Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 23)
Qui-Gon was still raw from the sonics on the slaver’s ship, but it didn’t matter. He scarcely noticed the sting as he scoured his flesh clean again. With trembling hands he turned off the sonics before sliding down to the deck.
The collar was gone now, and he reached out to the Force to calm his mind, feeling it bathe him in cool Light. On the inside he was filled, like a cup brimming with peace. Tahl’s appearance had been nothing short of a miracle. Even a few moments later...
Qui-Gon pushed the thought aside before it had completely formed, his mind skittering away from things he had neither the time nor the energy to contemplate. He stood, already feeling ashamed of his lack of control. Jedi like himself had suffered far worse in their service to the Galaxy, and he had no time to indulge his fears. He found the spare tunics Tahl had indicated and put them on, surprised to find them a reasonable fit.
No sooner had the borrowed clothes settled onto his shoulders than he went to find Tahl. She was, predictably enough, in the cockpit.
“Better strap in,” she said as he ducked through the low entryway. “We’re about to make the jump to hyperspace.”
Qui-Gon complied, feeling an odd roll in his belly when the stars streaked past. With the ship on course, Tahl turned to Qui-Gon, but said nothing. He returned her gaze, wondering what there was to say. He had not spoken to her after she told him of her decision to leave the Order. Not even to say goodbye.
Finally, he found his voice. “Tahl... I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”
“You’re none the worse for wear, then?” Her tone was light, but Qui-Gon knew she had not missed the details of his situation.
“No.” Qui-Gon glanced down at his hands, resting on his knees. “Thanks to you.”
“It was the will of the Force.” Tahl shrugged. She looked the same as ever, but for the weariness that hung about her like a cloak. He hadn’t seen that when she was playing her part on the slaver’s ship, but he had not been at his most observant.
“What are you doing in this part of the Galaxy?” Qui-Gon asked. “The last I heard you were settled into a proper civilian life.”
He tried to smile, to keep his tone light, but there was still a hint of judgment in his voice. She had left the Order, true, but was Qui-Gon himself not planning to do just the same? Old resentment, unacknowledged jealousy, maybe. She had had the courage to leave years ago, while Qui-Gon had not managed to do it yet, despite having supposedly decided that he must.
Tahl, perhaps sensing his awkwardness, pressed her lips together and stood. ”You hungry? I’ll get some rations and we can talk.”
Without another word she left. Qui-Gon followed, meekly collecting his thoughts.
Tahl gathered a couple of ration packs, and tossed one in Qui-Gon’s direction. “So, how did you end up in Mavron’s inventory?”
Qui-Gon smiled. Tahl never was one to dance around a topic. “I was meeting someone I thought I could trust in the lower levels. I was careless. I didn’t detect the drugs until it was too late. Woke up on that ship. That’s all I know. But what about-”
“They’re getting bold.” Tahl’s face went pale as she sat down across from Qui-Gon, rations forgotten on the table between them. “I didn’t think they were collecting in Republic space, let alone on Coruscant.”
“Collecting?” A cold ball formed in Qui-Gon’s belly, and he suddenly had no interest in food.
“You really don’t know.” Tahl stared at him, disbelief etched in the lines of her face. “You weren’t working this as a mission.”
“I wasn’t working a mission at all.” Qui-Gon didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt reluctant to tell her of his plans to leave the Order. If anyone would understand, it would be Tahl, but their last meeting had been so complicated… “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Start from the beginning.”
Tahl leaned back in her seat. “Four months ago, bounty hunters started showing up. The first one was clumsy – I caught him easily, but he didn’t know anything useful. The second killed three of my people and took Sahn before I could get to them.”
Qui-Gon didn’t know the name, but it was easy enough to guess, knowing she had been pregnant when she left the Jedi. “Is the child safe?”
“My son is safe. For now. Can’t say the same for the bounty hunter, but I got Sahn back before anyone hurt him.” Tahl glanced up at him, her gold-ringed eyes daring him to renew their final argument. “I’ve spent these last months gathering information and establishing my cover.”
“You could have contacted the Temple. Surely the Council-”
“They might have helped.” Tahl looked as though she smelled something sour. “They also might have chosen not to believe me, making it a colossal waste of time. We didn’t part on the best of terms, if you recall.”
Qui-Gon did, all too well.
“It only took me a few weeks to find Mavron – the last bounty hunter knew where to find him. The rest of that time I’ve spent getting the bastard to trust me.” Tahl reached for a container and poured herself some water. “Which wasn’t easy.”
Qui-Gon could imagine. Tahl had always been very compassionate; developing a business relationship with a slaver must have been difficult for her. “How many slaves have you bought from this Mavron? He seemed pretty cozy with you.”
“Twelve.” She answered without blinking. “Freed all of them – quietly, of course.”
Qui-Gon could not hide his surprise. Even if she had bought only Mavron’s cheapest wares – doubtful, considering the way he had deferred to her – it would have taken a princely sum. “How-”
“Could an ex-Jedi afford so many slaves? I’ve done better for myself than you might suppose.” Anger flashed across her eyes, though she quickly masked it. “I’ll spend every credit, if that is what it takes.”
Qui-Gon’s throat had gone tight. This was why the Code forbade attachment. There was more at work inside Tahl than a highly developed sense of justice. “You’ve made an evil man very wealthy.”
Tahl nodded. “It was necessary to earn his trust. It finally paid off, today. Which is a good thing, since buying you nearly broke the bank.”
