.                      Bonds of Choice #20
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 1 of 4)
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Obi-Wan stretched his shoulders back and resettled on his bunk.  Scratch
had promised him he was no more than two hours away from Coruscant almost
six hours ago, and the Jedi's serenity was beginning to wear away.  A low
chittering noise from the doorway attracted his attention.  He looked up to
find Duran and Myrkit wrestling in the hallway.  He smiled a little, and
drummed his fingertips on the floor, as he'd once seen Nate do, to attract
their attention.  They turned towards him, seemed to discuss their course
of action, and scrambled up his arm and onto the bed without so much as a
by-your-leave.

Obi-Wan chuckled as the ferrets rooted around him on the bed, overturning
stacks of datachips and knocking his lightslate onto the floor.  When they
made for his book, however, he lifted it up out of their reach.  He was
given twin looks of affront before they resumed their exploration. 
Finally, the two ferrets decided his belly was the best place to rest and
curled up there.  Obi-Wan sighed and began stroking them, accepting their
presence from long experience with Qui-Gon's pets.

That brought him up short.  *It has been years since Qui-Gon actually
brought a pet into either of our quarters.  Poor Master, he must miss
them.  He spends so much of his free time in the Atrium.*

And that was odd, because until recently it wouldn't have mattered one way
or another whether there were creatures in Qui-Gon's rooms.  Well, actually
it would have mattered very much to Qui-Gon… and yet he used the area
Obi-Wan had set up for him.  Why?  Surely that one otter versus turtle
incident hadn't been the only factor…

Obi-Wan stroked the soft ferrets, not just with his fingers, but with his
sense of the Force.  He let his mind touch along the edges of theirs, let
their calm acceptance of the universe around them, their place within it,
soothe his frustration and impatience.  Obi-Wan began to understand just
what it was that attracted to Qui-Gon to his 'pathetic lifeforms'.  If
Qui-Gon sensed this calm, this peace through his 'animal ken' or some
base-instinctive Force manipulation… well no wonder.  And no wonder he
would be moved, time and again, to help restore that peace when it had been
disrupted.

*How could I have been so blind?*

With no answer forthcoming, Obi-Wan returned to the work he had been
distracted from.  It wasn't proper work, just translations, though skies
knew he'd spent plenty of time trying to get his affairs in order for his
return.  He had checked his mail this morning to find a request from the
Kurasian Senatorial office.  It had taken him a while to remember that the
Kho'la'bo was still in his room, in need of return.  It had taken even
longer to get in contact with the Kurasians, get an appointment, then
cancel and re-make it because of the delay in transit.  The whole thing was
a mess, and on top of it all, Obi-Wan didn't want to deal with the
Kho'la'bo, the Kurasians, or anything else to do with THAT mission ever
again.  Something told him he wasn't going to get a choice in the matter.

He lifted the lightslate and returned to his book, preparing to read aloud
for the transcriber on the slate.  The slender volume in his hands had
turned out to be a record of meditations.  To Obi-Wan, they were a wealth
of thought-provoking exercises.  Once he realized what he had discovered he
had thrown himself into the study and translation of each poem, or 'keto',
hoping to find some piece of wisdom that would help him come to terms with
the path he now seemed to be upon.  He had been long in study of the texts
and had only slowly realized that each one was connected to a meditational
pose.  He wondered when these keto had fallen out of popular use, and why.  

Putting those considerations aside, he continued with his work.

"Ne, duc nata sere, fane du Katu Ferese
Ne, duc nata sersol, privaco du Esper
Ne, duc nata efama, keadenu du Tabeo
Ne, duc nata mere, lamne du Pocada
Ne, duc nata talmaka, sereol du Qualedia Jedi
Ken un copo Pise no covere
Escrib ta Indivi"

"See, hidden upon all things, the language of Great Mystery
See, hidden upon the air, the secrets of the Breath
See, hidden upon the fire, the passions of the Spirit
See, hidden upon the water, regrets of the Living
See, hidden upon the soil, wishes of the Future
Read and hold within yourself the words of our Language
Know and acknowledge Truth unmasked
Written on the Body"

This, at least, he understood.  The 'Language of Great Mystery' had come to
be called 'Force-signatures'.  He supposed the latter term was easier to
grasp, but the original term was quite a bit more apt.  As a being strong
in the Force, he left his mark on everything, everywhere he went.  Days
from now another Force-sensitive would be able to touch the bed where he
lay and sense that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, had slept there.  Everything the
Force touched had its own pattern, and those patterns could be read as
plainly as any script.  Every emotion had a sigil and every color had a
taste.  The elements of the universe came together in the Force, speaking
their existence in hidden words.  The Force itself spoke the Language of
Great Mystery.  With training and focus, a Jedi learned to hear it.  

