Email: analise@2cowherd.net or kirbycrow@hotmail.com
Archive: MA, Nesting Place, SWAL, TOTO, all others please ask
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: NC-17
Category: First time, pre-TPM
Warnings: No spoilers, rape, murder
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Lucas and gang. We're only borrowing
them.
Summary: Young Obi Wan Kenobi is forced to relive a horrific experience
when someone begins killing Padawans in the Jedi Temple, and not even
his Master can save him.
Author's notes: If you want, you can think of this as our Halloween
offering. And we are going to post three parts a day....because we're
EVIL. In the Halloween spirit after all....
Kirby:I would like to take this opportunity to thank analise for
granting me the great pleasure and privilege of collaborating together
for this project. It's been a learning experience and a blast! Thanks
again, chickiepie!
analise: -ahem- I hate to have our author's notes turn into a mutual
stroke-fest, but there you have it. Writing with Kirby was pure joy. No
one's got her talent for prose. We spent a lot of time on this puppy and
I couldn't be more thrilled with the results! I'm actually sorry that
we're done! Have at it!
You can check out the cover art at: http://members.tripod.com/~SlashGirls/toto/templeintro.html
It began, as most things do, quite innocently. I only wanted to
talk to him, to ask some questions. To perhaps find out why. It was
only once he opened his vicious little mouth and spewed his foul accusations
and his blame at me from those harlot's lips that I knew what had to be
done.
It was ridiculously easy. He was no match for me. I didn't even
need to use my hands, just wrapped the Force around him and pushed his
head under the waters of the moonlit fountain.
For some reason I thought that it would be bloodless. It wasn't.
I had not counted on the fact that he would attempt to use the Force as
well, creating a compression inside the field I enveloped him in that
burst his eardrums and the delicate membranes in his nose and eyes, tinting
the waters a faint pink. The Force retreated at my command, and his corpse
floated up from the water, doing that slow, lifeless roll in the water
to turn, staring with still, shattered eyes at the lightless sky.
If I did not act quickly, this was the way the Jedi would soon find him.
The body I could hide, but there was nothing I could do about the
blood in the water. I would have to leave it and hope the water filters
concealed in clever niches in the curved, low walls of the fountain would
eliminate it.
The Code calls for self-reliance. Following that rule, every Jedi
facility with a suitable climate is equipped with a cistern. The water
is collected on the roofs of the main and outlying buildings and directed
by a catchment system of diverting gutters into a great cistern positioned
near the agricultural area. In this area are the pretty strolling
gardens and the large crop fields where food is grown. The water is only
used for irrigating plants. Conceivably, something hidden in the cistern
could go undiscovered for weeks or even months.
I favored the idea. It seemed almost poetic, to think that this
wasted life would serve some purpose after all, even if that function
were only to nourish lowly food plants and thus, in the long view, his
fellow students as well.
Levitating the body to the top of the rounded cistern was simple.
Removing the heavy, torus-shaped capping block in the center of the lid
was harder, for it is always more difficult to manipulate unseen objects.
Inevitably, though, the cap was moved and the body pushed down into the
concealing depths.
It was near dawn by the time the block was back in place. I took
one last look around the garden.
Now I only had to be alert and very careful, for the Jedi are swift
at sniffing out patterns and intent.
I should know.
A slight breeze curled up and around the lip of the low wall, bringing
the musky, brown scent of gava grass newly threshed and the grainy texture
of air warmed by an autumn sun. He could just make out the figures of
the creche children far out in the fields, finishing up the last of the
harvesting for the season. Small brown-clad bodies bobbing up and down
as they gathered up the shorn grass, shaking the grain out over their
baskets with a charming mix of a child's awkwardness and the control of
a budding Jedi. Squinting out at them through the morning sunlight
he suddenly found that he could no longer remember what simple labor felt
like. The tedious, predictable repetition of a task that held no threat
of losing life or limb.
A faint smile touched his lips as he imagined himself walking out
into the fields and helping the children gather up the grain. His apprentice
would likely never let him hear the end of it. Inscrutable Jedi Masters
were supposed to stand quiet in their omniscience, gazing out over the
flocks of the learning and offer gems of wisdom every once in a while.
An outright chuckle rumbled up from his chest then. Indeed.
As it was, he was feeling cooped up on Coruscant. They had been
here too long for his liking. And while it was pleasant out in the deceptive
beauty of the Temple's compound, his senses still yearned for the unpredictability
of the Universe.
But.
But there was Obi Wan to consider, and his training. He took his
Padawan's education too seriously to neglect it. And every once in a while
the youth needed the structure of what the Temple could give him. Field
experience was nice, but it did not always lend towards such things as
honing fighting skills. Contrary to popular belief, most missions were
peaceful diplomatic events. Much to the disappointment of the newly
Apprenticed.
His eyes flicked back from the shorn fields to the grassy sward
where said apprentice was currently sparring energetically with another
Padawan, one of Obi Wan's close friends. An unexpressed sigh broke somewhere
deep inside him as his eyes drank in the beauty of his apprentice's movements.
He had the body and the sensibilities of a dancer, his motions fluid and
graceful as he thrust, parried and dodged. There was a huge grin on the
youth's countenance even as sweat dripped down into eyes fired with
the thrill of the contest. The other Padawan was giving as good as he
got, attacking and withdrawing with perfect precision. An excellent match...but
he predicted that Obi Wan would win. Obi Wan always made a point of winning.
The vanities of youth, he thought with an inner smile. And the
boy had the right to be vain. He was beautiful and he knew it. Qui Gon
fought back the familiar stirrings of desire that always awoke when he
watched such swordplay, telling himself that he could enjoy the sheer
animal beauty of his apprentice without resorting to lustful contemplation.
Still, it was difficult. Very difficult. His Padawan had long blossomed
into an extremely attractive young man and he had found it increasingly
hard not to simply reach out and touch. Wrong. That would be wrong, he
told himself calmly. He is your student, and you would like him to remain
so. An invisible shiver passed through him at the thought of being without
the boy. Not worth the risk.
Even so, as the crisp morning light caught in the gold-washed highlights
of Obi Wan's hair and shimmered off the sweat-slick planes of his bare
torso, he knew it was only going to get worse before it got better. He
simply couldn't control the rising feelings like he could with so many
other things.
And the biggest problem was that he didn't want to.
"You Padawan looks to be in good form." The voice rumbled quietly
in his ear and he turned his head to see the tall, stately form of Mace
Windu move to lean against the wall to his right. Qui Gon let a proud
smile curve his lips as he nodded, forcing his desire down deep in the
presence of a Council Member.
"He is. He practices a great deal." Qui Gon murmured, tucking his
hands into his sleeves.
"It is his devotion to you that drives him." Windu said softly,
dark eyes flicking back and forth as he watched the two Padawans spar.
"You must be careful with such a gift as that. It can easily turn to worship."
That lifted his eyebrows. It was a strange thing to say. It was
a given that a Padawan would try to rise to the standards of his Master.
Anything less would make a mockery of the apprenticeship.
