Archive: Yes
Archive Date: February 6, 2000
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: mine they are not, dream a girl can
Feedback: is always appreciated.
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: G - NC-17
Series: Snapshots
Summary: A series of "snapshots". The date listed
is the date the 'snapshot' was written/posted. Each piece is a
segment within the same universe, but they are not in any sort of order.
Each piece stands alone (iow-there are no "cliffhangers"). The snapshots
run the gamut from G to NC17. Some are several pages long, some only
a couple of paragraphs; some contain smut, many do not; they are different
styles with different voices.
January 1, 2000
"Come on, Padawan, it is well past dawn. You have slept long enough."
"It's only going to get worse the longer you wait."
"Yes, Mast-"
"So, Padawan."
"Ah! Please, Master, not so loud."
"Is this better?"
"Marginally, Master."
"I do believe you have learned the perils of over-indulging in
alcohol, have you not?"
"Yes, Master. I'm never going to touch another drop of alcohol as
long as I live."
"Well you needn't go that far. In the meantime, let me just help
with...better?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good."
"Master?"
"Yes, Padawan?"
"What happened last night?"
"You can't remember?"
"I remember having dinner and everything being fine, but then I
felt sick and it all starts to blur from there. I have no memory
of coming to our rooms."
"You became intoxicated from the wine we were served with our meal
and wisely left before you did something stupid. It seems that
you then met up with a gang of brigands in the hall, all of whom
you dispatched rather handily."
"Really?"
"Indeed. I understand there were several dozen of them -they were
in the midst of fleeing when I came upon you."
"I don't remember that at all."
"And then you informed me that I had a very impressive
lightsaber."
"I didn't!"
"I'm afraid so. And..."
"What is it, Master?"
"I'm afraid it gets worse."
"Worse than telling you you have an impressive lightsaber?"
"Yes, Padawan."
"I didn't ask to see it did I?"
"No -much worse."
"I didn't show you mine!?"
"No, not that either."
"What?"
"You were giggling."
January 2, 2000
"Is there anything wrong, Obi-Wan?"
"No, Master."
I watch him trying not to let the cold bother him, trying not to
give in to it and shiver. He holds his hands out towards the fire
though he knows as well as I do that Blall wood burns brightly but
gives off no heat. It shouldn't be possible, but there it is.
Like so much on this planet. Like the face that my apprentice and
I were marooned on the mountain face with little more than what we
were wearing when the Jon'Hin challenged the Bin'Nal to Peranoken.
We had been summarily banished for three years. I had believed
that we were being taken back to our transport and by the time I
realised this wasn't so, it was already too late.
Obi-Wan's shivering brings me out of my reminiscence -he has
finally lost his battle with the cold. I hold out my arm, opening
my robe.
"Come, Padawan. There is no shame in needing someone." The words
remind myself of this, as much as him.
He scampers around the fire and crawls into my lap, huddling
against my chest. I close my robe; he is still small enough that
it fits easily around the two of us. I settle back against the
rock face as we prepare to spend the night as comfortably as we
can. It is the first time we share my robe. I imagine that it
will not be the last.
January 4, 2000
Every morning I eat my sweet bread and drink hot tea with a touch
of bitter honey from Endor. When I am done I slowly make my way
to the initiates hall and sit on one of the stone benches that
line the room. I always arrive early and I sit there, the hard
rock beneath me a gentle reminder of where I am as I close my eyes
and drift on the gentle eddies of the Force that linger here.
Their noise precedes them. By no means unruly, the initiates are
nevertheless still children and the grey halls and sombre-faced
masters are no match for their natural exuberance. They smile and
laugh as they file into the hall to perform their morning katas
together; their small and graceful bodies fall easily into a row,
each child assuming the first position of the Greeting to the Sun.
This morning the boy with the serious eyes and the dimple in his
chin catches my eye, as he always does. A little small for his
age, but already performing the katas like they are a part of his
body and helping, always ready to give a hand. The Mon Calamari
stumbles a bit -this is a very ungraceful age for their race- and
immediately the boy puts his arm on her green skin, soothing. In
a moment the two pick up the movements and join again in the flow
of the room.
The row of children move from one kata to the next until the hour
passes unnoticed. They mill around the hall when they have done,
talking, laughing, as they cool down.
