. Bonds of Choice #23 Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series by HiperBunny (message 1 of 2) +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Obi-Wan sat bolt upright in bed and pulled the blankets over his head. Something was IN here... something was AFTER him... The flicker of traffic outside his window brought him back to place. *My bed. My room...* He lay back down and tried to analyze what it was that woke him. It was still here, still surrounding him like a warm and silken river. Oh yes. Qui-Gon's love. His *mind* knew it was safe, knew it was just the emotional output of a man who would do anything, everything to protect the life of his Koateleu. His *heart* wanted to treat it like an invasion army. His soul was holding its vote in reserve, apparently settling on an eleventh hour rescue of Obi-Wan's sanity, if such a thing were necessary. He closed his eyes again and steadied his breathing, alerting his body to the fact that it could stop dumping adrenaline into his bloodstream now, please. He was sweating and trembling, more tired than he could ever remember being while not on a mission. He started to raise mental shields, but stopped himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. *You want it? You need to know what it is before you really decide. If you can't live with it, you need to know now.* And that was the thought that kept him from hiding, from closing off and protecting him from the feelings Qui-Gon was gently but persistently radiating. He could get up and leave their quarters. He knew Qui-Gon would never project further than his intended target. He could wake Qui-Gon and ask him to stop. He did none of those things. Instead, he curled up around his pillow and let the love flow through him, bringing every Jedi art he knew into play. He *would* find a way to accept this, to embrace and cherish these feelings. He would *not* let his own insecurities deprive him of the person he was meant to spend his life beside. The question remained: how? He was peripherally aware that Qui-Gon was awake now and checking on his student. Obi-Wan wordlessly projected his continued acceptance. He could sense the strain Qui-Gon was under, the nagging doubts that were beginning to surface in his master's mind. He couldn't let that win. With a minuscule Force-touch he opened his own door, then Qui-Gon's. "Pantreti?" he called. "Yes, Koatel?" Qui-Gon replied. "I love you. Really. This is what I want. It's just taking some time to get used to it," Obi-Wan explained. "I know. Same here," Qui-Gon replied, a little chuckle in his tone. "YOU are what I want, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan reiterated. "You are where I belong." Qui-Gon was silent for a long time. Finally he answered, "I'm very glad to know that." "Can I get you to promise me something?" Obi-Wan asked. "Of course," Qui-Gon said. "Will you protect the hope I have, even without knowing what I'm hoping for?" Again the silence stretched out between them. "Yes," Qui-Gon finally replied. Obi-Wan closed their doors again and turned over. Nowhere was it written that good things came easily. Obi-Wan was willing to do what must be done to make this work. And should he falter, Qui-Gon would be there to help him. ****************** Neither Padawan nor Master wanted to cook the next day. In truth, they would have remained abed to a scandalous hour had either one of them voiced their desire to do so. But training is training, habit is habit, and breakfast is needed to do things properly, so they walked together to the dining hall. Obi-Wan was withdrawn, huddling mentally and physically behind shields, under his uniform, into himself. The night had brought him little rest and less acceptance. The day looked to be something of a challenge, to say the least. Obi-Wan focused on his step, the rhythm of his boots meeting the ground, centering himself on that constant. The shape of his weight and the touch of gravity that bound him to the planet. Unbidden, a thought surfaced in his mind: See, hidden upon the soil, wishes of the Future. He shuddered, thinking of all that had been spoken of the evening before. Before he could check that line of thought he recalled the matching keto. *O wish not for another day nor another thing Beyond the very thing within your hand Beyond the land upon which you stand Within these and these alone are matters enough To content thee all your days. Those gifts within the Future are secured Only through acceptance of the Now* //Obi-Wan?// **I'm sorry, Master. I'm so sorry. ** His head came up, spine stiff and straight as a man facing his executioner. **I thought to love you, I thought to have you, to keep you like a beast, like a possession. That is so very wrong of me… so very unworthy of you…** Qui-Gon stopped and spun on his heel, putting a hand on Obi-Wan's chest. His eyes glittered with equal parts impatience and disappointment. //I thought you said you knew what you wanted, PADAWAN. I thought you were so sure.