Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 20)
Bruck was sitting on a limb high in the crown of Lehanna-ma, his back resting against her bole. The Lentrebi suns shone overhead, and Bruck turned his face to them.
The light tasted different than he remembered. Bruck knew that his body was most likely in a bacta tank surrounded by yellow sun lamps, but it didn't seem to matter. He let his right leg dangle off the branch, and wiggled his toes in the scent-laden air.
"I must leave soon." He spoke softly, but Lehanna-ma heard.
"So you say," she began, "but still you hesitate."
"I know it will hurt," Bruck said. "I dread the pain. Is that cowardly of me?"
"No," Lehanna-ma whispered kindly, her voice like wind in her leaves. "It is very human, child. Both the pain and the fear of it."
"If I stay here, he will fall."
The breeze sighed around them for a heartbeat before she answered. "Yes."
"How can I ask him to face the pain the Light brings to his body, if I balk at this?"
"If you are there to ask such of him, the question will be moot, for you will have done it despite your fear."
Bruck felt her amused indulgence; she knew he was stalling. "I cannot see it clearly. Am I his only hope?"
"You are his best hope." He voice sounded like the sighing of wind in leaves.
"I know," he answered, resigned. If he stayed here while he healed, he would feel nothing but the faintest, most distant ache of his shattered body as it knitted, but in that time Xanatos could be lost to the Dark Side.
He turned and ran his hands over the ancient Lentrebi's bark. "I will miss you, Lehanna-ma."
"I will be watching you, my hasty sapling," she said. "You will never be far from me."
Bruck smiled, though his hands trembled. In this place between dreams and reality, he found he could cry. The warm tears wetting his cheeks seemed so real.
"I'm afraid," he whispered.
"You won't be, once your feet are upon the chosen path. That much, I promise you."
Bruck wiped his tears on his sleeve and stood. "Thank you."
Without further hesitation, he stepped off Lehanna-ma's supporting branch and plummeted like an acorn. Falling fast, buffeted by the wind and branches.
With every meter he fell, his body came back to him. The agony of separated fibers, the feel of blood flowing around the tears in his hybrid flesh, the throbbing of his head, it all came back to him. Almost weightless in the bacta, he realized it hurt less than he had feared.
He was torn almost asunder, rent in places like a tree struck by lightning, but the pain came from the human part of him, held together now by his Lentrebi fibers and force of will.
Yet, he knew he would be whole, and there was comfort in that. He reached out through his connection to Xanatos, and found him in the Light, meditating with Qui-Gon's guidance. His spirit soared to find his lover shining with the Force.
Both Xanatos and Qui-Gon appeared before him, sitting in the woods. Bruck knew they must be nearby in the Healers' Dome, but in meditation they were transported to another plane. One that to Bruck would always appear as a dense, beautiful wood.
"Xanatos." Bruck stepped closer as he spoke, and both Xan and Master Jinn looked up at him. Xanatos turned his face away almost immediately, his aura darkening. Even in his struggle with the Dark, Bruck saw nothing but beauty in him.
Xanatos looked at Qui-Gon. "Do you see him, too?"
"Yes," he answered.
"I am truly with you, Xan, as I was even in the worst of your torments." Bruck moved closer, kneeling beside him. "I will never leave you."
Xanatos stared down at his hands, one of them mechanical even in this place, where he should have been whole.
"I will never turn away from you," Bruck whispered.
"And if I killed a thousand innocents?" Xanatos met his gaze now, his midnight blue eyes dark and tormented.
"Not if you destroyed a thousand worlds," Bruck answered. "That is my choice. I will not forsake you."
Xanatos shook his head. "You are a fool."
"Yes." Bruck showed Xan a wry grin. "I most assuredly am."
"He loves you, Xanatos," Qui-Gon said. "With all that he is, he loves you."
Bruck glanced at Qui-Gon, puzzled by the earnest pain in his voice. Something horrible had happened, though Bruck could not see for certain what it was.
Xanatos took a deep, hitching breath, fighting back some overwhelming emotion.
"Do not squander such a gift, Padawan," Qui-Gon continued, sadness deeply etched in the flesh around his eyes.
Bruck regarded him for a moment before returning his attention to Xanatos.
"I'll never give up on you, Xan," he said. "I'll never let you go."
Xanatos said nothing, but reached out to Bruck with his flesh and blood hand. Bruck took his warm hand and pulled him into an embrace. Xanatos buried his face in Bruck's tunics and wept.
Bruck held him, gently stroking his silky black hair. Even as his broken body throbbed, distant from his present consciousness, he knew he would leap from even greater heights than the pyre tower for the man in his arms.