I stand to go, refreshed, filled with the joy the Force feels in
this place. The boy with the solemn eyes stops to watch me leave,
mouth quirking into a small smile as our eyes meet. I turn and
leave, breaking away from his steady gaze. I am smiling.
Today the smile doesn't fade for a long time.
January 6, 2000
They take the path we were told they would -walking quietly
together among the trees. They are caught neatly in the midst of
our ambush. In seconds they are surrounded. Twelve of us with
blasters, only two of them with nothing but their 'sabers.
They stand back to back, weapons high, faces focussed,
concentrating. I laugh.
"Surrender, Jedi, while you are still alive to do so." They stay
as they are. I laugh again and signal to my men to take them -
this boy and old man.
They are not so scary after all, these Jedi.
January 7, 2000
It has been another long day of meetings. Qui-Gon wishes wearily
for a mission -at least then he wouldn't have to deal with the
Council. Pushing open the door to his quarters, he is about to
call out to his padawan when he hears a groan coming from the
bedroom.
Qui-Gon walks softly across the common room, slipping quietly into
the bedroom. He stands still just inside the door, blinking in at
the darkness until he adjusts to the dim light from the windows.
Another low sound draws his eyes to the bed where Obi-Wan lies
naked, body glistening in the soft moonlight as he writhes in
passion.
Qui-Gon's breath catches in his throat, his penis surging within
his leggings and he presses his back against the wall, watching as
Obi-Wan arches into his own touch.
Obi-Wan is stretched out on the bed, his body pale against the
dark sheets, hands running over chest, belly and thighs, while he
makes soft noises of pleasure. One hand drifts down to fondle his
testicles while the other takes his braid and teases his flesh
with it, touching first the skin at his neck and then his nipples,
one at a time. Obi-Wan is panting now and the hand at his groin
clasps the straining erection and begins to move in a slow and
steady rhythm, while his braid continues to circle and torment his
nipples.
Qui-Gon bites back his own moan -his cock rising rapidly as he
watches Obi-Wan work himself. It is as if Qui-Gon can feel Obi-
Wan's hand on his own body, stroking his phallus while that damn
braid is trailed over *his* nipples by his irrepressible padawan.
As Obi-Wan increases the speed of his strokes, Qui-Gon's hips
surge forward and match the rhythm. He clenches his hands,
fingernails biting into his palms. He fights the impulse to touch
himself, to mirror his padawan's actions.
Qui-Gon begins to pant as Obi-Wan's strokes increase in speed, the
young man's hand tightening over his own erection, his other hand
abandoning the braid and pinching at nipples made ultra-sensitive
by the whisper touch of his hair.
Obi-Wan cries out, hips arching up off the bed, feet and shoulders
supporting his body as he comes. His semen spatters his belly.
Qui-Gon's hips surge forward, shoulders against the wall and feet
against the floor holding him steady as he comes. The wet stain
spreads across the front of his leggings and his gasping competes
with Obi-Wan's loud pants.
Obi-Wan turns his head and blue eyes languidly pin Qui-Gon to the
wall.
"I was thinking of you, Master," Obi-Wan whispers as he stretches
sinuously on the bed.
January 8, 2000
"You disobeyed me."
"But Mother, what I have discovered is important. Punish me yes,
but do not dismiss what I have seen."
"I cannot fathom that the Chancellor's ambassadors would do such a
thing."
"I have seen it with my own eyes."
"You saw *something*."
"I saw them rutting like beasts in heat. The elder one, the
bigger one mounted the younger. Such violence. Mother, it was
horrible!"
"I must think on this."
"What is there to think on? We should have nothing more to do
with this Republic of theirs less we become monsters as well."
"Would you have them judge all of us by *your* actions today?
They were in a private moment, daughter. You violated that."
"You obviously don't understand the depravity of what I witnessed,
come with me and see for yourself."
"Now you want me to violate their privacy further? I have brought
you up better than this. You are the daughter of the ruler of
Ahmal. You shame me."
"But-"
"Enough. I must decide what to do. Leave me."
"Yes, Mother."
January 9, 2000
We sleep under the open sky, or rather, my master sleeps and I
observe him. The brittle light of the stars throws harsh shadows
across his form, naked but for thin training pants. The gift of
the starlight is the way it outlines his body, allowing me a long,
unfettered look at the shapes and curves of him.
