Bruck Tales: The Lonely Decision

by Dr Squidlove ( drsquidlove@virginqueen.com )

Summary: Every beginning begins with an ending. Two years have passed since Bruck and Obi-Wan mended their differences in Lessons on Coruscant, now tragedy leaves Bruck with impossible choices.

Third in the 'Bruck Tales' series:
First was Bruck Tales: The Shadowed Force
Second was Bruck Tales: Lessons on Coruscant
The series borrows from books #1 & 2, but breaks off before Melida-Daan.

Rated R for sexual depictions of teens, some violence, adult themes.
Story, Heavy angst. (A little Obi-Wan/Bruck).

Belated editing thanks to Gloriana, Terri and Fox, who've been wondering what happened to Bruck since they betaed this three years ago. (Longer ago in Gloriana's case.)
Extra thanks to Nansi Alexander for M'Pel and 'Jedi Ethics and Intervention in Planetary Politics', from her story A Jedi Mid-Winter, etc. I borrowed him to be a throwaway reference. Ha.
And even more thanks to drglam, for endless encouragement.

Star Wars and everything in it is the property of Lucasfilm. Bruck Chun was introduced in 'The Rising Force', a libellous novel by Dave Wolverton.

Bruck Tales: The Lonely Decision
by Dr Squidlove

"Use the Force, Padawan," Yoda chided. "Again, with the blindfold."

"Yes, Master Yoda." Bruck walked to the cupboard to retrieve a blindfold, moving no faster than obedience demanded. He returned to the centre of the room and took up an opening stance.

"Begin."

Bruck caught two blaster bolts on his saber before he'd drawn his next breath and then he waited again. Another; his body reacted instinctively, but there was nothing of the Force in his method. A bolt seared his neck, and Bruck stopped, saber arm falling to his side. A bolt crashed into his lower back and he stumbled forward, favouring his left leg, pain in his shoulder, and then there was silence.

Bruck hung his head, accepting the pain, letting it trickle away. Strange, how easy it was to let things into the Force, even if he no longer knew how to draw from it.

"Padawan Chun."

Bruck pushed off his blindfold. "I'm sorry, Master."

"Endangering your training, you are."

"I don't care."

Yoda lifted his chin, ears twitching as he lifted a stubby finger to jab the air. "Care, you *do*. Seek the Force always, Padawan. It is your guide."

Bruck bowed, and waited for the old master's curt dismissal before he limped from the training room.

There were classes in the orchard, so Bruck walked on, following the corridors until he found himself in the archway to the Green Garden. It was empty, but he moved no closer, wavering with his eyes on the heavy carved stone at the garden's centre. He hadn't been inside this garden since- since that one time, and yet, in all the days since his return from Cracious, the few hours he'd spent in the crowd around that bier were the only time that felt real.

Bruck leaned back against the cold stone entrance column and slid down to sit on the cool grass.

[[[[[

The crutches dug in under his arms, and his hip ached, pain turning sharp every time he shifted. Smoke stung his eyes. Master Kouretti stood beside him, pretending that they were close. She'd put her leathery grey hand on his shoulder when the flames began to lick at Master Medith's body, but after a while she let it drop and they just stood there, padawan and closest friend.

No one had ever told him how it smelled. There were herbs gathered around the body, but they only added a sick-sweet stench of their own.

Bruck wondered if he was supposed to mourn, if that was the point of dressing up this burning with tradition, but he only felt pain and nausea and a world of self pity.

]]]]]

Someone lingered at the edge of Bruck's senses, waiting to be acknowledged. Bruck tried to ignore him, but the presence was familiar, and immovable. "Master Jinn."

"May I join you?"

Bruck wanted to send him away. He'd come to the Green Garden for the solitude, but he gestured in welcome, finally looking up. "I thought you were on a mission."

Qui-Gon folded to the ground, regarding Bruck mildly. "There is work to be done here." His tone left no doubt as to what - who - that work was. "It must be difficult to continue your training without Medith."

Straight to the point. Bruck pulled a leaf from a nearby shrub and spun the stem between his fingers.

"She gave her last three and a half years to making you a Jedi knight. She would not want you to let go of life because she has."

Bruck spun the leaf faster, letting his eyes unfocus, trying to make Qui-Gon's voice flow past, but Qui-Gon's massive hand settled over his, stilling the leaf. "I could not bear it if I died and Obi-Wan let his soul follow me into the Force."

"They've already given me this speech. Yoda and Kouretti and Healer Firch. Is it really supposed to help?" Bruck asked softly, hoping Qui-Gon, at least, would know the magic words that eluded everyone else.

Qui-Gon sat back, removing his hand. "What would help?"

Bruck let his breath out in a puff.

"How are your meditations?"

Frustrating. "Lonely."

"If you would like a partner, you know you need only ask. I would be glad to work with you."

Bruck looked up properly, saw the sincerity. Qui-Gon had known just what to say when Bruck was an initiate, and he'd been good to him in the years since. He'd treated him like a second padawan when Bruck made friends with Obi-Wan two years ago, even when Bruck dragged Obi-Wan to the South Side for a drinking binge.

Last year, when they'd met up again for a whole month in-temple to work on attaining Intermediate Padawan status before they both turned sixteen, Qui-Gon had been the one who organised to pair-spar with Obi-Wan against Medith and Bruck. And so many nights, when the four of them gathered in Medith and Bruck's quarters, Qui-Gon had stretched his legs out on the couch and urged her to let Bruck and Obi-Wan put off their studies, or sleep, for just a little longer. Medith had always given in.

"Thank you. I might."

Qui-Gon smiled gently, satisfied, making Bruck glad of his answer. "Obi-Wan is here with me."

"Oh."

"He would like to see you."

Bruck shook his head before he even thought. "No... I don't..." It was difficult enough with the masters. "Give him my greetings."

"I will."

Bruck looked away, and caught the dim light of the skylights. "It's getting late. We should go inside."

