Warnings: I was feeling a little blue when I wrote this...
Status: New; Complete
Date: November 9, 1999
Archive: M_A yes
Summary: More beautiful strangers. More seedy bars. More
misunderstandings and a spell broken.
Disclaimers: Not mine, no money. please don't hurt me.
Notes: This is a sequel to Lilith Sedai's "Undercover". You
need to read that to understand this, I think. There's no sex
in this one, but there are big piles of angst. If anyone wants
to continue from here, I'm pretty much okay with that, so check
with Lilith, mmmkay?
Please be warned: I don't think this is in the same league as
most of the other stuff I write. I don't really know where this
came from. There are quotes and referances here from the motion
picture "Labyrinth". It would really help to have seen that
movie, but I've tried to make this readable without it. Tried
being the operative term, here.
Thanks to PadaWan kriski for her timely and thorough critique.
I sincerly believe there would be no work coming out of
ChezBunny without my faithful Padawan. "As those who birthed
you could not..."
Revealed: Beautiful Stranger
Hiperbunnny
Obi-Wan kicked a piece of trash across the walkway and wrapped
his arms tight about him. The air was chill in the pre-dawn
light, the street near-empty, though some of the more desperate
residents of Coruscant shuffled about, plying their various and
shady trades, selling their wares. Selling themselves.
I could just stay here. I don't have to go back. No one will
be looking for me until Master gets back. If then. I could
just...
He leaned against a wall, slid down and pulled his knees up to
his chest. I could just flash someone a smile, name a price
and start myself a new life down here. Might as well, I've
already sold the only thing that ever mattered to me. And for
what?
The truth was, he was lucky to be clothed at this point. The
hotel room door had locked behind his sudden egress. He'd
finally had to trick the lock open to retrieve his belongings.
Dressing had never been quite so painful or degrading. The
smell of his recently-absent master had clung to the sheets, to
his body, a rich blend of musk and deception. It was that last
which had brought tears, sobs of regret, hastily composed and
abandoned apologies, plans never meant to be realities. For how
could he find Qui-Gon, in this life? It was impossible to think
of mending their other life, now.
He'd tried, though. Dressed and pulled himself together,
retraced his steps to the bar that had started this whole
debacle. It had been closed, as Obi-Wan had known it would be,
cutting off the only lead he'd had to the whereabouts of one
Qui-Gon Jinn. Impossible to inquire at the Temple. The whole
situation was impossible. Finally he'd forced his weary mind to
set his weary feet on the path home. He eschewed the
transportation available to him, preferring the time alone to
think, try to think, time to hide from himself and what he'd so
foolishly done.
He dragged himself away from his wall and started walking
again. The walkway joined several others, making a sort of
square between mountainous buildings around him. A crowd had
gathered around a small group of outrageously dressed folk. It
was hard to tell if the performers were costumed or simply a
group of beings in what they had. They were clad in gaudy
finery, strutting about, enacting a story. Obi-Wan joined the
crowd, glad of the momentary distraction.
A young girl in simple pants and shirt faced off against a
slender man in diaphanous robes. His eyes and hair were made
up, turning him into a creature of exotic beauty, mystical
power, blatant sexuality and sweet remorse, The Goblin King.
She fair spat her words at him, making her claim.
"Through hardships untold and dangers unnumbered I have fought
my way to the palace beyond the goblin city..." her back was
straight as her triumphant speech carried on.
It was a play, Obi-Wan realized, and one he had seen before.
The 'evil King' being brought to his knees. To Obi-Wan, it was
clear she was breaking the very heart and soul of the man she
opposed, bringing him down to reclaim the innocent child that
he had taken from her. Though he refuted her claim with words
of love and examples of his labor for her, she spoke her words
of power and broke his spell.
He wished he could stay and watch, but such was not his lot.
There were places he must be, things he must do before those
words could be his.
He finally arrived at the foot of the Temple steps, stood for a
long moment kicking the pavement disconsolately. He still
hadn't decided what to do, couldn't think of where to begin.
Eventually it was habit that got him moving, the morningmeal
chime that set him towards his room. He was hungry, dirty, sick
at heart. Tired, more than tired and filled with self-disgust.
And no one was watching for him.
