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Chapter Text

The apprentice healer manning the reception desk looked up with relief as the tall Jedi Master approached, his face an unreadable mask. 

“Thank the Force you’re here, Master Jinn.  The healers had me page you several times.” 

“Yes, and I received your page several times.  Being that this wasn’t an emergency, I have to wonder why you felt it necessary to repeat it?” 

The apprentice swallowed.  It wasn’t an actual emergency, true, but it did seem rather urgent.  “The healers requested I resend it, particularly when you didn’t comm them.” 

“If it wasn’t an emergency, once should have been sufficient.  My apprentice is old enough to handle his own non-emergent medical needs.” 

The apprentice was starting to see why the infamous Qui-Gon Jinn was viewed by the staff as difficult.  “Yes, Master Jinn.  If you’ll just take a seat, the healers will be with you shortly to consult.” 

With an aggravated air, Qui-Gon did just that, then pulled out his comm to begin reviewing for his next mission.  Hopefully, whatever was wrong with his padawan would not interfere.  The young man had not had much appetite this morning and had complained of stomach cramps.  It was unlikely he had a burst appendix, that would have been an emergency, but if they wanted him to come all the way down to the Healer’s Halls for stomach pain, it was probably food poisoning or gastroenteritis, and it wasn’t serious enough for Obi-Wan to need to be admitted overnight, but was nasty enough to need someone to walk home with him and make sure he made it to the refresher to vomit.  Qui-Gon tried to remember how long his last stomach bug had lasted.  He had only vomited once the second day, but his bowels had not really settled until the third day.  If Obi-Wan kept himself hydrated, they should still be able to leave as scheduled in five days. 

Qui-Gon had just started to research other reasons for serious (but non-emergency) stomach upset when a healer approached him, looking concerned.  An intestinal blockage would be an emergency.  Gas they would not have called him for.  Maybe it was an organ issue, not actually in the digestive tract.

“Master Jinn, thank you for coming.  I need to speak with you about your padawan’s condition.”  She gestured toward a consultation room. 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “I was told it was not an emergency.” 

“It’s not an emergency, no, but it is a private and sensitive matter.” 

“Alright,” Qui-Gon stood and followed her, slightly concerned now.  He sat in the hard chairs that were always a little too small for his frame, put down his comm, and addressed the healer who had sat down across from him.  “Well, what is the problem?” 

“Master Jinn, your apprentice came into the Healer’s Hall this morning with nausea, stomach cramps, vomiting and an elevated temperature.” 

“Yes, I know about the nausea and cramps.  Obi-Wan commed me to say they had gotten worse and he would be stopping by after class.”  He frowned.  “Is it something contagious?” 

“No,” the healer assured him.  “You didn’t notice anything odd about him this morning?” 

“He took a painkiller with his tea and didn’t finish his breakfast.”  Qui-Gon looked mystified.  “I was told this was not an emergency.  I assume it was not a mystery either.  Can you just tell me why I was called down here over stomach cramps?” 

The healer looked offended by his lack of concern.  “You are aware of your apprentice’s current designation, yes?” 

Qui-Gon shrugged.  “His initial tests indicated he could have developed into an omega, but he’s never presented as such, so I was then told if he hadn’t by the time he was twenty-one years old, he was either infertile or a beta.  He’ll be twenty-one in four months.” 

The healer blinked at him.  “Congratulations, it’s an omega.” 

“What?” 

“Your padawan’s symptoms were early signs of his first heat.  It can be more unpleasant when it comes very early or very late.  He should undergo more tests when it’s over to see if there is an underlying fertility issue, but in the meantime, you’ll want to get him home and comfortable.” 

Qui-Gon scowled.  “You commed me four times because my twenty-year-old apprentice is in heat?  He’s a damned grown up.” 

“He’s an adult, yes, but he’s never had a heat before.  We thought you would like to be informed before we release him to your care.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “You couldn’t have just left a message and sent him home with a padawan healer?” 

“Not about confidential medical information, no.” 

“How long do you expect this to last?” 

The healer looked at him disapprovingly.  “It’s his first heat, it’s impossible to tell.  It may be two days, it could up to five days.  It depends on how quickly he can tolerate a knot and why his heat was so late to begin with.  He needs to stay hydrated, and we gave him medication for the nausea, but he’ll need care from you, if not servicing.  You being an alpha should help it go faster, even if his own lover is not.” 

Qui-Gon looked even more annoyed.  “He doesn’t have one.”

“Well,” the healer gave him a pointed look.  “Were you planning on taking care of him yourself?  Because we are concerned there may be issues.”

Qui-Gon released his frustration to the Force.  Of course there were issues.  “What else is wrong?”

The healer was quickly losing confidence in Master Jinn.  “His hymen was checked and trimmed at puberty to prevent any injuries during his first heat, so there is no problem there, but we did note he is very anxious, and is quite tight.  If you or someone else is helping him through this heat, you will need to stick to fingers and small knotting toys.  He’s not ready to take a live knot without injury.”

“Do the Healer’s Halls issue appropriate knotting toys, or will I have to go to some sleazy adult shop for this?” 

The healer glared at this fine example of alpha ignorance.  “They are stocked in both the Pharmacy and Stores,” she replied, handing him a pamphlet entitled Your Male Padawan’s First Heat.  The grimacing apprentice on the cover looked barely fourteen.  At least Feemor had been seventeen. 

“I recommend you get the two smallest sizes based on my exam, and start with the smallest one, with plenty of lubricant.  Self-lubrication can be very irregular during the first few heats.” 

Qui-Gon remembered.  Feemor had churned out so much he had almost needed intravenous hydration. 

“If the smallest one isn’t working to bring him relief, go to the next size up.  After a few heats he should relax enough to need a larger toy or to take an actual penis.”  

“You’re certain he’s presenting?” Qui-Gon looked skeptical.  “He smelled normal this morning.” 

“His scent is still below average, but he’s definitely presenting, and his hormone tests and scans indicate he is in pre-ovulation.  He’s not currently on any form of birth or cycle control, so that will need to be taken into account when he mates fully.” 

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to roll his eyes at yet another problem to deal with.  “He’ll need to be prescribed birth control then.  We have a mission scheduled in five days.  Can he have a suppression implant put in while he’s here?”  That at least would have been worth the wait.

“Master Jinn, he could still be in heat five days from now, and likely won’t be recovered, even if he’s not.  And we don’t want to alter his hormones in the middle of his heat, particularly with his late presentation.” 

“Fine.  Can you put in a contraceptive implant then?” 

“No, that would also alter his hormones.” 

“What can you do?  We have a three-month mission in five days, and I can’t be dealing with this hormonal nonsense in the middle of a war zone.”

The healer pressed her lips together in a tight line.  “I can prescribe birth control pills.  He can skip the dummy pills until you return, and then we can explore better solutions.”

“Do it.  I don’t want to be stuck with a suddenly pregnant apprentice in the field.”

“I’ll send the prescription to the Pharmacy, you can pick it up when you pick up his knotting dildos.  He can’t take it until the heat has been over for three days.” 

“Fortunately, we have a long space flight.  That will have to do.” 

The healer released her own emotions to the Force.  “I’ll take you to him now.  Get him home, keep him hydrated, that will help the nausea, and just be calm, patient and go slow.  If you or your apprentice would prefer someone else handle this, there are alpha, beta and omega technicians who can help a patient through a heat or rut.  Sometimes the patients prefer someone with the same designation during their presentation.”

Qui-Gon did not roll his eyes this time.  “I can handle this, however inconvenient.  I’m an alpha.  I’ve been an alpha since I was sixteen.  My first padawan was an omega, and he had a very easy time of it.” 

The healer put a hand on his arm.  “Your current padawan is already having a very rough time of it, Master Jinn.  We have technicians on call twenty-four/seven if you need help.  Now, would you like to take a few minutes to meditate before you go in?  Your padawan is very anxious.  If you are tense or upset about this, he’ll smell it and it will only make his anxiety worse.” 

“I really don’t think it can get worse.  At least he didn’t do this during the mission.”

“We don’t get to pick when first heats happen any more than first ruts, Master Jinn.”

“I think I will take that opportunity to meditate,” he told the healer.  “Please leave my padawan’s room number with the receptionist.  I’ll be there to collect him shortly.” 

“I’ll see you there.” 

As soon as the door closed behind the insufferable twit, Qui-Gon picked up his comm to check Obi-Wan’s Pharmacy account.  His padawan had been prescribed a variety of medications and over the counter products that were familiar from Feemor’s first few heats: pain and nausea meds, nutrient and hydrating gel, supplemental lubricant, and the recommended knotting dildos.  Qui-Gon doubted they would really need both, omegas were flexible.  After a few moments the birth control pills appeared at the bottom of the list.  They could probably get by without the hydrating gel too.  Feemor had needed it when his morning sickness got bad, but this was a heat, not a pregnancy, thank the Force for small favors.  They had post-exercise electrolyte tablets to add to their water at home.  That would be sufficient.  Hopefully by the next time this happened the nausea wouldn’t come and Obi-Wan could take care of it himself.  Bracing himself for the unpleasant smell and unwanted chores to come, Qui-Gon went off in search of his padawan. 

* * *

“He’s coming now.” 

Healer Drellen turned to look at the distressed padawan curled up on the bed, facing the false window.  “Good.  I told you he’d come when he had finished meditating.” 

“He wasn’t.”  Obi-Wan sighed.  “Are you sure you can’t give me suppressants?  This is a bad time for this to happen.” 

“Your body needs to figure out what is normal before we start making changes, Obi-Wan.  You need at least two heats before we can begin any long-term cycle management.  It’s not your age, it’s that your body needs to establish a normal hormonal signal and response before we perturb it.  If we try to change it too soon, we might miss a problem.” 

“I know.  But my master goes on a lot of missions.  He can’t wait around for me to stabilize.”  He sighed.  “It was better when I didn’t have this problem.” 

“Heats are a natural and wonderful thing, Obi-Wan, if a bit messy and inconvenient.” 

“They said that about menstruation.  I’m still waiting on the ‘wonderful’ part.” 

The healer chuckled.  “When you think you might be pregnant and you don’t want to be, you’ll understand why it’s wonderful.” 

Obi-Wan laughed weakly.  “Well, Master Jinn is no doubt very disappointed.  He had been hoping I would turn out to be a beta, so we wouldn’t have to deal with all this.” 

“Well, if there is a problem, you can come back, comm the healthline, or request a technician to assist.  Your master was . . . less than enthusiastic about it.” 

“He’s had an omega padawan before,” Obi-Wan explained.  “He knows what to expect.” 

“Were they close?”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I think so.  He doesn’t talk about him much now, but they had a baby together when they missed a pill.” 

“Don’t forget.  Every day.” 

Obi-Wan sighed.  “I know.  I just wish I had them before now.” 

“You won’t always want to puke your brains out during your heat.  Its normal for the urges to be weak the first few times.  The knotting dildo will help calm you down, even if you don’t feel satisfied, and it will feel much better when you can relax and take a full-sized knot.”

Obi-Wan hissed as a wave of cramps rippled through his abdomen, and fluid slipped out of his vagina, soaking the pad he wore under the ward gown. 

“When you come back, we’ll do some tests to figure out why you were so late and if you’ll need help to conceive when you’re ready.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “I’d need a willing partner and not before I’m knighted.” 

“You’re in your best years,” the healer checked his vitals and readouts.  “Don’t wait too long.” 

“Master Jinn wouldn’t like it.” 

“Planned is always better than unplanned,” the healer conceded.  “But many padawans choose to gift the Jedi during the last years of their apprenticeship.  You’re almost twenty-one now.  I know this is all new to you, but it’s something to think about now.” 

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I have a hard enough time meeting objectives and keeping up with my training.  Besides, I’m too scrawny and muscled for the alphas to choose as a mate.” 

“Different alphas want different things.” 

“Alphas who want to be fathers don’t want scrawny omegas who can’t feed their children.”  He sighed.  “At least I looked like a beta.” 

The healer patted his arm but couldn’t refute him.  He had the look of a healthy male beta, but a male omega was expected to have more body fat, to be softer, rounder.  A traditional alpha would find him unattractive, at least outside the Order. 

“You might plump up a bit with all the new hormones.” 

Obi-Wan mumbled something about that being great for Ataru.  He tensed and then the door flew open and his master came in. 

Qui-Gon Jinn opened his mouth to speak, but the smell of newly presenting omega hit him, making him cough.  “Why aren’t you dressed?” he managed after a moment.  “The healers said you can leave.” 

“His clothing was soiled, Master Jinn.  We sent it to be laundered.  He can go home in the healing robes and send them back through Laundry Services.”  The healer held up his outer robe to help him put it on as he slowly got up from the bed. 

“I’m sorry, Master.”  Obi-Wan looked down at the ground as he slipped his arms into his sleeves.  “I know the timing is poor.” 

“Better now than in the field,” Qui-Gon conceded.  “Come on now.  The sooner we get home, the sooner we can get this over with.” 

The healer shot him a glare. 

“I hope so, Mas—”  Obi-Wan hissed, doubling over as the cramps returned with a vengeance.  “I . . . I just want, err, this to be over.”  He breathed slowly until the pains eased. 

“Alpha pheromones will probably ease the cramps when you get home and your anxiety subsides.” 

“Thank you, Healer Drellen.” 

“Let’s go, Obi-Wan.  The Pharmacy will deliver your supplies soon.”  

“Thank you, Master.”  With effort, Obi-Wan crept out of the room and down the hall.

“Call if you need anything,” the healer reminded him. 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “Better suppressants.  In this day and age, I shouldn’t have to deal with this at all.”

The healer scowled at him as he left.  Some Jedi should never have padawans. 

* * *

The trip back home was miserable.  Fortunately, Obi-Wan was in too much pain to notice whether or not he was attracting attention. 

“Go take a shower, water, not sonics,” Qui-Gon directed.  “When the supplies arrive, we’ll deal with this . . . development.” 

“Y-yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan limped off to the refresher, taking most of his heat scent with him.  Qui-Gon shook his head, dreading what was to come.  Heat sex could be a wonderful, beautiful thing.  Or a hot, dirty, but still very pleasurable thing.  When it was with someone you wanted to have sex with.  This was not the case here, and frankly he did not want to serve as Obi-Wan’s heat alpha for the rest of his damned apprenticeship.  It would have been much more convenient if his padawan had been less picky about choosing a mate of his own and hadn’t waited until he was sure he was the beta he looked like.  Sure, the few alphas who would be interested in a male built like a beta only wanted another body to screw, but at least they ­wanted to.  Now he was stuck doing it. 

He heard the shower turn on and Obi-Wan whimper at the sensation, his skin already over-sensitized.  Hopefully, the rest would proceed quickly, and he could still salvage a good night’s sleep tonight. 

The supplies arrived just after the water turned off.  Qui-Gon looked at the dildo dubiously.  It was smaller than he was, smaller than his fingers, and there were several ‘knots’ along the length that were controlled with an attached air pump.  Fairly clinical, no fancy bells or whistles.  Considering conditions in the field, it was best if Obi-Wan stuck to the basics to learn to get off.  When he heard Obi-Wan re-enter his room, he poured himself a glass of cold water (he’d save the ale for when this was over), and then carried the box into his padawan’s room. 

Obi-Wan had turned on the fan to dissipate the smell, and was kneeling on the rug in boxer shorts, a secretion pad clearly visible through the fabric. 

“Did you masturbate?” he asked as he put the box on the desk. 

“No, Master.  I tried to ease the cramps in the spray.” 

“Are you wet enough for penetration?”

Obi-Wan looked at him in alarm.  “I don’t know.  How would I determine that?” 

“How wet are you when you put your fingers up there?”

Obi-Wan blushed.  “I don’t.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  Clearly, they were still teaching nothing useful in Health Class.  “The healer said you were very tight.  Now I know why.”  He reached into the box and handed Obi-Wan the knotting dildo.  “That has to go in to give you relief.” 

Obi-Wan looked utterly baffled by the device, too confused to be embarrassed.  “I don’t think that will fit.” 

Qui-Gon pulled out the lubricant.  “Lube will help.  And you’re in heat.  Just go slow.” 

Obi-Wan stared at him.  “You want me to put it in?”  He turned it over, painfully naïve in these matters, not sure which end was which.  “You aren’t going to . . .”

“My penis is much bigger, so no.  The healer recommended it.  When the urge gets strong, you put it in and you fuck yourself with it.  When you are close to climax, you inflate the lowest knot that is still inside you, and you keep it in until the urge passes.” 

“I haven’t had any urge to . . . to put something inside myself.  I’m just kind of sore.” 

“The fastest way to make this go away and to stop the cramps is penetration and knotting.  It will fool your body into thinking you mated, your eggs will hopefully release, and you can get back to normal.  It might not feel terrific during your first heat, but it will get it over with.  If you want to have a shared heat with an alpha, you’ll need to stretch out your cunt first.” 

Obi-Wan blushed.  “I know.  The healer explained that.  But she didn’t tell me how to use this.” 

Qui-Gon sighed.  “Take off your pants and kneel down.  I’ll help you put it in.” 

Obi-Wan flushed to the roots of his hair and down his chest, and his cheeks and ears remained pink when it faded.  His heat was flaring again.  No time like the present.  “Yes, Master.”  Obediently he stripped, put a towel down on the floor, and knelt as if for meditation. 

Qui-Gon glanced at the pad.  It was barely damp.  “Bend over, so you’re on all fours.”  He came up behind Obi-Wan, who was starting to tremble just slightly.  “Relax.  You need to relax for this.”  He gazed dispassionately at his padawan’s genitalia, surprised he could still be so tight and dry with such a noticeable heat scent. 

“You’re still very dry.  Masturbate with your penis for a while, so this doesn’t hurt.” 

Obi-Wan made a valiant effort to comply.  “The healer said alpha pheromones would help,” he mentioned, timidly. 

Qui-Gon rooted through the box until he found the pheromone scent pads.  He took one out and dropped the sealed package near Obi-Wan’s face.  “That will help.” 

“You d-don’t want to use your pheromones?” 

“No.  I don’t want you imprinting my scent on your mating drive template.  It will be easier on you later if you can get yourself off to generic alpha pheromones without identifying scents.  Then it won’t matter who your partner is, you can just mate with whoever is convenient or agreeable if you can’t get yourself off, although frankly that’s the best option for you.  You don’t want to be at the mercy of discerning alphas who may not be in the mood.” 

Who don’t want to fuck you. 

“No, Master.” 

“Are you hard yet?” 

“No, Master.”  He opened the packet and sniffed dutifully, then held in a groan as the cramps returned. 

“That didn’t sound like a good groan.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

He sat on the bed and put the bottle of lubricant on the floor near Obi-Wan’s hand.  “Grease up your hand and keep breathing in the pheromones.  The cramps will ease if you can manage to climax.” 

“I’m trying, Master.”

“There is no try, Obi-Wan.  Get it done and we can move on.”  

Obi-Wan bit back a sigh.  His penis also felt sore, achy, as if he had a virus and it made every touch to his skin the slightest bit painful.  The cold lubricant soothed the ache under his skin, and with the smoother movements he was able to finally get an erection, despite the miserable circumstances. 

“I’m hard now.” 

“Good.”  Qui-Gon resisted the urge to check his comm.  Mace would be pissed if they had to miss their transport over this.  “Keep rubbing until you come or until you feel like coming but can’t.”  Sometimes heat hormones could short-circuit ejaculation. 

“Yes, Master.”  He continued to stroke himself dutifully, choosing expediency over pleasure.  Eventually he reached the peak that would normally topple him into orgasm, but his body refused to take the last step, even when he squeezed, tugged and rubbed at his slit. 

“Master,” he did not relish admitting this.  “I can’t climax.” 

Qui-Gon glanced back down at his exposed genitals.  “Are you wetter?” 

Obi-Wan shifted nervously, trying to tell.  “I think so?”

Qui-Gon sighed.  “If you can’t come, you probably won’t get wetter or more aroused.  Relax and control your breathing and I’ll put the dildo in.” 

“Will it hurt?” 

Obi-Wan was decidedly not more relaxed or lubricated.  Maybe he should have opted for a vibrator instead.

“Probably, at least at first.  You’re very tight, and you don’t practice self-penetration, so yes, this will probably be uncomfortable.  However, you are in heat, your body needs this stimulation to climax and to trigger ovulation.  The dildo is smaller than an alpha penis, and it doesn’t have a pheromone-crazed alpha thrusting it in, so it should hurt less.  You can push it in as hard as you want after you get used to it, so you are in control, more or less.  Ready?” 

Obi-Wan finished his breathing exercise before he answered.  “Yes.  If you go slow.” 

Qui-Gon put on a disposable glove, then applied lubricant to the length of the dildo and the knot bladders, not sure which one Obi-Wan would need.  “Keep controlling your breathing and relax your muscles.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, not interrupting his breathing to answer. 

As Qui-Gon approached, he began to suspect the healer had been right, and he should have gotten the absurdly smaller dildo instead.  Virginity, anxiety and a quirk of biology meant his padawan was very tight.  He could make it fit, but the smaller one would have been easier. 

He put the dildo up to Obi-Wan’s vagina and slowly pushed.  Obi-Wan struggled to control his breathing as his body resisted the intrusion.  Feemor had been much more enthusiastic about his first heat, his slick glazing his inner thighs as his body eagerly swallowed Qui-Gon’s fingers, greedy for more.  Obi-Wan unconsciously leaned forward to lessen the pressure.  Qui-Gon twisted the dildo in his hands and that did the trick, the smooth head finally slipping in and Obi-Wan gasped at the odd sensation. 

“Keep breathing.  It’s barely in.”

“It . . . feels . . . huge.” 

“It’s not.”  Qui-Gon continued to twist the dildo, left, then right, smearing the lubricant along Obi-Wan’s vaginal walls until it could go deeper, timing his small thrusts to Obi-Wan’s breaths.  He could tell from the gasps and the Force that it wasn’t agonizing, but it wasn’t pleasant either. 

Qui-Gon stopped when the first knot bladder was just inside his padawan’s body, the bare minimum effective depth.  “If you can hold that without discomfort for a bit, you can probably fuck yourself with it.” 

“This is supposed to feel good?” Obi-Wan asked.

“A penis feels good, or so my lovers tell me.  It should start to ease the cramps.” 

Obi-Wan did not find the dildo at all pleasant, but the cramps were starting to let up.  “It feels cold and hard.  Strange.”  Like his penis, his vagina had felt achy, as if touch would be unwelcome, but it wasn’t actually painful now that the dildo was in.  Just very tight. 

“Why don’t you try fucking yourself with it?” Qui-Gon suggested. 

Obi-Wan tried to reach around but bending his back or moving his hips shifted the hard rod inside him and that did hurt.  After several awkward minutes, Qui-Gon took pity on him. 

“Go back to position, I’ll do it.”  He changed his glove, then reached for the dry end of the dildo, taking it in a firm grip and easing it out a few inches before he slid it back in. 

“Oh!” Obi-Wan gasped in surprise.

“Better?” 

“No.  Just intense.”  He gasped again and tried to figure out how to move with the thrusts.  His body was telling him there was a wrong way and an okay way to do this.  Qui-Gon continued to move the dildo in and out, trying not to seem bored. 

Obi-Wan shifted around a few times, and then it got much easier and his body began to produce more slick. 

“Better?” Qui-Gon asked as he noted the dildo was now penetrating deeper on each thrust. 

“It doesn’t hurt now.” 

“Good.  Start rubbing your penis again so we can get you knotted.” 

Obi-Wan complied, trying to keep his hips coordinated with the thrusts at the same time. 

“How does it feel?  Are you close to climax?” 

“It feels full, and it doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel good either.”  He kept rubbing.  “I still can’t come.” 

“You’ll figure out what you like later.  For now, let’s just knot you so the urges and cramps stop, and we can both go to bed.” 

“Oh-okay.” 

Qui-Gon checked and was pleased to see the second knot bladder was now inside Obi-Wan’s body.  He gave a sharper thrust that made Obi-Wan cry out as the dildo was shoved even deeper, then began pumping air into the knot bladder.  The false knot began to swell, a bit slower than an alpha’s knot, and Obi-Wan’s flesh obediently clamped down on it, finally reacting in a normal way.  Obi-Wan muffled a pained cry behind his hand. 

“Cramps?” Qui-Gon asked as he continued to inflate the bladder. 

“Stop!” Obi-Wan gasped.  “It’s too big!” 

Qui-Gon stopped and sealed the air valve, letting Obi-Wan feel the half-filled knot inside him.  “That’s half-full.  You’ll need to practice for a real alpha.” 

Obi-Wan was whimpering against the intense feeling in his vagina.  It wasn’t pain, but the pressure was very uncomfortable. 

“Move around,” Qui-Gon advised.  “An alpha would keep fucking you with the knot until they climaxed.” 

Obi-Wan tried to move like he did before, but it was too thick, too deep now, and it didn’t ease the tension.  “I don’t like it.” 

“It’s not a matter of liking.”  Qui-Gon reached out and touched his belly, feeling for his ovaries in the Force.  “You’re still not ovulating.  Try rolling on your back for a better angle.  And keep sniffing the pheromones.”  

Obi-Wan did as he was told, tears coming to his eyes when the dildo jabbed hard at something painful deep inside before it shifted again, to his relief.  The knot felt heavy and strange, holding the dildo in place, too deep, hard, cold and unyielding, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to do this every time he got a heat, because frankly, this sucked. 

“Move your hips,” Qui-Gon advised.  “You need to feel the stretch in your vaginal walls.” 

Disheartened, Obi-Wan complied, and this was just slightly less bad, the dildo moving just slightly inside him, not pleasant, but smooth, regular, in rhythm, and the cramps were easing.  He rubbed at his penis with his slick hand, trying to climax, trying to make the faded good feeling there spread lower, to make it go inside him like it rarely did when he touched himself, but it would not, the rubbing never quite feeling good, just okay, and the ache was starting to return.  Qui-Gon opened up another pheromone packet and held the cloth against his face, forcing him to take a deep breath and then he felt a hard spasm deep inside his body, squeezing and writhing on the hard dildo against his will.  He cried out against the cloth, getting another breath full of alpha stimulant and the spasm came again, leaving him trembling. 

Qui-Gon removed his hand, laying the cloth against his chest, noting that slick was finally dripping out of his padawan’s vagina and onto the towel.  He reached out and felt Obi-Wan’s belly; his ovaries were flushing with blood.  Ovulation was beginning but it was not complete. 

“Was that good?” he asked.

“No.”  Obi-Wan tried to catch his breath. 

“I’m sorry then, Obi-Wan.  That’s as good as it gets.” 

Qui-Gon patted his flat stomach, getting a feel for his empty womb.  “Keep the knot in for at least twenty minutes and release the air before you pull it out.  We’ll do this again in the morning if you still haven’t cooled by then.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, disappointed.  Hurt.  Aching.  Lonely. 

“Yes, Master.” 

Qui-Gon got up and left him alone. 

Chapter Text

“Is this okay?” he asked, stroking over his lover’s body. 

“Yes,” his lover whispered, shuddering as he ran his hands down their sides, feeling toned muscle and bone under fever-hot skin. 

He slipped his hands over a hip, stroking over lean, muscular thighs and nuzzled into the crook of his lover’s neck, moaning softly as the enticing heat scent filled his nose.  He could feel himself getting hard, and his hand slipped lower, finding a trail of slick leading to the entrance to his lover’s body.  He could feel their breath start to quicken as his fingers teased at the warm, wet vagina, his touch both a caress and a promise of things to come. 

“I want you,” he whispered back.  “I want to make you feel so good, I want to show you how much I love you, I want you to know down to your soul how much I love you.”

His lover pressed back against him, stifling a gasp as his finger slipped inside, trembling in his arms.  “I do love you,” they whispered back. 

“Will you let me inside you?  Will you let me make love to you?”

“Yes,” another whispered gasp.  “Yes, Quinlan.”

He felt the words go straight to his cock, feeling his arousal build, feeling a hard, painfully good twinge at the base where his knot would form. 

“Will you let me knot you?  Will you hold me tight inside you, hold me with your body?”  He nuzzled at the scent gland again, delighting as the scent grew stronger.

“Yes, Quinlan,” his lover was growing breathless.  Slick was now glazing his fingers as his lover writhed against him.  “Yes, I will.” 

He pulled out his slippery hand and slid it over the flat stomach, feeling strong muscle beneath the skin, his psychometric fingers sensing the organs beneath.  The ovaries were eager, ready to ovulate, and the empty womb was flush and ripe, ready to nurture new life.  

“Will you take in my seed, will you make a child with me?  Will you carry our child in your body?  Will you give our love life and breath and form?” 

His lover pressed against him harder, stifling a moan and he could feel a fresh wash of slick against his leg as his lover trembled in arousal. 

“I want to, oh, I want to.”

“I want you,” he whispered back as he kissed and suckled at the scent gland.  “Can we try?  Can you take in my seed?”

“Yes!” his lover was gasping, scrambling out of his arms to lay on their back, pulling him on top as their legs spread. 

He moaned as he slid home, his penis entering that hot, slick passage, tighter than he expected and his lover was gasping, trembling, reaching for him and he was in so deep and it felt so hot all around him the way it only felt during the best heat sex.

“Quinlan!” his lover could barely get the words out.  “Knot me!  Please!  It’s time!  The Force says it’s time!” 

He gripped slim hips and almost cried out as he felt ovulation beginning beneath his hands as his lover shifted on his hard cock.  He could feel the Force too and his lover was right, it was time. 

“Yes!  It’s time!  Yes!”

“Do I get to participate too?” an amused, feminine voice cut through his sex-addled brain. 

“What?”  He opened his eyes to find he was clutching a pillow to his chest and Carae was looking down at him in bemusement. 

“Good morning, Loverboy.”  She stretched her naked body, gilded by the sun coming in the window.  “You sound like you’re hot to trot, just not with me.” 

Quinlan looked around, reorienting himself.  They were both laying in Carae’s bed, the scent of her heat still strong in the air, and the faint odor of spermicide indicated they were definitely not trying to make a baby. 

“Um, I’m sorry.” 

Carae laughed, thankfully not offended.  “You don’t have to apologize for having a Force dream, Quinlan.  I’m a Jedi too, I get it.”  She lay back down and tugged on his arm until he too relaxed back into the sheets.  “Who were you dreaming about?” she asked, no jealousy in her tone.  Theirs was a casual relationship, Quinlan being an alpha she could trust to help her through her heat, but not someone she wanted a deeper relationship with.  “You kept talking about breeding them.” 

“Oh, kriff.”  Quinlan covered his eyes, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, Carae.  I don’t know the person I was dreaming about.” 

“You sounded very serious about them.”  She snuggled closer.  “It sounded like they made you happy.” 

“Do you promise not to tell and promise not to laugh?” Quin asked. 

Carae snorted.  “Well, I can keep a secret, but I’m still high enough on endorphins that I can’t promise not to get the giggles.  But I can promise that I won’t laugh at you.” 

“Good enough,” he leaned in to kiss her cheek.  “Okay, a long time ago, when I was a brand-new alpha who had just presented, I asked my master how I would know how to choose my lovers, and how I would know if I was in a Force-blessed relationship.  How I would know if I should keep things casual, or if my lover was someone I should have children with.  I’m not an heir in my family line, I have no obligation to father a child, but the Force has told me I should since I was young, and that I would need to give my child a strong mother.  With my family . . . issues, my child would need to be strong and their mother would need to be too.  So my master took me through the Questioning Meditations to ask the Force for guidance.  We were able to determine that there was someone out there for me, someone specific, and that it wasn’t time for the relationship to happen.  Which was good, because I was only seventeen and could barely manage to knot an experienced omega.  I still don’t know who it is, but I have dreams sometimes.  The dreams reveal a little more as time passes, and I think it’s getting closer, but not for a while.” 

Carae nodded, snuggling closer, not at all threatened by his dream lover.  “What do you know about them?” 

Quin sighed.  “Not much.  I don’t know their name, they only whisper so I don’t know their voice.  I know they are Force sensitive, almost certainly another Jedi, and probably not a padawan, there’s never been a braid.  I think they’re a knight, they feel like one in the Force, but they sometimes seem very nervous, and I’m not sure why.  They are lean but muscled.  I can’t tell if they’re male or female, but they do have a vagina.”

“So they’re an omega or a beta but may be male or female.  Or they’re a female alpha.”  Carae thought it over.  “Do you think it’s someone you know?” 

“I don’t know.  I thought they were a beta for a very long time, in the dreams we would usually just lay in bed and talk, or hold each other, stroking each other’s bodies, negotiating desires, but not having sex.  In the past few years, in the dreams we’ve started to share intimacy, which is how I know they have a vagina, but in the last year I’ve had dreams with what feels more like heat sex, and sometimes in the dream it smells like it too, so they might be an omega.  They could also be a beta on fertility treatments, but they are definitely not an alpha.  I would smell that.” 

Carae giggled a bit but softened the blow by stroking his chest in reassurance.  “I think that’s very sweet.” 

“But you also find it funny.”

She kissed his cheek in apology.  “I think it’s very sweet that there is someone special out there for you, and that you want to be a father when the time is right, but I find it very funny that Mr. Maverick himself, the Unconventional Alpha, is still looking for a nice omega.” 

Quinlan snorted.  He had to admit it was pretty funny when viewed like that.  He also hoped his reputation wouldn’t make it hard to attract his Force-blessed omega when the time came.  He could feel love from his dream lover, but also uncertainty. 

“Well, I don’t need to look for a nice omega right now when I already have one at hand.”

Carae laughed, used to his sometimes corny, but endearing sense of humor when he was aiming to be sensitive.  “Well, Mr. Unconventional Alpha, do you think you have one more round in you?  I’ve started to cool down, but I think I need just a little more of your magnificent knot before I can face the world.” 

“Hmm,” Quinlan pretended to think it over.  “I think I can accommodate that.  One more good roll in the hay for Fair Lady.  Yes, I think this penis of mine is both willing and able.” 

Carae rolled her eyes, but she was already sliding her hand down his body under the sheet, reaching for his half-hard shaft and giving it a gentle squeeze and rub. 

“How do you want me, Fair Lady?”  He hadn’t gone into rut, but he had serviced her through several rounds of sex over the last day and a half, and as her heat had started to wane, she might be feeling sore.

“I want to ride you, Padawan Vos.  I want to ride you until you lock your knot deep inside me and then I want us to rock together until we both come again.”

“You do have the best ideas, Carae.”  He reached over to clutch her around the waist, helping to lift her from the bed as she straddled him.  She was rubbing at her clitoris, getting her slick going again for one last bout of lovemaking before her heat finally broke.  When she could feel she was wet enough, she bent down to kiss him deeply while she stroked him to full hardness, swallowing his groans like sustenance. 

“Are you ready, Quin?” she asked when she pulled away.  “Can you send me to the stars one more time?” 

He ran his hands over her body, feeling her health and vitality, tasting a fraction of her pleasure as his fingertips slipped over her collarbone, down her heaving breasts, then over her ribs until he could rest his hands on her hips.  “I think I can oblige, Fair Lady.” 

Carae laughed in delight, squeezing his arm in affection before she rose up then took him into her body, moaning in pleasure as he filled her once again.  “Oh, ohh, Quinlan!”  She took some deep breaths, slowly sinking down on him, wanting to feel him so deep inside.

“Oh, yes, Carae.  You feel so good!” 

He stroked his hands up and down her body, half-sitting up to kiss her again.  She began to kiss at his neck while he nuzzled at her breasts, her hips beginning to move on him.  “You feel fabulous, Babe,” he told her, and she did, warm, slick, and tight as her body gripped him, her hormones driving her to pull at least one more orgasm from both of them. 

“Oh, Alpha, yes, so deep, you feel so thick,” she tossed her head back, her thrusts against him becoming harder as she drove herself to greater heights.  She was reaching for her clitoris again, wanting more control of her pleasure now than at the height of her heat the night before.  Quinlan stroked his fingers over her hipbones, content to let her lead, starting to gently thrust back when she began to grunt on each pass. 

“Does it feel good, Fair Lady?” 

“Oh, oh, oh!  Harder, Alpha!  Harder!”

He began to put more force into each thrust as she pushed herself onto him, both of them grinding into each other, their breaths coming fast now. 

“Oh, Alpha,” Carae whimpered.  “I need your fat knot, Alpha.  I need it.”

He could feel her ovulation was mostly complete.  If not for the spermicide, she could easily conceive twins, if not triplets.  Sensing her loose eggs waiting for the kiss of a sperm reminded him of his dream and he felt his knot begin to swell.  He groaned a warning before thrusting up hard and she cried out in pleasure as he drove his swelling knot into her body, and she gripped him, pleasure shooting through them both as they rushed toward orgasm.  He thrust a few more times, securely held by her body and her eyes widened at the intense sensations. 

“So deep!  So deep!” she gasped and then she came, spasming hard and triggering Quinlan’s climax.  He shot his semen into her, his hips trying to pump ever deeper, despite the tie and she wailed in pleasure, gripping ever tighter as her body drew his essence in, desperately trying to conceive, even as the sperm died before they reached her womb. 

“Oh Force!  Alpha!  Quinlan!  Yes!” 

They both shook together until she sagged, sated and spent, moaning as the knot shifted inside her. 

“Oh, Quinlan, you fabulous alpha.” 

He chuckled, kissing her gently before rolling them to their sides, shifting his hips to give them both a little friction until his knot subsided. 

“I aim to please, Fair Lady.” 

“Yes, yes,” she shuddered against him, climaxing again.  He kept going, knowing from previous experience that she could orgasm several more times on his knot, even this late in her heat. 

“You take such good care of me,” she stroked his face.  “Your future lover is going to be very grateful.”

“You deserve it.” 

“Do you feel good, Alpha?” she asked as she began moving with him, urging him to pick up the pace as another climax began to build in her.  “Oh-ohhhh,” she shuddered again.

“Yes, Carae, yes, you, ugh, you feel so tight on my knot,” he groaned as his knotting spasms hit just before hers, and they were moaning together, feeling each other’s pleasure in the Force. 

“Quinlan!” she cried out, tears leaking, her hips still moving, and one climax ran into another, and she cried again, each time softer and more breathless until all she could do was lay in the bed and breathe as her body slowly calmed. 

Quinlan grew still, enjoying the throb of his heartbeat pulsing in his knot until it began to slowly deflate.  When it had shrunk enough for her grip to loosen, he pulled out of her and kissed her tenderly.  “Feeling better?” he asked at last. 

She rested her hand on her stomach, sighing.  “I feel wonderful.”  She cut her eyes at him.  “I’m going to miss your good, hard fucks when you meet this love of your life.” 

Quinlan shrugged.  “You said yourself I’m an unconventional alpha.  I don’t know if I’ll be the love of their life.” 

“The Force wouldn’t send you a fool.”  She curled into him, breathing in his scent as her heat waned in earnest.  “I think they will make you very happy, but it may take a long time to find them.” 

“Well,” Quinlan half-shrugged with the shoulder not pressed into the mattress.  “You know me, hoping for the future, but living in the moment.”  He remembered his dream lover’s apprehension.  “Am I a slut, Carae?” 

“What?” she asked, incredulous.

“Am I a slut?” he asked again.  “Too promiscuous to be respectable?  Do I have too many partners?”

“No.”  Her tone indicated she thought he was being stupid.  “You’re a teddy bear.  You may be a rebel and a maverick Jedi, but to the unpartnered omegas, you are a gentle, considerate and trusted lover.  You are very much not a slut, and if you find this dream lover of yours, there are going to be many omegas and quite a few betas who will miss your touch.” 

“Thank you, Carae.”  He looked away, touched.

“You’re welcome.  Now get out of my bed and go back to your own life.  There could be another omega suffering out there, desperate for your sweet love.” 

Quinlan snorted, then headed toward her refresher and clean clothes.  “You wore me out.  They’re on their own for the rest of the week.”

“Nonsense,” Carae called back as he shut the door and turned on the shower.  “You’re a Jedi.  You can take it!” 

He laughed as he stepped into the shower to scrub away the sweat and other bodily fluids, trying to remember what was on his schedule now that Carae’s heat was over.  He was supposed to attend a seminar this afternoon (and had fortunately already done the reading) and he had a saber class with Master Drallig tomorrow, so he should definitely make sure he was hydrated today.  Too many alphas forgot that while omegas lost a lot of fluid during their heats, it wasn’t as if the alphas weren’t also sweating and secreting a lot too.  With that in mind, he dried off, then went to Carae’s kitchenette, made them both a sandwich, and dissolved electrolyte tabs in their water bottles.  He wolfed down his own meal before quietly creeping to the bedroom door and using the Force to levitate the food and drink to the bedside table, not wanting to disturb his lover’s post-heat meditation.  He had also applied his anti-scent spray after his shower, and he knew from experience that getting too close with his alpha scent inhibited could panic an omega that was still unbalanced.  Their unconscious mind could interpret his general scent as an interloper instead of the freshly washed alpha they had just been with. 

He checked himself briefly in the mirror by the door, nothing was amiss, so he let himself out, setting a reminder to check on Carae later.  Carae’s heats were generally pretty regular and she was good about eating and drinking throughout, but he felt like a bad alpha if he didn’t check in, even if she preferred privacy during the recovery period.

He was almost back to his own quarters when he noticed the door to the vacant apartment at the end of the hall was open and the lights were on inside. 

“Hello?” he called, wondering if someone was indeed moving in this early in the day, or if it was a maintenance issue instead. 

“Yes?” Obi-Wan Kenobi popped his head out of the refresher where he appeared to be putting away toiletries.  “Quinlan?”

“Obes!”  Quinlan grinned in pleased surprise.  “Are you moving in or just helping out?” 

Obi-Wan sighed, looking at the stale, empty room.  “Moving in.  Master Jinn wants his space.”  He tugged at his own padawan braid, a bit anxious. 

Quinlan shrugged.  “Some alphas can be like that.  They just need their own territory.”  It was odd that he hadn’t done it sooner.  Territorial alphas tended to turn out their padawans at eighteen years old, not twenty-one.  Speaking of which . . .

“Welcome to the floor.  Should we be planning a bar crawl?” 

Obi-Wan relaxed a bit at Quinlan’s jovial spirit, releasing his own braid and rolling his eyes.  “No.  That would have been six months ago, and you know my master would not have tolerated the hangover.” 

Quinlan chuckled.  Qui-Gon Jinn knew how to hold his liquor and expected his padawans to do the same, or to not drink if they couldn’t.  Obi-Wan had never been able to join them at the bars before due to his age, nor in the Temple as he always had something to do the next day.  Quinlan had never pressured him, knowing Kenobi was a rule-follower and had spent time on probation, and dreaded disappointing his master.  Master Tholme was generally more laid back, content to let Quinlan learn from his mistakes without added rancor. 

“Did you need any help moving?” Quinlan asked.  Jedi tended to have few belongings, but a surprising amount of gear.

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Stores is replacing the mattress, the last tenant was a Wookie and wore it out, and they are bringing in human-scale furnishings, and Housing is moving the showerhead this afternoon, same reason.  Master Jinn allowed me the morning off from training so I could clean and organize the space, but I’m expected in the salle as soon as the shower is fixed.  We’re shipping out again in two days and have a mission briefing tomorrow, so I’m afraid I won’t be inviting anyone over for a while.”

“That’s too bad.”  Quinlan stretched, trying to swallow a yawn.  “Well, if you need help moving furniture later or just want someone to help scrub stuff down, let me know.”  He frowned suddenly.  “Master Jinn isn’t helping you?” 

Obi-Wan looked resigned.  “He’s in rut.  I don’t know who he’s spending it with, but I suspect he’d prefer to have them at home without his padawan underfoot in the future.” 

“Ouch.”  It was reasonable to want, but seemed harsh, especially this late in the apprenticeship and on such a short moving deadline.  “Well, I’m glad to have you in the neighborhood.  I have to go now, but I’ll see you around.” 

“Take care, Quinlan.”  Obi-Wan turned back to the dim room, trying to decide which corner he wanted to exorcise of stray fur next.  Quinlan gave him a nod as he left, trying not to think about how lonely he looked. 

Chapter Text

“Have there been any problems since the procedure?” Healer Drellen asked as she gently probed the incision site.  The bacta had healed it seamlessly, but infection was always a risk, even with such a routine procedure. 

“No,” Obi-Wan held himself still, not in pain, but not used to being poked and prodded.  “It started transmitting after three days like it was supposed to, and it has been sending status updates.  All the indicators turned yellow this morning.”

“Good, good, very good.”  She picked up her analyzer and scanned the new biomedical device that had been implanted in her patient’s abdomen.  “And yes, everything is ready to go.  The question is, how do we want to program it?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, prepared for this part of the appointment.  “Birth control, heat suppression and minimal menstruation.” 

The healer raised an eyebrow.  “That’s fine for general day to day, but this implant isn’t going to change your designation, Obi-Wan, just make it more manageable.  You still need to menstruate every six months and should undergo a heat every two years at a minimum.  You don’t need to set the dates in stone, the implant will allow you to choose when your heats and menses happen so you can fit it around your missions, but you can’t just put them off indefinitely.” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “But Master Jinn has an intense mission schedule.  He can’t wait for my hormones to play out and if he has to leave me behind, I won’t reach knighthood.”

Healer Drellen resisted the urge to scowl.  There were still too many masters who forgot what it was like to still be at the mercy of young hormones or had been spared this in their youth and had no understanding of it.  They were more likely to be betas, however.  Alphas usually understood how intense hormones could be. 

“Your file says you had a second heat a few months ago.  How did that go?” 

Obi-Wan looked decidedly uncomfortable discussing it.  “It wasn’t quite as awful as the first one.  I only threw up twice before the anti-nausea meds kicked in.”

“You’re still having intense nausea?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “The cramps were a little easier to take this last time, and I made sure to stay hydrated after I stopped vomiting.” 

“Did knotting ease the unpleasant symptoms?  Were you able to relax and enjoy the experience this time?” 

Obi-Wan sighed.  Enjoyment was not something he associated with his heats.  “The nausea subsided enough between the medication and the knotting dildo to stop the vomiting, but I felt slightly nauseated for three full days.  It lingered after my temperature returned to normal.”  He hesitated before continuing, knowing the healer needed to know everything to properly program the implant.  “I was able to put in the dildo by myself and manipulate it to stimulate the necessary nerve endings, but the whole procedure was . . . unpleasant.  Uncomfortable.  It didn’t feel good, but the cramps did ease, the nausea lessened, and it thankfully ended about eighteen hours after the cramps began.” 

Healer Drellen looked at him, concerned.  “You put the dildo in yourself?  You didn’t try with a partner?” 

“The dildo is still very tight.” 

“But you were able to put it in and inflate the knot?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “It was still uncomfortable, but it got the job done.”

“Did you use lubricant?”

“Yes.  It wasn’t painful,” Obi-Wan assured her.  “There was no blood, but it didn’t feel any looser than the first time.”

“You might want to consult a technician next time; they may be able to figure out if something is going wrong.  It’s not unusual for a first heat to be unpleasant, but by your second heat it should start to feel better.  We’re you particularly stressed?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I had to reschedule my annual saber evaluation and that delayed our leaving for our next mission.  Master Jinn was very . . . displeased.” 

“Obi-Wan, your master’s body has needs too, it’s not just you.  The Council doesn’t expect you to fit your biology around their schedule.” 

“My master does,” Obi-Wan insisted.  “He takes missions on worlds where omegas are repressed, where their movements are restricted during menstruation, where anyone can claim them if they enter heat in public.  It’s not just a matter of getting it in when we’re in Temple.  I could be a danger to both of us if my heat comes unexpectedly if we’re in the wrong place.  I need to be able to control the timing on this.” 

“Is your master giving you sufficient time to experience your cycle and your heats between missions?  It sounds as if the schedule is very tight.”

Obi-Wan looked at his bare feet and ankles, not covered by the patient gown.  “We often are only back in the Temple for three days at a time or less.  If we have separate cabins or sleep pods on a long voyage, I don’t think he would object to me menstruating while in transit if I have to.  I think he would consider that a good use of my time, but I honestly don’t know when I’d be able to schedule a heat, even annually.  Master Jinn made it clear that I don’t have time to waste if I’m expected to pass my Trials.  My heats are a distraction to him, are unpleasant for me, and they can delay us from reaching people who need our help.” 

“Well, I can see why your heats are unpleasant to you if you are under this kind of pressure.  As your healer, I can inform the Council that you need to have longer stretches of downtime, not just for your health, but for your training, and for your master’s health.” 

“Master Jinn relies on the Living Force to maintain his health when his work schedule becomes difficult.” 

Drellen looked unimpressed.  “Is that code for avoids the healers?”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “Sometimes.  He’s very strong in the Living Force and has a great capacity to heal himself.”

Drellen gave him a pointed look.  “You don’t.”

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed.  “I haven’t developed to that degree, despite my efforts.”

“You’re a padawan with Unifying Force talents.  Jinn is a master with Living Force talents and decades of experience.  You are not expected to have his mastery of your body and your biology.” 

Obi-Wan shrugged again.  “I need to measure up.  I can’t let my hormones control me.  And with conditions in the field, pills cannot be secure nor reliable enough.” 

“I agree, pills are not suitable for the modern field Jedi.  You’re too likely to lose your luggage.”  She gave him a gentle smile.  “I just need to ensure you still allow your body to experience its natural stages and processes.  As I said, you need two menses a year and one heat every two years, but you can certainly schedule them more frequently if that’s more comfortable for your body.  Some people with the implant opt for monthly menses and quarterly heats and only want more control over when that happens.  They also prefer lighter, more frequent menses rather than heavy, infrequent ones.  Some people prefer to have their heats and menses as infrequently as possible.  It will take a few times for you to figure out your own body.  You should track the time when you initiate the signal and see how long it takes for both your menses and your heat to start, but it should be within six to twelve hours.  And you should continue to track this as it may take less time as your body gets used to the implant’s signals.  Bring the data with you to your next appointment and we can use it to calibrate it for finer control.  And of course, I must warn you that biology is a complicated thing, and this isn’t one hundred percent foolproof.  You could still have breakthrough menses or a surprise heat.  These don’t happen often, usually when under stress, but the implant is programmed to produce both spermicidal and anti-implantation secretions if the ovulation was not scheduled, so you are less likely to conceive, but it’s not guaranteed.” 

“I know.  The implant works for most people, but Jedi tend to have extreme experiences.” 

“Exactly.  If you do have a breakthrough menses or heat, don’t panic, but do come see us for adjustment.  It is considered normal for that to happen during the first year, as it’s an adjustment period, and it’s not unusual for it to happen once every eight to ten years, and it usually means your body is changing as you age.  And we can always remove the implant, permanently deactivate it or put it in a dormant state if you want to try to conceive at some point, or we can use it to help you conceive if you want to.” 

“No.”  Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Master Jinn has been very clear that I can’t afford distractions or delays if I’m going to pass my Trials.”

“Would you be interested in freezing your eggs?” she asked.

“No.”  Obi-Wan sounded more resigned.  “I looked into it.  The preparation time takes too long and would keep me out of the field.  If I had a teaching or in Temple assignment, perhaps, but that would only work if the assignment wasn’t particularly physically demanding.” 

“Do you have any regular partners?” 

“I don’t have any partners.  I’m not home regularly and with the way my heats have been going, the last thing I want is to be around someone else.” 

