Archive Date: November 15, 1999
Category: angst
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. please don't hurt me.
Notes: This is a sequel to Lilith Sedai's "Undercover". You need to read that to understand this, I think. There's no sex in this one, but there are big piles of angst. If anyone wants to continue from here, I'm pretty much okay with that, so check with Lilith, mmmkay?
Thanks to PadaWan kriski for her timely and thorough critique. I sincerly believe there would be no work coming out of ChezBunny without my faithful Padawan. "As those who birthed you could not..."
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: R for language, implied naughtiness
Series: Sequel to "Undercover"
Summary: More beautiful strangers. More seedy bars. More misunderstandings and a spell broken.
Warnings: I was feeling a little blue when I wrote this...
Please be warned: I don't think this is in the same league as most of the other stuff I write. I don't really know where this came from. There are quotes and referances here from the motion picture "Labyrinth". It would really help to have seen that movie, but I've tried to make this readable without it. Tried being the operative term, here.

Obi-Wan kicked a piece of trash across the walkway and wrapped his arms tight about him. The air was chill in the pre-dawn light, the street near-empty, though some of the more desperate residents of Coruscant shuffled about, plying their various and shady trades, selling their wares. Selling themselves.

I could just stay here. I don't have to go back. No one will be looking for me until Master gets back. If then. I could just...

He leaned against a wall, slid down and pulled his knees up to his chest. I could just flash someone a smile, name a price and start myself a new life down here. Might as well, I've already sold the only thing that ever mattered to me. And for what?

The truth was, he was lucky to be clothed at this point. The hotel room door had locked behind his sudden egress. He'd finally had to trick the lock open to retrieve his belongings. Dressing had never been quite so painful or degrading. The smell of his recently-absent master had clung to the sheets, to his body, a rich blend of musk and deception. It was that last which had brought tears, sobs of regret, hastily composed and abandoned apologies, plans never meant to be realities. For how could he find Qui-Gon, in this life? It was impossible to think of mending their other life, now.

He'd tried, though. Dressed and pulled himself together, retraced his steps to the bar that had started this whole debacle. It had been closed, as Obi-Wan had known it would be, cutting off the only lead he'd had to the whereabouts of one Qui-Gon Jinn. Impossible to inquire at the Temple. The whole situation was impossible. Finally he'd forced his weary mind to set his weary feet on the path home. He eschewed the transportation available to him, preferring the time alone to think, try to think, time to hide from himself and what he'd so foolishly done.

He dragged himself away from his wall and started walking again. The walkway joined several others, making a sort of square between mountainous buildings around him. A crowd had gathered around a small group of outrageously dressed folk. It was hard to tell if the performers were costumed or simply a group of beings in what they had. They were clad in gaudy finery, strutting about, enacting a story. Obi-Wan joined the crowd, glad of the momentary distraction.

A young girl in simple pants and shirt faced off against a slender man in diaphanous robes. His eyes and hair were made up, turning him into a creature of exotic beauty, mystical power, blatant sexuality and sweet remorse, The Goblin King. She fair spat her words at him, making her claim.

"Through hardships untold and dangers unnumbered I have fought my way to the palace beyond the goblin city..." her back was straight as her triumphant speech carried on.

It was a play, Obi-Wan realized, and one he had seen before. The 'evil King' being brought to his knees. To Obi-Wan, it was clear she was breaking the very heart and soul of the man she opposed, bringing him down to reclaim the innocent child that he had taken from her. Though he refuted her claim with words of love and examples of his labor for her, she spoke her words of power and broke his spell.

He wished he could stay and watch, but such was not his lot. There were places he must be, things he must do before those words could be his.

He finally arrived at the foot of the Temple steps, stood for a long moment kicking the pavement disconsolately. He still hadn't decided what to do, couldn't think of where to begin. Eventually it was habit that got him moving, the morningmeal chime that set him towards his room. He was hungry, dirty, sick at heart. Tired, more than tired and filled with self-disgust. And no one was watching for him.

