Playing the Game

“I want to see him.” Obi-Wan leaned in close to Slade as they left their midday class. He’d been thinking about it since the night before and it had occupied most of his thoughts during the day. It was like a cloud hanging over him, following him and it wouldn’t let him go.

“Who?” Slade turned curious purple eyes on him.

Obi-Wan looked around, then leaned in closer. “Xanatos.”

“Oh, no. I don’t even want to hear it. Whatever you’re thinking can’t possibly be good. In fact it’s probably a really bad idea.” Slade was shaking his head even before the name was fully out of Obi-Wan’s mouth. “There are so many reasons that it’s not a good idea I don’t even know where to begin.”

With a shrug, Obi-Wan continued on their path. He knew it wasn’t a great idea, but that didn’t make it bad. Besides, it was like the Force was telling him to do this, and you always had to listen to the will of the Force, even when it seemed weird. That’s what his Master was trying to teach him. The rules and the Code were all built around the Force, but sometimes the Will of the Force went beyond those things. Obi-Wan was pretty sure this was one of those times. “I have to go, and I want you to help.”

Slade was still shaking his head. “Remember the part when I said it was a bad idea? That means that I don’t want to be a part of it.” He took hold of Obi-Wan’s arm and pulled him into one of the empty study rooms. “First: he’s Dark. And I know it doesn’t catch like a virus, but being around that isn’t good. Second: there are guards, two of them all the time outside his door. You know why? Because he’s Dark. Did I mention the part where he’d Dark? ‘Cause that’s the important part in my argument.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. He’d heard the rumors. He’d also heard from his master and the conversations he wasn’t supposed to be listening to that Xanatos wasn’t strong enough to lift a finger, let alone corrupt someone to the dark side. “Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

“Damn straight I am, and you would be too if you had any sense.” Slade crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him.

“Fear leads to the Dark side.” Sometimes he was glad that his master fought with his friends so much; it gave him a chance to see how to win arguments. His master rarely lost.

“So does hanging around dark Jedi.” Slade’s response was fierce, but Obi-Wan could see him weakening. He knew it in the way Slade’s shoulders slumped and how his eyes kept shifting to the side.

“Look, you don’t have to be around him if you don’t want. It’ll make it easier anyway. I just need your help getting into the Infirmary.”

Slade heaved a breath and Obi-Wan knew he’d won. “Pretending that my tail hurts won’t work again.”

“Of course not, which is why we’re going to the snow garden and you’re going to pretend to go into hibernation.”

Slade turned to head for the door, his mouth set in a hard line. “Just so long as you get that this is a bad idea and I said so from the start. And if I do go into hibernation, I’m never doing one of your plans again.”

“You’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

***

Qui-Gon sat at Xanatos’ side, a cup of something that had long gone cold in his hand. It had been brought to him by some well-meaning Healer. They always seemed to think a little tea could make the wait better. A datapad was clutched in his other hand, data up on the screen, though he’d not read more than a sentence in the last hour. He couldn’t concentrate, even on the most mundane matters.

Mostly, it was because the parallels between this moment and any one of a dozen moments from his time as master to Xanatos was always right on the outside of his vision. It was the reason he kept his eyes trained to the words of the readout, even though they’d ceased to mean anything a long time ago. If he didn’t look at Xanatos, and didn’t look at the information on the monitors or think about his own padawan who was currently working his way through daily classes, he could almost pretend there was a living, soulful boy next to him, instead of the hollow husk of a man who looked ready to pull his last breath at any given moment.

Only twice had Xanatos had the bad manners to break Qui-Gon’s carefully built illusion. The freezing and stasis had been difficult on his already wasted body and he’d floated to consciousness for two brief periods, both times disoriented and calling out to Qui-Gon as if he were still a padawan.

Qui-Gon had had to leave the room after both occasions.

“Master?”

He only allowed himself a moment to center himself, fully expecting the confused gaze of a padawan who’d been gone for years. When he looked up, however, the cold, lucid gaze settled on him much like an ice storm and he was instantly battle ready; his muscles tensed and ready for combat, his connection to the Force wide open and ready to be used to defend himself. It took several beats of Xanatos’ monitor before Qui-Gon could relax, knowing that his former padawan could do nothing to harm him.

“Xanatos.”

“Did you bring me here to gloat?” His voice was willowy, paper thin, but the malice behind his words was nearly a physical thing.

