. Bonds of Choice #16 Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series by HiperBunny (message 1 of 4) +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Obi-Wan was just starting his second cup of cav when the doorchime rang. He'd found a message from their mission pilot, indicating an early afternoon departure. He'd decided to nap most of the morning away. Qui-Gon was still abed, so he went to see to the door himself. Corubia, Jenji and Swed stood there. An appraising look from Corubia, and she said "I told you so. Get him." Which is why the Master awoke to a solitary bed and a range of odd thumping sounds liberally peppered with various protests and curses from his Padawan's room. Bemused, he drew on his bathrobe and went to see what the fuss was about. He leaned against the doorway, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Master, make them stop! They've already used the Force three times to get me into this stuff," Obi-Wan mourned. "Then they'll just have to get you right back out of it. Corubia, the formal? What were you thinking? He'll be changing before arrival, and I doubt there will be a ball during transit or on-site. Out of that, now," he chivvied. The Padawans groaned and began undressing Obi-Wan again. "Chocolate brown pants, the eggshell tunics, etceteras etceteras. Good skies above!" "Yes, Master Jinn. I'm sorry Master Jinn," the trio murmured as the put the clothing away. Qui-Gon wandered into the kitchen seeking cav and continued calling instructions to them. "See if you can find a really good belt in there. Something without the shiny rubbed off of it yet. It'll look good with the rich browns. I'll see about some sort of breakfast." He had tea and toast ready when Obi-Wan was declared presentable. Qui-Gon turned to find his student well and truly transformed. He went over the costume with a discerning eye, from well-turned leg to narrow waistline, up to attractively disheveled hair. He sighed and stroked his beard. "Did you get him a new cloak? Because this old one is in a dire state." Swed grinned. "Of course." The change was made while Obi-Wan munched resignedly through his breakfast. "This is so dumb, guys." "Obi-Wan! Are you saying your master's choice is dumb?" Corubia chided in mock affront. "No, uh, well. Actually, I guess that is what I'm saying," Obi-Wan replied, levitating his teacup from the table. "Hold still, little bro. Your sash is crooked. There. Perfect." Swed stood back and admired his handiwork then headed for the caterer to get some cav. Corubia followed him. "Obi-Wan, now, listen. There's a datachip in your backpack, it lists all the gear we got out of Resources for you and all the survey protocols ... " "Your confidence in my ability to care for myself underwhelms me," Obi-Wan growled. "Fine. You're the one who needed me to help you with your sash," Swed reminded him. "Really, it's just in case you need it. There's a whole pile of stuff in there I doubt you've ever carried before. We were just trying to help." Obi-Wan relented, shaking his head. "I know. It's just very weird having all of you fuss over me like this." "Well, you know. First time out and all," Corubia shrugged. Obi-Wan pulled her into a hug. "I'll be back in a few days and then you can all harass the life out of me for leaving you alone." "No, Padawan. We're all very excited for you. Now, you'll probably be sent into the local population for recon and supply assessment. Be reserved, watch and listen, get the gossip. Well, you know all this, my Padawan," Qui-Gon left off his lecture and went into his room. "Indeed, Master. You trained me well," Obi-Wan followed him. "They'll be in hangar four pretty soon." Qui-Gon was kneeling in front of his storage chest. "There should be some work denims and so forth in there, as well. Don't dress up unless there is a formal gathering. And see if there's a youngster around to be with. Children aren't often tools of manipulation, and they hear everything despite their elder's best efforts. Here." Qui-Gon held a flat disk out to Obi-Wan. "Kourt took that right after I began changing my appearance." Obi-Wan looked down at the holo, the youthful visage of his Master regarding him with laughter in his eyes. "What's this for, Master?" "Just in case ... " Qui-Gon's hand strayed to Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Just in case, Padawan." "Master, I'm coming back. Your Padawan will not abandon you. Not this time," Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's hand in his own and dropped a kiss into his palm. "I will not abandon you." Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "And I will be here when you return. Come now, you'll want some help to take your things to the hangar." "I only have three bags, Master," Obi-Wan started to object, then stopped himself. "I'll just grab the last of my things." Obi-Wan put the holo into his trouser pocket and went to collect his personal things. Qui-Gon stood for a long moment, gathering his calm about him. When he looked up, Swed was standing in the door. "Can I help you with something, Padawan Bvroukala?" Swed stubbed his toe on the carpet. "I, uh, Master Jinn, Obi-Wan told me about ... you and he." "What of it, Padawan?" Qui-Gon felt his stomach clench. "I don't know if you know this, but ... I'm the one who put him back together after Obream. He might be a little unstable when he gets back. I respect you, sir, and would never threaten you in any way ... but if you hurt him I will have my satisfaction." Swed's back was ramrod straight as he spoke, but Qui-Gon could see the trembling in his fingers. "Thank you, Swed. I am overjoyed that you would think so much of my Padawan. And should I hurt him, I will be ready to meet you. I only hope that you make me answer for my actions to the fullest extent of your powers," Qui-Gon bowed his head and clenched one hand over the other, making the truth-swearing sign. "Don't let's make it come to that," he offered him a little smile. "In the meantime, how about we get together and play a bit?" "I would like that. With Obi-Wan gone, I should have some free time," Qui-Gon smiled back. They joined the others in hauling Obi-Wan's gear to the transit hangar. ************************** Obi-Wan shifted his shoulder pack once more, trying not to fidget as he waited for the transport to arrive. Obream had not yet arrived, and yet it felt like everything was going far too fast. He was suddenly very worried that he hadn't put enough thought into this decision. Still, within himself he was sure this was the proper course, so he calmed his thoughts and tried to make peace with the morning's events. He slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the holodisk there. It was that gift, that moment that had made him realize what Qui-Gon must be going through. According to Master Crowe's reports, Xanatos had ... turned ... just shortly after realizing what kind of life the Order had in store for him. Obi-Wan had only disgust for that kind of petty selfishness, but he was suddenly aware of the similarities between this situation and that. He wished he knew how Qui-Gon truly felt about his going. He wished he'd spoken to his master before sleeping last night. He wished ... a lot of things. He flinched as a hand fell on his shoulder, turned to find the smiling visage of Master Crowe behind him. "A word with you, Padawan Kenobi?" Obi-Wan nodded and followed Kourt a small distance from where his friends and Master stood with his luggage. Kourt led him to a narrow space between cargo crates before turning on him with eyes full of danger. Obi-Wan's throat contracted and he was hard pressed to believe what was happening to him. A glance downward supplied all the corroboration he needed. Kourt's right hand was flexed against his leg in the classic 'Force-hold' grip. He wasn't cutting off Obi-Wan's air supply, but a twitch of hand, or a flick of thought would crush Obi-Wan's windpipe. The Padawan relaxed into the grip, showing his acceptance in the only way available. "You are not a stupid boy. If you were, Qui-Gon wouldn't love you like he does. I'm not one to meddle in personal affairs, even those of my friends, especially when the concerned parties are trustworthy. I am, however, in the habit of securing a situation as much as possible, in whatever manner nessecary. Hear me now and listen well. I've already put Qui-Gon back together after one snot-nosed brat decided the Order wasn't good enough for him. I'll not be pleased at being made to do it again. Go to Perrys and do what you must. Do your duty honorably and well. Come back quickly. If you decide not to return here, I have only one piece of advice for you: run and hide. For if you break my friend's heart, you can be sure I'll eat yours out of your chest while you watch. Do we have a clear understanding?" Kourt tightened his touch ever so slightly. "A perfectly clear understanding, Master Crowe," Obi-Wan gasped. "Good," Kourt relaxed his hand and Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "Now, Padawan, with that aside I'd like you to know that I will be available to you at all times, should you need advice or even rescue. Our lives are bound together now." The master reached down and caught Obi-Wan's smallest finger with his own, touching their rings together. "I don't like the similarities between this situation and one I've seen before. You understand that. Perhaps, though, we've been given a chance to over-write that past unhappiness and make it right this time." "Perhaps we have, Master Crowe. I will come to you, should I need you," Obi-Wan promised. Kourt nodded once, satisfied, and pushed Obi-Wan back towards the farewell party. It had grown considerably during their short absence, with his friend's masters and various other associates coming to bid him goodspeed. Obream himself waited there also, ready to escort Obi-Wan and his gear onboard the