Seeds
by Cajolerisms
Title: Seeds
Author: Cajolerisms (cajolerisms@yahoo.com)
Archive: Master_Apprentice, my own site (http://cajolerisms.wordpress.com/)
Category: Alternate-Universe, non Q/O, Action/Adventure, First Time, Series
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: minor character death, touches of child abuse
Spoilers: If you're here and haven't seen Star Wars, then, well, uh...good luck with that.
Summary: The third part in the Beacon series. Qui-Gon recounts some ancient history. Obi-Wan explores new possibilities.
Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby. I love it. I kiss it. I bathe in it.
Disclaimer: You know what, Mistah Lucas? If you let them have some fun every once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. Everyone belongs to you.
Timeline:
Beacon begins two years before TPM.
Obi-Wan is 23 and Qui-Gon is 58.
1. Detour
2. Digging Up Worms
3. Seeds
/Telepathy/
Obi-Wan stared at his ceiling. The Force was quiet in the darkness, seemingly content for once to let him parse everything out on his own.
He shifted again. By now the sheets were a tangled mess at the foot of the bed. It did little to help his lack of concentration. Three days ago, he had been on his way home from a series of long, arduous, but routine missions of listening to dignitaries and running through mud. Then, suddenly, people were coming back from the dead and performing all manner of miracles and sins.
Wherever the wind blows me, he repeated to himself. That expression seemed particularly apt for what his life had become in this short time, for all that the saying itself was part of this new reality that Obi-Wan still struggled to accept.
Obi-Wan wondered briefly if he was dreaming. Only in dreams and bad holos did one's master and assumed-dead former apprentice lead people down secret lifts into ancient libraries filled real paper-filled books of all things. Obi-Wan still expected to turn a corner and see Yoda sitting in a leather chair smoking a pipe.
Down they had gone, though. The space had looked more like a laboratory than the dusty, crumbling ruins that holomakers were convinced held up the entire foundation of the modern Temple. Xanatos paced the perimeter of the room, his free hand outstretched as he felt with the Force.
"Sit down, distrustful lump," Tahl had ordered. "You won't find a safer place on Coruscant for our purposes."
Xanatos sat. "You can't be too careful."
Qui-Gon joined his former padawan at the table. "She's right, you know. We set up the shielding in this room ourselves."
"Who's we?" Obi-Wan had asked.
Tahl's hands settled on his shoulders and led him to an empty chair. "Take pity on the lad, Qui, and fill him in. I think he's had enough theatrics for one day."
His master's steady gaze settled on him. Obi-Wan remembered the unnerving ferocity behind those familiar blue eyes, and tossed again in his bed.
"I won't lecture you on the nature of the Force and the Dark Side, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began. "You have experienced enough in the field to know that evil exists, and that a Jedi's path against it is not easy. But I will ask you this: how do we combat it?"
Obi-Wan frowned. "What?"
"We as Jedi walk in the Light. We conquer the emotions that breed darkness in ourselves. We uphold laws that protect the rights and freedoms of the Republic and cause harm only in defense, but how do we combat evil?"
Before Obi-Wan could think of a response, Xanatos responded. "We don't."
Obi-Wan turned, his eyes wide.
"The Jedi are peacekeepers, which means we maintain the status quo," Xanatos said. "Common wisdoms hold that by living in the Light, by simple existing, we are combating evil. I think you and I can agree that our shining example has done little to influence the corruptible elements in the galaxy."
"Easy, Xan," Tahl murmured. "What Xan is trying to say in his own melodramatic way is that there are alternative approaches to studying and using the Force that are not only in practice now, but that exist within the Order itself."
"There are some Jedi who subscribe to a different practice, present company included," Qui-Gon continued. "Who take a more active role in seeking out the Dark Side and eliminating it."
"So you're Shadows," Obi-Wan said.
Xanatos snorted. "Lapdogs to the Judicial Coverts."
"In a way, we are," Qui-Gon glared at the younger master. "Though officially, we don't exist. Our practice's old name was Da'ji. We don't go by any name now." He peered at Obi-Wan, searching in the Force. At last, he spoke. "I will tell you what I can, should you wish to hear it."
"Why tell me at all?" Obi-Wan asked in bewilderment. "Why keep this information until now?"
Qui-Gon's face remained calm, though Obi-Wan knew his tone as the one he saved for only the most serious matters. "Because, Padawan, there are things you did not need to know, that you will need soon. The Force has made very clear to me that things will happen that will change everything on a monumental scale, and that you will be involved somehow."
"I've been having visions of something Dark. Could that have something to do with it?"
Qui-Gon Jinn was rarely surprised, when he was, the barest widening of his eyes and set of his jaw belied the emotion. "What have these visions been about?"
Obi-Wan explained that he had been seeing flashes of red light in the midst of someplace dark, that there was a presence filled with anger and the lust for revenge. He explained how the vision he had when he was meditating that afternoon had felt so real that it knocked the air out of him. All the while, he saw the weighted glances his master traded with Xanatos and Tahl. Their concern made him nervous. "I want to know, Master. If there is danger coming, I want to be prepared."
Qui-Gon's hand came to rest on his arm. His master's stony expression had softened into something both proud and sad. "Understand that what I have to tell you stands contrary to much of what you have been taught to be."
Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Tell me."
"A difficult path, before you lies."
Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I don't know if I can do it, Master Yoda. He's my master."
The ancient master shook his head. "Your master no longer. My padawan no longer."
Qui-Gon's breath hitched in his chest. "I know," he whispered. "I just need some time."
