Master Apprentice
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XX
Obi-Wan was bored to tears. He sat on the sofa, staring out the tall window into the twilit traffic, slowly swinging one high sandal from his big toe. It was a sure sign he was daydreaming.
Behind his back, the low table buzzed with gossip, whispered secrets, dirty little desires. Lunch had expanded to tea and now the Coruscant sun was setting and the group of padawans still chattered and giggled.
Bruck Chun raised himself up on one arm from the low cushions. "And what have you been up to!!? Hey, Oafy-Wan!!! What've you been doing? Eight months you've been gone. Not a vid-note, not a holo-call. Just----poof----disappears into thin air, he does!!"
The rest of the table indulged in a soft titter. Obi-Wan turned slowly, yanking surreptitiously at the folds of silk bunched beneath him. The robes were not meant to be worn sitting on furniture. Their exquisite embroidery and delicate draperies were more suited to a padawan's customary kneeling position. He dragged the layers of material out from under his thighs with a groan.
"What the hell do you lot care!" His eyes were very green.
Garen smirked and tossed a gold-wrapped choco at him. "Your Master bought you a whole new wardrobe!! And you're still pouting! He must be horrible."
"No kidding!!! And he doesn't even slow down for you!! How do you keep up with him!?" Till chimed in, raising his golden head from the spray of flowers he kept twirling.
"Do you run?" Bruck purred. "Or just slide home?"
Obi-Wan threw the choco at him. "Bugger off!!" He remembered with distaste the obscene amount of money it had cost to replace his now-woefully inadequate wardrobe and the equally obscene amusement on his Master's face during the fittings. The sandal swung a little harder.
He was so stiff. He had wakened the past few mornings aching and wanting nothing more than an hour's run around the lake, a two-mile swim, and three hours of sabre-training. Garen was burbling on about his new domicile.
"It's got five separate bedrooms, plus a roof-top garden with a six-person hot tub!!" he gushed. "I just know I'll get the wet bar installed out there by Year-tide!"
Obi-Wan grinned at him. "Lovely. Does it take all that liquor?" his voice was silky.
Garen glared at him. His new Master being Quermian, the comment provoked a rush of giggles, half-hidden behind perfectly manicured fingers.
"And your Master's 'castle', Obi? What's that like?" Bruck was smiling but his eyes were cold.
Obi-Wan stifled an irritated sigh. He peeled a Keewa fruit and lapped at it. "Just dreamy. Cold grey stone, furs and fleas. Any other bloody questions?" He popped the globular fruit into his mouth.
Zanna slid close to him. "Oh, c'mon Obi-Wan!!! It must be awful!! Here you are, the perfect Padawan!! I mean, Forcesakes, your price!! It's a Temple record, you know! Look at how he made you travel!! You looked like a--a-- filthy peasant when you disembarked!!"
"He didn't make me do anything!!!" Obi-Wan protested. "I just---" his voice died away. There was absolutely no sense trying to get this group to even begin to understand. Besides, Qui-Gon had asked him to be discreet.
"He what, Oafy? I bet he's hit you!! You're scared of him." Bruck crowed. "I would be. By the Force, he's huge. I don't imagine he's got much use for all those oils and toys!!"
The table erupted into another round of giggling as Obi-Wan blushed scarlet.
Bruck leaned closer, his pale hair swinging close to Obi-Wan's hot cheek. "C'mon. Spill it. He's an animal. I bet he tore you to pieces the first time."
"Much you know about it!" Obi-Wan retorted. "And my Master is not an animal!"
"So, has he hit you?"
"Once." The words were dragged out reluctantly. "It was my own fault anyway." Obi-Wan had slammed up his shields hard, feeling the press of all-too-curious minds at him. Nothing would be worse than any of this pampered lot seizing on memories of that raid. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror that would produce.
Fortunately, his increased shielding was misinterpreted. Zanna leaned back into the cushions with a satisfied smirk. "Oh, I'm sure you deserved it. You always had a mouth on you, Obi."
"Yes, you did. I guess you watch your tongue around him, don't you?" Bruck sneered.