Such was his fate, and he had made peace with it.
Lord Sidious leaned back in his meditation chair, chagrined to discover the ebbing of Knight T'Crion's dark powers. He had been certain that the handsome Telosian would fall irrevocably within the hour, had felt the final attempt at self-slaughter, the fear, the anger, and even hatred flowing through him, making him strong.
By now he should have been fully Dark, and well on his way to convincing the Jedi dogs of his nascent recovery. Just when Sidious began to foresee images of their glorious partnership, and the pleasure he would take in Xanatos' training, something went wrong. What, exactly, he could not be certain.
His vision had been clouded - a most disturbing and unprecedented occurrence – but he could sense that Master Jinn was involved. Xanatos' other Master, seeking to interfere with his plans. The selfsame Master Jinn who had appeared so transparently infatuated with Kenobi at the gala. Hm.
Sidious smiled. His plan might not be going as smoothly as anticipated, but circumstances became more fraught with delicious possibilities at every turn.
He had a feeling that Master Jinn would be easy enough to distract, just now. The prospect filled him with anticipation.
Qui-Gon slowly withdrew from the joint meditation, trusting that his former Padawan would be safe and grounded in the Light as long as his bond with Bruck remained strong. A calm certainty that their joining would be blessed by the Force settled over him, filling Qui-Gon with regret so profound he felt it in his bones.
He should be glad that his Padawan had such a Force-guided bond to help him down the long path of healing, and he was, but being witness to his Padawan's love bond only served to underline the absence of Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon's life.
He had to find his lover, and bring him back.
Qui-Gon paused a moment to confer with Tand, and spoke with Healer Phol on his way out. She seemed surprised that Bruck had recovered enough to reach out in a meditative state.
"He has not even shown signs of consciousness yet," she said. "Still, there are no rules when it comes to a being like Knight Chun-al-Leem, I suppose."
"I have some other business that I must attend to, Healer." Qui-Gon spoke calmly, amazed that he could seem so outwardly serene when his heart felt like it was tearing in two. "I hate to leave Xanatos in this state, but I believe his bond with Bruck will keep him in the Light. Perhaps you would consider moving the two of them closer? I think the physical presence of someone who cares for him could only help Xanatos. Right now, his closest bond is with Knight Chun-al-Leem, even if he has refused to acknowledge it."
Phol thought for a moment. "I suppose we could arrange for them to be moved, if you believe it will help."
"After what I have witnessed, I am certain of it," Qui-Gon said, conviction imbuing every word.
Phol nodded, meeting his gaze with compassionate curiosity. "I will let you know if we need you again."
Qui-Gon could see that the Healer wondered what his other business might be, what could keep a Master away from his Padawan under such circumstances. Phol was kind, empathic and very good at her job, but even so Qui-Gon doubted she would understand his position.
Seeing Bruck join Xan in their meditations had twisted his insides in a pang of jealousy. There had been a time when he had thought nothing could come between himself and Obi-Wan.
Guiding Obi-Wan through meditations, discovering how unusually disciplined his mind was, for an untrained Force sensitive, touching Obi-Wan as he instructed him through the simpler forms – all those gentle moments came before his memory now to remind him of what he had lost.
He remembered the way Obi-Wan had smiled when Qui-Gon had been astonished by the younger man's ease at picking up the slightly more complex katas and higher meditative forms.
"You'll make a Jedi of me yet," he had said, smiling broadly in that rakish way of his.
The memory filled Qui-Gon with longing. How exquisite it had been, the way Kenobi had danced through their courtship, slowly dropping his defenses, letting Qui-Gon glimpse the tender heart, the hopes and dreams wrapped so tightly inside him.
He had been opening like a flower until Qui-Gon – in one horrible moment of pain and confusion – had put an end to it all. Hurt him, pushed him away. What else could Obi-Wan have done but leave a man who did not trust him?
Qui-Gon had no one to blame but himself.
The longer he went without news of Obi-Wan, the more certain he became that no one would understand it. Maybe he didn't quite comprehend it himself, this aching need. They would say that he had lost all reason, that he was besotted and acting foolishly.
Perhaps they would be correct.
Still, he had hours of vid data to watch, searching for a face, a clue, anything that might help him find Obi-Wan.
Bail Organa had not answered any of Kenobi's comms since his meeting with the Chancellor. How could he? He had no idea what he might say.
The fearful part of him, the part he regarded as practical, cautioned that he should never speak to the courtesan again. After all, it was Kenobi's fault he was in this position. If Kenobi hadn't come into his life when he did, awakening desires best left dormant, he would never have become the political puppet of a corrupt leader.
