The Jedi Temple Murders
by analise and Kirby CrowPart 8
Qui-Gon was feeling more than a little shaky himself as he laid his apprentice into his bed, stripping the pale, slender body of clothing and pulling several blankets up to the tip of the cleft chin. After staring down at the still form for a moment, he collapsed into a chair next to the narrow bunk and closed his eyes.
He had never felt so exhausted in all his life. The emotional drain of the past days was starting to bleed away even the reserves of energy he maintained. There was a trembling starting up in his limbs that he refused to acknowledge. The horror of his Padawan's trial with Mace, his subsequent imprisonment and then...Force help him, the rape. How could the youth have never confided in him before? He thought he already knew the answer to that one. Though Obi-Wan was normally the picture of self-confidence, the humiliation of a rape could not have been something he wanted to share with anyone, much less his Master. Geen's subsequent death and the blame that he must have felt from the suicide had likely not made it any easier.
One hand came up to rub at his face, noting the ragged texture of his rather unkempt beard and cheeks.
*And what are you still hiding from me, my Padawan?* It hurt. It hurt that he had given the boy his trust and unswerving support and there was still something that his apprentice did not trust him to share with.
He finally, finally, let his eyes slide over to where Obi-Wan lay, pale and too thin, beneath the covers. Outside the window the sun lit a new set of incoming storm clouds in gold as it set. He let one finger stroke down the side of his Padawan's face, still remembering the utter look of defeat and despair he had seen painted there when Elspeth had come forward to cut him down with her lightsaber. There had been no doubt in his mind that Obi-Wan would have let her kill him on the spot. He wondered if he might have left his heart back on the Moot Hall steps from seeing that tableau.
Obi-Wan had had the look, not of someone who wanted to see it all end, but of someone who just didn't care if it did or not. It had been all he could do not to crush the youth in his arms as he'd carried him away from the hubbub surrounding the crazed Elspeth. Already there was talk that it was she who had killed both Sandor and Bacco. And though they could find no evidence of the murders in her memories as yet, her state of mind was not something that any Jedi could claim as stable, even her own master. No matter the excuses.
His finger found its way along the elegant jawline, tracing the lips almost unthinkingly before he realized what he was doing and pulled back. He tucked his traitorous hands under his armpits and returned to the safer passtime of just looking.
There had been a moment in the Moot earlier when he had thought that Obi-Wan might have been ready to tell him whatever it was that he was hiding still. A moment that had passed. He wondered if his Padawan somehow thought he was protecting him. It would be very like him.
The sky was almost completely dark and he was having a hard time seeing the sleeping features of his apprentice, but he did not turn on a light. Instead he let himself stare, let himself drift and think and wait. He refused to imagine this slender youth, this boisterous, cheerful young man being raped. He wanted to gather him up and soothe his soul, stroke his hair, kiss his wounds. He wanted to erase all the memories on that skin of brutality or force.
But that was never going to happen.
A distant rumble of thunder rattled the open window casement. Obi-Wan was whimpering softly in his sleep, his body shifting imperceptibly under the sheets. Qui-Gon reached out and laid a gentle hand on his apprentice's forehead, trying to soothe the stirrings of nightmare. He could feel the dark dream gathering even as the storm outside did. His efforts were not helping, and Obi-Wan twisted under his hand, sweat beading on his brow. Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon wondered how often this happened. How many times in the past year had his Padawan woken with a shout that his Master had not heard?
Another whimper, verging on a scream. A sound of such despair and helplessness that Qui-Gon could not control himself. He leaned over the bed to wake his apprentice.
Obi-Wan's entire body jumped under his touch and Qui-Gon jerked back slightly as his Padawan suddenly flung himself upright with a gasp. He watched as Obi-Wan took in his surroundings, the half light of the gathering night, the shadowed form of his Master sitting at his bedside...his own trembling hands.
And he began to sob in earnest. Right there, in front of his Master with no seeming care for his own pride.
It felt like someone had settled a clamp around his throat, it hurt so badly. He leaned forward and pulled Obi-Wan into his arms, holding the trembling limbs against him, cradling the sweat-damp head under the shelf of his chin.