A year ago, this kind of cruel teasing would have been unthinkable. Now it just seemed trivial. Obi-Wan gave Bruck a half-hearted little grin and resumed staring out of the window, shifting his feet restlessly. If he didn't get some exercise soon, he felt as though he would jump out of his skin.
At precisely that moment, his Master was equally bored and restless and longing for a good long workout. He listened to the group at the tea house with half an ear. The conversation revolved around some damned piece of porcelain they were admiring and whose Padawan was prettier. He leaned over to one of his two aides.
"Jax, get me the hell out o'here. I need a run or a proper drink." His voice was low.
Jax suppressed a grin and rose to escort his cousin out the door. Qui-Gon towered over nearly everyone there and had to duck exiting the flimsy little house. The canned, artificial air made his sinuses itch. As he left, one of the richly robed dignitaries turned to another.
"What is this place coming to!! Riffraff like that with a padawan. It's disgraceful!"
His companion stretched her legs out. "Well, what do you expect? There should be laws about it. I feel badly for that poor boy. And he was the most lovely little thing. Have you seen him yet?"
The tea house hostess put down her new bowl to join the complaint. "I saw them at the landing pad. Poor child!! Dressed like a peasant. Boots!!! Can you believe it?!"
Another guest leaned into the conversation. "That was Kenobi, wasn't it? Didn't you sponsor him?"
Senator Palpatine smiled a trifle sadly. "Yes. I had hoped to purchase him myself. He is priceless. A masterpiece!! All gone to waste on that barbarian. At least while he's here I can make his visit a pleasant one. I have a dinner planned for next week and hope you all will join us."
"Oh, wonderful!!" The leg-stretcher clapped her hands. "It's always a delight to be your guest."
The conversation drifted back to art.
Qui-Gon paused at the door to the padawans' informal lounge. They were a pretty picture, all wound in layers of exquisite materials, laughing over cups so delicate the tea's colour shone through them. Obi-Wan's eyes lit up and he disengaged himself from the sofa, bowing low in the traditional manner before his Master.
"Have I kept you waiting, Master?"
"No, of course not." Qui-Gon was aware of a dozen pairs of eyes glued to him.
// Stow the bobbin' and scrapin'! //
Obi-Wan swallowed a giggle and gravely introduced his Master to the bright group of padawans. They exchanged a few pleasantries and beat a hasty retreat, at least as hasty as Obi-Wan could manage in his formal attire.
Out in the corridor, he struggled with the urge to yank up the trailing robes, kick off the sandals and run. He could sense that his Master was equally restless.
"Is there anyplace we can work up a sweat i' this damned morgue?" Qui-Gon grumbled, pausing a third time for Obi-Wan to catch up to his long strides.
"Not really. Well, there are the ancient training salles. No one ever uses them. I'll bet they're covered in dust, though."
"Come on. Let's get changed and try one f'size." Qui-Gon grinned down at him, then suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Master!!!" Obi-Wan tried to exclaim, but his lips were otherwise occupied. He started to laugh into the kiss. "Master! Please!! Not here!" He was rewarded with a swat to the backside.
"In wi' ya, brat!"
Neither of them was aware of Bruck's very pale, very cold eyes watching from the other end of the corridor.
"I saw them. In the old training room. Both of them. Yes, lightsabres." Bruck's voice was a hurried whisper into the comlink.
Across the plaza, in the suite of rooms set aside for Qui-Gon and his entourage, Zath also poked at his comlink. He heard Jax's low voice outside the door and stashed it in his pocket.
Darial Brilk threw his across the room with a curse. Whatever that overgrown pirate was planning, he wasn't sharing his thoughts with a lowly house servant. Perhaps it was time to use his position as Senatorial Temple Guardian to pry more information out of those two lackeys.
Senator Palpatine stared out of his office window with a grimace. Lightsabres in a padawan's hands? What in all hells was that privateer doing, messing about with antique weapons? Whatever Jinn was up to, he was dangerous and tricky. The dinner party would be a good place to start delving for information. He pursed his lips, a memory nagging at him. He was sure he had sensed the big man's presence here on Coruscant a year past. It was patently impossible but the senator knew better than to distrust his very acute instincts. Jinn would certainly bear watching.