Not that Palpatine had asked anything egregious of him. Yet.
Bail's better self, on the other hand, grudgingly accepted that Kenobi had only been honest; he had never tried to be something he was not, the way Bail had. The Senator wished he were free to act as he wanted, without all the weight of expectation he had borne all his life.
Even the prospect of living openly with his desires had a certain appeal, but fear won out. Fear of his father's rejection, fear of losing whatever power and status he had.
Perhaps it was not too late to have some manner of freedom. He could not be open with his father about what he was - that would simply be asking too much - but if his enemies already had the means to blackmail him, why shouldn't he indulge himself with Kenobi?
He got up from his sleep couch where he had been brooding, still wearing the same rumpled clothes he had worn in Palpatine's office.
What the hells. If he was damned in any case, he might as well enjoy it.
He laid out his most attractive leisure clothes and headed for the 'fresher.
Xanatos emerged from his meditations to find that the wounds on his wrist and ankle had been treated and bound, and the binders had been removed. The sight of his freedom filled his heart with dread. How could they have so much faith in him, after everything he'd done?
He heard the sound of a breathing pump nearby, and looked up to see a bacta tank on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by glowing yellow sun lamps. Through the pink glare of the bacta, he could see the wild, white hair of his lover, suspended around his head like the glowing corona of a sun in eclipse.
Bruck's fine features were hidden by a breathing mask, and his eyes were closed.
Xanatos moved to the edge of his bed, and gingerly tried to stand. His bones had healed, but he was still quite sore. And weak, now that the dark rage had left him.
The pads of his bare feet pressed against the cold, sterile floor, and slowly he made his way closer to the tank. He wanted to see his lover, up close.
His lover. He could acknowledge that much, if only in the solitude of his own mind. He loved Bruck. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. He paused, fighting back the sting of tears, and pressed his cold, metal hand over his heart. It beat as though he'd run a mile in half a minute, without Force-assistance.
After a moment, Xanatos shuffled forward and, threading his arm through the web of lights and wires, pressed his palm to the surface of the tank. It felt blood warm under his fingers.
Now he was close enough to see Bruck's body, the healing injuries. Even in such a state, his lithe form was beautiful, bronze. Incandescent. The sight made Xanatos' heart ache.
His lover had nearly died to save him. Something so amazing should not be sacrificed for the likes of Xanatos, but perhaps Bruck's actions could give him a reason to fight the Dark. Xanatos, even in his fallen state, was loved by such a being as this. Surely that love was worth the struggle, for what Bruck offered him was more than mere salvation in the Light. It was love in its purest form, given freely to someone least deserving of reward.
Bruck had risked his life to save Xanatos, even without hope that Xanatos would return his love.
"I will stay in the Light," he whispered to the glass. "And I will love you with all that I am."
The sound of a delivery droid entering the room startled him from his sentimental thoughts. It bore a vase of exotic flowers, of a kind Xanatos felt certain he had seen before, but could not place immediately. After depositing the flowers on his bedside table, the droid emitted a soft whirring noise and left as it had come.
Xanatos crossed to the flowers slowly, curious. The closer he got to the arrangement, the more his eyes began to burn. The scent of the flowers reached him, exciting a flash of memory.
These were the same flowers that had been waiting for him in his quarters when he first returned to them after his stay in the Healers' Dome. The smell of them seemed to press against his face as he reached for the card.
*A Grateful Republic Thanks You for Your Service.* From the Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, no less. Just like the last one.
The smell made Xanatos dizzy, filled him with an unreasonable, savage anger. He reached for the arrangement and flung it away, watching with satisfaction as it shattered against the door.
In Healer Phol's monitoring room, a light began to flash on the bacta tank console, accompanied by an insistent beeping. The readout called up to her screen mildly surprised Phol.
Bruck Chun-al-Leem had regained consciousness.
Qui-Gon trudged back to his empty quarters, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life, yet knowing that he could not sleep if he tried. There would be no rest for him until he found Obi-Wan, until he could beg his forgiveness, try to explain.
Perhaps Obi-Wan would forgive him, perhaps not, but he would not rest until he had done his best to repair the rift between them. He could not.
Whenever his eyelids grew heavy, the image of Obi-Wan – devastated by his disbelief, his rejection – haunted him. His brief meditations helped, but by any estimation he was not operating at the peak of his abilities, mental or physical.
He let himself in and went directly to uploading the vid feeds he had copied to his personal data terminal. The light on his comdesk blinked, indicating that he had received a message. It was from Finis Valorum, text only.