He drew a few odd glances as he stumbled through the hallways, up stairs, avoiding lifts where he might be trapped with others of his kind, however briefly. The door to his rooms opened obediently, there were no messages waiting, no evidence that anyone had been here in the past weeks except his own poor self. Another sigh escaped him as he stripped his clothes off again on the way to the shower. Tears flowed once more as he stood under the punishingly-hot spray, cleansing his body of his transgressions. He knew he would have to similarly cleanse his heart and soul, had only vague plans on how to do so. But first he needed rest, sleep to give his mind some respite from the universe-shattering events that had brought him to this pass.

He fell into his bed, hair still damp, body shivering against the cool sheets. For some reason his hands burned while the rest of him froze. His eyes ached of shed tears, though from too many or too few, he could not tell. Morning. It's morning now. Light to drive from shadow what should never, ever have been.

Obi-Wan woke, rested but not much refreshed. Snatches of dreams haunted his preparations, images of seedy dives, cheap hostels, smooth cheeks and a strange accent speaking odd words. A stranger wearing Qui-Gon's body towering over him, demanding "Have I not been generous? I have changed myself, I have re-ordered time, I have turned my world upside down and I did it all for YOU."

That it was not true brought no comfort. That it was Obi-Wan who had been deceived was no soothing balm for his injured pride and devastated heart. He knew what Qui-Gon had done, hiding his identity with tricks of the Force and mind-manipulation. No comfort at all, for Obi-Wan had gone willingly into the dream, wide awake, needing the fantasy so badly he had destroyed his reality to get it. What Padawan can be skin-to-skin with his own master and claim ignorance?

That Qui-Gon had surely known Obi-Wan through all of it and said nothing, done nothing to prevent this travesty only sickened the young man further. That his own Master could be that cold, that unfeeling towards him, could engage in that soulless act, with such casual disregard for what the morning might bring...it spoke well and deeply of his master's regard for his student. Or utter lack thereof.

Or did it?

All right, Kenobi. Credit where credit's due. You picked up a stranger in a bar and fucked him senseless. You didn't care who he was, what he was, what he was doing there...you didn't even ask his name. If you HAD asked, he might have told the truth.

Well. Hell of a pickle, one had to admit. His instincts said 'run away'. His heart said 'but not too far'. He chuckled to himself, wondering just how different this would be from the times when, as a young teenager he'd tried to hide from his Master. There was no hiding from who they were, how they were bound up in one another. If he'd tested his bond to Qui-Gon even once during the last evening, the game would have been up. No, there would be no escaping whatever confrontation would come between Padawan and Master. All he could do was try to do was scrape the ache and ichor from within him, try to make up for the violence he had done to his love for Qui-Gon and his own self-respect.

He had limited time to effect the cure. Best to break clean and try to start again on some other terms, then.

So Obi-Wan gathered up what clothes he felt were most useful to him, took what few valuables he owned, packed a bag and closed the door on his room. After a moment's hesitation, he entered Qui-Gon's room and sat at his desk. Paper and pen were on hand, ready for the hastily scrawled notes that so often were their only means of communication in their hectic lives. This one would not be so hasty, Obi-Wan vowed. He drew a creamy sheet off the stack, selected his pen with care, wrote neatly and clearly, that the reader might not be mistaken. He began with the words that seemed most important.

"I'm sorry.

I can not say that I feel I am entirely to blame for what has happened, but I feel compelled to take the responsibility. The absence of one half-trained Padawan will not be much to the Jedi, so it is a simple matter of logic to see that I will not be missed for a time. Do not worry for me. As you are now most certainly aware, I am not without resources and skills that will provide for my income. Do not seek me out. For as I did not know you when we met last night, I will not know you, should we meet in that other life. I put here words I never dared speak, never hope to speak, but which are true, nonetheless.

I love you, Obi-Wan"

He folded the note carefully, placed his lightsaber atop it, a clear message as to his intent. By leaving his 'saber behind, he left his identity as a Jedi behind. His steps were steady and unhurried as he left his only home, his only desire behind him.

Qui-Gon knew something was wrong the moment he walked into his room. No, he'd known something was wrong for days now, but had willed himself to finish his mission so he could take care of his real problems. One lead after another had fallen through, time wasted as he pulled together a new plan of attack which, finally, proved fruitful. That his messages to Obi-Wan had not been answered had bothered him. The fact that his Padawan had made no attempt to locate him again had been both a trial and a relief. Now it was nothing less than a curse.