An uneasiness Qui-Gon could not quite name crept over him. “You paid for me? You had the information you wanted, so there was no need to continue your cover. Why didn’t you just use a Force suggestion?”
“Mavron is weak-minded, but he’s not an idiot. He might have figured out what happened before I could take action, and then the whole thing would have gone to hells.” Tahl was chiding him as if he were a newly braided Padawan, but Qui-Gon wouldn’t let it go.
“It makes me uneasy to think of that man profiting from what he does.” From what almost happened to me, and has surely happened to others at his hands. “Trafficking in sentients is evil, Tahl. The ends do not justify the means.” His words found a more tender target than he expected.
“Shall I take you back for a refund, then?” Tahl stood, glaring down at him angrily. “I’m sure that big green fellow would love to get better acquainted with you.”
A cold wave swept over Qui-Gon. He clenched his hands into fists to stop their sudden trembling. In all his years as a Jedi, he had never before been in a position to suffer such a private violation. The terror of it, still fresh in his memory, shamed him. He couldn’t meet Tahl’s gaze, knowing that she had faced such threats more than once in her service to the Galaxy.
“I spoke without thinking,” he said at last. “I am very grateful for the rescue.”
Tahl sighed, staring out a porthole. “I know, Qui. I shouldn’t have threatened to take you back. I just... I’ve had enough lectures on Jedi morality to last a lifetime, as I’m sure you know.”
Qui-Gon nodded. He had gotten a few lectures himself, since declaring his intention to leave the Order. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, when you left. It was wrong of me to let you think I stood with the Council on their decision.”
Tahl shrugged. “They were right, you know. Attachments do get in the way of pure service to the Light.” She turned her eyes to him, with just a hint of a smile on her lips. “There is little I would hesitate to do to protect my son, Qui-Gon. Rest assured, when this is over, I’ll be seeing Mavron one more time.”
Qui-Gon held her gaze for a long moment. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.” He would have said more, but a buzzing sound over the ship’s intercom sounded.
“Buckle up.” Tahl was already heading for the cockpit. “We’re about to come out of hyperspace.”
“I thought we were on the Rim. How could we have reached Coruscant so quickly?”
Tahl shouted her answer over her shoulder. “I never said we were going to Coruscant.”
Taking a deep breath, Bruck turned onto his side, toward the warm weight of his sleeping lover. The pain felt far away, a dull ache permeating the fibers of his hybrid body. It didn’t matter.
To be with Xanatos in casual comfort was too rare a gift to be taken lightly. Xanatos lay on his belly, dozing, his hair a veil of black silk across his shoulders. Bruck reached out to stroke it, feeling each strand gently tickle the pads of his fingers.
Xanatos stirred, and Bruck let his hand slip across the bare skin of his lover’s back. The flesh was whole and beautiful; Bruck savored the warmth and solidity under his fingers. Xanatos was healed. Every bone in his body was sound and every muscle strong. He’d have been released already were it not for other concerns.
Bruck sensed that Xanatos was awake, and content to enjoy this intimacy without protest. Until recently, Xanatos had relished the closeness they shared in meditation, but had remained reluctant to accept it in the flesh.
With his Lentrebi awareness, Bruck could see the darkness around Xanatos, held at bay by the Light. Through the bright line of fate that connected them, Bruck helped Xanatos maintain a balanced connection to the Force.
In time, Xanatos would learn to do it on his own – even with his crippled midichlorians – but they didn’t have much time before his emotional strength would be tested. His testimony before the Senate committee was only a day away.
“You’re getting clumsy,” Xanatos said, breaking Bruck’s train of thought. “I can hear you worry.”
Bruck couldn’t suppress a smile as Xanatos stretched and turned to face him, filling the air with the scent of sleep-warmed sheets and clean skin. He closed his eyes before Xanatos saw him staring, but it was too late to fool him. The none-too-gentle tap of a knuckle on his forehead assured him of that much.
“I know you’re awake in there.”
Bruck relented, opening his eyes and grinning. “Can’t fool you.”
“Not for long.” Xanatos smiled, a look of genuine happiness spreading over his face. “Not anymore.”
Bruck studied his face – happiness, yes, but mixed with a haughty smugness. He hadn’t seen that look in quite a while – playful yet fully aware of his advantages.
“You found it,” Bruck said.
“Our mystical, non-Force connection? Yes. Yes, I did. When were you going to tell me?”
“Today, I suppose.” Bruck touched Xanatos’ hair again, staring at the movement of his finger so he would not have to see the reaction to what he was about to say. “I want to go with you tomorrow.”
“You can’t,” Xanatos said. “It’s a closed meeting, and you’re not well enough yet.”
“With a hover chair I could-”
“It’s not necessary.” Darkness flickered in the midnight blue of his eyes.
Bruck changed tactics. “Healer Phol said I could go to the Room of a Thousand Fountains today. If you’ll go with me.”
Xanatos looked unconvinced. “Just when did she say this?”
“While you were still in your sex coma.” Now it was Bruck’s turn to smile smugly. “Some time not in this room will do us both good.”
Xanatos nodded reluctantly. “As long as you don’t treat it like a dry run for going to the hearing. I won’t be responsible for hampering your recovery.”
Bruck took a deep breath and sat up. “I’m healing very quickly. I need the exercise.” But that isn’t why you don’t want me there, is it?
Xanatos got out of bed and began to dress, ignoring what Bruck had said across their bond, though Bruck never questioned whether he had heard it.
“You get ready, and I’ll go find you a hover chair.”