There is more hair on his face than his chest -only a thin dusting
covers that muscled expanse. I have lain against it -my head
resting over his heart, the beating loud in my ears- but not as I
wish too, never as his lover. Broad shoulders lie relaxed upon
the ground. A hand, so firm and yet gentle when awake, lies
slightly curled upon his stomach, drawing my eyes to his navel.
That small indentation marks the path to his groin. His genitals
lie lax beneath his leggings, nevertheless the bulge is large and
rounded. I long to see him naked, to see his phallus grow and to
know it is because of me that it does so. I tear my eyes away and
let them roam down the length of his legs to his long, smooth
feet. They seem almost delicate without the barrier of his boots
and even his toes seem precious and erotic in these star-kissed,
stolen moments.
The wind is a jealous lover and soon carries clouds to block the
pale starlight from the night sky. My view is dimmed and my
master's body is thrown into complete shadow. I lie back down and
reach out, not quite touching him, but feeling the heat of his
body against my palm.
I close my eyes and court sleep, wishing all the while that it was
my right to see his body without my eyes.
January 10, 2000
I wake up feeling totally refreshed. I have no idea how long I
have slept, but the sun is still shining. I look around but can
not see my mysterious helpers. Had I imagined the whole thing?
Had the pale student and his tall master been a figment of my
overworked and overwrought brain?
I shake myself and check on the wounded -they are my priority.
Many of them are still sleeping but none of them are critical. It
was a very good night for there are no dead.
My stomach rumbles and I realise I haven't eaten since two
mornings past. I murmur words of reassurance to those who are
awake and quietly slip from the tent.
As I leave the makeshift hospital in search of a meal, I discover
my mysterious helpers were no figment of my imagination at all.
They are as real as the wounded behind me. They are in the small
clearing in front of the tents, moving together in what appears to
be a dance of some sort. The dark lines of fatigue have left the
younger one's face and his skin is no longer alabaster, but a more
healthy hue. The elder is as calm as he always seems to be.
They have removed their cloaks and carry swords that look as
though they are made of energy. They move in tandem, as if they
were one person with two bodies. Even the air around them seems
involved in their dance. I settle on the ground, back against one
of the tent poles as I watch them, drawn to them.
They begin and end each sequence of movements facing each other,
swords held straight up in their hands. They stand still for a
moment and then simultaneously start the next dance. They do not
speak, though I have a strong sense that they are nonetheless
communicating.
They continue, their moves becoming more complex, the dances
growing more difficult and longer as they proceed. The flow of
their bodies is beautiful, organic, and I feel a peace in the air
that is at odds with the purpose of this camp, but which
nonetheless feel right.
Finally the young man falters, missing a move. The elder side-
steps the sweep of sword and resumes the starting position. The
younger hangs his head a moment, takes a deep breath and also
assumes the starting position. They begin again. This time there
is no mistake, but on the next dance the young one moves out of
sequence and they must begin once more. Again the same mistake
and again they restart. When the boy falters for the third time
at the same place, his master extinguishes the energy of his blade
and stands behind his student, pulling the young body against his
own, and wrapping his hands around the boy's sword. Moving at
half the speed, they repeat the missed move several times and then
the master steps back and watches as the boy completes it on
successfully on his own twice more.
And again they resume the starting position and this time they
flow through the dance from start to finish without mishap. They
bow to each other and both extinguish the energy of their weapons,
hooking the hilts to their belts.
I stand and make my way quickly towards the tent we are using as a
kitchen, realising that I have been rude in my observation. The
feeling of peace that emanated from them stays with me.
January 11, 2000
"Hey Bant, wait up."
"Bruck? Is that really you? I don't think I would have
recognised you."
"I was hoping you could help me."
"Well it depends on what you want."
"Just some information."
"Okay."
"Why does everyone have a plate or a bowl or a tin? Some new
tradition I'm not privy to?"
"You don't know?"
"I wouldn't be asking if I did."
"Yeah, and you'd have a bowl of your own, too. Initiate Brils -
can you tell Padawan Chun why everyone is carrying a container?"
"Kenobi's making cookies."
"Thank you, Brils, you can go get in line now."
"Kenobi? As in Obi-Wan?"
"That's right."
"He's making cookies."
"Yes."
"And because of this every padawan in the temple is carrying a
container."
"I can see there's no algae growing on you, Bruck."
"Are you telling me he's making enough for the whole temple?"
"Basically."
"What -is he on kitchen duty now?"
