Obi-Wan woke slowly, eyes opening into the darkness. He could
feel Qui-Gon lying beside him, softly snoring. He smiled to
himself, remembering the brief interlude from earlier in the
evening. His mind was slowly beginning to release his memories,
as the amount of medication he was getting was slowly reduced.
He stretched, groaning at the stiffness he felt in his long
unused muscles. He had been abed too long. He wanted to get
stronger, back to his normal self. Obi-Wan looked over at his
master, grinning. He wanted to be able to run his hands over
that strong body, enjoy it.
Obi-Wan stopped short. When had they become lovers? Where they
lovers? Somehow Obi-Wan knew how Qui-Gon tasted when they
kissed, how his body felt, but he could not remember the moment
when that bridge had been crossed. He sighed in frustration.
The memories would return. "Please let them surface," he hoped
fervently, "and bring the Force closer to me."
Fully awake, Obi-Wan slipped out of bed, slowly donning a robe
and heading into the kitchen area of the cabin. Cha sounded
wonderful -- something warm and spicy and not bland
convalescent fare. He put the pot on to boil and sat down at
the small table to wait. His master's datapad was lying there,
the master's menu of messages glowing green in the darkness.
The padawan reached to turn it away, to avoid the temptation
to read something that was not meant for him, when his eyes
snagged on his name. The subject line read "Obi-Wan's
Progress." Qui-Gon was writing about him! Intrigued, Obi-Wan
pulled the datapad to him opened and the file.
"I am happy to report that my padawan and I arrived here
safely. I cannot thank you enough, for your assistance. Obi-Wan
slept throughout the journey. To be honest, I was concerned I
would be stopped on my way from the healers. It is not common
for a Master to carry an unconscious apprentice away from
there. He was so far gone with the sedatives that I couldn't
wake him. I have continued to administer the amizol in order to
allow him sleep and to avoid any withdrawal symptoms.
"Once we were on the ship, I removed the inhibitor collar and
Obi-Wan immediately relaxed. His sleep remained troubled and I
took great care to shield him tightly. The Force surges were
never repeated, although he was continually drugged. I have
faith that I am capable of controlling any attacks Obi-Wan
might launch. Although we have seen the damage he can create,
he has shown no signs of causing another crisis.
"My padawan is still underweight, but I am not terribly
concerned about his physical state. His burns are totally
healed. He is eating and I hope he will be able to leave his
bed soon. Unfortunately, Master, he has little to no
comprehensive recollection of recent events. Once he is
completely weaned from the amizol, I will begin to work with
him regarding his memory.
"At this point, all I have told Obi-Wan is that he has been
ill. I am afraid that the knowledge of his actions would
adversely affect his recovery.
"On a personal note, Master, please send my deepest
condolences to Master Gaz-na'hr. There is not a day that goes
by that I do not meditate on her pain. I imagine that she is
upset that Obi-Wan has been allowed to leave Coruscant and that
she wishes him to stand trial for the murder of her padawan.
Please convey to her that Obi-Wan did not mean to kill Pzed. I
cannot believe his actions were consciously malicious.
"I sit here and watch him sleep, constantly ready to clamp
down on his mind if he should strike out with the Force. He is
gone from my mind and yet, when he wakes, he will look at me
with a confused expression and expect me to act like the master
he remembers. His slate is wiped clean and I must, for his
sake, pretend that I do not care.
"Force help me! I am having great trouble looking into
Obi-Wan's eyes and not asking what happened. Not asking how he
could have literally beaten another padawan, a dear friend, to
death. And, while I need to know his reason, need to know what
happened· part of me hopes that he never remembers,
never has to relive the pain he inflicted.
"What I can assure you, Master Yoda, is that we did the right
thing in removing him from the Temple. Right now, it is the
safest situation, both for the Jedi and for Obi-Wan.
"May the Force be with you,
"Qui-Gon Jinn"
The pot of water whistled and Obi-Wan jerked sharply, moving
away from the table and silencing the shrill noise before his
master woke. His hands shook violently, boiling water splashing
upon the exposed skin unnoticed. He breathing sped, birdlike,
as visions flashed before his mental eye, brutally coalescing
into an ever-darkening pattern.
Pzed's dark braid whipping across his face as they moved
through a kata. "Is that as fast as you can move, Obi?"
"Trust me, Padawan." Blue eyes gazing.
A Dark man holding a dripping tooth in his hand. "Beg me."
"Ready him for me, K'thia." Blue eyes within a kindly face.
His master's face, hidden, unable to make eye contact. "You've
been· unwell."