Obi-Wan touched the whisper-thin silk reverently. It was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The entire set of robes was antique, literally priceless. He could not help feeling a little overwhelmed by the gift. It gave him a pleasant little thrill to know that his former sponsor still held him in such regard, but a gift of this magnitude was daunting and not, strictly speaking, appropriate. Senator Palpatine's aide had personally delivered the beautifully wrapped box to Obi-Wan that morning. The handwritten note, on the thinnest, most expensive hand-made paper welcomed him home with warm affection. With it, the aide delivered the formal invitation to a dinner party. Qui-Gon simply raised an eyebrow and nodded his assent. He eyed the gold and silver brocade robes lined in brilliant green and blue, with ill-disguised irritation.
The whole morning had been awkward and Obi-Wan retreated to the bedroom, suddenly uncomfortable with Jax and Tryyl and Zath and his Master all watching him.
He let his fingers trail over the silk embroidery with a sigh. He knew that Qui-Gon had been up very late with his cousins and Mace and had come to bed exhausted. He had been fine earlier, before the box arrived. Obi-Wan also knew that Coruscant manners were not a complete mystery to Qui-Gon. He had expected some little gift from his former sponsor, certainly nothing so magnificent. He giggled softly. It appeared that his Master was having quite a fit of jealousy. The thought tickled him so much that he could have kissed Palpatine. Obi-Wan was still young and vain enough to enjoy a little thrill of power that came with making his Master seethe a bit.
He luxuriated in the tub that afternoon, relaxed and let himself be completely pampered by the dresser sent from the Temple to care for his toilette. Over the past weeks, he had been uncomfortable with everything that once had been so familiar. Only now did he let himself enjoy the luxuries he used to take so for granted. He still got cramps if he knelt for too long, but he was a guest this evening and would not be expected to serve the meal. It took two droids, the dresser and most of the afternoon to turn him out to his own satisfaction.
Qui-Gon seemed to have gotten over his morning's pique and was undeniably impressed. The robes enveloped Obi-Wan's slim body in a dazzle of bimetallic brilliance. When he walked, the linings flashed their jewel-tones, whispering against one another. He was pleased that the boy had foregone some ghastly upswept hair arrangement and left it in a simple knot at the back of his neck. The padawan braid hung over his shoulder, a heavy ribbon of gilded russet silk, threaded with tiny white flowers and blue cords. Qui-Gon hid a proprietary smile. From the way Obi-Wan's eyes kept drifting towards the mirror, he didn't need to be told he looked magnificent.
"C'mon you!! Ya look fine, stop starin' at yourself. "
Obi-Wan laughed. "They really are gorgeous. They should be in a museum, you know."
"Should they now?"
"Mmmmhmmm." He brushed away an imaginary speck of dust with one beautifully manicured hand. "They're at least three hundred years old. Perfect." He turned so he could watch the liquid spill of rustling silk pooling around his feet.
"Listen, ya bloody peacock. If you can tear y'self away from the mirror, we won't miss the hovercar."
Obi-Wan smiled up at his Master, lifted the big hand and kissed it gently. "I wouldn't dream of making you late, Master." he teased.
Zath made very sure that they were gone and the two aides had left for their own dinners before he punched Darial's code into his comlink.
"There something up wi' that Mace person. Yew won't get shite from th' other two, they're family. If they suspect aught, they'll carve you up. Blasted savages. Naow, I want my reward."
Dariel sighed. The cringing servant was becoming a liability. It would be better to pay him off now. "All right, the amount agreed upon. I'll have it transferred immediately."
"And one favour."
"What?" Dariel snapped.
"The big bastard's got this bedslave. He annoys th' living tits off me. Can yew arrange for him to disappear."
"A bedslave? Mmmmm...why not? They always need more stock for the Guards. I'll call you later about it."
"Naow. T'night."
"All right. I'll send someone round about two. Make sure no one sees."
