Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 30)
Qui-Gon stared at Obi-Wan, feeling as though he had just been punched in the stomach.
Obi-Wan met his gaze for an instant, his face passive, but his jaw set. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He could feel Obi-Wan’s love across their bond, mingled with regret and hope. Qui-Gon felt numb as he watched Obi-Wan step forward to address the Council. "Palpatine attempted to engage me in an exclusive contract, and orchestrated the blackmail of Senator Organa when I refused. He threatened and coerced me into an arrangement to service his personal guard, and had my rooms under constant surveillance."
Qui-Gon’s paralysis broke with a wave of cold fear and hot anger, swirling in every fiber of his being.
"Then everything that you've been through in the last ten is his doing." Qui-Gon couldn't stop himself from going to Obi-Wan, placing his hands on him, though he managed not to embrace him in front of the Council. "You can't offer to put yourself in his power again."
"I can," Obi-Wan said to him, softly. "It is my choice, not yours."
Qui-Gon released his hold on Obi-Wan's shoulders, half in shock from the coolness of his words. He watched numbly as Obi-Wan continued to speak to the assembled Masters. The maelstrom still raged inside him, reminding him that Coruscant’s suns had just set on the day that had seen him beat a man nearly to death with his bare hands. He grasped his forearms inside his sleeves, gripping to the point of pain, forcing his shields as strong as he could manage.
"He did this to show me I was helpless. But I am not." Obi-Wan seemed the very picture of Jedi calm. How could he remain so detached when Qui-Gon felt half mad with fear for his safety?
"We understand your desire to help us," Adi Gallia said kindly, "but this is not your battle."
"No," Obi-Wan said. "It is my battle, as much as yours. He spoke of my mentor, Lady Aras Essa, many times, and I've come to believe he had a hand in her disappearance. I'm certain he wanted me to think so, in any case. To control me through fear."
"Be that as it may," Master Windu interrupted, "I fail to see how you could be of assistance in this particular situation. While it is true you could get close to him in a professional capacity, it is unlikely that he would allow you access to information useful to us."
"You're wrong," Obi-Wan said simply, and without malice. "He habitually underestimated me, or I would not be here now. Besides, under the current circumstances, I have the power."
Mace took a breath to answer, but Master Yoda silenced him by raising his gimer stick. "Hear him out, we should."
"Palpatine is suffering politically as a result of today's events. The press has made a romantic hero of Senator Organa, and Palpatine has been portrayed unfavorably in the drama. I can offer him a way out of that. If I appear with him publicly, it will cast the media's account of events into question. If I offer, he will not refuse."
"But what good could putting yourself in his employ possibly do?" Qui-Gon heard the emotion in his voice and he knew the Council saw more deeply into him than he wished, but it didn't matter. Obi-Wan was all that mattered, and he must be made to see reason."He's been far too good at concealing his true intentions to let something slip in front of a paid companion. What could you do to help us subdue a Sith Lord, even from inside his own household?"
"That is for the learned Council to determine." Obi-Wan's face remained calm, his voice cool and detached. Qui-Gon wanted to shake him, to make him admit that he was being reckless and foolish. Obi-Wan's lips curled in a sad smile as he met Qui-Gon's panicked gaze. "I offer myself as a tool of the Jedi. Whether they choose to make use of me is their decision."
Qui-Gon rounded on the Council, seeing the future in their considering looks. "You can't ask this of him. He's not a Jedi."
"They are not asking it of me," Obi-Wan said, still so calm that Qui-Gon wanted to scream. "I made the offer."
Qui-Gon stared at him, certain that the desperation showed on his face, but unable to marshal his gifts to mask it.
"Perhaps you should wait outside, Master Jinn." Adi Gallia's compassionate look sent a spike of anger through Qui-Gon's heart. How could they patronize him so, treating his love for Obi-Wan as little more than an impediment to reason, a handicap.
"You can't do this! He has not fully recovered -- Jedi do not endanger civilians." Even as he said it, he knew it was not true. His love for Obi-Wan only made him wish it were so. This time he caught hold of Obi-Wan, pulling him close. There was no use hiding his distress, his attachment from his fellow Masters. Had he not warned them of his weakness? Pressing his brow against Obi-Wan’s, he spoke too softly for the Council to hear, "You can't do this, Obi-Wan. Please. I can't bear it."
"But I can," Obi-Wan whispered, his lips almost brushing Qui-Gon’s. "I can be strong when I need to be. I learned that from you."
Qui-Gon knew the battle had been lost when he saw the determination in those pale eyes. He would put himself in danger to help the Jedi, but all Qui-Gon could feel was fear for his lover’s safety. Jedi be damned. With what remained of his self-control, Qui-Gon released Obi-Wan and faced the Council.
"I will not be a party to this," he muttered as he turned and left the Council chamber.
When Xanatos arrived at the Temple, his first order of business was to get Knight Chun-al-Leem to the Healers' Dome. Bruck was conscious and able to walk beside him, but the sight of his scorched and torn tunics drew the attention of the Healers as soon as they entered. Xanatos had not commed ahead, but he knew it would not be long before security came for him – there was still the business with Tand to answer for.
Bruck glanced back at him as they led him away, meeting his eyes for the first time since his revelation. The fleeting look hit Xanatos like a blow to the face; he felt all the pain Bruck had been hiding – the self-loathing and pain of hopeless love. He couldn’t look in those pale eyes for long. Xanatos turned away, thinking it would have been better for both of them had they never clapped eyes on each other, never known each other’s intimate embraces. Their love had turned to ashes in his mouth.
Scarcely a heartbeat had passed before Healer Phol approached him, with Healer Tand and a security detail on her heels. She rounded the corner with an irritated scowl, managing to seem both annoyed and determined. "I’ve heard from the team we sent to Malum IV. They saw your ships leaving as they arrived. You left quite a mess."