"Release your pain, Jedi." A red lightsaber tracing lines of
pain down his bleeding torso.
Lying cold in the shower, rubble strewn about, his teeth
chattering.
The bond, that link to home and light and hope and Qui-Gon,
shattered, thousands of sparking shards that could not be
repaired.
"I cannot train him, not like this." A silvered head bowed
over a commlink.
"Please, Obi. Stop·" Pzed's eyes mottled in pain, blood
streaking behind him on the wall, on the floor. His face,
contorted in pain. His body broken·
"Oh, Force· what have I done? What have I done?" The
whisper fell from his lips and seemed to burst at his feet.
Nausea roiling through him, Obi-Wan rushed to the 'fresher,
closing the door behind him before emptying his stomach.
He sat on the floor, staring blankly for a long moment,
simultaneously fighting the urges to sob and to scream. He
could not do either, could not risk waking Qui-Gon. The
memories bashed against him, all disconnected but all screaming
the tale of his disgrace, his dishonor. "I cannot look into
those eyes. Force, help me. I cannot have him look upon me with
shame. What have I done?"
The young man sat, slowing rocking himself as the guilt
threatened to overwhelm him. A low, keening noise slipped from
his throat, startling him. How could he hurt this much, be in
this much pain and Qui-Gon sleep? How could his master not feel
his insides tearing apart? Unless, of course, Qui-Gon knew and
could not bring himself to respond...
"Stop it! I will not besmirch him with my depravity!"
The sky was beginning to lighten, the black of sky threatening
to become blue. Obi-Wan stood and opened up the supply closet,
looking for a cloth to wipe the clammy sweat from his face.
Lying at the bottom of the closet on the floor were the bags
his master had brought. Bags he had packed for a trip to
protect the Temple from his padawan. His master had left the
Jedi Temple to protect him. Obi-Wan swallowed a sob.
"My poor master, how could you have tended me so well, knowing
what I am?"
He looked at the bags that held his clothes. Kneeling, Obi-Wan
searched through the various clothing, picking out a few
pieces. "I will not keep my master from the Jedi. He deserves
better than me."
Sighing, Obi-Wan slipped on warm leggings and a white tunic.
Rummaging further, he found his belt, fastening it loosely
around his waist.
At the bottom of the dark bag was the collar. Obi-Wan knew
what they looked like, dreaded what they felt like. "You
deserve this, Obi-Wan." Shuddering, he picked it up, setting in
on the counter.
Slowly, Obi-Wan turned to the mirror. His face was gaunt, hair
longer than he was used to. He leaned in close, watching his
breath fog the surface. His eyes were all pupils, iris
dissolved in regret. "You are a murderer, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You
are a danger to the Light and all that it holds dear. You do
not deserve to call yourself Jedi."
The metal collar glinted in the artificial light as Obi-Wan
picked it up and slid it around his neck. It closed silently
and the wondrous song stopped as if a heavy door had slammed
shut. Tears slid down the drawn face and the thin shoulders
slumped under the new weight they carried.
Obi-Wan pulled the long braid out from under the cold metal of
the Force inhibitor. Holding the long tail before him,
fingering the bright beads, Obi-Wan could picture the thousands
of times Qui-Gon's hands had braided it, the dedication it
symbolized. Qui-Gon's dark hair bound within his own lighter
strands, promises made to uphold the Light, to walk within his
master's footsteps.
Those promises had all been broken. Shattered by his own hand.
Tightening his fist, Obi-Wan jerked his hand down. The braid
tore from his scalp, bringing a bright stab of pain that
overshadowed the ache in his heart for a brief moment. A thin
trickle of blood made its way down his neck, staining the
collar of his tunic.
Obi-Wan took a long look at himself. It was funny; he didn't
look different, really. He thought that surely it would show on
his face that his soul had died, but he just looked tired.
Rousing himself, he slipped through the cabin, stopping once
to look at the face of the man he'd once called Master. Qui-Gon
was smiling in his sleep. Obi-Wan hoped that that dream was
enough. He placed the braid on the pillow beside the slumbering
man's head, whispering, "I'm sorry."
As Obi-Wan moved to the door, he saw Qui-Gon's cloak hanging
there. "You're already a murderer. Are you going to add theft
to your crimes?" The young man turned away from the cloak,
heading out. Suddenly he snatched the cloth, wrapping it around
himself, taking the scent of home with him.
The door opened and Obi-Wan Kenobi ran.