"Ready, you are," Yoda said sadly.
"Yes, Master" Qui-Gon said. There was hardness in his eyes. The thick fingers toyed with the weapon's grip with newfound grace and deftness. He stood to leave, and paused. "I will miss him, though."
Yoda looked up at the boy, because that's what he was: a boy. For all his strength of body and conviction, he was only fourteen. The old master's ears dipped minutely. "Go."
He stood over the large body, watching the last of his Darkened master ebb into the Force. The wide-eyed shock on Dooku's face slowly settled into one of calm as the deep red stain on the floor spread. The bond that had been shut for months fell open then. /Thank you./
Then no more.
The blade fell from Qui-Gon's numb fingers. He was surprised to feel no anger, no fear, only sadness. His master's body was already returning to the Living Force. In his mind, Qui-Gon could see his cells breaking apart like bits of charred paper in the wind.
He tentatively opened the new training bond for the first time, sighing as the Force washed over him, comforting and soothing. /Master Yoda,/ he sent. /It is done./
Wind whipped his cloak wildly around his body, but he stood unmoving at the cliff's edge. The Force felt different here, somehow. It sang to him in lilting harmonies and pure tones, drifting lazily and buoying him against the wind.
"Knight Jinn, the ship leaves Baltimn at first light," Knight J'wenn said from behind.
"What is the mission?" Qui-Gon asked his new partner.
"They won't say," she replied, nearly shouting over the wind.
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know."
He turned to face her. Her hair whipped angrily in the air like a flame. The entire situation was so preposterous he had to smile. "Wherever the wind blows us, Londra."
Londra appeared in the doorway and engaged the lock. She slinked across the bedroom slowly, the jewels adorning her bare breasts glittered in the firelight. /I'll get you for this, Jinn./
/Whatever. It's your turn this time./ Qui-Gon smirked from his hiding place beneath the great bed. From his position, he saw his partner's bare feet move across the carpet. The target's weight above him shifted in response.
Londra's feet disappeared somewhere above him. The bed shifted again. /Why is it that when you're the decoy, you get to wear pants?/
/Because the gold thong doesn't fit me./ The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh rang out, followed by Londra's predatory giggle. That was Qui-Gon's signal.
He easily pulled himself out and towered over the pair on the bed. Their target was too involved with tugging off Londra's aforementioned thong to notice until Londra froze and let out a scream. The target turned and shouted for his guards, but was cut off by Qui-Gon's massive hand on his throat.
They could hear the guards clamoring on the other side of the door to override the locking mechanism. They would be too late, of course. Londra would release the catch just in time for them see him slip out the window.
Qui-Gon held the tiny capsule against the target's temple. With the Force, he teased apart an opening in the skin. Once he saw that toxin begin to dissolve, he healed the wound until nothing remained but smooth skin over the now-liquefied poison. The target had barely felt it. In five minutes, he'd be comatose. In thirty, he'd be dead.
Londra glared at him through her false lashes. /I'm kicking your ass after this./
He shrugged apologetically. /I deserve it./ A swift blow to her face left her convincingly bruised and teary. /Pick you up in the morning./
He crouched on the window ledge and waited for Londra's screams and the shouts of the guards before escaping into the darkness.
The skinny boy regarded him with large, serious eyes from beneath his dark fringe of hair.
Qui-Gon touched the boy's chin with gentle fingers and tilted his face upwards. There was distrust and fear there. A thought occurred to him. Qui-Gon's free hand came in with lightning speed for a first form attack, which the boy blocked instantly without blinking. On edge, this one.
"Too self-contained," the other potential masters had said. "He's closed off, manipulative."
He was also too powerful and innately talented to let go. The Force was prodding him insistently. He regarded the boy intently, holding his fingers beneath his chin like he was taming a feral animal. "Xanatos Cri'jenchi, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm stepping back, Londra. Not entirely, but--"
His partner took long minutes sipping her drink before she spoke. "I knew you would. This is no life for a twelve year old," she turned to him. Coruscant's streaming nighttime traffic made her wild hair glow. "He has a great deal of promise. You'll do right by his training, won't you?"
The real question remained unspoken. Such things were not mentioned in the open air.
"I will follow the will of the Force," Qui-Gon replied.
"That's all I can ask. It's been a good..." she paused, then whistled. "Nearly ten years."
"Hard to believe, isn't it?"
She clinked their glasses together. "To the good guys."
Xanatos coughed again, and wretched violently. His master was there, pulling back his braid and rubbing slow circles along his back as his body reacted to the last ten hours.
"Breath, Padawan."
"I thought it would be the same--like any other time in battle," Xanatos rasped. Tears streamed down his face and fell into the toilet bowl. The look on that woman's face when the blood began oozing thickly out of the first cut--
"It's not the same." His master's voice was gentle but matter-of-fact.
"No, it's not," he sat up with a gasp and wiped angrily with his sleeve, feeling hollow and bitter. "Does it get any easier?"
Qui-Gon pulled him into a hug. "No, it doesn't, nor should it."
HOLO-NET EMERGENCY BULLETIN
Location: Coruscant, Temple District.
Time: 1100
Jedi initiate Malvorad Farol was abducted from the Temple District open air market this morning at 0900. He is a four year old male Zabrak Iridonian standing at thirty eight inches and weighing fifty five pounds. He was last seen wearing a Jedi initiate uniform consisting of white tunics and leggings. He answers to "Mal."
Individuals with information regarding the location of the child or his abductor(s) are encouraged to contact Judicial Forces and the Jedi Temple.