"Oh, yew can bet I'll make damn sure o'that."
Zath stashed the comlink and set out a bottle for Tryyl and Jax, making sure he added just enough Sopfor powder to send them to sleep quickly. Qui-Gon, he knew, had yet another one of his late night meetings with Mace. Obi-Wan would be alone.
XXI
Qui-Gon guided him gently, one hand on his arm as they descended from the slow hovercar. A long, leisurely tool through the most expensive part of Upper Coruscant and Obi-Wan was sure that anyone who counted had seen them. The soft sunlight glinted off the gilded embroidery of his robes as his Master handed him down. Instinctively, he flipped open the carved fan,half-hiding his face. Qui-Gon's glare was lost in his wonderment.
The Senator's home was familiar to Obi-Wan. He had visited here often during his years of sponsorship and he had never grown tired of its beauty. The entire tower housed the Senator, his aides and servants, slaves and staff. The lower levels were devoted to kitchens, laundry, hydroponic gardens. The mid-section consisted of the staff quarters and offices. Floating high above in the uppermost reaches of the silvery tower was the Senator's home with its terraced garden balconies and cloud-view vistas.
Senator Palpatine himself greeted Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan as the servo-droid led them through the winding hall to the tower suite.
"Ah, my dearest Obi-Wan!! Lord Jinn, you are my most welcome guest."
Obi-Wan bowed low and was quick to notice that his Master was on his best behavior, handling himself with grace and dignity. He hid a smirk behind his fan. / Just a little too much dignity! / Qui-Gon managed to appear formidable and remote and just a trifle dangerous.
// Dangerous how? //
Obi-Wan stifled another grin. // Might have something to do with the blaster you never use. It does look -- ahem--- large. Master. //
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and swept ahead of him, his velvet cloak billowing around him like a midnight sea.
// Behave y'self or I'll take ya over my knee! //
For a moment, Obi-Wan was intent on freeing the hem of his glittering outer robe from a nonexistent snag. His lips twitched and he accepted Palpatine's arm gratefully, his eyes carefully lowered.
"Senator, I am honoured by your regard f' myself and my Padawan." Qui-Gon was struggling with the formal words. Obi-Wan slid a white hand onto his sleeve.
"My Master and I are so happy to be your guests, my Lord." he murmured dutifully.
Palpatine raised the boy's face with one chilly finger. "As lovely as ever. Lord Jinn, you are a very lucky man."
Qui-Gon heard and logged the distinctly green tone of the Senator's voice. He allowed himself to be guided to the rooftop gardens and accepted a glass of bubbling wine. // Wha' th' hell is this shite? Tastes like carbonated piss. //
Obi-Wan sank gracefully to a cushion provided for him at his host's feet. // Cut it out!! I refuse to snort for you or anyone! They'll say it's a miracle and whisk me away to the Temple if I pass wine through my nose!! //
He took the bottle from its silver server and filled a crystal glass for the Senator who took it with a warm smile.
"I'd be honoured if you would perform the cleansing ceremony this evening, Obi-Wan. And pour the tea for us."
The Padawan nodded with a bright smile. It meant his Master was the guest of honour and he was to share in hosting what promised to be an elaborate banquet.
After four more glasses of the pale golden wine, Obi-Wan had relaxed. There were four other guests with their Padawans, the Senator's Senior Aide and a friend of Palpatine's named Tarek who was the most celebrated Living Treasure of the Coruscant theatre. The low banquet table was a shimmering expanse of satinwood.
A human servant brought in a tray with several sprays of flowers and a single vase.
Palpatine smiled down at Obi-Wan indulgently. "I know I should not abuse a guest like this, but I miss your skill with the flowers."
He looked across at Qui-Gon. "Obi-Wan used to arrange the flowers for all my affairs. He has a rare talent for them. Would it be amiss for him to show off his ability with this meagre offering?"
Qui-Gon nodded his assent. "Of course, Senator. I'm sure he'd be pleased t' oblige an old friend." His voice was silky.
