"Do you think these negotiations can be concluded in three days?" Obi-Wan asked dubiously. He leaned close to his master and spoke in a sub-whisper. It would not do to have the sensitive Trechians, or the equally irritable Cabalians, listen in on Jedi speculation about their negotiations.
Qui-Gon shifted slightly in his chair, adjusting his robes. His arm brushed against Obi-Wan's as he turned his head and answered, "Probably. The Trechians seem ready to make concessions. It's a start."
Their hands touched subtly as they turned toward one another, producing a little wall behind which they could speak privately. Obi-Wan loved that feeling. It was almost as though they were one person, working together as two halves of the same whole. "I'm looking forward to real food, something I can chew," Obi-Wan said wistfully, earning a chuckle from Qui-Gon. Trechian food was more like a nutritious gruel, since the native population had no teeth.
"Be grateful that we haven't been held to the tradition of the elder mouth-feeding the younger," Qui-Gon answered, hiding his smile. Obi-Wan had a sudden flash of his master's mouth covering his own, lips sealed together, tongues seeking, and decided that might not have been half-bad.
The Trechian Ambassador was making a long-winded speech about mineral acquisition rights on the moons of Trechia, and Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. Neither he nor Qui-Gon had been called upon to do more than mediate a few basic disputes during the last day. They complimented one another at the bargaining table; in the first few days of negotiations, they had used teamwork to convince the two parties to compromise. It was a heady feeling, that rush of excitement and determination as his actions blended into equal, opposite reactions from his master. Many times, it was almost as though he could read Qui-Gon's thoughts, or could anticipate his master's next words; their speech flowed together like music. He enjoyed looking across a conference table, knowing Qui-Gon would be looking back at him, satisfied with their progress.
Unfortunately, those moments of perfect symmetry never lasted, since boredom often followed in the wake of agreement. Obi-Wan's mind drifted, therefore, to more pleasurable thoughts.
His last night on Coruscant, he'd been in the midst of a lengthy seduction, one he'd been planning a very long time. Among his peers, he was regarded as an unattainable conquest, largely because he preferred not to start relationships with his fellow padawans. He'd gained something of a regrettable reputation as a man who would not enter into relationships requiring any sort of commitment. It was always assumed that he was shallow, more interested in sex than love, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
It was only that he had given his heart away a very long time ago. And he had no intention of taking it back, even if he never found happiness.
Wistfully, Obi-Wan glanced at his master, who smiled at him. He adored that smile - it was a precious commodity, given infrequently. He had seen hints of that kind of smile when he met Knight Medethh, whose handsome features and deep green eyes had captivated Obi-Wan almost immediately. No doubt that quirky grin, so like his master's and given much more freely, had a great deal to do with his attraction.
It had taken no time at all to get Medethh's attention; after all, Obi-Wan knew he wasn't ugly. He could sling charm around with the best of them. He'd made plans, the kind of plans which culminated with Medethh sliding that long, beautiful cock of his deep into Obi-Wan, sensuously filling him and accentuating his pleasure with the Force. The sex had been so erotic that all distractions were forgotten. Almost. Even as Medethh took him slowly, making Obi-Wan glad he'd chosen the young Knight as a partner, there was something missing, something hollow at his core. He couldn't quite live in the moment, when the other man in the moment with him had only his body, and not his heart.
With a sidelong glance at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan sighed. That last evening before their departure, his master had not been pleased by the delay caused by Obi-Wan's liaison. It had taken quite some time for Obi-Wan to untangle himself - reluctantly - from Medethh and answer his comlink, which had beeped insistently for hours. When he arrived on the landing platform smelling of sex and, he was certain, looking completely debauched, Qui-Gon's face had closed, become tight and impossible to read.
And impossibly, Obi-Wan had felt ashamed. Which was ridiculous. After all, masters and padawans couldn't share any relationship that might threaten the training bond. Qui-Gon would never want him. It just wasn't realistic.
Of course, that didn't prevent Obi-Wan from imagining every possible variation on a theme of taking and being taken by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Including whispered words filled with emotion and desire - words he would never hear his master say.
If he closed his eyes, he could ride the residual wave of pleasure Medethh had created for him; he could almost feel his body shuddering, taste the-
"Padawan. Pay attention."
