A Question of Semantics

by Bonny ( BonnyMagret@hotmail.com )

Archive: Master_Apprentice

Category: Humour

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Q/O

Warnings: None except extreme silliness

Spoilers: none

Summary: Qui-Gon's quiet evening at home is disturbed when his padawan needs help with his homework. Inspired by The Emu's challenge, "It's quite embarrassing for a professional to be making such a mess of it." With a tiny touch of the MMoM spirit.

Feedback: are you kidding? Of course! Good, bad or indifferent.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Lucas thought these guys up, and owns them entirely. I am just trying to bring them to life off screen. Not only do I not make any money off them, I actually lose money for all the time they greedily consume.

THANKS: Kudos to JediRita for a wonderful beta, for trying to get me to tighten things up. And to Inya Dreems for her encouragement

All was quiet in the Jinn quarters; just the way Qui-Gon liked it. He enjoyed the companionship of his friends; he enjoyed the challenges and satisfactions of his work; he enjoyed all the cultural events that the Temple offered. In fact, he loved the excitement and vibrancy that being a Jedi was all about. But he also cherished his quiet times when he could curl up on the sofa with a good book. There was little to compare to the feeling of satisfaction that he gained from losing himself in a well written story; to experience a different kind of life, however briefly.

For the first time in a ten of tendays, he had a quiet night at home. He'd carefully planned for this evening, setting aside the date well in advance. A night at home, on the couch, with a good story. He'd even made a trip into the city to pick up a few bottles of the red ale he had found on Naboo.

Sometimes, the best laid plans do work out. Here he was, sitting on his couch, a frosted glass of ale next to his elbow, a glowing data pad in his hand. Sometimes, heaven could be found in the simplest of things. Qui-Go settled down to enjoy his eagerly awaited evening of peace and tranquility.

Obi-Wan was stretched out sideways across the chair next to the couch; textbook in one hand, notepad in the other. Qui-Gon had made sure that Obi-Wan had some homework to do before he allowed him to join him in the common room this evening instead of being asked to watch holovids in his own bedroom. Qui-Gon had also made sure that his padawan understood that he was not to be bothered this evening. It was his evening to become absorbed into his story without interruption.

But then there was a snort. Just a little one. A quick intake of breath through the nostrils and a quick forceful exhale, with just a little hint of a `hrummpf' at the end. That was the third one in the last fifteen minutes. Qui-Gon tried glowering in Obi-Wan's direction, but the boy paid him no mind. At least Obi-Wan was trying to concentrate, even if he didn't realize he was making noise doing so.

Another snort. This time the pitch ascended toward the end, almost like a question. Obi-Wan still hadn't looked his way, so Qui-Gon sent a short burst through the training bond, a warning blip.

Obi-Wan looked up quickly, eyebrows raised in question. As soon as he saw his master's face, he understood his transgression. "Oh. Master. Sorry." He quickly ducked his head and drew his limbs in, as if folding himself into a smaller space would make up for having distracted his master, thus avoiding being banished to his bedroom.

Qui-Gon returned his attention to the story. It was just getting good. The pirates' ship had taken blaster fire to the port engine, and they were having trouble escaping the Besvars who were trying to capture their ship. They weren't really pirates after all, just disguised that way so that they could rescue a damsel from the dragon that was the pet of another group of pirates and their captain was in love with the damsel who had been kidnapped on her way home to prepare for their marriage but they had to get past the Besvar territory and. . .

There was another noise. This one an `uhhmm'. Qui-Gon looked up at his padawan again. The boy looked puzzled, chin forward with his tongue protruding from between his teeth as he concentrated on one of his datapads. He probably was totally unaware that he was making any noise. Then, while Qui-Gon watched, the facial _expression changed to one of incomprehension and another short noisy sigh escaped the boy's mouth.

Clearly, Qui-Gon wasn't going to be able to finish his story until he had addressed whatever had his padawan bothered.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said in a stern voice, but not *too* stern.

"Yes, Master?"