Obi-Wan stared down at the tray and tried not to bite his lip. Meagre offering, indeed!! Those three sprays were the rarest of imported blossoms and feather-leaves, worth a new transport. He let himself lift the senifleur branch carefully, twining the wire around it to bend the delicate stalk into a curve. Deftly, he repeated the action with the feather-leaves, leaving the russet-coloured dranapod stalk for last. His touch was sure as he placed one, then another in the pale green vase. At least he hadn't lost that particular skill, even if the other padawans must have noticed how his fingers trembled, making the bell-shaped blossoms quiver on their silver-white stems. It had been a long time since his old skills had been appreciated.
The Senator admired his work, reaching out to run a finger along the coppery braid swinging close to Obi-Wan's cheek.
"Exquisite, as always. I chose the dranapods especially for you. They always remind me of the colour of your hair."
// F'ghods sake could he pour it on any thicker? // Qui-Gon sounded disgusted.
Obi-Wan shot him a hurt look and refused to answer.
The meal being a full formal affair, Obi-Wan was seated beside his host, while Qui-Gon was at the head of the table as befitted an honoured guest. The rest of the party was balanced around the beautiful table in strict order of precedence. As the meal chime rang, the servants brought in the fragile cleansing bowls. Obi-Wan filled each from the silver ewer to be brought to each of the padawans and the Senator's aide. He took his host's hand and dipped the fingers into the scented water, his own gentle and warm. Palpatine gave his hand a soft pat under cover of the linen towel, his eyes sympathetic.
The rest of the meal was something of a nightmare. Obi-Wan had kept up his light conversation for as long as he could, but he was all too aware of the other padawans' condescending stares and whispers, of his Master's sardonic looks, and his own increasing unhappiness. Was it such a terrible thing for him to enjoy being appreciated as he had been trained and taught? He didn't mind Qui-Gon's flashes of jealousy, even relished them a little. There was no need for his big Master to be jealous: Obi-Wan knew where his heart belonged. He simply wished that Qui-Gon understood his world a little better.
By the end of the meal, Obi-Wan knew he had had too many glasses of wine and had lapsed into silence. The other padawans exchanged knowing looks and joined their respective Masters in the gardens for after-dinner drinks. Obi-Wan watched the sunset through the long windows with sad eyes. Qui-Gon and Tarek had struck up a lively conversation. Evidently, the actor knew more than a little about Remwara and while they were talking nineteen to the dozen, Obi-Wan sat alone at the table, feeling forgotten and very melancholy.
Senator Palpatine stood in the doorway, watching the forlorn padawan for a moment. The sunset turned his ruddy hair to flame.
"Poor Obi-Wan. It must be hard for you to come back here now." the politician sat down and poured the boy another glass before he could refuse.
Obi-Wan sighed. "It seems -- I don't know. Different." He tried to smile and thought of at least a dozen lively little speeches to amuse his host. They all died on his lips and he dropped his gaze to the floor to hide a sudden rush of tears.
Thankfully, Palpatine didn't answer, but simply patted his shoulder sympathetically. They sat together in the deepening orange light for a long time. When Obi-Wan raised his head, his eyes were too bright.
"Thank you for such a lovely welcome home." he whispered, fingers plucking at the golden sash of his new robes. "You've always been so good to me."
The Senator touched his cheek gently. "You will always be dear to me, child. I've never wanted anything but your happiness. Tell me, Obi-Wan. Are you happy?"
Such a simple question deserved a simple answer. There were no simple answers for it in Obi-Wan's vocabulary just now. He could hear the low murmur of talk out on the terrace, compared it in his mind to the loud laughter around the giant fireplace in his Master's Great Hall. He loved Qui-Gon and felt a rush of shame at his own disloyalty. Would he always feel so divided against himself? Unbidden, he found himself wondering what his life would have been, had his sponsor purchased him all those months past. There would have been no sabres, no katas, no ancient warriors. Would there have been love? He wasn't sure.
Palpatine took his hand and held it gently. "Obi-Wan, no matter what happens you will always have a place in my heart. Don't ever doubt that. If I can ever be a source of joy in your life, I would welcome it."