"I'm not sure what you are saying, Mace." Qui Gon said, trying
not to sound defensive. Had the solemn master just now sensed the inappropriate,
lustful feelings that he had carried for Obi Wan? The thought had him
fighting back a traitorous flush.
"Nothing that you don't already know, Qui Gon." He said slowly,
still not meeting his eyes, instead focusing on the two young men as
they lunged and parried. "I know you always do the right thing, old friend."
Why did that sound like a threat? He frowned and opened his mouth
to demand an explanation, but was interrupted by a flurry of sound.
A shout from across the greensward attracted both Masters' attentions
and Qui Gon pushed off the low wall, squinting to see what the commotion
was. He could see that Obi Wan and his partner had stopped as well, young
chests heaving with exertion as they craned their necks. In the distance
a number of the creche children were gathered around what looked like
the irrigation outlet. He could feel their shock and horror from where
he stood.
His legs were moving before he even thought about it, breaking
into a loping run towards the growing cluster of children, Mace just
behind him. He could sense that Obi Wan and his friend were not far behind
them.
He gently pushed through the gathering group, noting that one of
the children had started to sob softly from somewhere near the front of
the clot.
The irrigation system consisted of a large underground cistern
that gathered fresh water during the rainy season and stored it for the
small fields the Temple kept. A wide, long pipe, using only a single
solar generator pumped water up from the cistern, expanding along the
length of the field with numerous outlets that fed the rows. Usually,
the children would go along the rows in the mornings and lift the little
iron grates, letting the water spill into the fields.
Today they had lifted the gate and now it hung ajar, only a thin
trickle of sluggish water dripping past what was clearly a snow-white
hand, the fingers slightly curled in towards the palm, the short, square
nails blue with death. Sediment clotted around the disembodied appendage,
dead weeds wrapping around the wrist like a strange coil of jewelry.
Without any hesitation, Qui Gon dropped down onto his knees in
the mud and peered into the gate, trying to see beyond the filthy white
of the waterlogged arm that extended back into darkness. Mace stood back
a little ways, his lips white as he stared at the hand.
"By the Force!" The exclamation was from Bacco, the youth Obi Wan
had been exercising with, and he could feel the horror emanating from
both Padawans.
"He's trapped in the main pipe there..." Qui Gon murmured. "Someone
is going to have to go in through the cistern..."
"Who do you think it is?" one of the children whispered. Qui Gon
snapped his head back to stare at the gaping group. He had forgotten about
the children. Mace turned to the two Padawans, breaking out of his paralysis.
"Bacco? Could you take the children back to the Temple? And send
Master Be'el." His deep voice was a study in calm.
Qui Gon nodded to himself. Master Be'el was the Jedi in charge
of the Temple fields, and he would be the most likely to know how they
might go about retrieving the unfortunate trapped inside the irrigation
pipe. Bacco jerked his head in an affirmative and quickly began to herd
the children away, many of whom had recovered from their initial shock
and were now completely uninterested in leaving the morbid scene.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his apprentice crouch down
beside him in the mud. At first he thought the youth was just getting
a better look, but then he felt the colossal shock that rocked through
Obi Wan's mind. He stared at his Padawan, seeing those chameleon eyes
of his turn the cold blue of astonishment.
"What is it, Obi Wan? Do you know who it is?"
The youth nodded ever so slightly, his chin dipping just a touch,
his eyes never leaving the anonymous water-swollen hand. His own hand
reached out and pointed to a tiny mark just above the meeting of palm
to wrist. It was a blue circle bisected by a black line...so small it
could have been a mole or a birthmark unless you looked closer.
Without a word, Obi Wan turned his own wrist over into the sunlight,
showing his master the exact same marking.
"It's a tattoo." he said quietly. "We all got them...on Kithurrin
together. Bacco too." His chin jerked slightly in the direction his friend
had taken the children. "At Training Temple, when we won." he explained
to his Master's inquiring look. "Bacco, Geen, me, Elspeth...and Sandor."
He swallowed again, looking at the hand, clearly male, disqualifying
Elspeth.
And they all knew what had happened to Geen.
Qui Gon put a comforting hand on the slumped bare shoulder. He
stood, ignoring the mud that fell from the knees of his breeches. He
could see a small group of figures walking towards them through the uneven
ground of the field, led by the stocky brown figure of Master Be'el.
Mace had turned from the scene and was walking to meet the powerful Veddian.
"Who was Sandor's Master?" Qui Gon asked quietly. He did not doubt
Obi Wan, that the hand protruding from the pipe was who his apprentice
suspected, but they needed to be entirely certain before he went off giving
bad news.
"Master Conn" Obi Wan was still staring at the hand as if it was
speaking to him.
"What is this?" Be'el's gravely voice broke through the quiet,
his rough, textured face showing the Veddian version of a frown. The
Field master was typical of his race, humanoid, brown textured skin,
broad shoulders with long powerful arms that almost resembled tree limbs.
In fact, many of the creche children whispered his nickname as Master
Stump behind his back. He did look like nothing short of a tree trunk,
bark and all.
Qui Gon stepped aside to show the pale evidence and he watched
as Be'el's wide mouth dropped open in shock. Mace had come up to squat
near the hand, closing his eyes as if he were reaching into the Force
for answers.
"What...?" His voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes wide. "How
has this happened?"
"I think it's more important right now that we retrieve him from
the pipe, Master Be'el." Qui Gon said gently. "How can we access this
pipe?"
Yellow eyes blinked at him, almost uncomprehending and then he
nodded, powerful hands clenching and unclenching in distress.
"Through the main cistern access. Someone will have to swim a ways
towards the pipe and then crawl into it."
Qui Gon nodded firmly, intent on doing the deed himself. As if
Be'el knew that, the Veddian shook his head.
"You will never fit, Master Jinn. The pipe is narrow. You are too
broad." Big hands lifted to mimic the expanse of Qui Gon's shoulders.
"I will go, Master." Obi Wan's quiet voice cut through the murmur
of the others who had gathered around the hand as if it were offering
benediction. Qui Gon looked down into the pale features and opened his
mouth to argue, then shut it again as he realized he had no reasons beyond
selfish ones for why he didn't want his Padawan taking on the gruesome
task. He could practically feel Mace's eyes burning into his back. Waiting.
As if seeing the reluctant acquiescence, the youth turned and set
off at a quick lope towards the massive stone cylinder that housed the
cistern access, his long braid flapping behind him.
Qui Gon turned to the gawkers and barked a sharp command to follow.
Obi Wan would not be able to lift the stone cap alone.
So much can change in a year.
There had been five of them, then four, and now there were only
three. And who knew what another two years might bring? Five. Ten. For
the first time since he had learned to deal with what had happened on
Kithurrin the year before, as he sat there on the top of cistern lid preparing
to retrieve the body of his friend, Obi Wan experienced a singularly mature
fear of the future and all the gaping pits that lay ahead.
Outwardly, Obi Wan's features were composed into a white mask of
patient expression. Inside, his chest was one aching lump of pain
He tried to remember Sandor as a strong and competent apprentice,
an opponent in the battle ring who gave no quarter, nor asked one. A dedicated
Padawan. Instead, he felt water-softened hands on his back, heard Sandor's
gently teasing voice in his ear as his swimming trunks were eased down
his hips.