"Knight J'Wenn! Master Jinn! You need to see this!" The scout's voice cracked in panic.
Londra and Qui-Gon came racing to the entrance of the building. It was abandoned according to their investigation, but the physical evidence and pungently Dark signatures suggested that something terrible had happened not too long ago.
An Iridonian boy, not much taller than Qui-Gon's knee, stood unmoving in the doorway. He was bruised and sickly thin, and his wide stare focused on nothing in particular. When Qui-Gon reached for his mind, he found nothing. No wonder they had missed him.
Londra race forward and took the boy in her arms. He lay limply against her, unresponsive.
"Qui," she whispered. "It's the boy from the Temple."
His ship was ready for his return to Coruscant, but Qui-Gon recognized the look in Londra's eyes. Her mind was set. "I'll take him to Baltimn."
"Are they equipped to take someone so young?" He asked. The boy had not moved since they found him. He lay on Londra's bunk aboard the Republic space station.
Her gaze was unwavering. "They'll have to be now."
"We could take him back to Coruscant."
"You know we can't do that. If he recovers, he'll be little more than a lab animal to them."
Qui-Gon's shouldered slumped. The Force was pushing them in a direction he did not like. "He's been in that place for six months. He may be tainted beyond what we can reach."
Londra placed a gentle hand on Mal's chest. "We don't know that yet."
"That's Master Jinn. You don't want to get picked by him. His last apprentice, Xanatos, fell to the Dark Side."
"Really?"
"Yes. He was going to be knighted when they went to his homeworld and Master Jinn accidentally killed his father."
"No, I heard it was because he was seduced by a wealthy slaver and left to traffic sentients beyond Republic space."
"Don't be stupid. He's the head of a corrupt corporation that employs slaves."
"No no no, that's after he fell. He turned to the Dark Side because he was in love with his master and the lust drove him to madness."
"Last year, Master Jinn hunted him down and Xanatos killed himself to avoid capture."
"He fell into a vat of acid!"
"He jumped!"
"What do you think, Obi?"
"Quiet! Master Jinn is coming!"
"The boy is dangerous," Qui-Gon said.
Xanatos blew a plume of smoke into the air. "We don't know that yet. I'll take him to Baltimn. He will be safe there."
"Baltimn? For a junior padawan?" the master mused, his gaze settling over the Senate complex in the distance. "You think it's that serious?"
"It not the youngest someone has been successfully taken in." Xanatos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Something is coming, Master. We all feel it."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "This boy is not the answer, Xan."
"No?" the knight fixed his eyes on his former master. "He will help us find it, though. What about that Kenobi boy?"
"We'll stay here on Coruscant."
"Isn't that a little... orthodox?" Xanatos couldn't help but tease.
"You turned out decently enough," Qui-Gon replied. He turned back to his view. "I'm not sure about this one yet. You saw him fight. He's good, he's spirited."
"But?" Xanatos prodded.
"His potential is clouded."
"So was mine, if you'll recall," he smirked. "You're getting soft in your old age, Master. His emotions run strong. With the right focus, he could be very powerful. There is the beginning of a great swordsman in that one."
Qui-Gon was quiet for a moment, refusing to be baited. His former apprentice's insight had grown impressively in his years away from Coruscant. Perhaps Baltimn was not a bad idea. "And what of your new padawan?"
"Not every Jedi is meant to be a keeper of the peace, Qui-Gon."
At some point, Obi-Wan had stood abruptly, causing the chair the scrape across the floor. The sound was harsh in the quiet of the room, and grated in his memory even now. At his movement, the others stopped talking and looked at him. "I need some air," he said, and fled.
The pale dawn light was beginning to filter through the windows of the Archives when he stumbled out of the tiny lift. He eventually made his way unthinking into the same meditation room he had shared with Mal the day before. The meditation mats were still where they had left them on the tile floor. He sank to his knees before the quiet pool.
The meditation did not come easily this time, cluttered as his thoughts were with these new snapshots of his Master and the Jedi Order that pressed unrelenting against the back of his eyeballs. The man that had been his mentor, father, and brother-in-arms for nearly half of Obi-Wan's life could kill an unarmed person at the behest of the Order that he had been sure was committed solely to peaceful resolutions unless absolutely necessary.
As he slowly sank into a light trance, a part of Obi-Wan recognized the necessity of such things. He had lost count of the times a violent criminal had escaped punishment through a legal loophole, or an individual responsible for the deaths and suffering of millions ended sitting comfortably in a prison cell for the short remainder of his own life, while millions of acts of hate and suffering rippled outward and forever from each ruined life.
Throughout his apprenticeship, Obi-Wan struggled with his own helpless anger for these injustices that existed in the galaxy. In his meditation, the old issue rose up readily as gnarled trees hanging their grasping branches over a shadowed walkway. His struggle had always been the Path Meditation, hampered by his prescience that pulled him too quickly toward the future and his frustration that tied him to the past and present.
This time, the sun shone in his mind with comfortable warmth. The Force surrounded him and nudged him forward as a strong breeze at his back. The trees were there as usual. They towered over him, twisted and crumbling edifices to his impotent rage. In the dead and rotted bark, Obi-Wan imagined seeing the faces of children he'd seen burned alive, of skeletons stretched over with skin who were somehow still living, of mangled limbs and haunted eyes.
He laid a hand on the tree. Of course, it was just bark. Actually, it was just an image of bark in his mind. He pulled back and watched as the wind blew away the particles of rotted bark from his fingertips.