It read: *I have information regarding your friend. Meet me here at the 16th hour. Do not try to reach me by comlink – this is a delicate matter.* It closed with a set of coordinates.
Qui-Gon read over it twice, a tight knot of dread coiling around his insides. Just by looking, he could tell that the coordinates were in the lower levels of Coruscant.
"Oh, gods, Obi-Wan."
Bail paused in front of the door to Kenobi's rooms, wondering if he really had the fortitude to ring the door chime. On the way to this little rendezvous, he had felt certain that his actions would be decisive, that he had settled his mind on a course of action and that was the end of it. Standing in the private speederbay, though, he felt less sure of himself.
What if Kenobi was entertaining someone else? He had not commed him after his meeting with the Chancellor; he simply had not shown up for his appointment. His hands fluttered down the sides of his fine suit, tapping the bits of technology tucked in his pockets. They would be sufficient to scramble any vid or holo feeds from these rooms – they were the newest, the best money could buy.
Just when he had screwed up enough courage to push the button, the door opened. It revealed Kenobi, obviously dressed for comfort – he had not been expecting anyone. He smiled at Bail, one fine brow raised.
"Please come in, Senator."
Bail nodded and obeyed. Once inside, he reached for Kenobi, kissing him with a hunger that had been denied far longer than he had wished. Kenobi yielded to him, returning his embrace with gentle hands.
Bail pulled away, remembering his gadgets. Kenobi watched mutely as he rushed about, planting the small devices and activating them.
"Counter-surveillance?" Kenobi looked mildly amused.
Bail nodded. "One cannot be too careful."
The evasion stung; Kenobi deserved to know what had happened. Bail knew he must be blameless in all this – some of the images Palpatine had shown him were taken on the night Kenobi first arrived.
The only thing that the Chancellor had asked of him so far was to keep his knowledge of the recordings between the two of them – an easy enough promise for Bail to give, at the time – and he supposed that included Kenobi. Besides, with the counter-surveillance in place, Kenobi would be protected as well.
"I'll leave them for you when I go," he said.
Kenobi smiled as he slipped Bail's cloak off his shoulders. "How thoughtful of you."
"I must apologize for missing our appointment yesterday," Bail said. "Something kept me late at the Senate."
"Such are the burdens of government." Kenobi moved in close and loosened the fastenings of Bail's collar. "Would you care for tea?"
"No," Bail moaned. Unable to resist the temptation before him any longer, he pulled Kenobi to him. He took in every detail of the other man's face, his heart filling with a novel desire to please. His touches and kisses gentled, reflecting a new appreciation of his paid companion, a man so comfortable in his skin that he nearly wept with envy.
Bail wanted to take his time, to give as good as he got, but Kenobi seemed resistant to his efforts. "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all." Kenobi chuckled. "You're in an odd mood, though."
Bail felt his face grow hot. "Well, I would like to talk with you about something. . ."
"After," Kenobi whispered, once again forcefully taking the lead.
Bail let himself be swept away in a sea of sensation, where the scent and feel and taste of Kenobi supplanted the whole of existence, however briefly.
Afterward, he lay breathless in a tangled heap of sweat-slicked limbs and silken sheets, unable to recall his name for the moment, much less anything else.
Kenobi lit two stimsticks, handing him one. "Now what was it you wanted to discuss?"
"Oh, gods," Bail said. "I've no idea."
Kenobi grinned and blew stimsmoke out the side of his mouth. "There, there," he said. "Take another drag and perhaps it will come to you."
Bail chuckled. They smoked in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again.
"I suppose I was thinking it might not be such a terrible thing if people, well, knew about me."
"Knew about you?" Kenobi laughed. "You're Senator Organa from Alderaan – everyone knows about you."
Bail giggled like a boy at school, caught up in Kenobi's laughter as if it had been a net thrown around him. "But they don't know about how I spend my free time."
Kenobi cocked his head to the side, studying him thoughtfully. "But your father-"
"Fuck my father," Bail said with a venom that surprised him. On the heels of his words came an image that brought out more raucous laughter. "Or not."
"Oh, I don't know," said Kenobi. "He sounds like he could use a good fuck. Perhaps he'd enjoy that purple thing you left in the bureau?"
Bail laughed until his face was wet with tears and hiccups threatened.
As his laughter died down, Kenobi tensed beside him.
"What was that?" Kenobi spoke in a soft whisper, sounding so frightened that Bail immediately sobered.
In the fraught silence that fell between them, Bail felt certain he heard the sound of footsteps in the common room.
Part 22
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