He remembered Sandor standing waist deep in water scintillating
with rainbow light, holding a bottle of Kithurr ale, howling at the
sky. Geen, drunk as a Correlian, trying to remember an obscure passage
from some awful Veddian poetry and comparing it to Obi Wan's eyes. Geen
had once tried to teach him Veddian, laughing at his attempts, coaching
him to wrap the guttural, half-choking glottal stops around his tongue.
But Geen had had a talented tongue, and Obi had been clumsy as Elspeth
as she held on to Bacco, both tipsily negotiating the slippery rocks
from the falls to the cave.
That cave.
Obi Wan closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. He could
almost see Elspeth and Bacco coupling in the dappled shadow of the waterfall,
their nude bodies dewed with spray. Geen's hands on his face, his hips,
those full lips kissing him with a skill he had thought both impressive
and unlikely in a Padawan of their shared years. But Obi Wan had his own
secrets. He never questioned Geen on his adeptness in matters of sex,
and in the end they had had so little time together after all...
The sound of someone calling his name pulled him out of his reverie
before it could take him down dark paths he had no wish to travel again.
Paths he had forced himself to forget. He peered over the lip of the cistern
and looked down. "Yes, master?"
"Catch" Qui Gon tossed up a length of knotted rope. Obi Wan caught
it neatly. The Jedi Master looked up at his Padawan with worry in his
eyes.
"Someone else can do this task, Obi Wan," he said simply, leaving
the offer hanging in the air. I know he was your friend. It doesn't
have to be you. No shame. The last, unspoken words were both reassurance
and admonition.
Obi Wan shook his head. "I'll do it," he said. The helpers sent
from the Temple had gotten the capping block lifted and rolled away.
Obi Wan peered down into the depths of the primary cistern. The musty
smell of stale water drifted up to him. Beyond the few cloudy feet illuminated
by the intruding sunlight, the collected groundwater was dark and impenetrable.
A few stray dead bugs floated on the surface, their shells black
with mildew.
Qui Gon sighed. "I'm coming up," he announced.
Obi Wan shrugged and sat, his hands tugging off his tall boots.
By the time he had gotten the sweaty leather peeled away from his legs,
Qui Gon had climbed the ladder and Obi Wan was skimming his breeches off,
folding them in a neat pile with his other clothing. Obi Wan took up
the length of rope and unwound it, then looped it several times over his
shoulder. One end of the rope he knotted slip-fashion and slid it over
his wrist, pulling it tight. He made another slip knot and kept it wide
and loose over his hand. This would be the end he would attach to
Sandor's body to pull him out of the pipe.
Qui Gon kept his eyes averted from Obi Wan's nude body, focusing
instead on the long-boned white feet. As always, he was acutely aware
of Obi Wan's physical beauty, but to acknowledge it in that moment would,
under the circumstances, have been almost obscene. And Mace was still
watching him like a hawk. It was making him angry in a time when he needed
to support his student.
Obi Wan sat on the lip of the round hole revealed by the capping
block and dropped his legs in, testing the temperature of the water. His
blue eyes squinted, trying to fathom the waters beyond sight. He reached
out slightly with the Force, but could register nothing beyond the bland
and featureless emanations of single-celled life.
No. Wait.
There was something down there. He closed his eyes, concentrating,
until an image came to him. A huddled black lump of cells, silenced and
inanimate, yet lingering like a phantom limb.
With a chilling start, Obi Wan realized that what he was sensing
was all that remained of Sandor's aural field. His corpse.
He shuddered, and behind him Qui Gon frowned, quite sure that a
mistake was being made.
"Pad--" he began, and got no farther, for Obi Wan pushed up with
his arms, lifting his bare rump off the lip of the cistern, and plunged
feet-first into the water.
The water closed over his head, pushing into his nose. He opened
his eyes, seeing white blobs around him and darkness below and little
else. He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses and jack-knifed,
diving. His ears popped when he reached the concrete bottom of the cistern,
pressure pushing down on the top of his skull. He felt around with his
hands, the rough surface scraping his knees and palms briefly before he
found the circular, meter-high pipe that led into the twin-branching
pipe that in turn led to the secondary underground cistern and the
outflow pipe.
It was the outflow pipe he needed to find. Obi Wan steeled himself
and crawled, frog-like, into the pipe. It branched in twain some three
meters ahead, and Obi Wan, operating now on Force-sense alone, chose the
left pipe as being the one that held Sandor's body
Obi Wan swam ahead, blind, trying to feel ahead with his hands,
shying away from the slimy walls of the narrow pipe. The pipe narrowed
abruptly, and claustrophobia belatedly set in. Obi Wan felt his heart
speed up, although, thanks to his Jedi training, he still had plenty of
air. The confines of the space were not all that troubled him. Somehow,
just knowing that there was a body in the passage with him was frightening,
sending an eerie shiver down his spine that he was helpless to ignore.
He tried ridiculing himself. It was only water after all, and a
corpse was only decaying matter. He was being childish.
He had just started to feel better when the trailing end of the
rope touched his ankle. He kicked violently, bumping his head on the
pipe, for the first time realizing how frightened he really was. There
was blackness all around him. His heart began to race, adrenaline pouring
into his body, and suddenly the need for oxygen was acute.
And then the boots touched his face.
Obi Wan half-shouted in the water, bubbles rising from his mouth
to tickle his nose, and pushed back with all his might, his hands slipping
on the curved walls, almost losing the precious lung-full of air which
was all that sustained him in the water, the only thing between him and
drowning.
Panicked, he called to Qui Gon-without even thinking, and instantly
his master was there, in his mind, demanding that he leave the body and
come up for air.
Master! he called, thrashing in the dark.
I am here, Padawan. Obi Wan heard clearly, a figure of rocklike
strength and reassurance standing in his mind. Waves of calm seemed to
press in through his skin. I am with you. Leave the body. Come back
No. Obi Wan willed himself to control, comforted by the familiar
mental presence of his master. He let his body go limp in the water, reaching
out to feel the shape of a pair of boots jammed into the end of the pipe.
He felt higher along the shape of the boots and registered the contours
of human legs.
I'm alright, he sent through their shared link. I've got Sandor.
I just... got spooked for a minute.
Completely understandable. Now get out of that damned pipe.
Coming, master, Obi Wan quickly slipped the knot over the booted
ankle of his fellow apprentice and drew it tight. He retreated back up
the pipe, playing out the rope as he went. When he was free of the pipe,
he halted, kneeling on the bottom of the cistern floor, and tugged hard.
There was no hesitation. The body slipped free of the confining pipe
like a worm out of an apple. It chuted out into the expanse of the primary
cistern, and only when Obi Wan felt the bulk of it nudging him did
he push up strongly with his legs, arrowing for the surface.
His head broke water. Qui Gon had hold of his shoulders and was
pulling him up and out before he could help himself, uncaring of either
Obi Wan's feelings or of how it might look to the watching Temple Jedi,
Mace be damned. Obi Wan's distress was visible. Despite the heat, Obi
Wan was shaking in great trembling waves, his eyes glued to the head of
the body that had floated up from the bottom, face-first, the ravaged
features of his dead friend staring skywards.