Qui-Gon stood, and offered his hand. He'd been well-briefed, then. Bruck spared a fleeting thought for the concerned discussions being held in his honour as he accepted the hand to pull himself to his feet.

He put his left foot forward carefully. The first few steps were always the worst, still finding his weight on the prosthetic hip.

Qui-Gon waited patiently, making no further move to assist, for which Bruck was grateful, but he could hear the unasked questions. "The healers said I'd grow used to it, but I'm not healing as fast as they'd like."

"It will come, with time."

Qui-Gon walked at a pace that was almost embarrassing, to keep step with Bruck's limp. He hadn't stretched after training, and the hours on the cold ground had stiffened it uncomfortably. "I can't access the Force very well to heal it properly."

"Why not?"

"It's just not there."

Qui-Gon looked down at him - not as far down as he had eight months ago. It was a strange thing to notice. "The Force is always there, Bruck."

"Master?"

They turned to find Kouretti's heavy form lumbering towards them, and Bruck looked up to see Qui-Gon break into a wide smile. "Padawan." He swept her into a hug. "Your schedule is far too hectic."

She squeezed him back, lifting him clear off the ground. "I learned from the best."

They pulled apart, and Qui-Gon touched a hand to her grey jowl. "How are you faring?"

Kouretti misted a little, but smiled. "I miss her."

Bruck stared at them both. "You were Master Jinn's padawan?"

"I thought you knew?"

Bruck shook his head.

Qui-Gon explained, "That is how Medith and I came to be friends. When I chose Kouretti as my padawan, it was almost a pair deal. Rather like yourself."

"Oh." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. He'd never wondered how Medith came to be friends with Qui-Gon. They just were.

He might have guessed, though. Kouretti seemed to be involved in everything, trying to take care of him, gathering as many sympathy wishes as he did, claimed she was Medith's closest friend, when he'd never even met her in person, until two weeks ago.

[[[[[

Kouretti was waiting with Yoda on the transport pad, their hoods drawn low over their faces. Bruck wasn't able to give Medith even that small respect, his robe too cumbersome with the crutches. The Cracious healers hadn't wanted him upright at all, but it only mattered that he could escort his master home.

Wordlessly, this woman he recognised only from holos and the occasional comm message fell into step on the other side of the droid that carried Medith's body, as Yoda led their tiny procession into the temple. There must have been other people in the corridors, kneeling as they passed, but Bruck didn't remember seeing anything but Yoda's back until the droid lifted Medith's body onto the bier.

He watched curiously as Kouretti pushed her hood off her bald, leathery head and stepped forward. She rested her hands on the stone as she examined the still face, waiting, perhaps, for a breath. Bruck had watched his master like that all the way home, pressing his ear to her chest every now and then just in case it was all a mistake.

]]]]]

Bruck waited in the doorway for Firch to notice him.

"Bruck, come in, come in. How's the leg today?"

"A little stiff. I didn't stretch properly after training last night." After Kouretti found Master Jinn, Bruck had used the opportunity to slip away home.

"No heavy work, I hope?"

"Just simple lightsaber drills. Blaster droids."

"Good, good." The healer dropped to his knees and ran his tiny, sausage-fingered hands over Bruck's hip. "You've stressed it a little. I'll inject some bacta before we meditate; that will ease it to give you good rest tonight."

Bruck nodded obediently, though their meditation sessions had little effect.

Firch climbed to his feet and frowned, peering at Bruck's neck. "Blaster droids?"

Bruck touched the burn. He'd forgotten about it.

"I assume there are more?"

"They're mild."

That earned him a sigh and a glare, and a shake of the head, but Firch tugged Bruck's padawan braid. "Patience, Bruck. We'll find your centre and get you healed up, and you'll forget this hip once wasn't yours."

The grass was prickling faintly through Bruck's trousers, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't turn the sensation away. There were other gardens, without the prickly orchard grass, but none as familiar, or peaceful.

But the grass was prickling, and Bruck wiggled in irritation.

"My trees are not good enough for you to climb anymore?"

Bruck looked up to see Koth's horned figure just inside the gate. "Healer Firch says I'm still not ready to put strain on the hip."

"Remind me to thank him."

Bruck just nodded.

Master Koth folded his arms, burying his hands in the soft caramel sleeves. "You are having trouble meditating."

A shrug.

"If you are only going to sit there, you might as well make yourself useful." He picked up two wooden bowls from a pile in the corner and crossed to sit beside Bruck, the bowls between them. "These kenberries are ripe."

Bruck twisted to look at the blue berries on the tiny hedge-shrub that bordered the orchard walls. "You said they weren't due yet."

"Plants tend to make up their own minds about when it's time." Koth began to gently pluck the fruit, and Bruck followed.

The berries came easily, though it took concentration to grasp them just the right way without bruising them. They picked the shrubs clean and then shifted up, working steadily along the wall.

They'd spent a few afternoons like this in the past two weeks, attending to the orchard and its gardens. Master Koth had never once asked about Medith, and he never asked how Bruck was feeling. Even the first day that Bruck had come here, he'd just put him to work turning soil.

Bruck stole a glance at his companion. He was quiet, even for him. Usually there was an occasional abrupt comment: advice on method, or brief anecdotes. Today he was frowning at the plants.

Koth felt the attention and looked up, face quietly serious, tattoo-lines sharpening his _expression. "How are you faring, Bruck?"

Bruck lifted his hand to gesture at the filling bowl, and then stopped. Koth meant him. He turned back to the shrub, just staring for a moment, and then began to pick. There were a few more berries hidden in the foliage. "All right, I suppose."

Koth was waiting, watching him, and Bruck barely checked his sigh. "I've started light physical training, but I think Master Firch is frustrated with how slowly I'm healing. I'm having trouble grasping the Force."

"It must be difficult, without proper guidance."