Qui-Gon tried to remember how he had comforted Obi-Wan as a child, what words he had used and in what tone, but the memories were few and dim. Obi-Wan had been thirteen when he came to him as a Padawan, proud as only a very young man can be, and reluctant to show weakness. His seemed to have few fears back then, and even fewer nightmares.
Or at least, Qui-Gon thought, if he did have them, he kept them to himself. That wounded him unaccountably, the idea that Obi-Wan would endure pain and hide it from him out of simple pride. He always felt he had to be so strong, to be deserving of the title of Padawan, to be worthy of *him*.
He stroked the young man's hair, pushing the damp braid off a shaking shoulder, fingers tracing the curve of his ear as he whispered nonsense syllables. He rocked slightly, holding his apprentice in the shelter of his arms, feeling woefully inadequate.
At last, the tremors subsided and Obi-Wan lay quiet in his arms, his face pressed against his robe.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon ventured, voice soft as silk in the darkness. "Can we talk now? Elspeth has been taken into custody. It's all over."
The young Jedi made a sound that may have been an affirmative. He sighed reflexively as he pulled away, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "Forgive me, Master."
"For crying?" Qui-Gon asked gently. He heard the first raindrops begin to patter on the casement and roof, and suddenly the sharp scent of rain was in the room. He inhaled deeply, registering a sudden feeling of contentment. Despite all the trials behind and ahead of them, for the moment, just to be smelling the rain and holding this beautiful young man was enough.
Obi-Wan shook his head. "For keeping so much from you. I...I had to, Master. Please believe that. I truly did not think..."
He trailed off and Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. Did not think what? That he could trust his master with his secrets? That he would be disappointed in him?
"Did not think what, my Padawan?" he prompted. "There is yet something you've withheld from me."
Obi-Wan nodded sadly, and Qui-Gon's throat tightened as he saw the trapped look in his eyes.
"Yes. There is more. Master Windu...I don't know why he didn't tell the Council. Pity, I suppose." He did not see Qui-Gon's small start in reaction to his words. "I also suppose that's why he wants me to leave you now, not to recover, but to keep me from you."
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sought for words, finding them difficult. Mace had seen something? He thought he knew what it was. Obi-Wan had discovered that his own Master lusted after him and he didn't know how to bring it up. So many pitfalls to carefully skirt, such staggering depths to evade.
"We must trust each other," he said plainly. "Whatever this is, we will face it together. I promise you I will do what I can to help you."
Obi-Wan cast his eyes down at his lap, where his hands twisted helplessly. He took a deep breath and looked up, then clasped Qui Gon's broad hand and brought it to his face. Obi-Wan laid the callused palm against his cheek and closed his eyes.
"Look then," he whispered. "And don't hate me."
Qui-Gon felt the very soft stubble of his Padawan's cheek under his hand, the warmth of his skin. The tendrils of the living Force that dwelled in his apprentice seeking him as they always did whenever they touched. He was glad Obi-Wan had finally invited him in, but now that the moment had come, he discovered he was afraid.
*What will I find?* he thought. What could possibly destroy the confidence of such a self-possessed young Jedi? He prayed it wasn't what he thought it was.
Nothing to be gained from delay. Qui-Gon steeled himself and sank his consciousness into the younger man's mind, feeling it part for him, giving way sweetly to his questing intellect. He looked, and found ...
*Ohhhh.*
Qui-Gon's mouth formed a soundless 'o' of astonishment and the breath went out of him in a shaking sigh. A hundred fantasies, all with him in a starring role. The irony was almost laughable.
Obi-Wan behind him, kissing his neck as his hands worked their way down his flat stomach. Obi-Wan lying on his bed, legs parted and head thrown back to revel in the feel of Qui-Gon's lips on his chest, sucking hard on one pink nub and then the other, torturing him with pleasure.
Obi-Wan kneeling before him and taking him hungrily into his mouth.
A furious blush crept up Qui-Gon's neck as he absorbed the mental image of his Padawan on his knees, his own stiffened cock clasped firmly between his lips.
And then, bizarrely, after the erotic display, there was one image that was snatched away before he could see it.
*Obi-Wan,* he pleaded tenderly, silently. *Obi-Wan, let me see...*
Peeling the reluctant layers off the vision, like flower petals unfolding from a blossom, until Qui-Gon was amazed.