"No."
"His Master is into strange punishments?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to keep guessing?"
"Master Windu made him learn how to cook from the temple chefs."
"O-kay."
"So he only knows how to make large amounts of things."
"Like enough to feed the whole temple."
"Exactly."
"I take it he's good."
"Oh, yes! His cookies are better than any I've ever tasted. Even
Master Yoda likes them, although he always pushes to the front of
the line and -hey, where are you going?"
"To find a bowl of my own!"
January 12, 2000
The electric sting of the zapper and the dull pain from fists
against his body were easy enough to ignore, long ingrained
training allowing Qui-Gon to release the hurt into the Force and
keep his attention on the details so that he could faithfully
report them later. What had him flustered was the sharp spike of
pain coupled with panic which had flared across his bond with his
padawan before the link had been hastily blocked by Obi-Wan.
Even now, despite the shielding, he could feel distress coming
from the boy. Their separation was now far worse for Qui-Gon than
anything his captors thought to do and each second, counted in the
throb of his own heartbeat, tore at him.
What had they done to his Obi-Wan?
***
January 13, 2000
I was introduced to the court when I was sixteen. It was a very
prestigious and elegant ceremony. Monarchs and governmental
representatives came from all over the Republic to be introduced
to me.
It was long, boring and tedious.
Row after row after row of finery and foppish hats. Being upon
being upon being with obsequious manners and limp handshakes or
simpering bows. I had seen enough red to never wish to see the
colour again, everyone wearing it out of deference to the
tradition of my planet. My first edict would be to ban it from my
court -let them pick another colour to show deference. Everyone
stayed too long in front of me, trying to curry my favour.
Droning on, each one with a more elaborate retinue than the one
before and they of course had to introduce each and every member
of their party.
On and on it went until two men stood quietly before me. Just one
man and a youth, not quite yet a man, beside him. They had
brought together their differences -one tall, the other not; one
with long hair, the other short; one wearing the stamp of age and
experience, the other the soft face of youth- within the confines
of plain brown robes over simple tunics. They wore no jewellery,
no gaudy display of wealth or power. They meet my eyes -blue and
blue again, calm, serene, wishing nothing from me. They bowed
simply before me, bending slightly at the waist and inclining
their heads towards the ground.
"Your Majesty," said the man. His voice was low but clear,
soothing to my ears after hours of whining. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn,
this is my apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Jedi offer their
congratulations."
"Thank you, sirs."
"What have you to present?" asked Wilks -the manservant who stood
behind and to the side of me, keeping track of what outrageous
gift belonged with which fawning postulant.
"The Jedi to not deal in material goods, but we would offer our
advice should you ever ask for it."
Wilks gasped and took a step back. Out of the corner of my eye I
could see his hand fly to his throat. I wanted to tell him to get
over himself, but I didn't want to create a scene. After all the
glamour and false blandishments, this simplicity was refreshing.
These two held real power that no amount of finery could enhance,
that no manner of common dress would hide.
"You are most kind," I answered. They bowed once more and made
their way into the Hall of Monarchs behind me. I turned my head
to watch them go. They faded into the crowd and I turned to greet
the next over-coifed guest.
End
***
January 14, 2000
"-an honorary guard at the door. He's wearing a blue topcoat over
white leggings and a dull sword in his scabbard." Obi-Wan
finished his recitation and opened his eyes, fixing them on Qui-
Gon, who sat on his knees, mirroring Obi-Wan's position.
"What colour were the buttons on the guard's uniform?"
"There weren't any buttons, Master," Obi-Wan answered with a small
smile playing about his lips. "There were however little gold
half moon shapes covering the snaps."
"Very well, you've demonstrated that you can accurately remember
the details, but what do they tell you?"
"That the Regent is more concerned with appearances and ceremony
than with substance. That he does not expect any sort of threat
to be made to his person and that despite his propensity for
showiness, he allows his servants comfort and function if he can
marry them to aesthetics."
"What about the blast doors?"
"He doesn't expect any threat, but he isn't so foolish as to
believe that it is impossible."
Qui-Gon smiled at him and nodded his head.
"It is important to be able to interpret the details that you see
as much as body language. And you seem to have picked up on a lot
that the Regent would not necessarily tell us and that certainly
it would be impolitic to ask. Not bad, Padawan."
"Thank you, Master."