Obi-Wan was dancing, face lightly painted with streaks of
glitter, dressed only in a loose pair of dark green leggings.
The flames from the fire lit his spiky hair as the young man
undulated to the rhythmic drumbeats, bare feet stamping out
counter-point on the polished wooden floor. Obi-Wan's chest
gleamed, drops of sweat catching the light.
Obi-Wan arched his back, bending over until his long braid
trailed the ground. Slowly, arms waving gracefully in the air,
he straightened, face covered in a seductive smile. Those hips
rolled, thrust and Qui-Gon felt himself grow erect, groin
tightening with arousal.
"Force, he is beautiful," Qui-Gon though, swallowing hard.
Qui-Gon groaned as those sea-green eyes caressed him. The
young man moved closer, hands trailing languidly over firming
nipples and down a taut stomach. The drumbeats grew faster, the
flames dancing ever more fiercely as Obi-Wan moved towards him
sinuously.
Qui-Gon reached for his own hardness, not surprised to find
himself naked, lounging on soft pillows. He stroked in time
with the pounding of the drums, eyes never leaving his
padawan's face.
As he thrust into his closed fist, Obi-Wan bent down to him.
Qui-Gon was entranced as he felt the soft tongue of his padawan
trace his lips. Their kiss was sweet, almost chaste. Qui-Gon
groaned, slipping his hand behind Obi-Wan's head as he deepened
the kiss. The Force danced around them and Qui-Gon reached for
his lover's awareness, needing that closeness.
With a soft smile and a shake of his head, Obi-Wan pulled
back, whispering, "Love you, Master." Those words, helped along
by a sharp tug to his weeping cock, brought Qui-Gon to
completion.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's scream of pleasure echoed through the
cabin, body arching underneath the disheveled bed coverings.
The Jedi master opened his eyes, blinking at the dim light
seeping into the room, casting odd shadows for what should be a
bright morning. He chuckled low in his throat at the sticky
mass cooling on his stomach. He had managed to go for quite a
while without having one of THOSE dreams. It figured that he
would do it with Obi-Wan sleeping next to him.
Frowning, Qui-Gon looked over. Well, Obi-Wan should have been
sleeping next to him. Running his hand over the disheveled
coverings where his padawan had slept the night before, Qui-Gon
felt for a hint of warmth that would let him know how long his
padawan had been awake. The sheets were cool to the touch.
He could smell the spicy scent of ooale cha in the air.
"Obi-Wan?" he called. No doubt Obi-Wan would be questioning his
actions from the night before.
"Force knows I should be questioning them." Obi-Wan had looked
so happy, laughing in the rain, that for a moment all of the
conflict had faded away. All Qui-Gon had seen was the simple
need within the man he cared for, and his body and soul had
responded to that need.
From the moment they had left the Temple, Qui-Gon had felt
uprooted. His padawan was ill, heavily sedated, and mentally
unstable. Watching Obi-Wan, pale and responsive in the shower
had relaxed something within Qui-Gon. For the first time since
he had seen Obi-Wan hanging limply before the Loom on Larquis,
Obi-Wan had been laughing, out of bed and looking at his master
with desire. Whether or not acting on his impulse had been wise
remained to be seen.
Sighing, Qui-Gon slipped his long legs out of the bed and
stood, not bothering to dress. He walked through the archway
into the main part of the cabin, calling for his padawan.
"Obi-Wan? Where are you, Padawan?" Glancing into the kitchen
area, the Jedi master could see the teapot sitting on the
counter, cup standing ready, but no Obi-Wan.
The cabin felt empty, chilly, the dampness from the slow rain
outside creeping in. Heading towards the window to see if the
young man was getting himself drenched again, Qui-Gon noticed
that his cloak was missing from its peg on the wall. Opening
the door and poking his head out, Qui-Gon looked for signs that
Obi-Wan was out in the woods. "Padawan! Padawan, if you're out
there, it's time to come in and get out of this rain. Obi-Wan?"
The steady drip of huge raindrops into deepening puddles was
the only response to his echoing call. It was going to be
colder today, Qui-Gon predicted. The clouds, which yesterday
had been slightly dreary, were now becoming ominous. There
would be no playing in the rain for his padawan today. He
needed to recover more fully, to try to stabilize his memories.
"Obi-Wan!"
"This is simply ridiculous. We're far enough outside the city
that he couldn't have just walked there, especially not in his
condition. Perhaps he went walking deeper into the woods."
Thoughts zipped through Qui-Gon's mind as he pulled his head in
and closed the door. "Maybe he left a note?"
