaming in from the open balcony. He stepped inside, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to see if anyone else had noticed the uncommon view. Thankfully, the corridor was empty.
"You look magnificent," Qui-Gon said, his voice like a low growl. Obi-Wan stretched, his toes grasping at the rug. The sleepy smile he flashed made Qui-Gon's mouth go dry.
"Magnificent?" Obi-Wan sighed. "I was going for 'irresistible.' Oh, well. I'll do better next time."
Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile at his cheekiness. "That particular spot is very visible from the doorway."
"That's why I chose it for my nap." He flashed a broad, rakish grin. "That and the sunshine."
The Jedi Master knelt by him and pulled him close, kissing whatever warm, golden skin he could reach. "But what if I wasn't alone?"
"Then you'd have learnt a valuable lesson: When bringing people home for midmeal, comm first." The broad smile remained in place as he spoke, but then he tilted his head back, presenting his throat for Qui-Gon to kiss. The Jedi Master obliged him and was rewarded with peals of laughter. "Oh, that tickles!"
"Would you like me to shave?" Qui-Gon's lips moved closer to his lover's ear.
"Oh, gods, no!" Obi-Wan's breathing shifted to something between gasping and laughter. "It's lovely..."
His nimble fingers worked their way into Qui-Gon's clothing, and the Jedi's body responded despite the things weighing on his mind. After all, a son cannot choose his father, even if Durante spoke the truth.
Xanatos. Force knew Qui-Gon's former apprentice needed his support now more than ever, but the younger man had thrown up a wall between them. If only he had waited to reveal his relationship with Obi-Wan, maybe it would have happened differently. Qui-Gon could not have guessed that Xanatos had any lingering feelings for him. Gods, what a mess!
"Um, hello?" Kenobi tapped Qui-Gon gently on the collar bone. "Naughty things are happening, and you're missing them."
"Sorry." Qui-Gon pulled away from Obi-Wan. "I've got a lot on my mind."
"I see," Obi-Wan said with mock sagacity. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
Obi-Wan sat up, resting one arm on a bent knee. For a moment he regarded the Jedi Master.
"You told Xanatos about us, didn't you?"
Qui-Gon shook his head, but not in denial. How could he have been so careless? "Not in so many words."
"But he knows," Obi-Wan said softly. "And he's hurt."
"I didn't think it would matter that much to him," Qui-Gon muttered, rubbing his forehead.
Obi-Wan sighed. "You great, giant git. I told you he was in love with you, but you didn't believe me."
"I thought he had feelings for Knight Chun," Qui-Gon said, realizing the truth of it. "I still believe that."
Bruck had told him on the Furlan that he did not think Xanatos returned the young Knight's feelings. Qui-Gon had been so certain he was mistaken. "Xanatos will come around."
"He must've been through a lot," Obi-Wan murmured. The young man's eyes looked hard, dark with shades of memory.
Qui-Gon looked away, finding it easier to stare at the small patch of sunlight on the rug, trying to release his frustrations, his worry, to the Force.
"Obi-Wan, do you remember your parents?" The question had left his lips before he had considered the consequences of asking it, yet he felt strangely calm.
"No." Obi-Wan frowned at him. "You know I was contracted to Cragin as an infant."
"But who cared for you? A child that small would need looking after."
"The whores, of course." The frown had hardened into a scowl. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"It doesn't, really," Qui-Gon answered. "I was merely curious."
Obi-Wan stood, crossed to the sitting area where his clothes lay, and dressed. Qui-Gon did not have the heart to feel disappointment as he watched the tempting skin disappear under the clothing. He stood.
"Why don't we eat something," he said softly. "Then I can lead you in some meditations and simple exercises. Since I'm fairly sure Xan won't want to see me until tomorrow, I'm free for the remainder of the day."
Kenobi took his words as the peace offering they were, and smiled. "Sounds good to me."
Part 13
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