He drew a few odd glances as he stumbled through the hallways,
up stairs, avoiding lifts where he might be trapped with others
of his kind, however briefly. The door to his rooms opened
obediently, there were no messages waiting, no evidence that
anyone had been here in the past weeks except his own poor
self. Another sigh escaped him as he stripped his clothes off
again on the way to the shower. Tears flowed once more as he
stood under the punishingly-hot spray, cleansing his body of
his transgressions. He knew he would have to similarly cleanse
his heart and soul, had only vague plans on how to do so. But
first he needed rest, sleep to give his mind some respite from
the universe-shattering events that had brought him to this
pass.
He fell into his bed, hair still damp, body shivering against
the cool sheets. For some reason his hands burned while the
rest of him froze. His eyes ached of shed tears, though from
too many or too few, he could not tell. Morning. It's
morning now. Light to drive from shadow what should never, ever
have been.
Obi-Wan woke, rested but not much refreshed. Snatches of dreams
haunted his preparations, images of seedy dives, cheap hostels,
smooth cheeks and a strange accent speaking odd words. A
stranger wearing Qui-Gon's body towering over him, demanding
"Have I not been generous? I have changed myself, I have
re-ordered time, I have turned my world upside down and I did
it all for YOU."
That it was not true brought no comfort. That it was Obi-Wan
who had been deceived was no soothing balm for his injured
pride and devastated heart. He knew what Qui-Gon had done,
hiding his identity with tricks of the Force and
mind-manipulation. No comfort at all, for Obi-Wan had gone
willingly into the dream, wide awake, needing the fantasy so
badly he had destroyed his reality to get it. What Padawan can
be skin-to-skin with his own master and claim ignorance?
That Qui-Gon had surely known Obi-Wan through all of it and
said nothing, done nothing to prevent this travesty only
sickened the young man further. That his own Master
could be that cold, that unfeeling towards him, could engage in
that soulless act, with such casual disregard for what the
morning might bring...it spoke well and deeply of his master's
regard for his student. Or utter lack thereof.
Or did it?
All right, Kenobi. Credit where credit's due. You picked up
a stranger in a bar and fucked him senseless. You didn't care
who he was, what he was, what he was doing there...you didn't
even ask his name. If you HAD asked, he might have told the
truth.
Well. Hell of a pickle, one had to admit. His instincts said
'run away'. His heart said 'but not too far'. He chuckled to
himself, wondering just how different this would be from the
times when, as a young teenager he'd tried to hide from his
Master. There was no hiding from who they were, how they were
bound up in one another. If he'd tested his bond to Qui-Gon
even once during the last evening, the game would have been up.
No, there would be no escaping whatever confrontation would
come between Padawan and Master. All he could do was try to do
was scrape the ache and ichor from within him, try to make up
for the violence he had done to his love for Qui-Gon and his
own self-respect.
He had limited time to effect the cure. Best to break clean and
try to start again on some other terms, then.
So Obi-Wan gathered up what clothes he felt were most useful to
him, took what few valuables he owned, packed a bag and closed
the door on his room. After a moment's hesitation, he entered
Qui-Gon's room and sat at his desk. Paper and pen were on hand,
ready for the hastily scrawled notes that so often were their
only means of communication in their hectic lives. This one
would not be so hasty, Obi-Wan vowed. He drew a creamy sheet
off the stack, selected his pen with care, wrote neatly and
clearly, that the reader might not be mistaken. He began with
the words that seemed most important.
"I'm sorry.
I can not say that I feel I am entirely to blame for what has
happened, but I feel compelled to take the responsibility. The
absence of one half-trained Padawan will not be much to the
Jedi, so it is a simple matter of logic to see that I will not
be missed for a time. Do not worry for me. As you are now most
certainly aware, I am not without resources and skills that
will provide for my income. Do not seek me out. For as I did
not know you when we met last night, I will not know you,
should we meet in that other life. I put here words I never
dared speak, never hope to speak, but which are true,
nonetheless.
I love you,
Obi-Wan"
He folded the note carefully, placed his lightsaber atop it, a
clear message as to his intent. By leaving his 'saber behind,
he left his identity as a Jedi behind. His steps were steady
and unhurried as he left his only home, his only desire behind
him.
Qui-Gon knew something was wrong the moment he walked into his
room. No, he'd known something was wrong for days now, but had
willed himself to finish his mission so he could take care of
his real problems. One lead after another had fallen through,
time wasted as he pulled together a new plan of attack which,
finally, proved fruitful. That his messages to Obi-Wan had not
been answered had bothered him. The fact that his Padawan had
made no attempt to locate him again had been both a trial and a
relief. Now it was nothing less than a curse.