*This is your most cherished fantasy?* It was almost tame.
"It's the one I had most as a child," Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked warily at Qui-Gon.
The Jedi Master felt another blush, tinged with shame, flood his face with color at the word 'child'.
"Before I really knew what it was I wanted, I imagined us like that," Obi-Wan went on doggedly. "Together, in your bed, laying side by side, with your hands on me, touching me."
"Of course," Obi-Wan laughed nervously, trying to withdraw. "I didn't know exactly what you were touching or how that worked, I just... knew. Even then."
Qui-Gon slid his hands to the younger man's shoulders, unwilling to release him. Obi-Wan looked amazed, and Qui-Gon realized that he had expected his master to withdraw from him in dismay, banish him back to the Padawan dorms, or perhaps off Coruscant. At the least severely reprimand him. At the worst...rejection.
But here they were, and Qui-Gon was not pulling away. As if he could.
Qui-Gon breathed as if he were fighting a war on the inside. He saw puzzlement flash across Obi-Wan's fine features, and then a small seed of hope. He reached for Qui-Gon's hand and pried it off his shoulder, then brought it again to his cheek, nuzzling it against him, watching the Jedi Master's eyes carefully.
Qui-Gon held himself supremely still. Still not pulling away. Showing Obi-Wan that he had no intention of retreating.
Qui-Gon shuddered. His nerves felt tight as a bowstring. He would snap if that mouth came one inch closer...
Emboldened, Obi-Wan turned the large hand that had been the center of so many of his fantasies and pressed a kiss to the palm.
His lips touched the lined skin of his master's hand, only to have that hand snatched away as Qui-Gon hissed and drew him into a quick embrace, exactly as he had a thousand times before. Only this time he tipped the pointed chin softly up and looked down on him wonderingly.
They remained like that, Qui-Gon drinking him with his eyes, warm breath tickling his lips.
Qui-Gon stared fixedly at the young man in his arms, so near that he could smell the fresh scent of his hair, and those full lips, pink as a flower, the tongue darting out to moisten them, sharing the same breath...
*So wonderfully made. So beautiful,* he thought, and for once did not chide himself for it. *So very beautiful, and so in love with me.*
The truth humbled him to nothingness. Obi-Wan was in love with him.
A thousand small incidences became clear. It had been so obvious. Why had he not seen it? Even now, Obi-Wan was straining forward, mouth only a fraction of an inch from his, trembling, his eyes filling with tears. "Master...*please*,"
Even faced with irrefutable evidence, he must be sure. He must be certain that it was not merely his aging, repressed longing and desire. There was that in Qui-Gon which rejected all uncertainties.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" His mouth hovered above his. A dim flash of light illuminated his apprentice's pretty, upturned features for a split second. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Kiss me," Obi-Wan begged raggedly. "Kiss me, please!"
But Qui-Gon tore his eyes away from that willing mouth, shaking his head. Pulling away.
"No," he managed to get out. "No, Padawan. Not now. Not after what you've been through. It would not be fair to you."
Obi-Wan groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Fair?" he asked. *"Fair?* By the Force, Master, I'm going insane!"
"You're distraught," Qui-Gon said lamely.
"Don't you want me?" Obi-Wan burst out miserably.
"Want you?" Qui-Gon echoed in a whisper. "Constantly."
Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes wild. "Then how can you...how can you..." His hands fanned the air abstractly, obscure gestures mirroring his emotional state.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, struggling for control. He inhaled deeply and let it out in slow, measured breaths. When he felt calmer, he opened his eyes and regarded his distressed apprentice.
"How can I resist?" he asked, smiling wryly at Obi-Wan's disheartened expression. He touched the young man's cheek with the tips of his fingers. "It has not been easy, Padawan."
He took Obi-Wan in his arms and held him, massaging his back, until he felt the tension ease slightly out of his muscles. Obi-Wan managed a wan smile as Qui-Gon pushed his shoulders down. He allowed the older man to pull the covers up to his chin and even suffered the platonic kiss to his temple and the commanding hand across his forehead, reinforcing the deep voice that ordered him down into sleep.
