Master Apprentice
Archive
Suspicion
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Ten years ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi walked out halfway through his Trials, packed his bags and left the Jedi. Now, Jedi Councillor Jinn is startled to find his long-lost padawan representing big business at trade negotiations.
Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan/other, Angst, Action/Adventure, Alternate... Version of History But Still The Jedi Universe, mmmkay?
Rated NC-17
Warnings:
Sex: yes
Violence: low level onscreen, passing references to serious violence.
Sexual violence: references, but nothing graphic.
Squick: no
Chan: no
I don't warn for anything else.
Borrows early JA canon, Xanatos and Bruck references and such. It's a very minor plot point, but in any universe I write, Bruck was eventually taken in hand and cared for as an initiate ought to be cared for. Cardboard villain, my arse.
Dr Squidlove rambling on Feedback:
This has a fucking plot! You betcha I want to know if you liked it, or if you picked all the twists all from the beginning or if you pushed through to the end. I'm very excited about my plot. Plot! I'm very excited about finishing a story that I started way back in June 1999. 1999! (This is, in fact, the second tpm idea I ever wrote down.) I treasure feedback, anything from private "I liked it," e-mails to five page dissertations onlist on where the story went wrong. Plot is new ground for me, so on this one I'd particularly like to know whether twists worked. drsquidlove@virginqueen.com
Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Yoda and the Jedi universe are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd. I'm just playing with the action figures, 'kay Mr Lucas?
Gloriana always gets the biggest thanks for anything I write, because she has great insight into the workings of stories, and utterly predictable kinks. Terri articulated perfectly why the ending was crap, and she is why the ending is not crap now. I hope. Layna is just plain awesome, and knows the value of an 'Oh dear!'. All of them fixed embarrassing piles of typos and spelling errors. No doubt I've added new ones.
Also huge thanks to the people who offered helpful thoughts and encouragement on the crappy early drafts when I was using lj to drag this out of my brain: Obi-Ki, Laura, Splix, Terri and Tem-ve. I'm sure this would have stalled where it was then, without their help.
I really hope I haven't forgotten anyone.
This story is for Thalia, who demanded I pull this out of the deep freeze back in February 2003. She's one of the best people in this fandom, and if anyone deserves to get the stories they wish for, it's Thalia, so here it is. It's taken a while, but ~ding~ whack on a garnish, Jamie Oliver, it's done!
Chapter One
Qui-Gon stopped in the bedroom doorway to smile down on his padawan. Obi-Wan was kneeling by the window of their dayroom, chin raised so the yellow dawn fell on his shuttered face and bared torso. The entire room was at peace, warm and still but for the floating dust. Qui-Gon allowed the peace to flow through him, soothing his own nerves to a low buzz. He let the man be and made his way to the kitchen.
He had almost finished making breakfast when Obi-Wan stepped up behind him, peeking around his shoulder. "You didn't have to do that."
Qui-Gon smiled, suddenly a little sad. "It was my pleasure."
Obi-Wan regarded him strangely. "Are you nervous, Master? I thought you had full confidence in me."
"Perhaps I am nervous that you will succeed, leaving me a lonely old man once more."
Obi-Wan's gaze softened. "Never completely." And then he wrapped his arms around him.
It was a moment before Qui-Gon returned the embrace, surprised at the display of affection. Obi-Wan hadn't hugged him since... ever. Qui-Gon had held him a few times in his youth, when he was upset or injured, but that was years ago. Now the comfort lent was returned.
When Obi-Wan finally pulled back, Qui-Gon touched his cheek, unwilling to relinquish contact completely. "How is it that you are not nervous? On the morning of my Trials, I twitched so much Master Yoda almost sent me to the healers."
Obi-Wan grinned, delighted at the confidence. "I can feel the Force around me, Master. The moment is right. Everything will be as it should."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ten years later.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Qui-Gon pushed his foot into his boot, flexing his toes and stamping to settle in his heel before he reached for the other one. He would have been glad of another hour to meditate - or an hour to sleep, for that matter, in a more comfortable bed. It was bothersome, how the unfamiliar had become... unfamiliar. Four years ago, his normal life had been a procession of beds like this one, or, more often, less comfortable quarters. These days he always found the prospect of working alone, on a simple and straightforward mission - if there was such a thing - unsettling. Pleasing, but unsettling.