He held the page in trembling fingers, clutched the abandoned
lightsaber too hard in his other hand, stared at the words as
if his glare would unmake them. Every fiber of his being ached
for the hiss of door and familiar rhythm of bootstep that would
tell him the nightmare was over, the joke was played out, that
his Obi-Wan had waited or come home or anything that would
bring him home once more. Anything to tell him his student
wasn't out playing dangerous games on an even more dangerous
playground.
He shook himself hard. Wishes won't get you anywhere, Jinn.
You've got work to do.
That a student of the Jedi was vastly employable was a simple
fact. That Obi-Wan was not without money could be construed as
both good and bad. He probably wasn't starving. He could be
anywhere, doing anything including what his letter implied he
intended to do. That was Qui-Gon's first clue. The next would
be in Obi-Wan's room. Qui-Gon ransacked his student's
belongings without a second thought, calmly noting what had
been left behind, what had been taken, the care with which the
selection was made. The sheets on the bed were still rumpled,
so his decision to leave had not been a snap one. The letter
said 'last night', so Obi-Wan had left the day after their
tryst. Good. That gave a timeframe.
Qui-Gon sighed, sitting back on his heels. The Jedi robes and
uniforms were still here, save one. Only the more 'civilian'
items of Obi-Wan's wardrobe were missing, ditto the valuables.
A couple of rings, a necklace, the betri-banshee that Obi-Wan
was only beginning to learn how to play. Okay, we have a
Padawan on the loose, running away, traveling light, knowing he
would be persued. First thing was to keep him on-planet, if
possible.
Qui-Gon sat down at his desk and powered up the dataset. A few
short lines later and Obi-Wan's travel credentials were
canceled. Unless the boy found a way to purchase his own ship
or got passage onto a vessel that didn't care who he was or why
he wasn't allowed off Coruscant, he was stuck here. A string of
inquiries gave assurance that he hadn't bought passage
off-planet. Qui-Gon's shoulders sagged with relief. Now all he
had to do was search every inch of the most vastly populated
planet in the Galaxy and find one particular needle in a very,
very large haystack. That should be no problem whatsoever. He
grabbed his cloak and headed to the steps of the Temple.
The stale air of Coruscant filled Qui-Gon's nose once more as
he centered himself, preparing to lower his mental shields. The
bond between a Padawan and Master was such that, if proper
concentration was paid, one half of the pair could home in on
the other, point a finger straight at their mate, find them in
any number of situations. The vast emptiness of space tended to
dull the accuracy of the sense, but the teeming, if
artificially supported, life of Coruscant was a fabulous
conduit for the Living Force. Qui-Gon concentrated on his
Padawan, fed energy into the bond, waited, reached, waited,
reached again...
And found himself baffled.
Qui-Gon's eyes snapped open. He could tell, imperfectly, in
what direction he should go, but true clarity was not to be
found. His internal compass, with needle that always pointed to
Obi-Wan, wavered irresolutely over a broad field of
possibility. His student's Force signature was muddled in some
way...
It suddenly hit Qui-Gon. Obi-Was Concealing himself, using the
same trick Qui-Gon had used to disguise his own identity.
Obi-Wan was taunting him, telling him "I am angry with you for
what you have done, but only angry enough to punish us both,
not destroy us." It was an open invitation for Qui-Gon to come
and shoulder his own responsibility as Master. No matter. It
only meant the search would take a bit longer. He would not
rest until it was done, that was a certainty.
The sun was setting on this particular part of Coruscant as
Obi-Wan approache the club. The word 'Purgatory' crawled across
the face of the building, multicolored holos flickering in the
dusk. He waved to the bouncer and went inside, made his way to
an unobtrusive door, knocked twice and put his head in.
"You're early," Sejo observed, blowing a cloud of smoke his
way.
Obi-Wan shrugged and went inside, firmly masking his true
feelings. It didn't matter if he was early or late, high or
sober, happy or sad. It didn't matter if he stayed calm through
everything that happened around him. It didn't matter if he
broke down into a case of screaming hysterics when no one was
watching. All that mattered was that he was young, healthy and
desirable, with the appearance of willingness to anyone that
looked on him. Sejo flipped his tag across the desk. Obi-Wan
picked it up and clipped it onto his earring.
"You've got plenty of cash to buy your own time, kid. Why don't
you take the night off? You're gonna burn yourself if you keep
going on like you are," Sejo wasn't a bad sort, for a pimp. She
really did give a damn about the beings she sold, even if the
damn was a small one.