“I surrender,” Xanatos said to the leader of the security detail, holding out his lightsaber on his open palm. The man took it, and the others moved to restrain him.
“I don’t think that is necessary,” Tand said. He exchanged a pointed look with Healer Phol. “I’m sure Knight T’Crion will cooperate.”
Xanatos nodded, somewhat confused. He’d expected to be taken into custody immediately.
“Come with me,” Phol said, looking tired and grim. She turned and led him down a corridor to what he recognized as a Force-shielded room. Tand followed, and the security team waited outside.
As soon as the door closed, Tand said, “You’re not Dark.”
“I would have been.” Xanatos felt like a hollow man, as if he had been cut open and emptied of all feeling. “Bruck . . . saved me. Again.”
“I passed him in the corridor,” Phol said. “His wounds looked like ‘saber burns.”
“They are” Xanatos said flatly. “He fought to stop me from killing Durante.”
Tand exchanged a glance with Phol, then addressed Xanatos. “He failed?”
“He was too weak to best me,” Xanatos said. “He killed Durante. To save me.” Saying it like that made his rejection of Bruck seem all the more cruel, but he knew it was true.
“Oh, Force,” murmured Phol. Tand looked ill, but there was nothing either of them could say that would change anything.
When the shocked silence wore on, Xanatos spoke. “Is there some reason you wished to speak to me?”
Phol nodded. “I’ve been pouring over the data Qui-Gon retrieved from Malum IV, along with other data we are only now receiving from our team at the base there. I may have found a solution to the problem with your midichlorians.”
Xanatos could see that Phol was not pleased. Her slanted eyes were rimmed in blue, but that color seemed to have drained from the rest of her face. She looked as though she had been without sleep for a week or had been crying. He suspected it might be both. “It’s not a cure, though, is it?”
Phol shook her head. “There is no cure. In time, maybe we could produce an antidote that could lessen or even reverse the damage if administered soon after exposure, but even if I had such an antidote in my possession now, it would be too late to reverse what has been done to you.”
Xanatos listened, keeping his face impassive though he could feel all the hope draining out of him. “So what is this ‘solution’ you’ve found?”
Phol glanced at Tand and swallowed hard.“The serum used on you was developed to specifically target the Light functions of midichlorians,” she answered. “From the records on Malum IV, it seems that early attempts at targeting specific functions of midichlorians produced a compound that similarly affects only the Dark Side. I’m currently attempting to synthesize that compound.”
Xanatos reached for a seat and nearly fell into it. His hands shook, and it took him a moment to make his voice work. Both Phol and Tand looked at him with compassion; He found he was most comfortable looking at the floor between his boots.
“You want to make me Force blind, then.” Xanatos couldn’t hide his emotion; it leaked out with those words, choked with agony.
“That is a better fate than going Dark, isn’t it?” Phol’s words, though harsh, were spoken kindly.
“My bond with Bruck, joint meditation… I can still feel the Light,” Xanatos said, desperately. “I can still be a Jedi.”
“That way won’t be easy,” Tand said. “After what happened today, the Council would never agree for you to leave Knight Chun’s side. Every day would be a struggle even if Bruck could handle the strain. He’ll have his own demons to exorcise now. ”
His words struck a chord in Xanatos’ mind, a memory from his other life – a time before Orima Durante, before the Darkness came so close. He had often joked with Qui-Gon, maybe even Bruck, about his covert persona Lairso Meenk being the “best way I know to exercise my demons.” The play on words had been a laugh, but also true. As Lairso Meenk, Xanatos could prowl the seedier side of the Galaxy, satisfying his desire for dominance as well as doing his duty for the Jedi..
He turned to Tand. “May I have a moment to speak with you alone?”
The Mind Healer pressed his lips together, obviously recalling his last ‘private conversation’ with Xanatos.
“The security Force will be right outside,” Xanatos said. “By the way, how’s your head?”
“Harder than you expected, I think,” Tand answered. He nodded at Phol. Her expression was grave and her bluish skin seemed ashy grey. She glanced down at her data pad.
“Need to inform the Council of what I’ve discovered, anyway.” She turned to Xanatos, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I’ll keep looking. Maybe there is something I missed.”
She left without saying more, but Xanatos had read her thoughts, clearly written across her face. She hadn’t missed anything, and something more than his condition was weighing on her mind.
“Phol looks rather rough,” Xanatos commented.
“She’s barely slept in days, obsessed with these compounds derived from Kleranom stings,” Tand said. “She’s been trying to help you—well, all of us. She’s thought of nothing else. Been quite cross about it, in fact.” Tand took a seat across from Xanatos. “What can I do for you, Knight T’Crion.”
Xanatos was thinking hard, putting pieces together in his mind. “Did the team on Malum IV find any samples?”
Tand frowned. “Samples of what?”
“Samples of the compounds they were making there. Like what they gave me?”
“I don’t think so.” Tand caught on to what Xanatos had been pondering, and blanched to the roots of his flame-colored hair. “Force.”
Xanatos nodded. They had shut down the factory, but where had the product gone? Phol had as much as told him that the facility on Malum IV had been home to several rounds of experiments, so where were their stores of Force poison?
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tand muttered. “The entire Order could be in danger.”
Xanatos took a deep breath, and let it out. “I have an idea, but I need your help.”
Qui-Gon didn’t linger outside the Council Chamber; he couldn’t stand about waiting, feeling powerless. Instead he made his way to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, to one of his favorite meditation spots, by the falls. The sound of falling water could not drown out his thoughts, or still the roiling mass of fear and anger inside him. Slowly, through techniques mastered over decades of training and practice, he groped for his center. After a time, he felt less desperate, and managed to release some of his anxiety to the Force.