"Where are we, then?" Qui-Gon asked, his stomach doing a slow roll.
"What's the matter, Jinn?" Tahl said with a wry grin. "You have somewhere to be?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"I thought you said you were not on a mission."
Qui-Gon hesitated, knowing that the hesitation itself would tell his old friend that he was hiding something. Still, for reasons he could not readily define, he didn't want to tell her of his plan to leave the Order. For love, of all things. She'd have a good laugh at his sanctimonious behavior, and he would deserve it. He just didn't want to go into it right now.
"I was trying to find someone -- a witness related to one of Xanatos' missions."
"It's fine." Tahl's smile widened. "You don't have to tell me."
Qui-Gon gave her a hard look and repeated his first question. "Where are we?"
Tahl crossed her arms and looked up at him with her brows knitted. "Malum IV, of course. I don't have time to take you all the way back to Coruscant, and there could be innocents in danger down there."
Qui-Gon nodded, seeing the obviousness of it now. He'd had his mind on getting back to Coruscant and finding Obi-Wan, but the Force had led Tahl to him, and led him to Tahl. His duty was clear. He could only trust that fate would watch over Obi-Wan until he could find him. "What's the plan?"
"I looked up everything I could find on Malum IV while you were getting dressed. There wasn't much. I suppose we take a look from orbit. Scan for life signs or settlements. The navicomputer has nothing on the place. Says it's barren, uninhabitable."
"It could be a rendezvous point for the slavers and the buyer." Qui-Gon was surprised by the way Tahl flinched at his words.
She breathed deeply, visibly relaxing as she exhaled, releasing her obvious anxiety to the Force. "No. This is the place. I can feel it."
"What are you not telling me?" Qui-Gon rested his hand on her shoulder. Tahl shrugged him off as she slipped out of the pilot's harness.
"What are you not telling me?" Without waiting for an answer, she checked their orbit and began activating her ship's scanners. The tech was first-rate.
Qui-Gon took her admonition meekly, knowing he deserved it. After a moment, he said, "Do you really want to know?"
Tahl didn't look up from her work. "No, that's fine. You Jedi can keep your secrets. I know I'm not one of the chosen anymore."
Qui-Gon's heart sank. She had interpreted his silence as distrust, as proof that she was somehow not worthy now that she was no longer his fellow Jedi. Once, it might have been true.
"That's not it at all." He swallowed in a vain attempt to wet his throat. It had been easier to tell Master Yoda he was leaving than to tell the one person who might actually understand. "I... I'm planning to leave the Order."
That got her attention. "You can't be serious."
Qui-Gon shrugged. "You did it. Why can't I?"
"When I left, you didn't even let me say goodbye. You never answered my comms. I thought that was a pretty clear indicator of what you thought about Jedi who break their commitment."
"I know," he said. "You're right, but also wrong. I didn't want to admit to myself that leaving was a possibility. I couldn't come to terms with the fact that I have never been truly fulfilled in my role as a Jedi."
Tahl gaped at him in silence.
"I've just recently accepted that I am a creature who craves attachment." Qui-Gon looked down at his hands, noticing how rough they were, how strong they felt when holding his saber. How weak and helpless they had been when it came to holding onto the one thing that really mattered to him.
Regaining her equanimity, Tahl nodded. He could tell she had sensed more than he had said, and soon she proved him right. Grinning broadly, she quipped, "So who's the lucky guy?"
Qui-Gon felt his face flush hot as he returned her smile -- obviously he still could not hide anything from Tahl, despite the years they'd been apart.
"It's complicated," he said at last. "Far from a certainty, in fact."
"That explains why you were so anxious to get back," Tahl said. He felt grateful she asked no more questions. She could have made a point of his hypocrisy, or made any of a dozen comments that could cut. But Tahl was still Tahl, and she let it go with her usual grace. "I suppose I can tell you, then. I told you they tried for Sahn and me. I didn't tell you that another bounty hunter scum caught Rensi when I took Sahn into hiding."
Qui-Gon didn't know the name, but he could guess. "Sahn's father."
Tahl answered by lowering her eyes, as if to hide her pain. "I'm certain he's here. He has to be here."
Everything about Tahl’s break with the Council seemed clear to him now. Everyone had known that she had conceived a child. The Council had not objected to her keeping the babe when it was born, with the understanding that she must give it up, at the appointed time, to the crčche or to some other loving home, depending upon the child’s own Force-sensitivity.
She had left the Order before her pregnancy had even begun to show. No one but the Council knew the circumstances surrounding the child’s conception, though Qui-Gon felt certain she would have told him before she had left, if he had bothered to ask.
Now he saw it – how the haggard look and sunken eyes mirrored his own. While he had only the vaguest of fears that Obi-Wan might be having sex with strangers for money, as he had most of his life before Qui-Gon knew him, Tahl knew her love was in grave danger.
"I'll help you find him, Tahl. We'll do whatever it takes." He placed his hands on her shoulders, and this time she grasped them.
"Thank you, Qui."
The scanner beeped loudly, breaking the moment. Tahl turned to see the readout. "Life signs, some of them humanoid, and structures, too. All nice and centralized."
Qui-Gon leaned over to see. "Looks like one of those self-contained settlement ships."
"Planted it on the dark side of this rock, too. They must have a reactor for energy." Tahl said. "Someone went out of his way to be inconspicuous."
"Do they know we're here?" Qui-Gon asked, formulating a plan.
"I don't think so," Tahl said. "This ship is too small to set off orbital sensors, even if they have them."