"Healer Firch meditates with me. Master Yoda and Knight Kouretti have been giving advice. And Master Jinn said he would help."

"None of them can be a Master to you." Koth leaned forward, until Bruck met his eyes properly. "Soon, to resume your training, you will need a master. I know a number in the temple will offer; I would be pleased if you would consider me."

A new master. A replacement. Bruck had never considered anyone. It hadn't even occurred to him.

"There is time, Bruck. No one would ask you to swing back into training as though your life had not just been turned upside down. It is only something to think about."

Bruck nodded, stupidly. He tried to imagine sharing quarters with someone new, playing hypotheticals with a different master while en route to new planets, trusting a stranger to guard his back. He could only see Medith.

He turned back to the berries, relieved when Koth did the same. He didn't want to think about it. Her bier was barely cooled. He was still her padawan.

He didn't intend to follow Medith into the Force like Qui-Gon said, but they couldn't ask him to replace her. A new master would fix nothing.

They picked in silence, working along the entire wall, beginning the second one before Bruck thought of anything to say.

"Master Koth? Who was your master?"

Bruck felt the flicker of surprise, though it didn't show on Koth's face. "Her name was Elabar Rheus. She was Quermian, very strong mind control." He paused, with a pointed look to the berry bowl, waiting for Bruck to get back to work before he continued. "I came to know her when I was very young; she gave me private lessons in shielding and mental control and I suppose we both knew we would pair. She was very quiet, incredibly patient. She created this garden when she was a Junior Padawan."

"Has she joined the Force?"

"Yes, a few years ago, now. I think she's here, in the trees."

Bruck cringed. "I'm sorry for climbing on them."

Koth smiled. "Oh, I don't think she'd mind that at all. She likely did it herself, in her youth."

Bruck smiled back, and then the solitude closed around him again. Very quietly, he asked, "Do you know who Medith's master was? I never asked. She used to talk about her master sometimes, but I never thought to ask who it was."

There was a moment of quiet, as Koth rubbed one of his horns. "I'm afraid I didn't know Master Medith very well."

"How could I not have asked?"

"You're not old enough to think of her as anyone but your master."

"Knight Kouretti said I would usually find you in here."

Bruck lifted his head, letting out a long breath. "Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon picked up the pile of manuscripts that Bruck had piled on the little stool, sitting and settling the documents back on his knees. "She told me you spend a lot of time in the library."

"I like to read."

Qui-Gon looked hard at him, trying to read something deeper, so Bruck lifted his chin and met the gaze. He did like to read. "You should not push one area to the neglect of others. There is more to Jedi life than reading."

Bruck dropped his attention to the desk, but Qui-Gon pushed no further. He flipped through the pile in his lap.

"These are very dry."

"I like them."

"'Jedi Ethics and Intervention in Planetary Politics', 'A Discourse on the Paradigms of Social Resistance', 'The Construction of Cultural Ideologies: Processes of Evolution and the Impact of External Imposition'... Obi-Wan would never willingly read any of these. Perhaps you-"

"I don't want to see him." Bruck felt his face burn.

"All right." Quietly. His fingers tapped on the manuscripts as he thought. "He tells me there are a number of your agemates in temple just now. You should find some peers to spar with."

"I don't want to spend time with any of the other padawans."

"Why not?"

Bruck looked up from his hands to meet Qui-Gon's gaze. "They all feel sorry for me. They act strange." Their sympathy was the worst, uncomfortable pity from people who never thought much of him in the first place. "None of them are my friends."

For all Medith's urging to befriend the peers who would one day guard his back, they'd never had enough time at the temple to work past the reputation he'd earned as a child. Only Obi-Wan was different.

"Obi-Wan is your friend. I know that you parted on bad terms-"

"We didn't part on bad terms."

Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow, but he nodded, allowing it. "I know that a lot happened the last time you were together, but-"

"Are you going to make me see him?"

Qui-Gon looked like he really wanted to. "No."

Bruck relaxed.

"He asks after you. He's upset for you."

Bruck smiled, briefly. "I know." He didn't doubt that for a moment.

Qui-Gon should have looked ridiculous, his large frame hunched forward on the tiny stool, but his eyes were soft with concern. Bruck fought to make this man his master, once. Less than four years ago. How different would his life have been? Qui-Gon was kind, and had a patience beyond even Medith's, but he wasn't as fun as she was. He specialised in more sensitive political work, he broke the rules more often; if Bruck had been Qui-Gon's padawan he might still get in as much trouble as he always had. If Qui-Gon had been Bruck's master, Bruck wouldn't be alone, now.

"We need to get you working on exercises to bring back your Force control."

"Shouldn't you be working with Obi-Wan?"

"He doesn't mind sharing me a while." He smiled gently, and then his _expression turned serious. "I saw the mission reports, Bruck. You coped far above everyone's expectations."

"Not above Master Medith's."

"No, not above Medith's."

Bruck skimmed over the text he'd been reading. He couldn't remember what it was about. "She left me alone on our first mission, you know. I had no idea... Our first mission."

"We all do that soon enough. I suspect Obi-Wan curses me still for Gala."

Bruck's mouth opened, and closed. "You do it deliberately?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Tell me about Cracious."

"You saw the reports."

"I did, and I think you are very much your master's apprentice. I want to listen to you."

[[[[[

The room was near empty. No guards, no soldiers, no supporters. Bruck had stopped them all at the door, and turned them away. To assist in hospitals, to clean the marketplace, as they wished. They were not welcome here. Here, there were only the leaders of the Cracious government, and a chosen few representatives of the minorities, hand-picked by Bruck, not the people.

These were the representatives the government had spurned, because the glorious and righteous government would not cower before rioters and criminals. It would have been a noble stand, if the government had ever rewarded the minorities for their years spent peacefully oppressed.