Obi-Wan frowned and nodded curtly. Silly, to be caught with his mind wandering. It was unusual for him; even when he daydreamed, some part of him was always centered on the activity taking place right in front of him. He didn't quite feel normal; his concentration was completely out of whack. Ordinarily, he had no trouble tracking multiple conversations during negotiations, separating out the important comments from the arguing, but he suddenly felt stifled, restless.
Eyes fixed on the Cabalian delegation, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He could sense a headache coming on.
"Something wrong?" Qui-Gon's whisper tickled his ear. Obi-Wan shook his head, despite the fact Qui-Gon already sensed his discomfort. His master needed to know the headache was nothing worth tending to.
He stole yet another glance at Qui-Gon, who was once again entirely focused on the bantering and bickering. Just once, on one of these missions, he'd like to hear his master proclaim a Jedi Holiday and whisk him off for some fun. His master was far too predictable, too task-focused. He knew Qui-Gon was familiar with fun; they even had fun, in limited form, from time to time. It was a silly thought, one that threatened to bring on a huge grin, so he clamped down on the idea. Too late - Qui-Gon caught a fragment of it through the training bond, as he often did, and began to give his padawan the patented impatient look he knew so well.
The first touch of searing pain tore through Obi-Wan, ripping reason from him and leaving him bent across the negotiation table, gasping for air. He heard his master's shouts for help, felt the touch of a hand against his aching head. "Hurts," he gasped, in an attempt to communicate the breath-stealing depth of his pain.
Arms lifted him, laid him gently on the ground and restrained him as he thrashed. He was lost, blinded, but Qui-Gon's arms were wrapped around him and he clutched at them, clawing.
"Easy, Obi-Wan. Easy." The calming touch of the Force soothed him as his master probed gently along their training bond, searching for the injury. He drew in a sharp breath as that mind-touch jangled along the bond, scratching and cutting like shards of glass.
Qui-Gon stiffened and his mental touch withdrew, leaving Obi-Wan moaning. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain was gone. He sagged in relief, breath quick, heart pounding, and closed his eyes with sudden exhaustion.
"Obi-Wan, can you walk?" Qui-Gon's question was urgent, close to his ear.
"No," he answered truthfully, hating to admit it, knowing his master would not waste time calling for a gurney. He was lifted again and then they were moving down the corridor, Qui-Gon's stride a near-run.
"The pain is gone, Master," he said, and winced at the tremor in his voice. He was eighteen, too old to be carried, and too old to show such weakness.
"Be still." Thus rebuked, Obi-Wan let his head fall against his master's chest.
In no time, Obi-Wan had been efficiently undressed, examined, wired to every conceivable diagnostic device, and medicated by the pleasantly brisk Trechian doctors, who bent to serious study of the young man with every intention of finding the problem.
Obi-Wan patiently endured round after round of questions, growing more and more exhausted as the day wore on. He could hear Qui-Gon pacing in the anteroom, hear his low voice rumbling as he stopped people in the hall to inquire after his padawan. Amazing how soothing that sound could be; it greeted him as he woke from a light doze, and lulled him to sleep in moments of peace.
"...nothing wrong." Obi-Wan snapped to full consciousness, wrenching his tired mind back from the edge of dreams, and listened to the doctors briefing his master.
"That's not possible. You didn't see him in the conference room. He was in agony." His master was angry, but trying very hard not to show it. Obi-Wan was impressed with Qui-Gon's control.
"Very true," chimed in a diplomat whose voice sounded vaguely familiar to Obi-Wan. "We feared for his life."
"It was a violent seizure," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"I understand, Master Jinn, but the scans are all normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing elevated, nothing to explain the pain he experienced." In the silence, Obi-Wan could almost hear his master thinking.
"I'll need to take him back to the Temple on Coruscant as soon as possible." Firm, polite, but there it was. A pang of fear wrenched through Obi-Wan. If Qui-Gon was willing to abandon their mission in favor of taking him home, despite the doctor's reassurances, his master was enormously worried. In their five years together, his master had never taken him home after an injury - and he'd suffered far worse than a little spasm.
"We have already transmitted all of your padawan's medical information to your Healers, and received theirs in return. If they have anything to offer, we will inform you immediately."
"I appreciate that."
Obi-Wan smiled as his master moved into the room and approached the bed. "Must we go home, Master? I'm feeling fine."
"I understand, Obi-Wan, but there's no other option here." Qui-Gon stroked his cheek gently. "What you experienced was a jarring trauma, and when I tried to help you, I only made it worse."