"Good." They were two Jedi, certainly capable of fighting if they had to, but their objective was to locate the prisoners. To get them out safely would require stealth. “Find that reactor. I have an idea that might get us inside.”
"I'll approach from the far side, see how close we can get." Tahl guided the craft expertly around the small planet. Once they broke orbit, she came at the base by flying low behind the ridge of a crater.
"I think I have some schematics for that class of settlement in the ship's computer," Tahl said, nodding toward the interface console. Qui-Gon began the search for schematics while Tahl found a landing spot as close to the settlement’s reactor as she could without risking discovery.
Qui-Gon saw the familiar glint in Tahl's eye, a sharpness to her movements that reminded him of the missions they had shared. The stakes were higher for her this time, though her hands remained steady. Qui-Gon wondered if he could be so calm had been Obi-Wan been taken by slavers. Maybe the Council and the Code were right to denounce attachments as so very dangerous for a Jedi.
One way or another, he was about to find out.
Bruck felt better than he had any right to feel, at least for someone born human who’d fallen a hundred meters and crashed through a skylight days before. Still, when Healer Phol insisted on accompanying him and Xanatos as far as the Room of a Thousand Fountains, he had to accept that it was for the best. Even a full Lentrebi would have needed more time than this for its fibers to knit properly.
"I hope the hover chair won't be a necessity much longer," he said as he shifted in his seat. Xanatos walked beside him, slowly perhaps but seeming quite well.
"I'm sure you'll be up to sparring with me in no time." Xan grinned.
"Neither of you has been cleared for sparring yet," Healer Phol reminded them. "Though..."
She stopped talking but kept walking, and Bruck didn't need his Lentrebi awareness to tell him what she was thinking.
"We both can see that Xan is healed," Bruck said. "And of course he knows you're only keeping him with me because of the midichlorian issue."
"Midichlorian issue," Xan chuckled a little harshly. "Sounds like a special printing of Jedi Monthly."
Phol stopped the chair as they neared the entrance to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. "I believe it is best to keep you close while we find a way to counteract the poison. Until then, I assume the company is no hardship?"
A flush of color washed up the side of Xanatos' face, and Bruck’s heart fluttered at the sight. Had he ever dared dream of having Knight Xanatos T'Crion blush on his account? He could not suppress a smile.
"We'll get through it somehow." Bruck stood cautiously, anxious to walk in the verdant gardens that surrounded them, determined to bluster through the pain. "Oh, I have been looking forward to this."
He took a few steps, finding it easier to walk on the grass than it had been on the sterile floors of their room in the Healers' Dome. Xanatos stayed close by his side.
"I'll leave the chair here for you," Phol said. "Be back at the Dome in three hours."
"Give me four and you've got a deal," Bruck shot back.
"Everything is a negotiation with you Knights, isn't it?" Phol rolled her eyes. She turned to Xanatos. "I'm depending on you to be the reasonable one here. Don't let him exhaust himself."
"Don't worry," Xanatos said. When Phol turned to go, he stopped her. "Have you heard from Qui-Gon?"
"No, I haven't." She reached as if to place her hand on Xanatos' shoulder, but stopped when he winced, as if in anticipation of pain. "I'll comm him to see that he is well. He hadn’t taken any time to rest since before your accident."
Xanatos nodded and the Healer left them, but Bruck could read in his lover's face that he did not believe Qui-Gon's absence was unintentional.
“He has forgiven you.” Bruck wished he could offer more empirical assurance, but he knew that much was true.
Xanatos nodded and offered Bruck his arm for support, tacit refusal to engage in a discussion of the matter. They walked together in silence for a time.
Walking stressed many of the places where Bruck was still healing. His bones were sound, but much of his human flesh was newly restored and tender. The Lentrebi fibers running through him responded to the life that thrived around them in the vast garden. Each step upon the soil, with the green grasses tickling his soles, infused Bruck with greater strength.
"Oh, gods," he said. "This was always my favorite place to come meditate with Master Leem, but now it's even better."
He paused and tilted his face to the sunlamps high overhead, closing his eyes to savor the taste of it.
"Because you're part Lentrebi now?" Xanatos' voice sounded deep and thrilling, the soft breath that bore it tickling in Bruck's ear.
"Partly, but also because you are here with me." He opened his eyes to drink in the man before him-- black hair, skin as pale as alabaster. "Let's go sit by the pool of reflection."
"Wearing out already?" Xanatos smiled and squeezed his arm, but neither gesture masked the concern in his voice.
"Just pacing myself," Bruck answered, perhaps a little too quickly to be truly convincing. There was pain, yes, but it amounted to little more than an annoyance compared to the joy of the living earth under his toes and a more palatable radiant energy shining down upon his head. "Did you know there aren't really a Thousand Fountains?"
"You counted them." Xanatos sounded amused as he helped Bruck sit on the dry sand. The light shone on them and they could see the water, but thick vegetation gave them a modicum of privacy. It was a spot Bruck knew well.
"My Master would bring me here and stand beside me, still as a tree, while I meditated. If I was in need of some special correction, sometimes the sessions would last from morning meal to late meal. I had to pass those times in stillness, but he did not require that I remain in meditation. 'Humans need to move,' he'd tell me. 'But you must be conscious of your movement. Only then are you truly in control of your body. In stillness you will learn that control.' It was a difficult lesson."
Xanatos found a comfortable-looking sandy spot and they sat together. "It sounds as if he was very hard on you."
