Master Apprentice
Archive
Stoicheia 12: Caesium
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He looks a full ten years younger in his sleep... no, not younger. Not like a fifteen-year-old boy. More like an ageless, angelic spirit-being, his features so relaxed that even the masculine angles of his forehead and nose are outshone by the softness of that mouth, open just that tiny bit in a slack smile, that determined but round chin with its irresistible little cleft. Those lashes, reddish-brown and much longer at close quarters than you would expect, forming two gentle upside-down arches where they rest against the top of his cheeks.
Obi-Wan in sleep. Three small upward curves.
And watching that soft slack angelic face bloom into wakefulness is one of the few pleasures I can never deny myself, even if I've woken up an full hour before my slumber-kitten Padawan and am reduced to motionlessly watching him breathe because I don't want to wake him. He is so much more beautiful when he wakes by himself, swimming to the surface of consciousness as if emerging out of thick golden honey. The first glance of these shimmering grey eyes always falls on me, and the smile splits open like a pale ripe fruit, inviting a taste.
Today, his nose is first to wake, though. Twitching ever so slightly, this most animal of senses, scent, tells him there is something worth waking up for. The olfactory equivalent of golden late morning light... it's the best I can do here, on interstellar transport. All the suns we pass by are nothing more than small angry pinpricks of light, and the cabin illumination is as cold as the blue from his lightsabre. I have left it off, and am watching him in the soft glow of the emergency lighting. He's hitching in a breath now, another, still half-unconscious, as if reluctant to leave his dream, eyeballs twitching slightly under fluttering lashes, lashes glowing coppery in the mute reflection of the orange light shining from the slowly overheating thermal fuser unit I had dragged in from the mech cabinet.
His lips move ever so slightly, tongue darting out to moisten them as if he could lick the scent out of the air and feed on the aroma of roasting white bread and the allspice I have always reserved an extra place for on my utility belt... I open my senses to the moment and inhale. Cinnamon and Obi-Wan's thick coppery hair, the heated glow of the fuser and moist pink lips, coriander and the mild scent of burning, lazy agitation under those thin soft eyelids, vanilla and viburnum and a sweetness that is pure Obi-Wan as he stretches, then snaps his eyes open, face splitting into a disarming grin that threatens to burn right through my soul and free the un-Masterly whimper at the bottom of it if I don't silence it with a kiss...
Not that it ever stops there -- and hardly half a minute later he is squirming under me, naked and sleep-warm, rubbing against my fully-dressed self, giggling like the silly angelic creature he is, in these unguarded moments before official time starts, and I don't know what I would have done to him if it hadn't been for the slight smell of burning marring the thick spice-scented cloud wafting over from the abused fuser unit. Muttering a curse, I scramble off him and rush to turn the heat down, blowing charred crumbs off the red-hot surface. Shaking myself out of the early morning Padawan-induced daze, I bring the Force to bear on the bread and levitate the slices a little higher, flipping them over once more... then, a small warm mouth nips at my earlobe. "Mmorning, Master."
I turn around to return the soft greeting, and meet with an undisguised look of delight on my young lover's face, grey eyes sparkling golden in the glow of the angry-orange fuser. He giggles when he sees the clumsy but well-meaning abuse of technology on my part that is about to provide both of us with breakfast, then beams as I slowly levitate one slice of spiced toast towards his expectant lips.
"Poor Jedi Knights of Winshurr, hmmm...? Mmmmh."
Obi-Wan politely declined the offer of a light snack, spoken in the droid's warm singsong voice. Breakfast hadn't been that long ago, and with any luck, they might be back on their ship by dinnertime. Depending on how much longer these delegates would make them wait, doubtless attempting to impose some sort of organised air of superiority on the two Republican ambassadors when in truth they were probably quite simply wary of a pair of Jedi. Obi-Wan couldn't blame them. Most people were, and looking at his Master's formidable robed figure he could understand quite well why...
Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled slightly in amusement, having obviously picked up on Obi-Wan's last wandering thought. "These Trade Federation types are cowards, Obi-Wan. The negotiations will be short..."