True peace and stillness eluded him, but such was the price of attachment, he supposed. This must be why poets spoke of the exquisite pain of love – to love is a joy wrapped in agony. Or agony wrapped in joy. How could he let Obi-Wan put himself in danger? The future of the Order might depend upon it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care more for the Order than for Obi-Wan.
But it was not his decision. He knew Obi-Wan was brave, that he would not sit by when action could save lives. Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan would willingly put himself in harm’s way for the sake of others, and he could not prevent it. Yet he wished that this bitter cup would pass him by, that the Force would not require him to drink it.
The thought of those evil, shriveled hands touching his lover… should be put out of mind, for now. He must live in the Moment, in this moment, when his love was safe and near to him.
That was it, then. He would meditate until he felt certain the Council meeting was over, and then he would go in search of Obi-Wan. Together they could drink deep of this precious moment, and maybe the Force would grant him the strength not to beg him to stay.
Bruck let the Healers take him, cut the ragged tunics off his body and begin their treatment of his wound. The pain in his body was a distant thing as he let himself slip deeper and deeper into Lenrebi meditation. In the Place Between, he could find what he sought. So much time he had spent, hiding from the truths he had discovered, telling himself that none of them meant anything, his determined attention placed elsewhere. Yet, his refusal to acknowledge them had only increased their power over him. Now, when it was likely too late, he delved even deeper than he had before, so that no detail of his past, however miniscule, would go unnoticed or unacknowledged.
Perhaps it would help him to be free of it, for he must make peace with the past, both the distant and near. He followed those paths long trodden— the choices made by others that now wove the web of fate around him – until he could feel the whole of it, entire, within and without. When his eyes finally opened, he was alone, lying under lamps meant to mimic the light that fell on Lentrebi Prime.
Healers learn quickly, he thought. His wound had been debrided and bound up with bacta patches. It would heal and leave no scar, a realization that filled him with a strange sense of loss, as if fate would remove every trace of Xanatos from his body as well as his life.
Beside him lay a fresh tunic, which he put on carefully, wary of his injury. Still wearing his soiled leggings and worn boots, he made his way through the door and down the passage. No one stopped him, or spoke to him that he noticed, though his awareness was still concentrated deep inside him, feeling along that web of ancient connections forged in fate.
He could feel Kenobi nearby, somewhere in the Temple if not still in the Healer’s Dome itself. He must find him, and tell the truth, or what he knew of it. Perhaps it would give Kenobi some solace. Perhaps the truth would set him free.
Soon enough, his path had taken him near the Council room. As he approached the corridor, Kenobi emerged from the council chamber, looking wan and solemn. He seemed about to pass by Bruck without even noticing him.
“Kenobi,” he said softly. Obi-Wan jumped at the sound of his name, seeing Bruck for the first time. “I am glad to see you so well.”
“Knight Chun… al Leem,” Kenobi said, his voice quiet. “I was not injured very seriously, as it turns out.”
“Not all wounds heal so easily,” Bruck said. “Injuries to the soul are often slower to mend.”
“Thank you for helping me.” Kenobi’s eyes lowered. “I owe you a great debt.”
“I am the one who owes a debt to you. One I might be a lifetime repaying.”
Kenobi looked at him then, not understanding, but perhaps beginning to sense something unusual between them. Bruck had opened the line of fate connecting them, thicker than rope and nearly as old as Kenobi himself.
“There is something you should know,” Bruck said. “Something I have only just discovered, though it was within my grasp all along, had I but known where to look.”
Kenobi took a half step backward, perhaps sensing Bruck’s sadness, his guilt. “This is all very-”
“You are not Orima Durante’s son,” Bruck said, gently but firmly enough to leave no room for doubt. “I do not know who your father was, only that it was not he.”
The fear fell away from Kenobi’s face as he felt the truth of it. Bruck said nothing for a moment, giving him time.
“How could you know?”
Bruck smiled. Kenobi’s question was not one of doubt, but a plea for reassurance from someone reluctant to believe good news. “I know because I am Durante’s only son. My mother died in the brothel where you were raised. The whoremonger believed you to be her son because he found you with her when she died.”
“There is no way you could know that,” Kenobi said. “Not for certain.”
“Not if I were still fully human,” Bruck answered calmly. “The Lentrebi part of me can step outside of space and time, and follow the lines of fate which have entangled me, and those to whom I am connected.” He looked Kenobi in the eyes, and saw comprehension dawn there.
“You and I are connected,” he said.
“Yes.” Bruck almost smiled, but dread filled his heart at the part of the tale he had not yet told. “The Jedi had come to Iptura to test children for Force sensitivity. You were among the chosen. I was not.”
Kenobi looked at him, confusion warring with understanding. Bruck let his certainty of the truth seep through their connection, trying not to overwhelm him with the revelation. A moment passed before Kenobi found his voice.
“How can that be?” Tears welled in Kenobi’s eyes, trembling on the brink before they spilled down his cheeks.
“Durante switched us.” Bruck bowed his head. “For all his faults, he loved my mother. To fulfill her dying wish, he switched us. He snuck aboard the Jedi ship and put me in your place. The Jedi on the recruitment mission were not human, and by then they had several small children to keep them busy. One squalling infant looks much like another.”
“How can that be?”Kenobi blinked away his tears. “Are you suggesting that I dreamed of this place for all those years because I was supposed to be here?”
Bruck shook his head. “That was my fault, though not by choice, I assure you. My mother’s people are peculiarly gifted, and xenophobic. They have very limited contact with the rest of the Galaxy, in part because of the bonds they form. Once they are connected to another being, they are connected forever. These connections can be caused by any encounter that alters an individual’s path even when the time they spend together is miniscule, especially when they are young. In that way they are similar to the Lentrebi. That is why I was able to bond with Master Leem, and why the Lentrebi were able to blend me with what remained of his graft. I was bound to you by fate, by… my father’s actions.”