“Well, hopefully the implant will help smooth out your hormonal shifts and make your heats more comfortable, and you may find you want to share them.  If you do, the implant will prevent pregnancy, but not sexually transmitted diseases.” 

Obi-Wan grimaced.  “Patients really need to be told that?” 

The healer rolled her eyes.  “Alphas need to be told that.  Jedi sex education is very thorough, but we also serve non-Jedi staff members and there’s always someone who missed an important detail or whose species has a weird variation.  Be grateful you’re not an Echino.  They can’t be sterilized, their gonads grow back every year.  Or a Wrassi, who can change sex without warning.” 

Obi-Wan sighed.  “I feel like I did.”

Drellen tried to look reassuring.  “I understand this must have been very confusing to be almost certain in who you are and then have your body pull a switch at the last minute.”  She glanced down at her notes.  “There is a possibility that you may be intertype, not fully omega, not fully beta, but a bit in between.  If your heats continue to be uncomfortable, we might want to run some tests to see if something isn’t working properly, because this could affect your fertility.” 

“Does this mean I could ovulate outside of a heat?” Obi-Wan asked, looking concerned. 

“That’s always a risk.  Both omegas and betas can ovulate off cycle once in a while.  That’s why birth control is so important, but your implant should help to prevent that or alert you if it is happening.  It’s still not foolproof, but it’s very effective.  But I was more concerned that it may prevent ovulation or make it less frequent or that your eggs may be less viable.” 

“But it won’t make me fertile when I’m trying not to be?”

“No.  But the other issue is I may not be able to detect problems because of the implant.  It’s designed to smooth out your rhythms and cycles and that can mask issues.  Just be aware that if you do want to try for a child when you’re older and when you’re ready, you might have underlying fertility issues.” 

“Well, right now the lack of partners is making any fertility issue moot.  And if I do have fertility issues, that makes finding a serious partner even less likely.”

“Having a loving partner is about more than just making babies, Obi-Wan.” 

“Really?” Obi-Wan looked incredulous.  “Has anyone mentioned that to the other young padawans?  There’s two infants and three pregnant people on my floor right now.” 

Healer Drellen chuckled.  “Yes, well the senior padawan years are a traditional time for having a first child, planned or otherwise.”  She grew serious.  “With your implant, it would have to be planned.  You come see us if you change your mind.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “My master isn’t going to change his mind.” 

“Didn’t you say his previous padawan gave birth?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “He fathered the child.  Feemor was a better padawan than I am.” 

“That shouldn’t be the deciding factor if you want to have a child, Obi-Wan.” 

“I want to be a knight.”  He looked down, a bit distressed.  “And I don’t want to have any more heats than I have to.  Maybe someday it will be different, but not today.” 

“Then the implant is a good choice.  Let’s get it programed so you can get back in the field without worrying about your cycle.”

“Thank you.” 

* * *

Hours later, Obi-Wan lay in bed, trying to decide if he felt any different.  He rubbed over the incision site, and there was only the faintest ache if he quieted his mind.  His tissue had knitted back together but sometimes it took the nerves a little time to catch back up and accept that there was no longer a deep cut there.  He slid his hand further down to where the implant had settled and attached, tethered to the outside of his uterus.  The biomechanical device had been able to connect to his circulatory system, his blood vessels had grown into the ports to provide it with a blood supply and his own body was keeping the altered endocrine cells within alive, but the structure of the implant did not allow his immune cells access to them, preventing rejection.  The interface had allowed them to set a program that was already overriding his natural, irregular cycle, preventing ovulation and keeping him on an even keel.  He had been warned that nausea and moodiness were known side effects, particularly at the start, but he had experienced neither, and actually felt calm, relieved that this was finally under control. 

He slid his hand lower, over his womb.  There was no pain here either, not even the slight grumpiness of pending menses.  The procedure had made him very aware of his uterus: the location, the size, it’s existence, particularly when the implant had made contact and began integrating with it.  It had been a bizarre sensation, first when the healers inserted it and tacked it down, then for the six hours he had to lay there, feeling tiny servos and motors stitching the two of them together, making connections, building a matrix for them to grow together like a strange symbiote.  It hadn’t hurt, it had sometimes almost tickled, but in a place he could not reach.  He had wondered if pregnancy would feel like that, even if it was on the wrong side, if quickening would gently prod and press on his womb, or if it would be different. 

He expected he would very likely never find out.  For all that the healer spoke about not putting off childbirth and being aware that his fertility may be reduced, or had failed entirely, carrying a child did not seem to be in the cards. 

He was twenty-one years old now.  He was at the age when padawans generally had babies they had planned for if they hadn’t already had babies they hadn’t planned for.  Feemor had had a child at nineteen, but that had been unplanned.  Xanatos had fathered three children while a padawan that the Jedi knew about, two with fellow Jedi and one with a one-night stand who was very relieved to surrender the child to the Temple.  Force only knew how many little Jinns there were running around the galaxy. 

But Feemor had been level-headed, even-tempered and pragmatic.  He had taken his pregnancy in stride and had seamlessly resumed his studies as soon as his child had joined the Creche.  Xanatos had assisted the Jedi mothers of his children, but as he had not been pregnant, his studies hadn’t suffered for it, and he had been so brilliant and talented he probably could have taken on a harem of omegas and still have been knighted on time if not for that little foray into the Dark Side. 

Obi-Wan knew he did not measure up, particularly to Master Jinn’s previous padawans, and that a pregnancy would mean losing time he could not afford, losing skills he had barely mastered and missing experiences he would need to draw on if he ever had any hope of being an effective knight.  The implant was a good thing. 

A necessary thing. 

But he still wondered. 

He wondered how it would feel.  In his body.  In his emotions.  In the Force.  He had accepted that he almost certainly wouldn’t enjoy the conception, and that he probably wouldn’t attract an interested alpha or beta, but artificial insemination was a possibility when he was older.  In fact, for omegas the device was not dissimilar to the knotting dildo he already used, designed to simulate a full breeding to complete ovulation.  It might take time to work up to something as wide as the medical device, but he had plenty of time.  Most Jedi, if they were knighted, did so by twenty-three or twenty-four, but some were as late as twenty-nine if there was an issue or a major setback.  He doubted Master Jinn would keep him on that long, but with his late start and probation as a young teen, he expected his trials would be when he was twenty-six or twenty-seven.  If he passed, well, pregnancy was frowned upon for young knights in those first few years, even if they were Temple bound.  There was just too much to do, too much one was supposed to be learning.  And then, after that one was expected to take a padawan if they had a strong enough connection to the Force.  Master Yoda encouraged many knights just out of their green years to start looking at initiates, but certainly not all of them.  Obi-Wan suspected he might fall into this latter category when the time came. 

But if he didn’t take a padawan, that might be a good time to have a child if he wanted to.  He’d probably be at least thirty by then, and the healers all warned that fertility would start to wane after thirty-five, even if one didn’t have pre-existing problems, so he probably shouldn’t put it off longer than that.  Some knights opted to have children when their padawans were young but settled.  Others chose to time conception to their padawan’s pregnancies to minimize the disruption to their apprentice’s studies.  Other chose to have babies between padawans, but Obi-Wan was uncomfortable with putting off the decision that long.  Some Jedi had conceived and carried children well past the normal reproductive years, the Force keeping them young and fertile, but they were strong in the Living Force.  He was quite sure he was not going to be pushing out a miracle baby in his sixties, even with technological advances. 

But his thirties seemed doable.  If he kept his nose to the grindstone, he might be able to convince the Council to grant him an in-Temple sabbatical to allow him to carry a child to term.  And that was assuming he was even still doing field work, but he hoped he would be.  Yes, in twelve to fourteen years, he might be ready, if he wanted to.  If he was fertile.  If the Force was with him.  And knights that age were busy people.  There would be less of a stigma to not having a partner then.  And after, he could return to the field, knowing his gift was secure in the Creche, preparing to walk the Jedi path.  And if it didn’t work out . . . well, sometimes these things just didn’t.  Even Master Yoda didn’t use the there is no try argument when it came to having children.  In the meantime, he had the implant to help ensure he would not fail.  Not that he was particularly concerned.  One needed to have a partner before one could have a birth control failure. 

His belly was warm beneath his hand, flat and trim, but he again tried to imagine what it would be like.  Would he ever grow a child in his body?  Would his stomach start to curve and swell, filling him out until his belly overflowed his hands, a new life growing inside him, a living gift to the Order that had given him so much?  Would he feel a tiny life moving inside him, growing and filling him?

Or not? 

He puffed out his stomach under his hand, trying to get a feel for it, remembering the pic of Feemor, round with child on the wall of his master’s sitting room.  Obi-Wan’s own uterus didn’t change of course, he was just moving his muscles and guts, but he still wondered.  Feemor’s face had been glowing with joy as Qui-Gon stood behind him, the master’s hands covering his young lover’s as together they both cradled his gravid belly. 

He sat up in bed and looked at his half-lit reflection in the bedroom mirror, still seeing a body too thin to look like a fertile omega.  What would happen if he did try?  If he let a healer deliver the thawed seed of some long dead Jedi into his womb.  Would it take?  Would his body swell like Feemor’s had when he missed a pill?

He got out of bed and stood before the mirror, then turned to the side and looked at his body, pulling up his pajama shirt and pulling down his waistband to see his flat stomach.  He puffed it out again, scrutinizing his profile, trying to imagine, but he looked more like he had eaten too much or had gas rather than a fetus in there, even in the shadows.  His chin was too sharp, his collarbone too visible.  He didn’t look like someone who had enough to give a baby life and sustenance. 

He looked like someone who could defend a child from danger.  He looked like someone you could trust to carry a child to safety in an emergency. 

He looked like a perfectly acceptable beta. 

Still curious, he picked up one of the small pillows he used sometimes to support his head or an injured limb and stuffed it into his waistband, up against his flat stomach, then pulled his pajama shirt over it, resting his hands over the false bump, adjusting it before looking back in the mirror.

He looked strange. 

He pressed the firm pillow into his skin and looked at his reflection, turning slightly to see himself from both the front and sides, feeling a pang of a strong emotion he couldn’t identify.  He rubbed the bump experimentally, as he had seen his fellow padawans do to their pregnant bellies.  How would it feel with a real bump?  With a real baby?  With his muscles and skin stretched taut instead of his nightshirt?  How would it feel if something touched back? 

He turned just so and adjusted the pillow and when he looked again the light and shadows had shifted and he looked . . . round.  Full.  Fertile.  Fecund.  The shadows hid his too sharp features, and the dim light kissed at his pale complexion, giving him an ethereal glow, just a hint of the brilliant light that had seemed to seep from Feemor’s pores, even in a mere print, and for a moment, posed at just the right angle and with that false bump beneath his hand, he almost looked beautiful.  For a moment, the soft curve under his hands felt real, and right.  For a moment he deeply wanted to become this, to carry a precious life within him. 

Then a speeder outside his window made an illegal turn, flooding his room with harsh light and he was himself again, a short, scrawny, possibly infertile and utterly undesirable omega with a pillow under his shirt.  The false bump didn’t make him look round with child, it made him look sick, his sharp features making the rotund belly look unnaturally swollen, as if he were suffering from tumors or parasites. 

And really, who was he kidding?  He couldn’t even handle a penis and a knot going in, what made him think he could handle a baby coming out?  And would he really want to carry a child all by himself, with no one to help him manage, with no one to turn to when the days grew hard or when he was hurting?  Was he strong enough in the Force to merit reproducing?  Master Jinn clearly didn’t think so; the Council was likely to agree.  Pregnancy in older padawans was tolerated because two parents strong in the Force often produced children strong in the Force and Jedi didn’t need much convincing to turn over those children to the Order.  He was a weak student; he hoped to become a knight, but he could not afford to have a child now, and even when he was knighted, he doubted he’d have enough value to the Council to earn the time for himself to grow a child.  He would have duties.  Responsibilities.  And without a partner . . . couples would be pushed to the front of the line when the Council gave their permission.  And even if they did consider unpaired Jedi, why would they pull him from the field if he was likely infertile?  He knew he wouldn’t be a great Jedi, it was hard enough to reach for knighthood.  He wasn’t going to be someone the Council approved for carrying a child, he was someone who would be called in to substitute for someone who had. 

He looked back at his reflection, feeling a little pathetic, but back in the realm of reality.  He couldn’t deny he felt something when he saw himself this way, that putting on curves sparked something deep and primal within him, but it left his Force sense empty.  Cold. 

This was something he could not have. 

Whether the problem was biological, social or simply because there would never be a time it would work, the question had been asked and the answer was no.

He stroked his hands over the false child one more time, taking comfort in the fantasy, closing his eyes, accepting the small dream, then letting it go.

No.  The answer was no.

Not maybe.  Not probably not.

No. 

Not even with the seed left behind by some Jedi long gone.

No.

He knew what he looked like.  He knew he could be a Jedi, but that he wasn’t a star.  It was a silly dream, and he was wise to let it go. 

He tugged the pillow out from under his clothes and walked back to his bed, climbing in and huddling under the covers.  Hopefully by morning his hormones would settle and he would be able to do as his master was always insisting he should, to focus on the moment instead of on things that would probably not happen.

On things that would never happen.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

The Force still said no. 

Chapter Text

“What now?”

Qui-Gon Jinn scowled at the door.  The (most likely polite) knocking had been jarring so soon after he had come out of his meditation, and at this late hour it could be only one of two things: a diplomatic emergency and the mission couldn’t wait for morning, or one of Obi-Wan’s friends had missed the message about him moving and was looking for him.  Again.  Obi-Wan had sent out a mass mailing informing all and sundry of his new residence, but he had sent it from their diplomatic cruiser and somewhere along the way it had gotten held up and they had actually returned to Coruscant before anyone had received it.  Obi-Wan had sent out a second one as soon as he was made aware of issue, but with all his friends being padawans of similar age and most frequently in and out of the field, the confusion had continued.  By this time however, if they were still unaware, they weren’t reading their messages, so unless that was a Council summons behind the door, someone was about to get chewed out.  He got to his feet and opened the door. 

“Padawan?”

“Oh, I’m your padawan now?” 

He had the grace to look embarrassed.  “Yes.  You always were.” 

“Hmm,” the man at his door did not look appeased.  “Actually, it’s Master Padawan to you.” 

He broke into a broad smile.  “Really?  Congratulations Feemor!”   He stood there awkwardly, unsure if a hug was appropriate considering the last time he had spoken to the man he had disavowed him as a former student in light of his failures with Xanatos.  In truth, he had only been trying to get Yoda off his back, not that the troll shouldn’t have been on his case. 

“When did this happen?” 

Feemor grinned in delight.  “Two days ago.  I had been eligible to try for a while, but only got back to the Temple recently.  I noticed you had gotten back from your latest mission and thought I’d stop by and find out if you still never wanted to see me again. 

Qui-Gon winced.  “I’m sorry.  I never should have said that, and I didn’t mean what I said.  And I was wrong to dismiss your own accomplishments or to try to negate them because I felt I had failed in my own duty.  I’m sorry Feemor.  It was never about you.” 

“I know.” 

“You do?”

“I do.  I did then.  You were hurting and very embarrassed and lashed out.  I was someone who was safe to be angry at, who wouldn’t say I told you so, and would forgive you.  And I know you didn’t mean to delegitimize my status to make yourself feel better while you were wallowing in self-pity.”  Feemor delivered this speech with his usual cheer, despite the cutting remarks.  For all that Xan could have a cruel tongue, Feemor could break your heart to pieces and make you apologize for the mess. 

“How did you know?  We haven’t spoken since then.” 

Feemor cocked his head and gave him a patient look.  “Silly Master.  If you had been truly serious about it, you would have renounced your title as a Jedi Master, which is what my apprenticeship truly gave you, instead of renouncing me.  Even in the depths of your despair, you still answered to Master Jinn.  You just didn’t want to be reminded of what Xanatos could have been.”  

“I didn’t.  I’m sorry.”

“May I come in, or are we putting on a dramatic play for the neighbors?” 

“Of course,” Qui-Gon shook his head, still too stunned to see his old friend to remember his manners.  “Would you like some tea?”

“If you have any caffeine-free, yes please.”

Qui-Gon turned to him in surprise as he shut the door.  “No caffeine?  You used to live on caffeine.” 

“I also used to go clubbing and not have gray hair.  We all change in time, Master.”

Qui-Gon walked into the kitchen while Feemor looked around the sitting room.  “Have a seat.  Is chamomile okay?  I think that’s still fresh.” 

“Perfect.”  Feemor paused, smiling at the print of himself and his master when he had been pregnant with their daughter, grateful Qui-Gon hadn’t tried to erase him the way he had his second apprentice.  “I hear Master Dooku has taken another extended sabbatical to Serreno?” 

“Yes, he’s not in the Temple right now.  You can tell by how calm everyone is.”  Qui-Gon poured the water into the pot, letting the tea steep while he checked the kitchen for something light to serve his unexpected guest.  “Do you still eat Bren Biscuits?”

“Love them!”  Feemor looked over the rest of the wall art.  There was a very nice portrait of Tahl, various pics of Qui-Gon and his stern master at various ages, and some lovely prints of mountains and forests that could be on Alderaan, but he wasn’t certain.  He was almost to the end of the wall before he found what he was looking for, a print showing Qui-Gon with his new apprentice.  It was clearly taken after one of the annual saber tournaments, and judging by the semi-finalist ribbon the young man was holding, he was keeping up well with his master’s lessons. 

Qui-Gon came back into the room with the teapot and two cups on a tray with the biscuits and some fresh fruit.  “Come.  Sit.”  He put the tray on the caff table and sat on the couch, waiting to see if Feemor would sit beside him or in one of the chairs. 

Feemor sat beside him, looking at the cups in confusion.  “Your padawan isn’t joining us?”

“No,” Qui-Gon snorted.  “He’s not here.”

“Oh,” Feemor sounded disappointed.  “I was hoping to meet the lad who had returned my master to the land of the living.  Is he having a sleepover?” 

Qui-Gon tried not to choke on his tea.  “He’d better not be, he has a form evaluation tomorrow.” 

Feemor blinked in surprise.  “And he’s not home this late?”

Qui-Gon gave him a confused look.  “He doesn’t live here.  He moved into his own quarters when he turned twenty-one.”

Feemor raised his eyebrows.  “Oh.”  He nodded at the one picture he had found in the room.  “Is he just very slight or is that not a current picture?” 

Qui-Gon turned to follow his gaze.  “Oh, yes.  He was hmm, fifteen or sixteen there.  One of his friend’s master gifted us with the framed print.  I didn’t realize he had left it behind when he moved out.” 

“Do you have a current pic?”

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, even as he reached for the comm.  “Why?  So you can trounce him in the salle and test my teaching skills?”

“Maybe I just want to know if I can trust him to watch your back.” 

Qui-Gon tapped at his comm to bring up an image of his padawan standing, fully dressed in his Jedi uniform, his lightsaber at his belt.  It was an excellent picture to identify him in the event he went missing but didn’t reveal anything about his personality. 

“He has beautiful eyes.”  Feemor smiled down at his new lineage brother. 

“You’re a bit mature for him,” Qui-Gon sounded amused. 

“And you’re not?” Feemor asked, still examining the picture. 

“I’m far too mature for him.”  Qui-Gon picked up a biscuit, dipping it in his tea.  “One of the many reasons he no longer lives here.” 

Feemor gave him an odd look as he passed back the comm.  “I’m surprised you let him go, considering how both Xan and I stayed with you for our entire apprenticeships.”

“Different apprentice, different needs.  You and I were lovers and you felt secure and protected here.  Xan needed someone to ride herd on him, apparently even more than I had realized, but in the end it hadn’t mattered.  Obi-Wan doesn’t need my protection and knows the consequences if he doesn’t toe the line.  If he needs my constant supervision to keep on track, he shouldn’t be knighted and he knows it.” 

Feemor grew quiet.  “Why do you think he doesn’t need your protection?” 

“He’s my padawan, not my lover.  And you’ve seen him.  He’s not going to have horny alphas sniffing at his door, much less betas falling all over themselves for him.  His options are limited, and his presence was a hindrance to my own love affairs.” 

“It’s good to hear you’re having love affairs again, Master, but if his options are limited, isn’t that more reason to keep him close?  You want him to have the confidence to say no to someone who isn’t good for him.” 

Qui-Gon scoffed.  “As I said, he knows the consequences if he doesn’t measure up.  If he falls behind, he won’t pass his Trials.”

Feemor looked very surprised.  “Has he fallen behind?”

“Academically he’s fine, but unlike Xan, he opted to stray from the Jedi path at the beginning of his apprenticeship, not the end.  He already has a black mark on his record and with the Council.  If he steps away again, it won’t be tolerated.  He knows it.” 

“Oh.”  No one had mentioned this when describing the lad.  “Does he have any children?” 

“No.”  Qui-Gon looked disturbed at the mere suggestion.  “He can’t afford to if he wants to pass his Trials.  I’m training him to be a Jedi, not a nursemaid.” 

Feemor looked rather disturbed.  “You never told me I couldn’t be a knight if I had a child.” 

Qui-Gon took his hand, smiling gently.  “You were a brilliant student, Feemor.  The Force shone brightly in you and there was no Darkness in your heart, and no fear.  And you were eighteen and had missed a pill somewhere in a horrendous string of missions.  You had plenty of time to make up any lost ground, you were ahead of your peers and you used your time carrying our child to strengthen your connection to the Force and your commitment to the Order.  Obi-Wan doesn’t have nearly your strength and talent, and his commitment is under scrutiny.  If he were so foolish as to conceive a child, it would be the last straw.  He would never take his Trials, and he would be shipped off to the Service Corps if not removed from the Order entirely.  He has failed before.  The Jedi will not be tolerant of his missteps again.  And he’s twenty-one now.  He has so few years to make up for lost time and he’s still behind.  You were amazing.  Xanatos was brilliant.  Obi-Wan is adequate.  For now.  It remains to be seen whether he can reach the next level.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  I had only heard good things about him.  The Saber Masters spoke very well of him.” 

“I’m his master.  I’ll be damned before my student can’t handle a lightsaber, at least in a classroom.  Obi-Wan’s abilities are very uneven, and saberwork is just the most developed skill he has.”

Skill, not talent.  Feemor frowned at the word choice. 

“Well, I look forward to meeting him.  Perhaps we can all get together for a meal.” 

“Perhaps.  But enough about him.  We haven’t seen each other in years.  When was Neve knighted?  Why did you come back to the Temple?  What did they recognize you for in your Master’s Commendation?  I’m your master, I need to know what to brag about.” 

Feemor laughed, his eyes bright, and for a moment the hints of silver in his hair and the fine lines disappeared, and he was a young man again. “Oh, Master.  I’d tell you that you don’t need to brag, but after Neve I understand better now.  Let’s see, my accomplishments cited at my elevation included training Neve of course, and training Exir, he had lost his master in a pirate attack, poor boy almost died himself, but Chelli and I met up with him and I ended up taking him under my wing.  Oh, and professionally I was recognized for opening relations with two new near human settlements in the Outer Rim who had been closed to off-worlders previously, for negotiating peace in an obscure star system that no one has ever heard of and for working with the Agri Corps to stop pirate raids on their food shipments, which is how I ended up with Exir.  And to be clear, the food was supposed to be going to relieve shortages in the Klevin system before it developed into a famine.  I was not made a master because I secured Master Windu’s supply of roasted caff beans.” 

Qui-Gon snorted.  “I wouldn’t have thought otherwise, Feemor.  You never sought glory, but you were never destined to be a bureaucrat.” 

“I should hope not.  I spent far too much time in the salle to be rubberstamping.” 

“So what are you doing next?  It’s so rare for you to come home.  Are you looking for a padawan?”

“Not yet.”  Feemor gave Qui-Gon a quiet smile.  “I’m taking an in-Temple sabbatical for about a year.  I’ve been away too long.  I need to recharge.”

“A year?  What are you going to do for a year?  Not that I’m not thrilled to have your company during those rare times I’ll be in residence.” 

“I know, I’ve been here for nearly a month and this is the first time you’ve been home.”  Feemor rolled his eyes.  “I plan to brush up on my saber skills, get my knees tended to, I have some torn cartilage that needs to be repaired, maybe learn a new language for my next assignment, and . . . I want to have a baby.” 

Qui-Gon felt his eyebrows raise.  “Really?” 

“Yes,” Feemor laughed.  “The Council could hardly object.  I’ve been on the Outer Rim for most of a decade, I’ve had one and a half padawans and I’m willing to take another and you know, it’s actually planned this time.” 

Qui-Gon felt him carefully in the Force.  “You’re not pregnant yet.” 

“No,” Feemor admitted.  “I’m still looking for a suitable mate.”  He looked down, suddenly uncertain.  “I did wonder if you would have any interest.” 

Qui-Gon stared at his former apprentice in shock.

“Me?  Feemor, don’t you have anyone else in your life?” 

Feemor sighed.  “I’ve had several lovers, some casual, some serious.  If I was just looking for someone to take me through a heat, I do have plenty of options.  Good options.  But I’m not looking for a partner, I’m looking for a father, someone I’m compatible with, someone I can create a healthy child with.  Despite our daughter’s accidental origins, she has proven a blessing from the Force and a gift to the Jedi.  There are plenty of alphas I could roll the dice with, but at my age I’d prefer to try with someone that I’ve been successful with already.  If you’re interested.”

“Wow.”  It wasn’t something Qui-Gon had really considered.  He had fathered children before, but it had been a long time since he had tried to do so intentionally.  “I’ll have to think about it, but I am interested.”

Feemor looked hopeful.  “You don’t have to decide now, and we could do it the clinical way or the natural way.” 

Qui-Gon gave him an insulted look.  “I would never make you do this the unnatural way, Padawan.” 

Feemor raised an eyebrow.  “This is the first night you’ve been home in a month.  If my heat comes when you are out of the Temple, a technician with an inseminating dildo will have to do.”

“When is your next heat?”

“I’ve switched from a birth control regimen to a fertility regimen.  My next heat will come in the next three to five weeks.  I can’t pick the day.  I can pick the week.”  He reached for Qui-Gon’s hand, smiling when Qui-Gon complied.  “Let me know.  It’s okay to say no.  It’s okay to say yes.  It’s okay to just spend the heat with me and to use a spermicide.  But my goal is to be pregnant in three months, so if the answer is no, I need to know soon.”  He shrugged.  “I’m getting old.  I don’t want to waste this opportunity.  If the answer is yes, we can try to time the heat to when you are home, or you can go to the healers and make a deposit, and I can do it myself while you’re out saving the galaxy.”  He chuckled.  “A planned pregnancy might be a little less romantic, but I won’t love the child any less.” 

“I need to meditate on this, but if this something you truly want, and I agree, I’ll make the time.  If you’re going to carry our child, again, for nine months, it should be conceived in love, not in a cold clinic.” 

Feemor rolled his eyes.  “You were always so romantic for a Jedi, not that I’m complaining.”  He yawned, looked at the chrono, startled at how late it had become.  “And on that note, I should go home and get my fertility sleep.  I’m too old to need beauty sleep, but I am working to get my body in top condition.”  He leaned over and kissed Qui-Gon on the cheek.  “You should get on supplements.  You looked tired and I demand quality sperm for my child.” 

“Of course, Feemor,” Qui-Gon chuckled, knowing his former padawan would have capsules sent to his room even before he fully agreed. 

Feemor put his empty cup back on the tray.  “Would this cause issues between you and your apprentice?” he asked.  “I know he doesn’t live here, but you are still his master, his needs must come before mine.”

“No.”  Qui-Gon cupped his cheek fondly, remembering many warm memories of the last time Feemor had carried his child.  “Obi-Wan is not Xanatos.”

Feemor put a hand on his shoulder, just barely caressing his scent gland, a bold come on.  “He’s not the jealous type?”

Qui-Gon leaned in and kissed him so thoroughly he almost missed the response.  “Obi-Wan knows his place.” 

* * *

Qui-Gon lay back in his bed, not actually meditating, but thinking about this new opportunity that Feemor had dropped in his lap.  He had not seriously considered trying to conceive a child for a long time, not since Tahl if he were to be honest, not that he probably hadn’t managed it with some of his less careful partners.  Feemor had looked wonderful, had smelled wonderful, quite obviously on a fertility pill regimen now that it had been pointed out.  He was visibly older and long enough in the tooth to be considered at moderate risk for complications, but still young enough to conceive without extensive medical assistance.  Taking control of the timing of his heats allowed him to schedule his fertile window with optimal health and mate availability, but even if he weren’t so proactive, he was young enough that conception was still quite likely, even if it might take longer than for someone younger. 

And Feemor was quite eager.  He had had already received a notice from the Pharmacy that his sperm health supplements would be delivered tomorrow. 

It was good to see Feemor had grown into the strong, mature Jedi he’d always known he would be, and a master no less.  They had been estranged since Xan’s fall, but even before that, Xanatos’s possessive nature meant they hadn’t seen each other often.  It had been a very long time since they had had such a fine evening together, and it was wonderful to see him so comfortable in his own skin, so confident and sure of what he wanted and willing to make it happen.  He had come a long way since he had first presented as an omega. 

Feemor had been barely seventeen the day he was called down to the Healer’s Hall, where his young apprentice had gone when the cramps had first started.  The poor young man had been mortified when the healers had explained what was happening, despite many of his friends undergoing similar experiences at the time.  He had readily accepted his master’s hug as he had a few years earlier during his first menses, and they had gone home with a variety of supplies to help the young man through the experience. 

Qui-Gon had helped him prepare, changing out the sheets, putting down absorbent pads, and preparing food and drink while Feemor showered and redressed, very self-conscious about his emerging heat scent.  He had knocked on his door with a light meal and medication, only to find the young man sobbing on the commode, mortified because his copious slick had overrun his pad and messed his pants.  Fortunately, the healers had given him a muscle relaxant to ease his cramps, and they could talk about the whole thing in a calm manner, the physical distress at a minimum while Feemor decided how he wanted to handle his first heat.

He had coaxed Feemor back into his room and laid out his options.  They could wait it out, though this was not recommended.  They could get one of his peers who had already presented to help, though Feemor wasn’t close enough to anyone with enough experience to handle a virgin.  A health technician would have a great deal of experience and could ensure he was physically comfortable and wasn’t injured but wouldn’t know him personally.  Or his master could help him. 

Feemor had chosen the last option almost immediately, if his master was willing.  His master had already witnessed him in a variety of mortifying situations, and it was likely inevitable that his heat would strike in the field when Qui-Gon would be his only source of assistance and he knew his master was an alpha who was kind to omegas, one who didn’t try to hurt them. 

Qui-Gon had told him it would be an honor to take him through his first heat, then told him to meditate while he got some things ready.  At Feemor’s tentative nod he had run to his room, took a shower and a nasal shot of a mild rut suppressant, which would prevent him losing control but still enable him to service his partner.  Normally he wouldn’t have worried about it, but it was Feemor’s first time and his heat scent was unusually strong, and he wouldn’t hurt his apprentice for all the world. 

When he had finished preparing his own bed and room, he tapped on Feemor’s door.  His padawan had washed his face and changed his pad again, but still looked very uncertain.  Qui-Gon had let him know they could stop at any time, that the whole point was to make him more comfortable and to prevent pain, and if something didn’t feel right or he just didn’t like it, it was okay, and they could try something else.  Feemor had looked up at him, eyes full of trust, and followed him to the master bedroom.

The cramps were starting to flare up, as was his temperature, so Qui-Gon had laid him out on the bed, then began to kiss him gently, rubbing his belly to ease the pain and fear.  Feemor had responded well, arching into the warm touches, his nostrils flaring to take in pheromones and his apprehension had melted into a curious desire.  When the young man began to shift and whine, obviously trying not to fondle his own erection, he had kissed his way down the smooth chest, stroked the erect, leaking penis, then teased his fingers lower, tracing over the opening to his apprentice’s body, while his kiss muffled his cry before asking if he wanted more.

Yes, Feemor had definitely wanted more. 

Within minutes his much-loved apprentice was moaning wantonly, his saber-calloused hands white-knuckling the rails of the headboard while Qui-Gon lapped at his slick folds, tasting him, setting off all kinds of wonderful sensations.  Qui-Gon had used the young man’s own fluids to coat his hand, using the slick to jerk him off, giving him his first climax with a partner.  Before long Feemor was asking to be penetrated by something larger than his master’s tongue, and he accepted his master’s fingers readily, his heat flaring as his excitement grew.  Feemor was bright, glowing in the Force, and his heat scent had gone to Qui-Gon’s head, his own arousal building within him.  Feemor had clung to him, eyes wide as his body brought him pleasures he had never imagined. 

They had taken a break after Feemor had ground himself against his master’s fingers while Qui-Gon sucked him off, his climax leaving him breathless and hoarse from screaming.  They had showered together, then rehydrated and Feemor managed to get a little food down before the heat had flared again.  He had very enthusiastically enjoyed gentle penetration, so when they returned to the bed, he had asked if Feemor had wanted him to try to knot him.  Feemor was a bit nervous, particularly at Qui-Gon’s size, now seen up close, but he trusted his master and the fingers had given him a wonderful respite from the ache, but it was coming back harder, so Qui-Gon had sat in the center of the bed and guided his apprentice to straddle his lap, and together, with gentle kisses and caresses, he had gradually pressed into Feemor’s hot passage, letting him lead the way, enjoying the tight, slick heat as he had entered him and his padawan was soon sitting fully in his lap, gasping at the intense pleasure.  A few gentle thrusts had set off spasms in his apprentice and his knot began to fill and he had kissed him deeply as he gave the last hard thrust to push in the knot.  Feemor had wailed in his arms, trembling in ecstasy as his body clamped down, and his orgasm hit him like a star going nova, obliterating the aches, pains and fear.  Qui-Gon had filled him with his seed soon after, and Feemor had stared at him, stunned at the sensations in his body and the Force, overwhelmed  to feel his master’s member deep inside him, to feel the tiny army of his master’s sperm moving within him through the Living Force.  He had pressed his hand on his own belly in wonder, feeling where they were joined, feeling his master moving beneath his hand, and he came again, several times, unable to believe his own body could bring him such joys. 

They had done it twice more the next day and it had been so wonderful they both started tracking his cycle so his heats would not catch them by surprise. 

The missed pill had caught them by surprise, but in retrospect it really shouldn’t have.  Qui-Gon was becoming a mature knight, in high demand, and now that Feemor was no longer a minor, their mission schedule had intensified.  Somehow, somewhere, between different worlds, different time zones, disrupted sleep, minor injuries and occasionally running for their lives, Feemor had missed a pill and neither one of them had noticed he had gone into full-blown ovulation when his heat came.  Weeks later, the severe vomiting had clued them in, even before Feemor’s scent had changed, and they had both had a wide range of emotions, from fear to elation. 

The Council had been less than thrilled but had not censored them.  Feemor was of age, and birth control was difficult to maintain with the lives Jedi lived.

Master Dooku had been mostly disappointed with Qui-Gon for not using a damned spermicide, but had doted on his grandpadawan, pleased as punch that a baby was on the way, eagerly tracking the child’s growth in the Force and in the size of Feemor’s growing belly.  Feemor had been initially shy about his changing body, but he had agemates who had been through this or were going through it, and when the intense nausea finally relented in his second trimester, his sex drive had returned with a vengeance, and they had made passionate love many times over the months while their daughter grew in his womb. 

The delivery had certainly not been painless, but the healers had described it as textbook and clinically uneventful, with no nasty surprises.  Qui-Gon had never been so scared in his life, and his own master had had to give him a stern pep talk to get him to focus.  Feemor had released his fears to the Force, trusting the healers to help him somehow get the seemingly huge baby out of his body, and when it was all over, they were both amazed at how tiny she actually was.  She was perfect, just like her mother, and Feemor had kept her at home for another three months, nursing her and letting her grow strong and sure before he brought her to the Creche, not just for the day, but to stay. 

Qui-Gon had held him all night long while he cried, but he had never changed his mind and he had already begun rehab and training to get back to field certified.  The next day the healers had given him an injection to stop the lactation and get his body back to normal.  Qui-Gon had suckled the last of his milk from his breasts so he wouldn’t have to use a cold machine to pump himself dry for the last time. 

And life went on. 

Feemor had continued to develop, becoming the padawan and the knight he had always known he would be, taking an apprentice of his own, and bringing his Light and wisdom where the Force (and the Council) led.  They had both watched from afar (in Feemor’s case from across the galaxy) as their daughter transitioned from the Creche to the Initiate Dorms, and then was ultimately selected as a padawan to an older knight.  She had eventually been knighted, but it had been during his dark time, when his grief over Tahl’s death had driven him away from everyone he loved, too afraid of being hurt to engage.  He had found the polite invitation to her knighting ceremony three years after it had happened, buried in a mail account he had been ignoring at the time.  He wondered if Feemor had attended and if he had explained his absence. 

He still hadn’t met her.

And now Feemor wanted to do it again.  Intentionally. 

He knew he would say yes.

For all of his tantrums and declarations, he knew Feemor and their children would be his greatest legacy.  It would never be enough to make up for Xan, but Feemor was such a bright, pure Light in the Force, he could only hope their children would inherit it. 

He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of Feemor’s womb beneath his hand, heavy with child, the tiny Light within kicking against his fingers.  He wanted to feel that again. 

He was always going to say yes. 

He would make the time. 

The Council owed him a break from his never-ending mission run, and were insisting that Obi-Wan stay in Temple long enough to intern with the Senate Liason’s Office so he could make connections and get a more hands on understanding of law and government in the Republic.  With Feemor needing him nearby for a few weeks, now was as good a time as any.  Now that Obi-Wan had moved out, perhaps Feemor would want to move in for the year.  There was plenty of room.  The baby could even stay in the padawan room until it was time for them to stay in the Creche.

Yes, he would make the time.  Feemor was worth it. 

Chapter Text

“So has your work been completed then?” Qui-Gon Jinn stared down at the datapad his apprentice had presented him with.  “Or is this just the draft?”

“Yes, Master.  I’ve completed the final report and turned it in last night.  My instructors had several suggestions for edits on the first draft, which I did before I turned in the final version.  Master Bleovis confirmed he had received it and he also said he had quickly checked the edits.  He doesn’t anticipate there will be any issues and my requirements for working in the Senate Liaison Office are complete, though final grades will not be posted until next week and my records will be updated then.” 

“Good, that’s over with.”  Qui-Gon turned on his own datapad and checked off the requirement with relish.  “What of your saberwork?  I trust you haven’t been letting your skills lapse while you’ve been working on Coruscant.” 

“No, Master.  I’ve attended early morning practice and sparring sessions and have been practicing open hand katas on my work breaks so as not to alarm my civilian coworkers.” 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.  “But not your saber katas?” 

Obi-Wan looked down, submissive.  “No, Master.  I have been having difficulty with the next kata on my assignment list.  Master Drallig recommended I master several similar open-hand katas before I try again.” 

“You are no longer expected to report to the Liason’s Office?”

“No, Master.  All the in-person work was completed by mid-week.” 

“Then you are two days behind on saber katas.  Get to it.” 

Obi-Wan did not protest.  “Yes, Master.”

“What other work are you doing today?”

“I was going to attend the saber clinic this morning, do inventory and resupply on our kits, read up on our next mission and also work on the katas, Master.” 

“You have no additional coursework?”  He usually didn’t have to remind his apprentice to keep up with his academic studies. 

“No, Master.  I finished my coursework early so I would have time to complete the Liaison Office work.  The next courses don’t begin for another two weeks.”

“Have you registered for your correspondence courses for next term?”

“Yes, Master.  I’ve also downloaded the course material to take on our next mission.”

“But you haven’t started on it?”

“No, Master.  The files won’t unlock until the courses officially begin.”

“Very well.  You seem to have caught up on everything you can until then.”  He reached into his pocket for a data chip, passing it to Obi-Wan.  “We have a mission briefing first thing Monday morning.  Here are the mission parameters.  I want you to research the planet, the factions, the political situation, the relevant laws, both local and the Republic laws, and write up a full pre-mission summary and create dossiers for the major players.” 

Obi-Wan felt his open weekend slip away.  “And I should prepare this for the mission briefing?” 

“No,” Qui-Gon scowled.  “I’ll need to review your report before the mission briefing.  I expect you’ll have it to me by Sunday evening.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“You should also be prepared to leave Coruscant immediately after the mission briefing, so make sure you do the laundry early enough.” 

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you have any questions?”

Obi-Wan bit back a sigh.  “I noticed you had removed my permission to enter your quarters, Master.  How do you want me to handle your laundry and perform the inventory on your kit?” 

Qui-Gon frowned as if this had only now just occurred to him.  “Is this why my boots weren’t polished this week?”

“Yes, Master.  I did comm to ask you how you wanted me to handle it when I realized I could not get in to retrieve them.”

Qui-Gon hadn’t seen any message, but he had been admittedly pre-occupied moving Feemor in, helping him nest, and taking him through his heat.  He supposed he would prefer his apprentice not break into his quarters, even if his boots were scuffed and the laundry had piled up. 

“I’ll give them to you now.  You can drop them at the door when they’re done.”

Obi-Wan looked slightly pained at this arrangement but didn’t complain.  “Shall I pack your bags when your clothes are clean, or did you want to do that yourself?” 

Qui-Gon gave him a sharp look, trying to decide if he was being smart-mouthed or trying to slack off, but Obi-Wan remained submissive, still looking down, and despite the master’s suspicions, the young man genuinely seemed to be asking his preference while they established this new routine. 

“You’re already doing the inventory anyway, and you know how to pack.  Yes, you should keep packing my things.”

“Are you planning on attending the mission briefing, Master, or am I going alone?” Obi-Wan leaned his head in the general direction of Qui-Gon’s apartment door but did not look up. 

Oh?  His young apprentice was not quite as oblivious as he had thought.  “Why do you think I might not attend?”

Obi-Wan looked him in the eye.  “You have been occupied with other matters, Master.  I don’t know if that is finished or if you’ll expect that to continue into next week.  I was only asking if I should wait for you or attend the briefing without you if you are still busy.” 

Qui-Gon blinked.  Obi-Wan had certainly been honing his diplomatic skills.  He had gone into rut in response to Feemor’s heat and the two of them had not left the apartment in days.  Obi-Wan must have smelled it if he had tried to pick up the laundry. 

“I’ll be at the meeting.  I’ll have questions you can’t answer.”  He took back the data chip as Obi-Wan had finished copying the data to his own device.  “I’ll be out this evening and unavailable tomorrow during the day.  I expect to see your report at dinner on Sunday.  We’ll prepare for the meeting then.” 

“Yes, Master.”

“Stay here.  I’ll get the laundry and my bags.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to sigh as he began looking through the mission parameters.  This report was going to take every free moment he had if he was going to get it done by tomorrow evening.  Maybe more.  He had hoped getting his work done early might have earned him a little downtime, but apparently not.  Now he was just grateful it was done so he didn’t have to do it in addition to this new project.  He sent a message to Quinlan and Reeft that he would definitely not be able to make it out tonight and to have fun without him.  Not that they needed encouragement. 

Qui-Gon Jinn quickly stepped into the apartment, surprised to see Feemor was out of bed when he went into their room to bag up the laundry.  After the night they’d had he half-expected him to still be asleep.  The refresher was still humid from Feemor’s shower when he went in to retrieve the towels, so he had been up for a while.  Qui-Gon returned to the bedroom to strip the bedsheets into the bulging bag.  He’d have to come up with a better laundry system when he returned from his mission. 

“Good morning,” Feemor wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist and nuzzled at his scent gland.  “Do you feel like nesting too?” 

“No, Darling,” he turned his head, trying to steal a kiss.  “Laundry day.  As much as I’d love to spend the day making love with you again, I have a mission next week.” 

“Oh, you mean you can’t be a diplomat in clothes reeking of sex?” Feemor chuckled.  “How long has it been, that bag is stuffed.” 

“I’ve been distracted lately.”

“You have been,” Feemor agreed. 

“Do you have anything to wash?” Qui-Gon asked as he scanned the room for stray socks. 

“I’ll take care of it this afternoon.”

Qui-Gon gave him a stern look.  “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

Feemor rolled his eyes.  “It’s washing laundry, not a rancor.  And I was planning on sitting on my lazy ass until lunch.”  He let Qui-Gon go to stretch.  “I’m almost fully rehydrated, I’m taking in food, and I have some fertility-boosting meditations to do.  Putting my clothes in a washer is not going to prevent conception.” 

Qui-Gon pulled him close and kissed him deeply.  “I just want this to work.”

“I know.  And you’ll have plenty of time to fuss over me if I actually get pregnant.  For now, relax.  Let me set up my habitat myself.”

“Yes, Darling.”  Qui-Go gave him a gentle peck on the lips.  “But I’m sending out my laundry if you want to spend your afternoon doing something else.” 

“It’s fine.”  A look of worry suddenly crossed his features.  “You do have something to wear tonight, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Padawan, I can pass inspection.  Which reminds me, I need my boots polished.” 

“I can do yours when I do mine,” Feemor offered. 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes as he tied off the bag.  “Relax, you’ll need that energy later.”  He sat down to change out of his boots.  “Besides, you’re a master now.  It’s not your job to polish my boots.” 

“It used to be.”

“You’ve been promoted.”  Qui-Gon picked up his pack and was dismayed to discover it still contained his dirty laundry from his last string of missions, and they were ripe.  There was no more room in the laundry bag.  He decided to just let Obi-Wan unpack it since he was doing the inventory anyway.  He looped his utility belt through the strap, bagged up his boots, and grabbed the laundry bags with a grunt, then headed toward the door. 

“Would you like some help?” Feemor asked as Qui-Gon struggled to get the door open with his hands full. 

“No, I’ve got it,” Qui-Gon stumbled out the door and headed down the hall.

Feemor rolled his eyes.  He enjoyed the closeness and care he received from his former master, but he wasn’t a frightened eighteen-year-old padawan anymore.  He didn’t need to be coddled. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened as his master reentered the meeting room.  That was a hell of a lot of laundry.  It would take hours, on top of what he had already been assigned.  Master Jinn must have had quite the private party this past week. 

“Don’t forget to do your own laundry,” Master Jinn chided.  “We likely won’t have washing facilities on our transport beyond sonics.”

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan resigned himself to spending the whole morning in the laundry.  So much for the morning saber clinic.  Hopefully he could do the inventory while the clothes washed and dried, replenish the supplies before lunch and repack the bags, get a saber consult about the kata he was having trouble with in the afternoon, polish the boots, and get started on the research by early evening.  It would be a late night and an early morning if he had to finish by the time Master Jinn ate dinner, but it could be done.  He’d have to wash his own laundry at the same time to make it work. 

“Was there anything else, Master?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Yes.”  Qui-Gon put down the heavy bags with a thump.  “I’ll be out of the Temple this evening.  I expect you won’t contact me unless there is a High Council summons.”

Obi-Wan swallowed a sigh.  That meant his master would not be available to answer questions either.  “I won’t disturb you, Master.”  He looked at the bags, mentally tallying how many loads it would be.  “I’ll message you when I drop your laundry back at your door.” 

“Don’t forget the boots, I’ll need them tonight.”

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan began rearranging the bags, re-tying them to be easier to carry and putting the datapads in Qui-Gon’s mission pack and trying not to breathe too deeply.  Clearly Qui-Gon had added the sheets from his latest tryst.

“I’ll see you Sunday when you present your report.  Don’t slack off on your saber work.  Again.”

“I won’t, Master.”  Not that he knew when he’d be able to make up the time.  His master had quite effectively filled his day to the point of cutting into his sleep and meditation time.  He supposed he could get in a short session while the laundry washed. 

There was a sound of a door opening and closing and Qui-Gon stilled as footsteps came closer.  The smell of a happily committed omega reached Obi-Wan’s nose just before a blond head peeked into the room, tapping on the doorframe. 

“Didn’t make it to the lift?”

 Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a warning glare to keep his mouth shut before he turned to face Feemor.  “We were just finalizing details.”  He glanced back at Obi-Wan.  “I trust we’re done?”

“Yes, Master.”  Well aware his master had no desire to introduce him to his lover and would in fact prefer he got on with his work, Obi-Wan gathered up the bags and began moving toward the door, his gaze on the floor, trying to be invisible.  Feemor was not going to stand for that.

“Hello.  Padawan Kenobi I presume?”

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon warily before he turned to face him.  “Yes, Sir Jedi.”  Having never been introduced, he did not know Feemor’s rank.  “I’m afraid you have me at a loss.”

Feemor gave Qui-Gon a sharp look before replying.  “Yes, you are much closer to your picture than I am, and our master still has dreadful manners.  I’m Master Feemor, your eldest lineage brother, but you may call me Feemor.”

Obi-Wan glanced again at Master Jinn, who was giving him a warning look.  “I expect I cannot, Master Feemor.”  Carefully, he put down one of the packs to offer his hand for shaking.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Feemor raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon as they shook hands, but it wasn’t clear if he was scolding him for not introducing them or for sticking Obi-Wan with the laundry.  “I have been looking forward to meeting you since I returned to Coruscant.  Master Jinn has been hiding you away.” 

“My training keeps me busy.” 

Feemor chuckled to hide a deep breath, trying to get a read on his new brother, but he could only smell that he was male, and that only barely.  His scent gave no clues as to his designation.  His behavior was clearly submissive and subordinate to Qui-Gon, but that told him nothing either, as the master-padawan relationship superseded designation.  If he had to guess from his build, Feemor would put his credits on Obi-Wan being a beta, but he really couldn’t tell. 

“I’ll be on Coruscant for the next year for an in-Temple sabbatical.  I do hope we can get to know each other in that time.”  He had been starting to wonder if Obi-Wan had been avoiding him as Xanatos had in his jealous teenage years, but now he was beginning to suspect Qui-Gon had never mentioned him at all. 

Obi-Wan gave him a look that was part cautious, part mischievous.  “Are you planning to try to kill me, sell me into slavery, mind-wipe me, stab me or duel to the death with hot sabers?” 

Feemor gave him a confused look.  “No?”

Obi-Wan looked back at his master.  “I like him already.” 

Qui-Gon scowled at him and Obi-Wan ducked his head again as he picked up the laundry bags. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Feemor, but I’m afraid Master Jinn has assigned me work that I must get to now.  I hope I’ll have the chance to get to know you later.” 

Feemor gave him a friendly grin.  He did feel sincere in the Force.  “So do I, Young Padawan.  We can chat more tonight.”

Obi-Wan looked slightly confused at this.  “Yes, Master Feemor.  May the Force be with you.”  He bobbed his head at both of them, unable to bow when he was half-stooped under his load. 

“Don’t forget my boots, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon reminded him. 

“I won’t, Master.”  Obi-Wan managed to hold in any grunts or complaints until he was safely behind the lift doors. 

Feemor raised an eyebrow after the doors closed.  “What did he do?”

“Hmm?” Qui-Gon asked, already hoping to draw Feemor back into a kiss. 

“What are you punishing him for?  And why didn’t you just meet him in your quarters?  I could have stepped out or stayed in the bedroom if you needed privacy.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “I’m not punishing him.  He had a break from his chores when we were busy together.  He’s just gotten backlogged.  And you’ve just moved in and are setting up your nest.  The last thing you need is a rival stinking up the place, no matter how futile.”

Feemor gave him a puzzled look.  “Is he even capable of giving off scent?”  Clearly his normal scent wasn’t strong if he could cover it so effectively. 