Obi-Wan smiled gratefully and pressed a small kiss on the Senator's knuckle.
Unfortunately, Qui-Gon caught sight of that action in the growing twilight. It did little to lighten his mood.
It was well-past midhour when the hovercar finally collected them at the glow-lit docking pad. Qui-Gon had been increasingly frosty all evening and pulled Obi-Wan into the car with a less than gentle touch.
There was a long silence and the padawan watched the softly lit tower fade into the traffic pattern below them. He spun a branch of flowering rosalis between his fingers. He was a bit giddy and glad he was seated. Thankfully, no one had noticed his little stumble over the steps to the car except his Master, who was studiously ignoring him.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon spoke in the humming darkness.
"Ya made a damned fool o' yourself t'night."
Stung, Obi-Wan felt a flash of anger. "I believe my behavior was perfectly acceptable." he said softly.
"Acceptable t' who? That pack of leerin' vulpines? Ya might as well have kissed his bloody feet!" Qui-Gon stretched out his legs. "I should've known ya'd revert t'type here."
Obi-Wan's eyes were silver-still in the moving light. "And what type would that be? Master?" he asked icily.
His Master moved with lightening speed and he found himself face-forward in a corner of the car, one hand pressed to his cheek. The tears that had threatened all evening began to spill.
"Don't take that tone wi' me. I've had quite enough o' you playin' the tart for one night."
Through his tears, Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He'd done nothing wrong, had behaved perfectly. Well, perhaps he'd been a bit blue and perhaps he'd drunk just a little too much. The unfairness of the accusation hurt more than he could bear and he huddled into the padded wall of the car, his tears hot and angry against his burning cheek. There would be another bruise in the morning.
The rest of the trip passed in silence, Qui-Gon brooding and glaring out the window, Obi-Wan struggling to keep from sobbing aloud. When they arrived at their quarters, his Master kicked the door open.
"Get inside. I'll be back later."
He yanked Obi-Wan by one arm and almost threw him headlong from the car. The doorman caught him with a surprised grunt and set him on his feet.
The car disappeared into the Coruscant night.
Obi-Wan squared his shoulders and allowed the doorman to escort him into the lobby and set the lift. The lift operator helped him into the car and stole appreciative glances at him all through the agonising minutes to the 185th floor. Gathering what shreds remained of his dignity, Obi-Wan hid his face behind his fan and allowed himself to be escorted down the hall to his quarters.
He palmed open the door, kicking off his sandals and threw his fan onto the hallstand. Even in the low light, he could see the bluish mark on his right cheek in the mirror. He swiped at his tearwet face angrily and started towards the bedroom when the lights blazed, blinding him. He stumbled a little over the folds of his robes and leaned against the door, his lips quivering.
Quietly, he opened the door and disappeared inside, unaware of Zath's eyes boring into the doorway from the shadows.
He undressed hurriedly and threw on his nightrobe, stalking out into the main room only to grab a bottle of the fizzing wine from the bar. Then he drew a bath and sank into the hot water with the bottle, not bothering with a glass. He couldn't remember when fine champagne had tasted so bitter and salty.
Jax and Tyrrl flanked Qui-Gon at the tavern table. Mace's eyes were concerned.
"I'm tired and I've na patience for anymore o' this. Any more questions?"
Mace tried to keep his voice gentle. It was clear that Qui-Gon was in a truly foul mood. It was equally impossible to keep him from filling that damned tumbler with brandy.
"Qui-Gon we need a date. Now. When should we have the fleet land? You're in charge here and you are no good to anyone if you drink yourself to the sublevels and back."
The big man glared at him through bloodshot eyes. "Don't start tha' wi' me. I want 'em here in three days' time. No changes. We hit hard and wi' everythin' we've got five days from now on my command. Get the reserves lined up. I want backup available if the Guards become a bloody problem." His eyes closed. "Now I've got t'get back before I'm missed. Keep comlinks open on our channel only. We'll get one shot at this. If we fail..."
His eyes were distant. "We canna fail." His lips tightened. "We simply canna fail now."