Kenobi leaned against the wall, to steady himself. “So I dreamed of this place, of training to be a Jedi, because you were here.”
Bruck nodded. “I dreamed of your life, as well, though I didn’t know it at the time.”
“He did this to me?” Kenobi reached out, taking hold of Bruck’s arms. “He stole my life, and gave it to you?”
“Yes.” Bruck lowered his head. Kenobi’s grasp had tightened, causing him pain in his injured arm, but he did not pull away.
“I could have been here, with Qui-Gon?”
“I owe you a greater debt than you will ever know.” Bruck’s voice came in a whisper. “I would never have survived the life you have lived. You are so much stronger than I have ever been, Obi-Wan.”
Silence reigned for a moment, with Kenobi’s clear eyes meeting Bruck’s. At long last he seemed to acknowledge the truth of Bruck’s words, his desperate look softening.
“My head is full of ghosts,” he said. “Things that might have been and things that were, only not for me.”
Bruck felt him tremble – a great, silent spasm of remorse – and held him, offering what comfort he could until it passed. Bruck wanted to beg his forgiveness, but the plea seemed too presumptuous, and died upon his lips.
“None of this was your doing,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You suffer more in thinking yourself the cause of my circumstances than I did in living them. But…” He pulled away to look in Bruck’s eyes again, as if he could read there an alternate history of his own life. “Had I been here, would I have loved Qui-Gon, or would I have been reared as cold and passionless as the rest?”
Kenobi sought an answer, and Bruck offered the only one he had to give. “The past is over,” Bruck whispered. “There is nothing either of us can do that will alter it one iota. All we have is the Moment, who we are this moment. Everything you have done and experienced has made you who you are, Obi-Wan. Fate has made you a person who loves and is loved. That is a gift not to be squandered.”
Bruck’s words failed him as he realized all he had lost. His eyes itched monstrously. He did not speak it, but the thought was there. If I had lived my life up to now in an Ipturan brothel, would I have known love? Or would I have been spared the pain of loving Xanatos only to have half my soul ripped away?
Kenobi’s hands on his shoulders gentled, and Bruck felt his compassion flow through the bond that connected them.
“I’d give you back the life that was taken from you, if I could.” Bruck struggled to quell the sobs that fought in his throat. “I killed him, you know. I killed my father. Took away all his tomorrows. Doesn’t make it any better, though, does it?”
Bruck felt Obi-Wan’s caring, his kindness through the fate-bond, and allowed himself to accept the comfort of his embrace, freely offered.
“I think I understand,” Kenobi whispered, and Bruck knew that it was true. He did understand – in some ways, he understood better than Bruck did.
Unable to bear the wait passively any longer, Qui-Gon went in search of Obi-Wan. He found him in the corridor outside the Council room. As he approached, he saw that Obi-Wan was speaking with Bruck. The young Knight saw him coming and nodded a greeting before turning to leave.
“Wait!” Qui-Gon rushed up to Bruck, noticing that his eyes seemed unusually red. “Xanatos, is he-”
“I last saw him in the Healers’ Dome,” Bruck said. His tone bore a strange lack of emotion, and his face went suddenly slack as an empty sail. “He did not fall.” He bowed and left without another word.
“He’s hurting, Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan drew close, slipping a hand around Qui-Gon’s arm. “A lot.”
Qui-Gon wasn’t certain why Obi-Wan seemed so at ease with him, when their last words had been so strained, but he decided not to question it. “I get the feeling I interrupted something.”
“Not at all.” Obi-Wan smiled enigmatically. “He gave me a gift.”
Qui-Gon pulled away from Obi-Wan the better to look him in the eye. “Are you going to tell me what is going on?”
“He reminded me that there is only one moment in life, and this is it.” The smile broadened as he looked up at Qui-Gon. “Let’s not waste it.”
“I wasn’t asking about Bruck. Obi-Wan, what have they asked you to do?”
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes. “Nothing, yet. Can’t we just enjoy the time we have together?”
Something inside Qui-Gon gave a painful lurch. “You’re asking me to live in the Moment.”
“Isn’t that all we ever really have?” The broad smile returned, even if there was sadness pinched in the corner of his eyes.
Hardly knowing why, Qui-Gon allowed himself to be guided toward the lifts. The fear of losing Obi-Wan, the rage that rose in him at the thought of what the Chancellor had put him through—it all seemed to be held at bay by the warmth and solidity of the man moving next to him. It felt like walking a dream. By the time they entered one, he realized that they were heading in the direction of his quarters.
“I thought we could order late meal up from the refectory and spend a quiet evening in your rooms.” There was something infectious about Obi-Wan’s broad smile, his willingness to seize the moment. Qui-Gon allowed himself to release his anxiety, at least enough to be swept along in his lover’s wake.
“Sounds just the thing,” he said, feeling his companion’s hand slip gently under his tunics, warm and soft. “Are you sure it’s a quiet evening you’re wanting?”
“What?” Obi-Wan looked at him in mock chagrin. “I can be quiet!”
“Maybe I don’t want to be quiet, myself.” Qui-Gon heard the throaty purr in his voice when he spoke, but there was no need to feel shame in his desire — not now that he had given himself over to it, to Obi-Wan, and to the Moment. Even if the time might come when the love he felt would shatter him utterly, as it almost had scarcely twelve hours earlier. He would still have this moment; he would not let his fears rob him of whatever joy the Force allowed.
“Oh, scandalous,” murmured Obi-Wan as he clutched a fistful of Qui-Gon’s hair, pulling him to meet his eager lips.
They parted at the sound of the lift doors opening, but not quickly enough to keep a group of Padawans who had been waiting in the corridor from seeing them. Their chatter hushed immediately and then resumed with new intensity once Master Jinn and his companion rounded a corner.