“Yes.  It’s been awful since he presented.  It took weeks before the laundry started smelling normal again.” 

Feemor frowned.  If Obi-Wan had in fact presented, he was less likely to be a beta, despite his build and lack of strong scent.  He must have been on both suppressants and gland deodorants.  “He’s your padawan, not an interloper.”  Feemor did catch a different odor and glanced toward the lift, suspicious.  “Did you put our filthy sheets in the laundry for Obi-Wan to wash?”

“Yes.  We should have clean sets back this afternoon.” 

“Qui-Gon, that’s rude.  I could have washed them with my laundry this afternoon.”

Qui-Gon seemed surprised Feemor cared.  “You never had a problem washing my sheets.”

“That’s because I was usually the one who had made the mess.  I know you said he wasn’t Xan, but could you please try to not give him reasons to resent me?”

“He has no reason to resent you.”

Feemor gave him a skeptical look.  “Do you wash his sex-stained sheets?”

“Of course not.  He doesn’t live here, and I don’t fuck him.”

Feemor bit back a sigh.  “I’ll wash the sheets.  If he doesn’t live here and isn’t one of your lovers, he shouldn’t have to do that.” 

Qui-Gon gave him a look that said he didn’t agree but was willing to humor his lover.  “He’s never complained.” 

“I used to wash your socks.  He definitely has.  Just not to you.”  Feemor shook his head.  “Did Master Dooku make you wash his sheets?” 

Qui-Gon snorted.  “Your grandmaster is prudish, you know.  He preferred to indulge in his lover’s abode, not at home.  If he ever managed to soil his sheets at home, I never saw it.” 

“I. Will.  Wash.  The.  Sheets.” 

Qui-Gon kissed him gently on the forehead.  “Yes, Darling.  Now why were you looking for me instead of laying on the couch so any little embryos could find their way to your womb?”  He rubbed Feemor’s belly, emphasizing his point. 

“You’re out of everything.  I was going to put an order in to Stores and wanted to get your input on groceries while I can still cook without puking up my guts.  Besides, we’re not eating out every night.”

Qui-Gon slid his hand over Feemor’s hip, pulling him up against his body.  “Any chance I could interest you in a home-cooked meal tonight too?”

“No,” Feemor gave him a challenging look.  “We’ve indulged our passions long enough.  We have social obligations to attend to.” 

“Yes, Master Feemor,” Qui-Gon managed to capture his lips.  “Let’s get you back home so you can do those meditations.  We both know you ovulated this week.”

“Yes, Master Jinn.”  Feemor covered one of Qui-Gon’s hands with his own, both of them rubbing his flat stomach.  “I hope for a blessing from the Force.” 

Qui-Gon kissed him again.  “Me too.”

* * *

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall of the lift, trying not to close his eyes.  He had finished the laundry, both his and his master’s, had fully restocked their kits and repacked their bags, polished their boots, delivered the clean, folded laundry and his master’s pack and boots, and had consulted with one of the saber instructors on the kata he was stuck on.  He had then showered and wolfed down some food on the go and was now on his way to the Library to begin his research project.  He was more tired than he should have been given his busy but not physically taxing day, but he had been working hard for weeks, staying up late to finish his coursework and getting up early to keep up with his saber-work.  Master Yoda would have scolded him for burning the candle at both ends, but Master Jinn considered it standard operating procedure.  He never did understand how his peers found time to socialize so much more than he did, but they were generally more talented than he was, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising that he had to work harder to keep up.

The lift doors opened and Obi-Wan pulled himself fully upright and walked into the Library, trying not to slump with exhaustion.  Fortunately, at this time, still close to the start of dinner hours, there wasn’t much competition for the data terminals, and he could get right to work accessing the Archival Files. 

He logged into the system, began several searches for entries, then went to the Service Desk to sign out a holo projector so he could get a three-dimensional view of the local systems and of other relevant image files.  He was almost back to his study carrel when a scolding voice called out to him.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, surely you don’t think you are acceptably dressed.”

Obi-Wan stopped dead, turning to see Master Jocasta Nu looking at him in disapproval.  Behind her, Master Dooku stared at him, equally aghast.  Obi-Wan glanced down at himself.  His clothes were a bit worn, a few patches here and there, which is why he didn’t tend to wear them on missions, but they had seemed acceptable for errands and chores while in the Temple. 

Obi-Wan bowed to show he meant no disrespect.  “I’m sorry, Master Nu.  I was not aware that I was not meeting dress code standards for the Library.” 

Jocasta and Yan shared a look. 

“I didn’t mean for the Library, Young Padawan.  I meant for dinner.  You’ll be late if you don’t leave soon and you still have to change.”

Obi-Wan looked at her, truly baffled.  “I’m sorry Master Nu, I don’t know what dinner you’re referring to.  I’ve already eaten and I’m here to work on a research project that my master assigned to me.” 

Dooku scowled at him darkly, and Obi-Wan backed up a half-step, not sure what he had done this time to offend the alpha. 

“I would think at your age you could effectively manage your time so that you wouldn’t have to cancel invitations at the last minute.  Are you so incompetent as a padawan that you are also going to keep your master from my company?”

Obi-Wan shrank visibly in the face of his grandmaster’s displeasure. 

“Yan,” Jocasta laid a hand on his forearm, feeling this was a bit harsh, especially this close to the end of the academic term. 

Obi-Wan took a shaky breath, not able to guess what excuse his master had been planning to give on his behalf for an invitation he had never known existed.  “I am sincerely sorry to disappoint you, Master Dooku,” he dared not refer to this man as ‘grandmaster.’  “I honestly did not know about your dinner plans.  My master gave me a new assignment this morning and expects me to complete it by tomorrow.  He did say he would be out of the Temple this evening, so I hope this means he intends to attend your gathering, but he didn’t tell me what his engagement was.”

Yan narrowed his eyes.  “He told me that two of you were coming.  I would have thought you were old enough to socialize by now.”

Obi-Wan had a very strong suspicion who was attending in his stead.  “If I’m not mistaken, Master Dooku, Master Jinn is bringing a second person, but never intended to give the impression that I was that person.  He made it clear he expects me to be working tonight.”

Yan Dooku gave him a sharp look of disgust.  “If you’re ever going to be an effective Jedi, you’re going to have to learn to be a better liar.”

Obi-Wan winced but said nothing.  Yan glared at him before he stalked out of the Library.  Jocasta gave him a sympathetic look as she followed. 

“Yan, Qui-Gon does send him to work here quite often.  He may be telling you the truth.” 

Dooku huffed as they headed toward the speeder bay where he had parked when he stopped by to pick up Jocasta for his annual dinner party at the Serrenese Embassy.  “The little snot never comes.  It’s bad enough that he can’t spare one night away from his friends, but to pretend he has an assignment?  Qui-Gon knew the date.”

“He spends more weekends at the Library than not.  Jinn expects more out of him.”

“I expect more out of him.”

* * *

“Qui-Gon Jinn, how delightful to see you,” Jocasta clutched his hand, letting her lover’s former padawan kiss her on the cheek.

Dooku reluctantly came over to greet his former student, who was helping his companion out of his robe.  “Good to see you, Qui-Gon.  I trust you were finally able to convince your padawan to grace us with his presence?”  He glared at the shorter man who was starting to turn back around to face him.

“Not exactly,” Qui-Gon replied.

“Grandmaster Dooku!” Feemor grinned, holding out his arms for a hug. 

“Feemor?” Dooku pulled him close, delighted.  “When did you arrive on Coruscant?” 

“Two months ago.  I’m taking an in-Temple sabbatical after my Master’s Trials.”

“So is it Master Feemor now?” Dooku held him at arms-length, relearning his face.

“Yes,” Feemor replied modestly.

“And how many great-grandpadawans have you given me?” 

“One and a half.”  Feemor let Dooku take his arm and lead him to the table.  “I was my second padawan’s second master.” 

“Wonderful.”  Dooku gave him a soft smile. 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, his master was always enchanted by Feemor, and offered his own arm to Jocasta.  “Good to see you, Master Nu.”

“And you as well, Qui-Gon.  I often see your apprentice in the Library, but I rarely see you.”

“Yes, well Obi-Wan is old enough to gather data for our missions now.  I have other matters to focus my attentions on.” 

Jocasta had caught his and Feemor’s mingled scents.  “No doubt.”

The rest of the table began to fill out.  Yan had led Feemor to sit by his side and Jocasta sat on his other side.  Qui-Gon sat next to Feemor as well, and they were quickly joined by one of Qui-Gon’s lineage siblings and two sister padawans of another.

Feemor looked around the table, surprised all the chairs had been filled.  “Isn’t Obi-Wan joining us?”

Dooku scowled again.  “Apparently not.  We ran into him at the Library and he claimed his master had given him a research project just this morning.”

“I did,” Qui-Gon nodded at the wine steward who filled his glass.  “We both know you don’t enjoy his company, Master.  You’ve both been spared.”

“I’m never in his company long enough to determine whether I enjoy it,” Yan corrected.

“He’s gotten taller, but otherwise he’s the same.  You certainly would find no more reason to like him now than you did the first time, Master.”

“Is he still maintaining adequate mediocrity?” Yan asked. Across the table the two sisters shared a glance. 

“He remains adequate.”  Qui-Gon sipped at the excellent wine.  “But he has done nothing I can brag about.”

The younger of the two siblings, who was in fact still a padawan, shook her head to refuse the wine before addressing her lineage uncle.  “I thought he performed well in the saber tournament last year, Master Jinn.”

Both Feemor and Yan looked at him expectantly. 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “As has everyone at this table.  And a few semi-finalist ribbons won’t protect him the field.  Besides, it’s not as if he’s ever placed first in his division.”

Feemor frowned at him.  “We can’t all be Xanatos, Master.”

“Obi-Wan certainly can’t.”

The wine steward had finished serving Jocasta and Yan, then moved on to Feemor.  He shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

Yan looked at him, concerned.  “Would you prefer a white wine?”

“No wine, thank you.”  He nodded at the steward who left the bottle on ice before leaving.  Feemor turned back to his grandmaster.  “I’m currently on a fertility regimen.”

Yan and Jocasta lit up like proud grandparents. 

“Feemor, that’s wonderful!”

“Oh Dear, good for you.”

Yan scrutinized his grandpadawan carefully in the Force.  “Are we allowed to ask if you’ve been successful?”

Feemor laughed heartily.  “You’re allowed to ask, but to be honest, I don’t know.  If I am, it’s too soon to tell.”

Yan clasped his hand, quietly thrilled.  “I can’t tell either, but I have a good feeling about this.”  He leaned forward to glare at Qui-Gon.  “At least it’s planned this time.”

The wine steward returned with a glass of water with a slice of citrus for Feemor in lieu of wine.  The Jedi accepted it with a grateful look. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “I find I do prefer it to be planned.”

Yan smiled at him.  “You have more meat on your bones this time.  You’ll have to send pictures so I can watch you grow.” 

“We’ll see.  I have to get this old body to conceive first.”

“You can do it,” Yan gave his hand one more squeeze before letting him go as the wait staff began to bring out the appetizers.  “The Force is with you.”

“I hope so.”

Qui-Gon’s lineage brother selected a sizzling hot dumpling and added sauce.  “Does Obi-Wan have any children yet?”

“Ugh,” Qui-Gon sounded disgusted.  “No.  Thank the Force.” 

“My master said we could discuss it when I was twenty-one,” the young padawan reported.

“Good,” Yan told her.  “You want to be full grown first.  It’s less risky then.”

“That’s definitely safer,” Feemor agreed. 

“I thought Obi-Wan was twenty-one already.”  Jocasta selected a dumpling of her own, preferring them at a slightly cooler temperature. 

“He’s twenty-two.”  Qui-Gon’s tone indicated he did not want to discuss it anymore.  “Fully grown is not the same thing as mature.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” the young padawan asked, guilelessly.  “I’m asking for a friend.” 

Qui-Gon gave her sharp glare.  “Marina, you are an excellent young padawan, at the top of your classes, strong in the Force, haven’t yet presented, and have brilliant potential.  You can do better, and you’d better wait a few years before you do anyone.”

Marina rolled her eyes dramatically.  “I really was just asking for a friend.  She’s older and not as strong a student as I am.”

“Then she should probably focus on her studies instead of on finding a mate,” Qui-Gon sniffed. 

“It really is something you should wait to do until you’re ready,” Feemor advised. 

Marina sighed.  She already knew about birth control and self-control.  She wasn’t stupid.  But she wasn’t Seva.  Marina wanted someone more exciting than a boring beta when her time came, even if Obi-Wan was pretty good with a saber.  She just had to wait until she developed into an alpha or an omega.  She really didn’t want to be a beta herself.  Seva on the other hand preferred predictability and less excitement.  Marina wanted romance. 

Yan looked across the table at his former padawan and his elder grandpadawan.  “So, are you two looking at initiates?”

They both rolled their eyes.  Sometimes Dooku could be even worse than his master.

* * *

“Thank you, Yan, for a lovely evening.”  Jocasta stepped out of the speeder and turned to face her host.  “It always is with you.” 

“It would have been nice to have everyone there, but I suppose that is too much to ask.”

“Be grateful for what you have, not bitter from what you do not.”

“Yes, Master Nu.”

“Could I interest you in an equally lovely night, Yan?” 

Yan gave her a smirk.  “But Jocasta,” he kissed her hand.  “People will talk.” 

“Come into the Library through the West Entrance in five minutes.  You can enter my apartment block through the back entrance in Archives.” 

“Thank you, my Lady.  I think I will.”  He gave her a wink before powering up the speeder to move it to overnight parking. 

Jocasta took a moment to appreciate the thrill of anticipation, then hurried into the Temple to get to her quarters ahead of Yan.  It had been far too long since she had had the alpha in her bed.  She entered the Library and went to her desk to check for any issues or emergencies when she had been out of the Temple, then headed for the South Exit so she would be seen entering her quarters alone from the front door.  Not that anyone would care, particularly at her age, but it still gave them a thrill, as if they were still young knights sneaking around. 

She turned the corner, the exit in sight, only to see a figure up ahead, slumped over a study table.

“Oh, Obi-Wan.”  She scanned him with the Force, but he had just fallen asleep from exhaustion.  She crept over and rubbed at his forearm, trying to wake him up gently.  “Wake up, Padawan.”

Apparently, it was not gently enough.  Obi-Wan sprang up in his seat, wide-eyed.  “Yes, Master!  I’ll make sure the Hutts are wearing socks!”

Jocasta made a stern face as she swallowed her laugh.  “You were sleeping in the Library, Padawan Kenobi.  You know I run a center of knowledge, not a hostel.” 

He looked up at her, wide-eyed.  The imprint of his braid ran across his pale cheek in bright red.  “I’m sorry, Master Nu.  I didn’t realize I was so tired.”  He looked down at his datapad and grimaced as he scrolled through it.  “I typed forty pages of ‘q’s’ with my face.”

“Hmm, then you haven’t been asleep for that long.”  She patted his arm again.  “Come on now.  Save your work and go to bed.  Get a fresh start in the morning.” 

Obi-Wan sighed and began doing just that.  “What time is it?” he asked, organizing his files.

“Almost midnight.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, packing up his chips, datareaders and notes.  “Did you have a nice dinner?” 

“It was nice.  You should have come.”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Master Dooku finds me to be a disappointment and Master Jinn prefers to not socialize with me outside of our duties.” 

“Why do you think that?” she asked, her gaze sharp. 

Obi-Wan stood up, grimacing as his joints cracked from staying too long in an awkward position.  “Because Master Jinn made it quite clear this was the case.  Not that I didn’t notice on my own.” 

“You’re not a disappointment, Obi-Wan.  You’re ahead in your academics.  Master Drallig says your saber skills are quite advanced.  You assist your master on missions the Council would usually send a knight on. How are you a disappointment?” 

Obi-Wan gave her a bleak look.  “I’m not Xanatos.  I’m not Feemor.  I meet academic standards, but I don’t excel.  I can manage not to get tossed out of the saber ring most of the time, but I’m just adequate, not elite.  My master is one of the best saber fighters in the Order, like his master before him.  Master Dooku feels an average padawan like me is a waste of his time.  I’m beneath him.  And that doesn’t even get into my lapses at the start of my apprenticeship.  I made mistakes and I hurt my master.  Master Dooku barely tolerates my presence on those rare occasions I do see him, and the one time I did attend one of his dinners it was an utter disaster.  I was still on probation and he made a point of telling me how much shame I had brought to his lineage.  I couldn’t do anything right, so I just stayed silent, then I was told I was rude for not saying anything.  The next time we were invited was right after Master Tahl had died, and Master Jinn was quite clear I was a huge disappointment to him, much less to Master Dooku, who already despised me.  Master took pity on me and gave me extra work to do so I would have to stay home.  I guess he still does but doesn’t bother to tell me when the dinners are happening.”  He sighed looking at his feet.  “I hope I didn’t get my master in trouble when he was covering for me.” 

“I don’t think you did,” Jocasta put an arm around his shoulders, directing him away from the Stellar Cartography Simulator booths and toward the exit.  “But you really should get to bed now.” 

Obi-Wan sighed.  “Yes, Master Nu.  Thank you for waking me up.”  He rubbed at his face where a bead had left a painful divot.  “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”  She watched him leave, keeping her face calm and professional until he turned a corner and was gone.  She turned around to find Yan slipping out from behind the booths, looking shaken.

“He thinks I hate him.”  He sounded half-horrified, half-indignant. 

“Do you?” she asked. 

“There is no hate.”

Jocasta rolled her eyes.  “Do you despise him?  Do you think he’s a stain on your lineage or a disappointment, or unworthy to be your grandpadawan?”

“I think he had serious flaws as a child and that Qui-Gon might have chosen poorly while he was vulnerable, but I haven’t heard of him doing anything particularly noteworthy, either good or bad, in years.”

“Qui-Gon doesn’t brag about him?” Jocasta asked.  “Ever?”

Yan shrugged.  “He claims he’s adequate.  Every time I see him, he barely speaks and trips over his own feet.  Yoda speaks well of him, but frankly I’ve never understood why.”

“I can’t imagine why.”  Jocasta’s tone was dry.  “You’re never here, and when you are you criticize him.  And Qui-Gon tries so hard to compensate for Xanatos he has you convinced that young man is a moron.”  She took his hand and began to lead him back into the Archives toward the rear entrance to the residential area.  “He’s a very dedicated student and he’s here most weekends with extra assignments from his master when he’s not here for his regular coursework.  I’m not the best judge of how he ranks among the padawans, but he’s not stupid and he’s not an impulsive hothead.  Marina is too young for him, but he’s a perfectly kind and polite young man.  He’s even a bit sarcastic if he’s with someone he’s comfortable with.” 

“I really don’t know him that well,” Yan conceded.  “But I don’t understand why Qui-Gon puts up with him if he’s so lackluster and dull.” 

“Have you considered that Qui-Gon might not be wholly honest with either you or himself?” Jocasta asked as she let him in the door to her quarters and flicked on the lights. 

“Not before now,” Yan admitted.  “But I will.  Tomorrow.”  He boldly pulled her close to move his hands over her body, leaning in to breathe deep over her scent glands.  “Right now, I have other things to consider.” 

Jocasta pressed against him, licking at his own gland.  “Yes, Alpha.  Let’s get you comfortable.” 

“Let’s get you excited.” 

“Yan, you tease!”

With a flick of the Force, her bedroom door was open, and she was lying in the bed, feeling his weight pushing her body into the mattress.  She moaned as his hands began to slide under her clothes. 

“I’ve missed you, Yan.”

“And I you.”  With a growl from deep in his chest, all thoughts of his lineage kin fled both their minds for the rest of the night. 

Chapter Text

“Master!  Qui-Gon!  Harder!  Harder!”

The alpha growled, his knot starting to fill as the scent of his chosen omega, fully ripe and fertile, set his mind on fire.  With renewed vigor he pressed the man beneath him into the mattress, his mouth engulfing the near-weeping scent gland as he pushed in harder, deeper, straining to bury himself deep inside, to tie them together and ensure there would be conception this time.

“Master!  So good!  So good!” 

Qui-Gon pressed in one more time and his massive knot pushed deep into Feemor’s willing body.  The omega clamped down on him with a wail as they tied together.  The alpha continued to thrust against his lover, his rut driving him deeper, driving him to deliver his seed, to make that baby. 

Beneath him, Feemor writhed, following his lead, eyes wide, gasping as his orgasm drew closer, reaching for his alpha in the Force so they could climax together.  He knew he was ovulating, knew Qui-Gon had inseminated him twice already, but his heat pushed him on, just as Qui-Gon’s rut pushed the alpha, and when he closed his eyes, he could see himself, round with child again. 

Feemor swore he felt the Force touch them as their mutual climax hit them, and this time he could feel the Living Force rush up into him, into the core of his being as Qui-Gon’s seed flooded into him.  Above him, Qui-Gon moaned, his Force strength making the sensations even more captivating.  Qui-Gon gasped for air, his semen still seeping from his body and into his lover’s.  He looked into Feemor’s dazed eyes, stroking his cheek tenderly, his hips still moving gently. Feemor moaned as his body climaxed again.  Qui-Gon slipped his hand between them, pleased to feel that Feemor had released at least two ova.  It was only a matter of time before fertilization occurred. 

He rolled them over and sat up, letting Feemor sit in his lap, knowing the omega could pleasure himself on his knot more easily in this position, determined to wring every drop of passion from this encounter for his lover. 

“Oh, Master,” Feemor shifted against him, moaning every time the knotting spasms rippled through his body.  “Oh, do you think it worked this time?”

Qui-Gon pulled him close to kiss him deeply, thrilling to feel Feemor shudder in his arms as another climax took him. “Yes, my beautiful Feemor, I do.”

“I hope it works.”  Feemor stroked a hand over his own womb.  “I want to carry a child again.”  He pressed his hand into his own taut belly, and both men groaned, the pressure both stimulating them and highlighting their connection.  Qui-Gon thrust slightly, and Feemor cried out, feeling the movement deep inside, but also beneath his hand, the latter feeling so much like the unborn child he longed for. 

“Oh!”  He began to shift on the knot, still pressing on his belly.  “More!  Keep moving!” 

Qui-Gon obliged, kissing his lover, mouthing at his scent gland, stroking over his penis and Feemor lost himself to the sensations, to the fantasy. 

“Master!”  Feemor shuddered against him again, and Qui-Gon groaned as the omega’s spasms milked the last of his semen.  With the added stimulation they’d probably stay tied for another twenty minutes or so.  Plenty of time to explore less intense pleasures to keep the sacred spasms coming.  Plenty of time for Feemor’s body to draw his seed in deeper with each gentle contraction. 

Feemor rested his forehead on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, breathing in his rut scent, humming into his skin when the spasms peaked.  Qui-Gon stroked his hands up and down Feemor’s back, knowing this might well be the last time they would try to do this.  He was quite sure that if they were successful, they would still share intimacy.  During his last pregnancy, Feemor had been horny as hell.  But if they succeeded, this might be the last heat they ever shared.  After the baby was born and moved to the Creche, Feemor would likely head back out into the stars, bringing peace and justice to the galaxy.  Hopefully, he would come back sooner this time, but he was getting older.  Even Jedi couldn’t hold off menopause forever, and he might have other lovers he would want to share his last heats with. 

“Mmmm, when are you shipping out again?” Feemor whispered into his skin.  The tie hadn’t loosened yet, but he knew his own body well enough to know his heat had broken, and he and Qui-Gon could return to their duties in the morning. 

“Not before next week.”  Qui-Gon nuzzled at his scent gland, hoping they would have one more romp in the morning, but suspecting he’d be lucky to get a shared shower. 

"You don’t have to stay home for me.”  Feemor stretched his back, then gasped as the movement pulled on the tie. 

“Maybe I want to be home to celebrate if we’re successful.  Maybe I don’t want you to be alone if we’re not.” 

“I’m a grownup. I can handle it if you have to go.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled.  “I know you are.  Let your old master take care of you.”  Qui-Gon yawned, and to his disappointment he felt his knot start to subside.  He hoped Feemor was satisfied.  If they conceived, he wouldn’t be able to knot him again until the second trimester. 

“I just don’t want innocents to suffer because you think I can’t handle disappointment.” 

Qui-Gon used the Force to call a firm cushion to hand, positioned it on the bed beside them, then rolled them back over.  Feemor shifted a few times until his hips were at the right angle to maximize their chances at conception, then closed his eyes, reaching out again to the Force, quieting his mind and readying his body.  Qui-Gon placed a hand over his lover’s womb, pleased to feel that many of his sperm had reached the Fallopian tubes, and that several eggs had been released.  It was a numbers game now and all they could do was play the odds and wait to see if it would take. 

His knot had fully deflated, his cock was growing limp, so Qui-Gon gave Feemor one more caress to his flat stomach before he gently pulled out and lay down beside him, trying to regain his own center before he cleaned them both up.  Feemor replaced the warm hand with his own, trying to feel their respective gametes deep inside him, hoping to feel them come together in the Force. 

“I think we have a good chance,” Qui-Gon told him.  “You released more than one egg and the sperm went in deep this time.” 

“The eggs feel better this month.  More viable,” Feemor sighed.  “Let’s hope we don’t end up with twins.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled.  “Why not?  You’re still young enough and healthy enough.  And think how fast your womb would grow, imagine the feel of two children quickening beneath your hands.”

Feemor rolled his eyes.  “Spoken like a true alpha.  You know how big I got carrying Jasmine.  Can you imagine me carrying twice that much?”

“Yes.”  Qui-Gon turned his head to gaze at him lovingly.  “You’d be twice as beautiful, with all that Light growing inside you.” 

“Twice the weight.”

“You carry it well.”

“Twice the hormones.”

“Twice the sex drive.”

“Twice the number of kicks to the bladder.”

Qui-Gon shrugged.  “Well, yes.”  He grasped Feemor’s free hand.  “But the labor might be shorter.”

“And I would have to push out two of them.” 

Qui-Gon drew Feemor’s hand to his lips, kissing it.  “I will welcome whatever the Force wills, Feemor.”

Feemor was quiet for a moment.  “At my age, the healers have warned me that we might have to reduce the number of fetuses if I get pregnant with multiples.”

Qui-Gon was solemn for a while.  “I do not want to risk your health, and I hope that’s not a decision you’ll need to make.” 

“I didn’t want you to be blindsided by it if we have to.”

“Thank you.”

Feemor turned his attention inward, trying to focus only on conception, releasing his worries.  In the Force, warmth bloomed deep inside him, a flash of Light. 

“Oh!”

“What?”  Qui-Gon half-sat up in alarm. 

“We have one.  One of the ova is fertilized.”

“We do?”  Qui-Gon’s smile was sun-bright. 

“Don’t get too excited.  We had one last heat, but it didn’t implant.”

“You didn’t tell me before.”

“You weren’t in the Temple.  I was menstruating by the time you got back.  Fertilization is just one step.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“Qui-Gon, I’m not going to mourn an embryo I was never technically pregnant with.  I’m just going to hope for the best and treat my body well.” 

“What are you going to do if it doesn’t work?” Qui-Gon asked.

Feemor shrugged.  “If it doesn’t take this time, I’ll go the healers for tests, just to make sure nothing is wrong.  If the third time isn’t the charm, well then, I’ll probably try in vitro fertilization, and you might need to make that deposit.”  He yawned.  “But I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it.”

Qui-Gon got up and walked to the refresher, determined to clean up before they both fell asleep.  “Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Mmmm,” Feemor had closed his eyes, focused on his fertility meditation.  Beneath his hand there was another flash in the Force.  He didn’t gasp this time, but he did smile to himself. 

Qui-Gon cleaned himself off and tried not to hope for twins. 

Healthy twins.

* * *

“Hey Obes!”

Obi-Wan looked up to see Quinlan waving from halfway down the shuttle platform.  He jogged over, looking relieved. 

“Quinlan, good to see you.  Shipping out or coming back?”

The Kiffar sighed.  “Shipping out.  Master Tholme is meeting with the Council one more time and I’m getting our ship ready.  What about you?”

Obi-Wan sighed.  “Coming back and glad to be home.  I was out training on the new space transports.  Piloting, maintenance, emergency procedures.  The usual.” 

Quinlan gave him a skeptical look.  “How bad was it?  You look exhausted.” 

“The training wasn’t bad; it was the people.”  He adjusted his pack.  “I did get to see Garen, he’s doing well and says ‘hi’ by the way.  And Master Jinn stayed here, so I had to work with someone new every time there was a team exercise, so it wasn’t terrible, but a bit more stressful and it means I will have to update my very stubborn master on all the new procedures and regulations.  But the biggest stressor was a certain Space Corps technician I happened to run into who could neither be civil nor ignore me.” 

“Oh?” Quinlan tried to remember anyone he knew who had been sent to the Service Corp.  His apprenticeship had been arranged when he was quite young, so he had missed out on the awkward years when the stakes were high and he didn’t find out a friend had been made padawan until they showed up in class with a braid. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d remember him.  Blue eyes.  White hair.  Cruel streak.”

“Ah,” Quinlan nodded.  “Bruck Chun.  Can’t say I’m surprised he didn’t end up with a master.”

“He did not.”

“It’s been years.  He still chose to bother you?”

“Harass, not bother,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I tried to be civil, then to simply not engage with him, but he kept trying to goad me.  And of course, I couldn’t do anything about it.” 

Quinlan raised an eyebrow.  “You couldn’t kick his ass?”  He knew Kenobi was better with a saber than without, but he should be more than a match for a Service Corp Jedi at his age. 

“Not with our history, no.  An argument with a fellow padawan my master would forgive, but Bruck and I have a history of rivalry and scuffles.  Bruck used to goad me into fights, then cry to the masters to get me in trouble.  That’s why I was sent to the Agri Corps early.  If I did anything to defend myself or retaliate, he’d bring up the past and I would be punished.  Fortunately, he got transferred the last week.” 

“Wouldn’t your master intervene?” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “Master Jinn does not like to interfere with the Force’s lessons.  Anyway, I didn’t sleep well and I’m glad to be home.  I’d best not keep you.  Take care and may the Force be with you.” 

Quinlan grinned.  “You too.  Want me to kick his ass if I see him?”

“No,” Obi-Wan sighed again.  “But thanks.  I don’t want you getting in trouble for me.” 

“Aww, but Obes, being a jerk is my superpower!” 

“You’re not a jerk, Quinlan.” 

“Shh, that’s a secret!”  He gently slapped Obi-Wan on the back, then headed out toward his ship.  When he looked back, Obi-Wan was still there, smiling softly before he turned away to head inside.

* * *

“Good morning.”  Qui-Gon handed Feemor a cup of ginger tea as he came into the kitchen.  “How are you feeling?  Nauseated?” 

Feemor chuckled but took the steaming cup gratefully.  “No, no nausea yet.  I still have a few weeks before any menstrual flow would be considered late, and I’ll check anyway after it’s over.”  He gulped down his tea, knowing that soon he might be clinging to it just to get through the day.  He hoped his body would go easier on him this time if he had been successful.  Living on rehydration gel and tea for two months had been awful.

Qui-Gon slipped behind him, sliding a hand over his abdominals.  “Not even a little?  Did you check?” 

Feemor snorted.  “No, I didn’t check.  It will happen or it won’t.  I’m acting as if I am pregnant to protect anyone in there, but no, no symptoms yet.  I promise, when I know, you’ll know.” 

“When did you know last time?” Qui-Gon asked.  It had seemed so shocking, but young as he was, Feemor could have been afraid to tell him back then.

“Hmm, I think I had a sinking feeling when you asked me if I could be pregnant after I puked for the fourth day in a row, but the viral tests came back negative.” 

Qui-Gon pulled back to look at him, surprised.  “You couldn’t feel the difference in yourself?”  Though he wasn’t as strong in the Living Force as his master, Feemor was still quite well-attuned. 

“No,” Feemor laughed.  “Of course not.  I was eighteen years old.  I was still getting used to what sex and heats felt like, and I was on birth control.  And the copious vomiting had me thoroughly distracted.  I was too busy trying to turn my intestines inside out to notice the cute little embryo making itself at home in my uterus.  When did you first sense it?”

Qui-Gon snorted.  “When you looked up from the commode with a deathly pale look of horror.  I checked you in the Force when I made you drink, which in your ever-so-loving-way, you promptly threw up on me.” 

“I still blame Jasmine for that.”

Qui-Gon kissed his forehead.  “Oh, it was clearly my fault for trying to keep you hydrated.  It just took a little time for you and Jasmine to agree she wasn’t a hostile parasite.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works, but here’s hoping that the stress reduction exercises, and nutritional supplements keep everything calmer.”  He finished his tea, then set about prepping a plate for breakfast.  “Isn’t Obi-Wan coming back this morning?”

“Already?” Qui-Gon frowned at his calendar. “Damn, you’re right.”

Feemor snorted.  “You’re a committed Jedi Master.  You can’t lay in bed all the time, trying to make babies.  What are you teaching him this week?  Saberwork?  Force control?” 

“I signed him up for a saber form workshop and a gymnastics tutorial.  His aerials need serious work.  He also better not have fallen behind on his course work.”

“Does he usually?”

“Sometimes,” Qui-Gon shrugged.  “Missions do come first.  But this was off-world training in a location where he has agemates.  He may have been spending too much time with his peers.”

“Too much play and not enough work?”

Qui-Gon grunted, annoyed.  “According to Clee, he met someone he used to know.  He’d better not lose sight of his goals over a new fuck buddy.”

“What if it’s something more serious?  Even Jedi have feelings.” 

“He can’t afford a serious relationship.  Not that it sounded as if it was.  Frankly, it sounded more like he was distracted and spending every night fucking instead of sleeping and studying.” 

“Hmm,” Feemor pretended to think.  “How many nights this week did you spend fucking?” 

“That’s different.  We’re trying to conceive a child.  I arranged my schedule for that.” 

“When does Obi-Wan have time for a relationship?” Feemor asked.  “You managed to cut down your obligations to him, but don’t seem to have given him any breaks from his duties.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “I told you, if he wants to be a knight, he doesn’t have time to waste.  Whatever he was doing when he should have been training ends today.”

“And if it was nothing?  Or just no-strings-attached sex with someone new?  How often does he get significant time with people his own age?” 

“He lives in the Padawan Dorms.  He has ample time to get himself off when his duties are done.  I just don’t want to deal with whatever civilian or Service Corps Jedi who was bored or desperate enough to sleep with him.” 

“Qui-Gon, how could you even say something like that about your padawan?” 

Qui-Gon sighed, shaking his head.  “Oh, Feemor, you always try to see the best in people.  And you’re a beautiful man.  I’m hardly the only alpha to appreciate your charms.  Obi-Wan is plain, not well proportioned, moody, even abrasive.  He isn’t attractive by standard relationship conventions, nor frankly for non-standard relationships.  The only potentially attractive feature he has to offer is the fact that he’s a Jedi padawan, and a weak one, so it’s only an advantage outside the Order or among the Service Corp he barely escaped himself.  Civilians may find him intriguing as a Jedi, they won’t care he barely meets requirements.  As for the Service Corp Jedi, he’s in their league I suppose, at least in terms of Force talents and abilities.  It’s still not going to make him more physically attractive.  And he doesn’t have the personality to overcome that.  Force only knows who he goes to for sex as it is.” 

Feemor stared at him, incredulous.  “What is the matter with you?  He’s your padawan, not some hideous beast who is undeserving of love.” 

“It’s not a matter of deserving.  He’s not at the top in any arena, and quite at the bottom in more than one.  I’m realistic.” 

Feemor looked suspicious.  “Is he queer?  Is that the problem?”  His tone indicated exactly what he thought of that attitude.  

“Queer?” Qui-Gon asked.  “You mean alphas fucking other alphas?  Omegas getting off with other omegas?  Betas in homosexual pairs?” 

“Yes,” Feemor scowled.  “People are more open about that now.”

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “Frankly, I don’t care who the hell he’s managed to sleep with, so long as it doesn’t interfere with his duties.  Force knows his options are limited, queer or not.  He’d have to take what he can get.” 

Feemor rolled his eyes.  “You know, another thing about queer openness is less strict standards of beauty.  I think you’re biased and underestimating his chances.” 

Qui-Gon made a scoffing sound.  “Times haven’t changed that much.” 

“Haven’t you heard?  Alphas are allowed to be sensitive and not just to their mates.  Omegas and betas can rise to positions of authority, even over alphas.  If betas can have relationships with alphas or omegas of the same sex, why can’t they have relationships with betas of the same sex?  The old rules no longer apply, at least not on Coruscant.” 

“That doesn’t make him a better prospect, Feemor.” 

“And I thought Yan Dooku was close-minded and obtuse.” 

Qui-Gon sighed.  “Feemor, I know Xanatos drove a wedge between us.  Please, let’s not do that again.  I know you didn’t like the way I trained Xan, that I was too lenient, that I ignored the signs and let my pride in him cloud my judgement.  That’s not going to happen with Obi-Wan.  Yes, I’m tougher on him than I was on you, much less Xan.  I have to be.  I have to depend on him in more dangerous situations and more often than we had to face, and he has faltered before.  Despite the tension between us, I am his only option to become a Jedi knight, and he knows it.  I keep him on task, I keep him busy, and I expect him to not let himself get distracted.  You were level-headed enough to manage your romantic relationships.  Xan wasted far too much time and energy on his sexual conquests, but he did keep up with both his studies and his saberwork.  I told you Obi-Wan can’t afford to have a child.  He can’t afford a serious relationship either and he has enough working against him that he won’t be attracting anyone good for him for anything beyond casual sex.  He hasn’t managed to so far, and if he’s smart, he won’t before his Trials.  If he fails, then he can go find . . . whoever to live with, but right now he can’t.” 

“When do you expect he will take his Trials?” Feemor asked, looking genuinely concerned. 

Qui-Gon looked grim.  “I’m not training him past his twenty-eighth birthday.  After fifteen years, if he can’t pass his Trials, he never will.”

Feemor looked shocked.  “If he’s that far behind, what can I do to help?”

Qui-Gon leaned down, kissing him on the forehead.  “It’s sweet of you to ask, but there’s nothing you can do.  Sure, you could help tutor him in his courses, or train with him in the salle, but you can’t make him control his emotions, or feel the parts of the Force he is blind to, anymore than I can.  You can’t stop him from getting distracted or losing his lightsaber, or give him the confidence to stand up to people stronger than him, or get him to keep his mouth shut when no one wants to hear what he has to say.  His soft skills are lacking most of all.”  He gave Feemor a look of resignation.  “You, and our children, will be my legacy long after I’m gone.  Obi-Wan will either be a grunt knight or a diplomatic attaché if he keeps his nose clean.  If he doesn’t, he won’t be a Jedi at all.” 

Feemor scowled.  “A grunt knight is still a Jedi knight.  It’s true that not everyone will be a star, Master, but why do you think so poorly of him?” 

“Because I know him.  I know you feel I’m harsh, but you really don’t know him well.”  He was quiet a moment.  “Has he been bothering you?” 

“No,” Feemor shook his head.  “He’s been nothing but polite on the rare occasions you haven’t been able to keep up apart and seems to be walking on eggshells.”  He frowned.  “Qui-Gon, you’re going to sabotage his development if you treat him like you’re ashamed of him.”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer. 

“Qui-Gon, why are you ashamed of him?” 

“I’m disappointed in him, as is Master Dooku.  He knows why and he knows what he did.  The Council knows what he did.  After it happened, the Council and I considered his age and inexperience and gave him a second chance.  I thought it was merciful, but over the years I have realized it was a mistake.  The foundation of his training is weak, and he will never live up to the potential I thought I saw because it doesn’t exist.”  He sighed.  “Perhaps it’s my penance or to keep me humble.  Perhaps it just feels safer, knowing that even if he falls to Darkness, he will never be as powerful or as cunning as Xan.  I know that if he truly betrays me and the Light, I can stop him, that he isn’t strong enough to stand against me.  I am responsible for him and he won’t surpass me.  I know Master Dooku feels I should have taken a more talented student, one that could benefit from all I have to give as a teacher, and maybe I should have waited longer, found someone less volatile, more dedicated, more intelligent, more loyal, someone stronger in the Force.” 

Feemor stared at him, eyes sad.  “You took vows with him.  To train him in the ways of the Force.  To train him to be tested.  To help him succeed.” 

“I’m giving him a chance.  Success is up to him.”  A timer buzzed and Qui-Gon turned toward the oven to retrieve a hot dish of food.  “Ready for breakfast?” 

Feemor did feel the slightest bit sick, but he was pretty sure it was not from any embryos making themselves at home.  “We should have him over for a meal.  Cut the tension.  Be a family.”

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “If it will make you happy.”

“I want us all to be happy.” 

Qui-Gon cut up the steaming casserole and plated up portions for both of them.  “Well, don’t get your hopes up.  He’s kind of a stick in the mud.” 

Feemor began to pick at his food.  “I can’t imagine why.”

* * *

“How do you feel?  Relaxed?”

“Yes.”

“Safe?”

There was a pause.  “Yes.  I feel safe.”  He shuddered as his lover blew softly against his ear before he whispered into it. 

“Are you a little bit excited?”

“Yes,” he groaned.  “Are you going to do it now?”

“Hmm, no.” 

Strong, oiled hands continued to massage his muscular shoulders as he lay prone on the bed. 

“You’ve been pretty good about getting relaxed, but I’m not going to rush you during your first time.  I don’t want to hurt you, but,” he stopped massaging and leaned down to kiss and suck at the oil-coated neck, avoiding the scent gland but enjoying the smell nonetheless.  “I promise, I won’t leave you wanting.” 

“It’ll feel good?  It doesn’t have to hurt?” he looked back over his shoulder, trying to catch his lover’s eye. 

“If it doesn’t feel good, we’ll stop.  It might feel strange or overwhelming or hurt a little.  You need to tell me what you feel so I don’t injure you.”  He leaned down to kiss him lips, sending reassurance. 

“I know you won’t hurt me.  They all say you’re gentle, even in rut.”  He gasped when a strong hand slid down his throat, then lower to tease at his nipples, the oil making their skin slick.  “Oh!”

“Feels good?”

“Yes,” he moaned, rising up to press his back against his lover’s chest.  “Oh, no one’s ever . . . is it supposed to?” 

His lover chuckled in his ear.  “Yes, it’s supposed to feel good Cass.  Just because you aren’t going to feed babies doesn’t mean you don’t have all the same hardware.” 

Cass laughed nervously.  “Does . . . does sucking on them feel good too?  I’ve done that, but . . .”

His lover stroked over his nipples again, laughing as he trembled from the intense sensation.  “Probably.  Want to find out?” 

“Is . . . is that okay?” Cass tried to sound confident.  “Is that good for you?”

“Cass, I’m not going to force you into anything, and I’m not going to do anything I’m not willing to do.”

His lover stroked him again, rubbing over his now-peaked nipples until he was gasping and panting. 

“Please!  Please Quinlan!  I want your mouth on my . . . there!”

The Kiffar grinned against his neck.  “Roll over.  Let me see how hot I can get you.” 

Cass nodded, turning to lay on his back, then closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. 

“Hmm, yes, you do like that,” Quinlan stroked first one nipple, then the other with his finger, his gaze dropping down between Cass’s legs to his slowly hardening cock.  “Are you getting hard for my touch, Cass?” 

“Oh, I think I am.”  Cass was unconsciously moving his hips, still not completely comfortable with his own desires.

“Good.”  Quinlan very slowly moved to lay on top of him, kissing him thoroughly, letting Cass press his cock against his synthsilk underwear.  He slid his hands down Cass’s sides, then moved down his body so he could worship his lover’s chest.  He trailed gentle kisses across his collarbone before he ran his hot tongue over a flushed nipple. 

“Oh!”

“Sounds like you like that too.”  Quinlan licked harder this time. 

Cass groaned beneath him.  “I . . . I . . . should it feel this good?” 

Rather than answer, Quinlan latched his lips onto the bud and began to suck.  Cass growled, digging his fingers into his lover’s thick locks, desperately holding on as the alpha sucked harder. 

“Quinlan!  More!”  He couldn’t deny he was getting hard, his cock was throbbing between his legs  now.  “Don’t stop!” he sobbed.  “Don’t stop!” 

Quinlan gently pulled Cass’s hands free, then pinned his corded wrists to the bed, still working his nipple as is he expected sweet ambrosia to come out of it.  Never stopping, he shifted until his knee was between Cass’s legs, letting them rub against each other.  When he had Cass writhing beneath him, he let go, then blew across the wet nub.  Cass jerked, crying out. 

“You are hard for me, Cass.”

“So hard!” Cass sobbed, tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes.  “I . . . ugh, I want to come so bad.” 

Quinlan moved to lick the other nipple, and Cass pressed back, eager for more.  “So come.  If it feels good, go with it.”

“No,” Cass shook his head as Quinlan latched onto his second nipple.  “No, it will get on you.”  He whimpered at the intense sensation, rutting against the Kiffar’s thigh. “Oh, Quinlan!  Force, it’s good!”

Quinlan released him to lick at the fat nub.  “So what?  It’s hardly the first time.” 

“I don’t, ohhh, I don’t want to be rude.  You’re being so patient and AHHH!” Cass yelled as Quinlan suddenly grabbed his hard cock and began pumping it. 

“Quinlan!” he sobbed.  “I’m sorry, I need to, I need to come.  I c-can’t control it, I,” he stuttered to a stop as the Kiffar squeezed, not letting him reach climax.  “Ugh,” he tried to move, but Quinlan’s weight on his thighs kept him still.  “I’m sorry, Alpha, I’m sorry, I want to come, I want to come, please Alpha!” 

Quinlan leaned down to kiss him, forcing him to breathe through his nose and calm down. 

“I want you to come.” 

“I want to.”

“It’s okay to come.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pressed on Cass’s chin until the other man looked him in the eye.  “I want you to come for me, Cass.  I want you to let go.” 

“I’m sorry, Alpha.  I’ll spill my seed.” 

“I want you to spill your seed.”

Cass whimpered. 

“I want to see you come, Cass.  I want to taste your seed.”

Cass still desperately wanted to come, but he was calmer now, more focused.  “You’re not . . . offended?” 

Quinlan kissed him, deeply stroking with his tongue.  “I want you to feel good, Cass.”

“Will you still want to do it?”  Cass tried not to sound as uncertain as he felt. 

“Oh, yeah.”  He didn’t release Cass’s cock, but he began rubbing his thumb over the head.  “I want you, Cass.  I want you to come all over my skin.  I want to feel you with my hands.  I want to feel all the fear and the stress and the tension flow out of you, and then . . . I want to turn you over and fuck you until you come all over again with my cock up your ass.”

“Yes Alpha!  Yes!”  Cass grabbed at the sheets, sobbing as Quinlan moved to begin licking at his cockhead.  “Please!  Let me come!  Let me come!” 

Quinlan was moving his hand again.  “You’re still hard for me, Cass.”

“So hard for you!”

He moved his hand lower, pleased by the girth. “Are you going to knot for me, Cass?  Are you going to show me how big you can get?” 

“Yes!” Cas roared as Quinlan began to suck him in earnest.  “I’m gonna knot!  I’m gonna knot!”  Cass shuddered as his knot began to swell and his lover began to squeeze it in his large hands.  “Ugh!  Ugh!  I’m gonna!  I’m gonna!”  He bellowed as he came into Quinlan’s mouth, his alpha cock throbbing as his full knot was pressed and massaged like his shoulders had been when they had started this encounter. 

Cass opened his eyes to find he had not painted his lover as he had feared and that his cock was still leaking semen over Quinlan’s hand as his knot was fondled.  “Oh, kriff.  That was wild.” 

“I told you I didn’t need a vagina to take care of you.”  Quinlan reached into his bedside table and pulled out a length of smooth, stretchy black fabric and stroked it over Cass’s shaft a few times before he began wrapping it around his knot.

“What’s that?” Cass was not complaining. 

Quinlan chuckled.  “I feel like I’m corrupting your pure, innocent mind.  It’s a rut wrap.  Helpful if you have to go through a rut alone, but it has, hmm, other uses.”

“Oooh,” Cass panted.  The wrap was like an athletic bandage, applying gentle, soothing pressure, not as tight or intense as a tie, but pressing on the same nerves.  It felt calming rather than exciting.  He could feel slow, gentle knotting spasms, still so good, but it didn’t incite the urge to thrust.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Quinlan kissed him again, sharing his taste.  “Do you still want me to keep going?  It’s okay to say no, or to wait a while, but you are at your most relaxed during the mock tie.” 

Cass closed his eyes and looked within.  Quin was right.  He was relaxed.  He was on an endorphin high and he felt loose and calm.  He already felt so wonderful, and Quin had been so patient with him.  Would getting fucked feel even better? 

“Yeah, I still want that, but . . .” he trailed off.

Quinlan nodded encouragingly. 

“Can I touch you?  Can I help you get hard?” 

“Of course,” Quinlan kissed his rough knuckles, then deliberately placed Cass’s hand over his groin.  “I want you, Cass.  Make me hard.”  He shimmied out of his underwear, making encouraging sounds as Cass rolled on top of him and moaned when his wrapped knot was pressed between their bodies. Cass was a talented kisser and had had experiences with male omegas and betas, so it wasn’t long before the Kiffar’s cock stood proud and tall. 

Cass looked him over, not used to openly admiring another alpha’s penis, not that it looked that much different from any other penis with the knot still quiescent.  Quinlan stoked his own shaft, letting Cass get comfortable with it. 

“I want you to put it in me.”

“I will.”  Quin pulled him in for a kiss.  “Get on your hands and knees, I need to prepare you.”

Cass turned over, careful not to dislodge the wrap, still enjoying the warm spasms.  “You want me like a ripe omega?” he asked cautiously. 

“No.”  Quin’s tone was patient.  “I want you to be comfortable while I prepare you and I want you to be able to control the depth of penetration.  When you get more comfortable with a cock up your ass, we can try different positions, but this is usually easiest.”

“So . . . you don’t think I’m a weak alpha?”

Quinlan began kissing down his spine.  “No.  I think you’re a beautiful man and a strong alpha who is still figuring himself out.”  He slid a slickened finger along Cass’s cleft, letting him ready himself.  “Having sex with another man is something you’ve done.  Some male betas don’t have a vagina and have to be bred through the anus.  A female alpha has a vagina, even though they have a knot.”  He shrugged.  “Getting fucked by a male alpha sounds radical, but it’s really not.” 

“You’re not trying to dominate me?”

“I’m not a dominating person.”  Very gently, he began to press his lubricated finger into Cass’s body.  “And I’m a Jedi.  If I wanted to show you who is boss, I’d use my other lightsaber.” 

Cass snorted and Quinlan pushed all the way in.

“Ugh, that’s, that’s odd.”

“Hmm, but no pain?”  He began to move a little.  Cass began to move with him. 

“No,” he sounded surprised.  “It’s kind of starting to feel good.”

“Good.”  Quinlan began working on a second finger. 

“Oooh,” Cass shuddered pleasantly, his knot starting to throb again.  “So, if Jedi show dominance with lightsabers, does that mean Kenobi is top of the pack?” 

Quinlan burst out laughing.  “He’s top of our floor, anyway.  But I don’t make the rules, so you won’t have to take orders from a beta.” 