XXII
Obi-Wan relaxed back into the suds, tipping the bottle and spilling the cold wine over his face. He was still angry and hurt and the icy chill burned down his neck. He knew he was now more than a little drunk and he finished the champagne, tossing the bottle across the tiled floor in a fit of petulance.
The clink-clank sound of it rolling away did nothing to make him feel any better. He knew he was being silly and childish, and that made him even madder. He yanked on the bellrope hard.
Zath glared into the bathroom.
"Wot?"
"More of that." Obi-Wan pointed one soapy finger at the still-rolling bottle.
Zath smiled. The boy was drunk, almost slurring. It would make things very simple. He retrieved another bottle from the bar and waited.
Qui-Gon glared over the table at Mace and Jax. Tryyl managed to ignore his irate chief, involved in his calculations and his datapad.
"So. What in hell did ya do that for, Mace!!? Under no circumstances. I willna have it!!" His voice was getting lower and rougher, a very bad sign.
Mace sighed and tried to reach into the Force for patience. The ghods only knew how difficult Qui-Gon could be if crossed.
"I did what I thought best. She's the best healer we have."
"Maera Dubh's a devil-cat from hell!"
"Qui-Gon, please, you--" Mace's voice was soft and soothing.
The big man's chair plunged backwards. "Who th' hell is in charge o' this?!! How dare you!!?" he was bellowing now. Mace smiled. At least his voice hadn't dropped to a whisper. Qui-Gon's infrequent murmurs were more dangerous than any amount of shouting.
"Oh, quit arguing, both o' you!!" Jax faced his cousin with even grey eyes. "You can stop that shite right now!! Go back and get some sleep. And stop worryin'!! Ya bloody think we're all children!?"
Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow, then his lips twisted into a grin. He gulped down the rest of his brandy.
"Damn prissy banquet!!! Ghods, I'm starvin'. C'mon. Let's find some real food first. I never can sleep on an empty belly."
Obi-Wan struggled out of the tub and stumbled into the bedroom, his nightrobe sliding down one shoulder. He swayed a moment in the dim glow-light. The second bottle was nearly empty and he was already getting a headache. He threw himself down across the bed, staring dully at the traffic patterns outside, then let himself drift away on the soft, ceaseless hum of Coruscant's night.
Zath padded to the door and opened it silently. The man who pushed him to one side was a giant, nearly as big as his Master, with a harsh, handsome face.
"So. Where's the brat?"
Zath pointed to the bedroom. He plucked at the braided sleeve. "He's a Force-user."
The Republican Guard sneered. "I don't think that'll be a problem."
Zath checked the bedroom and motioned the Guard inside.
Obi-Wan had fallen asleep clutching a pillow, his hair drifting across the pale gold silken coverlet, his lips parted. The russet lashes dusted his cheeks, quivering with dreams.
The big Guard hissed, holding up the heavy Padawan plait. "What the hell is this!!? I'll not touch him, you fool!!"
"And let Darial knaow? Doubt tha'!! " Zath blustered under his breath. The boy sighed, and shifted slightly.
"Well, get rid of it!! I'll hold him."
Obi-Wan felt the weight beside him on the bed and roused, smiling a little. His anger was long past and he reached up, eyes closed. The big hands on his shoulders were warm and he leaned back when a warning whisper flooded his consciousness, a sense of danger and an unfamiliar scent. His eyes flew open as the Guard looped a flexible collar around his throat. Immediately, both implants dug deep into his neck, stifling his screams. He twisted violently against powerful arms, as his sense of reality dipped and swayed dangerously. Any attempts to cry for help were distorted to incoherent whimpers as both mechanicals delved into his nervous system, disabling speech and numbing his sense of the Force. Zath swayed into his dizzy vision, clipping a pair of scissors with a grin.
"Naow, this is a real pleasure!!" He hissed, pulling the braid taut and sawing at it raggedly with ill-disguised glee.