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and spoke for the transcriber again.  "Each keto
is paired with a pose.  I can only assume that these keto go best with that
particular pose, or that each pose enhances the contemplation and
understanding of the given keto.  I intend to speak with Master about
this.  I hope he will be able to further instruct me on their uses.  End
transcription."

The lightslate beeped obediently and Obi-Wan stretched slowly, careful not
to disturb his bed companions.  The click of boot-heel in the corridor drew
his attention back towards the door.  Obream stuck his head in.  "Hey. 
We're just about ready to move out.  There's some kind of trouble getting a
space at the Temple, so it's taking a while…"

Obi-Wan shrugged.  "I never have that problem."

Obream smirked  "You wouldn't, of course.  Friends in low places."

"More like preplanning with backup measures," Obi-Wan returned.

"Well, whatever it is, I wish we had some.  We've got a lot to cover in
this report, and I'd rather see my bed sometime this week than not.  I wish
I had some credit saved up with Morin right now." Obream leaned against the
doorframe.

"Don't look at me.  I spend all my goodwill on housing the _Gannet_."

"You would," Obream grinned.  "Always the fair trader."

The Padawan shrugged.  "That's me.  Trusted purveyor in fine goods and
services."

"Well, you might want to get over that.  From what I've heard out of you,
someone's finally got a leash on your collar."  Obream dodged the pillow
Obi-Wan threw at him.  "Which is probably a good thing, considering your
reputation." 

"Reputation?" Obi-Wan paused his bombardment to ask.

"Yeah, you know… ice prince?  'Don't let your heart get involved with that
one… Obream ruined him for the rest of us.'  All that." Obream quirked his
mouth.

"Who…" Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.  "Where did you hear that?"

"From everyone, at least once a month, since… oh, since your master put an
injuncture against me.  No one's willing to forgive me for it, you know."

Obi-Wan shook his head, confused.  "Forgive you?"

"Duh.  Kenobi… I fucked up royally… and not just for myself.  For you,
too.  And for anyone who might have cared for you, over the years. 
Forgiveness on that point is not easily gained."  Obream scuffed his boot
on the floor.  "Not that I deserve it."

Obi-Wan gave a sad little half-smile.  "I forgive you."

Obream's head came up, eyes wide with surprise.  "Well.  Yeah, I guess you
would, wouldn't you?"

"But… how far… do you think…" Obi-Wan rubbed his hand over his face.

"Do I think your 'one hot bod' is of this opinion?  Dunno, you tell me.  I
guess it depends on the individual, whoever they may be.  You got any
reason to think they wouldn't want you to care about them?" Obream leaned
more comfortably against the doorjamb.

"Quite the opposite," Obi-Wan assured him.

"Okay, last bit of advice: First chance you get, go for it."

Obi-Wan laughed.  "Sorry, I don't really work like that."

"Like what?" Obream stepped into the room and let the door close behind
him.  Myrkit noted the unexploited cuddle space and abandoned her companion
to make use of it.  Obream chuckled indulgently and began scratching the
friendly mammal.  Obi-Wan spent a long moment soothing Duran, who was
slightly affronted by his mate's abandonment.  After a long moment, Obi-Wan
answered.

"Did you ever go to Kenederal when you were a Padawan?  You know, those
camping trips and all?"  At Obream's nod, Obi-Wan continued.  "Remember the
Blackwater?"

"Yeah… they spent the entire trip out *warning* us not to swim there, that
the water was fine, but there were snags and crap under there.  Dangerous."
Obream looked down at the ferret, not making eye contact.

"Let me guess.  The year you went, you were the one to jump in."

Obream nodded, a rueful little smile playing across his lips.  "Got cut up
pretty good on all that submerged wreckage."

"Who went with you?"

"Couple friends of mine, you know.  Sort of like on a dare.  We thought we
were so *smart,* scanning down for plants and deadfall, predators… it never
occurred to us to look for inorganics, which I suppose was the point." 
Obream rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "Has *anyone* ever come back from
Kenederal without a new entry on their medical records?"

"Not that I know of.  Like you said, I think that's the point.  Getting
hurt like that, away from your master, even in some minor way, it teaches
you something you can't learn any other way.  You're not invincible, even
with the Force.  No matter how much skill or power you gain through
training, you're still mortal, and very, very breakable.  So, well… my best
friend, Corubia, she's a mer.  She decided she could handle the Blackwater,
but… she ended up with a nice, incapacitating scratch all along here,"
Obi-Wan indicated the left side of his ribcage.  "Gills, you know.  She
came up spitting water and blood, and I was the one supposed to be watching
for the Knights."

"So you went in to get her?"  Obream guessed.