No sense in chastising the boy for something he was not aware he was doing. "What are you studying tonight?"

"Sentient anatomy and interaction."

Qui-Gon well remembered that class from his own youth. Hours of memorization of how many limbs a proat had, how T'rahz communicated and how banthas had sex. Not a fun class at all, but essential for all Jedi to function in their roles in this galaxy. "You seem to be having some trouble with tonight's lesson. What is the topic?"

"Sexual Congress," his padawan answered.

"And you find this a difficult subject?"

"Well, not exactly difficult. I just don't understand all of it."

"At fourteen, you are not necessarily expected to understand all of it, although as you age, you will find that the information you have learned will be invaluable to you."

"Oh." The voice sounded disappointed.

"Can I help you in some way?" He might as well offer. He wasn't going to get back into his own story for awhile anyway.

"If you could just explain a few things?" Obi-Wan looked hopeful, expecting, as usual, that his master could solve all of his problems.

"I will try, Padawan, although it has been many years since I took that class."

"Well, if you could just tell me how this works. It says here that `sentient beings who do not wish their intercourse to result in procreation should never engage in congress without protection.'" Obi-Wan looked up at his master. " Sometimes I hear people talk about the senate calling it the `congress' and the senators `congregate', but I don't see what that has to do with procreation. I'm pro creation. I mean I can't see how you can be against creation."

Qui-Gon stifled his smile. "I think that they are referring to `procreation' as meaning having babies, or members of a species getting together to make more of the same species."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows went up. "Oh. I see. Like sex?"

"Right. Like sex." Qui-Gon was relieved. For a moment there, he shuddered in dread that he was going to have to give a birds-and-the- bees talk. Initiates covered that topic in class, but Obi-Wan had been on Bandomeer at the time, and may have missed that class.

A smile crossed Obi-Wan's face. "I guess there's a lot more going on in the senate than I expected. Do they have sex there all the time? In their offices or in the big meeting room? How do they do it?"

"No, Padawan. `Congress' has more than one meaning. It comes from a word that means `to get together'. So the Senate is a way for beings to get together to talk and make decisions about how the galaxy should be run. And sexual intercourse is a way that beings get together to procreate."

"Oh. I thought intercourse meant in the middle of a course. Sex in the middle of a course? A course of what? For a moment there. . ." Obi-Wan didn't sound like the explanation had cleared up his mind at all.

"Course means a direction and inter means between two things. So sexual intercourse means when beings come together to have sex. Do you understand now?"

"Not exactly. But I think I'm catching on. This is about sex like fucking instead of sex like when you're bonded. Right?"

Qui-Gon was a bit taken aback. He'd never heard his apprentice use the word `fuck' in any context. He shouldn't be surprised though. Any time spent in the initiates' locker room probably provided more of a lesson in sex education that the class he was taking.

"I'm not sure I approve of the use of the word `fuck' in this context. You know that word is inappropriate." Qui-Gon tried to sound a bit stern, impressing upon the boy that obscene language would not be tolerated.

"But Master Pf'l told us to use the words that we understood. And I understand what fucking is all about." Obi-Wan looked his master in the eyes as he did not back down.

"That may be acceptable in Master Pf'l's class to clarify difficult points, but it is not acceptable in these quarters. In fact, it is not acceptable in polite company. And since when do you refer to a class master by his first name?" Qui-Gon was working hard not to laugh, since he never thought of the short sharp-faced teacher as `masterful' at anything.

"Since he told us that it would be easier for us to learn the material if we were more informal with one another."

"I'm not sure I approve of that, either," Qui-Gon said. "Knight Pf'l Bates should not be teaching padawans that they can be informal in class, no matter what the topic. I think I shall have a talk with him about that point."

"Please, sir. I don't want to get him in any trouble. Please don't tell him." Obi-Wan wheedled.

"All right, then," Qui-Gon relented, returning his attention to his datapad.

Before he could find his place in the story, a small voice interrupted. Yet again. "Master?"

Qui-Gon had to center himself and take a deep breath to avoid sounding testy. "Yes, Obi-Wan. What is it?"