There -- the first tortured growl of reverse thrust rockets... the first volley of creatures terrified and singed by the sudden intrusion of battle ships in to this Force-forsaken swampland. Lying low is of the essence now... lying low and observing as fate runs its course. I can count on the creature, I can see it from here. It's only been told to wait from something great and good to come its way. That's all it needs to know really. Great and good it will be, and heavy, deliciously heavy when the poison dart sinks in his flesh... I can oversee the whole edge of the pond from here, and a little way into the ragged undergrowth of the Wegg forest that hides me. A shield would have been too obvious -- he can't be trusted not to recognise my shielding surface after all these years... so I make myself small, lie low amid the messy growth, amid the stampede of beasts that is even now jostling and breaking through the creaking undergrowth, chased by a mindless linear droid transport that irons over his head as he drops to the floor, a brief flicker of silver-streaked hair and brown robe... my heart hammers at the sensory impact. He's here. Close. Here. I hear voices, see him rise. Voices. Good --
The searing staccato of blaster fire fills the clearing at the edge of the pond. Zoom, zoom -- from three sides they are coming in, and it's just the sputtering blue flame at the edge of vision that makes me look around -- yes! The last blue spark from a dying blade reflected off soaked robes, glistening with what will soon be blood -- quick, quick before Jinn sees... sees the desperate whelp flailing in the shallow water, using the Force with his bare hands, not enough for three attackers, no not enough and ducking and diving under again and again, blaster shots hitting the surface sending up little clouds of steam, heavy soaked robe dragging him down, poor Padawan, faster, damn it, three droids against one unarmed boy... my hand clenches around the blowpipe, I would, you know, but he's flopping about too much, and too far away, arrows only fly in a straight line, and I have only two darts and an idea of how sensitive ignifer is... can't creep closer, not while the bloody droids are around -- they're the client's droids, and I'm not here, not here really, just here to quietly despatch one Jedi Master, to be mine... bloody droids, two left, one smashed into a tree... pure luck on the Padawan's side, dammit, but the noise has now... oh Sith! Qui is... damn those droids!! Something moves, and they fire at it, and that green blade is still infallible, sending one exploding into the underbrush, and fuck I wish I could mind-control the last one without getting seen... formidable, Jinn, so hot when you're in a frenzy... damn droid, take out that flailing wet Padawan pup while you can... yes... now!!
My choked gasp drowns in the noise of the last droid exploding from its own blaster bolt, ricocheting off Jinn's clear green blade. Just above the water, just where the Jedi boy had been standing... what is now a churning pit of grey water, sending up steam and the acrid smell of burnt machinery and... flesh?
Victory? Damn, my hands tremble as I lift the blowpipe to my mouth. I have two darts, but one shot only really... Jinn's incredibly quick-witted... and only if the pup is truly dead... I feel the cool steel tube against my dry lips. Deep breath...
Sith.
Soaked, splashing and undignified, but most definitely alive. Two targets, one dart. Blowing now would be my end. Cursing under my breath, I exhale. There's more droids in the offing, to look for those whose tracking signals had exploded in a shower of sparks at Jinn's hands. I can hear them thundering in the background, over the tense tangle of voices. Closer, closer... but would they? Would they stand a chance -- the pup is unarmed, but Jinn... would probably rather die in defence of his Padawan. That tastes bitter and dry in my mouth. A small chance now, all chance. Bitter and relegated to the shadows. Damn.
And the... the beast is... fuck, that's out of character! Just seeing the familiar shape of the underwater breather slipping into Qui-Gon's tense mouth turns my stomach. They're going to _escape_, and I am stuck here unable to do anything but bite my lip until it bleeds.
Kenobi bleeds, is the last thing I see. The shards from the exploding droid scored his face before he went under, a thin diluted web of light red lines washing down from his right temple, down his neck and into the soaked white tunic, staining the braid, spreading out into the dirty water as he dives under. Not bleeding enough, damn it. Not nearly enough.
Damn that creature. Damn Kenobi and his puny life. Damn Jinn and his love of it... that red, that red trailing down Kenobi's face... thicker... hotter, like the red haze at the edge of here... damn... hear the droids coming closer... alone now, not my allies any more. Whoever that client is... the cowards will denounce me... fucking free-for-all if they find me... lie low, Xan, lie low. Watch. It's all you can do. All is not lost yet.
The dart drops from my shaking hand. All is not lost yet.
Damn nearly though. Stakes too bloody high.
The stagnant pool ripples where it has swallowed the two and the blasted beast. Where it has swallowed the bright blue flame as planned, and left the bearer alive.
Not even water can be trusted any more. Not even fire. Blaster fire, dammit.
Breathe, Xan. All is not lost yet. Watch their steps. Observe. Plan. Remain unseen, and strike lightning fast at the next opportunity.
There's just got to be another... fuck... lie low... that was close, damned droid... it's my life against his now... there's got to be another... please.
---The End---