Bruck had taken the high seat, frowned upon by Jedi ethics, but the table hid his invalid chair, and from here he commanded them. These people needed to be bullied. Right now they wanted it. When petty traditions and old enmity crept into discussions, only a sharp word from the emotionless Jedi was needed to drive them back to negotiation. It was the best Bruck could do, through the numbness of shock and painkilling drugs, to sit up there and look like he hated them all. A replacement would arrive soon.

Not soon enough.

]]]]]

Bruck waited for disapproval, but Qui-Gon told him, softly, "You did well, Bruck."

"I shouldn't have done it that way."

Qui-Gon took Bruck's fisted hands and held them, folded in his own. "My master still lives, Bruck. I can't imagine how you functioned at all."

Bruck nodded. Intellectually, he knew Master Medith would have accepted what he did, even if it wasn't a method she approved. "I can't spar with the other padawans. I'm on a light training regimen, while my hip settles in."

"I've had a few injuries in my time. We'll work through it."

"What are you doing?"

Bruck turned his chin slightly towards the voice, though he didn't need to. He knew him by smell, by Force. "Studying."

Obi-Wan slipped into the vacant chair beside him. "M'Pel? You don't need to read him anymore."

"It's soothing."

"Boring. Pointless. Even you said so."

"I was wrong."

A pause. "Qui-Gon told me that Yoda only teaches him so that the other philosophers won't seem so bad."

Bruck never moved his eyes from the screen, and when the silence crept back he read the same line over.

The chair beside him creaked. "You can tell me to go away if you want. I know you've been telling Qui-Gon you don't want to see me, but... I wanted to see for myself."

Bruck looked up, surprised. There was hurt in Obi-Wan's voice, and in his face. He looked ready to disappear at the slightest sign.

"No. It's okay."

Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, from worried to simply uncomfortable. Bruck returned to his reading, but the awkwardness was unbearable, and he was still on that same damned line.

He heaved a sigh. "We visited the Temple at Ellis Naya a few months ago, where M'Pel did his studies. I started reading some of his sources." Days spent curled up with long-neglected data chips in the dusty Temple library. He hardly saw Medith the whole time. Hadn't missed her at all. "He's not a very good writer. He didn't say what he meant very well, but he saw things differently."

"You like to study."

"It's what I like best."

"Have you eaten?"

Bruck touched the screen, was surprised to see it was well past mealtime. He should be hungry.

"We don't have to go to the dining hall."

"I have some things." Bruck shut off his pad and leaned hard on the desk to hide his awkwardness as he stood, didn't look to see if Obi-Wan had noticed, and once they were walking he didn't need to look over at all.

When they finally arrived, Bruck palmed the door and gestured for Obi-Wan to enter first. Obi-Wan stopped just inside, staring around the room. "You still live here? Alone?"

"Where do you think I should go?" he snapped.

"Surely there's somewhere..." Obi-Wan trailed off. "I don't suppose you'd want to go."

Bruck was silent. It was the most understanding thing anyone had said to him since it all began.

"You shouldn't be alone. I- I could stay, if you like."

A breath clawed in Bruck's throat and he opened his mouth to say "Please, please do," but then he remembered the last time Obi-Wan had been in these rooms, everything that had been said, and suddenly his chest hurt so much.

"Bruck?" Obi-Wan was watching him, waiting, and Bruck shook his head so quickly his braid flicked back and forth, slapping his cheek.

Obi-Wan looked worried now, reached to touch his shoulder.

Bruck dodged the hand, covering his wince as his hip twisted, and limped for the kitchen. "Do you want tea? We have one from Ellis Naya that I think you'd like." He set the tea warmer, gathered cups, wishing he'd thought to say something to make Obi-Wan go away instead of linger. He didn't want to sit down and sip tea with him.

Obi-Wan wavered at the edge of the polished floor. "Can I help?"

"No."

"Bruck-"

"Be quiet."

Bruck found the sweetener, tipped a little into Obi-Wan's cup. Dropped a herb twig in his own. Glared at the tea warmer.

"Bruck..."

"Please," he could hardly hear his own voice, "be quiet."

Obi-Wan walked in and turned him around and put his arms around him, and Bruck could do nothing but let his cheek rest into the fuzz of hair. It was even softer than before, surely. "Why didn't you like me?"

Obi-Wan stiffened. "Of course I liked you. You know I did."

"Not like I liked you."

The hold tightened, and Bruck closed his eyes, fighting the surge until it calmed away.

The warmer beeped, and Bruck was guided to the meditation rug. Obi-Wan fetched the teas and for a moment they only sipped, propped up against the wall, almost touching.

Obi-Wan turned towards him. "Do you want to do anything?"

"No."

"All right."

For hours it seemed, they simply sat there, drinking tea. The only break in their tableau was when Obi-Wan went to replenish their cups and bring hot toast.

Bruck looked over to examine him, the other boy's gentle profile swallowed as green eyes came to meet his gaze. Obi-Wan waited.

"How come you aren't saying anything?" Bruck asked.

His cheeks stained, just slightly. "I don't know what to say." Perfect honesty. Always, from Obi-Wan.

"You're glad it didn't happen to you."

A deeper stain. "Of course I am."

"I felt it."

"Felt what?"

[[[[[

Bruck chatted amiably with Warla, the daughter of the senior governor. She was only a few years younger than himself, a sweet girl if he avoided all mention of the negotiations. The boiling racial enmity of all the governors pushed Bruck's limits, but from the new generation, the blind unreasoned racism was intolerable.

Bruck had no patience left for these people, so he was passing the time, friendly and neutral, until Medith returned and they could resume negotiations. She was due soon.

His attention began to drift. Medith was concerned. Uneasiness in the Force. Bruck was drawn to the window, Warla's patter drifting off behind him, but there was nothing to see. Unease pressed.

Bruck strode to the next window, pushed apart the covers. The view was down a long alley, but at the end he could see people, some still, some hurrying forward, all facing the same way. Towards the centre market.

The president's hand on his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I have to go."