Qui Gon slipped his own dark robe from his back and folded Obi
Wan in it like a child, leading him away.
Qui Gon took the low, wide stairs up to the Moot Chamber three
at a time, his long strides eating the distance as quickly as he could
without running. To say he had been reluctant to leave his shaking, ashen
apprentice alone in their quarters would have been an understatement.
He had almost refused the summons entirely, ignoring the message that
had been flashing with mild reproof at him from the comm in the corner.
It had been Obi Wan himself, still shivering like a foal in winter,
who had insisted with his pale, haunted eyes.
Go, Master. I want to know what happened to Sandor...I have to know.
He had been unable to deny the request, clearly written with need,
and he had taken the time only to help the youth into a steaming shower,
silently promising to be back as soon as he could.
The wide doors were open, gaping like a dark maw. The Moot was a massive
chamber that occupied the very center of the Temple. It could easily hold
upwards of five thousand Knights and Masters at any given time, stacking
them in concentric circles around a dipped central table.
Today, only a dozen Masters stood around the central table, none sitting,
all agitated. He revised his initial impression a moment later when he saw
that one was indeed sitting, small and nearly hidden by one of the large
chairs that crouched in intervals around the table. Master Conn, he suspected,
a sharp pang flash-firing through him as he suddenly imagined himself in
her place. His apprentice torn from him in such a cruel, meaningless fashion.
Aching in empathy, he ignored the quiet clusters of Jedi who stood
in cliques around the oval table and went to crouch next to the tiny,
frail, old woman's chair.
"Master Conn?" he asked, not touching her with mind or body, simply
letting her know that he was there. The grief was rolling off her in waves,
and he could almost feel her mind casting about for a youthful presence
who was no longer there.
"I knew, you see," she whispered, looking down at the younger Jedi
who squatted by her chair with reddened, rheumy eyes. "I could feel it
in my bones that something was going to happen. He asked if he could visit
his family for just a few days...they're here on Coruscant...and I agreed.
He's worked so hard, such a sweet, cheerful boy..." her voice broke off
momentarily and he waited for her to regain control, letting one
of his hands cover hers. It trembled like a frightened sparrow in his
grasp, fragile as a cobweb.
Once again, Qui Gon was assailed with the terrible notion of being
in her shoes. The spot that he could feel, even now, the warm corner of
his heart that Obi Wan always seemed to shelter in...how would it be
to lose that? It would be so...cold.
She peered at him then, narrowing her tear-puffed eyes slightly.
"How is your Padawan? I understand that he was the one who retrieved my
app --- my Sandor, from the cistern pipes." Her old voice was raw with
a pain that showed no sign of dissipating. "I knew they were friends,
from their Trial on Kithurrin. Sandor spoke of him often. That must have
been...so hard."
Qui Gon shook his head sadly. "I don't know. He's had a shock.
I think he'll be alright." He was interrupted then by the sound of someone's
lightsaber handle rapping on the polished stone of the huge table.
He forced his knees to unbend with a little pop and, not leaving
Master Conn's side as he turned to face the speaker. Master Windu stood
there, looking grim and even a little angry...his dark eyes flashing a
look that Qui Gon had seen across the Galaxy. 'Not In My Town' the look
said. The Jedi were not used to this sort of thing coming within their
Temple compound walls.
A few more Jedi entered up at the wide doors and hurried down the
steps to join their brethren. Qui Gon recognized the broad form of Master
Be'el moving powerfully down the Moot steps and he made a mental note
to have a word or two with the Field Master. It was possible the Veddian,
being in charge of the fields and the cistern, might know something more.
"Please everyone, please," Windu's rich voice called out, quieting
the murmurs that still riffled through the room like wind in weeds. A
moment later the cavernous room was silent with waiting. "I'm sure you've
all heard about Sandor Nir-Pellos by now. And I think you know why this
meet was called."
Still silence. The Jedi in the room all understood. There was no
need for useless exposition. Nearly every Master in the room was currently
training a Padawan, this murder affected each of them.
"I think I know what you're all feeling, and though I do not have
an apprentice," Mace murmured, the acoustics of the Hall sending his words
out as if he were standing only feet away from each of the them, "I feel
it too. But anger will serve none of us. We must channel those energies
into action. We much discover who has dared to breach our walls and murder
one of our own."
"Have the medical droids discovered anything from the Padawan's
body?" Master Illior called out from his place across the length of
the table.
"So far, nothing. They have only just begun. Pertinent info will
be handed out when it is found." He thinned his lips. "But for now, we
need to know if any of you know of a reason that Sandor might be a target.
Did he have gambling debts? A jilted lover? Did he have enemies? His Master
claims that he was preparing to go out into the city, but he clearly never
made it past our gates. These are the things that I need all of you to
focus your attentions on. There is no secret that can withstand
our combined efforts to ferret it out."
His quietly fierce eyes swept around the room again, lighting on
each of them.
"And we need to know if this was an attack against Sandor, or against
us. The difference between these two motives should be clear to you. Recall
your own students." Qui Gon was still doing just that, his heart pounding
slightly harder as he tangled with the thought that there might be a
hunter out there who'd gained a taste for killing young Jedi. He could
see that more than one of the Masters in the room were having the same
thought.
The distinctions would have to be made. Not just for Sandor, but
for all of them.
The wet tile felt hard and slick beneath his cheek as he pressed
his face up against it. Water, hotter than he could normally stand, pounded
down on his flesh, bringing a blotchy red flush to his skin. It wasn't
hot enough. Nothing would ever be hot enough again.
He could still feel the cold ice of the cistern water surrounding
him in the darkness, his friend and onetime-lover attached to him with
the obscene likeness of an umbilical cord. The black, inky water...the
whitened, ghastly highlights of Sandor's water-puffed features as he'd
slowly spun face-up under the filtered spotlight of the cistern's opening.
Obi Wan felt his breath hitch again and he wasn't at all sure that
he wasn't crying under the driving water. The hands of a ghost trailed
their way over his back, skimming the slight flare of hip and the more
wanton curve of buttock. No, two ghosts. Geen was kissing him softly,
black hair falling in a spill of wet silk across his forehead as green
eyes sparkled with lust and mischief. Sandor was murmuring in his ear,
pausing to nibble the tender lobe from behind, his strong hands
sliding up and down his body in a caress meant to drive him wild.
The water of the shower became the memory of a falling river...echoing
and splashing on the rocks at the entrance of their mossy cave with a
muted roar. Softly, more delicate sounds of slow, patient drips pat-patted
into the carpet of moss under their feet...splashing onto their already
sleek, wet bodies.
The sounds of Elspeth and Bacco, their soft gasping cries, were
fading under the onslaught of the double attentions being focused on
him. He felt burningly alive, his whole being throbbing with a need he'd
not believed himself capable of.
