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Qui-Gon's Gin

by The Rose (rosarocaminis@yahoo.com )

Bant's eyes grew even rounder and wider than usual when Obi-Wan reached deep into the cabinet and pulled out his prize.

"We can't drink that!" she gasped, looking around guiltily even though she and Obi-Wan were alone in the apartment. "It's your Master's, and it's ---" She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hiss. "--- alcoholic!"

"Of course, it is!" Obi-Wan answered brightly. "Don't tell me you've never had alcohol before."

She made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. "What? And I suppose you have?"

The teenage boy shifted restlessly. "Well, actually . . . " He shrugged. "No. But, now would be a good time to start, wouldn't it? I mean, this is a special occasion! You just became a Padawan! How many times will that happen, do you think?"

She buried her face in her flippered hands. "Only once, I hope." She peeked out to look at the bottle of Anderian Gin that her best friend so proudly held. "Okay. One drink. But that's all, okay?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "Sure. Just one."

"If you're sure your Master won't mind," she hastened to add as he opened the bottle.

Obi-Wan waved the idea off. "He won't even know." He poured them each a tall glass full of the dark, smoky colored liquor, handed one to Bant, then lifted his high. "A toast," he said, beaming. "To my best friend in the universe!"

He swallowed as large a mouthful as he could. It felt wonderful going down - cool and refreshing and sharply acrid. Then, it hit his stomach, and bloomed into a ball of white-hot incandescence.

He gasped, doubling over as he choked. Through watering eyes, he saw Bant coughing and feared for a moment that her large eyes were going to pop right out of her head. Her skin lit up from salmon to flaming orange. From the sudden heat of his own face, he knew he looked much the same.

"Wheeeeeew!" he wheezed when his lungs started working again, amazed that no flames shot out of his mouth. "That's ---"

"--- strong!" Bant finished when he didn't. She slumped bonelessly into a kitchen chair, her gaze locked on his. "I don't think I want anymore."

Obi-Wan had come to pretty much the same conclusion himself, but the fact that she had suggested it first made him feel like he had to be the strong one of the pair. "Nonsense," he said, gulping in a mouthful of cooling air. "We just need to get used to it, right? I mean, someday, we'll be expected to give toasts and stuff at diplomatic functions. I've seen my Master do it lots of times. So, we need to develop a taste for this stuff."

"I suppose," Bant said, thought she looked doubtful. "Maybe if we take smaller sips . . ."

"Exactly," he agreed. The fire in his stomach was finally going out, and he brought the glass to his mouth, inhaling the strong scent. "Come on. We've at least got to finish our glasses. It wouldn't be right to throw good liquor away." He cleared his throat. "To the Temple's newest Padawan!" he said.

Together they took another drink. Bant shuddered as it went down. "Well," she said a moment later, her voice coming out as barely a squeak, "that wasn't as bad."

"No," Obi-Wan said, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. "Not bad at all." He slipped into the chair opposite his friend and eyed his three-quarters full glass. "Maybe I shouldn't have poured us so much," he said, wondering if his stomach could handle that much gin.

"Probably not," Bant said. "But, you're right, we shouldn't throw it away. And, we can't put it back in the bottle. That wouldn't be right." She eyed him. "Would it?"

Obi-Wan considered the matter before he replied. "No," he said finally, sounding disappointed. "No, we can't put it back." He drew a deep breath and held his glass aloft. "So, here's to our Masters!"

She clicked her glass against his, as she had seen them do on holovids. "To our Masters!" she repeated, and took another swallow.

Several toasts and several swallows later, the two Padawans were definitely loosening up. "So," Obi-Wan said in a harsh stage whisper. He leaned toward his friend and giggled as his elbow slipped off the edge of the table, sloshing some of his gin onto the floor. "There was my Master, kneeling before Yoda and getting whacked repeatedly with that stick he carries, and Yoda was saying 'Sass your Master you will not! Unbecoming a Jedi sarcasm is!'"

Bant choked and laughed, spraying Obi-Wan with salt-scented spit and warm gin. "I wish I could have seen that!" she said, her words slurring a bit. "Did he have bruises afterwards?"

Obi-Wan nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "Yep. But, he wouldn't show them to me. I only saw them when I peeked in his bedroom door as he was getting undressed."

Bant's eyes grew wide. "You watched him undress?" she gasped.

"Sure," Obi-Wan shrugged. "I mean, it's not like either of us haven't seen the other one naked."

"Wow." Bant took a stout drink, then leaned forwards. "What does - you know -- it look like?"

Obi-Wan's eyes glazed over with lust. He had, after all, been madly in love with his tall, unattainable Master since he was fourteen. "It's big," he whispered hoarsely. "Really big!"

Bant took another swig. "Have you ever seen it, um, you know, full?" she asked in the same tone.