He stood by his path for a long time, studying the lines and grooves that had been worn into the trees over time, picking at the crumbling and rotten bits and letting them scatter in the grass. Xanatos was right. As protectors of the status quo, the Jedi were wasted potential, like a well-intentioned thought never actually carried out.
The wind picked up. Something was coming. Obi-Wan could make out dark clouds in the distance: the approaching storm. These trees could provide no shelter, bare and broken as they were. Something had to be done.
When Obi-Wan rose from his mediation, the sun was just beginning to set. He made his way back through the quiet corridors of the lower Temple and into the raucous labyrinth of perpetually untidy common rooms and dormitory suites of the padawan quarters. His was empty as expected, so Obi-Wan dialed up something quick, ate it without thought, and collapsed into bed, where he lay awake for hours turning the events of the past few days over and over in his head.
An indeterminable amount of time later, Obi-Wan heard voices in the suite. Garen's familiar pitch was accompanied by another male voice that Obi-Wan couldn't decipher through the bedroom's walls. The voices were low, punctuated occasionally by a burst of laughter. They seemed to move closer since the voices grew louder, and then hushed as Garen's neighboring door hissed shut.
Any pretense of a restful night evaporated as something solid thudded from their shared wall where Obi-Wan knew Garen's bed stood, as if somebody had thrown himself, or had been thrown, onto the bed. One of them groaned. So did Obi-Wan.
Events devolved quickly after that.
The last time Obi-Wan had the time or energy to masturbate was weeks ago, he realized. And the last time he had been with someone else--well, that wasn't even worth a mention. A moan from Garen's mystery lover filtered through the wall, not much louder than a whisper.
The sound pulled a similar one from Obi-Wan. There was suddenly a gaping need in his chest and pressure building at his groin. He shifted awkwardly onto his side, back to the wall. Obi-Wan had overheard the faint sounds of Garen's exploits countless times without care or incident, but tonight was different. The sudden surge of hormones and passion uncorked something in Obi-Wan that meditation and sparring had not resolved.
He shoved his sleep pants down, freeing his erection. Sleep would not be coming anytime soon anyway. With a moment's struggle, he pulled his shirt off over his head and ran his hand down his chest, stopping to pinch and flick his nipple. He hissed and surged into his other hand, already achingly hard.
An image of Mal Farol flitted behind his eyelids, appearing as he has in the practice room the day before-- face flushed and panting, his shirt plastered over that powerful chest and lean, muscled stomach. Obi-Wan imagined Mal's lips curving into that smile of his, spreading his legs further in invitation.
Obi-Wan would like nothing more than to pull those damp practice leggings down and swallow Mal whole, tasting the salty sweat and bitter precum. Obi-Wan's lips parted at the thought, his breath coming in harsh gasps now.
Another faint cry from next door punctuated Obi-Wan's fantasy. His senses filled with his own breathing and the overwhelming physical sensation of his body. His sheets were damp and heavy against his fevered skin. His cock was impossibly hard in his own calloused hand. Each harried stroke turned his focus more toward the pressure building in his groin and the imaginary heat of Mal's hands and mouth on him.
He came. His body suddenly seized and he was coming, spurting and spilling thick spunk over his hand, stomach, and chest. Obi-Wan lay still, his breathing haggard and his body shooting off the last sparks of ecstasy. He felt alight and bereft all at once, but was soon overcome by the orgasm. Finally, he slept.
Obi-Wan was unsurprised, if not a little amused, when he spied Garen stumbling into the kitchen at lunchtime in nothing but sleep pants. Quinlan Vos looking equally bleary-eyed and wearing last night's red leather leggings, however, warranted a raised eyebrow.
"Kenobi," Quinlan nodded with all the dignity of a hardened field operative, and winced.
"Nice pants, Quin," Obi-Wan smirked.
The knight did his level best to glare at him. "What about them?"
"They're very festive. I'm just not sure red is your color."
"Fuck off, Obi-Wan," Quinlan eased himself down and buried his face in his arms.
Garen gingerly set two mugs of tea on the table and slowly sank into a free chair. "Don't mind him. Tea first."
Obi-Wan stifled his grin and bent over his data-pad for the day's news. He had contacted Qui-Gon first thing in the morning, though unsure of what was safe to communicate via messaging, had simply sent /I'm in/ through their bond.
Qui-Gon's reply was equally simple. /Tonight in the lab. Twenty-one./
Obi-Wan was glad that his master did not seem angry at him for his abrupt departure last night. In fact, he detected a trace of relief.
A commlink peeped insistently from suite. Garen muttered and left to answer it, leaving Quinlan hovering over his empty mug.
"Quin," Garen called. "It's yours and it looks urgent."
Quinlan slowly opened his bloodshot eyes. As he slowly stood from the small table, his long, corded hair brushed against Obi-Wan's forehead, causing the younger man to look up.
"Tonight," Quinlan mouthed, and walked back into the suite.
Obi-Wan frowned and tried to think if Quinlan had picked up anything, but the knight couldn't pick up Readings through his hair, could he? By the time Obi-Wan stood and peered into the suite, Garen was back asleep with his door open and Quinlan had disappeared.
"It never ends!" Obi-Wan sighed to the room and was, of course, met with silence.
Bruck looked better this time, a testament to the skills of the Jedi Healers and the rapid healing properties of bacta. His wounds had closed over completely and his color looked healthy. The only indication that he wasn't in perfect health was the matrix of metal support structures screwed into the bone graft sites, which would continue to fill in and replace what had been lost to injury and infection.