"Now how about the air car that brought us here. Start with the
large details and work your way down."
"Yes, Master," replied Obi-Wan obediently, growing used to his
master's predilection for repeating lessons.
January 16, 2000
Sunshine. Heat. Dryness. The desert stretches around me in a
sea of sand, broken only by my master's form in front of me. I
walk in his trail, clinging to him with my eyes, not wanting to
see the edge of the world that surrounds me on every horizon.
Duban is two years younger than me. He is out here. Alone.
The wind picks up, breaking the monotonous view by throwing grains
into the air, like gritty snowflakes. The air seems to clamour
around me, whispering of fear -mine, another's. I know my master
feels the same urgency that I do for his pace increases and I slip
into a trot to keep up with him.
We must find the boy soon.
January 17, 2000
I kiss his eyebrow, the short stiff hairs tickling at my lips, and
then the tip of his nose, followed by his lips. I linger here,
the smooth, soft warmth an oasis in the bearded face. He pushes
his tongue forward and I let him in, the gentle strength of him
filling my mouth, tasting me, summoning the rest of my body into
wakefulness.
I pull back and stare into his eyes and contemplate my choice. I
can stop, go back into the warm, gentle arms of lady sleep -he
will let me go if I really want to. Or I can let him continue,
let him seduce me with his warm voice, his callused hands, his
long body. There really is no choice and I console myself with
the knowledge that after we can lie in bed until noon-meal, or
even beyond.
As if I need consolation. I close my eyes and sway towards him,
his mouth catching mine as his arms welcome my body against the
warmth of his. His hand cups my head, holding me as he plunders
my mouth. This kiss is not gentle, he is no longer tasting me;
now he is taking me, possessing me, waking up the corners of my
mind and filling them with desire.
Lust flares, rising from the bottom of my stomach and consuming
me, banishing the last traces of sleep. He pushes me down,
yanking the sheet from my body as he follows me, covering me with
himself. I let out a sound of protest as his soft, worn leggings
and tunic keep my from the heat of his skin. He pulls away
slightly and my hands join his, pushing the tunic from his body,
pulling the leggings away, baring him to my touch. He resettles
along my body and I hiss as his heat burns against me, setting me
on fire. My nerve endings flash awake, alive, yearning for his
touch.
His lips cover mine again and mine part, this time my tongue is
the one pushing forward, tasting *his* mouth. Our tongues duel
for a moment, bodies straining. And then the kiss gentles as we
nip and taste and tug lovingly at each other's mouths, lips and
tongue. We have as long as we'd like - no door chime to interrupt
us, no council with messages sending us on missions. No
distractions. It is just him and me and the whole day with
nothing more to do than explore, be explored.
I lose myself in it, in him. It is, after all, what vacations are
for.
January 18, 2000
Looking for Obi-Wan, I follow shouts and laughter to the large
courtyard in the centre of the castle. I stop and lean against an
arch, watching as my apprentice plays with the other young men. I
recognise the Regent's son, some of the guards and several of the
servants.
They are playing a game involving moving a ball from one end of
the playing area to another and, it seems, the team that makes the
most noise wins. Half the players have removed their shirts, the
other half have not -making two easily distinguished teams. Obi-
Wan is on the team that have not removed their shirts, his tunic
making him look slight which the other team mistakes as weakness
and inability. They think him the weak link in their opposition's
chain. They are wrong and the cost for their mistake is the game.
Obi-Wan steals the ball from one of the shirtless players and
pelts down to the other end of the field. A great shout goes up
among the shirted team and they hoist Obi-Wan onto a makeshift
chair comprised of several shoulders.
My apprentice's smile is wide and open. His laughter is full and
robust, and I realise that I have never heard him laugh before,
not like this. I wish there were more opportunities to let him
show this side of himself, alas the life we lead allows far more
for sobriety and solitude. It is a hard life and I am happy to
see my padawan, taking pleasure where he finds it.
January 20, 2000
We have only been here for three days and yet I have already
called the Council and advised them that the negotiations will
fail. The hatred and rage here are too strong and the warring
tribes have no desire to overcome them. The Force on this planet
is twisted, dank. I have never before been so close to giving up
on a people, but I do not believe that the tribes of Naphar will
find a solution; I do not believe that they want to.
Obi-Wan has stood calmly at my side as we have been accused and
ridiculed in turn. His steadfastness alone has allowed me to hold
out some small measure of hope that we may yet do some good here.