Sandor was kissing the back of his neck, sliding his palms up Obi
Wan's slender form, capturing his arms and lifting them up and over, curling
them back behind the strong column of his neck. Geen had given off nibbling
and sucking at his mouth, and as Sandor had held his arms up, arching
his body out, Geen had moved lower.
It was as clear as yesterday, Obi Wan thought, his eyes still closed
as he brought the inside of his tattooed wrist up to his mouth, tasting
the sweet/slick texture of the shower water on his skin. The pair of his
friends had taken it in their heads to seduce him and he had gone, oh-so-willingly....the
pleasures of that wet, moss green afternoon a permanent fixture in his
head.
Until the nightmare that had followed.
His reddened eyes glanced down to see that, even lost in the ecstasy
of that long ago afternoon, his sex lay flaccid and unmoving. He squeezed
his eyes shut painfully, choking back a sob. He could never forget. He
had tried and tried to force himself to only remember the pleasures of
that Cave, but the demon of his past, the pain, the shame and the grief,
would never leave him.
Sandor had known. He had been the only one left. And somehow, knowing
that --- knowing that he was gone --- he felt terribly, terribly alone.
Qui Gon entered the room just as Obi Wan was exiting, naked and
dripping, from the bathroom. Qui Gon snatched up a towel and hastily
tossed it at his apprentice, averting his eyes.
"Have you been in the shower all this time, Padawan?" he asked,
surprise coloring his tone.
Obi Wan nodded shortly. "Needed to clear my head. I'm fine now,
Master." Then he shook his head and his eyes misted over with darkness.
He sat heavily on a chair near the window overlooking the gardens below,
the towel half-heartedly wrapped around his hips. "What happened in the
Moot Hall? Do they have any idea who could have done this?" His voice
was low and monotone.
The youth was staring at the floor now, his hair dripping sporadically
on the light carpet. Qui Gon took up another towel and walked over to
Obi Wan and began absently toweling his apprentice's short hair dry. Obi
Wan sat there like a child, allowing himself to be attended to.
"We're working on it, Obi Wan," he said softly, stroking the end
of the fluffy towel across the back of the young man's neck, lingering
on the twining, golden braid that marked Obi Wan as an apprentice of the
Jedi.
Qui Gon gingerly dried the braid, too, trying to skirt his mind
away from the thought that such a mark might now be a target. It was
useless conjecture, he told himself firmly. No need to work himself up
over a baseless fear.
"You knew him well, Padawan?" he asked gently, recalling Mace's
words in the Hall. They needed to find the motive behind the murder
before they could weigh the danger to the rest of the compound. To their
apprentices.
He personally had recalled Sandor only slightly, and had no idea
that his Padawan had formed a friendship with the young man. Conn had
said they knew each other from Kithurrin. Obi Wan never spoke of his Trial
there. All he knew was that his apprentice had been in the winning group.
His hands draped the towel over Obi Wan's shoulders and rested atop the
damp cloth. He could still feel the warmth of his apprentice's skin through
the soft fabric, and his proximity was sending soft, inappropriate
tendrils of desire through his body. "You don't have to talk about it
if-"
"No. I do. I want to find out who did this as much as anyone."
The voice was low, but no longer tight. Obi Wan leaned back, almost unconsciously
pressing into his master's hands and Qui Gon obliged the unspoken need
for tactile comfort by beginning a gentle massage.
The damp head tilted forward slightly in relaxation as Qui Gon
found hard knots of tension buried in the taut muscles.
"I knew him. We...do you remember when I had to do my survival
Trial on Kithurrin? You weren't there, you'd had to do a solo mission
at the time. Most of us were there alone, with only a few supervising
Masters. Master Windu was there... Master Be'el, a couple others. Most
of it was just solos and meditations, but a week was dedicated to these
war-games where we were broken into two groups of five. We were chosen
as the hunters and the others were the runners."
The rangy shoulders shrugged slightly under his hands and he made
a small noise of dismissal.
"It's not important what we were doing. It's just that that was
where Sandor and I became....friends. And Geen." The young voice caught
a little on Geen's name, stumbling imperceptibly before he went on. "Bacco
and Elspeth were part of the group too, but they were off on their own
most of the free time. See, when we beat the other group, Master Be'el
and Master Windu gave us a day or two to just relax and enjoy Kithurrin
without too much supervision. We had a pretty ....great time." His
Padawan's voice was dull and flat and colored with just a hint of despair,
not giving Qui Gon the impression that it had been all that great of a
time after all.
He was remembering that period fairly clearly now. It had been
the first extended separation that he'd had with Obi Wan since he'd chosen
him as his apprentice. He recalled that he'd thought the time apart would
be good for him....that it might help him clear his mind of the inappropriate
desires that did not seem to be diminishing in him.
It had worked just up until the moment he'd seen his apprentice
again. Obi Wan had been....
"That was where Geen died, wasn't it?" he asked suddenly, remembering
the terrible state Obi Wan had been in when he'd seen him the day of his
return to Coruscant....the scandal of a dead Padawan. His apprentice had
taken months to recover from the suicide, walking the Temple grounds like
a ghost. Pale, drawn and haggard. He'd slipped in his studies and his
training.... and there had been nightmares. Terrible ones that had
had Obi Wan's screams echoing through their quarters at night.
He had never talked about it. At least not with Qui Gon.
A shudder ran through shoulders suddenly as tight as if he'd not
been kneading them all this time. The youth pushed up and out of the chair,
leaving Qui Gon only holding the damp towel. The boy stalked to the window,
the elegant lines of his body silhouetted in the early afternoon sun.
"Yes." The word was clipped, pained. Qui Gon extended a tendril
of comfort and found himself sharply cut off as Obi Wan's shields slammed
tightly down around his mind. He could make out a slight quiver in the
slender frame from where he stood. There was something that Obi Wan clearly
did not want to talk about. He considered digging a bit more, and decided
against it. There was no need to open an old wound when there was a fresh
one to worry about.
"Sandor?" he prompted gently, trying to steer the youth back from
an obviously tender subject. He couldn't contain a momentary tingle of
sudden jealousy at the feelings his Padawan obviously had for these two
friends in particular. It was inappropriate of him, he knew. Obi Wan was
a naturally loving, loyal person. It was one of the many qualities that
he himself loved about the boy.
And he had no cause or right to be jealous of his vibrant young
apprentice loving or being loved by those his own damned age.
"Yes. Sandor. Well, Kithurrin was where I got to know him. And
we'd stayed friends after that. That's all." The words were tight and
his Padawan refused to look him in the eye.
He knew without asking or probing, that Obi Wan was not telling
him something. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, thinking of the connection
of the tattoo. He trusted this young man more than he'd ever trusted anyone
else, but it was so clear that he was hiding something. It cast suspicion
on him even in the loving eyes of his own mentor. How would his reticence
look to the eyes of others? Someone ready to find the story behind this
terrible deed at any cost? Someone like Master Windu?
He knew Mace. The man felt things like this as a personal affront
to him, to the Jedi as a whole. If his old friend had any one failing
it was that he became shortsighted in the face of things he had no control
over. And he tended to like to think that the Temple was a place of perfect
order.
He sighed silently as he eyed the stiffly stubborn set of his apprentices
shoulders. His Padawan still had not looked at him.