“The rumors are about to get juicier.” Kenobi looked up at him and smiled, seeing Qui-Gon’s indifference to the spectacle.
“I expect so.” Qui-Gon stopped suddenly and took Obi-Wan in his arms, pulling him close and kissing him passionately. Whatever the future held for them, this moment was sweet.
He felt Obi-Wan smile before he drew away to see it. “Surprised to find that your Jedi lover has no concerns for his reputation?” His reputation meant nothing to him now – less than nothing. It was all trivial, secondary to the man in his arms.
“Not at all surprised.” Obi-Wan’s whisper was almost breathless. “But very, very pleased.”
Qui-Gon stifled a groan at the look in his lover’s eyes, promising delights to come. His rooms were close, now, but he grasped Obi-Wan’s hand and rushed through the last twenty meters. They arrived at the door, which Qui-Gon palmed open quickly while Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, arching his back with his arms stretched over his head. Qui-Gon paused on the threshold, rendered immobile by his lover’s provocative display.
“What?” Obi-Wan said in mock-innocent tones, grinning broadly. “It’s always best to stretch before a work-out – wasn’t that what you taught me?”
Qui-Gon’s only answer was to pull him inside, where he quickly polarized the glass in the doors to the balcony and disabled the chime on the comm with trembling hands.
Obi-Wan steadied him, an impish grin curling his lips. “That’s right, Jinn,” he said. “You’re mine now. When you’re with me, there is no Council, no Chancellor. Right now, we’re the only two people in the world.”
“There is no moment but this one,” Qui-Gon whispered back, trying hard to make all the world fall away. There was no breath for words and they had found better uses for their lips in any case. Qui-Gon let himself be undressed, but his attempts to return the favor for Obi-Wan earned him an impatient grunt.
“I won’t break,” whispered Obi-Wan as he divested himself of clothing in two savage moves. “I want you.”
“I’m yours.” Qui-Gon smiled as the delicious weight of Obi-Wan bore him down, all fierce kisses and soft moans. The Force flowed between them, each of them open, concealing nothing. He opened himself to Obi-Wan, in a frenzy to receive.
Obi-Wan paused, fumbling for the oil, but Qui-Gon pulled him close. “I want to feel it tomorrow,” he said, knowing the pain and the memory might be all he’d have when the morning came.
Obi-Wan’s smile faltered for a moment, but he indulged Qui-Gon’s desperate pleading. Soon the fear and uncertainty was stripped away, and Qui-Gon relished his lover’s pleasure in taking what he offered.
Like all such moments, it couldn’t last. Qui-Gon had enough of his wits about him to savor the look on Obi-Wan’s face when he tipped over the precipice – mouth open, eyes shining through a veil of lashes. He was a vision of freedom and joy and release that Qui-Gon would cherish in his heart forever. The feel of him through the Force was nearly enough to end it for Qui-Gon. When Obi-Wan collapsed onto him, boneless and spent, he felt strangely content.
“The Council will never agree to this.” Tand shook his head, perhaps imagining the Masters’ reactions. But he was thinking about the proposal with a seriousness that Xanatos found encouraging.
“They would if you presented it to them.” Xanatos suppressed a grin. “In a somewhat abbreviated form, of course.”
Tand’s left eyebrow quirked, then he nodded absently. “It seems you could be useful, if the facts are as you have presented them, but do you think Knight Chun will consent?”
Xanatos didn’t hesitate to answer. “Of course he will.”
Tand ran both his hands through his already tousled mass of red hair. “You seem very certain, Knight T’Crion.”
“I know my lover well. I feel certain he would take any opportunity to protect the Jedi from Durante’s work, especially if there is a chance we can reach a personal accord in the process.” Xanatos slouched against the wall, eyes seeing the future he had proposed. “The only variable I’m uncertain of is inside me, but Bruck will help me. Together we can track down the missing poisons. You understand why I have to try, why I’m the logical choice for such a mission.”
Tand nodded, looking nearly as miserable as Xanatos felt. “I sympathize, truly I do, but I’ve trusted in your good intentions before, and soon regretted it.”
Xanatos straightened to his full height and let the force of his resolve show itself in every word. “It is not a question of what should and will be done, Tand. You have the power to affect the Council’s opinion, but that is all.”
“The Order stands to lose two Knights if what you propose fails.” Tand said this without venom, his eyes slowly closing. “Knight Chun is unique, but there is still a risk that you could take him with you, if you fall. Isolated like that…”
“If I take Healer Phol’s ‘cure’ and leave the Order, how long do you think Bruck will stay?”
Tand sighed heavily, wrinkling his brow as he fixed Xanatos with a penetrating look.
“I’ll speak to Master Yoda privately. No need to concern the whole Council.” Tand adjusted his robes. “I suppose it is useless to ask you to stay here until I return?”
Xanatos grinned. “You could bring back the security force to keep me here.”
Tand laughed. “I imagine that would end well.”
Xanatos shrugged. It didn’t really matter to him. His course was set; he would follow it, Council approval or no. There was a chance he could still be of use to the Order, but the Council would never allow him to go on this mission alone. For good or ill, he’d have to take Bruck along. “I won’t fall to the Dark. I know there are ways you could make certain of that.”
“I’ll do what I can.” He turned to go.
“And I will do what I must.”
Tand paused on the threshold for half a breath, and then he was gone.
The sound of a comm woke Qui-Gon, but it wasn’t his. Obi-Wan looked at him apologetically as he got up and began rifling through his discarded clothing for the source of the sound.
“Kenobi,” he said quietly.
Qui-Gon sat up, the odd feeling in his belly solidifying into dread. He heard the voice on the comm, and vaguely identified it as Master Windu’s, but his heart was racing too hard for him to pay attention to what was said. He didn’t need to hear the words to know that the Council had devised a plan to take advantage of Obi-Wan’s courageous offer. They were calling him to play his part.