Obi-Wan gazed up at the still face, marveling at how much had changed since they last traded training blows nearly ten years ago. He wondered if Bruck was as skilled at combat as Mal, or if he had killed and tortured as had Qui-Gon and Xanatos.
It was easier to sit in the near-silent Healing Ward and wonder such things rather than ask directly. His mind was still tripping over itself, trying to process everything he had learned and unlearned since returning to Coruscant. That he had accepted entrance into this new world without knowing much about it was unusual for him, but the visions had not returned, so he took it as a sign that he was heading in the right direction.
Still, the big picture eluded him, and every time Obi-Wan tried to take a mental step back and piece things together, he ended up with a headache. He didn't feel terribly concerned about the fact that such a group existed. He had enough experience with politics and palace intrigue to know that the higher-ups rarely divulged their secrets, and that flirting within the grey areas of morality and legality occurred more often than it did not.
He slumped in his chair and let out a long breath. The fact that there were Jedi out there hunting people down and killing them did not sit badly with him, and that itself sat badly with him. He did not sense any Darkness in his master, or Tahl, or even the Baltimn Jedi, and yet the part of him that recited the Jedi Code as a calming exercise and straightened crooked picture frames still could not make the mental leap. As much as he had pondered the issue privately over the years, and understood it on an intellectual level, Obi-Wan was no closer to truly understanding the delicate balance required to destroy for the greater good.
It was a concept not taught in any class, and Obi-Wan had only encountered it while studying the more obscure ancient texts that Tahl gifted him access to. He could recall a little of the old practice that no longer had a name. The Da'ji, he knew, had studied all aspects of the Force and put most of what they learned into practice. Not one of them had fallen to the Dark Side. What strength of purpose and discipline of mind these practitioners of the old Da'ji had to maintain Lightness of heart and intent, even during the Darkest of acts.
And here he was, a thousand years later, warned by visions of some great, encroaching Darkness, and without the faintest idea of how to combat it.
Fuck, when did everything get so complicated?
A knock at the entrance brought his attention back to the present. Mal stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. The Baltimn curriculum must included extensive stealth training, Obi-Wan mused. Both Xanatos and Mal had a habit of showing up completely unexpected and undetected. He had not felt so unbalanced in a long time.
Actually, his disquiet most likely had nothing to do with unannounced arrivals and everything to do with what Obi-Wan could not deny as a massive crush on Mal Farol. The padawan had a startling intensity in the training room that belied his otherwise calm and rather closed presence anywhere else. It made Obi-Wan infuriatingly curious. His appeal extended to his appearance, which shared the same dichotomous quality as his character—discipline and passion all contained within that powerful body and accented with delicate tattoos.
At first, Obi-Wan was merely curious to meet a Zabrak Iridonian. The curiosity quickly evolved into desire when he saw this straight-backed young man dive into battle with a connection to the Force that was so ferocious that Obi-Wan found it both frightening and intoxicating.
Plus, Mal smelled good.
It was this subtle smell of windblown spices and fragrant wood, mixed with the familiar scent of clean clothes from the Temple laundry, which drew Obi-Wan out of his seat to stand beside Mal, not daring to touch him, but settling for watching as Mal touched the bacta tank with gentle fingers, his face unreadable.
"Those techniques you saw in the Battle Room yesterday," Mal said after a while. "Many of them are banned."
"Yes," Obi-Wan replied slowly. This seemed like a dangerous topic to bring up out loud.
"You could have reported me. I'll probably face censure or expulsion for some of them."
"Most likely."
"And yet you didn't report me."
"I figured if anything was worthy of concern, Master Drallig would take care of it."
"Really?"
"Yes. You and Bruck are close?" he asked, changing the subject to something more appropriate should a healer walk by.
"My best friend," Mal replied.
"It must be difficult to see him like this. He seems much better," Obi-Wan offered.
Mal nodded. "Master Xanatos says you two knew each other as initiates."
"Yes, we're agemates. We didn't get along then, but that was a long time ago."
Mal gave Obi-Wan a quick glance, and turned back to the Bruck. "Well, he can be an asshole."
Obi-Wan laughed, surprised. Mal slowly faced him again, and this time the smile was back. He looked Obi-Wan warmly for several seconds too long until Obi-Wan wanted to either kiss him or run away.
"We make an interesting pair, Obi-Wan," he said finally.
"Oh?" Obi-Wan was quite proud that he kept his voice from wavering. "What do you mean?"
"I, in familiar circumstances but a strange place. You, in a familiar place but strange circumstances…" Mal tapered off, thinking. "I spoke with Master Drallig today. He suggested we work together. You could help me on lightsaber forms and I could help you with hand weapons."
"I would like that," Obi-Wan returned the smile. In his head, he was doing cartwheels.
"Great. I like you, Obi-Wan. It's a shame we can't be friends."
The cartwheel came up short and his excitement fell flat on its ass. "Why not?"
Mal looked back up at Bruck's form in the tank. "I have been without a master for weeks now. The Council has deemed that I'm not traumatized, so they'll want me back in active duty very soon."
"Back to Baltimn?" Obi-Wan couldn't help the hint of desperation that slipped into his voice. "You won't stay on Coruscant with Xanatos and Bruck?"
"It's not my decision to make," Mal said plainly. "So it's better that we not get involved."
Obi-Wan knew he was blinking stupidly. His ears were playing tricks on him.
"I'll be happy with what sparring sessions we can fit in," Mal continued. Was he blushing? Fingers ghosted against Obi-Wan's, warm and real. "I'll see you tonight."
Obi-Wan watched Mal turn and leave, his footfall fractionally quicker than usual. He wordlessly sat back in his seat, unable to suppress the goofy grin that spread across his face. Tonight.