He held the page in trembling fingers, clutched the abandoned lightsaber too hard in his other hand, stared at the words as if his glare would unmake them. Every fiber of his being ached for the hiss of door and familiar rhythm of bootstep that would tell him the nightmare was over, the joke was played out, that his Obi-Wan had waited or come home or anything that would bring him home once more. Anything to tell him his student wasn't out playing dangerous games on an even more dangerous playground.

He shook himself hard. Wishes won't get you anywhere, Jinn. You've got work to do.

That a student of the Jedi was vastly employable was a simple fact. That Obi-Wan was not without money could be construed as both good and bad. He probably wasn't starving. He could be anywhere, doing anything including what his letter implied he intended to do. That was Qui-Gon's first clue. The next would be in Obi-Wan's room. Qui-Gon ransacked his student's belongings without a second thought, calmly noting what had been left behind, what had been taken, the care with which the selection was made. The sheets on the bed were still rumpled, so his decision to leave had not been a snap one. The letter said 'last night', so Obi-Wan had left the day after their tryst. Good. That gave a timeframe.

Qui-Gon sighed, sitting back on his heels. The Jedi robes and uniforms were still here, save one. Only the more 'civilian' items of Obi-Wan's wardrobe were missing, ditto the valuables. A couple of rings, a necklace, the betri-banshee that Obi-Wan was only beginning to learn how to play. Okay, we have a Padawan on the loose, running away, traveling light, knowing he would be persued. First thing was to keep him on-planet, if possible.

Qui-Gon sat down at his desk and powered up the dataset. A few short lines later and Obi-Wan's travel credentials were canceled. Unless the boy found a way to purchase his own ship or got passage onto a vessel that didn't care who he was or why he wasn't allowed off Coruscant, he was stuck here. A string of inquiries gave assurance that he hadn't bought passage off-planet. Qui-Gon's shoulders sagged with relief. Now all he had to do was search every inch of the most vastly populated planet in the Galaxy and find one particular needle in a very, very large haystack. That should be no problem whatsoever. He grabbed his cloak and headed to the steps of the Temple.

The stale air of Coruscant filled Qui-Gon's nose once more as he centered himself, preparing to lower his mental shields. The bond between a Padawan and Master was such that, if proper concentration was paid, one half of the pair could home in on the other, point a finger straight at their mate, find them in any number of situations. The vast emptiness of space tended to dull the accuracy of the sense, but the teeming, if artificially supported, life of Coruscant was a fabulous conduit for the Living Force. Qui-Gon concentrated on his Padawan, fed energy into the bond, waited, reached, waited, reached again...

And found himself baffled.

Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open. He could tell, imperfectly, in what direction he should go, but true clarity was not to be found. His internal compass, with needle that always pointed to Obi-Wan, wavered irresolutely over a broad field of possibility. His student's Force signature was muddled in some way...

It suddenly hit Qui-Gon. Obi-Was Concealing himself, using the same trick Qui-Gon had used to disguise his own identity. Obi-Wan was taunting him, telling him "I am angry with you for what you have done, but only angry enough to punish us both, not destroy us." It was an open invitation for Qui-Gon to come and shoulder his own responsibility as Master. No matter. It only meant the search would take a bit longer. He would not rest until it was done, that was a certainty.

The sun was setting on this particular part of Coruscant as Obi-Wan approache the club. The word 'Purgatory' crawled across the face of the building, multicolored holos flickering in the dusk. He waved to the bouncer and went inside, made his way to an unobtrusive door, knocked twice and put his head in.

"You're early," Sejo observed, blowing a cloud of smoke his way.

Obi-Wan shrugged and went inside, firmly masking his true feelings. It didn't matter if he was early or late, high or sober, happy or sad. It didn't matter if he stayed calm through everything that happened around him. It didn't matter if he broke down into a case of screaming hysterics when no one was watching. All that mattered was that he was young, healthy and desirable, with the appearance of willingness to anyone that looked on him. Sejo flipped his tag across the desk. Obi-Wan picked it up and clipped it onto his earring.

"You've got plenty of cash to buy your own time, kid. Why don't you take the night off? You're gonna burn yourself if you keep going on like you are," Sejo wasn't a bad sort, for a pimp. She really did give a damn about the beings she sold, even if the damn was a small one.