He had not been wrong, in all those years of accusing the Council of being insulated and stodgy, but he had never thought deeply on what it might be like to be in their position. Most members managed at least a couple of brief off-Coruscant missions a year, while Qui-Gon always aimed for three. However, every new excursion solidified his belief that taking occasional brief forays into the galaxy brought no insight at all into the endless grind of working life for a dedicated field Jedi.
It was long-past time that Qui-Gon felt he ought to have turned over his seat on the Council and returned to the field, but each time he knelt in the Temple Gardens and opened himself to the Force, something always guided him to stay. He hoped it was the Force, and not his own fears.
He stood and stretched, swung his cloak over his shoulders and headed out the door. He left his hood down, and the evening air was crisp on his cheeks and nose. The walk along the balcony allowed a pleasant view of the rolling hills beyond the commercial complex, the thin forest dark under the crimson moonlight but alive with the Force in needle-leaves and an abundance of hungry creatures. There was a good chance of snowfall sometime during the Industry Conference, and Qui-Gon was quietly eager. In all his years in the field, he'd never imagined he would one day miss weather. He hadn't imagined it all those years ago, when he was thrashing about for days in the mud and the pouring rain a few hundred kilometres south of this very city, pulling agricultural workers to safety.
In the main quadrangle a light mist made halos around the lamps, shrouding the lawns and the silent offices. His footsteps echoed as he made his way to the other side, where a passage led through a small twig garden to the rear of the central building. Qui-Gon climbed the stairs and rounded the corner to find the merry yellow lights and red-glowing wall heaters of the reception hall balcony, where officials and various interested traders were already spilling out of the crowded hall in small groups. A few of the nearer officials touched their foreheads in welcome, and he returned the gesture.
The Prime Minister had insisted on a reception to precede the Industry Conference, to remind everyone that they were all friends. It said little for a friendship if the participants had to be reminded of it, in Qui-Gon's opinion, but he appreciated the thought. This was an important conference for Saban, and it was hardly surprising that the Prime Minister would be protecting her new initiative.
This was the first time offplanet investors had been admitted to Saban's once-annual Industry Conference, and the Supreme Chancellor was eager that it be a success. Hence Qui-Gon had been drafted into the mediating and countersigning role traditionally held by a Saban government official. It was not the most fulfilling work for a Jedi, but businessmen were - as a general rule - far more interesting and mildly less deceitful than politicians, and their negotiations were far less likely to lead to wars.
All in all, it was not a bad diversion from the politics of being a member of the Jedi Council.
He made his way into the hall, which was already filled to stifling. The Prime Minister was conferring with an advisor, but she saw him immediately, excusing herself and making her way through the crowd to meet him. "Master Jinn." They touched their foreheads. "I am glad you could be spared for our conference. We were surprised to be granted a Jedi of your standing, but deeply honoured."
"Supreme Chancellor Thrair takes seriously his promise to protect your planet as you open your borders to trade. Trade negotiations have always been a specialty of mine, and my past involvement with your people was considered. Even members of the Council must stretch our minds, occasionally."
She smiled politely. "Saban is honoured by your return. We will never forget the assistance provided by you and your apprentice during the Floods." Her thanks was sincere, and Qui-Gon dipped his head. She turned, gesturing for him to follow her. "I hope your apprentice is faring well? He was an exceptional young man. I owe him a great debt of thanks; he pulled my sister from the mudslide with his own hands."
Qui-Gon allowed the small twist in his stomach, and let it go. "I'm afraid we lost Xanatos many years ago."
She looked down, seeming to search through and abandon various platitudes, then offered a gentle look. "I give you my regrets."
"Thank you, Prime Minister."
"Allow me to introduce you to some of the key players." She led him over to interrupt the low-voiced argument of a small group, directing his attention to a long, lean woman with the determined air of command. "Jedi Master Jinn, please meet Security Director Elar. She will provide you with any assistance you require."
Elar touched her forehead. "I was a junior officer during the floods, Master Jinn. It is an honour to meet you in person." He touched his forehead, including the others in his greeting.
"This is Looman, head of the administration consortium," the Prime Minister introduced a small, balding man before turning to an elderly woman in a hoverchair, "and Menee, owner of Saban's second largest retailing corporation."
Menee peered up at Qui-Gon with approval, waving her pale, wrinkled hand. "And now you return to oversee Saban's expansion. Many years, Master Jinn, I have been awaiting a Prime Minister who would have the courage to take Saban into the Republic."
"You are not concerned with the new competition?"
