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Rating: NC-17

Archive: M-A, Jacynthe's

Series: Stars (Stars, Dance)

Categories: Q/O, PWP, AU, mild angst

Feedback: Yes, please.

Summary: A failed mission prompts reflection on the nature of ethics, and of release.

Spoilers/Warnings: none.

Disclaimers: Someday I intend to use my own beloved, beautiful characters to write for fame, fortune and glory. Today is not that day.

Notes: Third in the post-knighting PWP series.

/..../ thoughts.

The planet was windy and dry, a cracked, barren waste and a rolling sea of dunes that not even Agricorps supplies and the finest staff of Force-sensitive botanists could cure. It was speculated that a sudden growth of aboveground plant life might create a shift in the atmosphere, but not enough plant life could be started to justify a long-term Agricorps presence.

The rain patterns had begun to change some six winters prior, give or take; precipitation had begun to dwindle and then over the following two years had simply ceased. Drought conditions had Pravil IX importing very small, tightly controlled amounts of water, which had so taxed the economy that the poverty rate had skyrocketed. Whole bloodlines were dying of malnutrition, dehydration and disease because they could not perform simple hygienic tasks.

Obi-Wan was stricken; he could not imagine how this had gone on so long. He blamed the decadent government, the alliance of planets that supported it, and the upper echelons of society that still did things like keep aquariums as status trophies.

The knight had wondered why the Courts hadn't asked for help before now, given that two years had already passed with mounting death tolls and increasing desperation on the part of the populace. Still, he never had the chance to question: he was forbidden to speak in Court chambers, as second in command. He would have gritted his teeth and vented privately to Qui-Gon, but there was no opportunity for that, either.

The contradiction was puzzling: Pravil IX's higher castes were wasteful and decadent while anyone below the middle range struggled for their very survival. Obi-Wan didn't know what to make of it. What was even more confounding was that there was nothing for him to do but hold his tongue and look sidelong at Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan did not want this mission. It was his and Qui-Gon's job, now, to tell a peaceful desert people and their arrogant governing body that the only hope for their survival was complete evacuation, and it was not going well, on or off duty. He hadn't had complete privacy with Qui-Gon in days, and the barrenness of the waterless planet precluded real comfort in spite of the calm, cool, apparently clean atmosphere of the Court chambers and their lodgings.

The Jedi themselves had been forced to commission a ship with sonic cleansers and a supply of water for them to drink. They did this carefully, keeping detailed track of it in the limited space of the ship's hold during their odd and very brief free moments. Qui-Gon had already caught Obi-Wan giving a little cup of it to a small, green-skinned child and had then been forced to press a suggestion into the young mind that there had been no water. Obi-Wan had glared, but the master knew good and well what he was doing. They certainly couldn't dole out water to the entire locality, no matter the depth of their compassion.

Their "quarters" consisted of two cots and a small trunk in the middle of a brightly lit, pale blue open bay where the rest of the Court appointees lived during their three-year electoral period. The entire situation tested Obi-Wan's patience. His own general discomfort-- he was perpetually thirsty, gritty and righteously indignant--took a distant second place to the fact that people were dying of malnutrition and dehydration. Could this process not move any faster?

And yet he knew what lay at the end of the process and he did not look forward to it.

Qui-Gon strode calmly through the overtly-lit underground tunnels, painted to imply a watery ambience, that led to the negotiating table. It was very reassuring, the master's calmness, because Obi-Wan knew that this bothered his Qui-Gon easily as much as it did him. Qui-Gon was simply so much better at containing it.

The young knight only wished they still had the bond; he suspected at times that there was more "repression" than "containment" going on, but of course there was little he could do about it. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, wishing too that he'd trimmed it before they had come. Oh, just everything about this mission drove him to distraction.

A large, comfortable hand descended onto his shoulder as they reached the Court chamber. It squeezed reassuringly as young eyes turned upward, displaying weariness.

"Be patient, Obi-Wan," the master said quietly, his blue eyes wise and mild. Saying nothing more, Qui-Gon preceded him into the chamber.