The door chose that moment to chime, startling both of them slightly.
Obi Wan finally looked around, face pale and eyes haunted before he took
his mostly naked frame and vanished into his own small quarters. Leaving
Qui Gon to get the door.
He already knew who it was.
Mace tended to be very predictable.
Obi Wan let his back fall against the door as soon as it slid shut,
his eyes closing tightly.
There was no way he could have told his Master about that day.
That day.
It still stood out in his mind as one of the most painful paradoxes
of his life. How such pleasure and....love, could morph into one of the
most horrifying, shaming moments of his life. He fought with his knees
to keep from sliding his back down the door. The pain was still as fresh
as it had been a year ago. Time had not healed any wounds whatsoever.
And now Sandor.
Was this one somehow his fault as well?
The murmur of voices on the other side of the door reminded him
that they had a visitor and the irrepressibly curious part of him couldn't
resist pressing an ear to the door and listening.
It was Master Windu, he recognized the slow, methodically intimidating
tones right away. His master was silent as the other talked and he quickly
calmed his thoughts, cloaking himself to be as small and unobtrusive as
possible. Eavesdropping was not very Jedi-like, but he wasn't feeling
all that honorable at the moment.
"....alked to Master Conn for confirmation. She has reluctantly
admitted it."
"I don't see how young Sandor's sexual activities, promiscuous
or not, have any bearing on this tragedy." His master's voice was calmly
logical.
"That's a foolish thing to say Qui Gon, and you know it. We should
both be aware, by now, of the fact that most crimes are committed
in the heat of anger or passion." He nearly spit the word out.
"If this Padawan was loose between the sheets, then we can compile a list
of likely suspects immediately... and a motive." Master Windu's voice
was hard as nails, a thread of contempt woven into it. Contempt? Sandor
was one of the nicest, most sweet-tempered people Obi Wan had ever
come across.
"I'm just not entirely certain that we can use that tack until
we have a little more to go on...." Qui Gon said softly, and Obi Wan
knew immediately by the tone of his Master's voice that his master already
suspected that his Padawan might have been more than just `friends' with
Sandor.
Mace seemed to sense it too.
"What are you trying to protect, Qui Gon? Was your Padawan involved
with this boy?"
Obi Wan felt his skin crawl. This was just the sort of thing that
he had never wanted to face. Sandor's death had brought those foul memories
back like garbage rising from the bottom of a swamp. It would be a hundred
times worse to reveal his shame, Force help him, in front of the Council.
And that's what it would come to. He was sure of that.
Swallowing bile in a throat suddenly dry, he quickly shed the towel
from his hips and dressed hastily, nearly pulling his boots on the wrong
feet before he got himself together.
A moment later he was slipping quietly out the small door that
connected his own tiny quarters to the hallway, ditching all decorum
and running down the passage to the lift.
And so he did not hear the soft knock on the connecting door between
his quarters and the main common room. Nor did he see both Qui Gon and
Master Windu enter his quarters a moment later to find him gone.
I can see him, form dappled in the noonday light of the lower courtyard
as he runs. There is an urgency, a fear clinging like a miasma to his
graceful form. I can taste him again, feel his pain and his terror. For
a moment, just a moment, he reminds me of....
I stop that train of thought abruptly, closing my eyes with the
remembrance of pain. When I open them again, he has vanished among the
colonnade of the inner walkway, headed for the Eastern wing. I can feel
a skittering of his intentions. He plans on talking to the others.
He is afraid and distraught.
For a moment I drink in the chaos of his mind, shivering to think
that it was I that might have caused it. I know that it was this one,
foremost of them all, that shoulders most of the blame. That is why he
will be last of all, so that his terror and loss might grow to meet my
own. So that he might know what he has done and suffer for it.
I savor the sensation for a moment. The taste of my own need.
I am so hungry. The first was delicious. The next will be better.
The Temple was eerily quiet as he ran through the common ways.
All classes had been cancelled and the training fields were empty. Master
and Padawan alike had retreated into both meditation and seclusion. It
was something of a tradition to reflect on life when one of their own
was lost.
The peace of mediation was the last thing on his mind. Instead
his head was filled with a swirl of fear, grief and confusion. Mace's
words continued to echo in his ears.
"....we can compile a list of likely suspects immediately...."
His teeth were clenched so hard a tension headache was forming
behind his eyes. Such a list would bring the dead back to life in the
worst possible way.
The tattoo on the inside of his wrist seemed to burn at him accusingly.
He clearly recalled that day, the bite of his sunburn on the back of his
neck and the tops of his shoulders, the sound of his friends' laughter
in his ears, the mixed smells of the marketplace they wandered through.
It had been Geen who had suggested the tattoos. A reminder and a badge
of their triumph. The sting of the laser needle as it bit into his
flesh and Sandor's good natured ribbing when Elspeth had balked at the
sight of the sharp implement.
His steps slowed and then stopped, leaning his frame up against
the cool marble surface of one of the columns that lined the walk. He
had thought this was all behind him. The tattoos would never come off,
but he'd hoped the memories would fade. And now they were going to be
resurrected in the worst way. His shame was going to be exposed. He didn't
think he could look his master in the eye, watch those features fill with
pity and horror.
He didn't think he was strong enough to bear that.
The sky was darkening above the temple, preparing for a midday
storm, and he watched as the clouds gathered. Master Windu was going
to find out about Kithurrin. Of that he was certain. The thought made
him feel queasy and frightened. It occurred to him bleakly that he should
tell his Master. If it was going to come out anyway, it might be better
to tell Qui Gon now.
He closed his eyes then, feeling the wind pick up and rustle in
the treetops of the colonnade trees. His master. What would he think?
What would he do? A tiny shiver ran through his frame as he considered
the thought of his Master turning away from him in disgust. Right now
he wished....needed....to reveal his soul to the man who had come to mean
everything to him. But he didn't dare. The risk was too high. A single
tear slipped, unnoticed, down his cheek. There were times, some more
than others, that he wanted nothing more than to slide into his Master's
strong embrace. To let those arms shut out all his worries and fears,
to let those shoulders take on the burdens that his own felt too weary
to bear.
To let those hands slide up the back of his neck, through his hair,
tilting his jaw back....
"Did you do it?!" The sharp words rapped him out of his forbidden
fantasy, startling him enough that he gasped out loud. His eyes snapped
open to find Bacco standing in the shadows of the colonnade across from
him. The purpling sky lit the flagstones of the walkway in an odd greenish
light, and far off he could hear the rumble of thunder.
His friend, who only just this morning had been laughing as they
sparred, was looking at him now with suspicion. His own eyes widened slightly
and he took a step forward almost without thinking.
Bacco took a step back.
"What are you talking about?" Obi Wan whispered, his thin voice
almost lost in the sound of the rising wind.
"Sandor, of course." Bacco said, licking his lips nervously, his
eyes boring into Obi Wan's. "It was Elspeth who figured it out. She said
that you and Sandor were the only ones left who really knew what happened
that night....with Geen."