"Yes, I felt that," Obi-Wan agreed softly.
Qui-Gon ruffled his hair, dropping a hand to his shoulder and squeezing it. "It will take at least a day for the transport to arrive; they had not planned to return until the end of this lunar cycle. In the meantime, you'll stay in our quarters and avail yourself of the chance to catch up on your studies." His indigo eyes twinkled. "I know you're behind in Forms of Poetry."
Obi-Wan winced. "Master, I'd prefer to continue my duties. I feel all right now, and -"
"No, Obi-Wan. You'll rest, and you'll study. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master." Already, he felt like grumbling; he was determined not to be a petulant padawan, but studying poetry for a full solar day was even less appealing than sitting in on boring negotiations.
"Get some rest, Padawan, and I'll be back to walk you to our quarters in a few hours."
Now he was being ordered to take a nap. Obi-Wan sighed. The trip back to Coruscant would be long, indeed.
*****
After reading the same page of dreadful poetry for the tenth time, Obi-Wan clicked off the datapad with disgust and heaved it across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and dropped to the ground, beeping pitifully. He gritted his teeth and flopped back on his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Being cooped up in his quarters was maddening. Obi-Wan had no ill effects from the painful episode, and in fact was tempted to shove the furniture around and engage in a little bit of exercise. Common sense told him, though, that he should do what his master had instructed. Qui-Gon would murder him if he caught him performing a kata.
He rolled over on his stomach, looking out the window at the blue treetops filled with Trechian citizens, chattering and chirping in their unique language. He didn't understand much of it, but he recognized the mating calls. It was hard to ignore them; Trechians mated in midair, and it seemed to be a primary pursuit of the majority of the population. He grinned, thinking of the reaction at the Temple if he and Qui-Gon should decide to demonstrate the public displays of the Trechians. Master Yoda would no doubt harrumph with disapproval, and Master Windu would probably drop dead of shock.
Obi-Wan rubbed his neck absently, thinking of the previous night, when Qui-Gon had pampered him in a way guaranteed to make Obi-Wan suspicious. The bath had been one thing, but the massage, and the focused meditation, and the oddly probing looks were another. Not to mention the fact that when he'd curled up in Qui-Gon's arms and gone to sleep, his master had not deposited him back in his bed, but held him the night through. That had not happened since their first year together.
It should have made him feel like a child to be comforted in such a fashion, but he felt decidedly adult. Especially when he'd awakened at dawn, hips undulating against Qui-Gon's thigh, rocking sensuously toward an early morning climax. He'd jumped out of bed as though prodded with a lit saber, erection wilting, nearly running for the fresher as Qui-Gon stretched and blinked sleepily. The only mercy was that his master had been slow to wake, and hadn't seen...
But of course, that might not have been a bad thing. What harm would it do, anyway? Nothing could come of it, and it was natural for padawans to think of their masters in carnal fashion. Masters were supposed to be objects of desire. As far as Obi-Wan knew, it was the way of their universe. The thought of Qui-Gon watching, as Obi-Wan drove himself to orgasm against his master's body, made him shudder with want.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sat up, shaking off the lustful vision. Back to the poetry. It was certainly less dangerous. He could cope with the fact that he was killing brain cells through boredom.
He contemplated walking across the room and decided against it. He was recuperating. There was no harm in exercising a little judicious Force-use. He flicked a finger, summoning the pad, thinking that Qui-Gon would scowl like a thundercloud if he saw that. Immediately, he crimped down on the training bond - too much contemplation about his master would bring him straight to the door, wondering what was going on.
A jagged impulse of pain ricocheted through his head, taking his breath away. The pad dropped unnoticed in the middle of the room as he caught his head with both hands, face contorted. He could feel the sharp little threads of agony twining around the back of his skull, slipping between the nerve endings, preparing to sink their razor edges into his mind.
For a moment, he debated calling Qui-Gon, but an instinct warned him not to try to access their bond in a deliberate way. Instead, he made his way to the comlink, squeezing his eyes shut, leaning over the console and resting his head against the cool metal. He keyed in Qui-Gon's com number and pressed send.
"Jinn."
"Master..."
One word, and a flood of accompanying feeling, and he became aware of Qui-Gon reaching out for him immediately, connecting through the training bond.