The talks were as hot and stifling as the surface of the sand, though the room was quite cool, almost uncomfortably so, in direct, defiant contrast to the condition of the world. Obi-Wan sat in his constrained silence beside his master, watching and listening as Qui-Gon attempted to reason with the Pravili Court.

The Chief Justice leaned back in his chair, lacing slender, pale green fingers together over the stola of his deep violet robe. His yellow eyes bored into Qui-Gon's.

"We will not evacuate," he said firmly in a parched, raspy voice, obviously affronted at the very idea, "nor will we dictate to our upper castes how they will and will not live. Surely you understand order and precedence? If we die, we die on our homeland, in our surroundings, and with our way of life intact."

"Your way of life disintegrates before your very eyes," Qui-Gon countered quietly, leaning forward on the table, then deciding to shift his tactics. "You asked the Senate for assistance. A committee has researched your proposal. The expense of seeing that enough water is transported here to do any good would be far beyond what your economic structure can handle. Even prorated for decades, the cost would be crippling. And you stand to spend years in recovery. Agricorps cannot work here until seasonal rainfall has remained above normal levels for at least three years." He paused and looked at the other four Justices in turn before leveling his gaze at the Chief again. "Evacuation, while expensive, has been prearranged with several mid-Rim planets. You have sponsors for your people-- not for your overreaching plans."

The Chief's eyes flashed and went orange. Rising angrily, he retorted, "The importation plan is large, yes, but it will work! Our engineers--"

"--Have no idea what they are getting into," Qui-Gon cut him off smoothly, remaining seated. "The cost of the water and shipment alone is prohibitive; assuming you can find a network of systems to support that endeavor, what then will you do for funds when your engineers must implement the plans?"

Green fists clenched under flowing purple sleeves. The Chief Justice's words were deliberate and slow, as though he were speaking to a very small child. "We... will... not... evacuate."

"Poll the people, then." Qui-Gon was quickly seeing these "talks" spinning to their conclusion, and he was loath to allow them to end this way. A compromise, though he had not been authorized to make one, was surely better than complete collapse. "Allow those who wish to go to do so."

The Second Chief stood then, taking a place beside his Chief Justice. "You have your answer, Master Jinn. There will be no evacuation, partial or otherwise."

Qui-Gon stood, then, and Obi-Wan stood immediately as well. The master's face betrayed nothing of the turmoil Obi-Wan knew he carried inside him. Bowing silently, the two Jedi turned away from the table and left the chamber.

They were silent during the tunneled walk back to their bunks. Saying nothing, Qui-Gon put his belongings into a duffel; Obi-Wan followed suit.

He knew what was to come. He disliked it but the Senate committee assigned to this issue had been very clear in their decision on the matter. Qui-Gon had done everything in his capacity and had even attempted to work outside of it. Now, there was no help for it.

In another six months, the Senate would dispatch Fleet troops to forcibly evacuate the populace. Obi-Wan feared, however, that it would be too late by then, even assuming the people would go and not turn it into a rebellion. That did not even address the question of ethical rightness.

/They will go, they must,/ Obi-Wan told himself, /when they see the mounting death toll... their children. Their families./ Still, it grated on him that nothing more could be done, that the Court was so adamant and so very wrong, and that it would likely press the upper classes to resist the evacuation.

Obi-Wan finished packing his things up and straightened, checking around for stray items. Qui-Gon cupped his cheek, catching his attention and forcing eye contact.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan, for trying to help that little girl," he said quietly. It was only then that Obi-Wan realized how deeply disturbed his master was by all of this. "As things stand, projections for this planet's life forms give them about three more years." The rich voice broke on the last words and Qui-Gon turned away quickly, shouldering his duffel. "Let's get back to the ship. There is nothing more we can do here." He paused a moment, his face turned away from Obi-Wan's, his features harsh in the unnatural blue lighting of the underground bay. Qui-Gon looked as though he would say more, but then simply tipped his head down and moved for the tunnel leading aboveground.

Obi-Wan followed, unable to do anything else.