“Ohh, oh it’s, it’s getting better.”  He moved his hips, enjoying the stretch and stimulation.  “Is Kenobi a beta?  I can’t tell.  I mean, I thought he was, but after he kicked my ass, I thought he was maybe just a small alpha.” 

“Oh, yes, I can see the marks he left behind.”  Quinlan snickered, rubbing a warm hand over Cass’s butt cheek, then began scissoring his fingers, leaving Cass groaning.  “Not that he hasn’t kicked my fine ass as well.”  He frowned.  “He didn’t have a debut, at least not one I can recall.  And he was off-world when he turned twenty-one, so he didn’t technically have a confirmation either.  And he was a skinny kid, and I’ve never seen him in the Rut Hall.  I’m going with beta.” 

“Probably,” Cass agreed.  “Definitely top ass kicker.” 

Quinlan rubbed his prostate. 

“Kriff!” Cass yelled as the intense pleasure shot through him and his still swollen knot pulsed hard.  “Is that?” 

“Hmm, yes, that would be your prostate.  It’s tied to the nerves in your knot, and the same nerves make omegas and betas climax and clamp down on your knot.”  He kissed him gently on the small of his back, then caressed his prostate again. 

“Guh!”  Cass began to move back and forth like a wanton omega in high heat, trying to get more of that stimulation.  “You’re going to hit me there with your cock?” he asked, incredulous.  How much more intense could this get? 

Quinlan stroked himself and Cass in turns.  “Oh yeah.  I’m going to push my thick cock this deep inside you,” he pressed again, and Cass cried out.  “And I’m going to thrust into it over and over, until you can’t stop calling my name.” 

“When?”  He whimpered, struggling for control as Quinlan rubbed at him again and his knot seemed to strain against the wrapping. 

“Hmm, I think you’re good.”  He pulled his fingers out, then draped himself over Cass’s back.  “We can still stop, Cass, any time.  It’s okay if you need to stop.” 

“Fuck me, Quinlan!  Fuck me!” 

“Shh, just relax.”  He stroked a hand over Cass’s belly to ground him, then took hold of his hips and began to press into him. 

“Quinlan,” Cass moaned wantonly at the stretch, the other alpha felt so big as he pushed inside, filling him and it felt so good, so exciting, knowing at any moment that this thick rod entering his body could touch him there, and he’d get to feel it again.  Cass gasped as he felt Quinlan’s body press against him, then moaned again as he realized he had done it, he had taken a full alpha cock into his body.  It felt so big, he felt so full, he looked down at himself, expecting his stomach to be protruding with it, but all he could see was his own weeping cock. 

“Full,” Cass moaned.  “So full.” 

Quinlan kissed his shoulder.  “Okay, okay.”  Slowly he began to move in and out, getting Cass used to it and spreading the lube deeper, before he changed the angle and began hitting his target. 

“Yes!  Quinlan!  Yes!  Kriff that’s!”  He moved his hips in rhythm with his lover, wondering if this was what it felt like when he knotted omegas and they screamed in ecstasy.  Then Quinlan picked up the pace and he stopped wondering what they felt because he was too overcome himself. 

“More!  Faster!”  He had never felt anything like this before, but he knew he was going to come, Force, he was going to come so hard and still had a knot and the wrap was feeling tighter and tighter and every thrust sent a jolt of hot passion through his body and into his knot and then he came.

He cried out, almost screamed, so different from the groans he usually made when he tied an omega, and a moment later Quinlan grunted behind him and he could feel something even bigger pressed against his anus.

Quinlan’s knot. 

He knew he should be afraid, he wasn’t an omega, or even a beta, he couldn’t take anything that big, it wouldn’t just hurt him, it would tear him apart, but he couldn’t, his brain so overwhelmed and then Quinlan raised a hand and another slinky, black cloth slipped out of the drawer and flew behind him and he could feel Quinlan wrapping his own knot, but he didn’t pull his cock out, just left it there so they could both rock gently together, letting their knotting spasms pleasure them, as if they were both tied.

They continued to rock, each moaning in turn until their knots began to subside, then Quinlan pulled out and led Cass to collapse on his side so he could spoon him. 

“Kriff,” Cass finally spoke as the wrap slipped off his spent cock.  “That was . . .”

Quinlan turned his head just enough to kiss him.  “Good, I hope.” 

“Force, Quinlan, I didn’t think it could be that good.”

Quin snorted.  “You poor, innocent nerfling.  I’ve corrupted you with my big, bad alpha cock.”

“You certainly did.”  His lover’s arms were wrapped around his muscular chest.  He rubbed them, wanting to stay close, to prolong the high.  “You didn’t knot me.”

“Of course I didn’t knot you.  I told you I wasn’t going to injure you.”

“Would that injure me?” Cass asked. 

“An alpha knot?  During your first time?  Yeah!  Didn’t they tell you in health class to never knot an anally-mated virgin beta, and that you had to be really careful doing that?” 

“Yeah,” Cass frowned.  “Never tried it though.”  Most male betas in the Core Worlds had vaginas, but not all.  “Never had the chance.” 

“I’m not into pain,” Quinlan explained.  “And I’m really not into blood.  If you want to try that, we can, but not for a while.”

“Have you ever been, um, knotted?”

“Yeah.  I’ve been knotted by alphas and with a strap on.  Had to work up to it though.” 

“How does it feel?” Cass asked. 

“Hmm, you know that full feeling you went crazy for when I got my cock in you?”

“Yes.”  For a moment, Cass’s voice was dreamy. 

“It’s like that, but more intense.  And the stretch to get it in can feel amazing if you’re aroused enough.  But you can’t really fuck the same way as you would with a vagina, so it can sometimes make it hard to stimulate the prostate.  It depends on the anatomy.  Sometimes it actually pushes right on the prostate and that can feel fantastic, each little movement presses in hard.  And sometimes, even in alphas, they’ll clamp down on the knot.  I told you, the same nerves are used and the clamp is a reflex, so some people do it, even without a vagina, and that is intense, but it’s not worth the risks in an anal sex virgin.”  He kissed Cass’s shoulder to show that wasn’t a criticism.  “You want me to knot you, you need to get comfortable with it and play with yourself.” 

“Would you want me to knot you?” Cass asked. 

“Tonight, no.  In the future, sure, but I’d rather you just fuck me the first few times.” 

“I do want to fuck you.”

Quinlan laughed, remembering the many months of painfully awkward flirtation while Cass worked up the courage to try same-sex alpha intercourse. 

“I thought you might.” 

* * *

Cass hadn’t been sure what the proper etiquette was for post-coital time in an alpha/alpha encounter, but Quinlan had just dragged him into the shower, where they had cleaned each other off, jerked each other off, then cleaned each other off again.  After drying off in the sonics (Quin didn’t want to sleep with wet hair), they changed the bedding and got back in naked.  Cass had felt too exhilarated to sleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes he was out for the rest of the night.

He woke to the smell of caff brewing and Quinlan frying eggs for breakfast sandwiches.  The conversation was light, warm and friendly, no longer charged with sexual tension from the night before, but Cass was still pretty sure Quinlan was making sexy eyes at him from behind his mug.  

"You really don’t think less of me?” Cass finally asked. 

“No, Cass.  I really don’t.  I think you were very brave to try something that scared you.” 

“I know, but . . . my master is very old-fashioned.” 

“At the risk of sounding like a dork, I’m going to suggest you meditate on it.” 

“Oh, I will.” 

“The first time I had anal sex, it was with a much older female omega with a strap on.  Do you think I’m a lesser person or a lesser alpha because of it?” 

“Um, no.”  It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud.  And the shoe was on the other foot.  “How did your master take it?”

“Master Tholme very calmly and with great dignity freaked the fuck out.  I thought he was just too old to understand what it was like to be young and open-minded, but it turned out he actually knew my lover well and thought my first experience was with her very tall, masculine, alpha boyfriend.”

Cass couldn’t help it, he laughed, then frowned.  “Wait, was the boyfriend okay with it?”

“Oh, yes.  He wanted to watch.  Later I had my second experience in anal sex when I fucked him.  It was during my very kinky exploratory phase.  I eventually learned I wasn’t that kinky, but it was very educational.” 

Cass looked him in the eye.  “Thank you for being patient with me and letting me explore.”  He frowned slightly.  “If you don’t mind me asking, do you have an orientation or preference?  I mean, clearly you have sex with other alphas, but all the omegas openly love you, and I think you implied you sleep with betas too, but I can’t tell if you have a gender or designation preference.” 

Quinlan snorted, not offended, knowing Cass was still trying to figure himself out.  “I consider myself open-minded.  I’ve slept with men, I’ve slept with women.  I’ve slept with alphas, betas and omegas.  I’ve even slept with a few near-humans who have sexes, but no designations, or designations but only one sex.  There are some combinations I thought I was more attracted to than others, but the older I get, the less important that is, as opposed to the person themselves.  Maybe I’m multi-sexual or pansexual?  Honestly, I don’t care what the right word is.  For now I’m unattached, I have several good friends, several good lovers, there is some overlap there, but I’m not expecting a serious partner.” 

Cass smiled.  He really didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew he was not looking for a committed relationship either, with an alpha or otherwise.  “Do you think that will ever change?” 

“Yes,” Quinlan grew quiet.  “But not now.” 

“Well, I’m glad I caught you when you were available.” 

“Me too.” 

After breakfast, they both dressed in more clothes than just their underwear, then stepped into the hall to begin their respective days.  Cass had expected he would need time to meditate after his experience and had cleared his calendar while Quinlan planned to go to the salle and then run errands.  They walked together down the hall, Cass trying to look normal and not draw attention to the fact that he had spent the night at Quinlan’s, still quietly enjoying each other’s company.  All was going well until they turned the corner and were hit with a feeling of distress in the Force and the smell of stale alpha musk. 

Concerned, Quinlan hurried ahead, a hand on the hilt of his saber.  Cass followed, determined to watch his back and not his tempting ass. 

“Obi-Wan?” Quin asked, drawing up short. 

Cass peeked around his shoulder to see the smaller knight standing in the hall, starting at his own apartment door, trembling slightly.  Confused, Cass followed his gaze to see the door had been vandalized with what both young men quickly realized was human semen. 

Obi-Wan lowered his head into his hands, obviously struggling to maintain his composure. 

“I didn’t do it.” 

“Of course you didn’t,” Quinlan almost growled.  “Do you know who did?”  It was obvious from the scent that it had been an alpha, but he didn’t recognize anyone specific. 

Obi-Wan nodded.  “Do you remember me telling you about how a certain Space Corps technician had been harassing me?  Three guesses where he was transferred to.” 

“Kriff!” Quinlan swore.  “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” 

“Who?” Cass asked. 

“Bruck Chun.”  Quinlan turned back to Obi-Wan while Cass winced.  “You said he was harassing you.  Is this what that jerk was doing?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, determined not to cry.  “Yes.  He usually did it on my door when I was at the training center, once he even broke in and did it on my bunk.  He wouldn’t leave me alone and kept telling everyone I was his lover so he could openly grope me or get close enough to say awful things to me without looking suspicious.” 

“Did you report this?” Quinlan asked. 

“Of course I reported it, but it was my word against his and it’s not as if I couldn’t do it to my own door.  I know he denied it, I think he told the base commander I was his crazy ex, or we were on again/off again, at least based on what they asked me.  The commander was unimpressed and told us both to ‘work it out for ourselves.’  Which left me with two options: put up with it, or retaliate and be punished for it.”  

Cass raised an eyebrow.  This was particularly crude and immature, but not terribly unusual for alpha posturing and dominance.  “Sounds like a few days of kitchen duty or manual labor would be worth knocking his block off.”

Obi-Wan sighed audibly.  “I can’t.  Bruck and I have a history, and I have black marks on my record for fighting, particularly with Bruck.  I could lose my apprenticeship or be expelled from the Order if I retaliate.  Not that Bruck couldn’t just claim I wronged him anyway.  I think he did at the training center, but he didn’t have enough credibility there to pull it off, but here at the Temple, the powers that be still remember our history, my master remembers our history and has made it clear that if it ever happened again, my punishment would be swift and final.”

Cass frowned.  “Because of initiate spats?  Bruck fought with everybody.” 

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, his control wavering.  “We got into an unsupervised saber-spat and both got burned.  I put on some salve and moved on.  Bruck went to the healers and told them I attacked him and left out the entire lead up.  It was stupid of me and I should have known better, but there are enough people who will think I’m malicious and vindictive, since the Reassignment Committee sent me to the Agri Corps a week early as punishment, the record is in Bruck’s favor.  I can’t do anything to stop him, Cassander, and he knows it.” 

“Can you at least file a complaint with Security, so there is a record of what he’s doing?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “That’s a good idea.” 

“We should take pictures,” Quinlan concurred.  “Maybe check the security footage.” 

“Definitely,” Cass agreed, resisting the urge to growl.  “Why is this asshole harassing you?” 

“Because he grew up to be an alpha and he thinks that makes it his right.  He’s still bitter I was selected as a padawan and he wasn’t.  He alternates between trying to goad me into a fight and sexually harassing me to show his dominance.” 

“Can’t you just deck him?” Cass asked.  It wasn’t as if Obi-Wan had no training beyond lightsabers. 

“Not with one punch, no.   He’s much bigger than me and he can argue I’m a padawan, I should have better control.  I’m holding a grudge, or I’m beating on him because he’s in the Service Corps.” 

“Kriff, Boys.  Can’t you keep it in your pants until you get inside?” 

The three of them turned to find Siri Tachi standing behind them, hands on her hips, looking on in disapproval. 

“Siri, we didn’t do this!” Quinlan growled.  “Obi-Wan is getting harassed.”

Siri raised an eyebrow.  She didn’t care to tolerate alpha nonsense on her floor and wouldn’t hesitate to throw her weight around, but Obi-Wan should be strong enough to handle this on his own.  “Take care of it.  The rest of us don’t need to be subjected to this bantha poodoo because you pissed off some alpha. And clean off the damned door.”

“Siri, just because your master is on the Council doesn’t make you captain of the floor,” Quinlan glared at her. 

Siri’s alpha scent drifted toward them as she rose to the challenge.  “Are you planning on painting a door next?” 

Quinlan looked unimpressed.  “Siri, Obi-Wan is being harassed.  We’ll clean the door after Security takes the report.” 

“Fine.”  Siri looked over the lot of them.  “But if Kenobi is too much of a wuss to handle this, he should just set his jacked-up boyfriend after the interloper.” 

Obi-Wan turned to stare at her, pale.  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Siri rolled her eyes.  “Boyfriend, fuck buddy, whatever.  You know, you don’t have to hide him just because he’s in the Service Corps.”

Quinlan and Cass shared a look while Obi-Wan grew paler. 

“Are you referring to Bruck Chun, by chance?” Quinlan asked, clearly getting pissed. 

“Yes.  He just got transferred back to the Temple.  Apparently, he and Kenobi had a hot affair when he was spaceflight training.”

Obi-Wan made a pained noise.  Cass put a hand protectively on his shoulder. 

“Siri,” Quinlan tried to stay calm.  “Obi-Wan didn’t have an affair.  Bruck was harassing him during his training.” 

Siri looked very confused.  “So, who painted the door?” 

“Bruck!” Quinlan and Cass said together. 

“Oh.”  Siri seemed stunned, then angry.  “Wait, you didn’t sleep with Bruck?” 

“No!”  Obi-Wan took a deep breath, but the competing alpha scents only made his anxiety worse.  “I didn’t have sex with Bruck.”  He managed not to yell, but his voice wavered.  “I didn’t flirt with him, lead him on, proposition him or come on to him.  I asked him to leave me alone, then told him to leave me alone.  He laughed in my face, then started marking my door or my things and stalking me in the shower rooms.  He started telling people we were lovers so I would look like the crazy one.  It only stopped when he was transferred out, but it turned out he was transferred here.  And I can’t make him stop.” 

Siri was clearly thinking it over.  She had had something of a rivalry with Obi-Wan when they were young padawans, but since she presented, she had moved on to the open alphas for competition.  She had never had a problem with Bruck herself as an initiate and had respected his assertiveness.  However, she was not unaware of his clashes with more students than just Obi-Wan, but with Obi-Wan’s history of being sent to the Agri Corps, he might have more motivation than most for seeking revenge. 

“Why should I believe your word over Bruck’s?”  Her tone wasn’t accusatory, more analytical, but it still stung. 

“You shouldn’t.”  Obi-Wan sounded so defeated.  “No one else did.  But you do know me.  You know I don’t bring people home or have casual affairs.  You know my master wouldn’t approve of me having a relationship, much less with Bruck, who I already have a negative history with.  And Bruck is a well-built alpha in the Service Corps.  He has his pick of well-fed omegas and betas with enough free time to have a relationship with, unlike,” he gestured at his own small frame.  “Me.”  He slumped, overwhelmed. 

Siri looked him over critically, used to seeing him as an opponent, not someone she considered romantically or sexually.  Obi-Wan was right.  He was too small to be a hot alpha, too thin to be a hot omega, and too busy to stand out among the betas.  He wasn’t physically unattractive exactly, and while Obi-Wan often felt things deeply and sometimes struggled for control (she could relate), he wasn’t a liar.  And she had never seen him bring anyone home. 

Bruck was many things, but 100% truthful had not been one of them when he had been an initiate.  Still, this could all just be a misunderstanding.  Young Service Corps Jedi were not known for their manners. 

“I think you need to call Security.  I’ll put a notice out for residents to make note of trespassers, and I’ll ask T.J. if he can improve surveillance.  I don’t know who did what, but we’re not going to get anywhere without evidence.” 

Quinlan and Cass looked as if they felt Siri was being unsupportive, but Obi-Wan nodded.  “Thank you.”  He sighed, then pulled out his comm to make the call, but his hands were still shaking.  

“We’ll make the call,” Quinlan pulled out his own comm.  “And we can testify that it’s definitely not your scent.”  With the musk dissipating, it would be harder for the Security Guards to tell when they showed up. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your day.” 

“You’re not.”  Cass squeezed his shoulder, then led Obi-Wan around a corner to a bench so he didn’t have to see the soiled door anymore. 

Siri raised an eyebrow.  “Why doesn’t he just knock Bruck’s block off?  I would.” 

Quin shook his head as he commed the non-emergency line.  “Something about a history of fighting and getting sent away because Bruck accused him of attacking him when they were initiates?  I’m not sure, I was already a padawan then.” 

“Hmm,” Siri nodded.  “Jinn won’t tolerate him fighting again.  No wonder he’s upset.”  She looked Quinlan in the eye.  “I don’t know what the truth is, but we will find out.” 

Quinlan nodded as the call connected and Siri left. 

“Temple Security, how can I direct your call?”

“Yes, I’m calling because a senior padawan in the dorms is being aggressively sexually harassed.” 

Chapter Text

“You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble, Love.”  Qui-Gon kissed Feemor on the lips before turning back to admire his handiwork.  The table had been set, with full linens, the roast was resting on the counter before carving, and the only thing missing was a bottle of wine that Feemor couldn’t drink anyway, as they were still waiting on his pregnancy status.  “It’s only Obi-Wan coming over.  He used to live here after all.”  

“It’s a family dinner,” Feemor insisted as he brought the serving dishes to the table.  “It’s worth the effort, especially since we don’t do this often.” 

Qui-Gon gave him a fond look.  “If it’s a family dinner, perhaps we should invite Jasmine instead.” 

Feemor stopped to stare at him, shocked.  “I didn’t think you wanted to meet Jasmine.” 

Qui-Gon had the grace to look embarrassed.  “The timing was bad when she reached out, and I was estranged from you.  Since we have reconciled,” he shrugged. 

“I’d like that,” Feemor admitted.  “But Jasmine is on a long- term assignment on the Inner Rim.”  He smiled softly, thinking it over.  “I’ll let her know you’re open to it if she comes back this way, but it might not be for a while.” 

Qui-Gon grinned back, hopeful.  “I think I’d like that.”  The door chime rang promptly on the hour.  “In the meantime, I will endure.”  He opened the door to find Obi-Wan standing in the hall, eyes cast down, holding a box from the Temple bakery. 

“Padawan.”  His gaze dropped to the box.  “I see you remembered to bring something to the meal.” 

“Yes, Master.  I didn’t know if Master Feemor preferred wine, beer or spirits, but I did remember being told he enjoyed almond tarts as a padawan, so I brought an almond cream cake.  I hope that’s alright.”  He glanced at Qui-Gon warily.  “I didn’t bake it.” 

Feemor had peeked into the main room when he heard Obi-Wan’s voice at the door.  “Oh, that will be perfect for dessert, thank you.”  He had purchased some frozen delights, unsure if Obi-Wan would bring a dessert or not, but those could wait for another day.  “Bring it in to the kitchen so we can keep it chilled.” 

Obi-Wan hurried in, giving his master a wary look.  “Thank you for inviting me.”  He kept his posture submissive as he presented the box to his host. 

Feemor was very surprised he made such a display of it, trying to signal that he was well aware of his status in the group, and if not for Qui-Gon’s stern, expectant face from the doorway, he would have thought Obi-Wan was mocking him.  If he had been Xan, he certainly would have been.  Still, with having to follow Xan’s act, he could understand Obi-Wan’s attempt to actively show he was not vying for dominance here.  It wasn’t clear if Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan to be gentle due to the possible pregnancy, or if the padawan was simply trying to respect his master’s mate. 

He found a large serving plate in the cabinet, slid the beautiful cake on it and transferred it to the chiller for after dinner.  It smelled delicious. 

“You’re welcome, of course, Obi-Wan. We really should have done this sooner, especially if you have such good taste in baked goods.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I just wanted to be polite and bring something you liked.” 

“Master Jinn told you how I used to indulge in almond tarts for every holiday?” Feemor laughed. 

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a puzzled look.

“Um, no.”  Obi-Wan bobbed his head submissively.  “It was a different master who had remembered you.”

“Oh.”  When Obi-Wan did not offer more details, Feemor opted not to press further.  “Well, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had almond buttercream, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Do you want any help?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Oh, no, Dear.”  Feemor went over to the roast to cut it up.  “Almost all ready.  You go relax tonight, but you can help next time.” 

Obi-Wan gave him a short bow and stepped out into the sitting room.  Qui-Gon drew close, an incredulous look on his face.

“Next time?” he whispered to Feemor.

Feemor rolled his eyes.  “Of course, next time.  He’ll be less nervous then.”

Qui-Gon stifled a sigh, accepting that this made his lover happy, then followed Obi-Wan out to the sitting room.

Obi-Wan was looking at the new pictures and art on the walls.  There were more flat pics of Feemor and Qui-Gon, from both his padawan years and Xanatos’ (though there were no pictures of Xan), and some padawans he did not know, which he assumed were Feemor’s.  He was a bit surprised his own photo with Master Jinn was still on the wall. 

“Those are Feemor’s padawans,” Qui-Gon pointed them out.  “Neve, who I’ve met, and Exir, who I have not.” 

Obi-Wan paused in front of a large portrait of a female knight with light brown hair and striking blue eyes.  “Is this your daughter?” 

Qui-Gon seemed surprised Obi-Wan would ask.  “Yes.  That is Jasmine.  Knighted and well on her way to master from what I’ve been told.” 

“She has your eyes, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, solemn.  “You’ve changed the room.  It’s very warm and welcoming.” 

“Don’t get comfortable.”

“I won’t.”  Obi-Wan continued to examine the décor while Feemor moved from the kitchen to the dining alcove and back again, putting the finishing touches on the meal. 

“Dinner is ready,” Feemor called them in after a few minutes.  “I hope you like the roast nerf.  Master Jinn and I used to make this when we would have Master Dooku and Master Nu over.” 

Qui-Gon pulled out Feemor’s chair, then sat across from him.  Obi-Wan took the remaining seat. 

“It smells wonderful,” Obi-Wan told him with a smile. 

Qui-Gon shot him a suspicious glare, and Obi-Wan shrank the slightest bit, his whole demeanor non-threatening.  Unobtrusive.  Almost invisible.  He still had no discernible scent. 

“Thank you.”  Feemor looked back and forth between them, growing more convinced that Qui-Gon had remembered Xan’s jealousy of him and had overcompensated in ensuring Obi-Wan would not behave similarly. 

As host, Feemor picked up the serving platter and held it for Qui-Gon, then Obi-Wan, letting them pick their own cuts of meat, then passed around the roasted root vegetables and gravy.  Qui-Gon served himself a generous portion as was fitting for an athletic man of his height and build.  Obi-Wan selected a surprisingly modest portion for an equally active young man of his age.  Feemor hid his surprise as he continued to pass the breadbasket, berry sauce and other condiments. 

When all were served, Feemor called for a moment of gratitude and reflection, then took a bite to begin the meal.  Obi-Wan finally looked up from the table, engaging in eye contact, trying to balance his submissive display with good manners. 

“Is this food alright?” Feemor asked after a few minutes. 

“It’s delicious,” Qui-Gon declared. 

Feemor looked at Obi-Wan. 

“It’s very good, Master Feemor,” Obi-Wan looked him in the eye.  “The meat is tender and well-seasoned, and the root vegetables still have a bite to them.” 

The young master grinned.  “I’ve refined the recipe over the years, not that there was anything wrong with it to begin with.  What do you and Master Jinn cook together these days?” 

Obi-Wan blinked at him, not sure what to say. 

“Nothing,” Qui-Gon answered for him.  “We heat rations in the field, and the occasional wild game, but I don’t host dinners anymore.  Besides, we have enough diplomatic banquets to attend.” 

“Do you cook with your friends in the Padawan Dorms?” Feemor asked. 

“Not often,” Obi-Wan kept his tone neutral.  “I usually just prepare food for myself to eat between classes and practice sessions.  I’m not very involved in the dorm social life.” 

“Oh?”  Feemor looked concerned.  Qui-Gon did not.

Obi-Wan shrugged, slightly self-deprecating.  “Unfortunately, I’m not as strong a student as many of my peers.  My evenings are better spent in study and practice than in bar crawls if I am to pass my trials.” 

Feemor was surprised Obi-Wan seemed so aware of the shortcomings Qui-Gon had mentioned.  Usually in such cases self-awareness was half the problem. 

“What courses are you taking this term?”

“Politics and Socioeconomics of the Inner Rim, Hyperspace Calculations V, Advanced Saber Theory and Strategy, and I am doing an analysis of the Fifth Treaty of Chandrila, and its effects on the last century of development for Diplomacy and Political Analysis.” 

That seemed a fairly dense course schedule for a padawan with as active a master as Qui-Gon was, but neither Obi-Wan nor Qui-Gon seemed to feel this was unusual. 

“And how are your saber studies?  What forms do you use?” 

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon quickly before answering.  “I primarily use Ataru, though Master Jinn has had me learn katas in various forms, including mixed forms.  I’m currently studying the Elemental Series, and next week I am attending a workshop in augmenting aerials with the Force.” 

“That will keep you busy,” Feemor commented.  It also explained his light portions.  Ataru was an aggressive form which enhanced the physical power of an attack, either from one’s physical size (as Qui-Gon used it), or through aerial maneuvers.  For Ataru to be truly effective, one needed extensive height, reach and musculature as Qui-Gon had or to be light and trim, able to lift oneself into the air without relying on the Force to accomplish that.  Obi-Wan was a bit on the thin side, but it didn’t feel in the Force as if he had an eating disorder, and was likely just very diet conscious, knowing he had to keep his weight down to remain an effective fighter as he wasn’t tall and broad enough to be effective without the aerials.  For his sake, Feemor hoped he was studying other forms as well, knowing from experience that aerial-based fighting styles became increasingly difficult with age, Master Yoda being the exception to the rule. 

“Are you participating in the Annual Saber Tournament next week?” Feemor asked. 

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon again, and Master Jinn was clearly making the same face he used to make at Feemor and Xan, silently ordering them to behave themselves. 

“I have signed up, but Master Jinn is always in high demand, so I don’t know for certain if we will be in Temple to participate.” 

“The needs of the Republic are more important than saber tournaments.”  Qui-Gon restrained himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you both there.  I was planning on scouting out the younger initiates.” 

Obi-Wan gave him a small smile.  “Are you looking for a padawan?” 

“Yes and no,” Feemor grinned back, pleased that Obi-Wan was showing an interest in him.  Xan never had.  “I do want to take a new padawan at the end of my sabbatical, so I’m not looking seriously, but I do want to acquaint myself with the younger initiates who will be ready for apprenticeships next year, after the baby is born and weaned.” 

Obi-Wan looked up at him abruptly, eyes wide, face pale, possibly oblivious to the Death Glare his master was shooting his way. 

“C-congratulations,” he stammered after a moment.  “I apologize for not noticing.  My strengths don’t lie with the Living Force.” 

Qui-Gon looked back at Feemor after a long moment.  “They certainly do not.  He wouldn’t be able to tell, even if you were in active labor.” 

Feemor gave Qui-Gon his own glare, while Obi-Wan looked down at the table.  Determined to keep everything polite and civil, Feemor patted Obi-Wan on the wrist.  “It’s too soon for even your master to tell, don’t worry about it.”  He gave Qui-Gon another sharp glance.  “I take it Qui-Gon never told you we were trying for a baby?”

“No, Master Feemor, but I do hope the Force is with you in this.” 

Feemor squeezed his wrist, touched by the sincerity he could hear and feel in the Force, but concerned by the fleeting worry Obi-Wan seemed to have in regards to his master.  “Well, I’m hoping I’m already pregnant or if not, will be by next month.  I confess, doing it accidentally was much easier when I was a teenager.” 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Qui-Gon warned his apprentice.

“No, Master.  There are plenty of infants in the dorms that illustrate why such choices are impractical for me.” 

“Are the Padawan Dorms still a hotbed of polyamory and small gifts from the Force?” Feemor asked, grinning.  “I never lived there myself, but I know several of my peers conceived there, intentionally and otherwise.” 

“Yes, so far as I can tell,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “We currently have three padawans who are with child, two padawans who are still nursing, and I know of another two who are preparing to attempt conception.  One is still negotiating his petition, he’s trying to time the pregnancy with his master’s partner’s, and the other was just approved and she is selecting mates and starting her fertility regimen.” 

“Are you one of the candidates?”

Qui-Gon shot Feemor a disturbed look, but Obi-Wan merely shook his head. 

“No.  She’s a friend, but not more, and I’d be a poor choice for that.  She needs people she can count on to have the time to be there for her.  I’m away too often, even to just be a helper.” 

“Well, perhaps when you’re older then.  I’m hoping I didn’t wait too long.”

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze, staring at something neither Feemor nor Qui-Gon could see.  “You didn’t.”  He blinked, shaking his head, obviously sensing something in the Unifying Force.  “But I don’t expect it will be an issue for me.  It’s not feasible while I’m a padawan, and if I do pass my Trials, I don’t think I’ll be a good candidate, even when I’m older.” 

“The Trials can seem overwhelming at your age, but there is more to being a Jedi than just duty.” 

It was clear from his expression that Master Jinn did not agree, but Obi-Wan seemed unfazed, as if this was something that had already been discussed, debated and settled. 

“I don’t feel the Force would be with me in that.”  Obi-Wan wiped his mouth as if casually declaring that he would likely remain childless were no more unusual than saying he would never be fluent in Shyriiwook or never develop a green thumb.  Feemor noted that Obi-Wan’s preferences or desires seemed wholly absent from the statement. 

“I agree.”  Qui-Gon did not look up from the nerf he was cutting.  “Parenthood doesn’t suit you.” 

Obi-Wan never flinched, as if this statement wasn’t new to him.  “Yes, Master.”  He set aside his cutlery and looked back at Feemor, a polite smile on his lips, despite the verbal rebuke from his master.  “Are you teaching classes during your sabbatical?” 

* * *

“Well, that was an interesting evening,” Feemor sighed as he put away the leftovers and Qui-Gon washed the dishes. 

“If you say so.”  Qui-Gon scrubbed at congealed grease on a utensil he could not identify by name.  “Are you now satisfied that Obi-Wan is indeed a stick in the mud, and poor company for a dinner party?” 

“No.”  Feemor rolled his eyes as he finished portioning out the leftovers, stealing a taste of the almond buttercream before he wrapped the cake up.  “He isn’t a stick in the mud at all.  He was polite, articulate, and intelligent.  To be honest, I don’t understand why Master Dooku doesn’t get along with him.  He did seem a bit nervous though.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “Of course, he’s polite.  He’s had diplomatic training.  That’s the bare minimum to get along with Master Dooku.  You’re assuming that as you get to know Obi-Wan better, there will be more substance beneath the surface.  There isn’t.  He can maintain the veneer of good etiquette, but is lacking in true social grace, and Master Dooku can see through it.  You will too when you finally take off the rose-colored glasses.” 

Feemor was quiet for a moment.  “What depth do you think he’s lacking?” 

“He is emotionally immature, lacks a deep understanding of the Force, has few talents and fewer friends.  He is socially stunted, lacks compassion, has poor focus and is barely intelligent enough to keep up with his studies.  Even he knows how poorly he ranks against his peers, and he remains a longshot for knighthood.”  Qui-Gon shook his head.  “I would rather you had not brought up the saber tournament.  At this stage in his development, it’s just a waste of time.  He makes enough mistakes under my tutelage to keep him busy correcting.  He doesn’t need to spend an afternoon having his peers point out the obvious when there are better uses for his time.” 

“Why is that a waste of time?” Feemor asked as he rearranged the chiller to accommodate the leftover cake.  “It’s healthy for students to spar with a variety of opponents.” 

“It would be if he had more talent.  He doesn’t.  He meets the standards of bare competency that I expect as a minimum for my padawans, but he’s nothing compared to you at that age, much less Xan.  By the time you two were senior padawans, I could trust you both to pit you against Master Dooku and know that while you would inevitably lose, you wouldn’t embarrass me.  Obi-Wan can’t handle that kind of challenge.  He lacks the confidence, talent, drive and focus.  Dooku would break him like a twig.  He is on track to get a competency rating for his saber trials, but that’s the only one I have any confidence he will pass, and he’s certainly not at a level of excellence.  Drallig doesn’t even let him into the advanced classes like he did with you and Xan.  He keeps up, but he’s never going to excel.” 

“I seem to remember both you and Master Dooku had a higher standard of competence than the Order in general.  Is that just for saberwork, or does that now extend to everything?” 

“I don’t tolerate incompetence.  You know that,” Qui-Gon explained.  “With the work I do now I can’t afford to.”

“If you feel his knighthood is such a longshot, have you sat him down and asked him if he really wants to keep working that hard for something that might well be out of reach?” 

Qui-Gon seemed relieved that Feemor was coming around.  “I’ve always stressed that the Jedi path is a hard one.  He’s aware he must work harder to keep up, and he’s aware he’s falling short of expectations.  Unfortunately, his abilities and personality leave him with few options at this late date.” 

“Qui-Gon, there are other types of Jedi besides knights.” 

“I am aware of that, but his functional blindness to the Living Force leaves him with few options.  If I had left him in the Agri Corp he would have been returned to his family years ago.  He has no talent for plants.  He is equally unsuited for the Healing Corp.  He doesn’t have the brains for the Engineering Corp, and he considers piloting a chore, so the Space Corp and the Exploration Corp don’t suit him either.  He could be sent out as part of the Educational Corp I suppose, teaching basic skills on backwater planets, but he’s not terribly patient and he has no rapport with the younglings.  As I said before if he cannot manage to pass his Trials and become a grunt knight, he has the skills to be a low level diplomatic attaché, within the Order or outside it, or he could find some sort of entry level civilian job.  He’s too small and physically unintimidating to be a bodyguard, but he could certainly be a bureaucrat and work his way up to financial stability.  Or he could just do grunt work, crewing a freighter or a passenger ship.  He has a few more options on Core Worlds which would recognize his Jedi education as equivalent to a university degree, but it’s more expensive to live here.  He has some ability in the Unifying Force.  If he opts to leave, that could help him find a path.” 

“That’s all you envision for him?  Manual labor or a bureaucrat?  The Service Corp or expulsion?  Qui-Gon, there are other Jedi in the Temple besides knights.  He could join the Temple Guard.  He could teach the older children and padawans if he doesn’t have a rapport with younglings.  He could work in the support facilities.  The Temple is a complicated community all on its own.  Surely you don’t think its just the Council coordinating missions, managing supplies, determining assignments?  There are plenty of Jedi in those roles as well, whether they reach knighthood or not.” 

“There are plenty of civilian contractors in those roles as well.”  Qui-Gon shook his head.  “He wants to be a knight.  We’ve discussed what that could look like for him with his limitations, and he still wants to make the attempt.  But you know what our little, green grandmaster says.  There is no try.  He will either do it, or he won’t.  But he is aware of how limited his role could be and still chooses to invest his efforts.  He wants his knighthood, but he lacks that spark and talent that you and Xanatos had in spades.  The Force flows through you like a river; you could grasp the power and wield it.  He takes in the Force like sink under a faucet.  He’s not on your level.” 

“He didn’t feel weak in the Force.”  Feemor turned over the evening’s conversation in his head.  When he had finally gotten Obi-Wan talking, he had seemed quite intelligent, well-read, and aware of the Force in general if not the Living Force specifically.  “He even told me he thought I’d get pregnant.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “He was being nice.” 

Feemor looked at him sharply.  “He did seem to be sensing something in the Force.” 

“Oh my, I can see your future,” Qui-Gon’s tone was mocking as he looked at some imaginary point in space, then crossed his eyes.  “He has only the vaguest Unifying Force abilities, and often his so-called predictions leave him worrying over nothing instead of focusing on the moment.”  He sighed.  “He’s just picked up the mannerisms of the Jedi Seers to sell his argument.  He knows you are my mate and was trying to be polite, but he has no ability to see the future with any accuracy.” 

“Why do you say that?” Feemor asked.  “It could be argued that you are functionally blind to the Unifying Force.”

Qui-Gon snorted.  “Because I know the odds.  If he could really see the future, he’d have given up on his knighthood by now instead of chasing what small chance he has.” 

“That’s cruel,” Feemor glared at him. 

“Life is cruel,” Qui-Gon argued.  “Others with farther vision that I possess have warned me that I may not see him knighted.  After Xanatos, I did seek out guidance, believe it or not.  He did not seem prone to Fall, so failure is a likely outcome.”

“Or death,” Feemor shuddered. 

“Yes, he could die,” Qui-Gon conceded. 

“Or you could.” Feemor’s tone was quiet.  “Just because you might not see him knighted doesn’t mean a failing on his part is the reason why.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “All the more reason to push him to be his best.  I have to depend on him in the field.  He has to depend on himself.  I push him to perform because lives depend on that performance, including mine.  If he reaches the point where he cannot perform at the level required, I’ll pull the plug.  I won’t endanger myself unnecessarily to preserve a dream.  But for now, he’s still adequate.  He’s competent.  He can serve his role.  He knows his apprenticeship is a privilege he must earn every day, that he’s too close to the line to screw around.”  Qui-Gon unfastened his hair tie and massaged his scalp where the strands had been held taut.  “Not every padawan reaches knighthood.  Komari didn’t.”

“Komari refused to control her emotions and indulged in an infatuation with Master Dooku, at the expense of her serenity and her studies.” 

“Obi-Wan couldn’t even hide his nervousness at a simple dinner with other Jedi.  He’s not a damn child anymore.  Now do you understand why your beloved grandmaster might find him to be a pain in the ass?” 

Feemor gave Qui-Gon a speculative glance.  “Does Obi-Wan have inappropriate feelings for you?”  He had sensed worry from the padawan, but not jealousy. 

“Probably,” Qui-Gon settled into the couch.  “He knows they are unrequited if he does.” 

“You’ve never discussed it?” 

“We have a functional bond, not an emotional one.  I invested too much of myself emotionally in Xan.  It’s not a mistake I will repeat.” 

“You’re allowed to care about him, Qui-Gon.  You’re allowed to love him, and see the good in him, and trust him to not hurt you.”

“I know I’m allowed.  I love and trust you.  You’ve earned it many times over.  He broke my trust.  I have come to accept how far I can trust him and what I can’t trust him with.  I have spent many hours meditating on the trust in our relationship.  We are honest with each other.  He does not lie to me and I do not lie to him.  But I no longer have the capacity to love him the way I did with you and Xan.  His foolish mistakes and betrayals killed that long ago.” 

Feemor was quiet for a long time.

“If you won’t love him,” he said at last.  “Why didn’t you transfer him to a different master?” 

“He didn’t just betray me.  He broke his vows to the Order.  No one else would take him with that on his record.  I told you.  I’m his only chance and he knows it.” 

“That’s very disturbing.”

“I told you there was nothing pleasant beneath the surface.  A chance to be a grunt knight is a gift and he knows it.” 

“It’s not supposed to be like that.” 

“It is what it is.  If he doesn’t like it, he can go do something else with his life.”  Qui-Gon sighed.  “I’m relieved he didn’t make a fuss over the baby.  Tahl and I were trying for a while when Xan was young, and he was less than supportive.” 

“As I recall, he threw a hissy fit.” 

Qui-Gon grunted but did not actually agree. 

“Did you and Tahl ever have any children together?” Feemor asked gently, knowing Qui-Gon’s relationship with her had continued after their estrangement. 

“No,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “We tried a few times, but it never worked out.  We weren’t together after Xan fell, and Xan’s feelings about it prevented us from doing so before.  We didn’t get back together until she was blinded, and she didn’t feel confident enough to go through a pregnancy and caring for a baby when she was still getting a handle on being a blind person.  Then she took on a padawan and wanted her to be more settled before we conceived.  We had a date set for when we planned to try again, but she passed into the Force before it came.” 

Feemor took his hand.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know the two of you were going to try again.” 

Qui-Gon stroked Feemor’s palm with his fingertips.  “It was a dream, but an unlikely one.  Tahl knew she was getting older, and as a near human we made a slightly less fertile pair.  But we wanted to try.”  He kissed Feemor’s hand, then let go to rest his own on his lover’s still flat belly.  “How soon can we check?” 

“My period is due at the end of the month.  We can check then if I’m late.” 

Qui-Gon followed his hand with his lips.  “I want to make love to you.”

“My fertile window has passed.”

“I know.”  Qui-Gon slid Feemor’s shirt up to expose his warm skin, kissing his flesh, caressing him with his lips.  “I want to make love to you.” 

“You can’t knot me,” Feemor warned.  “We’re trying to keep the internal environment optimal for implantation.” 

“I know.”  Qui-Gon’s hand slid down over Feemor’s stomach, pausing over his womb, still flush with potential from his last heat, then dropped lower to fondle him through his pants.  “I want to suck you.  I want to taste you.” 

“D-do you?”  Feemor tried to keep his voice steady as Qui-Gon squeezed gently. 

“If your pregnancy goes like last time, you might be too sick to make love for months.  Maybe I want to pleasure you as much as I can before that happens.” 

Feemor tugged on his tunic until Qui-Gon leaned down to kiss him.  “Alright.” 

The younger master stood up and waited for Qui-Gon to join him, kissing him deeply before he turned and walked back toward the bedroom.  He let his lover strip his clothes and lay him out on the same bed he had lost his virginity in, let those same hands stroke him, love him, excite him.  Qui-Gon lay on top of him, careful not to press on him too much, then kissed him again before trailing his lips down his beloved former padawan’s body, kissing, licking, nibbling until he reached the omega’s penis, hard and leaking, to taste him there. 

Feemor gasped and moaned, breathing in his lover’s scent as Qui-Gon brought him to orgasm before teasing lower, knowing Feemor’s vagina would be flushed, sensitive and responsive after ejaculation.  The omega wasn’t in heat, but their proximity through several cycles left him receptive and more quickly aroused.  Feemor began to groan as Qui-Gon took his time, building the pleasure slowly, lapping at him and fondling his penis until his lover was hard again, hips moving, and each breath brough them closer and closer to climax. 

“Ah!  Ah!  Ah!  Master!”  Feemor’s orgasm rushed through his body, through their slowly regrowing bond and through the Force.  Qui-Gon never stopped his ministrations, determined to bring his lover to climax as many times as his body would allow.  Tonight’s dinner had been stressful.  His mate was working too hard.  He needed to relax and be taken care of. 

“Ohh, Qui-Gon,” Feemor sobbed, remembering his master keeping him on the edge, or bringing him to multiple orgasms a night, sometimes for hours.  He panted as his body spasmed in pleasure, not sure whether he would ejaculate or clamp down on the finger teasing just inside his body.  Qui-Gon kept up the stimulation and soon after Feemor’s body opted to do both.  Qui-Gon grinned at his lover’s surprised howl, never stopping, now stroking two fingers gently inside him while he took Feemor’s penis into his mouth.  Feemor moaned and writhed, surprised his old body could still get this excited outside of a heat. 

Qui-Gon was hard in his pants, but he ignored his erection, too intent on watching the Living Force flowing through his lover, giving him love, and Light and feeling the Force move through him, hoping to catch a glimpse of a smaller light growing inside him.  They had had two fertilized ova.  Had they implanted?  Were they growing even now?

“Qui-Gon,” Feemor gasped.  “Don’t stop!” he begged as his alpha pleasured him, more excited than he had been in years, his brain readily accepting Qui-Gon as his mate, his body attuned to him and determined to keep his interest in this strange time between his heat and his menses, when their potential offspring remained in limbo. 

Feemor closed his eyes and moaned, pressing his head back into the mattress, tears leaking from his eyes and post-heat slick flowing over his lover’s hands.  His body was tensing again, his last orgasm was building in him, much more intense than those which had come before.  Qui-Gon was sucking on the head of his penis, and the fingers deep inside him were pressing directly on the nerves that ran through his prostate and triggered his knotting reflex.  Qui-Gon was twisting his hand, his knuckles simulating a knot, and every movement triggered waves of hot pleasure deep inside him.  It was coming, he could feel it coming, and the Force was filling him even more than his lover had. 

He came with a wail the neighbors no doubt heard, and he let that beautiful Light out.  Qui-Gon stared in awe.  Feemor was glowing in the Living Force, beautiful, shining, pure and the alpha couldn’t help but come in his pants, his knot throbbing hard in its confinement. 

“Stop!” Feemor gasped when he could finally speak, although Qui-Gon already had, shuddering, his nose at his lover’s scent gland. 

Feemor moaned in bliss, pressing his legs together, his body still clutching at Qui-Gon’s fingers, gentle knotting spasms still rippling through him in the afterglow. 

“Qui-Gon, you’re so good to me.”  He tried to catch his breath.  “I don’t think I can pleasure you that much tonight, my alpha.” 

“Of course not, my darling.  It’s my job to channel the Light into you, to help fill you with the Living Force, and it’s your job to accept the gift of health and vitality so you can provide a home for our child.  That means that you need to rest and get a good night’s sleep with our shared scent filling your nose, so your body and mind have no doubts that I’m here for you and the baby.” 

“I don’t doubt you, Qui-Gon.”  His body had relaxed, his clamping reflex loosened, and Qui-Gon withdrew his hand, stroking his inner thighs, soothing his lover, still mixing their scents. 

“I’m sorry, Alpha.  I didn’t pleasure you.”  Feemor was fighting to stay awake, utterly spent, his brain swimming in bonding hormones. 

“You did, Beautiful Feemor.”  He gently placed his lover’s languid hand on his damp crotch, letting him feel his knot that was yet to subside.  Feemor squeezed gently, and the knot throbbed again. 

“May I touch you until I fall asleep?” Feemor asked quietly, trying not to yawn. 

Qui-Gon unfastened his pants and wriggled out of them, then guided his lover’s hand again.  Feemor was still post-heat and didn’t smell pregnant yet (nor should he), but his body knew the scent of his bred omega.  Feemor’s gentle touch sent waves of sensation throughout his body as they both drifted toward a deep, contented sleep. 

* * *

“Victor!”  The saber judge presiding over the Initiate’s Semi-finals gestured toward a young Iktochi girl who had bested her opponent.  Feemor clapped politely with the rest of the spectators as the children gave each other formal bows, then cleared the floor for the next pair. 

It had been a productive morning, but Feemor was fairly sure he had gotten all he could out of it.  The initiates were very well-educated and disciplined for their age and had a variety of skill levels.  As Feemor was interested in potential padawans, he had downloaded the initiates roster, but he knew it would be many months before he was ready, so he sat higher up in the stands, far enough away that he was unlikely to be seen.  At that age, every saber match could be one’s make-or-break moment, when a master or knight noticed a child, and felt a pull in the Force.  The children didn’t understand that some pairs were made in a day, but other Jedi visited the matches for years before feeling the call of the Unifying Force. 

Feemor had felt some small tugs toward several of the initiates.  He didn’t have one perfect, destined padawan, but there were several children he could potentially bond with.  He would continue to observe, and later interact with the children over the coming months and would likely home in on the best candidate for him then. 

The next pair was taking the floor.  Feemor checked the roster for the final matches.  All of the remaining competitors were in their last months of the initiate years and he had not felt a tug from any of them.  He checked the schedule and realized the Senior Padawan matches would be starting soon.  Satisfied with his progress, Feemor left the competition to find his former master and his lineage brother in an adjacent salle.

He was not able to find Qui-Gon, but he did find his younger brother sitting in the stands.  When Obi-Wan waved to him, clearly still a bit shy, Feemor climbed the steps to join him. 

“Good morning, Obi-Wan.” 

“Good morning, Master Feemor.”  Obi-Wan slid down on the bench to give him room to sit.  “Are the Initiate matches over already?” 

Feemor chuckled.  “No, they are still in the finals, but all of the potential candidates in the time window I’m looking at have been eliminated, so I came over here so I wouldn’t get anyone’s hopes up.” 

Obi-Wan nodded.  “That is kind of you.  I know when I was an initiate, we always hoped to impress the spectators, always wishing they would come to speak with us.  If you aren’t ready to take a padawan now, it’s kinder to keep a bit distant.” 

Feemor smiled softly, remembering his own initiate days.  “I used to get so excited when knights and masters would come down to talk to us after the bouts, but often they were just being nice. I didn’t want to crush their dreams.” 

“Most of the potential masters usually came to speak to my opponents.  The only masters who ever offered me advice were the instructors or Master Yoda.” 

“Didn’t Master Qui-Gon come onto the floor and offer to be your master?”  Qui-Gon was a sabermaster before all else.  He had certainly made the offer to both himself and Xan in the salle after they had proven their skills. 

“Um, no.  Not exactly.”  Obi-Wan blushed faintly.  “Master Qui-Gon did come to speak to me after my last initiate saber bout, but he came to offer criticism, not to offer me an apprenticeship.” 

“Really?”  This was out of character with the Qui-Gon Jinn Feemor had known but was more in line with how he had been after Xan’s fall.  “When did he ask you then?” 

Obi-Wan grimaced, obviously embarrassed.  “He asked just before my thirteenth birthday, after I had been sent to the Agri Corp early for fighting with a fellow initiate.”  He shrank a little.  “I’m surprised Master Jinn hadn’t told you about it already.”  

“No, he hadn’t.”  Qui-Gon hadn’t told him the story fully, but some of his vague statements now made more sense. 

“He hasn’t told me much about you either,” Obi-Wan admitted, hesitating a moment.  “It was Master Tahl who had told me about your fondness for almond tarts.  I knew you were curious at dinner, but I didn’t want to bring it up with Master Jinn.  He doesn’t like to talk about her with me.” 

“Ah,” Feemor nodded.  “Her death would have been very painful for him.”