Obi-Wan shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no. But, once, we were on a mission, I don't remember where, exactly, but -" He glanced around, as if to be certain no one else in the otherwise empty kitchen was listening, then lowered his voice even more. "-there was this woman flirting with him, and - well, he tried to use his robe sleeves to hide it, but I got the feeling that he - I mean, it - I mean, well, you know!"

Bant giggled.

"But, I'm going to see it someday," Obi-Wan announced. "I'm just waiting until I turn eighteen, then I'm going to tell him how much I love him, and everything is going to be wonderful."

"Why eighteen?" his friend asked.

"Because, I'll be officially an adult then."

"Do you think that will matter to him?" Bant asked, pitching her voice low. "I mean, isn't it against the rules or something for Masters and Padawans to -"

Obi-Wan shook his head emphatically. "No," he told her, drawing his shoulders back. "That's just a myth. Lots of Masters and Padawans are doing it."

Her gaze drilled into his. "Like who?" she hissed. "Come on, Kenobi. Give!"

He shrugged. "I don't know specifically. But there are lots of them." He lifted his glass. "Here's to Qui-Gon Jinn!" he said.

Matching his movement, Bant said, "To Qui-Gon's gin!"

Obi-Wan exploded into laughter. "No, no," he said when he finally regained control. "Not Qui-Gon's gin! Qui-Gon Jinn!" And he downed the last of his drink in one big swallow.

Bant finished hers as well, then held up her empty glass. "I'm glad Qui-Gon's gone," she said.

"Yeah," Obi-Wan said, giggling as he gazed at his friend through the transparent glass. "And Qui's gin's gone, too."

Bant laughed hysterically, nearly falling sideways out of her chair. "Qui-Gin Gone!" she said, immensely pleased with her ingenuity. She got to her feet, swaying dangerously, and pulled herself up to her full height, forcing a serious expression to her face as if she were addressing the Senate. "May I introduce," she said, spreading her arms wide, "Jedi Master Qui-Gin Gone and his Padawan and soon-to-be lover, Obi-Wan Ginobi!"

Obi-Wan pushed his chair back and stood, cringing as it toppled over with a crash. He bowed deeply from the waist. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you." So engrossed were the pair in their little charade, that neither heard the front door open nor the soft sound of approaching footsteps, until an ominous sounding voice reached them from the doorway.

"Padawan?" the Jedi Master in question said. "What are you doing?"

Both Obi-Wan and Bant were weaving unsteadily as they turned to meet the intimidating blue eyes.

"Um," Obi-Wan managed to get out. "Hi, Master," he said, his face spreading into a wide smile.

Eyebrows lowered, Qui-Gon stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping across the table at the empty glasses and the open bottle of liquor. "What are you doing with that?" he demanded.

"Uh, celebrating?" Obi-Wan offered hopefully. His grin faded somewhat in the face of his Master's obvious disapproval. "Bant's a Padawan now."

"Good. Then I'll have someone to report her behavior to."

"I, uh, better go," Bant said, edging toward the door.

Qui-Gon's eyes never left his swaying apprentice. "Yes. You should. And, have no doubt that I will be discussing this matter with your new Master."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes flickered anxiously to Obi-Wan. "Good luck," she breathed.

A sharp glare from Qui-Gon sent her scurrying out of the room.

"Actually, Maahhhhster," Obi-Wan drawled, sidling forward and swaying his hips in what he hoped was a provocative way. "I'm glad you're home." He pressed his body against Qui-Gon's, his arms sliding around the Jedi's neck. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you."

Qui-Gon peeled him off, holding him at arm's length. "Oh? I hope it's an apology."

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion, then shook his head. "No, Maahhhhster. I wanted to tell you how much I love you."

"I love you, too, Padawan," Qui-Gon said distractedly, looking at the bottle and trying to gauge how much the youngsters had drunk. "But, don't think that will stop me from punishing you."

"You don't understand," Obi-Wan said, pushing forward and pressing his crotch seductively against his Master's thighs. "I mean, I love you."

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "Oh," he said, taking a step back. "Well, it's not unusual for a Padawan to develop a crush on his Master . . ."

"No!" the boy interrupted, not noticing the glare his raised voice caused. "It isn't a crush! I'm in love with you! I have been since - well, since forever!"

Qui-Gon freed one hand and batted at the air between them, trying to whisk away the alcohol scent. "Yes, well, I'm very flattered, Padawan. However . . . "

"Don't you dare tell me that you don't love me back!" Obi-Wan shouted, stomping one foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "I know you do! You have to!" Then, he swayed, going suddenly pale. "Um, Master? I'm not feeling so ---" Without further warning, he threw up all over the front of his Master's robes.

"Oh, Obi-Wan . . ." Qui-Gon stepped back, shaking himself as the noxious stuff rolled down his robe and tunics and dripped onto his boots. "Shower, now," he ordered tightly. "Then, bed."