They orbited only briefly. Qui-Gon was more than ready to be off: far off. It did not take him long to order the pilot to set the coordinates for hyperspace.

Obi-Wan knelt at a bay window, watching the stars warp by. He began to chant the Litany of Thankfulness.

/For those we reach, for those we teach, for those we assist, for those who assist us. The Force guides us and reinforces us--/

He sighed. The fact of the matter was he had seen this scenario far too many times: even if the bulk of the Pravili survived for the emigration, transplanted peoples were often rejected by the societies they were meant to join. Frequently, this resulted in anything from mild tension to civil war. He only hoped these "sponsoring" systems led similar lives to that of Pravil IX.

Ah, but he could not see how that was possible. This little desert world made Tatooine look like a resort planet. Its people had spent centuries living underground, drilling for water and conserving resources tightly-- all but the upper castes, who would likely refuse the emigration process even without Court encouragement. They would not tolerate the risk of rejection on the face of some other world; they would die out slowly, miserably, as their poor were already doing. Their children and elderly would be first. Perhaps then they would overcome their stubbornness and learn; perhaps they would begin to conserve properly-- too little, too late. Perhaps they, too, would leave.

Perhaps they would simply let themselves die. Out of pride.

Leaning his forehead on the thick, clear panel, Obi-Wan looked out at the path the ship had already traveled, back toward the planet they could not save. He put his hand up, as though he could touch and heal it somehow. Somehow reach that thirsty little girl with the bright yellow eyes and the ashen green skin that displayed the early signs of sickness.

Why hadn't someone done something? Years ago, this would have been preventable. It would have been practical then, when there was still a dwindling rainfall, to cause alterations to the atmosphere. Now... only a miracle would create rain. In a Republic full of vast technology, something as simple and fundamental as water should not elude so many, and yet it did.

"Obi-Wan."

The knight turned and regarded his master, who was standing in the doorway of the hold.

"There is nothing more we could have done. The Senate will see them cared for in due time."

"I--" Obi-Wan swallowed. "I have a bad feeling about it." Suddenly he slapped the flat of his palm on the window. "It isn't right!"

"Do you remember," Qui-Gon said quietly, stepping forward and pulling Obi-Wan to his feet, "when you told me that it is impossible to try, or even hope, to save every creature in need? You may wish to but you will only cause yourself pain and frustration in allowing yourself the illusion of thinking you can."

Obi-Wan snorted and pulled away, folding his arms over his chest and resuming his vigil over the stars. "I cannot imagine what I was thinking when I said that. Our purpose in life is to help. How can we give hope if we have none?"

"Perhaps we are misguided."

The knight looked at the master in disbelief. "Misguided?"

Qui-Gon indicated the direction from which they'd come. "The Court believes their purpose in life is to maintain the status quo as untouchable, even sacred. You would say they are right?"

"Absolutely not!"

Broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Who is to say, then, whether we are? Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."

Obi-Wan indicated the window heatedly. "People are dying!"

Tipping his head down, Qui-Gon sighed. "The Chief Justice was correct, though his motive escapes our understanding. Death is in the order of things. You know this better than most. One can only avoid it for so long."

The remark stunned Obi-Wan. Yes, he knew about escaping death, narrowly and indecisively. He knew about the subjectivity of judgements and morality. The Jedi dealt in death as well as life and when the time came, the only thing dividing the two was the moral opinion of the dealer.

The knight looked out at the infinite stars once more and wondered, truly wondered what right he had. He followed the orders of people who followed yet more orders; what a convoluted way to be doling out hope and sentences! The very confusion of it was hopeless in its own right.

"You see why I remind you so often of the moment," Qui-Gon said softly, watching Obi-Wan's face change. "We cannot be who we are and allow ourselves to be consumed by distant, possible outcomes and subjective judgements outside our own. We do what we can, when we can, to the best of our ability. As everyone does."

He opened his arms and Obi-Wan went to him, sinking into him as though his adulthood could be made simple by being in his master's arms, the way his childhood had been. There was warmth here, and love, the realization of a dream-- of hope.