He shines like a beacon -my light in this darkness.
January 21, 2000
The single bed we have been given to sleep on is far too small for
two, so I suppose it is just as well that it is also hard and
coverless, giving Obi-Wan the excuse of using my arm as a pillow
and my body as a heating source to snuggle close to me.
My arm has long since gone numb, a relief from the painful tingles
that started just after my apprentice had fallen asleep, his head
growing heavy with somnolence. His hair tickles my chin with the
slightest movement by either of us. I believe I shall insist on a
trim tomorrow. His small body takes up an inordinate amount of
room and, for someone who eats as much as he does, he is all hard
bone and sharp angles.
Obi-Wan thrashes in his sleep, burrowing further into my side and
snorting once. Finally his breathing settles again into long slow
breaths. The very faintest whistle heralds his exhale. One.
Two. Three. Four...I get to 47 before he mumbles indistinctly
and I realise that I have been counting them.
It is going to be a very long night.
January 22, 2000
I listen to the little grunts and sniffles he makes, the rustle of
the bedcovers as he moves, settling in. These aren't new -not
even that they are performed in the same bed as I is new. But
this is the first night, the first time that I have heard them
coming from my lover.
In the past I have soothed nightmares with a gentle touch and soft
words. Tonight I curl up behind him, pulling his hips tight
against mine, wrapping my arm around his chest -warding off any
nightmares before they may even begin.
He snorts softly and presses tighter against my body, just as he
always does when we share a bed. But tonight his skin is hot and
soft and next to mine with no clothing to impede the electric
touch of it. My body grows hard for him -hard and needy and he
responds instinctively. Still asleep, he twists in my embrace,
pushing his leg between mine even as he nuzzles my chest and
settles against me. His breath huffs out gently, tickling the
hairs on my chest.
I look towards the window, the never dark sky of Coruscant shines
dimly beyond the glass, the sky busy despite the hour. I press a
kiss to the top of Obi-Wan's head, the short hair tickling my lips
as my beard must tickle his.
The night will not be long enough.
January 23, 2000
We hover along the now alien sandscape, the heat baking us despite
the cooler. The detector, finally functional, beeps steadily. I
curse the wretched machine, between it and the storm and those
damn fool Jedi insisting that they search for the boy, we are now
looking for three dead instead of just one. And what are we going
to tell the Senate? No good will come of it, that much I know
without doubt.
The hypnotic beeping suddenly becomes frantic and Tecaur shouts,
bringing the hovercraft to a stop next to a dune. Excited, he
brings me the monitor, showing me what the machine has mapped
within the mound. An outcropping of rock forms the centre of the
dune, a small pocket of air sitting to one side of the rock.
Within the pocket are the temperature signatures of two humanoids
-two *live* humanoids. It should be impossible, but there it is -
unless the infernal detector is malfunctioning again- the Jedi
live, buried within the dune of sand.
I sigh with relief and offer a quick prayer to R'chni before
directing the excavation of the Jedi. Dare I hope that the boy we
have lost has been saved in the same manner?
January 24, 2000
Sometimes, as we lie in bed together, I trace the lines of his
body, his muscles firm beneath the warm flesh. And I think he is
perfect.
I have to wonder if I am doing the right thing here. Have I
created him with *this* in mind? To lie beneath me, writhing in
ecstasy? To like next to me, warm and beautiful and soft in
satiation?
I was there when he was an initiate, watching him work, train,
begin. And when I chose him as padawan, when I made him repeat
kata's and 'saber routines until he shook with exhaustion and
strain -did I do this for him? For the Order? Or for myself? I
have moulded the perfect Jedi in mind and body and am lying here
next to him, my body sated and sweaty, having taken it's pleasure
in him.
He turns to me, eyes shinning. His hand lifts, cups my cheek, the
thumb dancing across my lips.
"You make my soul happy, Qui-Gon."
And suddenly I know. I did what I did because it was what he
wanted. I may have formed the mould, but it was Obi-Wan who
provided the raw materials, he who brought it to life. I haven't
taken anything, but I have been gifted with everything.
January 26, 2000
Qui-Gon's gentle probe was blocked by heavy shields -shields not
meant to keep him out but to keep pain and panic within. Still,
he could feel the hurt leaking through like a creeping mist
pouring over thick stone walls. It scared him.