Bruck sighed. "I think he knew what might happen, what I might become. I think he was preparing me, on some level, for the fusion."
"He could not have known," Xanatos chuckled. "Even Master Yoda says, 'Always in motion, the future is.' If Lentrebis were all precogs, I'm sure someone would have mentioned it."
Bruck turned to look at Xanatos, watching all the threads of fate play about him, the current of Darkness only just kept at bay. "Would they?"
Xanatos knit his brows theatrically. "Are you saying-"
"I most definitely am not saying anything of the sort." Bruck tried out his best enigmatic smile. "It doesn't really work that way."
The slightest hint of fear crept into Xanatos' eyes. "So you don't know what’s going to happen?"
"I know some of the things that might happen at any given time, but that’s pretty much it." Bruck leaned over and drew a line in the sand, with arrows at each end. "Say this line is time. It extends in either direction indefinitely. We're here, in the moment." He poked a hole in the middle of the line. "Everything behind us, from our perspective, is fixed. It is History. It is What Happened. But the future-"
"Is always in motion, and therefore uncertain," Xanatos interrupted. "I have studied Time Theory, you know. Best in my class."
Bruck's concentration drifted as his gaze fell to Xanatos' lips, full and pink and currently curled in a most appealing smirk. "Oh, I bet you were.”
Xanatos moved in for a kiss and Bruck gave himself up to it, without hesitation. When it ended, he was trembling like a leaf in the wind."Knight T'Crion, you are magnificent."
"Oh, yes," Xan whispered. "I know."
"Cheeky bastard," Bruck muttered, grinning. "I was trying to tell you about the Place Between."
Xan settled in closer. There was a very warm hand on Bruck's thigh, heating the flesh there through his leggings. "Between?"
"It's sort of a Lentrebi thing." Bruck's voice had gotten softer. He watched in fascination as Xanatos leaned in, warm moist lips coming nearer.
"A special Lentrebi... place." Xanatos captured Bruck's lips in another kiss, but pulled away just as Bruck responded.
Bruck made a disappointed sound halfway between a moan and a whimper, then self-consciously cleared his throat. "You make it sound so naughty."
Xanatos wore a grin of pure mischief. "Not at all. I believe you were giving me a lesson in Lentrebi epistemology. "
Bruck glanced down at his doodles in the sand, and swept them away. "Very well."
He drew a circle with lines radiating out from the center in all directions. "This is the current moment, in cross-section. Those lines represent the possible paths branching out from this moment.
“The Lentrebi can see those paths very clearly from a special plateau of their existence, which they call the Place Between. They see it as an interstitial between physical existence and spiritual existence. Every aspect of either plane of existence has a presence there, but the Lentrebi are the only race with a clear, continuous awareness of it."
Xanatos had not settled back to listen. He was, in fact, so close that Bruck could feel the heat of his body all along his left side. His hand still lay upon Bruck's thigh, like a challenge. When he spoke he made a show of appearing unaffected by their proximity, though Bruck sensed his desire.
"And you see this place like the Lentrebi do."
"Not really." Bruck answered softly, trying to soften the sound of the tremor in his voice. "My awareness is not continuous, though it is sometimes clear."
"So you can't see whether I will stay in the Light." His tone was glib, but Bruck saw the Darkness ebb closer as he spoke.
"I will do anything in my power, anything at all, to ensure that you do." Bruck brushed a strand of silken hair from Xanatos' forehead and let his fingers trail down that perfect cheek. "And if you fall, I will stay by your side, even in Darkness."
Xanatos kissed him passionately then, pressing him back against the sand. The pressure on his body hurt only a little, a faint counterpoint to the simple joy of this one perfect moment. If all the universes winked out of existence between this breath and the next, it would be enough.
Bail Organa had spent a good deal of his time preparing his next move, and he still had a lot to do. He had made certain that his arrangements would be interpreted as business as usual by anyone in Palpatine’s employ.
Bail had been a fool — that was something he could not alter in the slightest. He could, however, do his damnedest to play out the hand he'd been dealt. Bail had always been a fierce sabacc player. Now was the time to see what he could do when the stakes were really high.
Somewhere in his plotting and planning, he'd found time to comm Obi-Wan at least three times. None of those comms had been answered or returned, a situation that did not worry Bail at first.
Now nearly two days had passed without a word, and Bail was ready to take control of his personal and political life. He wanted to see Obi-Wan, to at least convey to him ahead of time that he did not bear him any ill will.
It had been Bail's decision to take the courtesan as a lover, just as it had been Bail's decision to hide from his true nature. He had chosen it all-- leaving Jase, living a lie. He had hidden from his desires until they overwhelmed him, leaving him poised on the edge of spectacular public ruin, Palpatine ready to expose him at the first hint of disobedience.
He needed to tell Kenobi that he was grateful for everything, no matter what the future held. If the courtesan didn't answer his comm, then Bail would simply have to go to him in person.
With all the preparations made for tomorrow, Bail would drop by Kenobi’s rooms and clear the air. He wouldn't reveal his plans of course, but he could say goodbye and let their parting be a pleasant one.
When he arrived at the private speeder bay attached to Kenobi’s rooms, Bail found two speeders taking up most of the space. Luckily, Bail's sporty model still fit well enough.
When he rang at the private entrance, a long time passed before anyone came. Had it not been for the play of shadows glimpsed along the heavily curtained windows as he flew by, he might have thought the place deserted.