Qui-Gon moved to the table, picking up his datapad. Surely if
Obi-Wan had intended to be gone long he would have left a
message. His report to Yoda flashed onto the screen. "Funny,
I'm sure I closed that up yesterday when I was
finished·"
A shudder ran through the nude body. "Did you forget, Jinn?
Did you forget to close it down? Or did he open it? What will
you tell him, Jinn, if he saw it?"
Setting the datapad down with a loud clunk, Qui-Gon clicked it
off. He tried to calm his breathing, but couldn't ignore the
sensation that tickled the back of his neck, begged him to
hurry, to move. Something was wrong here, not the way it should
be. Agitation filled the air, a sense of desperation.
He headed for the 'fresher, intending to grab some clothes and
head out to find Obi-Wan. Something was wrong with Obi-Wan,
must be wrong with him. It was getting cold out there, after
all, and he had been sick and he couldn't have gotten
far·
The 'fresher was a mess. The closet door was hanging open,
clothing and baggage strewn across the beige tiles. Obi-Wan's
com link sat discarded amongst tunics, robes and spilled
toiletries. He bent towards the mess, needing to sort through
it to see what happened, when a spot of blood on the sink
caught his eye.
Blood. Had Obi-Wan cut himself? Perhaps fallen and hit his
head? Qui-Gon reached out and touched the single bright drop.
It was cooling, sticky, almost hardened. The urge to hurry
built, almost screaming at him as his finger connected with the
blood.
Grabbing a pair of leggings and some tunics off the floor,
Qui-Gon threw them on, grabbing a pair of socks on his way out
of the 'fresher. Qui-Gon sat on the bed, quickly pulling them
on.
"Where are you, Padawan? Please, where are you? Force!"
When he pulled his boot off the floor beside him, something
fell off of the bed, hitting the floor with a click. Qui-Gon
looked down, eyebrows arching, not believing what his mind
insisted he saw.
A braid.
A padawan braid.
His padawan's braid.
Stunned into stillness, Qui-Gon sat, staring blankly at the
coil on the floor as if it were a viper readying itself to
strike. That simply could not be the braid. Not his Obi-Wan's
braid.
It could not be the braid which held the strands of hair he
had removed from his own long mane and added to the tiny tail
of a determined thirteen year old boy, slowly intertwining
their lives.
It could not be the braid that had grown steadily over the
years. First trailing over slim shoulders, then down a young
man's chest.
It could not be the braid that Qui-Gon had held in his hand
when his lips had met Obi-Wan's in passion for the first time.
That braid, Obi-Wan's braid, was his to sever, standing in
front of the Council, knowing that his padawan was to be a Jedi
Knight, that their lives could begin as equals. He had been
waiting for that day, watching as Obi-Wan had grown strong in
the Force, blinding in his intensity. Even with his recent
problems accessing the Force, Qui-Gon had never truly thought
Obi-Wan would not become a knight, that his dreams would not
come true.
It simply could not be his padawan's braid.
Why, he had just rebraided it yesterday with his own hands,
threaded the beads on himself. The beads. The red and yellow
beads that were lying there, dull, reflecting nothing from the
window's ambient light. The beads he had captured in his hands
hundreds of times, pulling gently to tease, to caress.
"My braid is not a leash, Master," his padawan would laugh at
him, sharing the joke, the joy.
"My padawan·" Qui-Gon's hand shook uncontrollably as he
reached for the truth, lying there, cold on the floor.
Overbalanced, he slipped from the bed and slammed down hard on
his knees. His hands curled around the hair, lifting it to his
face.
His hands knew the broken braid he held, knew its weight, its
texture. Qui-Gon looked closely. The tip was darker than the
rest, coarser with a single strand of silver. The longer part
of the braid was copper, shining and smooth. The ends were
torn, dark and stained with blood, not the smooth snip Qui-Gon
would expect from a pair of scissors or even the singed edges
from a 'saber.
"He tore out his braid."
The words floated in the air. Qui-Gon's vision darkened as the
idea bounced around his mind. "Obi-Wan tore out his braid. My
padawan tore out his braid. My padawan· my
Obi-Wan· I'm holding my padawan's braid in my
hands·"
The bond had been broken for months and Qui-Gon had not wept.
He had seen Obi-Wan near death and Qui-Gon had not wept. He had
sedated his padawan into unconsciousness over and over and
Qui-Gon had not wept. He had heard another Jedi tell him his
own padawan had murdered and Qui-Gon had not wept.
Curling over the braid cradled tight in his hands, the Jedi
master wept.
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