Obi-Wan switched off his comm and looked at Qui-Gon, clear-eyed and loving, his lips pressed together in resolve. “You understand why I have to do this?”
Qui-Gon found he couldn’t speak, so he shook his head. The fear and rage did not return, but without them he felt empty of feeling or of will.
Obi-Wan smiled gently, and Qui-Gon caught the glitter of liquid pooling against his lower lids. “Because I’m the only one who can. Because it needs to be done. Everything in my life has prepared me for this. If I had been brought to the Temple as a child, I would never be able to get close to Palpatine now, and the Jedi would be in danger.” The smile broadened, even as a tear dripped onto his cheek. “Everything that’s happened to me has happened for a reason, Qui-Gon. I can save you – all of you – because of what I know and what I do.”
“You won’t be safe with him!” Qui-Gon’s legs trembled when he tried to stand, but he had found his voice. “He’s a Sith, Obi-Wan – a powerful Dark Force user – he’ll be able to read your thoughts, your intentions. How can you possibly expect to keep your plans from him?”
“I can shield my thoughts a little. You taught me how, remember? He will know I have ulterior motives for coming to him, and he’ll know I loathe him intensely. He may even expect me to betray him. But it won’t matter, because he will underestimate me.”
“They don’t mean for you to assassinate him?” Qui-Gon’s stomach rolled. “You’ll be executed if you succeed, and the Order won’t intervene.”
“I don’t know the details yet,” he said. “I’ve got to go now.”
Qui-Gon rushed to Obi-Wan, held him close and kissed him passionately.
“Don’t go,” he said when their lips parted. “We can go away together, let the Jedi and the Sith have this out without our help.”
Obi-Wan smoothed his hands over Qui-Gon’s face, spreading the wetness into his beard. “I wish we had more time. But this is my choice.”
One last, gentle kiss and he was dressing. Qui-Gon fell back and sat numbly on the bed, not wanting to watch him leave, but unable to look away.
“I do love you so, Qui-Gon Jinn.” Obi-Wan gave him a weak smile before he left the room. A moment later Qui-Gon heard even footfalls and the swish of the door, and knew he was alone.
Bruck stepped into his quarters silently, and did not turn up the lights. The door closed behind him. Without hesitation, he began to disrobe. His encounter with Obi-Wan had calmed him, given him hope that there was indeed a path for each of them that was fated to be. So long ago, they had each been snatched from very different paths. He believed that their paths were meant to be as they were now, that the purpose of their lives could not have been served without Durante’s treachery. But it still hurt to know that hardship and suffering had been brought on another being for his sake.
When he had told Kenobi that he could not have survived the life he had been born to, he not only meant it, but knew it to be true. The paths were a twisted thing, possibilities long passed, but still he knew. The same man who had ravaged and maimed Xanatos had unequivocally saved Bruck’s life. Given him life, and then saved it.
The feelings that fact awakened in his breast sickened him. He felt profound gratitude, mixed with horror, loathing and guilt, rolled into a tight knot that burned inside him like searing coal. His father had been a monster by the end, vicious and twisted inside, glorying in the suffering of innocents, but once there had been seeds of higher feeling inside him. He had loved Bruck’s mother, at least, and cared enough for Bruck himself not to leave him to that life, even if he had done it in the hopes of deriving some benefit from the arrangement later.
It was done, though, and the past could not be altered. If his midichlorian count had been slightly below Jedi standards at the time, at least he had proved his value to the Order since then. If the Council was reluctant to release him from his commitment, then perhaps that was for the best as well, since his attachment to Xanatos had brought neither of them joy. He stepped onto the soil in the common room, and stood under the trickle of water, just where Master Leem had so often meditated in his peculiar Lentrebi way.
The water trickled down his body, all the way to the soles of his feet. It mingled with the soil, forming moist clumps between his toes.
Meditation soothed and comforted him, but gave him no lasting peace.
Gradually, he found his way again to the Place Between, and there he sought a path through his anguish, a path that would offer him hope. When the way presented itself, he balked. Moments later, as the possibilities of this future unfolded, he roused himself and dressed, preparing for his journey with shaking hands.
When Master Yoda and Healers Tand and Phol came to him, he was calm and willing, certain it was the best path open to him.
Phol put the golden bracelet around his wrist and it closed, leaving no sign of the mechanism that could remove it. “It will only be activated in the presence of significant Dark energy, but you will still need to enter the precise code to deploy the hypospray. It must be in contact with his skin when you use it – you will not get a second chance.”
Bruck nodded, carefully noting the sequence of turns and taps that had to be applied to the stiff gold ring to transform it into a weapon. “He’ll know what it is.”
“Probably,” said Tand. “But if it ceases to transmit information on your vital signs-”
Master Yoda lifted his gimmer stick. “If disabled it is, know we will.”
Bruck nodded his understanding. They had other measures in place to deal with Xanatos, if Bruck failed. That was just as well, as Bruck had no intention whatsoever of using the bracelet. He would die first. “It’s an ingenious little device. Black market tech, I assume?”
Healer Phol’s cheeks flushed blue. “Yes. Tand spent the last ten helping me modify them to react to the presence of Dark Force energy, just in case. We were desperate, and time is short.”
Bruck smiled, understanding that their desperation and time constraints had nothing to do with Xanatos and himself. Phol had used the plural in reference to the bracelet, and in that moment he could almost feel this one’s mate being closed about another wrist, on another mission, perhaps one not so different from his own.
“Best it is,” began Master Yoda, “for Knight T’Crion if away from Coruscant you both are.”
The Healers and the Jedi Master exchanged glances, but Bruck merely nodded. He had no interest in their intrigues, for his path clearly lay elsewhere.