Like slow-motion destruction, the inside of his mind started to melt, blossoming into liquid pools of white light. His eyes felt filled with needles, jabbing angry and fast into his brain. He wanted to scream but no sound emerged. He scrabbled at his throat as he pitched forward onto the floor, seeking relief that didn't come. Certainty made its way into his fogged brain - that he would die, that his master would find him dead, that no healer could help him now.
Something tore inside his soul. He could sense it; an essential part of his life force was being ripped away, and he mourned it without knowing what was happening. His lungs worked frantically to bring him enough air to keep him alive, but darkness was coming, tipping him over the brink, and the pain...
And then it was over.
Shaking uncontrollably, he sprawled face down on the floor, panting, fingers grasping at nothing. He didn't hear the doors open, didn't know Qui-Gon had arrived, until he was turned, until he looked into the frantic blue eyes.
"Padawan, are you all right?"
"What's happening to me?" Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.
"I don't know," Qui-Gon said raggedly, squinting with pain. Obi-Wan realized with a sort of distant shock that his master really didn't know, that Qui-Gon was hurting as well. He pushed toward Qui-Gon, wanting to comfort him, but it was as if a wall had grown between them.
"I can't feel you." Obi-Wan lifted his hand and touched Qui-Gon's face, but it was like touching a stranger, and they stared at one another in shock.
Where there should have been a link between them, there was emptiness. Their training bond was gone.
*****
No running through the hallways this time, Obi-Wan thought, burrowing deeper into the blankets of his bed. The healers had come to him this time, brought by Qui-Gon's demand, and pronounced him well. He was unaccountably cold; silence screamed in his mind, howling like a chill wind through his thoughts and feelings. Of all the things that could happen, nothing seemed more disastrous than the loss of their training bond.
He made a soft noise of disappointment, burying his face in the pillow so Qui-Gon wouldn't hear. Whatever had caused this, it was probably his fault. The thought made his heart ache.
All afternoon, Qui-Gon had been there beside him, resting a hand on his forehead, fingers curled lightly around his wrist, smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It almost made Obi-Wan nervous to think of that forced calm.
'...explored the possibility...cause...urgent transport request." Obi-Wan tilted his head and listened to the conversation his master was having with Master Windu. The crackling static reminded him that they were away from home, far from resources and wise, venerable Jedi who could no doubt solve their problem in the blink of an eye.
"I'm on my way to meet your ship. Healer Beral is with me. When will your transport arrive for pick-up?" Windu sounded worried.
"Within the hour, I'm told. Who will take over on Trechia? The negotiations -"
"The negotiations aren't important just now," Windu interrupted softly. "Don't pretend as though you think they are, Qui. I know better. Besides, they're almost complete. They don't need the token Jedi any longer. I've already heard from the Prefect, who is quite worried about the boy."
Qui-Gon did not reply for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Mace. I didn't want to add to the difficulties here, but I had no intention of staying."
"The healers have suggested that Obi-Wan be sedated for the first leg of the journey, until we can rendezvous with your ship. It's just one solar day, and it will prevent any further episodes."
"A wise idea," Qui-Gon agreed. "I'll see you in a day, then."
"Be well," came the response, and the sizzle of the com connection as it was cut.
Obi-Wan waited. Even without the bond he knew that Qui-Gon would come to his room, wearing his worried look, and he was right. They'd been too many years together; so many things were predictable, now.
His master passed through the doorway and settled on the edge of the bed. "You heard?"
"Yes." Obi-Wan raised up and propped his head on his hand. "But must I be sedated?"
"It's a wise precaution, Padawan. It will keep you from being injured further, and will allow your body to rest."
Obi-Wan nodded. With his free hand, he grasped one of Qui-Gon's larger ones, tracing the thick fingers with his thumb. Swallowing hard, he met Qui-Gon's eyes. "The bond between us is gone," he said, confirming what he knew to be true.
A large hand came up to cover his own, stroking Obi-Wan's wrist gently. "I felt it break," he said roughly. "The moment it snapped, I knew you were in danger."
"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked. Something in Qui-Gon's expression answered the question, and not at all in the way his words did a moment later.
"I'm fine. I'm much more concerned about what might have caused this, and why it affected you as it did."
"You were in pain," Obi-Wan pressed, waiting for Qui-Gon to look away. Which of course he did, still predictable.
"Only because of your pain. It was residual, not my own."