“You think it pleases me to see you this way?” Qui-Gon shook his head, forcing himself to relax further, not to show any signs of weakness. It was difficult to remember that he could do nothing but speak, his malevolence was so strong. In days it was likely he wouldn’t be able to breathe on his own.

“I think it’s always pleased you to be in a position of power.” He paused for breath. “So what is this? You bring me here to face some judgment? I think I’ll be facing a more permanent sort very soon.”

“It wasn’t me who found you. Payter sent you.”

A shadow flitted across his features. “Ah. I thought I saw.” He shook his head. “It’s so hard to be sure, the wolf men all look the same.” A coughing fit stopped him, though his eyes warned off Qui-Gon’s help. When he could breathe again, he leaned back, his eyes scanning the room before falling on Qui-Gon. “So, shall we play the game now, Master?”

The title sounded like a curse. “What game?”

“You know. The one where I cry and beg and plead for you to forgive me and you get to be all justified in not killing me when you had the chance. Look at me now, Master, and tell me you made the right choice.” His thin frame was shaking with fury.

“You only ever had to ask, not beg. I was ready anytime, anywhere.”

Xanatos sighed, his sudden emotion looked to drain from him in the space of a single breath. “So magnanimous, Master. Why didn’t I just think to ask? Oh, I remember. It was because, while I don’t love having only three appendages, I vastly prefer it to two. And life in the dark bowels of the Temple, classified as a danger is no life.”

“And the one you have now? That’s life?” He can’t believe Xanatos would think it preferable to come to this, so wasted after only twenty-one years he wasn’t expected to last the week.

“Perhaps.” He never was one to concede a point gracefully. “At least it was my choice. Not that of a council or the dictate of some code or the ruling of a master. It wasn’t forced on me by the will of some diaphanous and uncaring Force.” He closed his eyes, turning away from Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon bit the inside of his mouth, the sharp pain distancing him from his emotions. They were too complicated and unruly to release to the Force just yet. He could remind himself all he wanted that Xanatos was trying to hurt him. Words were his only weapons now, but that didn’t stop them from hurting. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Xanatos laughed. “Tell the great Qui-Gon Jinn that his padawan wasn’t as great as he seemed? That every time we helped one sniveling and insignificant culture it was all I could do not to pay someone to burn the villages to the ground and slaughter the children? Do you think you would have been able to handle it any better when I was sixteen than you did when I was eighteen?”

Closing his eyes against the images, both those of the destruction and of his former padawan so filled with rage, he drew a slow breath, letting the still smells of the Infirmary filter into his body. “You didn’t always think yourself above everyone.” Of that he was certain.

“Experience taught me that. How many places did we go where our help was scorned or our lives were threatened because our very existence endangered their beliefs? How many planets where it would have been simpler to kill a leader who we fauned over instead? Countless millions too stupid to fend for themselves, for our help to last longer than our visit. How could I not see? How can you not?” Xanatos shut his eyes when he was finished, his chest heaving for air.

Sitting quietly, Qui-Gon didn’t know what to say. He saw all the same things Xanatos said and yet felt only sorrow and pity for the people. The rage and anger that seethed within Xanatos made him want to leave the room, to cleanse himself. It made him ill.

“What’s the matter, Master? Is your protégé not all you hoped him to be?” The smile in Xanatos’ voice was more than he could bear.

“That’s enough.”

“Or what? Are you going to punish me? I’m sorry, Master, but I don’t think I’ll be cleaning rocks anytime soon.”

Qui-Gon stood, his chair scraping against the bare floor of the infirmary. “I may no longer have that place in your life, but I will not sit here and be insulted by you.”

Xanatos waved a hand. “But you will, Master. You can’t keep yourself away. Even after everything, even though I make you sick, you’ll come back. The hold I have on you has nothing to do with me. You can’t let me go and you won’t let me die alone. Not now that you know where I am. And I’ll go cursing you till the last breath.” His smile was beatific and cruel.

A short successive rap at the open door pulled Qui-Gon away from the grotesque moment. “Qui-Gon, I—“ Bel-San stuck his head around the corner. “Sorry, I didn’t know he was awake.”

“No, no. Come on in. It’s like a party.” Xanatos turned his smirk on Bel-San, eying him closely. “Still my master’s lap dog, I see.”

“And aware and pleasant as ever, I see.” Bel-San took a few steps into the room, his eyes running professionally over the readouts. His hand touched Qui-Gon’s shoulder in a brief show of support. “Can I get you anything?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, absurdly relieved at the presence of another.