"Your master told us-"

"No, I have to go."

Bruck dumped off his cloak at a run, pulled the door open before his hand touched it and was running with all the Force speed he had. There was chaos ahead: riots.

All they had quelled was breaking apart again, and now he could feel Medith drawing on the Force as she was swallowed up by the angry mass. She was pushing them back but now he could see them, thousands of people crushing against each other, rocks and bottles flying with no conscience for who they hit. Bruck stopped, breath taken by the horror of it, until he remembered that Medith was in there somewhere. He cast his mind out but could only feel her determination, locationless, the crush of people too deep to push away and many, many innocent, panicking at the wave of violence that devoured them.

Bruck shoved his way in, searching blindly, pushing through though there was no room to move. Cries of anger and anguish mingled, the rioters indistinguishable from those who had been browsing the market. Bruck saw a man with a chain, seized it away and flung it into a tree, realised he was stepping over a child and lifted her, high, until he saw a father's arms reaching. He was shoved back and forth, felt stray punches land on his body and head, but he pulled his focus tight and reached again. A man kicked in the shins, a stick cracked across a child's face, people tripped and trampled, punches thrown without thought, a blade pushed into a warm- into Medith's body and twisted as the arm was jolted, and Bruck fell, in agony. An elbow hard in his head or Medith's, feet stamping on their bodies. He couldn't reach her. His hip twisted. And then he knew she wasn't there.

]]]]]

Bruck dug under his fingernail, paused to take a sip from his tea, felt it wash cold over his tongue and down his throat. His hip ached. He turned his head, felt surprise to see Obi-Wan red-eyed.

Bruck looked away, embarrassed.

"I'm going to stay with you tonight." Obi-Wan's voice was strange, high.

Bruck shrugged, looked back to his fingernails.

"I'll just- I'll just tell Qui-Gon." Footsteps passed, the chirp of the comm system. "Master, I'm at Bruck's."

"Is everything well?" Gentle concern, a master's voice for his padawan, and then their voices were quiet and Bruck couldn't be bothered straining to listen.

A long moment later, hands took his own, gathered him up to stand and led him into the bedroom. Only his belt and boots were removed, and then he was lying in Obi-Wan's arms in the dark, gathered close like a lover, and it was the most unfair thing in the world.

Bruck's head was pillowed on a warm body, arms were loosely draped around him. Obi-Wan. Bruck's lungs hardened like rocks in his chest; he had to force calm to find his next breath.

Master Jinn was incorrect. They hadn't parted in anger. It was all very polite, last year, when Obi-Wan explained to Bruck why Obi-Wan wasn't what Bruck wanted. Bruck was quite sure he knew what he wanted, but it seemed Obi-Wan knew better.

They'd never had the chance to sleep together, before, only hurried sex when they could find moments alone. It was not, technically, allowed, while they were still Junior padawans, but they had been so close to Intermediates, and Bruck pushed and persuaded, and eventually Obi-Wan had seemed just as eager.

Sleeping together wasn't like Bruck had imagined. Obi-Wan was lumpy, and sweaty, and his elbows stuck in, and Bruck was wide awake. He gently untangled himself, and went to wash his face, letting the cool water splash down his neck and into his sweat-damp sleep tunic. He went back, stood in the doorway as he wiped himself dry on his sleeves. Obi-Wan had rolled onto his side, knees drawn high. It was the first time Bruck had really looked at him, and he was hardly surprised to see that he was more beautiful. His hair had lightened, and stubble was showing through on his jaw, lending more definition to his cheeks. Bruck wondered if he'd been with anyone else these past months, if anyone else had watched him sleep. It hardly mattered. Bruck turned and headed out into the corridor.

They had continued their studies together for the week it took to pass their Intermediate Levels, and then Medith took Bruck to her home planet. She never said a word about Obi-Wan, just took him home to meet her family. Medith rarely gave advice unless Bruck asked. She always did the right thing to make him feel better, but put little faith in talk. Curious, for a woman who could talk Togorians and Hutts into reason. It was difficult to imagine what she would do or say now.

The orchard was dimly blue-lit for night and recently watered; Bruck took the smell of wet earth and leaves deep. He would have liked to climb, or at least to lie spread out on the grass, but the air was cool and damp, and he had an old man's body, so he simply leaned his back to one sturdy trunk, and closed his eyes.

Bruck arranged his beans in size order as Kouretti ate. He'd been on his way to the library when she caught him in the hall and dragged him to lunch, and in this awkward silence he wished more than ever that he'd made his errand seem more urgent.

"I know you don't feel hungry, Bruck, but you should eat. Healing takes a great deal of strength."

Bruck took the smallest bean from the end of the row on his fork, popped it in his mouth and proceeded to arrange the beans by shade.

She twitched one of her flopping grey ears. "I am leaving soon. Tomorrow. I requested a light mission."

Bruck nodded. "Thank you for staying in temple. Master would have appreciated it."

There was a pause. "Would you like to come? Leave the temple for a while? It can be stifling here, when you wish to be alone."

Bruck stared at her, not sure whether to be surprised at her insight or at her obliviousness. He turned back to his beans - that was cruel. She had intended nothing but kindness from the start. He didn't have any good reason to resent her.

"No, Bruck, I don't suppose you would." Her voice was sad. "I cannot tell you how much I regret not meeting you earlier. Medith spoke of you often, and my master is very fond of you."

Bruck searched for something kind to say, some small piece of conversation to offer. "Do you know, I once fought Obi-Wan to make Qui-Gon my master? I wanted to be his padawan so badly."

Kouretti examined him, and slowly shook her head. "My master was very sad, before Obi-Wan. Very... distant. Private. Obi-Wan must have had a very difficult time earning his trust. I think Medith was the perfect master for you."

"Who was Medith's master? She never mentioned him by name. "

A distant smile lifted her leathery jowls. "Master Varey. I think she regretted drifting apart, but he was a very independent man."