The great wooden door at the entrance of the Archives towered silently above him. At this time of night, most Temple residents were winding down for the evening and the relatively few nocturnal Jedi were only beginning to rise. The Archives would be practically deserted.
Obi-Wan entered after a brief pause, deciding against using Tahl's personal code which he had memorized. As a master archivist, second only in authority to Master Nu, Tahl had access to everything in the Archives, a privilege she abused regularly to show Obi-Wan original ancient manuscripts that were stored away from general view. Archiving could get lonely, she had argued, and neither her bondmate nor her own padawan appreciated a three thousand year old personal letter like Obi-Wan.
Tonight, he moved silently past the histories in the First Hall and stopped at a small lift that he had walked past many times and never given much thought until recently. It took him down much further than the main lift that went to the ancient collections beneath the central rotunda, well into the ancient bowels of the Temple, if Obi-Wan's sense of the lift's movement was correct.
It opened into a nondescript corridor that branched out in many directions. Obi-Wan followed the path he memorized from his last visit, making a mental note to ask about what else lay down here.
When he reached the lab, he hesitated. It was easily recognizable by its lack of presence in the Force, thanks to the high shielding Tahl and Qui-Gon had set up. The problem was that Obi-Wan didn't have the access code.
As he was about to knock, the door flew open. Xanatos stood before him, beaming in the same unsettling way that Obi-Wan had yet to decipher as completely genuine or completely false. This time, he was dressed in a slightly ridiculous blue shirt that was currently in fashion with the uselessly rich and visible in Coruscant's upper circles.
"Ah, you made it!" he grinned, stepping aside to let Obi-Wan in.
Qui-Gon, Tahl, and Mal were sitting at the table with mugs of tea. A plate of sandwiches and stack of datapads sat nearby. The strange domesticity of the scene made Obi-Wan snort in disbelief.
Standing near them were Quinlan Vos, seemingly recovered from last night, and a blue Twi'lek padawan who Obi-Wan recognized as a girl from the younger intermediate group.
The conversations meandered casually over past and upcoming missions, with no short mention of the Dark visions most of them were having, though none apparently were as severe as Obi-Wan's. He was content to sit and absorb for the moment, and steal glances at Mal, who listened to the discussion with rapt attention.
Once the tea was refilled and the sandwiches mostly gone, Qui-Gon stood. As the senior Jedi, he was apparently heading the meeting.
"I'll skip the formalities. You've no doubt heard of the attacks on Republic bases and settlements in the past few months. We've learned from our informant in the Senate and some digging around by Master Cri'jenchi that Republic credits are funneling into these terrorist groups."
Obi-Wan nodded to himself. Rothees had been the last of several missions to Republic worlds thrown into chaos by devastating attacks that seemingly came from the clear sky. Most had thankfully not descended into full-scale war, but all had suffered huge blows to their government or resource infrastructures.
Quinlan was shaking his head. "That could mean anything. Fringe groups have been attacking the Republic since there's been a Republic. "
Qui-Gon continued, "Each body that has been attacked in the past six months has formally complained to the Senate."
"Not the Judiciary, or the Jedi," Xanatos noted.
"Each complaint has been deferred to committee."
"Why the hell would they do that?" Quinlan balked. "How many complaints have there been?"
Qui-Gon folded his hands in front of him and nodded. "Xan?"
"Roughly two hundred."
Somebody let out a low whistle.
Tahl was scowling. "This stinks of a conspiracy."
"That's not all."
Xanatos stood and retrieved a datachip from his pocket. "None of the incidents have any usable security recordings. Someone or something is stopping the signals." He inserted the chip into a holo projector on the wall. "The only bit anyone can decipher is a few seconds from a station on the Hydian Way. My padawan is still out of action, but I managed to get a hold of a copy without being traced."
The holo blinked on and showed what looked like floor of the space station from high above. Obi-Wan had trouble making out anything images through the smoke, though it appeared the recorder was hanging precariously from the ceiling, given the way the pictured swayed and wobbled.
Then, there it was. A dark form, the size of a person, crossed within range of the recorder. It then apparently fell from its mounting, the floor coming into view very quickly before shorting out.
When the image returned, everything was sideways. Obi-Wan could now clearly see several bodies in Republic uniforms. A black boot filled the viewspace, along with the edge of a black cloak. Though there was no sound in the recording, Obi-Wan knew instantly when the lightsaber blade turned on. A familiar glow filled the scene, but when the blade came into view, his heart sank. It was red.
In an instant, the blade overtook the scene and the recording ended. Everyone in the lab sat in stunned silence until Xanatos powered off the projector and pocketed the chip again.
The Twi'lek girl sniffled quietly.
/Aayla's master was killed last week investigating the attacks,/ Qui-Gon sent in response to Obi-Wan's questioning expression. /Quinlan will continue her training now./
/Quinlan?/
Obi-Wan looked again and saw Quinlan put his arm around her. She leaned against him and tried to smile. Obi-Wan sense the light buzz of telepathic conversation between them. It felt right, strangely enough. He wondered if Garen knew.
After the recording, the meeting became much more subdued, each member half-caught in their own thoughts. Qui-Gon spoke of an upcoming meeting with Yoda and the Council about launching a full investigation. Xanatos mentioned a funding project, which made Obi-Wan wonder about his previous excursions into the city, and his penchant for expensive civilian clothes.
Finally, the subject turned to the matter of Mal's status. Just as he had said in the Healer's Ward that afternoon, Mal was indeed slated to return to Baltimn within a week.