"Ha! The rest of the Republic has access to a tiny new pocket of business on Saban. Meanwhile, Saban has been offered the entire galaxy. I hardly think we have the poor end of the deal, Jedi."
"Then I am glad to be of service."
A pair of young offworlders hustled their way into the group, and so the introductions continued. Most attendees were Saban business principals, but there were various interest groups represented as well, and a small number of eager offworld investors.
The Prime Minister's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of someone in a corner. "There's another set of delegates I would like you to meet." Her voice lowered as they filed between the guests. "Perkog Corporation is one of the new offworlders. They're a relatively new company, in fact, but have grown... surprisingly quickly."
Their eyes met in a sideways glance, both thinking the unspoken thought. In political and commercial circles, 'surprising' and 'suspicious' were terms all too closely related.
"All business dealings involve a little greed, Master Jinn, but Saban is not known for corruption. I would not like for it to become so known."
"Nor would I, Prime Minister."
They shared another look, and then the Prime Minister led him into the new group. "Master Jinn, may I introduce Minister Zog of the South Continent, Bort of Bort Agriculture, and Martou Sollie, the senior representative of one our new arrivals, Perkog Corporation." They all touched their foreheads.
Sollie was a short and heavy-set woman, with short-cropped blonde hair, and she beamed as she greeted him. "Perkog is pleased to have a non-internal mediator facilitating the dialogue. I look forward to working alongside you, Master Jinn, to implement the optimal solutions for the Saban market."
Ah. A trained marketeer.
The Prime Minister glanced about. "Sollie, is your associate-"
"He's interfacing with a potential client opportunity. He'll be- ah, Ben. Master Jinn, this is my team mate Ben Kenobi..."
Qui-Gon heard nothing more.
It was him.
Qui-Gon had long-supposed the man was dead.
He hadn't even recognised him at first glance, features buried behind a moustache and neat short beard, grey-streaked hair reaching shaggily to his shoulders. But his eyes... Even lined with creases, Qui-Gon knew those eyes. He was shorter than Qui-Gon remembered. Older. He would be a little past thirty, but his face looked at least a decade more than that. As strong as ever, though, his figure still trim in the simple blue tunic.
He was alive. He was standing in a warm room with a full glass of wine and an _expression of mild curiosity.
Qui-Gon waited for the surge of joyous relief, but there was only a whirling storm turning deep in his stomach, dredging up days and weeks of fearful, lonely waiting. Ten years later, here Obi-Wan was, healthy and standing about as though Qui-Gon had never grieved for him. What was he doing here?
Obi-Wan regarded him without even a touch of surprise. Had he known who the Jedi would send, or had he mastered his expressions so well? It was not such an unlikely possibility, considering his shields were so strong that Qui-Gon had never even sensed his presence. Qui-Gon had always imagined he would sense Obi-Wan half a world away.
Finally he realised that his silence was drawing attention, and shut his gaping mouth. "We've m-"
"I am pleased to meet you, Master Jinn." Obi-Wan raised his chin.
Pleased to meet him? Does he not recognise me, Qui-Gon wondered? It *was* Obi-Wan...
Qui-Gon had not even noticed the slight, until he felt tension from the others. Even the Prime Minster had the respect to touch her forehead for Master Jinn of the Jedi Council. What was Obi-Wan doing?
Qui-Gon quickly bowed his head and touched his face with the same courtesy he had offered every other person he'd greeted. "Ben Kenobi." His voice was harsh, the name awkward in his throat, but it measured not a flicker in the enigma before him.
Qui-Gon pulled away, urging the Prime Minister to more introductions; names and companies his mind filed away even though he never registered them consciously. Finally he begged off, letting her believe he needed time to review the local business laws and Conference procedures, and returned to his quarters.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Qui-Gon slumped back against it to stare in wonder at the ceiling.
Obi-Wan. After years of not existing, Qui-Gon imagining the man was dead, his second failure had come back to haunt him, representing a company of dubious repute. Sheer poetry.
He closed his eyes against the anger that was creeping into his heart. Obi-Wan, who had broken through his defences and given him the faith he needed to train another padawan, who had been his friend and confidante for thirteen years, who had walked out on his Trials without so much as a goodbye. Qui-Gon had followed him back to their quarters, badgering him with questions, but Obi-Wan only threw a change of tunics in a bag and walked away. He left everything else behind.