"I've never heard of him."

"He moved back into deep undercover work soon after Medith was knighted. His contact is very rare; he may not even know that she is dead."

"What was he like?"

Kouretti chuckled. "If you knew him, you would be amazed that they ever got along. He is very reserved, entirely humourless. She would needle him incessantly, argue just for the joy of arguing, and he would insist that she would be the downfall of the Jedi. When we got up to mischief, Qui-Gon loved object lessons, but Master Varey would sit us down for long lectures about his disappointment. Medith, of course, would argue with him."

Bruck laughed, imagining it well, and took a fork full of beans. "Tell me more."

Obi-Wan reached over and pulled a book into his lap, deep lines forming in his brow as he skimmed it. "What does M'Pel have to say?"

Bruck suppressed his sigh, wishing Obi-Wan would take his boredom elsewhere. He didn't need to be minded. "That's a discourse on the cultural principles of natural development over the external implantation of predetermined priorities."

A crooked smile. "You're beginning to sound like him."

After a moment, Bruck smiled too. "What he says, if you apply it to what we do - perhaps it isn't always best to press planets to conform to Republic law. We create a single ideal, and measure entire cultures by how they meet it."

"You believe it's better to accept slavery, corruption, war?"

Bruck shook his head. "I think some things are grey. Sometimes, we are the ones who bring corruption and war. Until the Oagnet Age, we condoned slavery. Maybe people could find their own ideal without our stamp. Cultures have bad eras and good, they can evolve without us."

Obi-Wan was staring, round-eyed, open-mouthed. Not, Bruck imagined, his best negotiating face. "Are you suggesting the Jedi should do nothing?"

"Don't you ever find yourself on a planet you've never heard of, wondering why it's your place to put one person in power over another?"

"Sometimes I doubt that one leader is better than the last, but we do what we can for stability-"

"Stability! That's it." Bruck leaned forward, slapping his hand on the book. "In this essay, M'Pel talks about the threat of stability. Nothing evolves in stability. Even the Jedi - how different would our foundation philosophies be, if someone else had saved us from the Sith? Now, everything we do is about imposing a direction. Even us, as individuals. From the moment we entered the creche, we were taught how to strive to be Jedi knights. Even though we couldn't all be chosen, even though some were better suited to healing, or farming."

"Those people found their way."

"How do you know? And even if they did, they felt like failures. You came closer than I did. How did you feel, on the transport out of the temple?"

Obi-Wan's gaze fell. "It's not a perfect system-"

"There's one ideal, and we are all pushed to it." Bruck's hands waved in the air between them. "Maybe if you hadn't been moulded, you'd have gone to AgriCorp and been proud of it."

"Never! We were meant to be Jedi Knights. That's why we were chosen."

Bruck shut his mouth. He should have expected that from Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan always fitted inside the box. He took his book back from Obi-Wan's lap and laid it on the table. "Anyway. That's what the essay is about."

[[[[[

"Speak up, Padawan." Medith's voice was dry, knowing well the source of Bruck's discontent. Surely she was tired of this conversation, on every mission they took. Bruck was.

They were strolling through quiet evening streets, raising little interest from the curfew guards, looking like the galaxy's Jedi ideal. Arms folded, cloaks settled around their shoulders, hoods back. Padawan a little taller than his master, now, white braid lying neatly down his chest.

"In the creche, we believed we would protect the weak, provide justice to all. They said nothing of defending racist, oppressive governments from popular uprisings."

"The leaders of the uprising are hardly a model of good nation-building."

Bruck stopped, forcing Medith to turn back, forced himself to keep his voice quiet. "They are no worse. We can't tell these people to accept their lives simply because it is neater."

"Would you condone their violence?"

Bruck shook his head. "Maybe this world needs a bloody revolution."

He hated the _expression on her face.

"Bruck, don't look that way. I'm not disappointed in you. You know I would sooner see you as a smuggler of conscience than a knight who follows the Code by rote." She smiled, just a little. "I do regret that I am disappointing you."

"No Master!" Bruck broke his reserve to touch her arm. "You're the only thing I'm certain of."

"The Jedi, then."

"It's not like that."

She squeezed the hand on her arm, and then reached up to cup his cheek. "This is a difficult crossroads you have found, but you have time. I would like you to talk to some other masters when we return to the temple. You're not the first to struggle with our role."

"Have you ever..." he foundered, almost choking on the words, "Have you ever contemplated another path?"

Her eyes widened, though the words had been stuck, loud and unspoken between them for months.

"I never have."

]]]]]

Days were filled with people pressing Bruck to do things, people pressing him to feel things, people gazing at him with a hundred different sorts of expressions that he was loath to interpret.

Nights were silent, and still, and Bruck's mind scurried where it pleased. Remembering and reconstructing missions, imagining how different his life would have been if one of the other masters had chosen him, or if Medith had turned him down as well. How Medith had confessed being infatuated with Master Jinn when she was Bruck's age, and how strange it was that her padawan now wanted his.

Stubborn, wandering thoughts, as though Medith hadn't drilled focus into him for more than three and a half years. Snippets of memories and things he'd never told her and expectations that would never be fulfilled.

Now nights were filled with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan lay curled on his side, facing away, shoulder rising and falling as each steady breath swelled and left his lungs. He smelled good.

Bruck wondered, if he kissed the back of Obi-Wan's neck, just now, if he shuffled his hips a little closer to Obi-Wan's, rubbed against him... would Obi-Wan allow it? Did Obi-Wan pity him enough?

He touched the bump of Obi-Wan's spine, where neck joined back, felt the warmth of his skin.

He was half-tempted to try, just to find out. More than half-tempted, because he wanted to taste his neck, to curl up against him, and maybe it wouldn't matter what Obi-Wan's motives were, if Bruck could have him again, like before, just for a little part of the night.