/We can only hope for what touches us,/ he thought suddenly, and knew it was the truth. Even in the moments he'd spent in close communion with the Unifying Force, he knew that hope did not play into it.

"I'm sorry, Master--" he began, but was silenced by a warm, sweet kiss as Qui-Gon's large hand cradled the side of his face. Obi-Wan Kenobi was far from weak, and yet he felt vulnerable in the face of Pravil IX's plight. How many other planets...?

But no. They had just been through this. He returned the kiss, sinking himself into it, throwing himself into Qui-Gon, into the moment. He was here, now. He could not save every dying planet, but there was balance even in that unpleasant knowledge: he was not meant to. It was cold comfort against the memory of those young, pleading eyes, but he could not focus on his next place in the universe if his heart was hanging in the last.

Qui-Gon broke the kiss and raised his head, sighing and smiling faintly. "Oh, my Obi-Wan." He stepped back, shaking his head. "You do... amazing things to me. But I know your pain too well; I will not press you." He bowed his head, the nod of a Jedi to an equal, and moved away.

"Wait." Obi-Wan caught his master's arm. "Don't go. Don't hold yourself away from me, Qui-Gon." The knight looked up into those blue eyes, eyes that saw him for what he was: headstrong, emotional, constantly battling his own failings. He was reminded again, though, that the only difference between himself and Qui-Gon was the experience of years. Qui-Gon hid his pain well and released it more readily, or at least rationalized it away, but it was there now, nevertheless.

Qui-Gon released a small groan and turned back toward his lover, who caught him and kissed him again. Obi-Wan wished for the bond, wished he could tug at all of that pain and release it for his master, but he knew that Qui-Gon would overcome it as he always did. Now there was a sweet, aching need between them that had to be addressed. They had experienced it before, this strange, almost personal loss. But never before had they had opportunity to take comfort in each other and escape the nagging doubt that accompanied a sanctioned failure.

Obi-Wan heard the rise and fall of his master's breathing as they kissed and realized that Qui-Gon had been restraining himself in an effort to protect Obi-Wan's emotional state. Putting an end to that thinking immediately, the knight pushed a slender hand down between his master's legs, cupping the warm erection there. Qui-Gon moaned low in his throat but the sound had a wistful quality to it.

Gently, he pulled away again but Obi-Wan wasn't having any of it.

"No," he said. "Don't withdraw from me when you feel like this. I dislike it when you act like you know my needs better than I do; we left that behind when I was fifteen." He took Qui-Gon's hand and placed it against his own hardness and dropped his voice to a whisper, gazing intently up into the blue eyes that undid him. "Give me a chance to show you that I know what you need."

Groaning helplessly, Qui-Gon lunged forward and captured Obi-Wan's mouth with his, ravaging it. He seemed all tongue and teeth, his hands doing nothing more than pinning Obi-Wan against him. It was startling; Obi-Wan had thought, perhaps, a gentle lovemaking might ease them better than a rough taking. But Qui-Gon seemed bent on it; soon, Obi-Wan no longer cared how he came by his pleasure.

And then Qui-Gon was backing him into the wall, kissing furiously. Obi-Wan clutched at the broad back as he was pinned roughly to the hull of the transport, a surprised grunt escaping him.

"Do-- you want-- this?" Qui-Gon demanded breathlessly between kisses, his breath hot and moist, his lips moving hard. The kiss was slick and wet, and the knight couldn't get enough.. Qui-Gon lowered his head to Obi-Wan's neck and bit, drawing out a small cry. "I-- can't be-- gentle now." He emphasized his words with a thrust of his hips, and Obi-Wan's stomach fluttered with mingled fear and want. He'd never seen Qui-Gon this way, but oh, yes, he wanted it. Needed it, even.

"Yes," Obi-Wan hissed. He shoved off the wall, pushing them both back so that he could squirm out of Qui-Gon's grasp and lead them to the small berth they shared for the voyage home. Qui-Gon was immediately peeling out of his uniform, belt and boots hitting the floor solidly, clothing flying. Obi-Wan only had time to retrieve a tube of ointment from a medical kit before his lover was on him again, tugging at his leggings. Something gave with a sharp tearing noise and Obi-wan felt that thrill of fear again.