Obi-Wan knew she was taking a chance with him, willfully
ignoring the fact that her newest employee had undoubtedly come
from the Temple. Obi-Wan did nothing to hide that fact beyond
the re-arrangement of his hair. He'd bound his braid in with
the short tail at the back of his head, letting it trail behind
him rather than dangle behind his ear. If he'd felt like
acknowledging anyone or anything, he'd have been grateful for
her risk. As it was, he paid her for her services and wished
she'd leave him the fuck alone. "What's first?"
"Nothing yet. Too early. Go get a plate of noodles and keep
yourself to yourself. I can't protect you if you go looking for
trouble." She stuck her cigar between her teeth and went back
to monitoring the club.
Obi-Wan obeyed her, for lack of anything better to do. She'd
look out for him, come hell or high water. That was where her
money came from. It was an inglorious byproduct of this
arrangement that Obi-Wan could refuse a john if he thought they
might do him harm. Obi-Wan's definition of 'harm' was fairly
narrow. Anyone that wanted to take him back to the Temple was
right out. Anything else was okay. That was their unspoken
agreement, one they were content to live with. If that meant
that Obi-Wan walked with a limp some days, was covered with
bruises on others, they chose to ignore that in the grand
tradition of those who couldn't change the way things are.
He'd suffered worse in the games he used to play for free. If
'suffer' was the right word for it. This penance, this test,
this...crucible he'd devised for himself was everything he
could have hoped for. Bitter and empty, degrading and loveless,
everything he'd done to Qui-Gon, however unknowingly, was being
done to himself. He was slowly, slowly internalizing one simple
lesson: A fantasy, no matter how realistic, can never be worth
as much as a reality, no matter how unsatisfying reality might
be.
The Hepas wasn't jumping tonight, Obi-Wan observed from his
little table in the corner. Even at this early hour, there
might have been more patrons. The music pumped hollowly through
the half-empty club as Obi-Wan considered his developing
dislike of weeknights. He'd likely sit for long hours, buying
his own drinks and food before anyone approached him. Like as
not, they wouldn't be able to afford him for more than a dance
or a tease, which suited Obi-Wan just fine, thanks ever so much
for asking. The hands of a stranger on him filled his mind with
almost blinding pain, and he was faintly afraid of how much he
wanted that sort of punishment, of late.
Atonement. That's what it all boiled down to. He was trying to
pay for his sins of the flesh by punishing himself with more of
same. All he was getting was more hurt and more desolate. He
couldn't find it within himself to care.
The monotony of the evening went almost unbroken. Unimportant
strangers without a long enough credit line drifted in and out
of his vicinity. Sejo asked him to intercede for one of the
younger girls who was having a problem with some offworld
asshole. Obi-Wan shrugged and Force-shoved him up against a
wall for later collection by one of the bouncers. It broke the
boredom, anyway. He checked the clock and had just about
decided to call it a night when a...knowing brought his head
around. He saw Qui-Gon enter the lower level, wading through
the gathered patrons, seeking, with a purposeful gleam in his
eye.
Obi-Wan slid under the table and began crawling towards the
sanctuary of Sejo's office. If he could make it there before
Qui-Gon found him, at least he might be able to make some sort
of a stand. Apparently the time for atonement was at an end.
Qui-Gon stood before the gray door in the grip of uncertainty.
He knew for a solid fact that his padawan was beyond that door.
What he did not know was what his wayward student might be
doing. Any number of possibilities paraded through his mind,
each one spurring him to do something now. Finally, he
raised his hand to knock.
He repeated the summons.
At the third knock, the door opened and he found himself facing
a tall, angular, dark-skinned human female who was puffing on a
cigar as if her life depended on it. "Yes?"
"I'm looking for..." Qui-Gon stopped. Who the hell was he
looking for, anyway? "I think he calls himself Ben."
She nodded and stepped aside. Qui-Gon took that for an
invitation and entered. "He's sleeping," she told him.
Bullshit, Qui-Gon correctly assessed. Though Obi-Wan was
indeed lying with his eyes closed on a sofa towards the back of
the office, he was definitely not asleep. He was posed,
enticingly, shirt open, pants unbuttoned, feet bare. Qui-Gon's
eyes fixed on the thin line of braid stretched across Obi-Wan's
scalp and he took a step forward.
A hand on his chest distracted him. "Four hundred credits an
hour," the woman told him.
"You're kidding. He's worth far more than that," Qui-Gon heard
himself say.
"That's the price. Whatever you want to tip is between the two
of you," she sneered.