Obi-Wan's knees were curled up, making his pants tight over his rump. Bruck had never been inside. He'd always asked Obi-Wan to take him, played the wanton on his hands and knees, lain on his back with his legs spread in invitation. He'd begged, and he'd done it gladly. He'd never wondered why it was always him, never thought to be bothered that he'd opened himself like that, until after. Now, all he wanted was to beg Obi-Wan again.

Obi-Wan had insisted on joining Bruck for his physical training, such as it was, working through the tedious stretches, and then Master Jinn had come, and supervised a half-speed spar.

A very gentle walk through, only Bruck had somehow strained his hip.

Healer Firch was beginning to grow frustrated with him. Bruck was impressed that the man's calm had lasted so long.

Now he clucked and frowned as he kneeled to examine Bruck's hip. "I'm quite sure I specified light workouts only."

"It was light."

"Did you warm up?"

"Yes."

"How much time have you spent meditating each day?"

"Not long."

"How long is that?"

Bruck shrugged. "Not at all."

A great sigh. "You will not recover without ef-"

"I know."

Firch sat back on his heel and glared up at Bruck. "I don't know why I am dedicating more time to your health than you."

"I'm trying."

"Are you?"

"I can't meditate."

The healer stood and pushed a finger to Bruck's chest. "You want sympathy? All around you, people are offering their help. All you need to do is accept. Do you want to be a Jedi, Bruck?"

"I don't know."

Firch's frustration evaporated, replaced with soft understanding. "I didn't realise you were so lost." He pulled Bruck over to the soft chairs by his infoterminal. "I am sorry Bruck. I should have been listening."

"No-"

"Tell me."

Bruck sagged in his chair. "I don't know."

Firch's eyes pierced him. "You do."

"Bruck!"

"Master Koth, may I come in?"

"Of course."

Bruck looked around, curiously. He'd never been to Koth's quarters, before. They'd only talked in the orchard, and occasionally exchanged greetings in the corridor. The room was... barren.

"It's not what you expected?"

Bruck limped a few more steps forward. "I thought there would be plants."

"The orchard is my indulgence. My homeworld is a cold desert, and I rather brought my culture with me."

"Is that your homeworld?" Bruck pointed to the only decoration in the room, a yellow-grey ball suspended in the corner, slowly turning.

"Yes."

He was stalling. He'd come straight from Healer Firth, determined to try, at least, to help himself. "Master Koth, I was wondering if you would do me the honour of meditating with me. Healer Firch suggested I try different ways to touch the Force, and I wanted to try in the orchard, with the trees."

Koth's face warmed. "I would be honoured. I need to see Master Tinn on a Council matter later, but I have time now."

"I didn't mean now."

Koth lifted his hands. "Why not?"

And so Bruck found himself trailing Master Koth down to the orchard, wondering if he could ever imagine the councillor as his own master.

They sat with their backs resting against Bruck's favourite tree, rough sharp bark against his shoulders, grass prickling beneath him.

Mostly, Bruck was daunted by his companion. He'd always known Koth was a councillor, of course, and deserved all the respect that went with such responsibilities, but his only contact with the man was as the orchard tyrant and sometimes quiet company. Bruck had never witnessed his amazing mental powers. Could Koth help him find his centre, at least?

Bruck closed his eyes, uncertain but determined to try. Instantly, he was stretched on the weight of Koth's peaceful mind, amazed by the bare order of this space. Here he did not reach for the Force, or even embrace it, but was lifted like a feather in warm air. Floating, after weeks in a vacuum. He hadn't the strength to control it, but it was there, soaking away Bruck's loneliness, his regret, his anger, leaving him with more peace than he'd known in too long.

Medith was here, somewhere, her soul absorbed in the thousands of Jedi who passed before her. He needed her.

But she would have had him make the decision alone, anyway. There was a soft touch to his consciousness, Koth guiding him to release his thoughts, think on them later. Now was the time to simply be.

It was startling, to feel life in the Green Garden. Bruck had thought the place dead, but in the lingering hold of Master Koth's power, the strength of the Force was undeniable. But the smell.

The smell ached high in his nose, and for a moment he thought the stench of Master Medith's burning lingered still. But no, this was left from someone else. Another death. Another set of people had been here, grieving, today. It was endless.

He wasn't sure why he'd come, but eventually he pushed himself forward, one step at a time to the stone bench. The ashes had been brushed away but it was warm, still. Was this someone's master? A padawan?

"I didn't know her. A knight, I think."

Bruck startled at the intrusion, but didn't turn. "This place is used often."

Qui-Gon was beside him, now, hands tucked in the sleeves of his robe. "Rarely does a week pass that it isn't."

Silence.

Bruck swallowed. "Such a waste."

"All death is a waste," Qui-Gon agreed. "The risks we take... It is a consolation that Medith died in service to peace."

"That's not how I see it." The thought had been wedged in Bruck's mind since he awoke in the med centre, but this was the first time he had thought it without bitterness.

Without looking, he felt the weight of Qui-Gon's gaze. "I don't imagine you do, just now."

"You seemed distracted this morning."

Bruck slid a finger along the sharp edge of the stone. Still warm.

"These first steps back into training are difficult, but once you start, you will find it becomes easier. You will not hurt less, but the days will be easier."

Bruck looked up; Qui-Gon was watching him patiently. He was a good master, wise. Medith had respected him deeply. Bruck respected him. But he wasn't Medith. Bruck turned back to the bench. "I need her guidance. I'm trying to decide... I have to make a decision, I've never needed her so much, and she isn't here."

A hand settled heavily on his shoulder, nothing like Medith's light touch, and they stood quietly, by the warm bier, breathing sick-sweet herbs and lingering smoke. Finally, the hand squeezed. "Obi-Wan knows me well - better, I think, than he realises. He knows my counsel, even when I am not there to give it." He let the words settle in the still air, and then withdrew his hand, and Bruck listened to the soft footsteps receding.