// **I _am_ sure what I want. And in the glamorous recesses of a fine restaurant, there is nothing to stop me. But here, in our LIFE, everything we are stops me. You, Pantreti…you must have an equal to partner you, and I am none.** Obi-Wan's eyes wandered over Qui-Gon, taking in his fine form. They were stopped in a hub where several corridors met under a shining, angular sunroof. The light sparkled, backlighting Qui-Gon's hair. Obi-Wan looked up at him, their height difference impressing itself upon his perceptions. Qui-Gon looked a strong and calculating god, his shining hair a halo of pure power. And then his hand flashed towards Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan blocked it easily, reflexes and training coming into play as Obi-Wan's hand swept up and out, moving the strength of the strike away from its target. "I don't deserve that," he pointed out. //If you are not my equal, you deserve whatever I put on you to accept. If I choose to beat you black and blue right here beneath the skies and before everyone, I'll do it.// Qui-Gon's voice took on a stubborn tone. **Oh, no, my Master. You taught me better than that. If you really want to beat me, you're going to have to prove to me that I deserve to be punished. I don't. I'll apologize for this, but I won't be abused.** Obi-Wan fell back into a defensive posture, presenting his left shoulder, head back, knees bent and ready to spring. He hung loose and ready, prepared to match his strength and speed to Qui-Gon's reach and experience. He didn't have long to wait. Their first pass was in high quarter, neither scoring a hit, just a series of blows and blocks as each took measure of how serious his opponent was. Qui-Gon was both strong and skilled, with the advantage that he had taught Obi-Wan everything he knew about combat. Obi-Wan was fast, well-taught, and possessed of a flair for improvisation that stood unmatched throughout the Order. The foot traffic parted for them, where it did not stop outright to watch the singularly unusual exchange. Qui-Gon trapped Obi-Wan's arm, tried to force him to the ground. Obi-Wan raised his Force-control to the conscious level and broke the hold, tumbling back and past his master. Their movements became almost too fast to see, each one diving deeper and deeper into the Moment, seeing every strike and tactic just microseconds before it was used. Qui-Gon's head snapped back as a roundhouse kick caught him in the jaw. Qui-Gon stepped in and replied with a low sweep that took Obi-Wan off his feet. Forward he advanced, trying to land a boot to keep his student down, but Obi-Wan caught his calf, jerked hard, pulling him off balance, then rained a quick set of blows on his pressure points to immobilize his left leg. Qui-Gon Force-shoved Obi-Wan away, then drew up onto his right knee, left leg angled out beside him. He could only correct two of the six affected points before he needed to defend himself again. Another Force-shove and Obi-Wan was on his knees. Qui-Gon controlled his right arm, jerking up and back, feeling the pop as shoulder dislocated. Obi-Wan cried out, then curled himself around to palm-strike Qui-Gon's chest. The fell away from each other, both injured but neither prepared to concede victory. "Stop!" Master and Apprentice turned towards the new threat as one, Qui-Gon preparing himself to defend his wounded charge, Obi-Wan ready to sacrifice himself in protection of his weakened master. Their opponent was a formidable one, not to be taken lightly. "Explain yourself you will, Qui-Gon." Master Yoda's ears were laid back against his head in exasperation. The better part of the Jedi Council was ranged in a semicircle behind him. //I am teaching my Padawan his place, Master Yoda.// His mental 'voice' was steady, prepared to face down Yoda, the Council and any deities that might happen along to oppose him. "And that place is?" the ancient Jedi demanded. //By my side, in battle, on missions…in life,// Qui-Gon's eyes glinted ready defiance. //He has invested that hope in me, in good faith. I sought only to protect that faith.// "Dislocated his shoulder while protecting him, you have," Yoda pointed out. //And I think he broke my jaw trying to prove he's not my equal.// "Strange it is, both ways. Seriously hurt he could have been," Yoda persisted. //Better his body be broken than his heart, his mind, his will…his self-confidence and belief in his choices.