He fumbled with the tube until Qui-Gon, impatient, snatched it from him and applied it to himself. It was thick, not as slick as it needed to be, and Obi-Wan knew that if he did not concentrate and relax, this was going to hurt.

But what was left of his rational mind knew that Qui-Gon was in the throes of reaction and he needed this. He needed to come down from it and Obi-Wan wanted to help him. He would wonder later where his own reaction was; perhaps it was wrapped up in his master's. At the moment, it did not matter.

Obi-Wan shoved Qui-Gon up and flipped over onto his stomach, raising his hips and looking over his shoulder. Qui-Gon stared. The younger man was still fully clothed, his leggings torn and peeled away, split from waist to thighs. The master made a helpless noise and seemed to catch his breath as he gazed down, stunned at the willingness of his knight to be taken this way.

"Do it," Obi-Wan encouraged, pumping his hips invitingly.

"Oh--" Qui-Gon groaned. He leaned forward onto one hand, pressing two thickly coated fingers inside the tight heat of his lover's body without warning. Gripping the mattress and tensing at the sudden burn, Obi-Wan let out a grunt before he realized Qui-Gon was pulling away, murmuring something in apology.

"No!" Obi-Wan said sharply. "Do it, Qui-Gon." Suddenly he was up on his knees and rocking backward, seeking. He looked over his shoulder again and saw with a kind of smug relief that Qui-Gon was regarding him hungrily. Still, the master did nothing. Apparently Qui-Gon could be gentle, and suddenly it was the last thing Obi-Wan wanted.

"If you won't, then I will," the knight said tightly, whirling about and then pushing Qui-Gon down bodily, leaning on that muscular chest with one hand while he positioned Qui-Gon's cock under him with the other. Biting his bottom lip, Obi-Wan pierced himself and slid down, letting out a low moan of pain and then pleasure as he adjusted his angle and struck that place inside himself against Qui-Gon's hardness. Qui-Gon pulled in a harsh breath and then let it out in a long, shuddering noise, something between a drawn-out yelp and a plea.

"Sometimes--" Obi-Wan said throatily, beginning to move, his words broken by grunts and sighs, "I-- oh! I do-- I know what you need."

Qui-Gon could only nod, wetting his lips and swallowing. He gripped his lover's hips hard, beginning to thrust upward. Obi-Wan cried out and arched backward, bracing himself with a hand on Qui-Gon's thigh. He stared at the ceiling, knowing there were stars beyond it, systems with rain and snow and sun and wind and rock, swarming with people who lived their lives, dealing with pain and pleasure, death and birth, poverty and richness every day. "To the best of their ability," Qui-Gon had said.

Obi-Wan flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon's neck. "I love you," he breathed, rocking faster. "I need you. Always. Never forget that."

He raised his head and stared down, his movements quick and shallow now. Qui-Gon's lips were glistening moistly, and Obi-Wan leaned down again and bit the bottom one, running his tongue over it.

Qui-Gon groaned and held Obi-Wan to him, hard.

"Yes," the master gasped, coming, pulsing hot and wet inside Obi-Wan.

"Yes!" Obi-Wan replied, grinding downward onto Qui-Gon's stomach and then shuddering, thrusting, coming between them, slick and warm.

Obi-Wan slumped, heedless of the stickiness between them and inside him. It was wet and would soon be cold but he could not bring himself to care. He nuzzled Qui-Gon's neck and sighed, grateful. Large, warm hands drifted over his back aimlessly, ticklishly. Obi-Wan wriggled and laughed softly. Qui-Gon smiled with him, the mantle of sorrow gone from his shoulders, released into the universe, burned up in the stars.

In the system they'd left behind them, the wind moved over the sand as it always had, changing the shape of the land but nothing more.

End.

(note: "Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view" came, of course, directly out of old Ben's mouth in RotJ.)