Perhaps when tomorrow's business was concluded, he could task an investigator with contacting Kenobi. Just to show he harbored no ill feelings, Bail would see to it that he was properly compensated for any damage their association might cause to Kenobi’s livelihood. Perhaps Kenobi would even consider continuing their relationship, when the dust settled.
Just as he gave up on anyone answering the door, it opened. Inside stood a very tall, muscular man dressed in the crimson robes of the Chancellor’s personal guard. His helmet was off, exposing a plain, roundish face and a stern expression.
Bail kept his face impassive, though the guard’s presence implied that his master might be occupied inside.
"Is Kenobi available?"
The guard shook his head.
“Tell him Bail Organa would like to speak with him. I’ll wait.”
“He is not available, and will not be available for some time.” The guard gave him a look from head to toe that managed to be simultaneously appraising and dismissive. “You’ll have to contact him for an appointment.”
“I’ll be back,” Bail said to the already closing door.
Palpatine watched as the guard made his way back to Kenobi’s bedroom, carefully setting aside his clothing as he went. His cameras couldn't show who had come to the door, but he could guess. Bail Organa, still wriggling on his hook. How many times had he commed in the last two days? Palpatine would put him in his place soon enough. That one had no spine at all.
Kenobi, on the other hand, had proven remarkably resilient. Last night Palpatine had thought him close to breaking -- definitely exhausted and sore -- but the young whore had rallied somewhat today.
He still occasionally asked, quite politely, for a bit of rest, and the guards, tiring themselves, had been amenable to give it. But Palpatine had seen to it, through careful scheduling of his personal guards' shift schedule, that there was little time for him to rest before more men came, fresh from duty and anxious for some fun.
They were a rough lot, but clean and not so mercenary as Palpatine might have liked for this task. Of course, it wouldn't do for the Supreme Chancellor to hire coarse ruffians to serve as his personal guard. They knew the rules and kept to them, always using barriers. Palpatine had to ensure that Kenobi didn’t catch anything that would make him unsuitable for use on Malum IV.
Still, he made certain they knew they had an expense account with vendors who would deliver food, spirits or incidentals to Kenobi's rooms. They had no particular inducement to leave, he made certain of that. He'd even arranged for their last victuals to be spiked with certain contraband substances, just to keep things interesting.
Palpatine had seen to it himself that the exits would no longer open to Kenobi's command, though Kenobi himself had not tried to bolt. Yet. Any comms sent to his unit were forwarded to Palpatine. Not that there had been any, besides the ones from that twit Organa. He seemed quite smitten with the boy, even after everything. The fool.
He leaned closer to the screen and changed the feed to a different angle to get a better view of the festivities. It seemed the recreational substances were beginning to take effect.
These men were not charm school graduates, certainly, but now they began to act a bit more wild, perhaps a bit drunk. Kenobi certainly had his hands full with the four of them currently making use of his hospitality. Not just his hands, of course.
After a moment he turned off the feed and went on about his other duties. At this rate it could take a week or more to break him. He would be broken, eventually, that much was certain. Palpatine made a mental note to search the feeds when it was over, so he could have the exact time, down to the second.
It would be interesting to know whether he would outlast his teacher, but there were matters of more immediate interest at hand.
Though Vasi Lientorv had assured him that Qui-Gon Jinn had been removed from play, Xanatos T’Crion remained in the Light. His presence had been palpable in the Dark side for several periods in the past ten-day, but he had yet to truly fall. Even the slightly altered flowers had not been enough to trigger more than a spasm of anger. As delectable as that had been, even through the distance that separated them, it was not enough.
The truly disturbing aspect of this was that he could not identify the presence of anyone exerting Force influence over Xanatos. Something had gone wrong. That idiot Durante had given him an improper dosage, or perhaps the complex molecules formed in their experiments had degraded before T’Crion had been injected.
Yet another debt of vengeance he owed to that meddling Master Jinn. They had nearly exhausted the first batch on testing and refinements, and Force sensitives outside the Republic were sometimes difficult to locate. Jinn had killed the only cultivated Kleranom they had that had reached reproductive maturity.
Jinn had set the whole plan back six weeks, and alerted the Senate to the threat of Kleranom smuggling. They would never connect a few people going missing on the Rim with Durante’s operation, and the incident had brought the impressive Knight T’Crion to his attention. He would make such a wonderful apprentice.
Still, the Knight hadn’t taken the Dark Path. Not yet. Had the Jedi discovered a way to treat the serum? No, he would have seen it if they had.
The idea that there might be something or someone the Darkness could not show him tickled at the back of his mind, unacknowledged.
Larkin made his way back to where the others were enjoying their host's hospitality. The air outside their eyrie had been brisk for this time of day, and he was anxious to get in amongst the warmth again.
Their employer was a nice enough guy, for all that he was a politician. Sure, they only had the one whore to share amongst them, but he kept the rooms stocked with food and drink. What sort of boss did that, when you weren't on the clock?
Resh was just finishing up with the boy, giving it to him hard and a little theatrically. Larkin wondered if Resh could even get it up if he didn't have an audience. He liked to keep track of how often the others had a go, and he’d once made a snide comment about how long Larkin took when it was his turn.
Larkin didn’t like an audience, was all it was.
Still, there was food laid out in here, too, and Larkin was hungry. Some of it he didn't quite recognize, but the roasted fowl stuffed with grains looked tasty. He got his plate and sat down to watch Resh work.