"You think I killed Sandor?" Obi Wan couldn't keep the incredulous
note out of his voice, and he felt the urge to giggle hysterically. "How
could you even suggest that? How could Elspeth?"
For the first time since he'd been confronted, Obi Wan saw a flicker
of the friend he'd known pass across the dark features. It told him that
Elspeth was the one who had come up with the crazy accusation. She had
always been the one with the wild imagination. But it still hurt unbearably
that she would think such a thing. And that Bacco would go along with
it.
"You never said what happened that night, Obi Wan." His own voice
lowered, and he stepped closer, glancing around almost furtively. "All
we know is that Geen killed himself. And that something happened up there
in that cave that neither you or Sandor would talk about. What were we
supposed to think? You both tell us that he jumped, but how do we know
that's what happened? And now Sandor is dead. That just leaves you."
Obi Wan's mouth was dry as he looked at his friend. Bacco was afraid
of him. Afraid he might be next? He let himself lean weakly back against
the column just as the rain started to fall in a rush of hissing water,
spilling over the covered roof of the colonnade and rattling the leaves
of the trees. The light went gray, shades of monotone.
He had never felt so alone in his life.
The tapping of footsteps on the flagstones had both of them breaking
eye contact and moving apart almost furtively.
"You just stay away from both of us, Obi Wan. Until you tell us
what really happened to Geen that night, there's no way we can trust
you. And if anything happens to me or to Elspeth, we're telling the council
everything."
And then he was trotting away, leaving Obi Wan alone in the rain.
A temple guard passed by, obviously the source of the footfalls,
nodding pleasantly at the pale apprentice. Obi Wan did not move. He just
stood against the column like he was part of the statuary and looked out
between the raindrops.
Obi Wan had not been in his room. That alone was enough to urge
Mace's suspicions up another notch and Qui Gon had done his best to
waylay them.
"Sandor was his friend, Mace. He's understandably upset. Don't
let his grief condemn him in your witch hunt."
Mace had not taken kindly to the term 'witch hunt', but at least
it had allowed his old classmate's attention to focus on him instead of
Obi Wan.
He had walked with his old friend as far as the Fountain before
letting him go on alone, still trying to decide if he needed to go after
his apprentice. He could sense that the youth was within the Temple grounds,
perhaps over in the East Wing.
Instead, however, he took a deep breath of the silence that hung
on gentle golden currents of sunshine in the wide empty courtyard. He
could see clouds gathering on the horizon, but for now the air hung with
the damp heat that preceded a late summer storm. Flowering vines surrounded
the area, giving off a gentle fragrance and dotting the green walls with
color. Insects buzzed gently here and there on a mild, warm, autumn
breeze. A black-winged guldin whistled cheerfully from somewhere within
the surrounding plant life. It was very peaceful here without the usual
bustle of daily life at the Temple. Peaceful enough, perhaps, to clear
his mind of its labyrinthine twists of conscience and worry.
Obi Wan was hiding something from him. Something was weighing heavily
on the spirit of his young student. Something important. And something
that had to do with the murder. Sandor's death had put the tight, fearful
look onto his cheerful, unflappable Obi Wan's face.
It wasn't that the boy didn't have his secrets. Everyone did. And
there were certainly things that he didn't want his Padawan to know about
him. But this was different. Was it possible that Obi Wan guessed? That
he had slipped somewhere? Was the root of this the fact that the apprentice
had sensed his master's desires?
He sank heavily to the stone side of the circular fountain, watching
the tiny golden p'ribbs flicking here and there in the clear water. He
had been so careful. But had there been a time within the last year that
his apprentice had not been foremost in his mind? And it was not just
his well-being or his studies that occupied the youth's mentor. It had
been the curve of muscle where it met bone and the slope of a steep jawline
blending into a smooth column of throat. It was the crinkle of skin
at the corner of a smirking mouth and the sparkle of humor in an every-colored
eye. It was the sound of a smoky, irrepressibly cheerful voice and the
lift of a single mocking eyebrow.
He trailed his hand in the water idyly, cupping it and bringing
it up to splash on his face. There was no way to stifle it, this thing
that had settled deep in his heart. He was going to have to admit to himself
that he was, deeply, terribly, inappropriately in love with his own apprentice.
Perto the light, letting the excess water drain through his fingers.
He recognized it right away. It was one of the distinctive beads that
apprentices wove into their braids. Each one had a tiny marking etched
into the smooth surface that branded it specific to a Padawan. He didn't
know what each one was, but he could already tell from the faint miasma
of fear that clung to the bead, that it had been Sandor's.
He frowned. Sandor had been drowned here? Why then, had he been
dumped in the cistern?
"Master Jinn?" The voice was slow and thickly accented. He turned
his head, curling the bead into his palm. Master Be'el stood there, looking
as sad and serious as he ever did. Qui Gon seemed to remember a time when
the Veddian had not been so solemn. At the moment, he couldn't think what
had happened.
"Yes, Be'el? I was going to come look for you." He managed a smile
and scooted over slightly on the fountain ledge in invitation. The tall
alien did not sit. Instead he tucked his hands into his sleeves and bowed
his head at Qui Gon.
"How is your apprentice? That was very brave of him to go into
the cistern." The gravelly voice eked each word out separately and Qui
Gon wondered vaguely how a young Padawan might go mad waiting for him
to finish a sentence. He knew that even he often irritated Obi Wan when
he seemed to not be getting to the point quick enough.
"He is -- he was -- friends with Sandor. It was hard for him. But
I am proud that he had the courage to face such a task." They were simple,
surface words, but he meant every one of them. "I think that Master Conn
is having a harder time of it. It must be terrible to lose a Padawan."
Even as he said the words, he wanted to choke them back. He had just remembered
that Be'el's Padawan had been Geen. And that that had been
the time when the Veddian had become so sad. Obi Wan had mentioned that
Be'el, had been one of the supervising Masters on Kithurrin at that terrible
time. It had been whispered that he had been out of his mind with grief
when he'd seen Geen's body.
To lose a Padawan to sacrifice or danger or even, Force forefend,
the Dark Side was one thing, but suicide.... Qui Gon couldn't even comprehend
what that must be like.
Be'el seemed to sense his horror, and he waved him off gently,
moving, finally, to sit down next to the younger Jedi. One bark-skinned
hand pressed momentarily over Qui Gon's in empathy.
"Not to worry, Master Jinn. Some wounds never heal, but they do
grow more bearable with time. Geen was a sweet boy. He felt things very
strongly. He did not deserve to die so young." There was an uncomfortable
silence between the two masters for a moment before Be'el took pity on
him. "And what was it that you wished to speak with me about?"
Qui Gon nodded, tightening his fist around the bead and then opening
it to show the Veddian.
"I found this in the fountain just now. It definitely belonged
to Sandor. I had meant to ask you how you thought that the capping block
could be lifted alone from the cistern, but now I also ask you why you
think someone might move the body there."
The Veddian stared at the bead without touching it for a long,
long moment. So long, in fact, that Qui Gon worried he had slipped into
some sort of trance. Until he spoke.