Obi-Wan stared out at the floor where the senior padawans were starting to gather and warm up.  “It still is.”

“Thank you for explaining.”  It had been a noticeably awkward moment at the dinner party, but if Tahl had been involved, it made sense that Obi-Wan had been trying to protect Master Jinn’s feelings.  Feemor glanced at the young man beside him, then back out at his comrades on the floor.  “You don’t have to sit up here with me to be polite.  Shouldn’t you be warming up?” 

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “My division hasn’t been called down to the floor yet and won’t be for a while.  I’m just sitting here to cheer on my friends and neighbors until it’s my turn.” 

“Ah.  I’m sure they appreciate it.” 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “They don’t really need it, but they’ll be talking about the matches for weeks.  It’s fun to see some of them live.” 

“I agree.  It’s been too many years since I’ve seen good saber work from someone who wasn’t my padawan.”  He looked back out to the floor, watching the young people finishing their stretches and heading to their assigned rings while their masters took seats to observe their students.  Feemor smiled, remembering his own younger years, trying so hard to make his master proud.  “Well, may the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”  He grinned at the younger man.  “Maybe you’ll win a bead this year.” 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Um, thank you for your well wishes, Master Feemor, but no, I won’t be winning any beads this year.” 

“You feel the competition is too fierce?” 

Obi-Wan snorted.  “To be honest, yes, but I don’t need the Force to tell me I won’t be earning a bead.  They don’t give out beads in my division.” 

“Oh.”  Feemor frowned, wondering if Obi-Wan was participating in a specific skill instead of the general competition, or if perhaps Qui-Gon had downplayed his difficulties and he was not in the Senior Padawan Division, but instead in one of the remedial divisions.  “Well, maybe you’ll place, and Master Jinn can present you with a bead anyway.”

Obi-Wan gave him a look of disbelief.  “I doubt it.  Master Jinn has not put much stock in either beads or tournaments in all the years I’ve known him.”

“Really?” Feemor asked, surprised.  “Master Jinn always gave me a bead if I placed in my division or if I met a significant training goal.”  He glanced at Obi-Wan’s braid and realized he only wore two ascension beads, one for the rise to Junior Padawan and one for the rise to Senior Padawan, and they were the disposable beads that were worn during missions and saber practice.  While this wasn’t unusual for a saber tournament, Feemor couldn’t remember if he had worn any ceremonial beads when he had come over for dinner.  “Xanatos was very gifted, both academically and in saber work.  He earned so many beads from Master Qui-Gon that his braid used to clack during formal events.” 

Obi-Wan snorted, trying to imagine not only earning that many beads, but being so self-important as to wear them all at once for any event short of one’s knighting. 

“Well, I’m afraid that unlike Xanatos the Dark and Magnificent, I have not impressed Master Jinn with my performance, and he has not seen fit to do so for me.” 

“Oh.”  Feemor struggled to fill the silence. 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I know I don’t meet his standards, but Battlemaster Drallig assures me I’m meeting the Council-mandated requirements.  I’ve come to accept that adequacy will have to be good enough.”

Before Feemor could think of a response an announcement came over the speakers, listing several different divisions that were now welcome to enter the competition floor in several salles.  Obi-Wan straightened up, obviously summoned. 

“It has been very enlightening to speak with you Master Feemor, but I’m afraid I must go.”  He stood and bowed.  “May the Force be with you.” 

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.  Good luck.” 

With a final bow, the young man left quickly, his division clearly in another salle. 

Feemor reached across the fledgling bond he was growing with Master Jinn, trying to locate him, unsure if he would want to observe his padawan privately or would appreciate some company.  He found he could not pick out his presence in the teeming halls, filled to the brim with Jedi actively engaging the Force.  It was a bit disappointing, but not really a surprise. 

With the bond not giving him any information, Feemor logged in to the infonet to see the different divisions, looking for Obi-Wan’s name and ring assignment.  Obi-Wan was over in the next exhibition salle, and his match would be starting soon.  Feemor walked over to the correct salle, puzzling over the division number.  He had been away from the Temple too long and no longer knew how the groups were classified or ranked. 

He found the room and ring easily, but when he did it was clear Qui-Gon had not arrived yet.  Feemor frowned, concerned his lover would not get there before Obi-Wan had been eliminated, but the young man seemed to be warming up just fine without his master’s guidance.  When Qui-Gon still hadn’t arrived five minutes later, Feemor took a seat in the upper stands, not wanting to get in the way of the masters coaching their padawans close to the floor. 

It wasn’t long before he was joined in the stands by a familiar face. 

“Feemor, is that you?” 

“Master Cin!”  Feemor gave Battlemaster Drallig a brilliant smile.  “How good to see you.”

“I had heard you had returned, but I haven’t seen you in the salle.”  Drallig leveled a stern look his way.  “I know you are on sabbatical right now, but you don’t want your saber skills to lapse.” 

“Yes, Battlemaster Drallig.  I know.  I’m on a fertility regimen, so I’ll hopefully be visiting soon to develop a gestational exercise plan.” 

“Hmm, good for you.”  The beta had sniffed at him, but as Feemor did not yet smell pregnant, he did not offer congratulations.  “What brings you to the Junior Knights Competition?  I would think you’re experienced enough for Senior Knights or Junior Masters by now.”

Junior Knights?

“Actually, I wasn’t sure which division this was.  I was just coming to watch Padawan Kenobi.”  He could clearly see the young man in question out on the floor.  “Am I in the wrong place?” 

“No, this is the right competition.  I moved Kenobi up to the Junior Knight level when he advanced past his peers.”  He looked out onto the floor.  “It’s good that someone came to cheer him on.  Jinn never does.”

“Oh.”  Feemor stopped scanning through the bond.  “I’m trying to get to know my little brother better.”  He looked over the rest of the competitors.  Most of them were young, fit knights, though Obi-Wan wasn’t the only padawan in the division.  “You think he can stand up to field knights?”  There were Jedi who were knighted at Obi-Wan’s age, but most of the competitors looked a bit older as newly-minted knights were usually too busy to participate in their first few years unless they worked in the Temple, not the field. 

“It’s possible he could place, but he can definitely hold his own among the young knights.  He usually goes several rounds before he is eliminated, but I have hopes for him this year.” 

“Does he put on a good show?” Feemor asked, pleased that the Battlemaster seemed to think Obi-Wan was doing well. 

Cin grinned.  “Always.  It’s a shame Qui-Gon always chooses to find somewhere else to be.”  Drallig’s comm began to beep urgently.  “My apologies, I’m needed.”  He rolled his eyes before he put on his Battlemaster face and hurried off to whatever crisis was in the works. 

Out on the floor, the competition master presiding over the bouts called Obi-Wan and his opponent out onto the floor.  Battlemaster Drallig had not been wrong.  Obi-Wan put on quite the show over the course of the matches.  He started off slow, pacing himself, not going all out in the early bouts to reserve energy for the greater challenges to come. 

His first bout was with a young knight who seemed to primarily use Soresu.  Obi-Wan was careful in his attacks against her, testing her limits and reach as much as she was testing him, but not doing anything spectacular.  They circled each other several times, neither gaining the upper hand until Obi-Wan seemed to come to a decision and launched a sudden rapid attack and drove the older knight right out of the ring.  The knight gave him an incredulous look, as if she could not believe this scrawny, young padawan had dared to try to beat her, but it was too late.  Kenobi had found a way past her defenses, and after two more brief tussles the knight had lost the bout and Obi-Wan advanced. 

The next bouts pitted Obi-Wan against opponents with a variety of styles and skill levels.  There was a padawan with very fast and impressive Shien.  There was a knight who seemed to be using a strange combination of Shii-Cho and Makashi which proved to be very ineffective.  One was a much more skilled knight who was quite proficient in Niman. Obi-Wan had to pull out the aerials to step up to the challenge, but he did meet it and was able to win against him.  The results of his no doubt countless hours of practice and discipline were on full display as he soared through the air only to land at the ready to attack again.  The knight had grinned, thrilling to the challenge of a worthy opponent.  When the bout was over, the knight clapped him on the shoulder, likely hoping to spar with him again outside the competition.  Feemor cheered from the stands and earned a shy smile.

Unfortunately, not all the spectators in the stands were as supportive or gracious.  Feemor had noticed a pack of rowdy alphas dressed in various Service Corps uniforms had come into the salle after Feemor had and sat down in the same section.  They were loud, crude and horny based on their behavior, but not technically in rut.  Rather than clapping politely (or even enthusiastically) they jeered and yelled at the competitors.  Feemor paid them little mind, they didn’t exactly pose a threat in a room full of armed knights, but when Obi-Wan made it to the semi-finals and moved to a different ring, the pack of alphas moved with him and Feemor realized Obi-Wan was the target of their heckling. 

The alphas weren’t actually threatening him, but they were clearly following him around the salle, hooting, making distracting sounds, and cheering for Obi-Wan’s opponents.  The ringleader was an enormous, white-haired brute, his musculature far more developed than would ever be required for work in the Space Corp.  In fact, he was so over-developed Feemor wondered if he ever had trouble fitting into tight cockpits like Qui-Gon sometimes did. 

It was not clear why they were focusing their heckling on Kenobi, but he ignored them, staying focused on his matches.  The first rounds and semi-finals were a double-elimination competition, and between Obi-Wan’s matches Battlemaster Drallig returned to the salle and had them ejected.  The Service Corp Jedi were welcome to attend the saber tournaments if they were in Temple and off duty but heckling and harassment during the competition would not be tolerated, no matter who the perpetrators were.  Feemor wondered if Obi-Wan knew them at all or if he was just being targeted for being young and physically slight. 

Obi-Wan was the only padawan who made it into the final eight, but he met his match in the final four, losing to a knight who was noticeably older than him and quite proficient at Djem So.  Feemor had noted the body language before and after the bout and he was fairly certain the knight was someone Obi-Wan was professionally friendly with and had sparred with before, if not regularly.  After his loss, Obi-Wan bowed to the knight, conceding the match and both went on to the final matches, the knight going for first place while Obi-Wan tried for third. 

There was an energy in the room now.  It was rare for a padawan to place in the Junior Knights Division, but not unheard of.  Xan had resisted being moved up to the division in the last year and a half of his apprenticeship because he hadn’t wanted to lose the accolades of being the top of his class. 

“Is Kenobi going to place?” 

Feemor could hear the whispers all around him and was not surprised that Battlemaster Drallig stayed to see the outcome of the bout. 

Obi-Wan’s final opponent was another noticeably older knight he did not seem to know, but they had clearly paid attention to each other during the previous round of matches, knowing that if whether they won or lost, they would have to face one of the other competitors.  Both had lost their previous matches, but seemed to have shaken off the loss, experienced enough in competition to not stop trying, just because the first and second place was out of reach.  The knight was a tall woman, taller than Obi-Wan himself, and seemed to be using a Shien/Soresu combination rather than Niman.  Previous bouts had shown that Obi-Wan had a better understanding of Shien than Djem So, and was better able to counter it, but this was their last match and both competitors were getting tired. 

Feemor leaned forward to watch, riveted as the two Jedi circled each other, each trying to get the upper hand.  Obi-Wan did not falter under the pressure, and the knight was very motivated to not lose third place to a senior padawan.  Carefully, each attacked the other, dancing out of the way and responding in kind.  The knight’s Soresu gave her a better defense and she was clearly trying to wear down her opponent, but she had not utilized Soresu exclusively during her previous matches and her own reserves were running low.  Would the energy and resilience of youth have the advantage? 

Knowing she was growing tired chasing Kenobi around the ring, the knight finally struck, making a decisive attack that should have ended the bout swiftly, but Kenobi had one more trick up his sleeve and pulled off an aerial counterattack that had him soaring out of reach and slashing down before the knight even realized what had hit her. 

“Victor!” the match master shouted as the knight stood there, stunned.  The safety setting on the sabers had ensured that the young man had not ended her life, but merely scorched her tunic, and her pride. 

She was still blinking in shock when Kenobi bowed to her amid wild cheers from the spectators, including from the two knights still set to square off for the top two spots.  It was rare for a third-place match to garner more excitement than the first-place match. 

After a moment, the knight collected herself, bowed her head to concede the bout, then shook Obi-Wan’s hand.  She hoped for a rematch soon.

The final bout was fairly exciting for a Junior Knight competition and it made Feemor feel like he should step up his own training program, even as he knew he really couldn’t if he was trying to have a baby.  Not that he couldn’t brush up on katas and forms during his pregnancy, but he knew he would only gain full mastery after his center of gravity returned to normal.  Perhaps he would take this time to take a strategy class instead. 

He found Obi-Wan after the matches speaking to Cin Drallig.  The Battlemaster was usually calm after the matches, praising and critiquing winners and losers alike, not wanting any of his students to get cocky or overconfident, nor wanting them to be disheartened after a loss.  With Obi-Wan however he was almost effusive, thrilled to present him with his third-place ribbon, even as Obi-Wan asked what Cin recommended he do to shore up his weaknesses against Djem So.  Cin gave him a few kata numbers to work on and told him to come spar after his next mission (and if Obi-Wan regularly made a habit of sparring with the Battlemaster, he could see why he placed in the Junior Knight Division as a twenty-two-year-old padawan) but it was clear he was very pleased with his performance.  Obi-Wan went to the competition master to request a recording of his matches before Feemor could get close enough to congratulate him and overheard the fourth-place knight discussing him with Cin. 

“Is trouncing me that wonderful an accomplishment that you need to gush all over him?” she asked.

Cin cut his eyes at her.  “Be a good sportswoman, Trista.  I know losing to a junior colleague hurts, but he’s worked very hard to place this year.  This is a big deal for him.” 

Trista rolled her eyes, still smarting from the loss and trying not to take the Battlemaster’s comments personally.  “He’s a padawan.  Isn’t his master supposed to do that?” 

Cin scowled darkly and it wasn’t until he spoke that Trista realized it was not directed at her.  “His master isn’t here.”  Cin glanced over his shoulder to ensure Kenobi was out of earshot.  “You did very well Trista.  It was a big improvement over last year, and yes, I was going to tell you that at our next spar, but Kenobi’s master wasn’t even here to watch and is only going to ask him what he did wrong when he does see him.  I wasn’t trying to slight you, just to offer encouragement.” 

Trista looked back at the padawan who was not rushing off to tell anyone, nor displaying his third-place ribbon, either on his tunic nor in his braid.  He had in fact tucked it into his pocket, almost absent-mindedly, while he watched the playback screens, frowning at his own performance. 

“Is he really that dissatisfied?” she asked after a moment.  “He bested a knight.” 

“He bested several knights,” Cin corrected.  “And no, he’s not satisfied with his performance, because Qui-Gon Jinn is not satisfied with him.” 

“Oh.”  The knight stared at Obi-Wan, stunned.  “He’s Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan?”  She seemed less disappointed in her own loss. 

“Yes.”  Cin’s tone was grim. 

“I thought he’d be taller.” 

Cin gave her a sharp glance.  Obi-Wan was much shorter than Qui-Gon Jinn, but he was still taller than the Battlemaster.  “Did you?” 

Trista rolled her eyes at herself.  “I’m going to go celebrate with extreme moderation.  I’ll see you in the salle, Master Cin.” 

Cin smiled back.  “You did very well today, Trista.”  

“Thank you, Master Cin.” 

Feemor watched the young knight leave, then made his way through the crowd to his lineage brother.  “Congratulations, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan looked up at him, surprised he had been in the audience until the end.  “Thank you, Master Feemor.”   He looked down modestly.  “I feel I have improved since last year.” 

“No beads in your division?”  Feemor’s lip quirked as if Obi-Wan had made a joke and he had just now caught the punchline. 

Obi-Wan chuckled.  “No, no beads.”  He pulled the third-place ribbon out of his pocket and held it up to the end of his braid.  “I’m afraid it doesn’t look quite right in a braid.  Maybe if I wore silka beads instead.” 

“You need to pin it to your tabard,” Feemor beamed at him.  “How are you planning to celebrate?”  He would have offered another home-cooked meal, but Obi-Wan was old enough to have plans with his own friends. 

Obi-Wan shrugged as he put the small ribbon back in his pocket for safe-keeping.  “I’m not.  I have homework.” 

“Homework?”  The saber tournaments were intentionally held during a break in the term to allow as many Jedi to participate as possible. 

“Yes.  If I’m allowed to participate in the tournament, Master Jinn expects me to write up an analysis explaining my losses and outlining my strategy to address my lapses.  Apparently, this year it’s my failure to properly engage with Djem So.  He’ll expect it first thing tomorrow morning, so tonight I have homework.” 

Feemor glanced back at the stands, disappointed that Qui-Gon hadn’t come and that this was normal for him.  It had not escaped his notice that while he did have one picture of Obi-Wan from a Junior Padawan tournament displayed on the wall at home, there were no later ones, at tournaments or otherwise. 

“Don’t forget to mention your elegant aerials and limber footwork when you tell him you placed third in the Junior Knight Division.” 

Obi-Wan seemed to be both flattered and confused.  “Um, thank you.  I hadn’t realized you had seen more than the final matches.  But to be honest, Master Jinn doesn’t care about the placement, just my mistakes.” 

Feemor raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Of course he will care.  He’s your master.  He’ll want to brag about you to Master Dooku.  You placed, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “He really doesn’t want to hear about it, and frankly Master Dooku would prefer to never have to hear about me at all.”  He held up the ribbon again, his face showing that so many hours of work had gone into attaining it, but his eyes sad, as if it ultimately did not matter.  “Master Jinn has made it quite clear that my ranking among the padawans is irrelevant compared to his own assessment, and I need to focus on correcting mistakes, not on false accolades or manufactured achievements.  He won’t care that I placed.  He never has before.” 

Feemor blinked, realizing that if Drallig had moved him up to the Junior Knight Division, Obi-Wan must have placed at the Senior Padawan level more than once, if not come in first. 

“Well, I think you did a wonderful job.” 

“Thank you, Master Feemor.  Hopefully, Master Jinn will be pleased I didn’t injure myself or get burned this year.” 

“Obes!  You missed it!”  A tall Kiffar padawan appeared suddenly behind Obi-Wan, bumping shoulders in a friendly, platonic way and Feemor could just barely tell he was an alpha in the crowded room.

Obi-Wan nodded at Feemor before turning to his friend.  “Master Feemor, this is Quinlan Vos, Master Tholme’s padawan.  Quinlan, this is Master Feemor, my eldest lineage sibling.” 

Quinlan sketched a casual bow, surprised.  “Master Feemor.” 

“What did I miss?” Obi-Wan prompted. 

“Oh, Obes, it was epic.  Reeft actually bested Siri and made it to the semi-finals.  She was mad, but wasn’t eliminated then.  She made it to the top sixteen, but lost to Cass.  Carae made it to the top eight, so did Russ and Beekli.  Natok was the one who knocked out Siri, and he went to the final four, and the final showdown was L’Daza and Sheem.  It was terrific!” 

“Who won?” 

“L’Daza.” 

“Good for her,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “That must have been a terrific bout.”  He glanced at Feemor.  “Padawans L’Daza and Sheem are at the top of their game.”  He turned back to Quinlan.  “How did you do?”

With a wolfish grin, Quinlan held up a plastic bead with the year and division printed on it in bronze.  “Third!” 

“Congratulations!  You took out Natok?” 

“Yeah,” Quinlan blushed.  “And Cass.  But I wasn’t paired with Siri this year, and she usually takes me out.”

“That’s because she refuses to be distracted by your banter,” Obi-Wan explained. 

“Obes, you wound me.”  Quinlan put a hand over his heart and sighed. 

“I never said it was a bad technique,” Obi-Wan clarified.  “Just that it didn’t work on Siri.” 

“How do you always beat Siri?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I don’t have a burning desire to win for winning’s sake and I’m not upset if I lose.  It makes it easier to see her mistakes and find an opening.” 

“Huh.  I’ll try that,” the Kiffar grinned.  “And how did you do against the Junior Knights?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I did okay.  Lost to Rolf.  No surprise there.” 

“Yeah, Djem So is tricky.”  Quinlan’s face lit up.  “Battlemaster Drallig said they might move me up to your division in a few months and maybe let me study a little Djem So.  We could be sparring buddies again.” 

Obi-Wan gave him a slightly stunned look.  “We aren’t sparring buddies now?”

“Aww, we are.  I just meant we could be on more even footing, at least until you get knighted.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “Trust me, Vos.  You are much closer to knighthood than I am.” 

Quinlan threw an arm over his shoulder.  “Whatever you say, Obes.”  He spotted his master in the crowd and waved.  “You coming to the After Party?  I want to see Siri’s sourpuss face when Sheem gets feted, and she doesn’t.” 

Obi-Wan cut his eyes at Feemor.  “Siri and Sheem have had a bit of a rivalry since they broke up romantically,” he explained before looking up at Quinlan.  “And no.  You know me.  I have homework to do.” 

“Well, we’ll miss you,” Quinlan said, his voice serious before turning jovial again.  “We’ll save you a beer.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I don’t drink beer.  Too many carbs.”  He sighed and straightened up.  Quinlan picked up the unspoken signal and slid his arm off him.  “I should get going.  Master Jinn expects my report.”  He bowed to Feemor.  “Thank you for coming and being supportive.” 

Feemor glanced between the two young men.  “You’re very welcome.  I’ll have to stop by the salle and see you two spar sometime.” 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Obi-Wan nodded at Quinlan.  “I’ll see you, Vos.  Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”  Quinlan grinned, all bright, white teeth, watching Obi-Wan make his way through the crowd until he had left the salle and then the smile dropped.  “How did he really do?” he asked Feemor. 

Feemor blinked, suddenly realizing Obi-Wan hadn’t actually answered the question.  “He came in third.”

Quinlan sighed, slumping in disappointment. 

“Is that bad?” Feemor asked, confused. 

“No,” Quinlan clarified.  “That’s great.  That’s awesome.  I’m sorry I missed it.  But that’s why he’s not coming to the Awards Dinner after.  If he hadn’t placed, he would have come to cheer us on.” 

“He avoids the party if he wins?” Feemor sounded confused.  “Is he just very shy?” 

“No.”  Quinlan’s tone sounded just slightly annoyed.  “He doesn’t like to be the only recognized padawan whose master isn’t there.” 

“Oh,” Feemor winced.  “Qui-Gon doesn’t even go to the Awards Dinner anymore?”  Every participant and the current master of a participant was welcome to attend, along with the Jedi who volunteered to run the tournaments, though the initiates had their own dinner in their wing.  Qui-Gon had attended every year Feemor had participated except for the year he took a bad fall and they had dinner in the Healer’s Halls.  Xan could get sulky about going if he hadn’t placed, but Qui-Gon insisted on attending to demonstrate good sportsmanship, which Xan sometimes lacked. 

“I’ve never seen him there,” Quinlan reported.  “He stopped coming to the tournaments the year Obi-Wan made Senior Padawan.  I don’t know if it was something he decided or if Obi-Wan just stopped asking.” 

“It sounds like a lot has changed since I was a padawan,” Feemor mused.

“Well, it’s business as usual, since I’ve been one.”  Quinlan’s eyes widened as his brain caught up with his mouth.  “I’m very sorry, Master Feemor.  I did not mean to be so disrespectful.” 

Feemor looked at him sadly.  “You’re worried for Obi-Wan and have reason to be.  Thank you for your honesty.”  He looked back at the Kiffar, vaguely remembering some odd bit of gossip that Master Tholme’s padawan was generally thought to be, if not queer, queer-curious and open-minded.  “Are you and Obi-Wan intimates?” he asked, trying to look accepting. 

“Obes?” Quinlan laughed, hard.  “Um, no.  I’m quite sure I’m securely in the Friend Zone when it comes to Obes.”  He shook his head.  “And even if I was his type,” he frowned a moment.  “I don’t actually know what his type is, come to think of it, but if I were and we did date, I’m sure Master Jinn would have a heart attack.  I’m a little rough and rowdy for his by-the-book padawan.” 

Feemor seemed amused.  Qui-Gon Jinn used to be the rough and rowdy alpha all the masters forbid their padawans from dating, according to Master Dooku. 

“Well, you seem like a good friend.” 

Quinlan grinned back.  “Thank you.” 

* * *

Obi-Wan stretched in his chair, then got up to get a glass of water while the data processor program proofread his analysis.  Losing to a Djem So practitioner was, not surprisingly, a pain in the ass.  There were so many unfamiliar moves and terms to look up so he could explain exactly where he had made mistakes and try to formulate a better strategy.  Unfortunately, while Form V did have both offensive and defensive moves, his own skills in Ataru did not, and it was far too easy for a good Djem So fighter to break through his defense.  He argued that he should supplement his Ataru with more defensive drills but was fairly sure his master was going to tell him that he never had this problem, and Obi-Wan wasn’t using Ataru to its full potential.  Fortunately, he could count on Battlemaster Drallig to have some more practical suggestions at his next lesson. 

He had just finished his drink when the program beeped, signaling it had finished.  He sat down to find the usual minor spelling and grammar errors, specialty terms highlighted, and suggestions he not use the passive vioice.  While he could appreciate that his analysis was a vehicle which he should be using to take responsibilities for his shortcomings, not using the passive voice always made his written work seem informal, as if he were not taking it seriously and not able to keep an emotional distance. 

He made a few changes, then debated whether he should give it a final check now and send it in or if he should sleep on it.  It was late and he would probably have a clearer mind in the morning, but if his master woke up earlier than he did, he would be displeased to not find the report waiting for him.  And Obi-Wan could never be sure whether his master would simply skim the first and last paragraphs and give him more exercises, of if he would give it a deeper reading and argue every point and call up the clips of the bouts to point out more flaws.  With Master Feemor in the picture, Obi-Wan suspected the former but it had been a while since his master had given him a full critique and a loss in the salle, in a tournament no less, was often a good enough reason.  Or a late paper. 

With that in mind, he buckled down and checked it one more time, then sent it.  While he waited for the system to confirm, he glanced at the small ribbon on his desk, proclaiming his third-place position.  When he was younger, he had dreamed of placing in a saber tournament and making his master proud.  He had learned early on that participating was expected and not cause for accolades, at least according to his master, then later learned that making the finals or even earning a bead wasn’t either.  He was the padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn; if he couldn’t place first, he was a disappointment and if he did place first, he was merely adequate, and even a first-place bead did not excuse him from an in-depth analysis of what he had done wrong.  He knew the other padawans weren’t treated the same way.  He knew Master Tholme, a man who had intimidated him for years, would laugh and hug Quinlan if he did well, or console him if he was eliminated early.  Master Tahl used to take Bant to get a special silka bead if the Mon Cal girl placed, the memory warm and bright, and still so painful that even now, Master Fisto allowed her to skip the tournaments and just had Battlemaster Drallig evaluate her individually every year.  Saber tournaments were a tradition, a rite of passage, a tool to learn about oneself and push their limits.  An experience to reflect on later and view one’s progress. 

Or one’s shortcomings. 

With a sigh, Obi-Wan also sent the report to his training records, then picked up the third-place ribbon on his desk.  As a Jedi, he had thought it odd that their elders gave them anything to commemorate a win since they were not supposed to form attachments, nor let such a small victory go to their heads. However, to throw it away also seemed ungrateful, and while the beads and ribbons had no significant material value, they did chart progress and personal growth.  Obi-Wan took the ribbon to his bedroom and sat on his bed before he slid open the drawer to his bedside table.  At the back was a carved wooden box, a gift from Master Tahl and Bant, for a birthday long ago.  He opened it and looked down at the small collection of ribbons and plastic beads.  Some were participation ribbons.  Some indicated he had reached the semifinals or the finals.  Some were beads for placing at the top of his division.  Now that he was working against the Junior Knights, this was his first placement ribbon instead of a bead. 

He knew other masters would replace these cheap tokens with accomplishment beads if the event was worth commemorating.  The beadery had finely made baubles in worked metal, blown glass and fire-polished clay in different designs and colors for various feats.  A master typically took a padawan to receive a first bead when they were presented to the Council after taking padawan vows.  Unfortunately for Obi-Wan, he and his master had taken vows on Bandomeer, then visited Melida-Daan before returning to Coruscant.  His first presentation to the Council was for a formal reprimand, and instead of Master Yoda tugging on a stubby braid and a visit to the beadery, he was told the terms of his punishment and instructed to wear a black tie on his braid until his punishment was lifted.  No bead, formal or informal replaced it, and he went on with his life, unadorned, until one of his teachers noticed when he was fifteen and gave him a demerit for not dressing and grooming to code. 

His master had been quite displeased with the lapse and ordered Obi-Wan to fix the problem immediately.  As a padawan he was not allowed in the beadery by himself, unless selecting a bead to commemorate a master who had joined the Force.  His only other option was purchasing the breakaway disposable beads padawans wore for practice, that crushed rather than shattered into sharp edges and vaporized rather than melted if they became too hot.  They weren’t typically worn for formal events, but when he was raised to Senior Padawan and there was still no trip to the beadery, Obi-Wan resigned himself to wearing only his required beads and displaying his mere adequacy to everyone.  It was still better than a black band of shame. 

According to Master Feemor, this wasn’t always the case, and Obi-Wan did know this, even if he tried not to think about it.  The one picture of Feemor he had grown up with showed him sporting several beads for his accomplishments and certainly no black band for missing a birth control pill.  There had been no pictures of Xanatos on display at all, but in Master Jinn’s sock drawer he had discovered an elaborate frame in Serrenese silver that opened like a clamshell to reveal two formal portraits of Xanatos, his braid studded with beads, some carved from crystals, or inset with chips of semi-precious stones for very big accomplishments.  He wondered where those beads were now and how many Xanatos had been wearing when he turned to the Dark Side. 

Obi-Wan sighed, fingers idly playing with his own plastic practice beads.  He had made do and it was good enough.  Diplomats probably assumed he was either allergic to formal beads or sensed something dangerous and chose not to wear the expensive ones.  Many padawans wore disposable beads in the field and in the salle and there was rarely a day Obi-Wan did not spend in one or the other, so he just hoped no one noticed. 

It was late.  The Awards Dinner must have ended hours ago, but with his agemates now old enough to drink, they had likely gone out to a bar or club after dinner.  He had heard several groups of residents going past his door, some walking, some stumbling, and getting progressively louder and more giggly as the night wore on.  He had also heard the measured steps of the Temple Guard from time to time, keeping everyone civil, if not quiet. 

Hopefully, the increased patrols would keep Bruck and his friends at bay.  He knew the presence of strong alphas amongst his neighbors kept them in check, but he really didn’t feel comfortable relying on that and it wasn’t much protection if they all went out to drink tonight.  

He heard some distinctly hushed giggling and stomping outside his door that rather than passing, seemed to linger, possibly getting closer.

Had Bruck decided to harass him after all?  He couldn’t remember how long it had been since the last Temple Guard had marched past, much less whether they were coming by on a regular schedule.  He had hoped being personally thrown out of the arena by the Battlemaster no less would have dissuaded them from bothering him for a day or two. 

The giggling suddenly reached a crescendo and then there was stomping and scurrying noises as whoever it was dashed away.  Then his doorbell rang, obviously activated with the Force as there were two or three thumps on the wall and doorframe near the button, as if several persons tried at once but only one had hit the target.

Bruck was usually not courteous enough to ring his bell.

He reached out to the Force.  He didn’t sense any danger.

Cautiously, Obi-Wan opened the door and peeked out, but there was no one there, and no ‘graffiti’ on his door.  Confused, he opened it fully. 

There was single bottle of wine on the floor just outside his door with a card attached. 

He looked up and down the hall, feeling as if he were being watched, but not able to source it to anyone or any specific location in the corridor.  Puzzled, he knelt down to read the card. 

Congratulations Obi-Wan!

You did much more than ‘okay,’ you are the Hall Champ!  Missed you at the Awards Dinner.

  --Quinlan, Cass, Carae, T.J, Donder, Reeft, Rella and Siri (and Master Tholme, who insisted we get a good wine).

He smiled softly at the card, then picked up the bottle to examine the label, eyes widening to find it was in fact quite a nice bottle of wine.  He had absolutely no idea what possible occasion he would have to drink it, but the gesture was sweet.  He stood up, carried the bottle and card inside, and closed the door. 

* * *

“And we are a go,” T.J. stretched to crack his back, then looked up at Siri.  “The camera captures anything that happens in the hall outside his apartment or just inside the door.”  He frowned.  “Why are we not telling him about it?” 

Siri scowled.  “If he doesn’t know the camera is there, Bruck can’t accuse him of setting him up or lying for the cameras.” 

“Would Bruck do that?’’ T.J. asked.  They were agemates, but he hadn’t known Bruck well.  “Harassment is one thing, but that’s higher-level manipulation.”

Siri sighed.  “Their stories diverge too much for it to be just a misunderstanding, and the investigation is stuck at the ‘he said/he said’ stage.  Also, the Temple Guard is keeping an eye on Bruck and his cronies after they were thrown out of the salle.  Bruck is clearly doing something, and whether it’s being creepy or being abusive.  I want it stopped, but I don’t want to act on hearsay and lies.  Internal Security needs evidence to act, so let’s get it.” 

T.J. held up his hands.  “That camera gives you very clear visuals.  The soundgrabber we put in before should get most sounds and talk.  In the meantime, we just have to wait until somebody does something and keep checking the recordings.” 

T.J. played the clip again, this time syncing it to the soundgrabber’s output. 

Siri stared at the screen again, eyes narrowed.  “He looked very anxious when he opened the door.” 

“I don’t think Obi-Wan would lie about something like this, Siri.” 

“Neither do I,” Siri agreed.  “But it doesn’t matter what we think.  We have to know.” 

T. J. sighed. He had also spoken with the Temple Guard and Internal Security. “I know.” 

Chapter Text

Feemor looked up from his reading when the door to the apartment closed forcefully and Qui-Gon Jinn stalked across the room to the balcony, his Force presence practically a bank of violent stormclouds trailing in his wake. 

Feemor did not need his years as the man’s padawan and lover to tell him that Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was pissed. 

The cause of his upset was less clear.  So far as Feemor knew, Qui-Gon did not have a Council Meeting on his schedule for today, it was too early in the term for anything academic to have gone awry, and his next upcoming mission had been postponed by a holy month on the planet in question that was determined by meteorological events (specifically the rainy season), so it was unlikely something had happened on that front. 

And it was still too soon to know, so it likely wasn’t anything to do with their little biological project. 

Which left Qui-Gon engaging with the Council of his own accord or some issue with his padawan.  For Obi-Wan’s sake, Feemor hoped for the former. 

He waited for his former master to release the bulk of his turbulent emotions (anger primarily) before he put the kettle on and brewed up a nice calming pot of tea.  By the time it had finished steeping, Qui-Gon was surfacing from his meditation.  Feemor took his time preparing a cup just so, then stepped out onto the balcony to join him in the cool night air. 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Qui-Gon scolded, but he took the tea readily.  “Too much pollution today.” 

“I’ll blow my nose,” Feemor rolled his eyes.  “Want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Qui-Gon scowled. 

“Do you want to wallow in your negative emotions longer and then tell me over dinner after I have to pry it out of you?” 

Qui-Gon looked over at Feemor’s mild expression.  That sounded like a lot of work the mother of his possible child should not be doing right now. 

“No.  I’ll talk.  But inside, where the air is better for Baby.”  He had started talking as if their child did exist, unwilling to entertain the idea that it did not.

“Are you ready to come in now?” Feemor asked mildly.  He had always been hard to argue with because he was so damn agreeable. 

Qui-Gon drained his tea, then nodded.  “Yes.  Thank you for the tea.” 

“There’s more inside.”  Feemor took the cup back and led him back in.  Qui-Gon walked to the sitting room and sat down heavily on the couch.  Feemor detoured to the kitchen and returned with fresh cups for both of them.  He then made a show of blowing his nose before placing a comforting hand on Qui-Gon’s forearm. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Qui-Gon sighed deeply, then scowled again at the far wall.  “My padawan has become grist for the rumor mill, and it’s apparently all over the Temple.” 

“Oh.”  Feemor frowned.  He had heard nothing, and he had spent the day with other Temple-bound instructors, so clearly it hadn’t spread as far as Qui-Gon believed.  “What are they saying?” 

Qui-Gon looked utterly disgusted.  “Apparently Obi-Wan did engage in inappropriate behavior while he was taking that training course.” 

“What are they saying he did?” Feemor asked.  Inappropriate covered a lot of ground. 

Qui-Gon looked insulted by whatever Obi-Wan had supposedly done.  “He apparently was less than discreet, was quite promiscuous while he was there, and also led on some Service Corps Jedi, making promises he had no intention of keeping.” 

Feemor frowned.  “Obi-Wan?  Really?” 

“Yes.  Obi-Wan.” 

Feemor remained doubtful.  “That’s very surprising to hear given that Obi-Wan has been very honest about not having time for a deep relationship.  Maybe it was just a misunderstanding?” 

“It if it was a misunderstanding, it should have been resolved by now, not the talk of the Temple,” Qui-Gon groused.  “And that wasn’t all of it.” 

“What’s the rest of it?” Feemor asked, his voice calm. 

Qui-Gon growled in anger and frustration.  “The rest of it is that he apparently whored himself out in a men’s shower room to all comers and made all sorts of promises to sweettalk some Service Corps Jedi without following through, and now his tryst partner has transferred to the Main Temple and is devastated that those promises turned out to be lies.  Instead of focusing on his training, he was sleeping around with Force knows how many people and making promises he wasn’t going to keep.” 

Feemor was quiet for a long moment.  “That sounds like something Xanatos would do, not something Obi-Wan would do.  He seems far too focused on his studies to be making those kinds of promises, and even Service Corps Jedi would be foolish to expect that sort of thing from a padawan.”

Qui-Gon gave a reluctant nod.  Feemor did have a point that there was clearly something off about any Jedi expecting any kind of commitment from a field Jedi.  “Maybe there was some sort of misunderstanding, but that doesn’t explain the rest.  Yes, Xan might have done something like this, but you really don’t know Obi-Wan well.” 

Feemor held his tongue a moment, choosing his words carefully.  “Can you explain to me exactly what part has you so angry?”  He gave Qui-Gon’s arm a gentle squeeze.  “If you have forbidden Obi-Wan from having a serious relationship it seems hypocritical to also be angry because he’s engaged in casual sex without commitments.”  

Qui-Gon bristled at the gentle criticism.  “I don’t object to him having casual sex, I have given him plenty of freedom to find whatever people will have him, so long as he holds up his end of the bargain and keeps up with his studies and duties.  I haven’t questioned him or interfered.  What I do expect is for him to not parade himself around like a whore, to not make himself then subject of Temple gossip, to not put his own bodily pleasures ahead of his studies and duties, and to ensure my time is not wasted being interrogated about his indulgences.  Do you know how mortifying it is to be called in and questioned about whether your padawan was sucking cocks and getting fucked in a locker room?  To be asked if he was offering himself up to whoever would have him?  To be asked if he engaged in such behavior regularly or in the field or just during off-site training?  At least Xan could be discreet in his sex life.” 

Feemor raised an eyebrow, distinctly remembering Qui-Gon complaining about Xan’s rut-fueled orgy in the living room when he was nineteen, or the noise when he seduced a pair of omega twins who had gone into heat simultaneously and took turns screaming through their orgasms all night long, or every time he got a notice that the healers were testing yet another sample for paternity because Xan was a candidate.  A consensual orgy in a shower room was distasteful, but hardly the worst thing one of his padawans, or even Qui-Gon had ever done.  For a padawan as polite as Obi-Wan seemed to be, it sounded a bit crude, but for someone as busy as Obi-Wan it might also be a rare opportunity. 

Assuming some semi-public shower sex was all it was. 

“Who questioned you?” Feemor asked.  “What did they say happened?”

Qui-Gon cleared into his teacup.  “I was questioned by Internal Security.” 

Feemor felt his eyebrows rise. 

“I was questioned because complaints had been made and they were investigating.  These complaints were made by multiple parties and were about various indecent behaviors.”

“Oh.”  That sounded quite a bit worse than a blow job in a shower stall.  Not that those happened all that often, but the Training Centers housed visitors in dormitories, so it was little more common there, but if multiple parties had complained, perhaps it had gotten out of hand. 

“Has Obi-Wan had issues like this before?” 

Qui-Gon very carefully set down his teacup, not wanting to damage it in his ire.  “I made it very, very clear to him when he moved out that I expected him to keep his behaviors discreet and private, that he should not engage in a relationship, and that with his previous poor choices, his morals, ethics and credibility were already in question with both the Padawan Council and the High Council, and that he had best behave himself if he didn’t want to be thrown out on his ass.  If his activities are being questioned by Internal Security, he is already in trouble.” 

“If he was already on thin ice, why did you allow him to move out at all?” 

Qui-Gon gave Feemor a pointed look.  “I told you, I wanted the space and the freedom to pursue my own relationships.  He would make himself scarce as a child, but his presence was more intrusive as an adult and after he presented, living with him became impossible.  I couldn’t relax in my own home.  I tolerate him in the Temple and in the field.  I don’t need to do so at home.” 

Feemor looked incredulous.  “You turned your padawan out of his home because he smelled bad?” 

“There were other reasons.”  Qui-Gon tried not to sound defensive.  “But that was the straw that broke the bantha’s back.” 

Feemor blinked at him in disbelief.  No wonder Obi-Wan covered his own scent so completely. 

“Qui-Gon, you lived with Xanatos.  The teenager who would milk his own scent glands to mark everything the both of you owned and plenty of stuff you didn’t.” 

“This was worse.  It was pervasive and unpleasant.  And it didn’t get better after the initial presentation and the healers had no effective treatments.” 

“I can’t smell him at all,” Feemor admitted. 

“It’s very obvious in his living space.  Frankly, I’m surprised none of the diplomats have complained.” 

“I honestly couldn’t understand how you lived with Xan’s rut scent.  That could peel wallpaper,” Feemor declared.  “But surely you aren’t bothered now.”

“You’re right, I’m not.  Because he doesn’t live here, he doesn’t sleep here, he doesn’t shower here.  He can stink up his own room as much as he chooses so long as his clothes don’t smell of it.” 

“There are measures one can take to mitigate that.  Air filters.  Deodorants.  Scent blockers.  You didn’t have to turn him out.” 

“I didn’t want him underfoot anymore.  And I told you, I didn’t want to have him making my home life unpleasant and annoying my lovers, much less have to put up with it for however many years it will be before his apprenticeship ends.  He is an adult, he needs to learn to keep his own nose clean, and he certainly isn’t going to his trials early.  I lived with him for eight years, and I missed out on a lot of intimate time I could have spent with Tahl.  I wasn’t going to waste more time, and he certainly didn’t complain about getting his privacy.  It was for the best.” 

Feemor sighed.  He had hoped his former master had had a less doting and more balanced relationship with his third padawan than with the previous, but it seems he had overcompensated this time.  He had been too attached to Xan.  Was it fear of being hurt again, or contempt?

“Do you know any of the details of the alleged inappropriate behavior?” 

“No,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “Internal Security was very tight-lipped over the whole thing.  Rest assured I will be asking Obi-Wan about it later.” 

“How did you hear about this initially?  I remember when he came back you had concerns though they were less serious.”

Qui-Gon’s expression was dark.  “Yes, Clee sent me a message.  Her padawan was one of Obi-Wan’s crechemates and they are both stationed at the Training Center.” 

“Well, I know she might not be the source of the rumors, but it sounds like she may have some knowledge of what exactly the Internal Security officers are investigating.  Perhaps it’s worth a try to get intel from a trusted source before you question Obi-Wan about it?” 

Qui-Gon scowled again, but it was softer.  “That’s not a bad idea,” he admitted.  “Have you heard anything about this brewing scandal?”

Feemor sighed, not sure if what he had to say would make the situation better or worse.  “I haven’t heard any rumors about Obi-Wan to be honest.  He seems shy, but genuine, and has been welcoming to me, which after Xan, I have been thankful for.  I met one of his friends, who was equally kind and candid, and spoke well of him.  However,” he paused slightly when Qui-Gon suddenly caught his eye.  “When I was watching his matches at the Saber Tournament, I could not help but notice that he was being heckled and harassed by a pack of Service Corp alphas in the stands.” 

Qui-Gon stared at him, wide-eyed, nostrils flaring as he checked his lover over.  “Did they hurt you?” 

“Qui-Gon,” Feemor’s tone was patient, knowing his lover’s alpha instincts were making him overprotective.  “They weren’t hurting me, they were harassing Obi-Wan.” 

Qui-Gon took his hand, trying to be reassuring.  “I am sorry you were exposed to that.  I will ensure that Obi-Wan formally apologizes to you and pays penance for bringing this kind of riff-raff into our lives.” 

Feemor took back his hand and crossed his arms, a stern expression on his face.  “Qui-Gon Jinn, I am a Jedi Master and have been a field Jedi for decades.  Even if I am pregnant, I’m not made of glass, and I certainly don’t need nor want an apology from a victim of harassment because I witnessed said harassment.  There is clearly something going on, and I don’t know what Obi-Wan did or didn’t do or said or didn’t say, but if your padawan is being harassed by crude and rowdy alphas, the person you should be concerned about it not me.  What are you going to do about this?” 

Qui-Gon took a deep breath.  Feemor did have a valid point.  His concern was misplaced and governed by their unique circumstances. 

“I’m going to find out more information.  I’m sorry if I implied you were weak.  I know you are not.  But this sort of behavior is not acceptable, and I don’t want anyone associated with me involving themselves with such people.” 

“I don’t think Obi-Wan was associating with them.  He seemed relieved when Master Cin had them removed but was otherwise ignoring them.  You need to find out why they were harassing him.  He may need help dealing with whatever this situation turns out to be.” 

“I disagree.  You said yourself, field Jedi are not made of glass.  He should be able to handle the unwanted attentions of an alpha, even an aggressive one.  If he can’t, he can’t protect himself in the field.  But if he’s encouraging the behavior and inciting it, it must be stopped.  If these are the lowlifes he offered himself up to at the Training Center, and they are now making a disturbance after his provocation, he will be punished for it.” 

“Qui-Gon, I was sitting in the stands when they came in and he was on the floor.  He may have had some interaction with them in the past, but he did nothing to encourage them that day.  He was being harassed.” 

“If he is a victim as you believe, he won’t be punished for it.  But it’s his responsibility to deal with it, not Battlemaster Drallig’s.” 

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Feemor suggested.  “I think he’d agree that Obi-Wan is a bit too small to be expected to take on a band of jacked up alphas by himself.” 

“He is scrawny,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “If he doesn’t develop his physical body sufficiently, he’ll have to rely on the Force.  He can’t depend on me his whole life.” 

“Qui-Gon, he’s your student.  He should be able to count on you if he needs help.” 

“And he does.  If he’s attacked by blasters, battledroids, hostile locals or ferocious wildlife, I will lend my skill and my saber, just as I expect he will for me.  But a horny alpha?  That’s his problem to deal with.  If he was fool enough to trespass in their territory, mouth off to them, or suck them off and then play coy about it later, he can deal with it.  He’s a Jedi Padawan.  If he can’t defend himself in his own juvenile scrapes with alphas horny enough to look his way, he won’t make it to knighthood.  I can’t wrap him in cottonwool or fight his battles for him.” 

Feemor frowned.  “Harassment is about power, not lust.  What if this escalates?” 

“He has a weaponized plasma generator.  If he can’t figure out how to fend them off with that, his knighthood really is hopeless.”  Qui-Gon almost laughed, but he caught Feemor’s expression.  “But I will get more information.”  He sighed.  “I suppose neither you nor Xan prepared me for this issue.  You had such a bright, sunny personality you didn’t attract trouble, and Xan could talk his way out of any alpha confrontation he couldn’t win physically.” 

“I was sleeping with you and everyone could smell it.  Even in the field, low-ranking alphas didn’t mess with me.  Xan got in over his head more than once and had to be rescued.  Don’t think I don’t know about the time he had his nose reset so it wouldn’t spoil his pretty boy looks.  You were the one who rescued him.  Doesn’t Obi-Wan deserve to have his master in his corner?” 

“If it truly becomes a danger, I will intervene,” Qui-Gon promised.  “But he is too old to be depending on me to clean up his messes.” 

“Why don’t we figure out if this is his mess first before we make that decision?” 

“Alright,” Qui-Gon sighed, conceding.  “I’ll contact Clee and talk to Cin and see what I can find out.”

“Good.”  Feemor picked up his tea, dismayed to find it had gone cold.  “Because I don’t want to be pregnant and cleaning up your mess.”

Qui-Gon grimaced.  “Yes, Master Feemor.” 

“Damn straight.” 

* * *

“So, there we are, sitting in a tree stand, waiting for this Force-blind antiquities dealer to show up to try to sell Sith artifacts to our contact, when BOOM!”  Quinlan spread his hands, mimicking an explosion.  “Lightning, thunder and then the sky opens up and it just starts pouring this very cold rain.”  He shivered dramatically.  “Then we noticed that the tree is doing absolutely nothing to block the rain, and in fact it’s directing the water into little streams of water instead of droplets, and at this point I’m looking for my blaster, because even if I manage to keep my saber dry, as soon as I take it out of my jacket it’s going to get drenched and short out.  We ended up staying there for another two hours before we realized neither the dealer nor the contact were coming.  The rain was so bad there was flash-flooding and the road they both had to take to get there was impassable in several places.”  Quinlan huffed.  “I think it took my clothes three whole days to dry out.” 

“What about your hair?” Cassander asked.

“That took forever too and let me tell you I was so glad I got over my bald-except-for-braid phase, because I think my head would have been freezing.”

“Was Master Tholme alright?” Obi-Wan asked.  Clearly Quinlan had escaped unscathed. 

“Eventually.  He was grouchy and ended up with a scratchy throat, but thankfully did not get a full-blown cold.”  He grinned at the rest of the table, pleased to have a story to share that wasn’t classified due to the nature of his and his master’s work. 

“Well, I’m glad you both made it home safe,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“Me too.”  Quinlan looked around the table at his agemates, grinning.  “So, what’s everyone else been up to?” 

Carae smiled brightly.  “I got approved!”  Everyone around the table offered their congratulations. 

“All of the potential fathers on my list were also approved,” she continued.  “Though I know the Council won’t promise to keep them off the mission roster, the healers said we can go ahead if two to three of the candidates are present when my heat comes.” 

“Two to three?” Natok sounded incredulous, his own species more monogamous.  “How many are on your list?”

“Six,” Carae shrugged.  “All fellow padawans.  I wanted to make sure I had enough potential fathers screened, so we could be ready to go no matter who was home at go time.” 

“You only chose padawans?” T.J. asked.  “No knights or master?” 

Carae shook her head.  “I felt more comfortable with people my own age, and I don’t want to be artificially inseminated.  If I was going to throw myself a conception orgy, I want it to be with people I have already been with, and who are reasonably comfortable with each other.  Everyone on the list should be getting their vitamins in a few days, and hopefully by next month one of their sperm will get lucky and put a little Jedi bun in my oven.” 

Siri snorted and rolled her eyes.  Quinlan gave her a big grin. 

“Who is on the list?” L’Daza asked.  She had been debating whether or not to submit her own application for weeks. 

Carae blushed slightly.  “Um, most of them are here.  Siri, Cass, Riziv, the Beek, Nena and Tekox.  And I’m asking Phig to also help out as a sterile second in case too many alphas go into rut at the same time.” 