“Meet Knight T’Crion at the landing bay, you will.” Yoda looked up at him with compassion in his unfathomably old eyes. “More than a mission, this is.”
“I understand, Master.”
Yoda nodded, gave him one last appraising look, harrumphed and left without another word.
Healer Phol took Bruck’s hands in hers. “You’re absolutely certain about this? You’re not entirely healed.”
“Should I wait for my body to heal, and allow my soul to fester and die?”
Phol snorted, clearly unimpressed by what she perceived as Bruck’s knack for melodrama. “Well, good luck.”
“May the Force be with you,” Tand said.
“And also with you.” Bruck bowed to them, and left his quarters, not caring if they followed, or cleared out his belongings. His path lay with Xanatos.
Xanatos waited by the ramp to the small transport signed over to him on Master Yoda’s authority for a period of six months. He saw Bruck, a brighter than average dot in the throng of people entering and leaving the docking bays, and felt… something. Perhaps it was only hope, or anticipation, but at least it was not the bone-deep revulsion he had half expected.
If there was a way to overcome the knotted horrors between them, soon he would have the freedom to find it. Bruck kept a steady pace, and soon enough he stood calmly before Xanatos, if not quite meeting his gaze. He turned and walked up the ramp. Bruck followed him, wordlessly. When they both stood on the deck, Xanatos closed the ramp.
He looked Bruck in the eye, and something twisted inside him. He could not give a name to the feeling the young Knight’s presence aroused in him, but he would not have deemed it pleasant. “Have you been briefed on the mission?”
Bruck’s pale eyes blinked once before he gave an answer. “You are to make use of your alter ego, Lairso Meenk, to trace the whereabouts of a quantity of contraband known to be a threat to the Order. I am to accompany you. My function is to assist you and help you stay grounded in the Light.” He took a deep breath, and grasped his hands inside his sleeves. “But this is about more than the mission, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Xanatos smiled grimly. “I suppose they told you the choice that has been offered to me?”
“I know that you had to choose between me and Force blindness.” Bruck’s gaze focused on the wall over Xanatos’ shoulder. “I would have spared you that dilemma, were I able.”
“And I would have chosen Force blindness did I not believe we have a hope of overcoming the… overcoming what stands between us.” He began to pace across the deck. “To that end, I think it best that we remain in character for the entirety of the mission.”
Bruck nodded. “I know what you have in mind, even if the Healers and the Council do not.” His pale lashes lowered, shading his eyes. “I am willing.”
“Your role will not be a comfortable one.” Xanatos lowered his voice, attempting a casualness that felt unnatural under the circumstances. “Lairso Meenk is well known for his appetites, and his inability to work with others. The most believable role for you would be--”
“-as your catamite,” Bruck said.
“You’re a bit long in the tooth for that, I’m afraid.” Xanatos enjoyed the look of shock that flashed across Bruck’s face before he could hide it.
“You believe this ruse will give you the opportunity to overcome your distaste for me, in the hopes that our continued association will enable you to remain a Jedi.” Bruck wasn’t meeting his eyes, but his words were clearly a challenge.
Xanatos stepped close enough to smell Bruck’s loosely bound hair. He reached up to pull free the tie that that held it, and whispered in his ear. “Lairso Meenk has no distaste for you. You suit his tastes very well, in fact.”
Bruck swallowed hard, clearly affected by Xanato’s’ nearness and apparent interest. “You are Lairso Meenk.”
“Exactly.” Xanatos smiled as he traced a finger along the neck of Bruck’s tunics. “And if Meenk shows up with Durante’s son on a leash, doors will open.”
Xanatos was standing close enough to feel the tremor that passed through Bruck when he referred to him by his parentage. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” Xanatos stroked the wild, white hair, twisting a wisp of it around his finger. “You understand the mission, our objective. You see me well enough—no question. But you don’t see yourself, Bruck. Not at all.”
Whatever Bruck had opened his mouth to say, Xanatos stopped it with a finger laid across his lips. “No, you listen. No matter what your connection to the Force, or Lentrebi meditation techniques – your anguish and self-loathing will be with you, until you accept who you are and stop torturing yourself with things beyond anyone’s control.”
Bruck took a half step away and turned to face the wall. “You think you can help me with that.”
“No.” Xanatos grimaced. “But I think Lairso Meenk can give you what you need.”
Resting his head against the wall, Bruck sighed. “Very well.”
“Hmm.” Xanatos turned away from him, pacing the length of the passage in two long strides. “You agreed too quickly. Either you have no intention of keeping your word, or you’ve seen that this path could bring about the ends you desire. Either way, I suppose we’d best get started.”
With that, he disappeared into the ship. Knight Chun-al-Leem did not follow, but turned his face to the bulkhead. Resting his forehead on the cool steel, he sighed. He didn’t know what was going to happen, only that this path held the tiniest glimmer of hope.
The temperature inside the ship was warm enough – sweat had begun to slick his sides. He felt the ship lurch, knowing that meant the mission had begun. Xanatos had all the power now; though Bruck wore the hateful bracelet, he would die himself before using it on his lover.
Pulling his robes closer around him, Bruck suppressed a shiver.
Qui-Gon ran through the Temple, the shreds of his serenity trailing behind him like smoke. He would not let Obi-Wan leave him again. Not like this, hurling himself into degradation and peril. Not without trying to make him stay, just one more time.
His fellow Jedi bowed their heads or looked away as he passed, shocked and shamed by the turbulent feelings Qui-Gon did not bother to shield. His life of passionless serenity was over, and there was no point in hiding it. Obi-Wan was the only being whose opinion of him mattered in the least – that was the consequence of his condition. He had done the unthinkable – formed an attachment so powerful it controlled him – and he truly didn’t care. All that mattered was Obi-Wan.