"I don't know. There are several here at the Temple who could lift
the cap alone, but it would be hard work. Master Yoda is one. There are
others. I suspect that even you could do it, Master Jinn. Why the body
would be moved from the fountain to the cistern I do not know. Perhaps
it is nothing more complex than an attempt to hide it."
"Could the body have stayed hidden in the cistern for a long time
without detection?"
"Oh yes. It was a fluke that Sandor was caught in the outflow pipe.
Otherwise he might have simply decomposed in there with none of us ever
the wiser."
Qui Gon tried not to let the gruesome imagery bother him, nodding
instead.
"So, if not for a stroke of luck, we might never have even found
Sandor's body." He muttered, closing the bead back into his hand. "I will
take this new evidence to Master Windu. It might still bear enough of
an imprint of the murder to help us. And at least now we know where Sandor
was killed. Someone might have seen something."
Be'el nodded. "I was going to talk to Master Windu myself. I will
take the Padawan bead to him if you wish."
Qui Gon looked at the sad Veddian and nodded, dropping the bead
into his broad hand. "Thank you. I need to talk to my own Padawan now,
if you will excuse me." Qui Gon rose, touched the other Master gently
on the shoulder in thanks and strode out of the courtyard.
His Padawan was still not back when he returned, and he settled
down on the meditation mat with a book to wait, wanting to be there
when he got back. It was not immediately. In fact, the rain clouds had
come and let loose by the time Obi Wan returned, entering the main room
like a shadow in the gray light of the storm. Qui Gon eyed him covertly
from where he sat, watching him as he stood disconsolately in the doorway
for a long moment, water dripping from his soaked clothes. He had
gone out without his robe.
"Obi Wan?"
The boy started slightly, the pale oval of his face turning to
where his Master sat in a long shadow by the wall. For an instant he
caught a grief and fear in those eyes that was so intense it startled
him to momentary silence. It was gone so quickly, smoothed over so well,
that Qui Gon was almost convinced he had imagined it. Letting Mace's
suspicious mind get the better of him, no doubt.
"Yes Master?" The voice was low and slightly rough around the edges.
Had he been crying?
"Come and sit here," he said softly, holding out his hand. Obi
Wan came without hesitation, his slender fingers sliding into his master's
smoothly, letting the older man pull him down to his knees alongside him.
Qui Gon let his eyes caress the pretty features almost self-indulgently
and then quickly berated himself for it. It was an age old habit of his,
to admire, and then to quickly admonish. The entire action and reaction
took less than a second. He sighed, squeezing the slightly trembling
hand.
"I think you need to calm yourself, Padawan. I know he was your
friend, but he has only rejoined the Force. You should understand this
by now." Obi Wan nodded his head, not looking up at his master, though
the youth's hand remained tightly entwined with his.
"I know it, Master. I'm sorry.... it's-" he stopped himself suddenly,
as if he had only just prevented himself from saying something he didn't
want Qui Gon to know. The older Jedi couldn't prevent the small crease
from wrinkling his forehead. Indeed, Obi Wan was acting strangely. It
was getting harder and harder not to wonder if there was more than just
a sexual connection between the dead boy and his Padawan.
He pushed the predictable pang of jealousy aside impatiently.
"It's what?" he prompted gently.
Obi Wan suddenly pulled his hand out from between his Master's
fingers, clasping it with its mate tightly in his lap. He shook his head,
the long braid trembling with the motion on his shoulder.
"Nothing, Master. It's just hard, that's all."
Qui Gon kept his face impassive. Even without actually invading
his apprentice's privacy, he could tell that Obi Wan was hiding something.
From the moment that he had first laid eyes on the boy, Obi Wan had always
been terrible at lying. And now, this was too serious to wait for him
to reveal it in his own time.
He reached his hand out, gently hooking a long finger around the
young man's jaw and tugging on his sweetly blunted chin until they were
face to face in the deepening shadows. The rumbling, charcoal sky lit
the room in a washed gray light.
"Obi Wan. You know you can trust me." The statement was to be his
Padawan's last chance to tell him without a direct command. The wide blue
eyes froze and Obi Wan's throat clicked in the silence just before a
distant crash of thunder rattled the windowpanes.
"Of course, Master. I trust you more than anything else." There
was something else, something deeper in those words. Something so thick
and heady and sweet that it sent everything but Obi Wan into the limbo
of 'not important'. He was drowning in those eyes, lost in the moment
of that unbroken gaze. Sandor and Mace became distant buzzing gnats in
his mind as he realized just how close he was to his Padawan. How warm
Obi Wan's breath was as it caressed his cheek. How pink and tempting the
sharp tip of Obi Wan's tongue was as it ran a moist trail across his
lower lip.
A single inch more and he would be there, tasting that mouth, nibbling
the smooth line of that perfect throat, drinking the spicy salt of his
Padawan's skin, exploring every sculpted inch of jaw and brow. Soothing
and stroking the weight off those young shoulders.
The youth's eyes were limpid in the dim light, his lips slightly
parted, his breath coming a little faster. Was that desire reflected in
those chameleon eyes? It couldn't be. The thought sent a new wave of
heat through him. By all that was sacred, that mouth was so close....
It was Mace's face that appeared in his mind's eye then, frowning
at him as he had that morning on the training field.
No.
He wrenched himself up and off the floor with one awkward motion,
trying to control his suddenly labored breathing. Obscene, he told himself.
Vile. Obi Wan had lost a friend, possibly a lover, and all he could think
of was how that mouth would feel against his own. How well the sweet curve
of his back would fit into his palms.
"Master?" Obi Wan's voice was on the verge of breathless, confusion
apparent. Had the boy felt any of what he was just thinking? Oh Force
help him, he hoped not.
Qui Gon had moved to the window, his hands gripping the sill tightly
as he kept his back to his apprentice.
"You must tell me anything that you think will help us find the
killer, Obi Wan. If you know anything about your friend that will help,
it is best if you tell me now rather than let the council find out later.
That would look very bad. For both of us."
He added the last as a form of blackmail that he hated to have
to use, turning to face his apprentice. But he knew Obi Wan, and the
boy was as stubborn as any Hutt when he wanted to be.
To his horror, instead of the chagrined expression he'd expected,
a single tear slipped down the curve of the young cheek as he pushed himself
to his feet.
"It's nothing. Please master. You ask me to trust you. I need you
to trust me. I know that Mace is already suspicious about me, because
of Sandor's reputation, but I had nothing to do with his murder. You have
to believe me. Please believe me."
It was a gasped plea, so heartfelt that Qui Gon felt his soul clench
with the pain of it. He reached forward without even thinking, gathering
the youth into his arms and holding him close, stroking his back.
"Of course I trust you. I don't believe for a minute that you're
capable of cold-blooded murder. But I can't stop others from thinking
that, especially if you don't let me help you with whatever it is you're
not telling me." The words were muffled into the silky top of Obi Wan's
head as he spoke them.
His apprentice broke out of the embrace as if those words had wounded
him, leaving his master's arms empty as he turned away.
"There is nothing more to say that I haven't told you, master,"
his voice was firm, almost cold.
And it told Qui Gon without a doubt, that Obi Wan was lying.
Archive