Qui-Gon slid a hand into his tunic to feel smooth stone against his palm. The glossy black river rock had been kept like a talisman in Obi-Wan's chest pocket from the day it saved his memory on Phindar. Months after the aborted Trials, when Qui-Gon finally summoned the courage to begin sorting Obi-Wan's things, he found it lying dull and forgotten in the dust beneath his bed.
He'd sat on the floor for hours, turning the stone in his fingers, red streaks laid deep in black. He had never felt the Force in it as Obi-Wan claimed to, but it had been his own hopeful talisman ever since.
He sometimes wondered if he had been offered a seat on the Council merely to keep future padawans safe from his care.
He cursed his own lingering resentment and with a long breath out he released as much as he was able. He looked to the comm panel. The Council liked to keep track of lost Jedi, but there was no urgency. He would do best to meditate, gather himself and call later.
No urgency for them, perhaps. He crossed the room and commed the channel he knew best, waiting patiently for the familiar holo to resolve.
Yoda's ears twitched in surprise when he saw who had summoned him. "So soon, Qui-Gon? Expected to hear from you, I had not."
"No, Master."
Yoda leaned forward at the tone, and then waved someone away. Qui-Gon heard the click of a door, and Yoda's attention was focussed on him again. "Problems, Qui-Gon?"
"A familiar face." Qui-Gon swallowed. "Obi-Wan is here. He is representing one of the interplanetary companies."
The tiny image of Yoda sat back, ears lowering as he thought.
"Perkog Corporation - have you heard of it?"
A frown to the negative.
"According to the Prime Minister, it's a new company, making surprising progress in the local area."
"Front for a larger company, think you?"
"It is a possibility."
A pause, and then gently, "Obi-Wan involved in bad dealings, think you?"
The cold Qui-Gon had been keeping at bay crawled over his skin. He'd been trying not to put those two ideas together. "It would not be prudent to assume otherwise."
Yoda bowed his head in agreement. "Be wary, Qui-Gon, of yourself as well as him. Do not let past errors rule you now."
Qui-Gon managed a small smile. "Are you telling me not to learn from experience, Master?"
"Telling you to judge with wisdom, I am," Yoda retorted.
"Is there any Council business for me to attend?"
"Manage without you, the Council does. Attend your own mission. Keep me abreast, you will."
The image flickered away, and Qui-Gon straightened in his chair. No, Obi-Wan was not Xanatos. Though abrupt, Obi-Wan's circumstances of leaving had not been marked by the malice of his predecessor's. There was no reason to believe Obi-Wan was dangerous.
There was no reason to leap to any conclusion. There was only the way Qui-Gon's stomach had twisted at seeing him, and it wasn't impossible that that feeling had stemmed from Qui-Gon's own heart. It was something he needed to consider.
Qui-Gon felt a wave of exhaustion. Suddenly, this was not the vacation he had expected. These two weeks would last longer than he was ready to bear. He looked longingly towards his bed, contemplating the possibility of simply curling up and trying not to think, and pushed it firmly away. Retiring would do nothing to still his mind. He needed to meditate, and then he needed to work.
With a long, steady breath, Qui-Gon stood and walked out onto his private balcony, relishing the cool bite of the night air. A hum of eager conversations and the occasional burst of laughter carried across the lawns from the central building, making him feel strangely isolated. The rail was frigid under his hands, enough to press a soft ache through the joints of his fingers, so he closed his eyes and felt it, let the distant party fade away as the cold touched his veins, flowing slowly up his arms, to the centre of him. The Force filled him.
He'd found a measure of satisfaction in his life, these past few years: tremendous friendships with other members of the Council and a stronger relationship with the Force than he'd ever imagined, but there was always this, the mystery of Obi-Wan, unfinished and unreconciled, a claw catching and tearing at the back of his cloak. What had sent Obi-Wan spinning from his Trials?
Qui-Gon's own Trials had been difficult, as all Trials were. Yet, for all the awe the event engendered in the young, failure was rare. The Trials were a formality, a final lesson, not an exam. Masters didn't send padawans before they were truly ready, and where they might be hasty - as Qui-Gon knew he had been with Xanatos - the Council intervened.
No one had doubted that Obi-Wan would blaze through his Trials and into a noteworthy knighthood. His failure had been unexpected. The only tiny reassurance was that this time, the Council had been at as deep a loss as himself for an explanation.
In the days and weeks that followed, Qui-Gon had replayed every conversation he remembered, interrogated Obi-Wan's friends, searched through the possessions he left behind, and had never found a clue. By all accounts, Obi-Wan had been the apprentice Qui-Gon knew: happy, determined, firmly grounded in the Force.