Obi-Wan knew she was taking a chance with him, willfully ignoring the fact that her newest employee had undoubtedly come from the Temple. Obi-Wan did nothing to hide that fact beyond the re-arrangement of his hair. He'd bound his braid in with the short tail at the back of his head, letting it trail behind him rather than dangle behind his ear. If he'd felt like acknowledging anyone or anything, he'd have been grateful for her risk. As it was, he paid her for her services and wished she'd leave him the fuck alone. "What's first?"

"Nothing yet. Too early. Go get a plate of noodles and keep yourself to yourself. I can't protect you if you go looking for trouble." She stuck her cigar between her teeth and went back to monitoring the club.

Obi-Wan obeyed her, for lack of anything better to do. She'd look out for him, come hell or high water. That was where her money came from. It was an inglorious byproduct of this arrangement that Obi-Wan could refuse a john if he thought they might do him harm. Obi-Wan's definition of 'harm' was fairly narrow. Anyone that wanted to take him back to the Temple was right out. Anything else was okay. That was their unspoken agreement, one they were content to live with. If that meant that Obi-Wan walked with a limp some days, was covered with bruises on others, they chose to ignore that in the grand tradition of those who couldn't change the way things are.

He'd suffered worse in the games he used to play for free. If 'suffer' was the right word for it. This penance, this test, this...crucible he'd devised for himself was everything he could have hoped for. Bitter and empty, degrading and loveless, everything he'd done to Qui-Gon, however unknowingly, was being done to himself. He was slowly, slowly internalizing one simple lesson: A fantasy, no matter how realistic, can never be worth as much as a reality, no matter how unsatisfying reality might be.

The Hepas wasn't jumping tonight, Obi-Wan observed from his little table in the corner. Even at this early hour, there might have been more patrons. The music pumped hollowly through the half-empty club as Obi-Wan considered his developing dislike of weeknights. He'd likely sit for long hours, buying his own drinks and food before anyone approached him. Like as not, they wouldn't be able to afford him for more than a dance or a tease, which suited Obi-Wan just fine, thanks ever so much for asking. The hands of a stranger on him filled his mind with almost blinding pain, and he was faintly afraid of how much he wanted that sort of punishment, of late.

Atonement. That's what it all boiled down to. He was trying to pay for his sins of the flesh by punishing himself with more of same. All he was getting was more hurt and more desolate. He couldn't find it within himself to care.

The monotony of the evening went almost unbroken. Unimportant strangers without a long enough credit line drifted in and out of his vicinity. Sejo asked him to intercede for one of the younger girls who was having a problem with some offworld asshole. Obi-Wan shrugged and Force-shoved him up against a wall for later collection by one of the bouncers. It broke the boredom, anyway. He checked the clock and had just about decided to call it a night when a...knowing brought his head around. He saw Qui-Gon enter the lower level, wading through the gathered patrons, seeking, with a purposeful gleam in his eye.

Obi-Wan slid under the table and began crawling towards the sanctuary of Sejo's office. If he could make it there before Qui-Gon found him, at least he might be able to make some sort of a stand. Apparently the time for atonement was at an end.

Qui-Gon stood before the gray door in the grip of uncertainty. He knew for a solid fact that his padawan was beyond that door. What he did not know was what his wayward student might be doing. Any number of possibilities paraded through his mind, each one spurring him to do something now. Finally, he raised his hand to knock.

He repeated the summons.

At the third knock, the door opened and he found himself facing a tall, angular, dark-skinned human female who was puffing on a cigar as if her life depended on it. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for..." Qui-Gon stopped. Who the hell was he looking for, anyway? "I think he calls himself Ben."

She nodded and stepped aside. Qui-Gon took that for an invitation and entered. "He's sleeping," she told him.

Bullshit, Qui-Gon correctly assessed. Though Obi-Wan was indeed lying with his eyes closed on a sofa towards the back of the office, he was definitely not asleep. He was posed, enticingly, shirt open, pants unbuttoned, feet bare. Qui-Gon's eyes fixed on the thin line of braid stretched across Obi-Wan's scalp and he took a step forward.

A hand on his chest distracted him. "Four hundred credits an hour," the woman told him.

"You're kidding. He's worth far more than that," Qui-Gon heard himself say.

"That's the price. Whatever you want to tip is between the two of you," she sneered.