cruiser that would bear them off to the Perrys sector and the Temple at San Saloor. Time was short. He raised his right hand to waist level and touched his thumb quickly to index, middle and third finger, then pointed with his chin back the way he had come from. Corubia, Swed and Jenji followed him. When they were alone, they huddled up for a quick conference. "Sorry about my rotten mood this morning," Obi-Wan apologized. "Don't worry. We'll take it out of your hide when you get back," Corubia assured him. "Anything you need us to do until then?" Jenji asked. "Look after Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan immediately replied. "Make sure he's eating and sleeping and so forth. I know he looks self-sufficient, but ... " "We know better," Swed grinned. "We all have masters too, bro." "Right. So you should know what you're about with him. He's fairly healthy and happy right now. If he's not in as good condition or better when I get back, you'd better find someplace to seek refuge," Obi-Wan was deadly serious as he spoke. "No problem, boss. He'll be in mint condition when you return. Honor's oath," Corubia held her thumb out and Obi-Wan caught it with his own. Swed and Jenji added their own promises and thumbs. "Now get over there and say a proper goodbye, kid." Obi-Wan nodded and led them all back to the small crowd gathered around his belongings. Qui-Gon came towards him and bowed deeply. Obi-Wan returned the gesture, awaiting his last-minute instructions. Qui-Gon's eyes seemed to fix on some distant point as he searched for words. Finally he leaned forward and brushed a kiss onto Obi-Wan's lips. "I love you. I'll be waiting." The last minute good-byes were more or less lost on Obi-Wan after that. His hands were filled with parting tokens, pockets stuffed with data chips and candy, the Padawan survival kit for space journeys. Obream bowed to Obi-Wan and turned to lead him onto the waiting transport. The porter droids gathered up bits of cargo and followed them. After a hasty, across-the-board wave goodbye, Obi-Wan followed as well. *I hope this isn't the biggest mistake of my life,* he thought ruefully. A glance back revealed that Qui-Gon was watching him, his stance the very picture of Jedi serenity. In his eyes, however, was the fire of passion that reminded Obi-Wan of his final words. *Wait for me, Pantreti. That is all I ask of you.* **************************** Qui-Gon stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel. As he turned towards the door he caught sight of something in the mirror, something that made him turn back and look himself over very carefully. At first it was not apparent as to what was amiss. Then he raised his right arm and turned halfway back towards the door. There. Four lines, four marks, perhaps scrapes, running from just below his arm and around his ribcage. He turned slowly, searching to see where they led. With his back to the mirror he looked over his shoulder, appalled at what he saw. The scratches ended in a patch of blue-black. Cuts like half-moons punctuated the wound. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and swallowed once, twisted to lay his own fingers against the mark, then looked again. No, this was from a smaller hand. So was the matching scrapes on his shoulders and the other side of his ribcage. He closed his eyes again briefly and swallowed convulsively. *Just get a handle on it. Breathe, just relax. It's okay. It's not like before. You chose this, wanted this.* He dried himself off, moving quickly to hide his nudity from his own eyes. *Just hang on, hold them off.* He finally faced himself in the mirror and spoke out loud to begin his ritual. "You are in a safe place." His body went on autopilot from that verbal trigger, carrying him into his bedroom and onto the patch of sunlight in front of his window. He dropped to his knees, the rough cloth of the towel stretched tight across his legs. *Master, please, guide me.* He closed his eyes again and let the memories come back, let go his hold on the present and drifted over into the past. The trembling in his heart, the itch in his throat grew worse as the memories flooded in. A morning not unlike this one. An incident quite similar, in fact. Difference being, he had not been alone. *** Qui-Gon looked at himself in the mirror, appalled at what he had allowed to be done to him. Heavy bruises on hip, thigh, buttock, shoulder ... *Skies, is there no part of me untouched?* He shifted his weight and an inner pain told him there was not. He wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for a week, at least. He turned his head to get a better look at himself and shivered as his braid pulled across his nipple. *This has got to stop, Jinn. You're going to end up killed, one of these nights. At least hang on the extra three years and get knighted.