“Nice balance,” L’Daza nodded.  “You’ve got alphas, betas and someone to keep them occupied if they have to wait their turn.” 

T.J. looked a little surprised.  “You didn’t ask Quinlan?”  Carae had made no secret of the fact that she considered the alpha to be a prime stud. 

Carae laughed.  “No,” she replied as she poked the Kiffar with her elbow.  “This big lug doesn’t want children right now.” 

Quinlan shrugged, not denying it, though several of their tablemates were clearly surprised.  “For now, I prefer to remain available to all those childless souls who might need me.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, but didn’t join in the conversation. 

“Well, if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to talk to you about how it goes,” L’Daza told her.  “I’m still on the fence about natural conception versus serial artificial insemination.” 

“Serial?” T.J. asked.  “You have to do it more than once?” 

“Natural seems more fun,” Carae giggled.  “But yes, the healers prefer multiple inseminations during the fertile window for both betas and omegas.  Betas are still less likely to carry multiples, but it increases the chances of success and gets the process over with faster, and if you don’t have a regular partner, it’s supposed to help minimize attachment.  The goal is to make a baby, not build a nuclear family.” 

“It’s also supposed to prevent infighting with the fathers if they all know upfront it’s a polyamorous breeding,” L’Daza explained.  “They tend to act cooperatively instead of competitively if they all think it might be their baby, even after paternity is revealed, and they are less likely to go into an unexpected rut if their brain doesn’t get fixated on eliminating competitors.  But it helps to have the second available too.” 

Carae giggled.  “Phig was so excited when I asked him, even though he has to time a false heat to my real one.  He did the same for Ulthor last year and Ulthor ended up with twins and Phig got to ride alphas for three days straight.” 

The table laughed, some of them remembering how pleasantly exhausted Phig had been when it was over.  The omega padawan had gotten unexpectedly pregnant at sixteen and was quite sure he did not want to birth another child, but he very much enjoyed helping his agemates with their planned conceptions and mentoring them through the gestation. 

“Is there anything you need help with outside the main event?” Quinlan asked.  He did care about Carae, even though she would not be carrying his child. 

“I’m stocking up on food, washing the linens and preparing the bedroom this week.”  She gave the Kiffar a beseeching look.  “I may need help moving furniture.” 

“Consider it done, Fair Lady.”  Quinlan kissed her hand gallantly. 

Siri rolled her eyes.  “Are you sure he’s not on the list?” 

“Yes,” Carae chuckled. 

“Some of us are just naturally chivalrous,” Quinlan retorted.  Everyone laughed. 

“Good luck,” Obi-Wan told Carae sincerely when the noise died down.  “I know I don’t have a lot of free time, but if you need help during the gestation, I could help with errands and things.” 

“Thank you.”  Carae grinned at the lot of them.  “I’m really looking forward to it.  My master helped me with my fertility meditations, I’ve been on my nutrient regimen since the start of my cycle, and I’ve been doing exercises, so I have enough stamina for all those breeding studs.”  She blushed at herself, laughing softly. 

Quinlan gave her a fond glance.  “As one of your regular alphas, I hope I’ve trained you well.” 

“Oh, you have,” Carae reassured him. 

“Me too,” L’Daza chimed in. 

“Me too,” T.J. agreed, earning chuckles for the beta. 

Cass caught Quinlan’s eye and gave him a half-smile. 

“What’s everyone doing this weekend?” Beekli asked. 

“The holocinema,” L’Daza grinned.  “The next historical space pirates epic is out.” 

“The Beek and I have tickets to the Symphony,” T.J. reported. 

“Vitamins, apparently,” Siri quipped.  “And blasterball.” 

“I was going to check out a new jizz wail club,” Quinlan said, eyes bright at the thought of an open weekend at home.  “I might even drag Master Tholme along.”  He glanced at Kenobi.  “What about you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan barely looked up from his food.  “Mission reports.”

Everyone paused to stare at him, puzzled.

“Why?” Siri asked.  “Don’t you usually finish those by your second day back?  You’ve been home for days.”  She frowned, realizing Obi-Wan had been home for longer intervals lately, but seemed no less busy. 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “Master Jinn is trying to conceive a child with his current partner.  I’m expected to pick up the slack.  Indefinitely.” 

“That sucks.” T.J. declared. 

“But he’s the father, right?”  Beekli asked quite sure Master Jinn was an alpha, and therefore not the pregnant party. 

“He is, or will be,” Obi-Wan confirmed.  “He intends to spend more time at the Temple during the pregnancy, so he has me trying to compete as many in Temple requirements as possible and take on more of a role in pre- and post-mission work.  He’s also trying to determine if I qualify for any of the cross-training missions so I can get them done now while he is occupied with other matters.” 

Siri gave him a sympathetic look.  There were certain times of the year when Council business took up more of her master’s time than usual and Master Gallia often sent her padawan off to cross-train when she was simply too busy to directly supervise her training.  Siri would have been pissed if her master did the same just so she could play house, but understood why Obi-Wan wasn’t protesting.  Master Jinn could be very stubborn and domineering. 

“Who is his partner?” Natok asked.  None of them could remember Master Jinn committing to anyone since Master Tahl had died, though the elder alpha slept around plenty. 

“Master Feemor.  His first padawan.  Before Xanatos,” Obi-Wan explained.  “He came back to the Temple for his Master’s Trials and a sabbatical.  He seems very kind.  I think they will be blessed by the Force soon.” 

“But you’re going to have extra work for a year or more?” Quinlan asked. 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “If not longer.  I don’t know for how long they intend to raise the child and I suspect that once I take on additional responsibilities, Master Jinn does not intend to take them back when the matter is resolved.”  He never had before. 

“I’m sorry, Obes.  Is there anything we can do to help?” Quinlan asked. 

“No,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “Just please remember I still exist when I’m not able to socialize . . . ever.”

“Don’t worry, Obes.  You’re pretty unforgettable,” Quinlan joked, nudging the slightly melancholy padawan with his shoulder.

Lunch continued, the padawans teasing and laughing as the meal drew to a close and they began to get ready for their afternoon work, in the classrooms, the library or the salle, depending on their schedules.  They were mostly finished and getting ready to leave when a deep voice called from the aisle, the cold Force presence behind it setting them all on edge.

“Oh, there you are, Darling.  I thought I’d never find anyone so small in this crowd.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and stiffened as Bruck Chun emerged from the masses and lumbered up behind him to drape an arm possessively around his neck.  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Dear?” 

Obi-Wan hands had curled into fists but he didn’t otherwise move.  “Leave me alone, Chun.” 

“Oh, Baby, don’t be like that.”  Bruck looked around the table, grinning at the various looks of disgust and contempt.  “He’s so bashful, you know.” 

Quinlan stared at him coldly.  “He told you to leave him alone, Chun.” 

Bruck smirked at the Kiffar, delighted to see that even though he was a Jedi padawan the other alpha wasn’t nearly as physically developed as he was. 

“Oh, Kenobi is a grownup.  If he wants me to let go, he’s more than capable of making me.”  He tightened his arm as Obi-Wan tried to squirm out of his grip without actually attacking him or making a scene.  “And yet he doesn’t.”  Bruck leaned down to lick Obi-Wan’s ear and speak into it.  “You know you love it, Baby.  You’re just so grateful a real alpha noticed you at all.” 

Obi-Wan’s expression was clearly disgusted as Bruck moved to lick him again.  The alpha’s scent glands opened to release pheromones into everyone’s personal space, especially Kenobi’s.  Obi-Wan shuddered, still trying to minimize contact and Quinlan grew suspicious about what Bruck’s other hand might be doing. 

“Obi-Wan, do you want Bruck to stop touching you?” Quinlan asked, his voice hard.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan stated, clear and emphatic. 

Quinlan stood up without a word and turned to face Bruck, letting his own scent issue the challenge. 

Bruck gazed at the other alpha, unimpressed as he used his weight to push Kenobi into the table.  “Your lightsaber isn’t going to intimidate me, Vos.  We both know you’re not going to do anything to me, especially over this scrawny slut.”  He leaned down so his face was next to Obi-Wan’s, which was screwed up in disgust.  “Do you suck off all of them too, or do they get better stock?”  He gave Obi-Wan a possessive look.  “It really doesn’t matter, you’re mine now, Darling.  You’ll do what I tell you, because we both know that under those proper padawan robes, you’re just a shameless slut who will do anything for attention.” 

“Let him go, Bruck,” Quinlan growled. 

Bruck glanced at Quinlan dismissively.  “Get your own whore, Vos.” 

Obi-Wan squirmed as Bruck pressed against him, then suddenly let him go, standing up straight to allow them all to see how much broader, taller and more muscular he was then every one of them. 

“Or go find another alpha whelp to screw, Freak,” he made a rude gesture at Quinlan, then stalked off to a table across the aisle where a pack of similarly jacked up Service Corps Jedi hooted and hollered at them. 

Obi-Wan gave Quinlan a miserable look.  “I’m sorry, Quinlan.  I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

“That’s okay.  I get in trouble just fine all by myself.”  He glared at Bruck’s back before he turned back to Obi-Wan.  “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “I have to go back to my room and change.”  He grimaced at his robes that now reeked of Bruck’s musk. 

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Quinlan asked gently. 

“I don’t want to make you late,” Obi-Wan said, but his voice was almost quavering. 

“Come on,” Quinlan kept his eyes on the hostile alphas.  “Let’s head back.  I need to get my wristguards before I meet Master Tholme in the salle.” 

Obi-Wan nodded and stood up shakily.  Quinlan tried not to grimace from the odor of Bruck’s scent-marking. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed.  “Thank you.”  Obi-Wan didn’t look any of them in the eye as he left.  Quinlan hovered behind him, glaring at the alphas who jeered at them and catcalled at Obi-Wan while Bruck smirked.  Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the door, keeping a stiff upper lip. 

Most of the rest of the padawans left quickly, the good mood broken by the alpha display.  Cass escorted Carae out, concerned her scent would attract their notice, and L’Daza left with Beekli and Natok, the latter of whom thought this was all nonsense.  Siri held her ground, giving Burck a long, narrow-eyed stare until it was only herself and T.J left, and Bruck was no longer paying attention.  She turned back toward the table when she heard an audible click.  She gave T.J a questioning look. 

“We recorded the whole thing,” he moved his datapad to show a recording device hidden on the table.  “Audio and visuals.” 

“That’s good.  Do you think we have enough evidence?” 

T.J. frowned, thinking it over.  “Soon, I think we will.  Bruck is offensive and crude and Obi-Wan is obviously in distress, but I think Bruck could just argue it’s an elaborate role play, and Obi-Wan is playing along since he doesn’t resist.”  He gave Siri a concerned look.  “Would Master Jinn really expect him to put up with this rather than fighting back?” 

Siri frowned.  “Cass said the Council would punish him for it, even if Master Jinn excused it, which he won’t.” 

T.J. gave her a skeptical look.  “And the Council thinks Obi-Wan should be sexually harassed to prove what exactly?  That he won’t turn to the Dark Side?” 

Siri realized suddenly how ridiculous that sounded.  “I don’t think this is necessarily a High Council matter, but even with his history of fighting, I don’t understand why they would expect Obi-Wan to tolerate this.” 

T.J. rolled his eyes.  “Maybe they don’t.”

Siri considered this.  “Huh.” 

“If only we know someone who could ask a High Council member what they actually think about this before something really bad happens.”  He gave Siri a significant look. 

“Um.”

“Siri, you want to be a leader, so be one.” 

Siri glanced at Bruck, disgusted, then across the hall to her master, sitting with the other Council members and masters. 

“Yes,” she said at last.  “I’ll ask.”

“Good.” 

* * *

“What’s the matter?”  Feemor looked at Qui-Gon in alarm as his lover entered the kitchen, a thunderous expression on his face. 

Qui-Gon’s look softened, almost contrite when he realized Feemor was there, and that he was worrying him. 

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Love, but I think it’s best if you go take yourself out for a tea or a meditation.  I need to have a discussion with my apprentice and I suspect this might get quite loud.  You really don’t need this kind of stress with your delicate condition.” 

“I’m not that delicate, Qui-Gon even if I am pregnant.  Is this about the investigation?” 

“Yes,” Qui-Gon was terse, offering no further detail.

“Have you been able to find out what is going on?” 

Qui-Gon scowled.  “No.  I went back to my first source of gossip, Clee, and her padawan, Garen.  Clee said that she and Garen cooperated with the investigators there.  She also said Garen did not actually witness any of the alleged incidents but was aware that something happened in the locker room, but she didn’t tell me anymore than that.  I don’t know if she didn’t have any details or just assumed I did.”  He gave Feemor a very frustrated look.  “She said that Internal Security took witness statements, checked cam footage and that she hoped we were doing okay with all the stress and scrutiny.  What exactly does that mean?  How much trouble is he in?” 

Feemor was quiet a moment.  “I think you need to ask him.”

“I intend to.”

“Calmly.” 

“I was always calm dealing with Xanatos and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.” 

“You should be calm because that is expected of a Jedi Master, and because Obi-Wan is your apprentice and you don’t actually know if he has done anything wrong.” 

“He is being investigated.” 

“An incident is being investigated,” Feemor corrected.  “And I suspect if Obi-Wan were under serious scrutiny as a perpetrator, Internal Security would have been more forthcoming about it.” 

Qui-Gon grumbled.  “Maybe.” 

“Did this Master Clee recommend you get legal assistance for Obi-Wan?  Scrutiny and punishment are not the same thing.”

Qui-Gon scowled as his comm beeped.  “You’re right.  I should be calm until I have a definite reason to not be calm.”  He checked the message.  “He’s coming.  You had best step out.” 

“I think I’ll stay.  You need the support, and you need an unbiased person I think.” 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

“Consider my delicate condition an incentive to stay calm.” 

Qui-Gon frowned, accepting he had been outmaneuvered.  “Fine.  But if he starts disclosing violations, you may have to leave.” 

“I understand.  Now calm down.  If you can hold your cool being pinned down and fired on by space pirates, you can hold it for this.  No one is attacking you, including Obi-Wan.  Does he know what you plan on asking?” 

“No,” Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “He’s here for the laundry.” 

Feemor frowned, not liking that Obi-Wan was being ambushed, but went to the kitchen to make a nice calming tea for them all. 

Qui-Gon went to the door and waited.  When he felt his apprentice send a quiet inquiry through the bond about the laundry that was usually set outside for him to pick up, he opened the door, grabbed the young man by the tabards, hauled him over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.  He continued to drag Obi-Wan by his clothes until he reached a metal chair from the dining set which he had placed in the foyer, then pushed his apprentice into it.  Obi-Wan stared up at him in bewilderment. 

“Well?” Qui-Gon demanded.  “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Obi-Wan looked around the room in confusion, wondering what he could have done wrong.  “I’m here to pick up the laundry?” 

Qui-Gon glowered at him.  “A Jedi Knight is honest.” 

Obi-Wan wisely did not mention his master’s penchant for lying.  “I did come here to pick up the laundry, Master.  It seems you have concerns about something else?” 

Qui-Gon stared him down.  The boy did genuinely look baffled as to the cause of his upset.  Could it be he was actually unaware of the investigations and was arrogant enough to believe he had gotten away with . . . whatever he had done?  Feemor chose that moment to come in with a tea service on a tray and was dismayed to see Obi-Wan being interrogated on a metal chair instead of welcomed to sit.  He gave Qui-Gon a raised eyebrow. 

Qui-Gon turned back to Obi-Wan, everything about him, his posture, his expression, his pheromones declaring his dominance over his apprentice.  Obi-Wan hunched in the chair, the furniture limiting his submissive posture. 

“Qui-Gon, perhaps you should tell your padawan what you’re upset about?” Feemor prompted, hinting that Qui-Gon should pour out the tea. 

Qui-Gon stared Obi-Wan down for another long moment before conceding the boy genuinely didn’t seem to know why he was there.

“Obi-Wan,” he crossed his arms, his voice stern.  “I need you to tell me what you did during your training term with the Space Corp.” 

Obi-Wan expression remained puzzled.  “I took all the required coursework in the second training module for senior padawans, had my piloting skills evaluated, and took additional coursework in safety, general maintenance and repairs.  I passed all of my subsequent exams and evaluations.” 

Qui-Gon and Feemor shared a look.  Obi-Wan glanced between them. 

“What else did you do?” 

Obi-Wan frowned, trying to remember details as the courses had been more than a month ago.  “I practiced my open hand katas, sparred a few times with Garen and his master, and did meditation exercises in the Stellar Outpost series since I was on a space station, not a planet.” 

Qui-Gon was rapidly losing patience.  “What else did you do?” 

Obi-Wan looked at him, baffled.  “I maintained my diet and adapted my sleep schedule to the station.” 

Qui-Gon’s scowl grew even deeper. 

“Who did you do?” he finally asked.

It hadn’t seemed possible, but Obi-Wan only looked more confused.  “What?” 

Qui-Gon lost his cool.  “Who were you fucking with on the Force-damned space station instead of attending to your studies?”

Obi-Wan paled visible.  “Nobody.” 

“I already know that’s a lie, Obi-Wan.  Now tell me right now, who was it, how many were there and what did you do?” 

Obi-Wan looked as if he were trying not to cry.  “Master, I didn’t sleep with anyone while I was training.  We both know I don’t have time to cultivate relationships.” 

Qui-Gon bend down to face Obi-Wan head on.  The young man shrunk back in his chair, mystified as to what his master thought he had done. 

“As you say, but I already know you were screwing around the second you got any freedom.  Tell me.  Now.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Feemor helplessly.  “Master, I wasn’t intimate with anyone.  Not at the station, not since.” 

“Enough of the lies, Obi-Wan.  Stop telling me what you think I want to hear and tell me the truth.  Who fucked you?  Who did you suck off?  How many alphas did you offer yourself up to and in public no less?  I have always made it very clear to you that you don’t have time for relationships, so why are there alphas claiming your scrawny ass if you spent all that time studying?  Who the hell are you fucking around with?”

“Qui-Gon, calm down.”  Feemor put more than a bit of Force persuasion behind his command.  Qui-Gon moved out of Obi-Wan’s personal space, but still glowered at him. 

Feemor glanced at the padawan, then back at Qui-Gon.  The young man looked terrified, but Qui-Gon was not appeased. 

“M-master,” Obi-Wan blinked furiously against tears.  “I didn’t.  I’m not.  I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“We’ll see about that.  Stand up!” 

Obi-Wan scrambled out of the chair, too frightened to disobey.

“Take off your tunics.  Now.” 

Obi-Wan glanced at Feemor again.  “Master?”

“Take them off or I will.”

Obi-Wan tried to comply, hands shaking as he unbuckled his utility belt, loosened his obi and slipped off his tabards.  He had just started to open his layers of tunics when Qui-Gon growled with impatience and grabbed his collar, pulling the garments down his arms to bare his neck and shoulders.  Obi-Wan stifled a shocked protest. 

Qui-Gon glared at his shoulders, inspecting his scent glands for bite marks. 

Feemor’s eyes inadvertently widened.  Obi-Wan had shoulders like a twelve-year-old boy, no sign of even the faintest scars, calluses or thickened skin.  Someone promiscuous would be expected to have some marks on them, even someone monogamous would.  Qui-Gon had never scarred Feemor, but he did have mate bite callouses by the time he was Obi-Wan’s age.  Obi-Wan clearly had not been entertaining lovers, casual or otherwise, anytime recently, or if he had, they had left his neck pristine. 

Qui-Gon growled at the lack of evidence.  “Get dressed before your scent gets out.” 

Still trembling, Obi-Wan tried to set his garments to rights. 

Feemor glared at Qui-Gon.  “Calm down.  Sit.  Drink your tea.”  Qui-Gon stared back challengingly, but ultimately submitted to his chosen mate. 

Feemor stepped up behind Obi-Wan, gently helping him to straighten his seams and calm himself.  He quietly served as Obi-Wan’s valet, quietly assisting him in getting his tabards straightened out and his obi back on, shaking out the wrinkles while Qui-Gon reluctantly sat on the couch and poured out the tea. 

Feemor was looking over Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he passed one of the tabards from back to front when his nose caught Obi-Wan’s scent more closely than he had before.  He could smell his maleness, and also his fear, but now he also caught the strong clinical smell of scent blockers, strong enough to mask personal scents.  And finally, much fainter than the rest, he could smell Obi-Wan’s designation scent which the blockers usually hid. 

He came to several revelations all at once. 

Obi-Wan was an omega. 

Obi-Wan was currently an unbonded omega.

Obi-Wan was not in a relationship, queer or otherwise.

Qui-Gon had been treating his apprentice like a subordinate alpha who was rebelling, despite Obi-Wan’s very submissive behavior.

They had been successful.  He was pregnant.  Only pregnancy would make him sensitive enough to smell all of that through the scent blockers.

Feemor schooled his face to neutrality as Obi-Wan finished redressing, giving away nothing.  He patted the younger man reassuringly, then tried to lead him into the sitting room.  “Obi-Wan, you’re an adult.  If you did find someone special to you, we can work it out.”  He tried to coax Obi-Wan into an armchair, but his lover’s apprentice picked up the metal chair and set it on the other side of the coffee table, then sat down, his posture once again submissive. 

“No, we can’t,” Qui-Gon asserted.  He glanced at Feemor.  “He knows I expect more from him.” 

Feemor glared at him.  It was true, he had been his master’s lover when he was young, but neither of them had been monogamous.  Why was he seemingly demanding celibacy from Obi-Wan (an omega no less), when he hadn’t even demanded fidelity from Feemor, much less reined in Xan’s liaisons?

Obi-Wan sighed.  “Master, I’m not in a relationship with anyone.  I’m not sleeping with anyone.  Not even casually.” 

“Then why am I being interrogated by Force-damned Internal Security about you and why are they investigating complaints about lewd and indecent acts?” 

Obi-Wan looked at him bleakly.  “I’m sorry, Master.  I didn’t realize Internal Security would question you when I made the complaint.” 

Qui-Gon paused for a long moment.

“You made the complaint?”

“Yes, Master.  I made several complaints.” 

Qui-Gon and Feemor shared a look.  Feemor did not look happy with him.

“You lodged these complaints at the training center?”

“Yes, Master.  And I made similar complaints when the problem continued when I returned to the Temple.”

Qui-Gon leaned forward in his chair to stare him down.  “And what is the problem, exactly?” 

Obi-Wan looked down at the floor.  “I’m being harassed by an alpha in the Service Corps.  He has been saying rude things, groping me, and has been . . . marking my spaces and my gear.  It started at the training center but continued after because he was transferred to the Temple.  I made Security aware of the problem and have been trying not to let it interfere with my work.  It really didn’t occur to me that they would question you, Master.  You weren’t present for any of the incidents, and we don’t live together.” 

“Is he one of the alphas who was heckling you at the saber tournament?” Feemor asked.

Obi-Wan nodded but did not look up.  “Yes, Master Feemor.  The others in the group are his friends, and I suspect he’s told them we had some kind of relationship based on what they’ve said to me.” 

“Why is this alpha pursuing you?” Qui-Gon asked skeptically.  Feemor shot him a warning look. 

Obi-Wan sighed again.  “We were initiates together.  He feels if he didn’t get to be a padawan, I don’t deserve to be one either.” 

“Why haven’t you simply dissuaded him from harassing you?” Qui-Gon asked impatiently.  “You are a Jedi Padawan.  He is in the Service Corps.  Even if he is an alpha, I’d expect you could handle a few unwanted advances on your own.”

Obi-Wan slumped further.  “With my discipline record, I didn’t think you would want me fighting, Master, even just to fight back.”

Qui-Gon shared a look with Feemor again.  Apparently, he had been jumping to conclusions. 

“Slapping a too forward alpha is not generally considered fighting,” he pointed out.

“It’s Bruck Chun, Master.  And a single slap would not dissuade him.”

Qui-Gon was stunned into silence.  When he didn’t respond, Feemor stepped in.  “Bruck Chun?”

“Yes, Master Feemor.  Bruck and I have a history of fighting as initiates.  I was sent to the Agri Corp for my behavior.”  It was clear from his tone this was still a source of shame for him.

“So that’s why you reported him instead of fighting back?”

“Yes, Master Feemor.”  He turned to his master.  “I am sorry, Master.  I really didn’t think they would have bothered you about this.  I would have warned you if I did.  Bruck doesn’t harass me when I’m around masters, just padawans or if I’m alone.” 

“Was he the white-haired one?” Feemor asked.

“Yes, Master Feemor.”

Feemor grimaced.  “He’s quite the muscular brute, Qui-Gon.  Though he may be in the Service Corp, he would likely prove to be quite a challenge to even a Jedi padawan, particularly for someone of smaller stature.”

Qui-Gon finally spoke, his voice calm at last.  “You made the right choice to not fight back.  With your record and with Chun being the other party, that would have not gone well for you.  Has Chun been the alpha claiming you went back on your word to bond with him, and claiming you were servincing other alphas in the shower?

Obi-Wan flinched.  “Yes, Master.”

“Were you servicing alphas in the shower?”

Feemor glared at Qui-Gon.

“No, Master.”  He sighed and looked up, risking a glance at his master with reddened eyes.  “I think we can all agree that alphas in general would not take me up on that, not that I was offering.  If anything, I’ve been told I should be grateful for any interest.” 

Feemor leaned over to put a hand on his wrist.  Obi-Wan flinched slightly. 

“Obi-Wan, when the time is right, you will find someone who is worthy of you.”  He gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, concerned when Obi-Wan held himself very still.  He reached out into the Force, but Qui-Gon didn’t notice. 

“And that person will have to wait until after you’re knighted, whoever they are.”  Qui-Gon finally relaxed enough to sip his tea.  “How do you intend to fix this, so I no longer have to deal with your problem?” 

Feemor gave him an incredulous look. 

“I’ve been maintaining contact with Internal Security and have been logging incidents.  I am hopeful they can find a way to censure Chun before this escalates further, and the mission coordinators have us both flagged so he won’t be assigned to our missions in the future as he is in the Space Corp.  Apparently, he did request that.  Unfortunately, it’s my word against his, and evidence has been inconclusive.  We have established he has been . . . marking but he’s been saying it was consensual.  Internal Security won’t tell me if there have been other complaints and the appearance of romantic disagreements is not enough to trigger a mandatory reassignment.” 

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed.  “The Reassignment Council expects young adults to behave and work these things out amongst themselves.”  He sighed.  “In that case I think you should continue to avoid fighting until this alpha finds some other target.  If he’s that hormonal, he’ll no doubt find someone more willing soon enough and stop fixating on you.” 

“He doesn’t want a relationship, Master.  He wants to end my apprenticeship.”

“By scent-marking you?” Qui-Gon asked doubtfully.

Obi-Wan hadn’t been referring to scent marking but didn’t bother to correct his master.  “By goading me into a fight, but destroying my credibility, and by ruining my reputation.”  Obi-Wan huddled in on himself.  “Even you believed his gossip, Master.” 

Qui-Gon couldn’t actually argue with that.

“All the more reason to keep your nose clean.” He gave Obi-Wan a stern look.  “I had better not find out you’ve been lying to me.  Lying can end your apprenticeship just as fast as a sex crime allegation, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.”  He sat back on the couch, satisfied for now.  “The laundry bags are in the closet.  Get them and you can go.  I’ll deal with the chair.”

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan scrambled to comply, rocketing up out of his seat and over to the closet before Feemor could blink. 

“My boots too.”

“Yes, Master.”

Another moment and he was gone, relief pouring off him in the Force.

“So,” Feemor said after a long moment.  “He didn’t actually do anything wrong and handled it the way you would have wanted him to, and just didn’t think to give you a heads up.”

“That was certainly better than anything I was expecting,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “But this can’t continue.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Me?” Qui-Gon poured himself another cup of tea.  “Nothing.  He’s a grownup.  If he can’t handle one Service Corp alpha in the Temple, he won’t be able to handle alphas in the real world.  He has to handle this himself.” 

Feemor gave him a confused look.  “How would you expect me to have handled something like that at his age?” 

“You were spunky enough to slap any alpha who got fresh,” Qui-Gon assured him as he stirred in a sugar cube.

“But you forbade him from fighting back.  And this alpha is much bigger than him.  What would you have done if I was facing an alpha I couldn’t best?” 

Qui-Gon picked up his hand and kissed it.  “You know I’d have run off any alphas that threatened you.” 

“But not alphas who threaten Obi-Wan?” 

“I was your alpha.  I told you, we don’t have a sexual relationship.” 

“You do have a master/apprentice relationship and you’ve forbidden him from developing one.  He’s an unbonded omega.  Who is he supposed to go to for help?” 

Qui-Gon snorted.  “I’m surprised he admitted that.  We both hoped he’d be a beta.”  Qui-Gon sighed, mulling over the question.  “He has few options, so he made the best choice available.  Internal Security will handle it if it escalates to a full violation.  Until then, he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing.” 

“Qui-Gon, he’s being harassed, and you are the closest person he has to an alpha.  Don’t you care?” 

“I’m concerned.  I don’t want this to interfere with his training.  But he has a long history with Chun.  His mistakes in the past had harsh consequences.  If he has been challenged by Chun again, it is no doubt the will of the Force, and I will not interfere.”  He finished his tea, put down his cup and walked into the kitchen, then returned with a cleaning cloth and began wiping down the metal chair. 

The scent of cleaning solution slammed into Feemor’s brain, even as he tried to mask it by sticking his nose in his teacup. 

Yes.  Definitely pregnant. 

Nausea would no doubt follow soon. 

“Maybe you could discuss this with Master Dooku.  Didn’t he used to head the Reassignment Committee?  He may still have connections there.”

“So what if he does?  He doesn’t like to interfere with the will of the Force any more than I do.” 

Feemor gave him a pleading look.  “Qui-Gon, I think he needs your help this time.”

“He hasn’t asked for my help,” Qui-Gon pointed out.  “In fact, he didn’t want me to know.”

Feemor sighed.  “Can you at least talk to Master Cin about it?  He was at the tournament and threw the alphas out when they wouldn’t leave Obi-Wan alone.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

“Qui-Gon.”  Feemor leveled a stern look at him.  “You’re not presenting as a dependable father if you won’t protect your own padawan.”

Qui-Gon paused, looking up from his cleaning.  “I’m sorry.  You know I only want the best for you and our child.”

“Then prove it.  Take care of the ward you already have.  Go talk to Master Cin.” 

“Okay.”  Qui-Gon stood, looking shaken.  “I will.”  He finished cleaning and carried the chair back to the dining room, then tossed the cloth and washed his hands.  “Is his scent still bothering you?”

Feemor gave him another annoyed look.  “No.  It wasn’t bothering me before.  Is that why you were washing the chair?” 

“Yes.  I didn’t want his odor to linger in your safe space.” 

“His scent doesn’t bother me.”

“He wears blockers, but sometimes it gets on his clothes,” Qui-Gon explained as he began rooting through the cabinets to start dinner.

“No wonder he didn’t sit in the nice chair,” Feemor grumbled.  “Poor boy didn’t even stay to drink his tea.”  He picked up Qui-Gon’s empty cup to wash up the tea service, then his own, and only then noticed the third cup was not only empty, but still clean. 

Feemor’s hand drifted down his still flat belly as he watched his lover cook, growing more disturbed. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan hurried through the halls toward his room in the Padawan Dorms, his Force sense tingling in warning.  His stalker had been dogging him all day, turning up around corners and glaring at him from afar, and as the hours passed his rut scent had been growing stronger.  Bruck was hard enough to deal with without the influence of an enhanced mating drive making him extra horny. 

He just wanted to get home behind closed doors and really hoped Bruck wasn’t lurking somewhere between his location and his door.  He was a bit later getting home tonight and he was somewhat disturbed to find himself hoping his tormentor had just marked his door and left.  Unfortunately, his Force sense left him feeling less than lucky tonight. 

He was just about to turn the last corner when his Force sense flared and he dodged a massive bulk that rushed at him, then dashed toward his door.  He could hear a feral growl behind him and had almost made it when he was grabbed from behind, rank musk filling his nose and making him cough. 

“There you are!”  Bruck pressed against him, trying to push him into the wall, grinding his rampant erection into his back.  Obi-Wan struggled to get away without resorting to blows.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.  I’ve got a knot so big it will rip you apart.” 

“Let me go, Bruck!” Obi-Wan managed to get one wrist free, but the alpha only pushed harder. 

“You let go, Whore.  You know you want it.”  He leaned in to speak into Obi-Wan’s ear.  “You know you’re getting wet for it, even now.  You know you want a real alpha to fuck you, that those stuck up padawans don’t want your scrawny ass.  You know that deep down you’re just so grateful for any attention and you’ll do whatever I ask just so you don’t have to be alone.  I know that queer Kiffar talks the talk like he’ll protect you, but we both know he’s not getting it up for you.” 

“Let me go, Bruck.  Leave me alone!”  Obi-Wan managed to break free enough to get inside his door, but it was still a struggle to keep Bruck out until he could close and lock the door.  The alpha roared in frustration, his fists pounding on the locked door. 

“Go away, Bruck, or I’ll call Security!” 

“Good!” Bruck growled.  “They can watch me take that stick out of your ass and put in something better!”  He opened his pants and began to furiously pump his erection, pre-come dripping onto the welcome mat.  “They’ll see how you’ve left me hanging, you teasing whore, and unlock this damn door so I can come in and fuck you!  My blood is hot now and they’ll know I need it, that you’ve been a very bad little slut to let me suffer.  They’ll let me in and hold you down while I fuck you over and over for days.  Fuck you until you can’t stand, can’t sit, can’t shit!  Till you know you’re only place is on my cock, on my knot, and then I’ll fuck your mouth until you have to beg to be allowed to breathe!”  He pounded on the door again.  “And when I’m done, your master will see what a weak and useless whore you are.  He’s not going to knight a little shit like you.” 

Bruck paused as he heard several of Obi-Wan’s neighbors coming down the hall, and his whole demeanor and body language changed.  He pressed against the door to hide his exposed penis and knocked softly, his voice becoming quavering and desperate.  “Please, please Darling.  Let me in.  I need you.  I ache for you.  You’re mine and I know it will be so perfect, just please let me in.”  He gave the passers-by a miserable look.  “Come on, Baby.  I need to be inside you, you know just how to do it, you drove all those other alphas wild, please let me in.  Darling, please.  You said we could be together, Babe.  Please don’t let me suffer.” 

As soon as the padawans had passed by and were out of earshot, he punched the door with a solid boom, snarling, then began speaking right into the crack.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Whore?  After I ream out that scrawny ass of yours until you beg for mercy?  Did you know I know your little secret?  You couldn’t hide that sweet little cunt from me, Bitch.  I’m going to fuck it until you lay an egg.  Because The Chun always gets his whores to lay an egg.  Always.  And after I fuck that pathetic omega cunt until you beg for a knot and your eggs are ripe and falling, when I’ve fucked all your holes raw, I’ll pass you around to so many alphas even the healers won’t know who knocked you up.  You can go waddle off to the farm and have your little bastards in a nerf barn like all the other whores!” 

Bruck came with a groan, splashing against the door, his rut scent permeating into the apartment beyond while he continued to fondle his knot.  “There’s plenty more where that came from, and you have to open the door sometime.”

Bruck pulled a rag out of his pocket and rubbed it over his scent glands and into the wet semen before he shoved it into the crack at the bottom of the door, then began stroking himself again.  When he was satisfied he was hard enough, he began humping the door directly, growling and pounding on it, determined to get in.  He climaxed again, smearing his semen across the door, banging on it again with his fists. 

“We both know you’re my bitch, Kenobi, and I’ll breed you like the whore you are.  You have to ripen sometime, and when you’re hot and aching, you’ll beg for my knot and I’ll make you wait, wait until it hurts.  We both know you won’t keep your legs closed when the time comes, and if you do, well, it’s not like you’ll fight back when I decide for you.  You’re fucked if you do and you’re fucked if you don’t.  Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in now?  Everyone already knows you’re a whore, even your master agrees.  We both know he won’t lift a finger to help a slut like you.  Open the door.” 

Bruck paused, his own Force sense alert to the Temple Guards who had been patrolling on a laughably predictable schedule.  He tucked himself back into his pants and closed his robe to hide the mess. 

“Baby, please don’t leave me alone like this,” he whined.  “It’s not fair to break your word now, when I’m begging you, in pain.” 

Satisfied he had covered his tracks if they guards were listening, he straightened up and walked off, still in rut, but perfectly in control, thoroughly enjoying his little game. 

Siri stared at the monitors in disbelief.  She knew some alphas could be sexually violent during rut, but she had never seen anything like that inside the Temple, much less from a fellow Jedi.  T.J. sat next to her, his knees pressed together in sympathy. 

“Did we get all of that?” Siri asked at last, still stunned. 

“Yeah,” T.J. nodded.  “I couldn’t make out what he said into the door, but I may be able to enhance it, and I think he said enough to at least question his credibility, and any argument he might have about role-playing.” 

Siri’s eyes narrowed.  “We should get the rag as evidence.” 

“Forget the rag,” T.J. scoffed.  “Shouldn’t we not be leaving Kenobi alone right now?” 

Siri gave him a pained look, realizing she should have thought of that first.  “I’ll send over Quinlan and Carae so he won’t be alone.  You call Security.  We need to get that footage to the investigators.”  She frowned.  “I don’t know who is in charge of the investigation.  Should we go to Battlemaster Drallig?”  Technically the Battlemaster was also the Head of Security, but Internal Security tended to function independently unless the investigation reached the Council level.  As padawans they really didn’t know anyone in Internal Security, but the Battlemaster was someone more approachable despite his rank. 

“I have a contact,” T.J. assured her. 

“You do?” she asked, surprised.  T.J. wasn’t usually so proactive outside of missions. 

“I do.”  He tried not to get defensive.  “I went to their office to ask for advice and make sure we weren’t doing anything illegal or that would compromise the investigation because there were no warrants issued.” 

“Huh.”  Siri looked at the beta with newfound respect.  “That was a good idea.  What did they say?” 

“They said we could only put up surveillance in the hall, and they agreed it was best if Kenobi didn’t know we had enhanced the pre-existing system, for the same reasons you suggested.  He couldn’t be accused of setting Bruck up if he hadn’t known he was being recorded.  Internal Security also asked us to keep them posted on developments, which I have, and to not engage with Bruck ourselves.  They don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Siri scowled at the screen, remembering how hard Bruck had shoved Obi-Wan into the wall.  “Shouldn’t they be concerned about Obi-Wan getting hurt?” 

T.J. shrugged, not meeting her eyes.  “It’s Internal Security.  There’s red tape.” 

Siri sighed, annoyed that action would not happen anytime soon.  “At least they are doing something.”  She opened her comm and placed a call, trying to keep her voice calm.  As expected, Quinlan was pissed.

* * *

Feemor raised his head as the timer went off, then reached for the test reader.  All indicators were positive.  Just like the last one.  He was definitely pregnant. 

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. 

Closing his eyes, he looked inward, trying to feel the tiny life inside him, something he would not have been able to do at this stage the first time he had been pregnant, even if he had known.  Even as recently as ten years ago, he wouldn’t have known.  He had a heavy menses or two over the years that could have been an early miscarriage and he not tried to confirm it either time. 

He felt the Force flowing through his body, felt the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, heard the music of the midichlorians in his cells.  There were new notes in the song.

Finally, he turned his focus to his womb.  It still felt nourished and blood-rich, as would be expected after ovulation but before menstruation.  His hand drifted down from chest to abdomen to pelvis, feeling his own body and how the Force flowed through him.  His uterus did not feel larger, or occupied, but it did feel more prominent, as if his body were devoting more resources to it.  When he stilled his mind and Force presence further, he could just barely sense that there was something there, something that was not himself.  There it was.  His baby.  Or more accurately his embryo.  He knew from his reading and the fertility workshop he had attended that at this stage what he was sensing was more placenta than anything else, but that was what was most important now, securing their connection so he could feed and nurture this growing little light inside him.  And it was a little light.  He didn’t know if it grew from their first or second fertilization, or Force forbid from both of them, but it was there, in the right place and very much alive. 

He felt tears come to his eyes.  They had done it.  Under his hand, deep in his body, his wish, his dream was growing and real.  Not that he could count on it, it was much too soon to announce it, much less celebrate it, but it was there, holding on and growing. 

His baby was real. 

Very, very real. 

He still had his hand on his not quite empty womb sometime later when his mate knocked on the door in concern. 

“Feemor, are you alright?” 

He used the Force to unlock the door and when Qui-Gon came in, he silently handed him the test reader. 

Qui-Gon stared down at the device, making sure he had read it correctly before he let himself get excited.  “You’re pregnant?” he asked, struggling to stay calm.

“Yes,” Feemor smiled.  “I can just barely feel it.” 

Qui-Gon’s smile could outshine a sun.  “May I feel it?” 

Feemor nodded a bit shakily, taking his hand and pressing his lover’s palm into his stomach, watching his face as he felt Qui-Gon reach out to feel him through the Living Force. 

“Feemor!” Qui-Gon gasped.  “I can feel it!” 

“Yes,” Feemor trembled slightly, a strong but cautious joy washing through him. 

Qui-Gon leaned in to kiss him, his large, warm hand still pressed to his belly, and he moaned into it, overwhelmed by his emotions, his hormones and his lover’s pheromones.  Wordlessly, Qui-Gon stood and picked him up, carrying him to the bedroom to lay him in on the cool sheets and worship his child’s mother properly. 

“Qui-Gon,” Feemor panted against him, suddenly desperately aroused by this turn of events and feeling their child deep inside himself.  “Qui-Gon, we can’t fuck.  The baby is too fragile.” 

“I know,” Qui-Gon assured him, even as he was divesting the both of them of their clothes, some part of him, his hand, his cheeks, his lips always gently pressed on the growing womb as he did.  “I won’t.”  He began kissing down his lover’s body, avoiding nipples that would soon be painfully sensitive if they weren’t already, to lap at his erection, his fingers teasing lower. 

Feemor moaned wantonly, his nerves responding to the profound changes in his body that had already begun. 

“It’s here,” Qui-Gon whispered between his ministrations.  “It’s alive.  We did it.” 

“Yes,” Feemor gasped, tears glistening in his eyes.  “We did.” 

Qui-Gon’s finger slipped just inside.  Normally such a touch would be a tease, a little stroking to warm him up, but now, as attuned to the Force as he was, as aware as he was of his own body, he was extra sensitive and cried out at the intense pleasure.  Qui-Gon took this as his cue to drive his mate to ecstasy.

When they had calmed down, drying sweat cooling their bodies, more practical matters came into focus.

“You should go to the healers,” Qui-Gon turned to look him in the eye.  Feemor was resting his hand on his womb again.  The feeling of the child had dimmed, but it was still there.  He hadn’t been able to sense Jasmine in the Force until a few weeks before she quickened. 

“I know,” Feemor sighed.  “I made an appointment for tomorrow when the first test came out positive.” 

“How many did you take?” Qui-Gon asked, sounding concerned. 

“Three,” Feemor admitted.  “Well, only two came out.  I dropped the test strip into the commode the second time.” 

Qui-Gon snorted, still delighted by the confirmation of their little gift from the Force. 

“At least it wasn’t the analyzer,” Feemor rolled his eyes.  “I didn’t even get a chance to pee on it.”

“What time is your appointment?” Qui-Gon asked.  “Do you want me to come with you?”

“1400.  You are the father, so you are welcome to come, but not much happens at the first visit.  They don’t do the major scans or genetic screening for at least a month or two.  They will check to see if anything is wrong, but the embryo is still too small to know yet.” 

“It feels healthy to me,” Qui-Gon tried to reassure him. 

“Have you ever felt a child this early?  Before it’s even a child?”

“No,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “Jasmine was much more developed before we mutually got a clue.  How late are you?” 

“Technically, I’m not considered late until tomorrow.”  Feemor yawned suddenly.  “But I had a clue.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon asked.  “Nausea?”  His question was far more delighted than that inquiry should be. 

“No.  The nose knows.” 

“Hmm?”

Feemor laughed at himself.  “My sense of smell is more keen.  Nausea will soon follow, I’m sure.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled as he picked up Feemor’s hand, giving it a doting kiss.  “I remember.  We can clean out the kitchen and the refresher of strong scents this afternoon, so you’ll be comfortable.  I’ll also tell Obi-Wan to avoid you and to stay out of the apartment.”

“What?  Why?”  Feemor looked baffled. 

“So he doesn’t make you vomit,” Qui-Gon shrugged.  “You don’t need his stink around here, and he put in a request for time to attend to medical issues.  He doesn’t lie, but that’s usually Obi-Wan-speak for either menstruation or a heat.  You really want to avoid him then.” 

Feemor released his annoyance to the Force.  “Qui-Gon, that won’t be necessary.  I’ve already smelled him, and I could just barely catch his designation scent.  That’s when I realized I was pregnant.  His scent doesn’t bother me.  You don’t have to isolate him in a hut outside the Temple because he’s pre-heat.  We are Jedi, not primitive savages.”

Qui-Gon sighed deeply.  “Let me know if you change your mind.” 

“If you really want to help, stop wearing that cologne you wore to Master Dooku’s dinner.” 

Qui-Gon started in surprise.  “I thought you liked it.”

“It alters your scent,” Feemor explained.  “Wear it next trimester.” 

“Yes, Darling.”

“Thank you.”

“So, if everything goes well, the baby should be born near the spring equinox.”  Qui-Gon smiled dreamily.  “You’ll be so beautiful as you grow.” 

“If all goes well, the baby will be born before the weather turns hot,” Feemor sighed.  “I was so miserable carrying Jasmine in the heat.” 

“Mmm, you had to lounge around the apartment in your underwear.”  Qui-Gon squeezed his hand affectionately.  “I remember bringing you cold tea on the couch as you lay there in your underpants and a light tunic, and by the end it couldn’t cover your beautiful belly anymore.  I used to rub it down with healing skin cream and could feel Jasmine tumble and kick while you lay in the path of the fan and debated getting completely naked.” 

Feemor laughed at the memory.  “I was so embarrassed by my body but eventually I was just too uncomfortable to care.”

“You were beautiful,” Qui-Gon insisted. 

“I was young and self-conscious,” Feemor chuckled.  “But you made me feel loved and accepted and beautiful.” 

“Don’t forget sexy.  You were very sexy.” 

“I was a bloated whale.” 

“You were carrying my child.  I would have made love with you every day if I could have.” 

“Ha,” Feemor laughed.  “I think you did, in one way or another.  You definitely helped make it all more bearable.” 

“You’re still irresistible.” 

“I noticed,” Feemor squeezed back.  “We also have to figure out how to handle you being gone.  I’d like you to be here for the birth but understand that might not be possible.”

“Of course, I’ll be here,” Qui-Gon insisted. 

“What about Obi-Wan?” 

“He’s an adult.  He can manage without me.  You need me more.”

Feemor let go of his hand to smack him gently.  “I am an adult.  You don’t get to dump your padawan on someone else for a year just because you had a sperm get lucky.  You still have duties to attend to.”  Qui-Gon rolled over to lay on top of him, keeping most of his weight off him, but kissing him deeply before he began working his way down his chest to kiss his lower belly where the bump would form.

“This may be my last child.  I’m not missing it.  Obi-Wan has so much to learn it matters little if I’m the one teaching it or not.” 

“Raise the ward you have, Qui-Gon,” Feemor scolded.  “He’s not less important than this baby.” 

Qui-Gon wanted to tell Feemor he was much more important, but he caught his eye and thought better of it.  “Yes, Dear.”    

* * *

“Are you counting down the days yet?” Quinlan asked, smiling brightly. 

Carae rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips.  “I don’t have that much control of my heats, Vos.  I’ve been tracking over the past year and the healers have been monitoring my hormones, and they think it will start in the next seven to twelve days, but it will be easier to predict the closer we get.” 

“Phig was fussing over his heat induction,” Vos reported.  “He was worried the timing was off.” 

“I know,” Carae nodded.  “Fortunately, he doesn’t need to time it perfectly.  Ideally, he should be about twelve to twenty-four hours behind my heat, so he’s in preheat when I’m in high heat, and he peaks when I’m coming down since that’s when multiple alphas usually get rowdy.  When I get closer it will be easier for him to time it.” 

“You okay, Obes?” Quinlan asked his fellow padawan.  “You’re kind of quiet over there.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan was walking with his full robe on, hood up, as if trying to hide his identity.  “Just,” he sighed.  “Anxious.” 

“Is Bruck still bothering you?” Carae asked. 

“He hasn’t done anything really bad since he came out of rut.  I think he had an assignment.  But he still glares at me if we’re in the same place, and I don’t want him following me around.” 

“He follows you into the salle?” Carae asked, surprised.  Outside of tournaments, Service Corps Jedi didn’t tend to go there. 

“He doesn’t follow me inside, but he waits outside until I leave.  There are too many masters around the general floor.”  He shrugged.  “If he doesn’t see me go in, he won’t be waiting for me to come out.”  His tone indicated he knew he was being a little silly but didn’t have any better options. 

“How is the investigation going?” Quinlan asked. 

“It’s . . . going,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “Internal Security questioned me and Bruck again.  And they questioned Master Jinn also.  He was not happy about it.” 

“Why was your master upset at that?” Carae asked.  “Shouldn’t he be upset the investigation is taking so long?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “He doesn’t like the scrutiny and he’s probably concerned that it will upset Master Feemor.” 

“Did he rethink his position on you not fighting back?” Quinlan asked.  “Bruck has been escalating.”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head.  “I was correct that he would not condone fighting and he expected me to put up with it until Internal Security chooses to intervene.” 

Quinlan scowled, clearly not happy with this plan of action.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his block off?  I know Cass is willing to help.” 

“No.”  Obi-Wan was quiet but emphatic.  “Master Jinn would not want me getting my friends in trouble, even to defend me.  Internal Security has been notified, I’m continuing to make reports, and if they ask you, please just be honest.  If there is fighting, I could be expelled, even if I wasn’t the one fighting.” 

“This seems so wrong,” Carae complained. 

Obi-Wan shot a look at her.  “Our actions have consequences beyond our intentions.  If Cass gets into a fight on my behalf, he’s not going to be available to father your child.  If Quinlan gets in trouble, it will impact his work with Master Tholme.  I’ll just keep my head down and hope that Internal Security will do something to stop him.  They’ve increased patrols and have told Bruck to stay off our floor, so if you see him there you can report him, but since he hasn’t actually done anything serious, there isn’t much they can do.” 

“He’s stalking you,” Quinlan argued.  “How is that not serious?” 

They arrived at the salle and hung up their robes, adjusting their clothes for sparring and exercise. 

“He’s only stalking me.  He knows how to skirt the line between offensive and illegal.  He can argue he’s just courting a coy lover, that I agreed to it, that I enjoy the chase.  That it’s gone on this long is actually in my favor, that I’ve consistently complained and denied him, but he only makes implied threats, so far anyway.” 

Quinlan frowned at him, obviously not happy with this answer.  “You shouldn’t have to put up with this.” 

“No one should,” Obi-Wan agreed.  “But no one should be convicted on one person’s accusations either.” 

“You have witnesses now, Obi-Wan,” Carae reminded him.

“I know,” Obi-Wan replied.  “But these things take time.” 

The three friends went their separate ways, none satisfied with the current status, but unable to change it, at least for now. 