It didn’t take long, at that pace. He finished with a howl and collapsed on the whore. Qeron's prick popped out of the whore's mouth as he fell, a circumstance Qeron didn't take kindly to at all. He slapped Resh hard on the ass.
"Get off. It's my turn!" Qeron shoved Resh over and got into position.
"Wait." The whore pushed up off the bed, turning to face Qeron with one hand up. "I need to use the 'fresher."
Qeron hesitated, but stepped back.
"I'll only be a moment," he said. Oh, there it was -- that smile that made Larkin want a dozen wanton things all at once. This whore was a good one, even if there was only one of him. Maybe Palpatine wasn't such a cheap bastard after all. He met Larkin's gaze and glanced down coquettishly. "A fellow needs to freshen up every once in a while, you understand."
Larkin took a big bite of roast fowl and smiled, pointing at the ‘fresher door with his chin.
"C'mon, Qeron, you can wait. You've already had him three times since I've been here, and gods only know how many before that. A little 'fresher break won't kill you."
Qeron nodded, and the whore walked past Larkin on his way to the 'fresher, buttocks clenched tight. Larkin was looking forward to his return already.
Resh, having rolled off to the side, was now snoring loudly, and Frindle had been passed out on the floor for at least an hour. With any luck, Qeron would wear out before Jul and Brex arrived, and Larkin could get a bit of quality time with the whore on his own. He doubted their boss's peculiar generosity would last much longer, and there were some things he'd always wanted to try, but hadn’t found his usual class of whore to be willing, or else the cost had been outside his means.
Qeron moved over to the liquor cabinet and opened a new bottle of Rygellian ale. Larkin thought about warning him against the stuff on account of what it did to Frindle, but decided against it. If Qeron passed out early, that would be just as well, wouldn't it? Hells, that stuff worked quick, too. Larkin watched as Qeron drank, eyelids getting lower with each gulp until he finally lay slumped in the chair, bottle drooping in his hand.
Larkin caught it before it fell and set it on the table beside the remnants of his dinner. Their little friend was taking a bit too long in the fresher, and Larkin found himself in the grip of a different hunger. He didn't bother knocking. He could hear the sound of water running on the other side of the door. What, was he having a soak on their time? Larkin would just have to see about that.
The ‘fresher door opened at his touch. The whore was kneeling by the bath, splashing his face with water from one of the fancy fixtures there. Everything about this place was more lush than Larkin’s usual digs, and the view gave him ideas.
"Having a bit of trouble there, sweetness?" he said.
"No, I'm fine." The whore dried his face on a small towel and stood as if to go back to the others.
Larkin moved closer. "Looks to me like you were wanting a bath, maybe?"
A smile flickered across the whore's bruised lips. "Just a quick wash-up," he said. "I'm finished."
Larkin stepped in his path, blocking the door. "Well, you can't have done a very good job of it, and I don't want any of Qeron left on you when it's my turn."
"I'm sure he's getting impatient." That smile again, maybe a little nervous this time, a little forced, as he tried to sidle past.
"No, he's passed out cold. Probably won't be up in time for his shift, even." Larkin put his hands on the whore's white shoulders and ran them down his arms, squeezing the firm flesh. "It's just you and me for a bit, eh? Why don't you let me help you get really clean."
Larkin reached for the tube and the nozzle he spied hanging on the wall. "You seem to have everything we need to clean you real good, inside and out."
The whore lowered his eyes. "But your friend in there was next."
Larkin didn't like that the whore seemed reluctant all of a sudden. Why were they all like that with him? Bitches, all of them, whatever they had between their legs. “He's passed out, I said. Just bend over now and I'll clean you out good. Then you and I can have some fun of our own. Private like."
The whore nodded, pale lashes lowered to his cheeks. He turned on the tap and began to test the water temperature, but Larkin shoved him away.
“I'll take care of that part. You just get down there and spread 'em.”
The whore did as he was told, and Larkin went about his business with the tubing. The boy seemed clean enough on the outside, though perhaps a bit raw in the operative area. He held still for the washing out at first, but Larkin let the pressure increase until he tried to wriggle away. It wasn't difficult to settle him down, but what Larkin really wanted was to hear him ask -- no, beg -- for relief.
Eventually he got what he wanted and let the whore up to void. He looked rather paler than normal, a bit wobbly.
"With the others out for the count, perhaps there is time for a bath, if you like." Larkin went to the tub and began filling it, making sure the water was quite warm, just this side of painful, before he closed the valve. "There, that'll be nice."
The whore followed him with those large, pale eyes of his as Larkin pulled some bacta salve out of the drawer, but didn’t say anything.
"You've had a time of it with us here for the last few days," Larkin said. "Haven't you? This might help some. Come here and I'll put it on for you. Don't be shy."
"I'm capable of taking care of such things myself," the whore replied in that carefully cultured accent of his. "You needn't bother."
"I'd like to do this for you first, is all," Larkin admitted. He had begun to feel an uncommon stirring inside, an urgency he didn't usually feel with boys, at least without recreational chemicals. "I don't normally get to ask for everything I want, but since our boss's paying..."
"Oh.” The whore’s charming smile was back. "It's not an unusual request, I assure you." He blushed faintly as he moved in front of Larkin and bent over, resting his arms on the side of the slowly filling bath.
The sight of him like that made Larkin hard almost at once, but he took a little time to spread the salve, making sure to use plenty, since it doubled as lubricant.
When he put the tube aside the boy made a move to stand, but Larkin stopped him with a hand on his back. "I'll have my go before the bath, I think," he said as he slipped the barrier on. The whore said nothing, but braced himself to take it.