Qui-Gon felt a sudden admiration for this woman. She was actually trying to face down a Jedi who had clearly come for his student. He shook his head, half-grateful that she had looked after Obi-Wan, half-furious that she asked so little for him. "I'll not be paying anything. He's coming home now."

"You'd better pay or I'm not going anywhere, you cheap son of a bitch."

Something like shock tore through Qui-Gon. He knew that voice as well as he knew his own, but the tone altered it into something he barely recognized. The words themselves were bad enough, but the thinly veiled anger and tinge of despair cut the Jedi Master to the core. "Very well. How old are you?"

"I have twenty-three years," the stranger on the sofa replied.

Qui-Gon turned back to Obi-Wan's pimp. "I'll take him for the next two years. You may send the bill to the Jedi Temple."

Obi-Wan sat up suddenly, eyes blazing with outrage. "Sejo, don't you dare."

"You're a Jedi?" Her surprise was not real, but she feigned it well.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Not anymore."

Sejo looked Qui-Gon up and down, appraising his battle-ready stance. "Can you take him?"

Obi-Wan copied her appraisal. "No. He taught me everything I know, and he's a Master besides."

A look of regret crossed Sejo's eyes. She took the few steps to Obi-Wan's side, plucked something from his ear and held it up. A pricetag, Qui-Gon realized. She snapped the plastic between her fingers. "Sorry, kid."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'll go ahead and clear out. Wanna pay me up?"

She nodded and went to her desk, returning with a stack of credit markers. "Get your stuff out of the house. I need the space."

Obi-Wan shrugged again. "Yeah, I'm headed that way now." He pulled his boots on, stuck his credits in his pocket and headed to the door. "You coming?"

Qui-Gon nodded and followed him out of the club. Once they reached the walkway he asked "Where's your room?"

In a grim parody of their last meeting, Obi-Wan replied "I hoped you'd never ask." Still, he led the way, not looking to see if Qui-Gon was following.

"What have you been doing, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"You really don't want to know, Master," Obi-Wan's voice was flat and toneless.

Qui-Gon grabbed his arm, pulled him around to face, pulled him too close to escape. "Yes. I do. If you don't want to give the details of your activities, that's fine with me. But I have to know what you've been doing, why you left...what you thought happened that night..."

Obi-Wan pulled away. "Not now. Later. I want my things."

Qui-Gon nodded and followed where his student led.

They entered the brothel by the back door and climbed several flights of stairs to the tiny room Obi-Wan had taken for his own. Qui-Gon sat down on the bed while Obi-Wan gathered his things, waiting for his explaination.

When his meager possessions were packed, Obi-Wan sat down on the floor and gathered his thoughts before speaking. "I don't know what you were doing in that bar, why you were there or who you were trying to be. I don't want to know. I know you weren't the man I've lived with, studied with and respected all these years. You were someone else, someone I don't like. I even have a name for him. The Goblin King."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes.

"I don't know. I don't want to know," Obi-Wan reached behind his head and pulled the tie loose from his hair. "You wanted to know what I've been doing down here? Okay."

He stood up again and shouldered his pack, straightened his shoulders and waited for Qui-Gon to look at him. When he was sure he had his master's full attention he spoke. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you have stolen. I have suffered and prevailed. I have solved your Labyrinth. For my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me."

A sob escaped Qui-Gon, a combination of regret and gratitude. After a moment, he too stood. "Padawan?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Did you mean the words you said last, in the letter you left with this?"

Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan's lightsaber out to him.

Obi-Wan closed trembling fingers over Qui-Gon's hand, accepting the weapon once more. "With all my heart."

"I should have said them to you then. Let me say them now, please. I love you." He closed the distance between them with these words, pressed a single kiss to Obi-Wan's lips and stepped away again, giving back the space his student needed. He held his arms out, an offering. An apology.

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, then came into the welcoming embrace.

After a while they separated, readied themselves to leave. Qui-Gon took the pack from Obi-Wan's shoulder and put it on his own. "Let us go together, my Obi-Wan. We have much to speak on, and much yet to know of one another. Let us never again be concealed from one another."

Obi-Wan nodded and slipped his hand into the strong grip of his master's. Willingly he followed the man that unto him a deception had revealed.

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