Bruck suddenly felt less alone than he had in weeks.

All of Medith's most precious possessions had already been given homes: her saber boxed up to wait for her master, her curlian rod to Kouretti, her martus flowers planted by the wall in the orchard. Now there were only the odd little pieces that hadn't seemed worth the effort at the time. Her clothes, the souvenirs of trips no one was left to remember, old data pads and toiletries and unblemished notebooks.

This was harder than sorting the important things. With those, he'd learned so much about her, found people to carry her memory. This... Bruck threw a new pair of shoes in the box to go to clothes stores, an older pair in the rubbish.

He wanted Obi-Wan to be here, but it was late, and he hadn't come yet. Bruck hadn't seen him since the morning. This would be so much easier if Obi-Wan were planted amongst the boxes, fishing things out and helping to sort them, offering homes for all the silly things that it hurt to throw away. Her drawing slate. Her holovid collection. Her lucky sabacc cards.

Her favourite slippers. Bruck rubbed his thumb through the fur. Fluffy white aged to tufty grey, paper-thin soles, the back of the heel crushed forward because she always slipped her feet in and wandered about their rooms without pulling them on properly. Rubbish.

Usually, Obi-Wan made it in time to help with dinner, but Bruck had eaten and cleaned away the dishes and sorted through two cupboards and a chest, was beginning to think about bed, and still-

The door slid open; Obi-Wan stared at him with that tiny frown creasing his brow, and then his chin lifted. "It's true."

That explained the absence. Bruck turned over the Auigan service medal in his hands - he had no idea what service she had done on Auigud. "I leave tomorrow. The temple on Paris Leth is expanding its library, absorbing the papers saved on Pendle and Skurkz. They welcomed my offer to assist. They're attached to an experimental AgriCorp plantation. It's everything I could want."

Obi-Wan stepped inside, just far enough for the door to close behind him. "I know... I realise it is difficult, to continue without her, but you mustn't do this. You are throwing away everything Master Medith taught you."

Bruck stopped, and faced Obi-Wan, shocked that he could stand in these rooms, chin high, and say such a thing. "That's not what I'm doing."

"You're throwing away the Jedi, Bruck."

Bruck pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. "I don't want to be a Jedi. I don't want to push Republic law onto independent planets and I don't want to protect corrupt governments and I don't want to defend the Senate from change and I don't want to spend my life nibbling at the edges of interplanetary crimes."

"That's not what we do."

"You know it is, Obi-Wan. You just don't want to think too hard about it."

Obi-Wan exploded forward, crowding Bruck back. "How dare you speak that way? This is the Order that raised you and protected you and taught you compassion. These are the people who place themselves in danger to help one society after another. These are the values that our masters hold to their souls and I will not listen to you denigrate them."

Bruck shook his head, hurt but defiant. "That's not all we do, Obi-Wan."

For a moment there was silence, nothing but Obi-Wan's heavy breathing and the hum of their locked gazes.

Unbelievably, it was Obi-Wan who backed down, dropping his gaze and taking Bruck's hand in his, gently. Like a lover. "We do important work. What value is there, sitting on some remote planet, contemplating all the things you're not doing? Being nobody?"

Bruck yanked his hand away. "Somebody has to be nobody."

Obi-Wan didn't look Bruck in the eye again, as he turned and walked out of Bruck's rooms.

It was strange, the ordinariness of walking down this corridor, turning through this door to shortcut through the Room of a Thousand Fountains. There was a class of initiates sprawled on the grass, a few knights studying or meditating on their own, none of them paying attention to Bruck. This could have been any day; with the bag clutched in his hand it could have been the start of just another mission.

Only this was the last time. Bruck squeezed the handle of his bag a little tighter, tried to take in the room as though this last glance might be absorbed more deeply than all the staring he had done while sprawled on that grass as an initiate, or than when he meditated in various corners of the garden as a padawan, sometimes on his own, sometimes with Medith. There were, in fact, only two hundred and forty-six fountains in the Room of a Thousand Fountains - Bruck had counted, and he was sure that if he closed his eyes and reached out, he would be able to count them again. The Force was here.

Masters Yoda, Koth and Qui-Gon were waiting at the transport ledge, and Bruck's chest swelled a little to see them. All of them looking so terribly serious, until Bruck smiled, and then Yoda's _expression warmed, and the taller masters smiled back.

In silence they climbed into the small transport, Koth taking the controls to guide them up to the landing platform where the cargo ship for Paris Leth was waiting, engines rumbling.

On the platform, Bruck went on one knee before Yoda. "I thank you, for everything, Master. I am sorry if I have disappointed you."

Yoda gave him that sleepy, warm look, and twitched his ears. "Look forward, I do, to Chun's Interpretations of M'Pel."

Bruck laughed. "Wait another few hundred years, you never know."

Yoda's tiny green hand tightened on his stick, and he dipped his head. Bruck bowed his own in return, and then stood to face Master Koth.

"If this had been my path, I would have gladly stayed. It would have been an honour to be your padawan."

"The honour would have been mine. I look forward to seeing your new orchard."

Finally, Qui-Gon. For a moment they looked at each other, uncomfortable, and then Qui-Gon picked up Bruck's bag and led the way to the waiting ramp.

There Bruck stopped, hesitating a moment before awkwardly reaching to take his bag. "Please say goodbye to Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon looked back to the temple, gaze turning cold. "I am sorry he's not here."

"It's all right."

"It is not all right." Bruck was surprised by the spark of annoyance in Qui-Gon's voice, but it disappeared as Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "I would be glad to know how you settle into your new life, and I will gladly hear you, if ever you have wish to speak. Master Medith was a dear friend. As are you."

"Thank you, Master Jinn."

"May the Force be with you."

Bruck smiled, weakly. "And with you."

And he entered the transport ship, leaving the Jedi temple behind.

Bruck would really like to know what you think. Messages c/o drsquidlove@virginqueen.com.
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