Not a small fellow by any measure of a man, Larkin tried to take his time at first. The whore's body was clean and hot inside, and if years of use had loosened him a bit, all the recent drubbing had made the hole itself somewhat swollen and tender-looking, a fact that Larkin enjoyed. The Chancellor's pampered little pet courtesan was earning his keep this week, and that much was certain. He even let out a little gasp as Larkin's cockhead breached the opening.
"Oh, you like that, do you?"
He didn't take it slow after that. Couldn't. He'd been wanting to ram that hole like this since the first time, but it hadn't seemed right, with the others watching. A whore's a whore, but for what Larkin had in mind he wanted a little privacy.
He pulled out and pushed in harder, until the whore lost his grip on the side of the bath and his body slammed against the unyielding porcelain with every thrust. Larkin pushed hard enough to hear the boy grunt as he forced the wind out of him. His hands scrabbled for purchase on the edge of the bath as he tried to push back.
"Let me help you, there." Larkin grabbed both his wrists and held them across each other on his back, never missing a stroke. The bath was almost filled to the rim, and by some mechanism of high-class living, it stopped filling before it overflowed.
Larkin leaned down over his sweet whore. "What a fancy bath you have. Shouldn't wait. Might get cold."
With that, he pushed the boy's head down under the water and held it there. The whore pulled his arms free and tried to fight, but Larkin had him good by the back of the neck. He pulled the whore's head out of the water by the hair just long enough for him to get a good gasp, and plunged it in again.
Larkin enjoyed every second of the struggle, the fear, the whore's bare toes sliding on the tile, striving for some means to get away from him, further into the water if he couldn't get out of it. It was the most thrilling ride he'd ever had, though he was grateful for the barrier -- without that bit of covering, all the thrashing might have been too much to bear.
When he felt his climax nearing, Larkin pulled the whore up close to him, one arm holding his back against his chest. Larkin bit the supple place where neck meets shoulder, muffling his shout against the whore's flesh, as he came.
When he fell back against the cupboards, Larkin saw Resh and Frindle chuckling from the doorway. The whore crawled toward the toilet, coughing violently.
"What the seven hells were you doing, Lark?" Resh said with a chuckle. "Dead whores aren't nearly as much fun as the other kind."
"I didn't hurt him." Larkin tried to stand, but slipped in the displaced water now covering the tiles. "But I got more wiggle out of his ass than the two of you put together."
Frindle said nothing as he watched the whore cough up mouthfuls of water as he struggled to get onto his knees.
"Bet it'd shoot you half across the room when you're in there and he coughs like that, if you're not hanging on," Resh said, chuckling. At a look from Frindle, Resh shrugged. "The boss said he's ours for the week, however we want."
"You and I have to be back at old hawk-face's side in just over an hour," Frindle said, looking at Resh.
Larkin shook his head. "Then I guess you'd best get to it."
Xanatos sat on the sand by the pool of reflection, watching his beloved doze. He seemed more vibrant here, more alive surrounded by the growing things. Synthetic or not, the sunlight had done him good.
But could he trust it? He knew Bruck was hiding something from him, perhaps his physical pain, or something more. Did Bruck know that Xanatos would fall? He knew Bruck loved him, because he had felt it through their bond. As he stroked the coarse white hair splayed around Bruck’s head, he contemplated whether the Force could be so cruel to someone like Bruck – to let him love the broken, darkening thing Xanatos had become.
Bruck certainly didn’t have a very active sense of self-preservation, the way he had hurled himself after Xanatos.
“You’re a fool, Knight Chun-al-Leem,” he whispered. He kissed Bruck’s bronze forehead, gently so as not wake him.
Xanatos could feel the Darkness, closer now that Bruck’s presence was muted in sleep. If Bruck kept his word, he might never be able to leave Xanatos’ side, even for a mission. Perhaps in time, for all his words, he would tire of the burden of binding himself to a Force-crippled Jedi.
He flopped onto his back beside Bruck, and stared up at the light in the trees. So beautiful.
“I’m not Dark,” he said, chuckling. “I’m Light-impaired.”
Suddenly, Bruck lurched up from the sand, coughing. Xanatos caught him by his flailing arms and pulled him close. “Bruck, are you okay? What’s the matter?”
Bruck’s eyes cleared of their panic, but it took him a moment to catch his breath. “I couldn’t... breathe.”
“It’s all right now.” Xanatos soothed him, stroking his hair and back, holding him close. “It was a dream. You were dreaming.”
“No.” Bruck pushed away, weakly. “I was....”
“You’re safe now.” Xanatos pulled him close again. He was still coughing, and his heart was beating very fast. He put one arm under Bruck’s knees and lifted.
If Xanatos needed any further confirmation that he had fully recovered from his injuries, this was it. He might not be as strong as he had been, but he could carry Bruck as far as the entrance where the hover chair waited.
“I’m taking you back to the Dome.” He could feel Bruck trembling with the effort to catch his breath.
“I’ll be... fine.” Bruck had stopped coughing, but he was still shaking.
“I know you’ll be fine, because I’m taking you back to the Dome.” Xanatos could feel Bruck’s disappointment wash across their bond, but for once he didn’t argue.
He’d get Bruck back under Phol’s watchful eye, and he’d see to it that he stayed there, even if meant begging Qui-Gon to sit with him while Xanatos went before the Senate Committee.
He could testify on his own. Bruck had already taken too many risks on Xanatos’ account.
Part 25
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