Obi-Wan squirmed and struggled, his eyes half-mad with terror. The arms held him securely, his legs twisted in the covers. He sagged against the man holding him, disoriented, and still trying frantically to scream. The only sounds were his gasping moans and the sound of the scissors against his braid; a coarse severence, like nails against slate. His mind was shrieking one word. Master. It echoed inside his head like a lost chord and he knew, despairingly, that he was alone.
Half-fainting, he was yanked around to face his unknown captor. He saw blue eyes, a lantern jaw, very white teeth. Then he was lifted up, his robe torn from his shoulders. Naked and locked inside a mind gone numb with shock, he was pushed down into oblivion as the Guard sealed the anti-grav stasis tube over him.
It was very late when Qui-Gon got back to their quarters. He was bleary with lack of sleep and a heavy meal. He was already well-inside the door when his head snapped up like a wolf in a winter wind. Three strides and he was staring at the wreck of the bed, the coverlet twisted into a knot. He didn't need to be told that Obi-Wan was gone.
"Mace!!" Qui-Gon punched at the comlink with ice-cold fingers. "Mace, dammit!! Answer me!!!"
"Yes. What is it?"
"He's gone. Obi-Wan. He's gone."
Zath had stumbled sleepily to the door, rubbing his eyes.
"Maister?"
The blue eyes narrowed into icy slits. "Get over here and bring the others. Now." He turned to Zath.
"Where's the boy?"
Qui-Gon's voice was so soft Zath had to strain to hear it.
"Boy? Dunno. Ain't he here? He spent hours i' th' tub."
Qui-Gon strode into the bath and let his mind drift. Yes, Obi-Wan had been there, had been angry and a little drunk and feeling rather sorry for himself. Despite the cold pit where his stomach had resided, Qui-Gon smiled. He'd been very hard on the boy. Ah well, time for that kind of regret later.
He moved into the common quarters and glanced at the sideboard. Zath had struggled into his robe and handed him a glass from the waiting bottle. He took a sip, licking his lips and regarding his treacherous servant through hooded eyes. Sopfor powder. Not too much, but enough to put a few men soundly to sleep. He took a long drink with a smirk and sat down, stretching out his legs and indicated for Zath to help get his boots extricated from his shins.
The stasis tube opened and he was in hell. He tried to fight. He used every trick he thought he knew, battled with every bit of his strength. Nothing helped. He lay, helpless and splayed out, listening to the hateful whispers in his ear. He felt every caress, struggling to contain his revolted stomach, seeking anywhere in his mind to escape.
The Guard who had taken him away was named Hyrass. He should have been called Monster. Obi-Wan, who had never once been touched without affection at the very least; whose heart belonged with his body and his soul in Qui-Gon's embrace, found a small corner of his pysche in which to hide himself, but he couldn't hide from the pain. Hyrass had bound him, spread out like a banquet against the icy steel table. The hands along his legs were hard and calloused, the fingers rough against his inner thigh. One of those hateful hands wrapped itself around his testicles, squeezing hard enough to make the shocked and terrified padawan sob. His voice was gone, distorted into soft whimpers that should have been ear-splitting shrieks. The Force-senses that were as much a part of him as his sight or hearing were wavering, elusive shadows he could not grasp. A finger pushed inside him hard and his face twisted in pain.
"You're just lovely. I'll have some fun with you first before I send you down there for prepping. Too bad. You won't look quite so pretty when the droids are done with you."
The finger was withdrawn, only to be replaced by something harder and bigger and icy cold. It moved upwards, tearing into his body and swelling.
"That's a slaver's probe. It'll keep you occupied until I can get back from my shift. Then, little one, we'll get to know each other."
Obi-Wan's enhanced sensitivities were a nightmare. What would have been mildly painful was excruciating. The probe's netting laced around his balls in crushing agony. He could not help his body's betraying response to its movements inside him, forcing an arousal that was promptly looped and sheathed in more tensile metal.
Hyrass leaned down to whisper in his ear. "It will keep you on the edge. Never over and never under. Just right, like the porridge in the story. Think you can wait for me for a few hours? It might hurt a little after, say, three or four. Don't worry. I'll make sure you'll get a full workout later."
Then he was alone with his shame and his terror.