// "What say you, Padawan?" Yoda made his slow way towards the fallen student. Obi-Wan was gasping for breath as he spoke. "I am not his equal. It was not my place to exact such a promise. It was my words, my will that made this so, not his." He firmly pushed the blinding agony in his shoulder away, focusing instead on the argument, the new battle before him. "Judge yourself by your rank, do you? Gained over time, rank is. A function of experience, only. Proper place decided by the Force is. Change that you can NOT." Yoda poked him in the chest for good measure. He closed his eyes, sighing. "I sense no fear in you. Misconception, though, there is much." The diminutive master made his way back to Qui-Gon. "Agree with YOU the Council does. By your side, Kenobi belongs. Kiss him more often you should. To the infirmary you both must go." And the Council swept past them, continuing on whatever errand the fight had interrupted. Qui-Gon made the repairs to himself sufficient that he could tend to his Padawan. He would leave the setting of the shoulder to more skilled hands than his own. Obi-Wan was near to tears as the endorphins began to burn off. //Congratulations, Koateleu.// "What have I done, Pantreti?" Obi-Wan clung to the words, needing anything to focus on outside of his own pain. //Overcome every argument and misgiving you could possibly have about me and our relationship together. You've caused yourself a problem, though. They'll be expecting us to bond as a working pair when you gain your knighthood.// Qui-Gon scooped his partner up in his arms, knowing he could make better time if he just carried the weakened man. "I'm not sure we should fight them on that." //Of course we shouldn't. But watch what you say and do in the future. Master Yoda does so love a big wedding.// J'kata met them at the door of the infirmary. "First door on your left. Should I just reserve that room for you two?" ******************* It was a slow walk back to their quarters. Qui-Gon had decided to forgo breakfast, what with his jaw feeling the strain of healing. It hadn't quite been broken, but had sustained a bruise bad enough so as to not make much difference. Obi-Wan had sat stoically through the re-setting of his shoulder and had even agreed to use the painkillers J'kata gave him. Once they were out from under the eye of the medical team, the absurdity of the situation had hit them full force. Obi-Wan had pitched his voice in imitation of a certain council member and said "Wear pink in the wedding you should." That had seriously cracked them up, to the point that they were leaning against one another, tears streaming down their face when they reached their door. They laughed so hard the lock would not respond to either voice signature, which set them laughing again. Qui-Gon had finally thumbed the print-identifier, dumped his humor-incapacitated student onto the sofa and collapsed into the desk chair. There were messages for them both on the dataset, notifying them that he and his Padawan were put on reserve for the time being. That sobered him rather quickly. Reserve meant working here in the Temple until that status was repealed. It was rare for them to be in official residence at the Temple, on-call to the work at hand. Obi-Wan would probably be overjoyed, but Qui-Gon was not at all happy about it. His presence had a tendency to spark wild rumor if not outright panic in the less-reputable sort on-planet. Obi-Wan levitated the lightslate from his master and read the mail for himself. "Great," the Padawan groaned. "Stuck here for skies only know how long." Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes at his student. "I thought you liked working in the Temple." "Yeah," Obi-Wan shrugged. "But I'll give you very good odds that they won't let me go teach. They'll put us to work in the Financial office or something." "You're probably right, but that's the way it is for a resident. When I was still doing all my research work it was a constant battle to *prove* I was working. For some reason, the scheduling department doesn't think pure research is essential to the Order. They'd usually try to put me in the crèche or something. Kourt eventually started getting us missions so we could have a little peace and quiet to think." Qui-Gon chuckled ruefully. "Guess I just never got out of that habit." "What habit?" Obi-Wan turned over onto his stomach, intensely focused on his master's revelations. "Getting off world as much as possible, to avoid scut work. To hide from the Order. Like that." Qui-Gon stood to fetch some juice. "Do you have your painkillers on?" "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan singsonged playfully. "Do you?" Qui-Gon lifted his hair to display the patch on his neck. "Hungry?" "I guess so. Maybe some fruit or something." "You'd better eat now. We'll be shuffled into the rotation within a couple of hours." Qui-Gon dialed up some grapes and berries from the caterer and made his deliveries to the coffee table. Obi-Wan sat up to make room on the sofa. "Guess you're not gonna be allowed to run around in jeans and tee shirts today, huh?" Obi-Wan picked up a cluster of grapes and began popping them into his mouth with rapid-fire precision. "Nope. Back into uniform with my old bones," Qui-Gon watched his student eat while slowly sipping his juice. "Want some?" Obi-Wan offered. "No, thank you. You did a pretty good job on my jaw, here," Qui-Gon rubbed his beard gently. Obi-Wan frowned in thought, then picked up the bowl of sweet berries. "Well, we'll just have to make it worth the effort," he purred.