“If you’re going out, I’d like a one-way passage out of here.” His eyes tracked Bel-San as he moved, like a predator, though Bel-San never flinched under the gaze.

“It’s funny you should make any requests at all.” Bel-San’s voice was cold. “If he’s being difficult, I can sedate him.”

Xanatos laughed. “Were the children finally too much of a challenge? You had to move to the infirm to find those you could manipulate?” He shook his head. “Not surprising, really.”

Bel-San didn’t even flinch. “It’s good to know you moved to your natural level in society. I always pegged you for a worthless drug addict, and I’m so pleased you proved me right.” He turned away from Xanatos, all calm exterior, but years of friendship let Qui-Gon see that Bel-San was struck by the words. “I could send Thysse in, if you’d like. He might be able to tell you something.”

“Ah, I’d missed the Jedi precision. All the mights and possiblys and vague Will of the Force moments.”

Qui-Gon just shook his head, trying to block out Xanatos’ words, if not his presence. He owed it to his former padawan to stay with him, even though he said he would be just as happy without him there. Qui-Gon knew better.

“Come on, Bel-San. You never got to tell me what you really thought of me. I know it was nothing kind. Now’s your chance. I’ll be dead soon and then you’ll only have yourself to talk to.”

Qui-Gon locked eyes with his friend, the cares of working in the infirmary and of dealing with the memories of Xanatos written plainly on his face. Lines that had not been there even a year ago were more pronounced and he looked tired. “I never said anything to you because you weren’t worth the time. And you still aren’t.” He gave Qui-Gon a tight smile. “Just call if you need anything.”

As Bel-San left, Qui-Gon wondered if he should follow. What could possibly be accomplished if he stayed? Xanatos would continue to say terrible things to him. He wanted to injure Qui-Gon in any way possible. It would be so easy to walk away and wait for the call to tell him it was done.

A long, painful silence filled the room as Qui-Gon tried to decide if he should stay or go. With each passing moment, it was harder to make the move to leave, and yet the pull to go back to his apartment and sulk with his wounds in private was of an equal calling. He tried to imagine what he would be doing today if he’d never received the package from Payter and found himself empty-handed.

“What’s the matter? Is seeing your failure too much for you, Master?”

“You don’t get to call him that.” Qui-Gon turned as Obi-Wan shot into the room. “You don’t have that right.” His face was set in fierce protectiveness.

“Obi-Wan, I told you not to come here.” He stood, trying to usher the boy from the room before Xanatos could identify him. “Go back to your classes.” He didn’t even want to think about how the boy had managed to sneak in.

“I’m not afraid of him.” Obi-Wan glared at Xanatos, who laughed, understanding clear in his eyes.

“What teeth. He must be yours, Master.” Xanatos placed special emphasis on the title. “He looks a little young, but you always were ambitious. Who knows, if you start young enough, you’ll be able to keep him from thinking for himself.”

“That’s enough.” He felt events spiraling out of his control. “Obi-Wan. I want you to leave. Right now.” He pulled his comm. “Bel-San, I need you.” He knew he wouldn’t have to explain further, that he could trust the other man to come to him as quickly as possible without question. He shoved the link back into his pocket.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest, a fair approximation of his own stance. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

Blowing out a breath, Qui-Gon advanced on Obi-Wan. “Padawan, now is not the time to argue. Do as I tell you.”

Xanatos was close to sitting up with interest. “Not very obedient, are you, Little One?”

Obi-Wan jerked back at the words. “Don’t call me that.” His face was closed and his hands were balled into fists.

“Oh. You don’t think you’re the only one our master gifted with that name, do you?

Another step and Qui-Gon had a struggling Obi-Wan in his arms. His padawan was fighting him to get down to face off against Xanatos.

“You’d better watch your anger, Little One. You don’t want to end up like me, do you? Though, maybe if you’re special, Master can kill you instead of cutting off an arm.”

The image was enough to make Qui-Gon want to retch. Before he could stop himself, he could imagine his grown padawan standing before him, his lightsaber drawn in anger. It was raised in offence and he could see his own killing blow, cutting out the bright light that was Obi-Wan.

“Enough.” Qui-Gon’s shout echoed off the walls, powerful enough to still both padawans. He pointed to Xanatos as Bel-San walked in. “Not another words from him or I want him so drugged he’ll never wake.” He glared at his padawan who was doing a good job of looking offended, angry and upset all at the same time. “We’re leaving.”

TBC