"Well, sir. Please. Just one more question?"

Qui-Gon nodded his assent, turning away from his datapad again.

"About the protection. Is it like when we go on missions to protect someone? If I'm assigned as protection, does that mean that I stay there and make sure that the couple having sex aren't harmed, or am I supposed to be there to protect them from one another if they get carried away? Am I supposed to watch or can I turn my back? I mean, I've seen the way that the gulfats go at one another. . ." Obi-Wan had managed to get out a series of questions without taking a breath.

"Padawan!" Qui-Gon said, a bit more sharply than he intended. But he really didn't want to hear what his apprentice had seen the gulfats doing. "Protection doesn't mean protection from harm. It means protection from procreation."

Again, Obi-Wan looked a bit confused. He started to say something, but stopped.

"What is it, Padawan?"

"I can't say without using the bad word."

"Very well, use it, if it will mean that we can get this resolved."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "So you don't need protection when you make babies. You just need it for fucking."

"Sort of. Let's see if I can say this better. If you are having sex just for fun, what I think you are calling `fucking', then you need to use protection. If you are having sex because you want to make a baby, then you don't use protection. Does that help?" The thought crossed Qui-Gon's mind to explain about the fact that he always dated other males and that they used protection too, but quickly decided that that conversation could be conducted on another day.

"Is it fun to have sex when you are making babies?"

"Sex should always be fun, whether you are planning to make babies or not."

"So you don't fuck if you're going to make babies?"

"No. Yes. I mean. . ." Qui-Gon took a deep breath and tried to sort out how to explain this to his young apprentice. "Sex, making love, fucking. There are a lot of words for how people come together in a sexual way; when they have sexual intercourse. Sometimes beings only do it for fun, sometimes they do it because they want to make babies. But just because they may want to make babies doesn't mean that it can't be fun, too."

Obi-Wan still looked perplexed, but Qui-Gon pushed on with his explanation. "So if you want to have just fun sex, but don't want to make any babies, you use protection to keep the sperm and the egg from getting together. You do know about sperm and eggs, don't you?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said, sounding mildly offended. "I think I understand what you mean. But if we protect people with lightsabers and blasters, how do we use those when we have sex?"

Qui-Gon cringed internally. "No. No weapons. Beings use barriers."

"Barriers?"

"Yes, barriers."

"Berry ers? What kind of berries do you use? I can't see sticking quaffa berries up some female's vagina but I guess raspberries would fit."

This time Qui-Gon couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. "No. Not that kind. Not the kind of berries that you eat. Barriers. Like condoms."

"Comm doms? Is that some kind of communication device?"

"No. C-O-N-D-O-M. It's a tube like thing that a male rolls onto his penis so that his sperm won't be released into the females' vagina when he comes."

"Comes? He's already there, isn't he?"

"Oh, never mind. That's a whole other subject. Just trust me on this. What your datapad should have said was that if sentient beings want to have sex and not make babies, they need to use condoms. Understand?"

"Yes, Master. It would be so much better if you were teaching this class. You make it all sound so simple."

"Actually, padawan, it's probably a good thing that I'm not teaching that class. I might have thrown that datapad textbook of yours out the window by now for using all those big words and making it hard to understand." Besides, if he taught a class like that, they'd all be taught how to relieve themselves sexually without intercourse or congress or fucking or whatever else they wanted to call it. But that was another conversation, too. "You'd think your teacher would know better than to make you read a textbook that makes sex even more confusing than it already is. It's quite embarrassing for a professional to be making such a mess of it."

Obi-Wan just nodded and smiled.

"Is that all, padawan?"

"Yes, Master. Can I go watch my holovids now that my homework is done?"

Quite relieved, Qui-Gon answered, "Of course," and turned his attention back to his own datapad.

"I can't wait to tell the other padawans about what you said about Master Bates," Obi-Wan announced as he left the room.

Qui-Gon was up from the couch in a flash. "Wait a minute. . ."

Ar sist