* A knock on the door announced his Master's arrival. She came in even as he reached for his bathrobe. A quick inhalation told him the game was up. He froze where he stood, waiting for the condemnation he was sure would follow. "Padawan? Are you ... " the soft tones of her voice were quite unexpected. "Yes, Master. I am well," he assured her, pulling a thick blue sweater on to hide the contrary evidence. "I was going to say we should work on your tumbling today, but I think it would be better if we talked," she said, not moving from the doorway. He did not turn to face her. "Yes, Master." "Dress yourself, Padawan, then join me in my quarters for breakfast." The door closed behind her and Qui-Gon stepped into his denim pants, trying to think how to explain what had happened to him. Trying hard not to think of what might happen yet. When he took his place at his master's table, he still had no answers. Only shame, and a grief for the respect he must surely have lost in her eyes. Sitting was as uncomfortable as he'd feared it would be, but was nothing in comparison to the silence between himself and his master. She sat quietly, chewing on her morning hardtack, focus fixed on some distant point beyond him. He drank in her much-loved features, the skin tanned dark brown from long days and years in harsh environments. Her grass-green eyes, sharp and unpredictable, moving from cold calculation to warm laughter, usually without warning. She slowly chewed her bottom lip as her gaze became unfocused. He knew she was allowing herself to become lost in thought, seeking the best solution to this latest problem her Padawan had brought to this table. Qui-Gon carefully studied Master Sarafel's countenance, the utter calm with which she faced all events, the strength and composure with which she held herself. One day, he hoped to have those qualities for himself, to use them in the protection of others. She rose to fetch something from the kitchen and he was struck once more with the difference in size between himself and his master. She was barely five feet tall, compact and powerfully built. Many an enemy had fallen prey to the deception of weakness that came with her stature, a mistake Qui-Gon had not made in years. Of course, it had taken long years of working at her side, learning her style before he understood that she would never need the protection of anyone, much less her gangly student who, most days, couldn't keep track of his own two feet. She returned to the table, tossed her mane of curly brown hair over her shoulder and set a knife before him. "Cut yourself, Padawan. On the back of your hand, please." He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to obey. "Master, please. I can explain ... " "Really? Good. Because I find it hard to believe you found anyone at a dance club who could beat you so soundly. I can't even imagine a group of thugs who could. I did not forbid you from protecting yourself, Qui-Gon. I only wanted you to be careful of the ... more dangerous elements hereabout." Her green eyes were flint hard, but her hands were shaking as she picked the knife up once more. "You must protect yourself when I can't do it for you. Failing in that is purely self-destructive." "Master, it ... wasn't a fight." The admission was difficult, but Qui-Gon knew an even more difficult one was coming. Master Sarafel was quite particular about the well-being of her student. If something had harmed him, she would know the truth of it, and soon. "Not a fight? Qui-Gon, you are bruised from neck to heel, and I just know you didn't do this to yourself." *Not this time,* he thought glumly. "Padawan." He looked up, understanding the command inherent in that single word. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And be quick about it. "Master, I ... did not spend the evening alone. I met someone at the club, went back to his home and ... " "I understand," she supplied, saving him that much, at least. "He was smaller than I, but strong ... I ... I chose him for this, Master. I ... wanted him to do this to me." There. It was out. Now she would be free to put him from her side. Now she knew how useless it was to try and make him a Jedi, for all that his Potential gave him. "Oh, Qui-Gon," she whispered. "Oh, my poor boy. You don't have to ... " "Master, I tell you the truth. I wanted this. This was not the first time." Best to make it clean now. Sarafel was quiet for a long moment, then she came around to stand behind him, fingers resting in his hair. "Do you need to keep those marks?" "No, master. It hurts, but ... I didn't want to try to heal them by myself," he admitted. His skills as a healer were strong, but self-healing was a most difficult task that took years of training to perfect. "Relax," she whispered. The warm, soothing flow of energy from her hands went down through his skin, dispelling the blood and healing the breaks that had been left there by some nameless stranger. Long moments passed as she corrected the damage done to his flesh. "Did I miss anywhere?" she finally asked. "Yes, Master," he