Carae smiled at Master Henla, as she arrived for her consultation.  This was her last week before her attempt to conceive.  If she was successful, she wouldn’t be engaging in full contact spars for almost a year and would need to modify her fitness regimen to accommodate her gestation, focusing on strategy, katas, keeping fit, but not engaging in either strenuous sparring, nor field work.  Her master was already planning out a research project and undergoing cross-training, so he could be in the Temple for the duration.  Master Henla looked over her current exercise regimen and began making suggestions, both for the coming weeks and if conception was successful.  Carae was young and healthy.  It was good to see the young people planning for the next generation instead of stumbling into conception unprepared. 

Quinlan was just finishing his warmup when Master Tholme entered the salle.  They did some katas together, side by side in front of the mirrors, then Tholme directed his apprentice to perform the one he had been working on most recently.  He was for the most part pleased with his student’s progress, made minor corrections to his form, then looked him over in the Force. 

“You’re troubled, Apprentice mine.” 

Quinlan released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and nodded toward Obi-Wan, who was diligently performing katas while waiting for his master to show up.  “The Chun Situation is still ongoing.” 

“Still?” Tholme glanced at Obi-Wan sharply.  “Hasn’t Jinn put a stop to that yet?” 

“No.”  Quinlan could not hide the distress in his voice.  “He’s letting Internal Security handle it.” 

Tholme looked back at his apprentice in surprise.  “He’s not going to intervene?” 

“No.  He’s not.  He doesn’t want Obi-Wan to fight back, and he’s not going to interfere.” 

Tholme looked flabbergasted.  “When did he lose his balls?” 

Quin snorted despite himself.  Master Tholme was not nearly as proper outside diplomatic circles as most people thought. 

“Seriously, if Xan were getting harassed, Jinn would have shut it down, even if that little shit deserved it.  That’s probably why he got as far as he did before he finally turned.  No one put him in his place when he was young.  If it was Feemor getting harassed, the jerk would be a dark smudge on the floor.” 

“Well, according to Obes he’s not going to do anything and was annoyed about getting questioned.”

Tholme frowned, looking over Obi-Wan again.  “Should I talk to him?  From what you told me nothing is the last thing he should be doing.”

“Yes,” Quinlan sounded relieved.  “But only if you think it will help.  He seems to expect Obi-Wan to handle this by himself.”

“He expects Kenobi to take on that jacked up jerk by himself?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Quinlan’s exasperation was clear in his tone. 

Tholme looked back at Obi-Wan who was still practicing alone.  “He looks pale, even a little thinner than usual.” 

“He eats less when he gets stressed,” Quinlan explained.  “Even when he was a kid.” 

“I’ll talk to Jinn,” Tholme promised his apprentice.  “This isn’t something he’s had to deal with before with either Feemor or Xanatos.  Still, I’m surprised even a Service Corps Jedi would be fool enough to harass Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan.” 

“He’s young, built and angry,” Quinlan growled. 

“Yes.  Internal Security said as much.”  He looked back at Quinlan.  “Alright now, let’s focus on our work.  The sooner we get done, the sooner I can tell Master Jinn he’s being an asshole.” 

Quinlan snorted as the master in question finally arrived in the salle.  “Thank you, Master.” 

* * *

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon Jinn stood in front of his apprentice, arms crossed.  Obi-Wan had just finished his current kata.  “I trust you’ve moved past this kata by now, since you were working on it last month.” 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan bowed his head.  “I was just keeping in practice.  This week I’m working on the Seventh Smoke and Flame kata.  I feel I mastered the Second Kata several weeks ago, but sometimes I get insights when I go back to earlier katas in the same series.”

“You performed it adequately,” Qui-Gon corrected.  “Mastery is beyond you.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Are you ready to spar?”

“Yes, Master.”  Obi-Wan moved to the ready position and waited for his master to make a move.  Qui-Gon gave him one more look-over.  Something seemed a bit off, but Obi-Wan indicated he was ready to begin. 

Without warning, Qui-Gon began the attack, their sabers clashing hard and fast.  He drove the young man across the practice ring and past it to the far wall, pinning his opponent’s weapon and arm to the wall as their sabers were on low power.  He always made a point to show his dominance whenever his padawan started to get cocky. 

Obi-Wan glanced at his trapped blade and his hand pinned by his own hilt, then used his thumb to switch off his own blade, freeing him to slide out of reach when his master stumbled, caught by surprise while he was pressing his weight into a saber-blade that was no longer there. 

Qui-Gon scowled as he whirled around to face his apprentice who had already reignited his weapon.  He generally didn’t touch Obi-Wan physically when sparring but today he might have to in order to make his point. 

He attacked again, the pair moving back into the ring.  Qui-Gon made broad, sweeping strikes designed to wear the young man out by forcing him to move and dance around him, the master’s much greater reach keeping him at bay.  Obi-Wan leapt out of the way, staying just out of range of his master’s weapon, occasionally striking but too small to pose any real danger.  Not that there was any danger with their blades powered low. 

Qui-Gon dashed forward, on the attack, but Obi-Wan took to the air, flipping over him and striking.  Qui-Gon easily blocked the blow, but Obi-Wan used the block to pivot, coming down in a slightly different place than his master had expected.  An elegant move, it wouldn’t have worked if Qui-Gon hadn’t been putting so much force (and Force) into his own moves. 

Resisting the urge to scowl, Qui-Gon struck out again, but his apprentice was particularly nimble today.  And annoying, though the wasn’t sure why exactly. 

Obi-Wan had returned to ground, so for now he gave up on putting his padawan in his place and focused on the sparring itself.  Clearly the boy was attentive and focused, but eventually his own talent would make the point for him.  They dashed back and forth several times before Qui-Gon got in under his defenses and disarmed him.  Obi-Wan nodded to concede, then went to retrieve his saber and returned, head low in submission for his critique. 

“You’re still dropping your guard on the left,” Qui-Gon told him.  “I thought we had eliminated that bad habit of yours by now.” 

“I am trying, Master.”

“There is no trying.  There is only not doing.”  He raised his saber again and lit it.  “Again.”

“Yes, Master.” 

They began again and Qui-Gon decided the spend the day exploiting this weak point if his apprentice was too stubborn to fix the problem.  Using his long arms to keep Obi-Wan too far away to effectively strike, he repeatedly disarmed the young man.  Moving little himself, he kept his apprentice on the run, dashing about to avoid his blade.  He was reminded of a mouse at the mercy of a cat.  It was little wonder Drallig didn’t want to invest time in Obi-Wan.  He was just too small to ever be a real threat. 

He ended up disarming him or pinning him to the wall several more times, each time feeling his annoyance levels rise, but still unsure why.  He regularly made a habit of repeatedly reminding his apprentice of his shortcomings in the salle without it affecting his mood, and he finally determined what was different today when he grit his teeth and pushed Obi-Wan bodily into the wall.  The petty annoyance he had been feeling flared up as his nose got a whiff of what the young man was usually better at covering up. 

He coughed into Obi-Wan’s face, then backed off, an outraged expression on his face. 

“Ugh, I thought I told you to use scent blockers in the salle.”

Obi-Wan looked both startled and mortified.  “I did, Master.  I applied block this morning, as I always do.”  He had blushed crimson.  “You can smell me?”

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, wiping his nose on his hand as if that would rid him of the unwanted sensation.  “Yes, Padawan,” he coldly replied.  “I can smell you quite well.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”  Obi-Wan hunched submissively, his back still against the wall.  “I don’t know why the smell is breaking through.  I used the same regimen I’ve been using for the past year to avoid offending you.” 

“Well, clearly you’ve done something different.”  Qui-Gon’s look of disgust was almost a sneer.  Once he had detected it, it was impossible to ignore. 

“Should I go shower again and change?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“No,” Qui-Gon growled.  “I’d rather you not waste even more of my time.  Let’s finish the lesson now.  Be sure you fix the problem for next time.” 

Obi-Wan nodded bleakly.  “I’ll try, Master, but I really don’t know what else I can do.” 

“I’ve told you before Obi-Wan.  If you expect to be a knight and a diplomat, you can’t walk around stinking like that.  Fix it or don’t.”

“Yes, Master.”  He struggled to maintain his composure.  “The healers did say gland reduction or removal was an option of last resort if the problem continued.” 

“If you’re not going to keep yourself clean, that is your next best option.  Back to the lesson.”  He raised his saber again, a bit more forcefully, indulging his annoyance now that he knew the source.  He and Obi-Wan had discussed his offensive stench several times, and they had tested a wide variety of deodorants, medications, topical treatments, and emptying his glands to mitigate the problem.  If Obi-Wan was not willing to put in the effort to maintain proper hygiene, having his glands cut out or cutting the nerves to them was the unfortunate, but inevitable solution if he wanted to continue on the path to knighthood.  Not that if would really matter in the long run.  Force knew that particular aroma wasn’t going to attract any lovers, so losing the glands could not be considered anything but beneficial. 

They engaged again, Qui-Gon putting a little more fire into his strikes, feeling justified by Obi-Wan’s disobedience or negligence.  Force only knew how he managed to keep any friends with that kind of scent. 

Obi-Wan did manage to get under his guard once or twice but was not able to decisively end a bout with victory.  The boy’s tunic sustained a few mild burns, and both of them had worked up a good sweat.  He could sense other’s eyes on him, his own alpha pheromones no doubt inviting in interested spectators, for all that he likely smelled committed to Feemor and their child (though that was likely not obvious yet and rarely dissuaded determined suitors anyway).  The thought of Feemor made him want to conclude the lesson for the day, go home and sniff every inch of his lover’s skin, trying to detect the baby.  Decision made, he stepped up his aggression and drove Obi-Wan across the ring.  The boy leapt over him, prolonging the inevitable, and he turned to face him, grudgingly admitting the boy’s technique was solid and clean. 

He had more difficulty than he thought he should circling around.  Apparently, Obi-Wan had clued in to his strategy of planning to pin him to the wall and was avoiding getting between them.  It took much longer than it should have, but he was finally able to get Obi-Wan in the right relative position, then attacked from up high, preventing Obi-Wan from escaping into the air, and he rained down harsh blows with his saber, striking hard enough that Obi-Wan stumbled each time.  He pushed him down and back, driving him inevitably toward the wall and the boy still resisted but he steadily pushed him closer and closer.  The boy tried to break away to the side just before his back hit the wall, but his master was having none of that.  He raised his blade and brought it down hard on the left where the fool was still dropping his guard and Obi-Wan winced as his weapon was once again pinned to the wall.  In a sudden show of aggression, Qui-Gon pushed him against the wall with his whole body, growling to show his dominance.  Obi-Wan cowered involuntarily as his master towered over him, his scent glands stimulated to express his submissiveness and when Qui-Gon took a breath to growl again, he got a mouthful of scent, and the true cause of his upset became very clear. 

He reared back, coughing, half-choking in shock. 

“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, concerned.

Qui-Gon shook his head to clear it, then glared down at his apprentice. 

“Is it my scent again?” Obi-Wan looked pale and mortified. 

“You lied to me.”  Qui-Gon’s voice was dangerously quiet. 

“Master?” 

There was a loud crack as Qui-Gon slapped his apprentice across the face.  Hard.  Jedi all across the salle halted their own bouts, turning to stare.

“You lied to me, Kenobi.”

“Master?”  Obi-Wan looked baffled, which only angered his master more. 

Qui-Gon hung his saber on his belt, then snatched Obi-Wan’s from his limp grip, also hooking it to his belt.  He then grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm, tugging him along as he stormed out of the salle.

“MASTER?” Obi-Wan yelped, pain and fear in his voice. 

Qui-Gon growled a warning.

“Where are we going?” Obi-Wan asked meekly as they reached the door, hoping his master would trust him to follow instead of dragging him like a disobedient child the whole way to wherever. 

“Shut up, you worthless slut!” Qui-Gon yelled as he dragged him out into the hall and out of the training complex. 

Quinlan stared after them, an anguished look on his face before he moved to follow.  Master Tholme’s hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. 

“Calm yourself, Quinlan.  I’ll go find out what’s wrong.” 

“He slapped him!” Quinlan’s voice quavered, the emotions in the room strong enough to stimulate his psychometric sense, even though he had been halfway across the room. 

“Go home and meditate.  I’ll call you when I know what’s happening.”

“Can you track them?” Quinlan asked, concerned his master might need his psychometry to find them.

“That’s a disturbance in the Force that even I can sense, Apprentice mine.  I’ll comm you, I promise.” 

“Yes, Master,” Quinlan agreed.  With a nod, Tholme hurried off after Jinn and Kenobi. 

“May the Force be with you, Obes.” 

* * *

Qui-Gon never let go of his padawan’s arm, not when he dragged him through the public halls, not when he pulled him into the lifts, not when he stalked down the moving walkways, and his apprentice scrambled to keep up with his much longer strides. 

He paused briefly when he entered the Healer’s Halls, checking the directory, then stalking down a flight of stairs before Obi-Wan could catch his breath.  He entered the non-emergency clinic, swung Obi-Wan around to shove him into a hard plastic chair with a scowl that clearly commanded the boy to stay there and shut up, then stomped to the front desk to register them.  After a heated conversation with the receptionist, he came back, gave his terrified apprentice a harsh glare, then sat beside him. 

“Master?” Obi-Wan ventured, his voice very quiet.  “I don’t understand why we’re here and I don’t know what you think I’m lying about.” 

“Shut up.”  Qui-Gon did not look at him, but his expression was one of disgust.  “We are here to establish your lie and you are here to make a decision.  Since you chose to lie to me, I suggest you stay silent rather than compound your transgressions.” 

“Master, I haven’t lied to you,” Obi-Wan almost whispered, the confusion in his tone evident. 

“The Force says you did,” Qui-Gon insisted.  “The Force doesn’t lie, Kenobi.  I warned you that lying to me could end your apprenticeship.” 

Still mystified, Obi-Wan chose to join his master in silence. 

After a small eternity, while Obi-Wan tried to calm his internal panic and his master tried to bore a hole in the far wall with his relentless gaze, and apprentice healer led them to an exam room and told them to wait.  Qui-Gon rooted himself in the chair, leaving Obi-Wan to stand awkwardly or sit on the healer’s stool.  He stood. 

After a few minutes a nurse came in to take Obi-Wan’s vitals and weigh him.  Qui-Gon pointedly ignored her as she took notes. 

“Your weight is down from your last exam.”  She gave Obi-Wan a concerned look, while his master made a scoffing sound.  She then checked Obi-Wan’s pulse and fitted the blood pressure cuff over his arm.  “Your pulse rate is fast, and your blood pressure is high.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak but Qui-Gon jumped in before he could answer. 

“He’s very nervous from being caught in a lie.”

The nurse raised an eyebrow.  “The anxiety is noted.”  She closed (and locked) the data chart, then turned to go.  “The healer will be here soon.”  She left them both in silence. 

Qui-Gon snatched up the data chart as soon as she was gone, but he could not break into it.  He tossed it on the exam bed in disgust. 

After another small eternity, the door opened again and the healer, a gruff, gray-haired man, came in with an air of annoyance.  He looked them both over carefully as he picked up the data chart, which he unlocked with his identity chip.  “And what brings Padawan Kenobi here today?” 

Obi-Wan looked to his master, hesitant to speak at all.

Qui-Gon glared back at him.  “Don’t waste this healer’s time any more than you have wasted mine, Kenobi.” 

Obi-Wan looked back at the healer.  “My master is convinced he had caught me in a lie, but I honestly don’t know what he thinks I’m lying about or how a visit to the Urgent Clinic will clear that up.” 

The healer looked back at Qui-Gon.  “Would you care to enlighten us, Master?”

“Jinn.”  He scowled at Obi-Wan again.  “Stop lying, Kenobi.  Confess.” 

It hadn’t seemed possible, but Obi-Wan looked even more confused.  “Master, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth.”

“That is the truth.” 

The healer was starting to look pissed.  “Master Jinn, let’s work under the assumption that this young man does not know what you are referring to.  Perhaps you could be so kind as to tell us both, so I can determine how to handle this?”  The healer’s demeanor was calm, but his tone indicated he was not going to put up with this nonsense much longer.

Qui-Gon scowled at his apprentice, arms crossed.  “Well then, perhaps I’ve been overestimating your self-awareness and Force abilities, even in this.”  He turned to the healer.  “As I am now aware of the situation, Kenobi is here to have his pregnancy confirmed and to determine if he still a candidate for an abortion.  He may want to choose that before he ships out to the Service Corps.” 

“What?”  The padawan’s tone and expression was one of complete and utter bafflement, and it was reflected in his Force presence as well.  The healer had rarely encountered such genuine confusion, which meant either the young man was deep in denial or was in fact unaware of his condition. 

Or his master was off his rocker.  That was still a possibility.  

“You heard me,” Qui-Gon roared.  “You lied to me, Kenobi.  I can smell it on you.  No wonder you started to stink through your blockers.” 

Obi-Wan looked flabbergasted.  “Master, I told you, I haven’t been with anyone.  I can’t be pregnant.” 

The healer scrolled through the chart, raising his eyebrows as he read more into Obi-Wan’s medical history.

“The Force doesn’t lie, Kenobi,” Qui-Gon hissed at his baffled apprentice. 

“Master, I’d have to have sex with someone in order to get pregnant.  And I have an implant.  It would tell me if I was pregnant, or even just ovulating.” 

“Your chart says you have an appointment tomorrow with Healer Drellen for implant maintenance.  Is your implant malfunctioning?” 

Qui-Gon grunted triumphantly. 

“I don’t know, the implant sent me a message to be tested and serviced.  It said there was a hormonal imbalance, but it certainly didn’t indicate pregnancy.” 

“Which hormone was out of balance?” the healer asked. 

“HCG?” Qui-Gon suggested with a sneer. 

“No,” Obi-Wan insisted.  “It said my cortisol was too high.” 

“That explains your blood pressure,” the healer commented.  He scrutinized Qui-Gon carefully.  “You said Padawan Kenobi ‘smelled pregnant.’  Did you feel an embryo or fetus in the Force?”

Qui-Gon scowled at the healer.  “I didn’t have to.  I know a beta like yourself would never understand, but as an alpha, I can actually smell the result of my padawan whoring himself out, even before he starts showing it off to the whole Temple.  So I would appreciate if you could document this unfortunate mistake on his part so I can move ahead with my report to the Discipline Committee.”

“Is pregnancy a crime now?” the healer asked, not looking amused. 

“Lying is the infraction.  Kenobi has known for a long time his getting pregnant would not be tolerated, so he lied to cover it up.  Or if he truly is so Force-blind and stupid as to not notice before I have, he will be disciplined for getting pregnant against his master’s orders.” 

“How old are you?” the healer asked Obi-Wan, though he knew full well from the chart in front of him. 

“Twenty-two,” Obi-Wan answered, barely over a whisper. 

“Ah, a full adult.  Wonderful.”  He turned back to Qui-Gon.  “You actually can’t forbid a legal adult from getting pregnant, nor choose whether or not they terminate if they are of sound mind and body.  Get the hell out of my exam room.” 

Qui-Gon sputtered, not used to fellow Jedi treating him with such disrespect.  “Come, Obi-Wan.  We’ll find another competent healer.”  He let his alpha pheromones loose in challenge. 

The healer twitched a finger, and the fan came on, but he did not release any scent challenge of his own, beta or otherwise.  “Padawan Kenobi is going to stay here so I can determine why his blood pressure is dangerously elevated, and in the course of my investigation I will determine if pregnancy is a contributing factor.  You can go out to the waiting room.  If I need to question you, I’ll be out later.”

Qui-Gon stood suddenly, ready to challenge this mere beta who clearly couldn’t smell the difference between a pregnant omega and bantha shit.  The healer did not back down. 

“Do I need to call Security to have you removed?” he asked, eyes cold. 

Qui-Gon glared at Obi-Wan, who was cowering against the wall, no doubt coming to realize the consequences of his lie.  “Get your tests, Obi-Wan.  The Disciplinary Council may go easier on you if you cooperate.” 

Growling, he stalked back to the waiting room and pulled out his comm, then began filling out the High Priority Discipline Forms for the most serious transgressions.  They hadn’t changed since Xanatos had turned. 

Chapter Text

The healer closed his eyes and breathed slowly as he released his anger while the scent of Master Jinn’s challenge had dissipated.  When he was calm and could no longer smell the alpha, he turned to his patient, extending his hand.

“Hello.  I’m Healer Gray.” 

Obi-Wan shook his hand, acknowledging the attempt to start over.  “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

Healer Gray nodded.  “As we have already established, you are an adult.  Please understand that nothing you tell me in confidence will be shared with your master, but I will have to speak to him about your medical status.” 

Obi-Wan nodded.  “I understand.”

“Now, with that out of the way, I do need to ask you some diagnostic questions to figure out what is wrong.  If you answer me honestly, I can determine that more quickly.”

“Is something wrong?” Obi-Wan asked.  “Master Jinn has been put off by my scent since my presentation, but he’s never accused me of being pregnant before.”

“Your blood pressure is very high, and if your implant is directing you to come in due to high cortisol, there is something going wrong, with either it or you.  Or both, since it’s supposed to regulate your hormones.”  He gave Obi-Wan a pointed look.  “Now, I’m going to ask you questions and I expect the truth, not what you think I want to hear.  Have you had sexual intercourse with another person in the past two months?” 

“No.” 

“In the past ten months?”

“No.” 

“When was your last menses and your last heat?”

“My last menses was eight weeks ago.  My last heat was six months ago.  The implant has not noted any spontaneous ovulation since it was put in a little over a year ago.  I didn’t need a heat that soon, but Healer Drellen wanted to make sure the implant could induce a heat.  She programmed it to record data throughout that time.” 

Gray made several notes as Obi-Wan had already answered several questions on the check list.  “Have you been drugged, knocked unconscious, lost time or been subject to involuntary medical procedures in the last nine months?”

Obi-Wan paused, considering the question carefully.  “No.”

“Have you been sexually assaulted in the past ten months?” 

Obi-Wan sighed.  “I’ve been groped and scent-marked by an aggressive alpha, but there was no sexual contact.” 

“Did you file charges?” 

“I made complaints with Internal Security.”

“Was this resolved?”

“Not yet.”  It was clear from his expression that Obi-Wan didn’t understand why the healer was asking him about it in such detail. 

“Your charts indicate you have no sexual partners.  Is this still accurate?” 

“Yes.”  Obi-Wan looked as if he didn’t expect the healer to believe him.  “That is the truth.” 

“Healer Drellen noted in your file that she suspects you may have vaginismus, but she hasn’t directly observed it.” 

“Yes, we’ve discussed it.”

“While many patients with that condition do have difficulty with intimate relationships, some do engage in sexual acts other than vaginal penetration.  Have you done anything in the past few months where someone might have ejaculated close to your vagina?” 

“No,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “I would have considered that sexual activity when you asked me before.” 

“Do you engage in auto-insemination?” 

“In what?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Do you put your own semen into your vagina?” the healer clarified.  “Intentionally or by accident?” 

“I don’t think so,” Obi-Wan seemed confused why anyone would.  “I thought hermaphroditic humans couldn’t get themselves pregnant.” 

“It’s very, very rare, and all children taken in by the Jedi are screened for the genetic anomalies that can lead to that prior to becoming initiates, so you’re in the clear for that.  It’s not something one would want to discover by accident.  what is more common, but still rare is for self-fertilization to result in a type of molar pregnancy, where a tumor grows instead of an embryo.” 

“I can’t say I’ve taken pains to avoid it, but I haven’t tried to do that.”  He frowned.  “If I did by accident, does that mean I could have cancer?” 

“Molar pregnancies do form tumors, but don’t turn malignant in the early stages.  If your implant hasn’t detected a pregnancy, it’s either not what is happening here, or we have caught it very early.”

“What else could it be?” Obi-Wan asked.  “I really don’t think I’ve inseminated myself, even accidentally.” 

“There are types of cancer that can have odd hormonal effects, but there are other, more easily treated conditions that are more common.  Let’s run some tests and see what else is going on with your hormones.”  He picked up the blood pressure cuff, and tested Obi-Wan again, then frowned at the readings.  “Your blood pressure hasn’t gone down.”  He left the cuff on, setting it to take readings at set intervals.  “Nurse Leda will be in to take some blood and collect a urine sample.  I want you to try to calm yourself down to see if your blood pressure comes down or if we need to intervene.  Stay here, meditate if you can.  I’ll be back with your test results.”  He leaned over and breathed deeply in the space between Obi-Wan’s shoulder and neck.  “I have a preliminary diagnosis, but I won’t know for sure until I get your test results back.” 

“Do you think I’m pregnant?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Do you think you are?” 

“No.” 

“Are you afraid of pregnancy?”

“No.  My master has told me I’m not talented enough to achieve knighthood if I fall behind due to a pregnancy.  I didn’t want to get pregnant, which factored into my decision to get the implant to control my cycles.” 

“If you have told me the truth, then no, I don’t think you are pregnant,” the healer conceded.  “But I’m going to know more after I review the status report and log from your implant.” 

“Do we have to wait for my appointment tomorrow to retrieve that?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I already downloaded it,” Healer Gray held up the data chart.  “Breathe, calm down, meditate if you can.  I’ll be back soon.” 

“Yes, Healer Gray.”  After the healer left, Obi-Wan frowned at the closed door for a long moment before he tried to release his anxiety again. 

Gray went to the Nurse’s Station.  Leda looked up at him, expectantly. 

“Pregnancy test in Room Six?”  She hadn’t known what the issue was before she had taken Obi-Wan’s vitals, but his master’s rant from the waiting room had gotten a bit loud. 

“Yes, a urine pregnancy test and two vials of blood.  I want a full hormone analysis.  Also have Padawan Kenobi change into a gown so we can do a pelvic scan.” 

Leda rolled her eyes.  “Do we have to convince him he’s pregnant?” 

“No,” Gray told her.  “We’re going to have to convince his master he’s not.” 

“Oh.”  It was clear Leda realized this challenge would be much greater.

“Page me when his results are back or if his blood pressure goes higher.” 

“Yes, Healer Gray.”  She scurried off, the situation suddenly urgent again.

* * *

“Qui-Gon?”

Master Jinn turned from where he was engaged in a heated conversation with Master Tholme (at least heated on his end, Tholme was letting him rant) at the sound of his mate calling his name.

“Feemor, you didn’t have to come down here.”

“Clearly, we did,” Master Dooku commented as he came in behind his grandpadawan.  “What the hell is going on?” 

Qui-Gon forced himself to breathe slowly and calm his irritation.  If Master Dooku was swearing, there was a good chance he had stepped too far out of line.

“Yes,” Feemor agreed.  “We were having tea when I got your message about taking Obi-Wan to the healers, and then the Disciplinary Forms came through.” 

Tholme’s eyes blazed in anger, already having some idea of what was happening.  “Are you serious?” 

“Of course, I’m serious,” Qui-Gon replied dismissively.  With a padawan like Vos, he couldn’t expect Tholme to understand discipline. 

He turned back to his former master and his former padawan.  “I’ve caught Obi-Wan in a gravely serious lie.  His apprenticeship is over.  The Discipline Hearing is just a formality now.” 

Feemor looked less than satisfied with this answer.  “What did he lie about?”  Master Dooku’s face was unreadable. 

Qui-Gon looked at Feemor.  “Obi-Wan lied when I questioned him about his sexual escapades at the Training Center.  He claimed he had not engaged in any sexual activity while he was there, much less offering himself up like a whore as the gossips claimed.  Well, now I have proof he can’t lie his way out of.  Through accident or design, he’s managed to get pregnant.  Even if he hadn’t lied, I was very clear his apprenticeship could not continue if that happened.”

Tholme, Feemor and Dooku looked back and forth between each other, their expressions ranging from angry to incredulous. 

“He knew the consequences if he didn’t toe the line,” Qui-Gon reiterated. 

Yan Dooku closed his eyes a moment, looking pained.  “Is it possible,” he asked quietly, “that Obi-Wan was raped and never reported it?” 

Qui-Gon looked flabbergasted.  “Why in the Force would you think he could have been raped?”  He scrutinized them, suspicious.  “And how did you know about the Disciplinary Forms?” 

Dooku and Feemor shared a look.  Even Tholme found this odd. 

Feemor sighed.  “I was having tea with Master Dooku and Master Trilla, the co-head of the Discipline Committee.  We were trying to find out if other Jedi had made allegations against Obi-Wan’s harasser, and what actions had been taken against him.” 

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “I told you I didn’t want to interfere with the will of the Force.”

Tholme gave Qui-Gon a disgusted look before addressing Feemor and Yan.  “I take it you were investigating Bruck Chun?” 

“Yes,” Dooku seemed surprised he knew about it.  “How did you become aware of the situation?” 

“My padawan, Quinlan, is a good friend and neighbor of Obi-Wan and has discussed this with me.  The young alphas on his floor want to run Chun off, but have been hesitant to resort to aggression.”  He frowned.  “Does Chun have a history of rape allegations?” 

“None that have stuck,” Dooku explained.  “But according to Trilla, he’s a nasty piece of work that Internal Security has been trying to develop a case against for some time.  Several Jedi have made a variety of complaints against him, alleging violence, stalking, lewdness, sexually charged threats, but thus far he has fallen short of an outright rape allegation, at least one with evidence.  There have also been allegations of drugging his harassment victims or trying to coerce them to engage in intercourse.”

Feemor crossed his arms and glared at his lover.  “Do you understand now, this is beyond Obi-Wan’s ability to resolve?” 

“If the charges have never stuck, that makes me more inclined to believe he’s an obnoxious jerk, not a rapist.” 

“This goes beyond obnoxious, Qui-Gon,” Feemor was calm, but clearly upset.  “I think the abuse has turned physical.  Obi-Wan’s hiding bruises on his wrists.” 

“I’ve never seen any bruises.” 

“You checked his shoulders, not his wrists.” 

“I didn’t sense anything in the Force.”

Before Feemor could open his mouth to argue that he would have to pay attention to his padawan before he could be expected to notice anything amiss, another voice joined the group. 

“Padawan Kenobi does have healing contusions on his wrists, his hips and along his left side.”  Everyone turned their attention to Healer Gray, who had silently joined them.  “He also has fresh contusions on his left arm, as if he had been dragged somewhere against his will.  Master Jinn, as you were the one who arrived with him, Internal Security wants to question you.” 

Qui-Gon scowled. 

“Is Obi-Wan alright?” Feemor asked. 

“Padawan Kenobi has been sedated,” Healer Gray told him.  “I’m afraid we must keep him in isolation for several days.” 

“For an abortion?” Qui-Gon asked, confused.  He had been under the impression that was generally an outpatient procedure. 

Gray raised an eyebrow.  “No.”

“For the investigation?” Dooku ventured. 

“No, but there is a Temple Guard stationed outside his room for that purpose.” 

“Why did you have to sedate him?” Feemor asked. 

“Who are you?” Gray countered.

Feemor looked frustrated a moment before he realized the healer had an obligation to protect Obi-Wan’s privacy. 

“I’m Feemor, Obi-Wan’s lineage brother.  You probably shouldn’t be talking with me, but I’m very concerned.” 

“Actually, Obi-Wan gave permission to speak with you in light of his master’s . . . strong opinions, though he referred to you as his master’s partner.  He was under the impression Master Jinn would have left by now, and I might have to comm his quarters.”  He turned to Master Dooku.  “Who are you?” 

Dooku stood up straight.  “I’m Padawan Kenobi’s grandmaster, but I would like to be informed of his condition because Master Trilla has asked me to become involved in the investigation.” 

“Has that been certified?” 

Dooku tapped a few buttons on his comm, then held it out so Grey could read the screen.  He nodded.  “Alright, let’s go to the consultation room and I can discuss Padawan Kenobi’s condition.”  He led the way. 

Tholme bit back a sigh and prepared to wait, hoping Feemor or Dooku would give him some idea of what was going on for Quinlan’s sake.  He had been very concerned when he had started following Jinn and Kenobi, but nothing he had found out was anything he felt he could share without Obi-Wan’s permission. 

“You too, Tholme.” 

He looked up to see Gray holding the door open, waiting for him.  He raised his eyebrows. 

“The patient saw you tracking them and asked me to inform you if you were still here, so you could discreetly tell his friends what was happening.”  He glanced at Master Jinn and Tholme nodded.  It would not end well if the padawans asked Jinn directly.  Tholme hurried inside.  When all of the masters were seated, Gray joined them, sitting next to Tholme. 

“Was Obi-Wan raped?”  Feemor spoke up as soon as the door was closed.  “Are we allowed to ask that?” 

“Padawan Kenobi has been physically assaulted, groped, and scent-marked, but not raped.”

Dooku, Tholme and Feemor looked relieved, but Jinn seemed even more irate. 

“So, the sex was consensual when he got himself pregnant?” 

Dooku took a calming breath, then lay a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.  “Is Padawan Kenobi pregnant?” he asked, still willing Qui-Gon to calm down. 

“No,” Grey told him.  “He is not.” 

Qui-Gon struggled for control.  “I smelled it on him!”

“You smelled pheromones, but I assure you, he’s not pregnant.” 

“Why the hell should we believe you?” Qui-Gon argued.  “He’s my apprentice.  I  know he is an adult, but you aren’t allowed to lie to me about his medical status, even if you are too noseblind to smell it.” 

Healer Gray raised an eyebrow, then turned to Feemor, his nostrils flaring as he made a point of scenting him, while Qui-Gon reined in his instincts to leap across the table to throttle him. 

“Congratulations.  It’s been what, five, six weeks since your heat?” 

Qui-Gon blinked in shock.  Dooku looked elated. 

“Um, yes, thank you,” Feemor confirmed.  “Master Jinn hasn’t been able to smell that yet.” 

“Oh, I think he can on a subconscious level.  He just isn’t as experienced as I am.  Is he usually this irrational and hostile to his padawan?” 

“He is usually cool to Obi-Wan,” Tholme explained.  “Not this hot anger.” 

“And he gets irrational pre-rut,” Dooku chimed in, rolling his eyes. 

“Hmm, that does put the final pieces into place,” Gray nodded.  “I trust you are now satisfied that I have a functional nose and with my advanced medical training that I might actually have some idea of what I’m talking about?” 

Qui-Gon scowled.  “Perhaps.” 

“Good.”  Gray tapped a button and a screen lit up behind him.  “Master Jinn, if you’ll direct your attention to the main screen, I’ll go over the test results.  Firstly,” he tapped a key, and an image came up.  “This is Padawan Kenobi’s latest pelvic scan from about twenty minutes ago.” 

The masters scrutinized the image. 

“What exactly is wrong with that baby?” Master Jinn asked at last.  “Is it deformed or just very small?”  It had been decades since he had looked at fetal scans, but they hadn’t looked like this. 

“It’s not deformed or underdeveloped,” Healer Gray explained.  “It’s non-existent.   You’re looking at Padawan Kenobi’s intestines.  His uterus is small and is not harboring an embryo.  It most likely never has, or it would be larger.” 

Feemor and Dooku looked puzzled.  Tholme glared at Qui-Gon. 

“I know what I smelled.”  Qui-Gon’s scent rose again as he challenged the healer. 

Unperturbed, the healer advanced to the next image, showing a bar graph.  “I know what you smelled.  We’re getting there.  These are the results of Padawan Kenobi’s hormonal screening.  Obi-Wan’s levels are the black bars.  The gray shows the normal range for each test and the red shows the range for early pregnancy.” 

The masters looked over the graph.  While some of the values were well within the normal range, others were not.  Clearly something was wrong. 

“You’ll note that HCG is entirely absent, which was consistent with his urine test, which rules out normal pregnancy, a molar pregnancy or an ectopic pregnancy.” 

Qui-Gon glared at the graph, trying not to say anything that would sound foolish.  He didn’t know what game this healer was playing at. 

“What is causing the smell then?” Feemor asked, apparently not doubting Qui-Gon’s nose.  “Why are the hormone levels off?” 

“Isn’t his implant supposed to fix that sort of thing?” Qui-Gon asked testily.  “Did he hack his implant so he could get pregnant?” 

“No,” the healer explained.  “I was able to download his implant’s data record and look at some of his hormone levels over time.  Obi-Wan’s baseline cortisol levels have been steadily increasing for the past few months, which is consistent with the timeline for his harassment by the persistent alpha.  Initially he was handling the stress levels well, all things considered, but in the past four weeks, the alpha has been escalating his behavior, and the cortisol has been rising to dangerous levels.  This was likely the initial cause for Kenobi’s hypertension, which additional factors have exacerbated, to the point where we had to sedate him and try to lower his blood pressure with medication before he has a heart attack or stroke.” 

“What are the additional factors?” Dooku asked, sounding as if he had his suspicions. 

“The largest contributing factor in my opinion is his unsupportive master.  Internal Security has told me that Master Jinn has been uninterested, uninvolved, and uncooperative with their investigations, even though they have approached him multiple times.  They couldn’t determine if he was oblivious or intentionally neglectful, but in light of the fresh contusions, he’s now considered an additional suspect.” 

Qui-Gon growled in outrage.  Dooku’s arm on his shoulder gripped him tightly and he stayed seated, decades of being willingly subordinate to his master keeping him in his chair. 

“You deserved that, Padawan,” Dooku warned him.  Feemor glared at Qui-Gon in obvious agreement. 

“They also want to talk to you for a witness statement,” Gray told Tholme. 

“The second contributing factor,” Gray continued.  “Is that Padawan Kenobi believes he is powerless to defend himself, not allowed to fight back, and forced to flee, to constantly be on guard, and if he is caught by his stalker, he is forced to put up with molestation and abuse until he escapes or is released.  Again, this has contributed not only to stress hormone and adrenaline spikes, but the chronic increase in baseline levels of both hormones.” 

Feemor, Dooku and Tholme all glared at Qui-Gon significantly. 

“Feeling chronically hunted and trapped with no defense likely pushed his stress levels into the harmful range, but then there was an event last week which his implant indicates put him in the danger zone.” 

“Wait,” Feemor leaned forward.  “Obi-Wan has had elevated blood pressure since last week?” 

“Probably,” the healer explained.  “His implant doesn’t measure blood pressure, but his cortisol levels spiked and have been in the danger zone for several days.  The implant sent him a warning message and he had scheduled an appointment with Healer Drellen to address it tomorrow.  He has also had headaches for the past week, which is consistent with hypertension.” 

Feemor kicked Qui-Gon under the table.  Hard. 

“What was the event?” Tholme asked, though from his discussion with Quinlan, he had a pretty good idea. 

“The alpha in question went into rut and attacked him physically.  It was at that point that his other hormones began to change, including this one, this one and this one right here.”  The healer indicated several elevated hormones with various acronyms Feemor was familiar with, but the others were less so.  “It’s this one spiking that is of the most interest to us, firstly because it is the one responsible for producing most of the characteristic pregnancy scent that becomes apparent at five to eight weeks post-fertilization, but also because of this hormonal profile, where it is high, but without accompanying spikes in HCG and other pregnancy hormones here and here.  Coupled with our total lack of embryo and no ovulations detected by the implant, this is a clear case of PCBP.  Pseudocyesis by proxy.” 

The masters were quiet, digesting this news. 

“False pregnancy . . . by proxy?” Tholme asked after a moment. 

“The name is not wholly accurate, but yes.  Pseudocyesis, or false pregnancy, is a physiological condition that usually has a psychological issue behind it.  The patient in question either greatly desires a pregnancy or is conflicted about it.  I’ve spoken with Padawan Kenobi, and he is very level-headed and honest about his feelings and goals in regards to reproduction.  He does not believe he is pregnant, and he is aware that his implant would prevent that if he were making efforts in that direction.  He does not have the key symptom of pseudocyesis.”  Gray gave Qui-Gon a pointed look.  “Master Jinn does.  Padawan Kenobi does have a very slight odor associated with pregnancy because his body is trying to convince a hostile alpha he has already been bred and to leave him alone, quite involuntarily I might add.  Hence, the poorly named pseudocyesis by proxy.” 

Qui-Gon looked confused.  “Why would convincing me he was pregnant lower his stress levels?”

Dooku rolled his eyes.  Feemor glared at him.  Tholme looked pained. 

“You are not the target alpha,” Gray explained patiently.  “You just smelled him first at the start of the process, probably because you are sensitized to it from your contact with your pregnant partner.  It would be more noticeable in a day or two, even with the ridiculous amount of scent blocker he’s been using, assuming he didn’t stroke out first.” 

“Why does he have high blood pressure?” Feemor asked.  “Does he have, um, pseudo pre-eclampsia?” 

“Hmm, not exactly,” Healer Gray explained.  “Though researchers are looking into cases of hypertension in pseudocyesis conditions because some varieties are prone to the increased blood pressure and others are not.  Slight to moderate hypertension occurs in the by proxy presentations, as these are typically brought on by stress.  What really makes Padawan Kenobi’s case of interest to us is his reproductive implant.  While he chose to have it put in to regulate his cycles and arrange the timing of his heats and menses around his fieldwork,” he gave Master Jinn a pointed glare.  “Like most forms of hormone-regulating birth control, it also suppresses ovulation by blocking and overriding the natural signaling.  These implants work remarkably well, but there is a rare complication we do see with them.” 

Dooku leaned forward in his chair, very interested.  “What complication?” 

Gray gave him a nod.  “There are certain illegal street drugs that are designed to induce an ovulation with or without a heat.  When they are introduced into someone with a regulating implant, the implant compensates to prevent the ovulation.  This can result in a positive feedback loop and high blood pressure can be a side effect.  When this is coupled with the type of stress that can induce PCBP, strokes and heart attacks become a very real danger.” 

Dooku glared at his former padawan before soundly smacking him in the back of the head.  “One of the reasons rape charges did not stick to this Chun asshole is one of his accusers had a stroke and was no longer a reliable witness.” 

Qui-Gon winced, but wisely held his tongue.  Feemor looked horrified, as Master Trilla had not shared the other case histories with him in such detail. 

“Unfortunately,” the healer continued.  “Such drugs can be impossible to detect directly as the dosage required is small and by the time the effect is observed days later, it has already left the victim’s system.  Very often they don’t realize they’ve been drugged because it can be administered topically and it’s harmless to anyone without ovaries as they lack the target receptors.  It’s usually not toxic to people on pill-based or passive hormone delivery implants, beyond the unwanted ovulation and unwanted pregnancy, but in those with interactive implants, the extreme hypertension can make it very dangerous.  They are working on addressing this in the next model.  When they fix the problem, Padawan Kenobi should be able to get a minimally invasive upgrade to avoid this happening again.” 

“Minimally invasive?” Tholme asked, wincing. 

“For most patients it will probably be a software upgrade to alert them to the drug’s effects and stop the feedback loop.  They may have to undergo the ovulation to clear their system, but hopefully can avoid the hypertension.” 

“Let’s hope so,” Feemor tried not to shudder at the thought of alphas so domineering and entitled that they forced ovulation in omegas that dared to reject them. 

“How are you treating Padawan Kenobi to stop the process?” Tholme asked. 

“As I said, we have him sedated and we have a non-human healer with him, monitoring him for clots or brain bleeds since we can’t observe his behavior.  In light of both the hypertension the diagnosis of a pheromone-sensitive stress condition, we are going to have to isolate him from all pheromones so his body can detox and rest.”

“How long will that take?” Dooku asked.  “Does he need to remain sedated for the duration?”

“The hypertension is the primary reason for the sedation, but it will help him with the hormonal reset by letting his body devote more energy to healing.  We expect he will remain sedated for two to three days, and after we wake him, he will need to remain in pheromone-free isolation for up to a week, possibly longer, depending on how quickly his body responds.  This means he has to stay in the isolation ward and can only be tended to by droids and scent-nulls.” 

“Sentinels?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Healer Gray kept his expression neutral, but it was an effort.  “Scent.  Nulls.  Persons without a designation scent, either naturally or artificially.  This is why he’s being monitored by a Nautolan healer at the moment.  Even near-humans and pets can have similar enough pheromones to interfere with detox.  Unfortunately, this also means that none of you can visit him until he is cleared to begin reintroducing pheromones in a low stress environment, starting with non-ovulating betas.” 

“Would stealth masking be sufficient to allow visitors?” Tholme asked.  “My padawan is one of his close friends, but he’s an alpha.” 

“No, not for the first phase of treatment, but we can consider that after he wakes up.  Assuming your padawan passes inspection,” Gray nodded.  “If he has friends who are neither human nor near-human, they might also be able to visit then, depending on how his condition improves.”  He glanced at Feemor and Master Jinn.  “I’m afraid neither of you can visit him in person until he has settled at home for a few days.” 

Feemor sighed.  “Because of the pregnancy?” 

“In your case, yes.  He is hypersensitive to pheromones right now, and we don’t want it to trigger another bout of PCBP.  Smelling pheromones from people who really are pregnant or who are ovulating can trigger a relapse in the recovery period.”  He turned to Master Jinn.  “You need to stay away because you are an alpha who has been hostile to him.  It’s not just your designation pheromones that can trigger a stress response right now, your personal scent can too.  Not that this should be a problem because I suspect Internal Security is going to be keeping you busy for the foreseeable future.  Of course, the most important issue is keeping Padawan Kenobi separated from the hostile alpha who has been harassing him.  As of now I’m not going to release him from this facility until this matter is resolved and I can be assured that asshole no longer has access to him.  I trust you all now understand the importance of cooperating with Internal Security?” 

Gray’s cold glare raised Qui-Gon’s hackles, his alpha instincts itching to challenge this uppity beta, but his master and his own better judgement kept him in check. 

“Yes,” he said at last, but he did not look away, refusing even that small sign of submission. 

“Good.  See that you do.” 

Gray glared at the lot of them to drive the point home.  Dooku nodded.  Tholme met Feemor’s worried gaze.  Qui-Gon, unsurprisingly, looked stubborn. 

“Are there any questions for me now that I’ve explained Padawan Kenobi’s condition?” 

“Can Padawan Kenobi get pregnant in the future, or will this make that dangerous?” Feemor asked. 

“At the moment it would be dangerous between the hypertension and the hormonal flux,” Gray conceded.  “Also, his weight is much too low for what would be considered healthy for pregnancy.  Frankly, I’m amazed he can manage to have heats at all, and his low percentage of body fat probably contributed to his late presentation.  When he wakes up, I want him to consult with the physiologists and the dieticians.  I know the Ataru duelists often prefer to keep their weight down for the aerials, but he’s twenty-two now.  He should be at least twenty to thirty pounds heavier than he is, given that he’s a field knight and an omega.  He needs a larger reserve of body fat to produce essential hormones, and he should also be putting on more muscle.  He has the Force to help him if he needs a boost on his aerials, but the advantages of lower body weight no longer apply at his age.  He’s not going to get taller.  He needs to fill out.” 

Dooku kicked Qui-Gon under the table this time. 

“Is he anorexic?” Tholme asked, concerned. 

“Not the way I think you mean,” Gray shrugged.  “Anorexia is loss of appetite.  He said he feels less hungry when he is stressed, and he had been under severe stress for some time.  Anorexia nervosa is when patients intentionally restrict their food intake for more complex psychological reasons than simple anxiety.  He’s not starving himself; he is just following a diet that no longer serves his needs and that would be true for his age even if he was a beta, which was the belief when the diet was set.” 

Tholme nodded, relieved.  At least that was one problem Obi-Wan did not have. “He sometimes restricts his carbohydrate intake.  I was concerned.” 

“Yes, that’s consistent with the diet he was on.  Don’t worry about that, we’ll be giving him plenty of carbs while he’s here.  Protein too.  Healthy fats.”  He looked back at Feemor.  “To fully answer your question, he shouldn’t try to conceive for at least four months, and he has to have at least one heat and menses to reset his system, but no, this shouldn’t affect his fertility and research suggests he is not at higher risk for pre-ecclampsia if he does get pregnant.  For pseudocyesis there is a risk of reoccurrence, but for the by proxy forms this is generally not the case if the patient’s issues with the target alpha are resolved.  If they remain in close proximity, many problems, both social and medical, can result, so I am reporting this to the Reassignment Council as well.” 

“That’s already in the works,” Dooku reported. 

“Good.”

“Do you have any questions, Master Jinn?” 

Qui-Gon grimaced, trying not to reveal the turbulent emotions roiling behind the Jedi mask he had let slip far too much already.  “Not right now.” 

“We can talk more later if need be.  In the meantime, there are several Internal Security officers who are waiting to speak to you.  I’d advise you to go visit the Alpha Clinic downstairs before you do.  I suspect the protective state you’ve worked yourself into over your mate’s pregnancy has cast your padawan’s role in your mind as a rival instead of a pack member, and you may need some assistance with your hormone levels.  While you are still responsible for your behavior, the pheromones of early pregnancy can be quite potent, and can affect judgement and inhibitions like a strong rut.  You might want to cleanse your mind and calm down before your interrogation.” 

“That is a very good idea,” Dooku agreed before Qui-Gon even opened his mouth.  A pointed glance from Feemor stopped any further attempt at protest. 

“Yes.  Thank you,” Qui-Gon meekly replied. 

“Did Padawan Kenobi tell you what he wanted me to communicate to his friends, specifically?” Tholme asked, concerned about how much detail to share. 

“He said I could tell you what was happening but trusted you would be discreet, and let them know about the duration of his stay and the restrictions on visitors.  He didn’t want his friends to think the hostile alpha had beaten him and get themselves in trouble by retaliating.  Apparently, there were volunteers.” 

Tholme nodded.  “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Feemor told him, relieved.  He had only met Quinlan himself, and wasn’t even sure where Obi-Wan lived, much less who his friends were. 

Gray gave them all one more look, inviting them to ask questions.  “If there is nothing further, I have patients to see.  I expect Padawan Kenobi to remain sedated until the end of the week, but he will have access to text-based messages after he wakes up if you want to communicate.  In the meantime, I’ll draft up my report for the Discipline Committee.”  He glared at Qui-Gon.  “Clearly I have no evidence of Padawan Kenobi lying, and I trust that will not longer be necessary.” 

“It will not,” Dooku assured him.

“You should all speak with Internal Security before you leave so you don’t compromise the investigation.”  Without another word, he stood up, nodded at Tholme, then left.

As soon as the door shut behind the healer, Dooku let go of Qui-Gon and put his head in his hands, sighing deeply in disappointment.  “This is bad,” he admitted. 

Feemor sat back in his chair, trying to find his calm.

“You really believe that beta’s word over my nose?” Qui-Gon asked, feeling as an alpha his master should understand. 

“Yes,” Dooku growled.  “I’ve read the case files on this Chun creep, and I very much do believe he is horrid enough to drive an omega to a false pregnancy to escape his advances.” 

“Healer Gray isn’t a beta,” Tholme gave Qui-Gon an annoyed look, well-used to alphas assuming their designation justified dismissing others. 

“He’s not?”  Even Feemor looked stunned. 

“No, he’s not,” Tholme rolled his eyes.  “He’s a scent-null alpha.  He sometimes goes on covert operations as medical support because he has no detectable designation scent.  But he’s definitely an alpha and has an alpha’s nose.  That’s why he wasn’t even remotely impressed by your scent challenge.”

Dooku released an undignified snort of amusement. 

“That’s really a thing?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“Yes, that’s really a thing.”  Feemor rolled his eyes.  “I thought Obi-Wan was a scent-null until I caught the scent of his blockers.” 

“I did too,” Tholme admitted.  “He could probably qualify for covert work, even without medical intervention.” 