"Like hell," Obi-Wan said, satisfied by the startled look he produced. "The bond was dissolving. You might have felt what I felt in the beginning, but by the time you got here, my pain was my own. Whatever happened, it happened to both of us."
Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "I'm not certain, but...I don't think this was caused by an outside source. Whatever it is, it's within us."
Obi-Wan nodded. He could feel the truth of his master's theory, but words to express his feelings wouldn't come. Qui-Gon's hands rubbed up his arms, then down, soothing him, warming him. Finally, Obi-Wan said, "I never thought this could happen. Not after the bond was fully formed. I remember, after Melida/Daan...when I left the Jedi, we lost our bond, but that was so long ago."
"It has no bearing on this. We hadn't been together long enough as a master and padawan for the bond to survive our separation. This is something entirely different." Firmly, Qui-Gon redirected the path of Obi-Wan's thoughts. "And you are not the same as you were then. Nor am I."
"You mean that we trust each other now." Obi-Wan smiled slightly, and Qui-Gon's blue eyes shone back at him.
"Yes." Their gazes locked, and Obi-Wan could feel his heart rate climbing. It made no sense that he should feel such intense need, such desire, when everything had gone rotten in a mystifying and dreadful way, but he did.
What's more, he saw something in Qui-Gon's eyes that made him even more sure it was not just his own need he was responding to. His master's emotions seemed unmasked, less hidden than usual.
"Master..." Obi-Wan murmured the word, thinking of all the questions he might ask, all the things he wanted to know, but none of them were appropriate questions for a padawan to ask his master. Instead, he asked something more pertinent. "Do you think the pain will stop, now that the bond is broken?" He didn't add that there were many kinds of pain; one of the worst had begun to settle in around his heart.
"I don't know. Until I know what has caused this, it's difficult to say." Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan's chin, brushing a finger across his cheek. "But I do know that nothing, nothing, is as important as making sure you are all right."
Beneath that touch, and in response to the passion in Qui-Gon's voice, Obi-Wan felt a hot flush start, covering his face. Qui-Gon did not release him. "Will we be able to remake the bond?"
"Is that what you want?" Softly asked, deceptively simple. A question to which there should be only one legitimate answer for a proper padawan.
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to make an immediate reply and found that his speech had fled. With a fleeting sense of horror, he realized that it wasn't at all what he wanted. The certainty of that stunned him.
Which was nothing, compared to the shock of Qui-Gon's mouth descending over his, to the wanton way he parted his lips and invited his master in, teasing him with the flick of a tongue, surrendering with surprise when the kiss was immediately deepened. He grabbed two fistfuls of Qui-Gon's tunic and yanked his body near, wanting access, needing more, but Qui-Gon pulled away.
It was not possible. But it had happened. And Qui-Gon looked entirely satisfied with having kissed him. Obi-Wan's started to speak, but Qui-Gon laid a finger against his lips.
"If the bond is remade, there will not be an opportunity for this again until you are knighted," Qui-Gon said quietly, answering many of the unasked questions. "I couldn't let the moment pass and not have this to take with me across those years." So bold, and so direct.
So possessive.
Obi-Wan could only nod, noting with awe how his body was trembling. No other lover had ever produced such a reaction with a simple kiss. "I thought I was imagining it," he said softly. "The way you looked at me."
"You haven't answered my question. About the training bond."
"Will I still be your padawan if -"
"You are my padawan until you pass your Trials. With or without the training bond."
"But the Council...they have said that a bond is crucial, that it's a first sign that master and padawan are meant to be together - won't they think this means just the opposite?" Obi-Wan had no idea why he was arguing, when he wanted nothing more than to take full advantage of the erotic tension he could feel between them.
"Don't think so much," Qui-Gon answered, and then Obi-Wan was being kissed again, opening just as before, moaning quietly as his mouth was explored thoroughly.
"Please, Master..."
"There can't be more than this," Qui-Gon said as he disengaged himself from Obi-Wan's arms. "Not yet. Not until I know you're all right."
"I know." Obi-Wan scooted away slightly, trying to escape the body heat that was driving him crazy.
That little cue caused Qui-Gon to stand. "I'll check the status of the transport." His master hesitated, on the verge of making what Obi-Wan felt would be yet another predictable suggestion that he sleep.
He was right, of course, but the suggestion was accompanied by a push with the Force, and his indignant objection faded as he dropped away into dreams.
*****
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