"Aayla and I will escort him home," Quinlan volunteered. "It will give us a chance to get to know each other."
"I'm sure the Council will agree," Tahl agreed. "In the mean time, I believe Mal has a little project of his own?"
"Yes, Master Tahl. Obi-Wan and I are going to train together. I will introduce him to some advanced hand weapons, and in return, he will help me with my lightsaber form." Mal's eyes met Obi-Wan's across the table, then glanced briefly at the holo projector. "From the looks of things, I may need to brush up on my dueling after all."
"You'll be hard pressed to find a better dueler than our little Kenobi," Quinlan said. "I'd be interested to see you fight, Farol."
Mal and Quinlan quickly fell into an in-depth discussion about fighting forms, which Aayla soon joined with equal enthusiasm. Xanatos rose and quietly pulled Qui-Gon away to speak in the corner. Tahl winked at Obi-Wan and passed him the last sandwich half.
"We're winding down for tonight. How are you holding up?"
"All right," he replied between bites. "Are these meetings regular?"
" No, there are rarely enough of us around to warrant a meeting. This is a special occasion of sorts," she smiled. "It's usually just me trying to decipher ancient Force tricks without getting blown up. Though now that you and my dear beast are home for the next class cycle, you can join your fellow archive-rat in the research."
"I'd really like that, thank you."
Tahl caught the end of his braid between two fingers and pulled lightly. "How you turned out so polite with two big grumps like your master and me around is a mystery. It's good to have you with us."
Soon the others were rinsing out their mugs in a small kitchen off the main room and preparing to go. Quinlan and Aayla left first, taking a turn out the door that was in the opposite direction of the lift. At least some of the corridors must have led to different entrances.
Xanatos led Mal out next. As they passed by, Mal whispered "meditation" so faintly that Obi-Wan thought he was imagining things.
Obi-Wan felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Padawan? I know it's been a trying few days."
"To say the least, Master, but I'm getting the hang of it."
"That's my boy. Since we'll be in-Temple for a few weeks, it will be the perfect time to refocus your training. You'll actually be surprised what you already know." His master settled his long arm over Obi-Wan's shoulders, hugging him lightly.
"You mean I'm a sleeper agent and you'll activate my top secret assassin training with a code word?"
"Impudent." Qui-Gon tugged his braid a little harder than usual, But Obi-Wan felt happiness in their bond. "So what's going on with you and Padawan Farol?"
Obi-Wan pulled back slightly. Had he been that obvious? "I—you know about us?"
"I was talking about your weapons training. Working with Mal is an excellent starting point." Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "What else should I know about?"
"I honestly don't know, Master," he sighed. "I think there is mutual interest."
"You think?"
"I know how I feel, and he indicated as much this afternoon, but--"
"Well then I think you should take advantage of the opportunity. Remember what I said about finding time for relationships, Obi-Wan. You know as well as I that interesting times are approaching. Take what comfort you can, while you can. It's time to get back on the speeder."
The last part hit him more accurately than he liked to admit."What if--"
"Live in the moment, Padawan. Kru was four years ago," Qui-Gon said gently. "Let him go."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied automatically.
Qui-Gon jostled him, and nodded almost imperceptibly toward the door. Obi-Wan looked up to see Mal as he stepped out behind Xanatos, the light catching his profile for a moment before the door slid closed behind them. "He is cute."
"Master!" Obi-Wan hissed, scandalized.
"What? I can't look?" Qui-Gon's expression was pure innocence.
"He's too young for you!"
His master grinned. "I bet he's limber too."
Obi-Wan broke free and buried his face. "Oh Force, take me now. What would Tahl say?"
"What would I say about what?" Tahl asked, appearing beside Qui-Gon.
"Nothing," Obi-Wan said quickly, shooting his master a glare.
Tahl looked at her bondmate quizzically. Qui-Gon bent down and whispered something in her ear. Slowly, a smile spread across her face and she laughed. "Ooh. Only if I get to watch."
"That's it," Obi-Wan declared, face flaming. "I'm leaving."
As he shouldered his cloak and palmed the door open, he heard Qui-Gon call, "Remember your shielding tonight, Padawan."
Mal was kneeling in his usual spot by the pool when Obi-Wan arrived. He looked lovely, softly lit by the nighttime glow of traffic filtering through the window.
"Hi," Obi-Wan said.
Mal opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Hi. Thanks for coming."
Obi-Wan was on his knees beside Mal. Live in the moment.
Their lips met, tentatively at first, but then Mal's parted ever so slightly, drawing Obi-Wan in deeper. They kissed like this for a long time, exploring the outer curves of each other's lips without needing to delve further yet. Mal's mouth was full and warm. The bare trace of stubble on his chin provided a nice counterpoint as it scraped across Obi-Wan's cheek.
When Obi-Wan pressed his tongue forward, Mal's lips fell open. Obi-Wan took his time exploring Mal's mouth, feeling straight teeth and wet heat before Mal pulled back and sucked lightly on Obi-Wan's lower lip.
He groaned, the only noise either of them had made until now. Mal's fingers met his, gentle and light as their kissing was. They travelled over the backs of his hands and up his sleeves, coming to rest along his jaw. Obi-Wan broke the kiss as his head fell back, letting Mal's feather light touch ignite sparks along the sensitive skin of his jaw and throat.
Mal's breathing came heavily now. "You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing a nibbling kiss beneath Obi-Wan's ear.
Obi-Wan sighed.