It scared him badly that Obi-Wan was shielding him from the pain.
You don't have to be strong Obi-Wan, he wanted to shout. He
wanted to beat at the shields in Obi-Wan's mind, tear them down
with the force of his own thoughts and cradle that hot flame that
burned so brightly in his life. But he didn't. Instead he sent
comfort and love and hope to his padawan -gentle breezes to
surround and warm the frozen bloom of Obi-Wan's psyche.
He's going to be all right, became Qui-Gon's litany and he barely
felt the impact of his captors solid fists. They were only to be
endured so that he could be reunited with his padawan once they
were done "questioning" him. So that he could see for himself
what they had done to Obi-Wan; so that he could begin to make it
better, make it right. You are going to be all right. He sent
the thought as forcefully as he could, knowing his padawan would
never disobey a directive from his master.
Hands tightly bound behind his back, Qui-Gon was prodded to his
feet and then propelled down a dark hall by four guards. They
stopped in front of a large steel door dotted with rust. One of
the guards began searching through a set of large keys on a heavy
brass ring. The keys scraped along the ring, clinking together,
marking the passing moments as each was discarded and slid to the
bottom of the ring.
Qui-Gon felt a moment of panic himself then -he'd expected that he
and Obi-Wan would be separated for questioning, but had assumed
that afterward they would be incarcerated in the same cell. He
let out a sigh of relief as a group of three guards rounded the
corner, Obi-Wan in their midst. The relief poured over him like
water, only to be followed by sharp electric shock as Obi-Wan
stumbled and his guards roughly picked him up. His padawan could
not see.
Blind. Qui-Gon fought for calm, finding it in the Force, letting
the constant presence fill him and smooth the jagged corners of
horror in his mind. Obi-Wan was pushed and Qui-Gon reached out,
catching his padawan by the arm, his other hand reaching to touch
Obi-Wan's side. His touch seemed to soothe his padawan and Obi-
Wan straightened, finally letting go and dropping the shields that
held him apart from Qui-Gon.
The panic was gone, chased away by his touch and he helped Obi-Wan
build a temporary wall around the pain, boxing it away for another
time. A guard hit Qui-Gon, grunting at him and pointing at the
door of the cell which was pulled open. Qui-Gon turned slowly,
resisting a shove from the guard, moving forward only when he felt
Obi-Wan's fingers brush against his back.
January 27, 2000
"I don't see why I'm doing this and not you, Master."
"Because the Queen is a young girl, barely older than yourself.
She doesn't want to dance with an old man like me."
"I don't think she wants to dance with a skeleton tripping over
her feet either, Master. And I don't think you're old."
"Thank you, Padawan. Tell me, how long have we been dancing."
"About half an hour."
"And how many times have you tripped over *my* feet?"
"Not once. But this is in our quarters, with *you*. At the ball
I will be in front of hundreds and with the Queen -it's not the
same at all."
"Obi-Wan, I have watched you perform katas and drills for several
years now, often at levels far above the norm for your age group.
You have just now mastered the Ta-Pik, an extremely intricate
dance, made all the more difficult by the fact that you are not
double jointed as the Eyun are. I refuse to believe that you will
not be able to perform the inaugural dance with the Queen at
tomorrow's ceremony."
"Yes, Master. I will do my best not to embarrass you or the
Order. But will you dance with me a time or two tomorrow?"
"It would be my pleasure, padawan, though I suspect the other
youths will want their chance to dance with you."
"But Master, I only know the Ta-Pik and the Republic Standard
Valse. What if someone asks me to dance something else?"
"I suppose I shall have to spend the rest of the afternoon
teaching you the various symmetry steps preferred by the Eyun."
"Thank you, Master."
January 31, 2000
"We've done what we can, Master Jinn. The bacta has regenerated
the eyes. It is now only a matter of time before the nerves start
transmitting information again."
"So he will see again?"
"We believe so."
"Why is he still wearing the bandages?"
"We'd like him to keep those on for a while."
"How long?"
"A week, maybe two. We'll examine his eyes every couple of days,
monitor his progress -but really it's better for the eyes if they
can rest during these last stages. Too much light or strain could
reverse the healing."
"Will I be able to take him home?"
"Yes, as soon as he wakes up."
"Thank you."
"Now, why don't you go and finally get some sleep?"
"Once I have him home and settled, I will."