"Sleep," he said, feeling Obi-Wan's consciousness quickly drift down into exhausted slumber. "And dream of only of beautiful things."
Obi-Wan's mouth twitched even as he fell asleep, and Qui-Gon's breath caught as the mental caress slid against his mind;
*Then I'll be dreaming of you...*
There were no forests left on Coruscant. There were, however, a great many gardens. Some majestic and imposing, some small and exquisite. One of the most beautiful of the small gardens was the Garden of Wings in the Jedi Temple, named so because of the cobalt-winged butterflies that inhabited it by the thousands.
Tonight, there were no butterflies. Only one Jedi master who knelt on the stone flags, his eyes closed, his hands posed in an attitude of reflection as the rain poured down from the black sky, plastering his hair to his skull and dripping from his beard.
Inwardly he was not composed. Not at all. Obi-Wan wanted him. Wanted *him*, not as his master, not as a friend, but as a man. As a lover. He sat there, not in reflection or penance, but in almost abased gratitude. All of his deepest desires, wrapped in a sandy-haired, roughly Padawan-sized package, and no longer unattainable. A blazing star that was suddenly no longer too distant to reach for.
*What have I done to deserve this?*
He discarded the thought even as it was formed. Many die that deserve life, many live that deserve death, and in between were the billions of small imbalances that form a whole and somehow convince the universe to keep turning. He might not deserve it, but would not refuse this gift. Be damned if he would.
Qui-Gon felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile he could not suppress. The rain had never felt so fine.
The gate latch clicked open and Qui-Gon banished the smile. A familiar tread drew near.
The Jedi Master watched Mace Windu's approach from the corner of his eye, and the light streaming from the Temple was not so dim that he did not see the determined set of Mace's mouth, nor the angry glint in his eye.
"He told you, I suppose?" Mace asked, hands on his hips and feet splayed apart. He threw his hood back and let the rain pelt down on his head and neck.
"He did," Qui-Gon intoned.
Mace made a frustrated sound. "I saw this coming long ago. The boy must be disabused of this infatuation with you. Immediately. Do you not see, now, how sending Obi-Wan away would have been the best thing for him?"
"No, Mace. I do not see." He almost laughed out loud. Even Mace had seen it before him.
Mace stared, too shocked even to speak as his worst fears were confirmed. "You return his feelings," he accused. "You are in love with your Padawan!"
Qui-Gon shrugged carelessly. "What of it? Obi-Wan is ready for Knighthood. He is a man, capable of making his own decisions. It is not unknown for a newly-made Knight and his master to come together in this way. Few will be surprised."
"He is not a Knight yet!"
Qui-Gon shrugged again, refusing to share Mace's concerns, knowing in his heart the rightness of his decision. "Near as makes no difference."
"Passion leads to--"
"The Dark Side, yes, I know," Qui-Gon said impatiently, head snapping up to meet Mace's eyes for the first time. "But is love forbidden among the Jedi? You were always too concerned with who slept where and with whom and how often. Unnaturally so. Great is your influence upon the Jedi, Master Windu. If you had your will, the great Jedi Council would be reduced to nothing more than peeping old maids and suspicious voyeurs, peering into windows and taking names!"
Mace's jaw dropped, anger and hurt flashed across his dark features, and Qui-Gon clamped his lips shut. For a moment he did not trust himself to speak.
"We live to serve," Qui-Gon began in a more reasonable tone. "To keep the peace and protect the galaxy. Well, what good does that do if we forget what it is we're protecting? There has to be something to save the galaxy *for*. Like love. The Jedi should be examples of that love, Mace. Not statues."
Mace said not a word, only stood with his hands loose at his side, regarding Qui-Gon with a fallen expression.
Qui-Gon took a deep breath and stared at the rain streaming across the flagstones, refusing to feel guilty. *Someone should have said this to Mace a long time ago* he thought.
"I would ask that you withdraw, Master Windu," Qui-Gon said formally. "This night is special to me." *Yes, special. It's the last night I'll ever spend alone.*
Mace's shoulders slumped further, and Qui-Gon realized that his last thought had been heard.
"You will take him, then," Mace said dully. "Of course. I knew you would."
Qui-Gon returned to his meditation as the gate snapped shut and Mace's heavy footfalls faded away.
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