Obi-Wan sighed.  "No.  I stayed right where I was, pulling her with the
Force and screaming bloody murder for one of the Knights.  I knew… I *knew*
it was dangerous and I *knew* I'd get hurt if I went in.  So I didn't."

"That must have been a great way to reinforce your friendship," Obream
chuckled.

"Oh, she was pissed at me for almost two whole hours.  Then she figured out
that if she hadn't done something stupid in the *first* place, she wouldn't
have gotten hurt.  That's not the point.  I was never tempted to do the
Blackwater swim.  It never entered my mind, really.  I didn't have to try
it myself to know it was dangerous - someone had already taught me I could
get hurt, and badly.  Well, so… that's why the 'ice prince' thing.  I don't
need to get hurt that way again."  Obi-Wan shrugged.  "Well, that's what I
thought."

"I think you're taking the 'look before you leap' sentiment a little too
much to heart there, Obi," Obream said.

"I… uh… I think you might be right there.  But that doesn't mean I'm gonna
go ahead and leap, you know.  I'm still looking."

Obream nodded.  "Just don't be too hard on 'em, okay?  Hey, uh… so… where's
your scar?"

Obi-Wan laughed.  "No scar.  I sprained my ankle coming down the cliffs. 
They had me teamed with a guy I didn't know and…"  he gave a low whistle,
describing his unchecked descent with his hand.  

"Ah… trust issues.  I hope you've been working on those."

Obi-Wan refrained from pointing out Obream's culpability in that area,
though the urge to remark upon the irony was extreme.  "Not as much as I
should have been, but… I'm doing better.  Listen, thanks for the counsel,
but…" Obi-Wan gestured with his lightslate.  "I want to get some more of
this finished."

"You're more than welcome. You're not bound to take my advice of course,
but you might want to think about it.  You wouldn't want to discourage them
by making them wait too long." Obream stood.  "I should be up front for
final landings.   Get your gear together, bucko.  We're home."

****************************************  

Qui-Gon shook his hair back and tossed another grin at Swed.  The noise of
the Common Room was nearly overpowering the music they made but that
mattered not at all to the Master and the newly-promoted Knight.  Swed was
playing upon an electric guitar, challenging Qui-Gon to match or supersede
him as he improvised and riffed with wild abandon.  Qui-Gon was sticking to
his vyol, using its comfortable familiarity to make up for his lack of
recent practice.  Unfortunately, his hair was slowly escaping his
hair-kerchief and tangling in the string pegs, hampering his efforts
somewhat.  It only made him laugh and try all the harder.

Obi-Wan's ship was in orbit.  Corubia had brought these intelligences to
him some few hours ago.  He had just started playing, and had considered
abandoning his performance to prepare for the inevitable Council meeting. 
She had prevailed upon him to stay, insisting that traffic was backed up to
the skies and gone.  She assured him he had plenty of time.

Halfway into the second song, and time constraints had lost their influence
over him.  The Padawans and younger Knights had pushed the tables back,
creating an impromptu dance floor.  The room was thick with heat and
energy, reminding Qui-Gon of the more lively dance clubs of Coruscant,
minus the near-traditional smoky fog.  He had paused some time ago to
unbutton his green cotton shirt, letting it hang open down past his hips. 
His jeans were long worn out, holes and tears providing all the ventilation
he might need.  His soft half-boots were abandoned in the corner, unneeded
for the nonce.  Perspiration slicked his brow, ran freely down his chest
and collected on his waistband.  Swed looked like someone had dumped a
bucket of water over his head and Qui-Gon assumed he himself wasn't any
more presentable.

He couldn't have cared less.

Someone was shaking his shoulder and he turned to find Kourt's laughing
eyes staring up at him.  "Council's calling for us.  Your boy did well."

Qui-Gon's eyes went round with shock as he looked around for the crono. 
Surely it wasn't that late!  But it was.  "I have to change clothes…" he
began.

"No time.  Trydal's gonna be done with his report in about ten minutes, and
we have to be there for the covert clearance," Kourt explained.

"Well… hell," Qui-Gon muttered, setting his instrument aside.  "I look like
a wild one."

"To say the least.  Not that it matters.  You're only going on record as
security second, so there won't be any imaging of you.  I'm not getting
into uniform for it, no reason why you should." Kourt stepped back,
displaying his loose trousers and tunic, soft exercise shoes and
hair-kerchief.  "Not exactly a fashion statement."

"But… Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon lamely protested.

"Oh get over it!  He's gonna have to figure out you weren't born in a
uniform!  Might as well be now."

Qui-Gon heaved a sigh and nodded in agreement.  "Let's go, then."

Swed handed him his boots and promised to deliver the vyol to Qui-Gon's
quarters later on.  Qui-Gon smiled his thanks and squared up his serenity
for the meeting ahead.