He found his love in the west corridor not far from the Council chamber. Healer Phol walked some way behind Obi-Wan. She saw Qui-Gon, and her taut features contracted in a grimace of sadness and guilt before she lowered her head and turned down another passage, toward the Healers’ Dome. Obi-Wan saw him at the same instant, and rushed to meet him.
“I haven’t much time to talk.” He put his arms around Qui-Gon’s shoulders and held him close. “I need to be on the next transport to the Senate District.”
Qui-Gon pulled away from the embrace, just enough to see Obi-Wan’s face, and when he saw those lips tremble, he had to kiss them. Obi-Wan’s hand tightened on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. When it ended they leaned together, foreheads touching.
“What is it? What do they want you to do?” Qui-Gon hated himself for asking, hated the Council for excluding him, for making him wonder.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Obi-Wan grinned crookedly, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes.
He made a move to pull away, but Qui-Gon caught him by the shoulders and held him. He tried to speak, but words failed him. Obi-Wan’s casual mask slipped for an instant, and he looked away.
“You can walk with me.” Obi-Wan spoke softly, his face partly hidden by his hair. “Just don’t try to stop me.”
“I won’t watch you get on another transport.” Qui-Gon released him, turning toward the large window and staring out into the gleaming lights of Coruscant’s evening traffic. “I won’t.”
“I have to do this.” His voice sounded strangely thick, as though a sob had lodged in his throat. “For you and me, the Jedi – all of us. You of all people should understand that.”
“I understand.” He turned to Obi-Wan, feeling the frustration surge inside him, verging on anger. “I understand that you don’t have to do this. We will find another way. You and I could leave here together, and find some little corner of the galaxy to call our own. The Jedi can deal with this threat without us.”
Obi-Wan reached up to touch his face, stroking his beard and his hair. “If you were in my place, you would do no differently.” Obi-Wan wore a sad, brave little smile, and the truth in his words gave Qui-Gon no comfort. “I’ll be back.”
Qui-Gon felt the tears welling in his eyes, but did not blink them away. “Will you?”
“If I can.”
“You’re not even going to lie to comfort me?” Qui-Gon had hoped the words would sound lighter than they did; it was all he could do to hold back his anger at the Council, at Obi-Wan’s sense of duty.
He reached out and took Qui-Gon’s hands in his. “I love you, Qui-Gon Jinn – that’s something to come back for, isn’t it?”
“I’m just supposed to sit on my hands and wait to hear what happened on the news feeds, while Force knows what is happening to you?” He pulled his hands away. “At least tell me their plan for you has an exit strategy – give me that much.”
“There’s always a plan, isn’t there?” He glanced down at his hands, nervously tugging the cuffs of his sleeves. “I have to go, Qui-Gon. They won’t hold the public transport for one has-been courtesan.”
He walked to the lift doors, and Qui-Gon followed. He knew why Obi-Wan felt he had to do this, and the claim that Qui-Gon would do the same in his position was not without merit, but still his anger boiled just beneath the surface. It was both unfocused and all-encompassing, this rage – the Force and fate and the Council all got equal shares, but a fair portion fell on Obi-Wan as well.
Qui-Gon felt himself on the verge of begging, pleading with tears and curses – anything that might save him from the possibility of losing Obi-Wan forever. Through strength of will he hadn’t known he possessed, Qui-Gon merely opened his arms. “Let me hold you,” he said. “Give you one more kiss goodbye.”
Obi-Wan looked up at him, moving his head slowly from side to side; his eyes shone. “If I let you kiss me again, I’ll never be able to leave. And I must go.”
He stepped into the lift and turned to face Qui-Gon, who paused outside the doors. There were so many things Qui-Gon wanted to say that they stumbled over each other in his throat, rendering him mute. He could confess his love again, but instead he opened their bond completely and let a wave of his love wash into Obi-Wan. He held nothing back, so that Obi-Wan would know how precious he was, how desolate Qui-Gon would be, should he not return.
The tears spilled over Obi-Wan’s cheeks, and he sent a wave of love back to him. It held no reassurance, though Qui-Gon sensed from the bond that hope, in all its ripe folly, swelled in his lover’s breast. Obi-Wan raised both his hands in a silent farewell as the doors closed.
Qui-Gon gasped, too stunned by what he’d seen to return the gesture. There had been a bracelet on each of Obi-Wan’s wrists – ones Qui-Gon had never seen before. Though they were made of precious metal and set with valuable stones, he knew at least one of them would be the tool of an assassin. He reached for the doors as they slid shut, but they closed before his numbed fingers could breach them. He turned to find another lift, but Mace Windu strode into his path, his dark features marked with disapproval.
Qui-Gon did not hesitate; he rushed the other Master, knocking him aside with Force-assisted momentum. He rounded the corner only to find two more Jedi, lightsabers ready, blocking his path.
“Let him go, Qui-Gon.” Mace’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“You fools!” Qui-Gon shouted at Mace, his every muscle itching to draw his ‘saber. “If I could tell what those bracelets were, you must know that Palpatine will as well!”
Two more Jedi stepped forward; one took Qui-Gon’s lightsaber off his belt. “And even if he succeeds, the Jedi won’t lift a finger when he goes on trial for murdering the Chancellor. Will they?”
“You shouldn’t draw conclusions when you don’t have all the information, Master Jinn.” Mace’s face looked pinched and sad. “That is the danger of attachment. It makes us volatile and unreasonable.”
More Jedi filled the corridor, looking warily at Qui-Gon.
“Do you intend to fight us, or will you come with me of your own accord?”
Every cell in Qui-Gon’s body seemed to scream for a fight, listening to the anger and the fear raging inside him, but he knew that if he gave in to his darker emotions, he would no longer be worthy to share Obi-Wan’s light.
“I will go with you,” he said. But if you and the Council have sacrificed Obi-Wan to save your own skin, Force help you all.
Part 32
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