"But, Master ---"

"Now!"

Grumbling, Obi-Wan obeyed.

"Why me?" Qui-Gon said with a sigh, stripping out of his filthy clothes and trying not to make more of a mess. He turned his attention to his link with Obi-Wan, making certain the boy didn't pass out in the shower and drown, then listened as his dripping, still mumbling Padawan headed for bed. Only then did he clean up the kitchen and begin to formulate a suitable punishment.

Assuming, of course, that his young charge survived the hangover he was going to wake up with. Qui-Gon allowed himself a secret smile. Oh, yeah. This was going to be good.

"Wake up, Padawan!" Qui-Gon said very early the next morning, purposely raising his voice louder than was strictly necessary. "It's a beautiful day!"

"Oooooohhh," Obi-Wan moaned, his voice muffled by the pillow in which he had all but buried his face. "Go away, Master. I don't feel well."

"Nonsense," his Master said, grinning merrily. He began to whistle as he pulled open the blinds, letting a shaft of bright sunlight blaze its way across his Padawan's face.

"Don't . . . " the boy groaned, pulling up the covers. Qui-Gon just as quickly stripped them away.

"Up, Obi-Wan!" he urged. "I thought I'd prepare some qualin eggs this morning. Nice and green and runny, just the way you like them."

Another groan was his only answer, though Obi-Wan's face took on the same hue as the aforementioned eggs.

"No?" he said. "Hmmm. Well, how about some nice hot cereal? I'll add some juke nuts and chopped ralla fruit to make it extra crunchy."

"Master, please!" Obi-Wan begged, pulling the pillow over his head. "I'm nauseous and my skull is about to explode!"

"Ah. A bit hung over, are you? I'm not surprised." He yanked the pillow away, dropping it to the floor. "Well, you should have thought about that before you decided to get drunk."

"We didn't plan on getting drunk!" Obi-Wan protested, hiding his eyes behind an upraised forearm. "I didn't even think that Jedi's *could* get drunk!"

"Well, of course we can. That's why we always purge the alcohol as we consume it, the same way we do with toxins we ingest."

Obi-Wan looked at him uncertainly. "Purge it?"

"Yes. You know, metabolize it?" Obi-Wan merely blinked in confusion, so Qui-Gon tried again. "Neutralize it?" he said.

Two bloodshot gray-green eyes glared at him. "And why did you never teach me this skill?"

Qui-Gon folded his arms across his chest. "Because, I didn't think you needed to know that, yet. You're not even sixteen, after all."

"And how old were you when you first got drunk?"

Qui-Gon blinked at the question. "Me? Oh, well ---" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I was actually about your age, I believe. But, that's beside the point."

Obi-Wan only moaned.

"And now, I suppose you'd like to know what punishment I've decided on."

"Do me a favor, Master. Just kill me."

"Oh, no, no, no. That's much too easy. Tempting, but much too easy." He stared down at his Padawan, who was still pretty much lying down. "I thought I told you to get up."

"I can't," Obi-Wan wailed. "I'm sick!"

Qui-Gon reached down and caught the boy's braid. "Up," he said, tugging on it.

A slender hand shot out to grasp the hair near the roots. "Ow, Master! Don't!"

Qui-Gon ignored him, continuing to pull until he had drawn Obi-Wan to his feet. "Better," he said. "Now, I suggest you shower and then get dressed. Some old clothes will be fine."

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes closed. "I probably shouldn't ask, but what exactly are you going to make me do, oh wise and wonderful Master?"

"Well," Qui-Gon told him, "first, you're going to do a laundry, since you threw up all over me last night. By hand, by the way. Wouldn't want you to clog up the machine. Then, the kitchen floor and table need a good scrubbing. After that, I volunteered you to help with the five and six year olds today. I believe they're going to be working on gymnastics."

Obi-Wan paled. "You didn't."

Qui-Gon smiled and nodded. "Yes. I did. You're expected there by 0800, so I suggest you get a move on." He turned away, humming happily to himself. "Oh, and after that, the librarian said you could come down and help with the annual inventory. That should keep you busy until late meal." He headed toward the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast, grinning at the moaning from behind him. "Then, if you're not dead yet, the windows in the upper towers need cleaning, and the floor in the dining hall, and . . . well, I'm sure I'll think of something after that."

"I'm sure you will," Obi-Wan muttered half under his breath.

"Beg your pardon?" he asked, turning. "Did you say something?"

Obi-Wan shook his head miserably and headed for the 'fresher. "No, Master."

Qui-Gon nodded. "No. I thought not." He stepped into the kitchen and turned the heat up under the skillet. "Oh!" he called, pitching his voice to carry through the closed door. "Do you want mustard sauce on your eggs?" he asked.

Only an agonized groan answered him, and Qui-Gon smiled broadly. Sometimes, revenge could be so sweet!

The End