Qui-Gon felt a sudden admiration for this woman. She was
actually trying to face down a Jedi who had clearly come for
his student. He shook his head, half-grateful that she had
looked after Obi-Wan, half-furious that she asked so little for
him. "I'll not be paying anything. He's coming home now."
"You'd better pay or I'm not going anywhere, you cheap son of a
bitch."
Something like shock tore through Qui-Gon. He knew that voice
as well as he knew his own, but the tone altered it into
something he barely recognized. The words themselves were bad
enough, but the thinly veiled anger and tinge of despair cut
the Jedi Master to the core. "Very well. How old are you?"
"I have twenty-three years," the stranger on the sofa replied.
Qui-Gon turned back to Obi-Wan's pimp. "I'll take him for the
next two years. You may send the bill to the Jedi Temple."
Obi-Wan sat up suddenly, eyes blazing with outrage. "Sejo,
don't you dare."
"You're a Jedi?" Her surprise was not real, but she feigned it
well.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Not anymore."
Sejo looked Qui-Gon up and down, appraising his battle-ready
stance. "Can you take him?"
Obi-Wan copied her appraisal. "No. He taught me everything I
know, and he's a Master besides."
A look of regret crossed Sejo's eyes. She took the few steps to
Obi-Wan's side, plucked something from his ear and held it up.
A pricetag, Qui-Gon realized. She snapped the plastic between
her fingers. "Sorry, kid."
Obi-Wan sighed. "I'll go ahead and clear out. Wanna pay me up?"
She nodded and went to her desk, returning with a stack of
credit markers. "Get your stuff out of the house. I need the
space."
Obi-Wan shrugged again. "Yeah, I'm headed that way now." He
pulled his boots on, stuck his credits in his pocket and headed
to the door. "You coming?"
Qui-Gon nodded and followed him out of the club. Once they
reached the walkway he asked "Where's your room?"
In a grim parody of their last meeting, Obi-Wan replied "I
hoped you'd never ask." Still, he led the way, not looking to
see if Qui-Gon was following.
"What have you been doing, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked.
"You really don't want to know, Master," Obi-Wan's voice was
flat and toneless.
Qui-Gon grabbed his arm, pulled him around to face, pulled him
too close to escape. "Yes. I do. If you don't want to give the
details of your activities, that's fine with me. But I have to
know what you've been doing, why you left...what you thought
happened that night..."
Obi-Wan pulled away. "Not now. Later. I want my things."
Qui-Gon nodded and followed where his student led.
They entered the brothel by the back door and climbed several
flights of stairs to the tiny room Obi-Wan had taken for his
own. Qui-Gon sat down on the bed while Obi-Wan gathered his
things, waiting for his explaination.
When his meager possessions were packed, Obi-Wan sat down on
the floor and gathered his thoughts before speaking. "I don't
know what you were doing in that bar, why you were there or who
you were trying to be. I don't want to know. I know you weren't
the man I've lived with, studied with and respected all these
years. You were someone else, someone I don't like. I even have
a name for him. The Goblin King."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes.
"I don't know. I don't want to know," Obi-Wan reached behind
his head and pulled the tie loose from his hair. "You wanted to
know what I've been doing down here? Okay."
He stood up again and shouldered his pack, straightened his
shoulders and waited for Qui-Gon to look at him. When he was
sure he had his master's full attention he spoke. "Through
dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way
to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you
have stolen. I have suffered and prevailed. I have solved your
Labyrinth. For my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as
great. You have no power over me."
A sob escaped Qui-Gon, a combination of regret and gratitude.
After a moment, he too stood. "Padawan?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Did you mean the words you said last, in the letter you left
with this?"
Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan's lightsaber out to him.
Obi-Wan closed trembling fingers over Qui-Gon's hand, accepting
the weapon once more. "With all my heart."
"I should have said them to you then. Let me say them now,
please. I love you." He closed the distance between them with
these words, pressed a single kiss to Obi-Wan's lips and
stepped away again, giving back the space his student needed.
He held his arms out, an offering. An apology.
Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, then came into the welcoming
embrace.
After a while they separated, readied themselves to leave.
Qui-Gon took the pack from Obi-Wan's shoulder and put it on his
own. "Let us go together, my Obi-Wan. We have much to speak on,
and much yet to know of one another. Let us never again be
concealed from one another."
Obi-Wan nodded and slipped his hand into the strong grip of his
master's. Willingly he followed the man that unto him a
deception had revealed.
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