His belt came undone and fell to the floor. Those hands, capable of massive destruction wrapped around the handle of a weapon, now eased open the layers of his tunics with the barest touch. Obi-Wan forced himself to sit still, wanting badly to arch into Mal's touch, to feel the other padawan's rough palms on him. Instead, Mal was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored each inch of newly exposed skin. His tunics pooled around his boots. Every nerve ending was awake to the faintest sensation—the pads of his fingertips ghosting down his throat, across his chest and stomach, along his ribs, followed by the scrape of fingernail as Mal reversed his exploration that sent shivers running through him.
Then, Mal's lips were on him, following the same paths his hands had taken. Obi-Wan whimpered into the darkness, head still tilted back as if basking in Mal's heat and desire. The hot breath and soft lips traced the contours of his collarbone and down his chest, stopping to press against his right nipple. A hot, wet tip of a tongue flicked once.
"Mal!" Obi-Wan gasped. "Please. Please."
Mal moaned softly into his chest, lips latched on the sensitive nub and sucked hard. Obi-Wan cried out and clutched blindly at Mal's shoulders. His cock strained against his leggings, needing to feel the fingers and mouth that had so far ignored it. Mal brought his hand up and flicked Obi-Wan's other nipple hard. Obi-Wan was vaguely aware of some desperate, needy noise and was sure they were coming from him, but all he knew for certain was the exquisite feel of hot, rough callous on one peaked nub and wet suction on the other. He was sure he could come from this alone.
Until now, his hands had fiercely gripped Mal's outer tunic as he struggled to stay still, to not force the smaller man onto his back and tear at his clothes until everything was laid bare. Bit by bit, Obi-Wan's control ebbed from him with each lap of Mal's skilled tongue or exhalation against his skin, already burning hot.
When Mal paused for a moment, Obi-Wan pounced. They fell back onto the mat as Obi-Wan pinned Mal beneath his frantic kiss. Mal's lips were swollen and wet now, and Obi-Wan took no pause in forcing his tongue between them until he pulled a deep groan from the other man.
Obi-Wan straddled Mal. He rocked his hips, grinding their erections together through their pants. Mal's eyes fluttered shut and his mouth fell open.
Whereas Mal's exploration was slow and meditative, Obi-Wan scrabbled feverishly to divest Mal of his tunics. He yanked off his belt with judicious use of the Force and similarly flung open his clothes. Obi-Wan's ran his hand from Mal's throat, over his heaving chest, down his stomach, and hooked his fingers in the waistband.
Mal's unders came down with the same forceful pull that brought his pants down to mid-thigh and allowed his thick erection to bob free. Obi-Wan stood briefly to free himself of his own pants and boots, allowing Mal to do the same. Then they lay together on the mats, legs tangled.
Obi-Wan found that the base of Mal's horns were extremely sensitive, so he spent his time licking and caressing each in turn until Mal was whimpering and trembling against him, rutting mindlessly against his hip. At the same time, he returned the earlier favor by pinching and teasing Mal's nipples, and making Mal arch into his touch.
Slowly, Obi-Wan slid down until he could pepper Mal's taught stomach with kisses. His chin bumped against Mal's cock and he felt a trickle of wetness from the tip cooling against his throat.
Mal's clean, spicy scent was intoxicating. Obi-Wan was consumed with the smell, feel, and now the taste of Mal as he ran his tongue in a long swipe from the base to the head, pausing to swirl his tongue over the hardened flesh. Mal smelled of soap and musk and wind. He was hairless down here as well, and Obi-Wan delighted in taking him in hand and gently sucking his testicles until he cried out, his cock so hard that Obi-Wan could feel Mal's throbbing pulse against his palm.
Obi-Wan now took his time, drawing Mal tightly into his mouth and running his tongue along the sensitive underside. Mal made a strangled noise into his hand, his cock jerking in Obi-Wan's eager mouth.
Obi-Wan maneuvered himself over Mal's leg, grinding wantonly against the other man's shin as he took pleasure with his mouth. Mal's cries were louder and more urgent. His cock grew harder, if that was at all possible. Every muscle in his body strained; his hands grappled blindly, pulling on Obi-Wan's braid to just the point of pain.
Obi-Wan released Mal's erection suddenly, pulling another cry from him, this time in protest. He looked up at Obi-Wan with wide, dark eyes that were swallowed by dilated pupils.
Obi-Wan moved up to straddle Mal again, his own needy, straining flesh positioned over Mal's. He gave himself a few firm strokes, groaning, before lowering himself and taking both of them in his hand.
Mal's eyes rolled back, and his head fell back onto the mat. Obi-Wan lean in and sucked hard where Mal's neck and shoulder met, bruising him and making him groan deep and long. They began to move frantically against each other, any remnants of control burned away by need and passion.
Overcoming with the heat of Mal's soaked, bucking body beneath him, Obi-Wan buried his face in the crook of Mal's neck and stretched over him. Their cocks slid against each other, slick with spit, sweat, and precum, velvety sensitive skin over hot, rigid steel.
Suddenly, Mal froze beneath him, mouth open and eyes screwed shut. His hips rose with such force that they were both lifted off the floor as hot liquid spurted out over Obi-Wan's hand. With a moan, Obi-Wan followed Mal, their seed mingling between their shuddering bodies.
Obi-Wan came back to himself as Mal rolled him to one side. His limbs felt incredibly heavy, but he managed to call his robe to him and pull over them both. The Force was quiet, faintly purring in the far recesses of his consciousness. Obi-Wan fell asleep, blanketed by his robe, with Mal's fingers in his hair.
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