admitted, knowing she would find those wounds eventually, anyway. He shifted as her healing skills repaired the tears to his anus, then went still as the pain receded and disappeared. Her arms came down around him, rocking him gently. "Oh, Qui-Gon. I could have spared you this. I will spare you this, now that I can. We have much to speak on." He sighed, raising his arms to hold her. "Thank you, Master, but I don't think this is something you can fix." A light kiss brushed his temple and she withdrew. "It can not be fixed, because you are not broken. You need only to understand the nature of this desire." They adjourned to the sunny patch on the floor near the sofa in Sarafel's quarters, letting the ritual of morning meditation calm them both for the conversation ahead. Qui-Gon was relieved to find his master accepting him, this, being ready to guide him in this ... madness, obsession, whatever it was that had taken him. He was not afraid. It would have taken more than this to shake the calm that had been trained into him since before he could remember. He was, however, curious as to why his master was so relaxed. Qui-Gon opened his eyes to regard his teacher while she meditated. They were dressed similarly, she in a dark blue sweater and very pale blue jeans, their customary dress for downtime. Qui-Gon had adopted the habit via osmosis, but found it quite the most appealing form of costume, after his uniform. A smile tugged at his lips as he noticed the sweater Sarafel wore was one of his own crude making. She wore it as if it were no less than royal robes. Her dignity made her every inch the Master, even when dressed like a laborer. Finally she opened her eyes and stared back at him. He waited for a long moment, letting time and place fill him with an awareness of the Moment. "Padawan, I need you to tell me things of a personal nature. I hope there is enough trust between us that you may do so without discomfort, but even if it pains thee, I must have the truth of you," she began. Qui-Gon bowed his head in obedient acceptance. "What is it you were looking for, when you asked another to hurt you?" Qui-Gon drew a calming breath, then focused his thoughts on his own motivations. "The pain ... it cleanses me, Master. It ... is something like an atonement." "For what, Qui-Gon? Why would you need to atone?" Qui-Gon met her eye with a steady gaze. "Master, it seems to me that ... for what I am, for what I do, I am never made to pay. I have lied, stolen, cheated ... killed ... and no one ever holds me responsible. As long as I am serene and tranquil, no one ever questions my actions. And I can do it ... all of it ... and never bat an eye. And the pain ... " "Hmm?" "It feels good." "Being hurt feels good?" Qui-Gon shrugged. "It doesn't hurt me, not when it happens. I know it's not my pain threshold. You know how I am when I get *injured*. It's this ... other thing, these little pains ... the situation and the fact that it is of my choosing ... all of it." "Perhaps it is time we discussed some of the more ... eclectic types of sexuality, Padawan. Masochism and submission are well-documented practices. Perhaps we should seriously explore them for your life." Qui-Gon shook his head no. "I don't think so. At least, I looked into that and it doesn't seem to be what I'm after." "You looked into that?" Sarafel squeaked. Qui-Gon nodded slowly. "That was my first thought, that I was in need of submission or masochism. That's not it ... not at all. There's a sexual nature to what I need ... but it's not the same, somehow." Sarafel nodded slowly. "When do you get these ... needs?" Qui-Gon sighed. "I haven't been able to really pick out a pattern yet. I know it happens right after a battle, or just before, if I know one is coming up. Other than that? The triggers seem wholly unrelated." "And this doesn't touch on your ... other, more regular ... sexual desires?" Qui-Gon shook his head fervently. "No, not at all. I don't think I could want this with someone who ... well, not all the time, anyway." "You might want to think about that, Qui-Gon. Desires like these ... well, it is usually better to get it from someone who loves you." "Yes, Master." "Meaning you do not believe me. I suppose that is to be expected. Well, you realize I must forbid you from doing this again, don't you?" "Yes, Master." "Consider yourself so forbidden. Not because what you do is wrong or ugly, but because you have been doing it in a very dangerous way. I know you are not seeking that kind of role-play here, but ... I think it would be best if you went to a professional for these purposes." "As you will, Master," Qui-Gon responded miserably. "You needn't sleep with them, you know. Just ... until you find someone you care about, who can give you what you're looking for." And Qui-Gon nodded again, accepting his Master's edict. Within himself, he doubted if he would ever find someone he could explain this to, never mind share this with.