Qui-Gon squeezed the balcony rails and then opened his eyes as he straightened. He was getting nowhere, and meanwhile the answer to the mystery was here for the asking.
It was time to go to work.
All business was supposed to be confined to the Conference, but no doubt there was much unofficial discussion held in backrooms in the off-hours. Qui-Gon planned to tour the compound regularly, to be sure that he seemed omnipresent. He gestured solemnly to the delegates he passed, doing nothing more than reminding them of his attention, allowing his heavy cloak and his height and the Jedi name to do the intimidating for him.
One well-bundled desert-worlder shivered and grinned as she passed. "Makes you long for Coruscant, doesn't it, sir?"
Qui-Gon took a long breath, pulling the frigid air to the bottom of his lungs. "Not at all."
The reception had wound down. From the lawn, Qui-Gon could see attendants whipping away abandoned drinks and collapsing tables from around the final lingering groups on the balcony, dimming lights in a none-too subtle hint. Most of the attendees were now walking the pathways and gardens between the rambling buildings, heading for home or seeking quarters more private to continue their discussions.
When he'd covered the main paths of the complex, Qui-Gon took his casual walk through the less-frequented corridors and dark back alleys - passages for maintenance staff and hiding people - waiting to see if he would feel the familiar Force of his former padawan. The sensation of being followed intruded first, as he turned down a small service alleyway behind the central kitchen, and then Obi-Wan's signature, banked. His shielding was impressive indeed.
Qui-Gon slowed his pace, suddenly surprised that Obi-Wan had come looking for him, wondering what he could possibly have to say. Surely the reception snub spoke for itself.
Finally, he stopped and turned, carefully placed so the light from the bare overhead lamp would fall on the other man's face and shadow his own. A cheap trick, and obvious, but nevertheless effective.
Obi-Wan's eyes flicked to the light, but he stayed in its glare, meeting his mentor's gaze with a challenge. He'd halted with a good five strides between them: battle distance, Qui-Gon realised. Were they opponents, now?
Obi-Wan's clothes were expensive, finely-tailored, but even the thick blue cape he'd donned couldn't disguise that he was slightly hunched. It was impossible to tell whether his posture had deteriorated or he was simply braced against the cold. Grey was already shading his temples, and beginning to fleck through his beard. The soft white clouds of his breath were clear and steady, no nerves to see.
"Obi-W-"
"Ben. My name is Ben."
"So ashamed of your heritage, are you?"
Obi-Wan settled his hands on his belt, a stance he'd learned from Qui-Gon long ago. "I don't want these people to know I was a Jedi." His voice hadn't changed at all. It was still soft and aristocratic, an accent that had survived years in the Jedi and now years in limbo.
"You were never a Jedi, Obi-Wan. You quit your Trials, remember?" A gentle tone didn't hide the acid in the words, and Obi-Wan's eyes sharpened.
"It is not a decision I regret."
"Quit your Trials and kept your lightsaber," Qui-Gon added with a nod to the barely detectable bulge at Obi-Wan's hip, "which you now carry concealed. You bring shame to it."
"It is only a weapon." Obi-Wan lifted his tunic and took it in his hand, and Qui-Gon tensed. But Obi-Wan held it loose in his upturned palm, and light glinted on the weapon Qui-Gon had watched him build when he was nineteen, fully-grown at last and ready for a full-size saber. "A symbol of your self-indulgent Order, perhaps, but a weapon just the same. The sentimentality is yours, not mine."
Sentimentality. Is that what was left of the Jedi teachings?
"Surely it would be a benefit to advertise your experience? The skills you learned in the Temple would no doubt put a bonus on your salary." A sneer crept into his tone on 'salary', but it only brought careless laughter from Obi-Wan as he tucked the saber away once more.
"I don't need to show them my resume, Qui-Gon. I'm the best. You taught me everything you know and I picked up the rest along the way. There is no law here to order my disclosure."
The casualness, the easy use of his name set Qui-Gon's teeth on edge. "As you conduct your business this week, bear in mind that my attention will be upon you. Do not believe that I would offer concessions for our past relationship."
Obi-Wan's lip curled in disgust. "All those years admiring you, striving to be just like you. I never realised what a narrow man you are." He stalked off, leaving Qui-Gon alone in the dim corridor.
He hadn't even asked Obi-Wan why he'd left.