“Why doesn’t that healer have a scent?  Doesn’t that just make him a beta?” 

Dooku gave Qui-Gon an incredulous look.  “And you think I am old and behind the times.” 

“Having no scent just means you have no scent,” Feemor explained.  “Most people assume low scent or scent-null people are betas because on average betas have weaker scents, but that’s a bad assumption.  Alphas, betas and omegas can all be scent-nulls.  Sometimes their scent glands don’t develop properly, or they are missing the signal to produce scent.  Sometimes the glands were removed because of cancer or infections.  Sometimes their scent is just very weak and it’s easier to block it than to enhance it.” 

“How do you know all this?” Qui-Gon asked.  They certainly hadn’t covered this in health class when he was a padawan. 

“I read,” Feemor explained.  “And it’s more obvious in the Outer Rim where cosmetic pheromones are harder to get.”  He shrugged.  “I also used to be involved with a low scent alpha.  I could still smell him, but many of the betas couldn’t.”

Qui-Gon blinked at him, stunned.  “That must have made your heats difficult.”

Feemor cut his eyes at his lover.  “Oh, it was truly terrible.  I rode him like an animal for an extra twelve hours until his scent built up enough to cool my heat.  What he lacked in scent glands he more than made up for in technique.” 

Both Tholme and Dooku snickered. 

“Come, Padawan,” Dooku stood up and glanced down at Qui-Gon.  “We had best get you down to the Alpha Clinic before you make any more bad decisions today.”  He gave Feemor a stern glance.  “And you, Grandpadawan, should go home and rest.  I’ll deal with Master Trilla and the various committees.”  He looked back at Qui-Gon, an eyebrow raised.  “I trust we can cancel the disciplinary paperwork?” 

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon replied meekly.  It had been decades since his master had been this visibly upset at him, and that had been more jarring than anything else in this wretched meeting. 

“Good.” 

“I’m going to stop in at reception to leave contact codes and get more information about when Obi-Wan can have visitors,” Tholme reported.  “I know Quinlan will be asking me that as soon as I comm him.”

“I’ll come with you.”  Feemor stood up and followed him to the door.  “I know I can’t visit, but I don’t want Obi-Wan to think we don’t care about him,” he said as they exited. 

Qui-Gon stood up reluctantly. 

Dooku looked him in the eye.  “You really fucked up this time and I’m disappointed in you.” 

“I really didn’t think it was that serious,” Qui-Gon winced as they began walking toward the lifts.  

“No, you didn’t care enough to check if it was serious, Padawan.  Yes, there were plenty of alpha spats that I let you handle by yourself when you were young.  That didn’t mean I didn’t check in on them and make sure they didn’t get out of hand.  And you were an alpha and big enough that I could be confident no one was going to try to rape you, especially in the Temple.  You were smart enough to monitor all the nonsense Xanatos got himself into.  Obi-Wan is an omega, and even smaller than Feemor was.  What the hell were you thinking leaving him to fend for himself?” 

“He’s twenty-two years old.  He’s an adult.”  It still sounded very reasonable to Qui-Gon. 

Dooku glared at him again, then cuffed him in the head.  “You don’t have to like him, but you are still responsible for him.  You have not lived up to your duties as a Jedi, much less as a master and I am ashamed of you.”  They reached the clinic door.  “Now, get in there so you can start thinking with your brains instead of your balls.” 

Qui-Gon could feel himself cowering in his robes. 

“Yes, Master.” 

* * *

“Quinlan?” Master Tholme stepped into his own quarters, calling for his apprentice.  Though the young Kiffar had moved out by choice when he was nineteen years old, these rooms had been home to him for years and were still a comforting place for difficult conversations.  “Are you here?”

“Yes, Master.”  Quinlan’s voice came from the kitchen just as the kettle began to whistle.  “I’m making tea.” 

“Thank you, Padawan mine.  I think we’ll need it.”

He could hear Quinlan pour the hot water and turn off the heat before he peeked into the common room, clearly apprehensive. 

“Is Obi-Wan okay?”

Tholme sighed.  “He isn’t now, but he will be.”

Quinlan nodded, as if he really hadn’t expected it all to have worked out so soon.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Not everything, but some.”  Tholme patted the couch cushion.  “Bring the tea.  We have to talk.” 

“Yes, Master.”  Quinlan ducked back into the kitchen, then returned with the tea set.  Tholme let him serve them both, waited for his cup to cool to just palatable, then took a sip, sighing after the comforting warmth slid down his throat. 

“Where is Obi-Wan now?” Quinlan finally asked.  “Does he need help?” 

“Padawan Kenobi is in the care of the healers right now.  In-patient, no visitors.”  He put a hand on Quinlan’s knee.  “Not because of anything Jinn did.  He was having a medical issue,”

“He hit him,” Quinlan insisted.

“He did,” Tholme agreed.  “His medical issue manifested during the spar and Master Jinn mistook it for something else.  He dragged him to the healers to resolve the question and once there, Obi-Wan was properly diagnosed.”

“You’re not going to tell me what it was, are you?” 

“No, I’m not,” he sighed as he put his arm over Quinlan’s shoulders.  “That’s Obi-Wan’s story to tell.  I can tell you that he had a hormonal imbalance, the healers think he might have been drugged, and that either triggered it or exacerbated it.  They do think he will be okay, but he had to be sedated to stabilize his blood pressure, and he has to be isolated from pheromones after he wakes up.” 

“Forever?” Quinlan asked, worriedly. 

“No.”  Tholme have him a reassuring squeeze.  “But it might be a while.  Healer Gray can’t tell us when that will change until Obi-Wan wakes up and his condition improves.” 

“He can’t have visitors because of their pheromones?” 

“Exactly.  And he’s going to be sedated for a few days.  After that he may be allowed visitors who are not human nor near human so long as their pheromones are sufficiently different from humans.  Or scent-nulls.” 

Quinlan sighed.  “Kiffar are too close?” 

Tholme gently kissed him at the root of his padawan braid.  “Yes, Padawan mine.  However, I did ask Healer Gray if stealth-masking would be sufficient.”

Quinlan gave his master a hopeful look. 

“Gray isn’t sure,” he continued.  “He’ll have to try to smell you first.  I know you really don’t like doing it if you don’t have to, but we really should get your stealth-masking scored, so consider this an incentive to stealth-mask in the Temple.” 

“Yes, Master.”  Quinlan sounded much happier for a moment, but his mind was turning over the new information. 

“What a minute, you said Obi-Wan was drugged.  Who drugged him?  Bruck Chun?” 

“That is the working theory,” Tholme explained.  “But Gray isn’t sure, and it’s only an allegation right now.  Internal Security does not want Bruck tipped off that they suspect him of this, so don’t talk to him, confront him or fight him.  Force knows I know you want to, there are several masters who want to beat him to a pulp, but Internal Security is working on it.” 

Quinlan took a deep breath, releasing his frustrations.  “Yes, Master.” 

“Gray told me that Obi-Wan asked that I let his friends know where he is and how long he’ll be there and when they can visit, but I don’t think he would mind if I delegated that to you.”

Quinlan nodded.  “I can tell everyone.”

“Thank you.”  He sent a warm pulse of comfort and affection through their bond.  “I was able to get on the contact list for updates.  I’ll keep you informed so you can tell everyone else.”  He gave Quinlan’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.  “I trust that you can keep the details to a minimum to protect Obi-Wan’s privacy?  You can let his friends and neighbors know, but in general it should be kept quiet.” 

“Yes,” Quinlan nodded, then suddenly stiffened.  “What if Bruck finds out?  He could really hurt him if he’s sedated!” 

“Obi-Wan is in the secure ward,” Tholme reassured him.  “They stationed a Temple Guard outside his room.” 

Quinlan calmed himself down.  “Is Master Jinn finally going to do something about Bruck?  Is Bruck why Obi-Wan’s hormones are messed up?” 

Tholme looked at his apprentice for a long moment, trying to decide how much to tell him.  “Obi-Wan is having a bad reaction to all the stress from Bruck’s stalking and Jinn being unsupportive.  Gray was not happy about it after he spoke with Internal Security, and neither was Master Dooku.  Internal Security is now investigating Master Jinn, though you should not share that with your friends, and Master Dooku is now working with the Discipline Council and Internal Security.” 

Quinlan scowled.  “Master Dooku doesn’t like Obi-Wan any more than Master Jinn does.” 

“On this matter they disagree.  Master Dooku used to serve on both the Disciplinary Council and the Reassignment Council.  He has a more nuanced understanding of these types of situations than Jinn does.  He is very upset with how this was handled, and if he’s pushing, you can be assured Internal Security will make this a priority.” 

“Are you just telling me that so I won’t do something hot-headed and stupid?”

“Quinlan, you know that is something I always hope.” 

The Kiffar snickered despite himself.  It was an old joke between them, but still had a kernel of truth to it. 

“Your friend is safe for now.  I need you to be careful not to do anything that will get you into trouble or compromise the investigation.  I know it seems like Internal Security hasn’t been doing much, but previous cases against Chun fell apart, so they are being very careful so that it sticks this time.  The healers and the Temple Guard will protect Obi-Wan, and Gray is not letting him out of the ward until the matter is settled, so let it settle.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“That’s my good padawan.”  Tholme gave him one more squeeze, then pulled back, giving him his space.  “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Quinlan sighed.  “I’m still mad though.”

“You are far from alone in that.  I will definitely be meditating about it later.  Not for the first time.”

“It’s not right, Master.” 

“I know.  Gray thinks that Feemor’s recent pregnancy has gone to Jinn’s head. Alphas can sometimes get overprotective and end up alienating those closest to them.” 

“They aren’t close,” Quinlan pointed out. 

“They aren’t emotionally close, but they are entangled.” 

Quinlan sighed.  “That’s one way to put it.” 

Tholme was silent for a time.  “Quinlan, you know I’m not asking you this to be nosy or to judge you, but is Obi-Wan one of your lovers?” 

“No, Obi-Wan is just a friend, but he’s one of my oldest friends.  When you first brought me to the creche, Obi-Wan was the first of the children to talk to me and he didn’t mind that I didn’t say anything back for those first few weeks.” 

“I remember that,” Tholme smiled at the memory.  “You wouldn’t even talk to me if there were others around but Obi-Wan would come right up to me and tell me all about the games you had played and what lessons you had that day.” 

Quinlan’s eyes were soft at the memory.  “He shared his crayons with me.  The other kids were afraid of me at first.” 

“You had been traumatized by your parents’ deaths.  They could sense the Darkness clinging to you, but didn’t understand what they were feeling.” 

“Ah,” Quinlan nodded.  “Makes sense, but I thought it was just because I was new and shy.”  He frowned.  “Was Obi-Wan just blind to it?”  He knew his friend had trouble seeing the Living Force, but his Darkness had been more general. 

“The creche masters thought he was initially.  They asked him about it later, after you starting talking to other people and the children started to warm up to you.”

“What did he say?” 

“He said the Dark was following you and making you sad, but that you weren’t Dark.  And you were good at checkers.” 

Quinlan laughed.  “You don’t have to talk for checkers.  And we played a lot of checkers.” 

“Oh, I remember.”  Tholme smiled faintly.  “Obi-Wan is still a close friend, then?” 

“Yeah, just a friend, but a good one.  Master Jinn keeps him busy, so I don’t get to do much with him, but he’s always willing to listen when I need to talk.  Or not talk.”  He frowned.  “You aren’t the first to ask, but he’s never shown any interest in me like that, ever, and I honestly don’t know what his designation actually is, much less who he is interested in, so maybe we’re not as close as I thought.”

Tholme patted his knee.  “I was talking to Master Feemor and I suspect Master Jinn made Obi-Wan uncomfortable with his designation and scent, or didn’t encourage him to grow comfortable with it.  I thought he was a scent-null to be honest.” 

Quinlan looked very surprised.  “He’s not a scent-null?” 

“No, he’s not, but Feemor says Qui-Gon’s been a prick over Obi-Wan’s scent, so he covers it.  I very much doubt his discretion has anything to do with you.” 

“Cass didn’t know either,” Quinlan admitted.  “I can’t tell what Bruck thinks he is.  Probably a beta or omega but some alphas don’t think it’s queer to rape a small alpha to put them in their place.” 

“Has Bruck been harassing you too?”

Quinlan shrugged.  “He called me queer.  He’s not wrong.” 

“But he said it to hurt you.” 

“He did.” 

“Have you told Internal Security?” 

“No,” Quinlan shook his head.  “I was more worried about what he was doing to Obi-Wan.”

“Tell them everything, Padawan mine.  The more charges they can file, the more likely it will be that something sticks.” 

“I will, Master.”  He looked down into his teacup, a little embarrassed.  “Master, can I sleep over tonight?” 

“Of course you can, Quinlan.”  He sighed.  “I don’t want to be alone right now either.”

“Thank you, Master.” 

“Do you want me to make some stew for dinner?” 

“Please?”

“Good.”  Tholme kissed him again on the temple, then stood up to get started in the kitchen.  “Why don’t you go talk to your friends and come back in two hours.  I’ll have dinner ready and we can meditate and then watch something funny on the holostream.”

“I’ll bring a few beers,” Quinlan replies as he got up to leave.  “Thank you again, Master.  For everything.” 

“Always, Padawan mine.  I’ll see you tonight.”

“Two hours.  I’ll comm if something keeps me late.”

“I understand if your friends need some time.  Let me know if anyone is joining us so I can set out the plates.”

“I will, Master.” 

* * *

“I didn’t see this,” Healer Drellen sighed as she looked over Gray’s report.  “Why didn’t I see this?” 

“Because you’ve seen him in health, not in crisis,” Gray explained.  “And your own report says he was putting off tests due to his mission schedule.” 

Drellen looked up at her colleague, knowing this was true, but still not feeling any better about it.”

“It was also caught very early in the process, even before he was aware of it, and it came on very quickly.  He did everything he thought he was supposed to do, you did everything you should have based on what you knew, and he only came to me after the problem had manifested.  Also, I was able to diagnose the problem quickly because you were so thorough in logging his records.” 

Drellen scoffed, disappointed in herself.  “I’m a beta.  I didn’t smell anything.” 

“You checked his implant logs at every visit.  There was nothing to smell at his last visit with you.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. 

“No, not maybe.  Don’t start second-guessing yourself.  Just learn from what we do know now.” 

She scanned through the report again.  “I’ve never seen his weight this low.” 

“Tholme was worried he had anorexia nervosa, but his hormone panel doesn’t indicate that, so the weight loss is probably loss of appetite due to stress as he reported.  And you’re right, the weight loss is not reflected in his previous records.  His weight has been chronically low, but this incident pushed him into the danger zone.  He’s a full adult and is at least one year post-presentation.  It’s time to reevaluate him, but his previous records had few red flags.” 

Drellen scrutinized the data.  “His electrolytes are normal and he’s hydrated.  He’s probably not bulimic either.”

“He could be developing orthorexic behavior, but he’s been following a recommended, if an outdated diet.  It’s going to be hard to convince him he needs to gain as much weight as he does, particularly with the Ataru, but he seems to be willing to follow recommendations from his healers.  If we can get ahead of this, I think we can avoid him developing an eating disorder in the future.” 

“Here’s hoping,” she sighed.  “I thought he was just small.”

“He is small,” Gray agreed.  “But you thought he was a beta.  If young pre-omegas don’t develop enough body fat, they have delayed presentations.  If it really gets bad, they may never present at all.” 

“You’re right.  I really shouldn’t have assumed that given his body mass composition.”

“It’s not a common condition within the Temple, but it does show up more frequently with the Ataru students.” 

“So that’s why you always ask what forms they use.”  Drellen felt a little embarrassed since she had stopped paying attention to saber forms when she joined the Healing Corp at thirteen years old.  “Thank you for catching this.  It would have taken me longer to figure it out and he could have stroked out before his appointment tomorrow.”  Or during it. 

“I caught it because, despite the atrocious attitude, his master brought him in, and we get all the pregnancy scares in the Urgent Clinic.  You’d probably have to milk his gland to smell it, but if you want to train your nose, work some clinic shifts.  Being an alpha isn’t really a superpower.” 

Drellen laughed.  “You’re the first alpha I’ve ever met who admitted that.” 

Gray chuckled back.  “There’s more than me, but then I’m a bit more open-minded than other alphas, and I’m used to being treated like a beta.” 

“Well, I am open to olfactory tutoring if you think it will help.”

“I do.  Sign up for clinic next session.  The gynecologists usually don’t see the earliest stages in the numbers we do in the Urgent Clinic.” 

“You can really smell the difference between pregnancy and pseudocyesis?” she asked, incredulously. 

“Not conclusively in Kenobi’s case,” Gray admitted.  “He had too much scent blocker for me to be completely sure.  But because he readily admitted his possible vaginismus, it seemed unlikely he would lie about his sexual activity.  I always give them the test to be sure, sometimes an ectopic pregnancy can smell very similar, and when he told me about the aggressive alpha, I was concerned he had been raped, but there is a difference you can detect if you get close enough.” 

“Thank you for catching this.”  Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her patient in the Neuro Ward instead of the Secure Wing, unknown portions of his brain dying.  “I will, Gray.” 

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon Jinn sighed deeply as he sank into the booth and waited for his drink.  His former master took the seat across from him, his mouth still tight with controlled anger. 

“Are you going to explain to me why you don’t feel responsible for your padawan’s well-being?”  Dooku asked at last. 

Qui-Gon gave him a skeptical look.  “I’ve never made a secret of that.  Why is this a problem for you now?” 

“You’ve made it clear that you didn’t like him.  That didn’t overly concern me.  There were plenty of times during your apprenticeship and after that I didn’t particularly like you.  This goes beyond not liking him.  This is neglect.  Indifference.  You are not challenging him to succeed, you are setting him up to fail.  You are deliberately making efforts against him.  Why?” 

“I’m not deliberately working against him,” Qui-Gon argued as the server put down their drinks and Dooku nodded his thanks.  “I’m simply refusing to be drawn into his problems.  As I told you, he’s an adult now.”

“Really?” Dooku asked.  “Adults weigh more.” 

“Adults cope with their own stress and anxiety.”

“Jedi deal with their fears,” Dooku agreed.  “But we do not expect them to live in fear of physical and sexual assault constantly for weeks and months on end.  It’s bad enough you never had the healers look into his low body weight in general.  It’s worse you didn’t notice he was wasting away.  That kind of decline could get him killed in the field.” 

“That kind of decline could get me killed in the field,” Qui-Gon countered. 

“It very well could,” Dooku agreed.  “Why are you contributing to his difficulties then?” 

“He’s an adult.  I’ve made it clear it is my responsibility to evaluate him, and to point out his shortcomings, but it was always his responsibility to develop his own body, to feed and maintain his physical self.  He is functionally blind to the Living Force, and apparently inadequate at listening to his own body.  If he wants to indulge his emotions instead of letting them go and developing properly, he probably shouldn’t be a Jedi.”  He gave his master a smug look.  “Even the best padawans can fail to develop properly, and if they prove to be hopeless, they must be cut loose.” 

Dooku scowled at his former padawan.  “Komari was not hopeless.  She had simply proven that she could not be successful as my padawan.  I had hopes that if I forced the issue, if I declared firmly that her romantic intentions would never be fulfilled, that she would be able to finally release her feelings and work toward the serenity she had been lacking.  The Council did not tell her that she could never take her trials, only that if she wanted to pass, she needed to grow independent and let go of her ill-advised ambitions.”  His face grew solemn.  “She couldn’t accept that.  She chose to leave instead.  Leave the Jedi.  Leave the Light.  I did what I did because it was what she needed to grow.  I didn’t abandon her to fend for herself because I didn’t like her.” 

“I haven’t abandoned Obi-Wan.  I warned him of what would happen if he lied to me and if he was foolish enough to get pregnant.” 

“He did neither of those things,” Dooku argued.  “Yet so far as he knows, he’s still going to be punished as if he had.” 

“He’ll be informed that he won’t be disciplined for that when he wakes up.”  Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.  “It’s not as if I can visit him or inform him while he’s unconscious.”  Qui-Gon sipped at his drink, resisting the sudden urge to guzzle it. 

Dooku raised an eyebrow.  “Neither isolation nor unconsciousness should prove a barrier to a strong master/padawan bond.” 

Qui-Gon struggled to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  “Not all masters and padawans are close, as you no doubt know.” 

“I do,” Dooku sipped at his own aged liquor, unruffled by his former padawan’s attitude.  “What I don’t know is why you accept that.”

“The issue isn’t that I accept it,” Qui-Gon took another sip.  “It’s that I prefer it.” 

“I’m well aware of that,” Dooku replied and Qui-Gon unconsciously frowned that his announcement neither shocked his master nor got him to back off. 

“Let me clarify,” Dooku continued.  “I’m not asking why you accept this weak bond with your padawan.  For all that I thought the reverse was true, it’s very clear now that you are the one orchestrating the distance between you for your own emotional reasons.  What I don’t understand is why you so easily accept this shortcoming in yourself.  While I appreciate that you are enough of an independent thinker to question and analyze the Jedi teachings and the Council, I had thought I had raised you to have enough integrity to follow through on your vows and keep your word.  To do right by your padawans, even if one of them had burned you badly.  To carry out the duties you took on instead of punishing your padawans for the sins of others.” 

“Xanatos wasn’t the only padawan I’ve had who has ever burned me,” Qui-Gon hissed. 

Dooku never flinched.  “Every padawan burns his master.  Even your precious Feemor.  It’s inherent to the nature of raising children to adulthood and then to knighthood.” 

“I never turned against you,” Qui-Gon grated out, insulted. 

Again, Dooku raised an eyebrow, to Qui-Gon’s annoyance. 

“Did you forget that little rebellion of yours on Yavin IV?”

Qui-Gon drew back, offended his master would bring that up.  “I was twelve years old.” 

“You were,” Dooku agreed.  “And had been my padawan for six months.  That’s so much less mature and experienced than being thirteen years old and less than a week past his vows as Obi-Wan was when you left him in a war zone.” 

“It’s not the same.  He drew his saber on me.” 

“And you on him.  Neither of you were particularly good Jedi on that day.”  Dooku gave him a pointed look.  “Did he step out of line again?” 

It took a long moment for Qui-Gon to answer.  “He has disagreed with me, but he has been obedient.  He has failed to meet expectations many times, he has failed me on a personal level, and he has at times been a disappointment and an embarrassment, but he hasn’t rebelled.” 

“He’s been loyal.  You have not reciprocated.” 

“He doesn’t deserve my loyalty.” 

“It’s not a matter of deserving,” Dooku explained.  “Though I thought you’d know that by now.  You’ve sworn it.  He is owed it as your padawan.” 

“He can’t be trusted, and therefore he is not entitled to my loyalty.” 

“No,” Dooku gave him a sharp look.  “You don’t trust him, and therefore you treat him poorly.  I, on the other hand, have clearly trusted you too much.  Would you agree that my trust in you has been misplaced in light of your rebellious behavior, cruel indifference, and failure to uphold your vows and morals?” 

Qui-Gon glared at him suspiciously.  “No, your trust is not misplaced.  None of those actions were directed at you.”

“You have a very selective memory, Padawan.” 

He gave his former master a questioning look, daring him to prove his claim. 

“Considering how poorly you know Neve, I don’t expect you to understand the feeling that an attack upon my grandpadawan is an attack against me.  But Obi-Wan is hardly the only victim of your emotions, nor did you only rebel against me as a child.” 

“I never rebelled against you,” Qui-Gon argued. 

“Nal Hutta.” 

Qui-Gon closed his mouth. 

“Dantooine.”

Qui-Gon pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“And don’t think I don’t know about you working against me on the Treaty of Narent VII.” 

“The opposing side needed Jedi representation.”

“They did not need a double agent.”  Dooku sipped at his drink again.  “Remind me, how old were you then?” 

Qui-Gon sighed and looked away.  “I was an adult.” 

“And you were punished like an adult.  It took a long time for me to redraw my boundaries and lines of trust with you, but I did release my hurt and I did understand your motivations, however misguided.  It was at that time that I chose not to work with you professionally again.  I did not spend the rest of my life punishing you for what you did.”

Qui-Gon stared at his former master in surprise.  “I didn’t realize you were unwilling to work with me.” 

“Really?” Dooku asked, incredulous.  “I’m hardly the only one.” 

Qui-Gon scowled.  “I assumed we were simply working in different arenas.” 

Dooku snorted.  “We are both diplomats and serve as negotiators.  You champion who you feel is the underdog and cow who you feel are the bullies.  I am an alliance builder.  You honestly think our work couldn’t have dove-tailed if you were more of a team player?”  Dooku shook his head.  “When Feemor and Xan were your padawans we collaborated often, until Narant VII.  Xanatos was arrogant then, but not irredeemably so.  I was willing to give Obi-Wan a chance, but I was not willing to work with you.  Since I never saw him either socially or in the field, I don’t know him well.  Now that I realize you are not quite honest in your assessment of him, I feel I know him even less.  Feemor has been quite enlightening.”

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to snort.  It wasn’t as if Feemor knew Obi-Wan all that well either.  “Feemor likes everybody.”  Except Xan. 

“Heh,” Dooku chuckled.  “Hardly.  Feemor is nearly always polite.”  He finished his drink, putting the glass down on his cocktail napkin with a sturdy thunk.  “So, what are you going to do about this?”

Qui-Gon sighed silently.  His former master was not letting this go.  Still, it could be worse.  He could have brought Yoda to help lecture him. 

“I will withdraw the disciplinary paperwork.”

“And the reason you plan to cite is what?” Dooku asked, well versed in the nuances of this bureaucracy. 

“Lack of evidence.”

“No.”  Dooku gave Qui-Gon a stern look.  “Do better.” 

Qui-Gon stared back as he puzzled over it, then realized a lack of evidence implied the accuser was still suspicious but could not prove his case.  “The charges proved unfounded.”

“Better.”  His expression turned a hair less severe.  “What else?” 

“I will inform Obi-Wan the charges have been dropped via text message and ask his healers to communicate this as soon as he is coherent.” 

“That’s a start.” 

Qui-Gon rather felt that was sufficient.  Obi-Wan was already getting a medically required reprieve from classes, chores, and training.  Force only knew how much time he was losing.  He supposed he shouldn’t bother to mention it since there wasn’t much he could do being restricted to his cozy prison. 

“You don’t think an apology is in order?” Dooku asked when he continued to say nothing. 

Qui-Gon grit his teeth.  His reaction to Obi-Wan’s apparent condition was well within the bounds of masterly behavior in the case of an actual transgression.  It did seem a bit less tolerable given that Obi-Wan had not in fact done any of the things he was accused of.  Still, the healers had explained his abnormal smell to him, and it’s causes before they had put him under. 

“The healers discussed his diagnosis with him.  He is aware I was acting under incorrect information.” 

“And the bruises you gave him, were those also incorrect?” 

“Oh, please, Master.  It’s not as if you never bruised me.”

“I never struck you or dragged you around when you got yet another of your peers pregnant, and I certainly never manhandled someone I thought was with child.” 

Qui-Gon winced.  It did sound a bit worse since he had thought there really was a fetus.  A fetus Obi-Wan would have likely aborted, but one he had thought was alive.  He’d had to meditate on that one. 

“I’ve spoken to Yoda,” Dooku continued as Qui-Gon held in a groan. 

“The Discipline and Mentor’s Councils are going to be evaluating you, but Internal Security is debating bringing charges against you with one or both of those committees.  If you don’t want to face more serious charges beyond simple neglect, you’re going to have to adjust your attitude.” 

Qui-Gon bit his tongue against a reflexive denial.  Master Dooku had a much better read on these matters than he did. 

“I wasn’t expecting him to develop a stress-related health condition because of alpha posturing.” 

“It’s the helplessness that is the issue more than the stress I think, though it certainly didn’t help.  Tholme stated that if he hadn’t been so worried about being expelled from the Order, his friends would have helped him to solve the problem by now, and Bruck Chun wouldn’t have had the chance to escalate it as far as he has.”  Dooku glared at his former apprentice.  “I expect better from you and so does Feemor.” 

“Yes, Master.”  Refusal was clearly not an option.

“You’re not going to do it, are you?” Dooku asked after a long moment. 

“Do what?”  Qui-Gon finished his drink and was instantly disappointed there wasn’t more. 

“You’re not going to deal with this Chun creep.” 

Qui-Gon blinked at him in surprise.  “I wasn’t planning on it, no.  It sounds as if Internal Security has the matter well in hand, but that interference would be detrimental to the case.” 

“It would be,” Dooku agreed.  “But that’s never stopped you before when someone has messed with your cub.” 

“Obi-Wan is not my cub.” 

Dooku sighed.  “That’s the problem, isn’t it?  You see him as a coworker, a subordinate, but not as your family.” 

“Attachment is forbidden,” Qui-Gon retorted irritably. 

“Again, that’s never stopped you before.”  Dooku signaled for the check.  “You should meditate on the consequences of not bonding with your padawan and whether they outweigh the risks you took so easily for Feemor and Xan.” 

“You think I should be more attached?” Qui-Gon asked, incredulous.  “You were complaining I was too attached to Xan even before he turned.” 

“You over-corrected.  Internal Security told me Obi-Wan was refusing to go to you for help, or even keeping you informed.  A padawan’s first, best resource is their master.  A master is a role model, a rock, a foundation, until the student is ready to stand on their own.  He felt you would not help him, and you admit he was correct.  Who are you expecting to be his rock if you won’t?” 

“I expect him to stand on his own,” Qui-Gon answered, but he knew this was not right, that this would have been unthinkable for Feemor and Xan, that he had struggled to let them go when it was their time, but for Obi-Wan he wasn’t holding on to begin with. 

“I have a lot of thinking to do,” he finally admitted. 

“You have a lot of work to do,” Dooku told him.  “But you certainly need to think it all out first and let go of your baggage.” 

Qui-Gon sighed.  “I suppose I’ll have time to while Obi-Wan is with the healers.” 

A droid came over with a datapad and Dooku quietly paid the bill.  “You can think about it when you’re doing your own laundry.”  He gave him a scolding look.  “We can’t have Feemor doing all that lifting, and Obi-Wan can’t be around your pheromones for a few weeks at a minimum.” 

Qui-Gon gave him an unimpressed look.  He had no idea why Feemor was hung up on Obi-Wan doing the laundry, much less why he had told his grandmaster about it, but clearly Dooku agreed with him. 

“You have to separate it by color and fabric, you know,” Dooku continued.  “And empty the pockets.  You always used to keep canine treats in your pockets.  You were lucky you were never hunted down by street packs.  Oh, and don’t forget the anti-static sheets when you dry the clothes, but not when you dry towels.” 

Qui-Gon wondered how many decades his former master had been passing off his laundry to the housekeeping staff at the Serennese embassy, and would have sniped back at him, but he suddenly realized he didn’t know why one shouldn’t use anti-static sheets on towels.

“And I suspect you will be safe from having to wash any dirty sheets for quite a while.  By the time Feemor thaws to you, he’ll probably be too nauseated for sex.” 

Qui-Gon sighed deeply.  A pissed off Feemor was even worse than a disappointed former master. 

* * *

“Good morning.”  Healer Gray called from the door.  “How is our patient this morning?” 

Healer Berbi, a Pantoran, smiled softly from where she was seated at the head of the patient’s bed.  “Stable.” 

Gray glanced at Berbi’s padawan Meda, a human girl of about fourteen. 

“He has a lot of contusions and is kind of thin.  And he smells funny.”

Gray nodded at the girl while her master shrugged.  Pantorans were a different enough species that her own sense of smell was not reliable for diagnostics. 

“Funny how?” 

Meda glanced uncertainly at her master. 

“Healer Gray is helping to train your nose, much more than I can,” Berbi explained. 

“I can’t identify his designation and he almost smells . . . old?  Like an old person smell?” 

Gray chuckled.  “Yes, that is unusual in one so young.”  He stepped up to the bed, then beckoned the girl over.  “This patient is being treated in a pheromone-free environment because he has a scent-sensitive hormone imbalance.” 

The girl nodded.  “Is that why I had to take a blood test and put on scent blocker?” 

“Yes,” Healer Gray nodded as he looked over the monitors and read the patient through the Force.  “This patient is being tended to by droids and scent-nulls.  Because you are neither ovulating nor menstruating today, and because you haven’t presented yet, a little scent blocker and you are safe to help the patient.”  He gave her a small smile.  “Pheromone isolation can be very lonely, so it’s helpful to have live caregivers.” 

“I haven’t been doing much,” the girl admitted.  “My master and I were going over my lessons and I was practicing my scanning when we weren’t moving the patient.” 

“That’s what you were supposed to be doing,” Healer Gray assured her.  He looked at Berbi.  “No blood clots or ruptures?” 

“No,” Berbi smiled.  “All is well in the brain, circulation-wise.” 

“Good.”  He looked at Meda.  “And you’ve been moving and checking his arms and legs?”

“Yes, Healer Gray.  I didn’t sense any moving clots, but there were a lot of bruises.” 

“Yes, that’s what I came to check.  I wanted to see if there were any new ones and how bad the fresher bruises on his arms turned out.”  Carefully he turned Obi-Wan onto his back, opened his robe and pulled his arm out of his sleeve, looking it over critically before recording a few images.  He had moved to the other arm when the girl made a questioning noise. 

“Yes?”

“Why do we have wound seals on his scent glands?  There’s no gland injury on his chart.” 

“Excellent question.”  Gray had her come closer to get a better look.  Each of Obi-Wan’s scent glands were covered by a small device which gently pulled fluids from wounds, sealing them off to remain germ free.  “His scent glands are actually overactive right now to the point where smelling his own pheromones could interfere with his recovery.  The wound seal is airtight, filtered and draws up fluids so not only can he not smell himself, but he also won’t get a clogged gland or a leak, which he could if we used a regular scent blocker.  It’s also healthier since he’ll need it for a few weeks until his system calms down.” 

“Wow, I didn’t know you could use them for that.” 

“The surgeons like them for that too,” Gray grinned.  “Blocks any sudden pheromone releases while the patient is anesthetized.”  He finished his exam, redressed the patient and together they both rolled Obi-Wan to his side to avoid bedsores. 

“That’s part of the reason why he smells old to you.  He’s not only lacking in designation scent, but his more general pheromones are also blocked too.  The other reason,” he reached for the chart, noting the treatments that had been administered.  “Is that some of the drugs and hormones he has been given.  We had to temporarily shut down his reproductive cycles, so from a hormonal perspective, he’s having a false menopause.  That changes not just the pheromones, but the general scent of the body, thus he has a hint of old person smell, but not entirely.  And older people usually retain some of their designation pheromones, so it’s not quite the same.” 

Gray reviewed the changes and graphs, noting the trajectory of several different hormones they were tracking, as well as the readout from the implant, which they had rendered dormant for now.  It wasn’t secreting, but it was still monitoring. 

“We’re going to start his system back up slowly tomorrow if everything keeps improving, so hopefully he won’t smell quite so much like an old man when he wakes up.  It will hopefully make him feel a little less wretched and emotionally unsteady.  After he’s more stable, we’ll have to induce what will probably be quite the unpleasant menstrual period, but I think he dodged a blaster bolt and can go mostly back to normal with his implant regulating his cycle after that.” 

“Well, at least he only has to do it once.”  Meda was sympathetic. 

Gray and Berbi chuckled. 

“His charts said he was very thin,” Meda continued.  “But he doesn’t look that bad.”

“He was gaunt, but not emaciated,” Gray explained as he scanned to a different section of the report.  “But look at his fluid ratios.  He’s retaining water.  It’s the hormones we had to put him on.  He will probably be bloated after he wakes up, but that should start to go down after a few days, especially when he starts moving again.” 

“They had to put him on specific steroids,” Berbi added.  “And lowering his blood pressure lowered his kidney activity.” 

Gray put a hand on Obi-Wan’s lower back.  “The kidneys feel better than I thought they would.” 

“We got the hypertension down quickly.”  She looked at Meda.  “Kidney damage can end a Jedi’s field career.  Hypertension is no joke.” 

Meda nodded, not used to seeing hypertension in a patient this young.  Sometimes it was an issue when civilians brought drug addicts into the Public Clinic, but she had never seen it in the Temple.  And they usually didn’t swell up.  “Is that why his clothes are all loose?  No ties?” 

“Exactly.”  Gray picked up Obi-Wan’s hand.  The tendons were less visible, the skin holding more fluid already, the fingers slightly fatter.  “We’re going to have a heck of a time, getting him to change his diet when he’s bloated.”

Berbi shrugged.  “At least he won’t look pregnant.”

“There is that,” Gray agreed. 

“He really wasn’t pregnant?” Meda asked.  Many of the apprentice healers helped run the Urgent Clinic and had learned to always consider a patient pregnant until proven otherwise.  It was rare that a master who suspected pregnancy was proven wrong, especially with such vehement denial. 

“Yes.  It does happen, and when it does it is serious.  That’s why you need to keep an open mind and train your nose.” 

“Right.” The girl frowned, trying to decide whether she should ask her question.  “Um, Healer Gray, I actually can’t smell what you are.”

Berbi and Gray shared a glance and laughed. 

“I’m a scent-null alpha.  I was born without scent glands.” 

The girl blushed.  “I thought there was something wrong with my nose.” 

“Your nose is fine.  Good observations.”  He nodded at them both.  “Keep up the good work.  I have to go back to the clinic.  There’s a vomiting teen beta in there and their master is the only one who can’t figure out why.”  Gray rolled his eyes.  “Train your nose.” 

Berbi and her apprentice giggled after he left. 

“Perhaps the master isn’t human,” Berbi wondered. 

The girl shook her head.  “I know who it is.  Everyone else knew two days ago.” 

Berbi sighed.  “Teenagers.” 

Her apprentice agreed. 

* * *

“Is there any news?” Siri asked as she passed around a small tray of snacks.  Natok and Carae dug in, but Cass, T.J and Quinlan were too tense to have much appetite. 

“I’ve been cleared to visit after he wakes up if he wants to see me,” Natok reported.  “Apparently I don’t smell like a human.” 

“You don’t,” Cass confirmed.  “It’s good some of us can visit him.” 

“They have mostly non-human healers with him, not just droids,” Natok continued.  “And they told me to tell you all that when he transitions to Phase II, humans who can scent block can visit, but not if they are pregnant, ovulating, menstruating or in rut.” 

Carae sighed.  With her heat coming fast, she would not be visiting Obi-Wan anytime soon.  She just hoped she wouldn’t have to cancel and reschedule, or worse, get interrupted if Bruck Chun changed targets. 

“Master Tholme says he’s been improving steadily, and they are going to start waking him up tomorrow.”  Quinlan sounded hopeful but concerned. 

“Did the healers tell him what’s wrong with Obi-Wan?”  T.J. asked. 

“They did,” the Kiffar nodded.  “Master Tholme is protecting Obi-Wan’s privacy.”

Siri and Cass shared a glance.

“Quinlan,” Siri’s tone was unusually cautious.  “I know you said Bruck Chun didn’t beat him up and not to fight him, but are you sure Bruck didn’t do something else to him?  I know hormones and pheromones can get weird, and . . . Obi-Wan has never exactly advertised his designation, but I’ve never seen anyone medically isolated like this for so long.” 

T.J. looked at the floor.  Cara seemed both concerned and surprised. 

“Master Tholme has been discreet, but he’s also honest.  If that were the issue, I think he’d tell me.  Bruck may have triggered Obi-Wan’s condition, but it’s a medical issue, not an injury.” 

“I’ve seen stuff like this before,” T.J. admitted quietly.  Everyone turned their attention to him.  He shrugged, a bit uncomfortable.  “There are nasty drugs out there that really screw with your hormones.  They can induce a heat, even if you’re not an omega.  They can force your designation one way or another if you haven’t presented yet.  They can put alphas into hard ruts, where they can lose their inhibitions and self-control, or make omegas too weak to resist.  Betas can go either way, or just get really sick.  Some drugs can cause unexpected ovulations; you might have no symptoms until the morning sickness starts.  And some of them have really bad side effects and complications.  Some victims have to take meds to induce a false menopause or a chemical castration, at least for a little while.  The healers have to kind of reboot their whole system.  Pheromones can complicate the recovery phase.” 

Quinlan gently squeezed T.J.’s shoulder.  “Did that happen to you?”

“Yeah,” T.J. sighed.  “Some of it.  I got drugged on a mission once, but my master kept them from kidnapping me.  It was a drug cocktail that was supposed to knock me out and induce a hot ovulation.  I was only fifteen.  I hadn’t presented yet, nor been confirmed, but it gave me a heat, and it was a bad one.  I had a fever for five days straight, I kept puking, and I had to be hospitalized because of my temperature and fluid loss.”  T.J. shuddered at the memory.  “I wasn’t raped.  My master protected me and held me when it was bad, but when it was over, I had to go into pheromone isolation, and they had to be so careful with the hormone shut down because I was still growing and developing.  In the end, I didn’t present until I was almost eighteen and I presented as a beta.  The healers think I’m a little taller than I would have been because my growth plate fusion was delayed, and my genetic tests had indicated I would most likely be an omega, but I’m not.  Of course, I still could have been, but the hormonal reboot changes the odds.  Those drugs are nasty stuff.” 

“I’m sorry, T.J.”  Cass sounded pained.  “I didn’t know.” 

T.J. shrugged.  “I don’t advertise it, but I really don’t recommend it either.” 

Siri frowned at Quinlan.  “You said the healers thought Obi-Wan was drugged.”

“I said they weren’t sure,” Quinlan clarified.  “But Master Tholme was very clear we aren’t supposed to leak that because they don’t want Bruck to know they suspect him of that.” 

“Has he come around here lately?” Carae asked.  “If he didn’t get the um, reap the expected reward of drugging Obi-Wan, he might try again.” 

“Obi-Wan is in the secure ward with extra security,” Natok assured them.  “Identity chips were checked and there’s a list of Obi-Wan’s friends and lineage kin.  When I walked past the desk and looked back, they had Bruck’s pics all over.  They are definitely on the lookout for him.” 

“I checked the assignment roster.  Bruck was out of the Temple the last few days,” Siri reported.  “He might not know that Obi-Wan is in the Healer’s Halls.” 

Carae looked toward the door to the hall, dread in her eyes.  “Did Master Tholme tell you when Internal Security is planning on doing something about this?  I don’t feel safe having a heat with this going on.”

Siri, Cass and Quinlan shared looks between them.

“We can’t let this continue,” Siri declared. 

“We also can’t compromise the case,” Quinlan argued.  “I want Bruck gone as much as the rest of you, but if we screw up the case, he’ll still be here. They might have to send Obi-Wan away instead for his own safety.” 

“Can Carae make a complaint?” Cass suggested. 

Carae sighed.  “Scaring me because he’s hurting someone else is not an actionable complaint.  Bruck is rude and vulgar, but unless he’s doing that in front of children, that’s not something that will be taken seriously.”  She looked at the door again.  “He’s leered at me a few times, and I know he can smell I’m pre-heat, and he probably knows I’m trying to breed, but he hasn’t actually made a threat.”

“He was making Phig nervous too,” T.J. reported. 

“Kriff,” Carae muttered.  If she got too anxious, she would not be successful whether they had the orgy or not. 

T.J.’s comm suddenly began beeping urgently.  He pulled it off his belt to look at it, read the message and cursed.  “Chun is headed this way from the west elevator lobby.” 

“How do you know that?” Siri looked dumbfounded. 

“Keena is better with facial recognition algorithms that I am.  She programmed the cameras at the entrances to screen for him after Bruck made that scene at the lunch table but didn’t get it reliably working until just before Obi-Wan was hospitalized.”  T.J. looked at the alphas uncertainly.  “I have cameras up.  Sound too.  Don’t fuck up or get yourselves in trouble.  If you do something wrong, Internal Security is going to know.” 

“We don’t have to do anything wrong.  We just want to tell him to leave,” Siri asserted. 

“Internal Security needs evidence,” T.J. insisted.  “If Bruck gives that, don’t interfere, even if you really want to.” 

“I want to break his neck,” Siri insisted. 

”And I want him to be put away for a very long time, and would rather the rest of you not join him in prison.”  T.J. turned to Carae.  “Come on.  You can help me optimize the sound.”  He took her hand, hurrying for the safety of his room before Bruck arrived.  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned as the two of them walked out. 

“So, what do we do?” Siri asked. 

Quinlan stared after T.J.  It had almost felt like the other padawan had been holding back or hiding something, but really didn’t want to be. 

“Do you think T.J. could have put a camera in Obi-Wan’s room?” Quinlan asked. 

“No, definitely not,” Siri shook her head.  “He consulted with Internal Security, and they said that would be illegal.”  She frowned.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he upgraded the sound or picture quality or put in more camera angles.” 

“I think that’s probably why he warned us.  Whatever we do, we have to follow the laws and regulations to the letter.”  Quinlan took a deep breath, calming himself.

A loud pounding noise came from the hallway.  Bruck bellowed for his intended victim, the door muffling the exact wording but not the tone. 

“He’s making the floor unsafe for everyone,” Cass insisted. 

“Everyone remember, he can’t actually hurt Obi-Wan right now,” Quinlan reminded them.  “So let’s all encourage him to leave, but if he wants to dig himself a hole and incriminate himself on camera, maybe we should let him.” 

The three alphas let that sink in while Bruck continued to bellow and pound. 

“Has the Temple Guard been patrolling since Obi-Wan was admitted to the ward?” Cass asked. 

“I think it’s dropped down to normal,” Quinlan replied. 

“Then it’s up to us!” Siri declared, eyes flashing. 

“But calm,” Quinlan reminded her, holding up his hands. 

“Calm,” she conceded.  The three nodded at each other and entered the hall.

The hall was unusually empty given the time of day, but this was less surprising given the circumstances.  The three alphas silently made their way down the hall.  It was clear from his behavior that Bruck Chun had no idea Obi-Wan was not home, much less hospitalized. 

“Come on, you pathetic slut, open the door, I know you’re in there.  I can hear you, even if you try to hide in the Force.  I know you have to want it by now.” 

The three young alphas looked back and forth between each other and Bruck.  Was there someone in Obi-Wan’s rooms or was Bruck just playing the odds?  Quinlan knew from experience that Obi-Wan could mask his Force presence quite well, certainly enough to fool a Service Corp Jedi who hadn’t bothered to continue developing their skills and he usually hid his scent well, so it probably wasn’t the first time Bruck had risked dirty talking to no one.

Siri nodded at both young men flanking her, then stepped forward, confident they had her back. 

“Chun, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.” 

Bruck turned to face them, his annoyance clear.  “You can ask all you want, but I don’t answer to you, Tachi.”

“You are disrupting the peace on this floor and upsetting the residents,” Siri grit out, controlled but with anger simmering beneath the surface.  This had gone on for too long and this interloper was harassing her packmates. 

“Go find someone who cares,” Bruck smacked the door again.  “Do you really think I’m going to be intimidated by you three?  You’re not going to do anything.  You never have before.  I’m not bothering you, and you all know Kenobi if too pitiful for you to care.  If I’m bothering your bedmates, get Kenobi to open the damn door and we’ll both leave you alone.” 

“He’s told you to leave him alone, Bruck,” Cass tried to be reasonable.  “Obi-Wan doesn’t want to see you, and he doesn’t want to talk to you, and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“Who gives a fuck what he wants?” Bruck laughed ruefully as he moved his hand over his crotch, rubbing himself to hardness.  “Why do you care?  Do you actually have a thing for the little whelp, Cassander?”  He gave the three of them a look of contempt.  “Can’t you do better?”  He glanced at Quinlan.  “Or is Kenobi just your cover because you’ve been hanging out with Vos and caught the queer?” 

Cass growled menacingly, stung, but Siri and Quinlan sent a calming wave through the Force. 

Bruck rolled his eyes and rubbed himself harder, opening his pants to let his erection out.  Quinlan briefly wondered how Bruck justified his anti-queer opinion in his mind while publicly jacking off in front of three alphas, but dominance plays could get weird. 

“Get out of here, Bruck.  Don’t come back.  You aren’t welcome here.”

Bruck turned back, clearly annoyed now, his angry erection leaking.  He wasn’t in rut, but he was clearly working himself up.  “Fuck off, Vos.  Or you know what, you three go fuck each other.  I’m here to fuck Kenobi, whether he wants it or not, and since you three little shits aren’t going to do jack about it, get the fuck out of here.  We all know he’s not worth your time to fuck yourselves, and sure as hell isn’t worth breeding.  So take your self-righteous beliefs that as padawans you can boss me around about the dregs you are never going to bother to fuck yourselves.  I spent five Force-damned days in hyperspace carting you sanctimonious diplomats around and now I want a damn hole attached to a warm body to fuck until I have to go out again.  I’m sick and tired of waiting. I’m sick and tired of being denied and I’m sick and tired of you saber-wielding ass-wipes interfering with the natural order of things.  Now you can either open this door so I can give Kenobi the fucking cock ride of his life, which clearly none of you are doing, or you can listen to me until the frigid little shit gives in.” 

“He’s not going to give in, Bruck,” Siri tried to reason with him again.  “He’s consistently told you no.” 

“Aw, does that cunt of yours make you take no for an answer, Tachi?” Bruck sneered at her as if her preferring consent made her seem weak.  “I don’t care what he says.  All he has to do is open the door, and he had to open it sometime.  I’m a dominant alpha.  I get what I want.  And if I don’t get what I want when I want it, there will be hell to pay when I do.  The longer the scrawny little bitch makes me wait, the longer and harder I’m going to fuck him.”  He glanced back at the door.  “But I don’t think I’ll have to wait much longer, will I Kenobi?  You have to be aching for it by now, soaking through your pants, half-mad with fever, just hoping you won’t have to beg for someone, anyone to give you relief.”  He looked back at the alphas.  “It’s cruel to deny him.  All of you would just leave him to suffer.  I would have gone easy on him if he had given in early, but now he can pay for his insolence.  It doesn’t matter what he said before.  After this long he’s gonna be begging me, just like they all do.  A little dash of Sweet Serum turns all the noes into yeses.  And then into sweet begging.  If he waits much longer, he could even get sick and die.”  He smirked at them.  “You wouldn’t want Kenobi to die now, would you?”

“You drugged him?” Cass asked, feigning shock, though the outrage was genuine. 

“I put him in his place,” Bruck clarified.  “Between my legs.  And I think I’ll make him suck me off a few times just because he made me wait so long.”  He put his ear to the door.  “Come on, Bitch, open the door.  Or do you need me to break in?  Are the cramps so bad you can’t even get to the door to let your alpha in?”  Bruck’s tone was one of mock concern.  “You’d better let me in now before it hurts too much to move.  Maybe I should call Security to let me in so I can help you.  I know what you need after all.”

Bruck raised his fist to pound on the door again when unexpectedly, the lock clicked, and the door just barely opened. 

Siri, Cass and Quinlan looked to each other in confusion.  They knew Obi-Wan was still in an induced coma, and even if he had managed to purge the drugs enough to wake up or sleepwalk (which had happened to Jedi more than once), the guards stationed at his door would have stopped him and helped put him back to bed.  If anyone was in that apartment, it couldn’t be Obi-Wan.  Could it? 

“It’s about damn time, Whore,” Bruck growled before he turned to the others, still pumping his erection, grunting in anticipation.  “I told you it was inevitable.”  He leered at their confused faces.  “Even the coldest fish gets hot if you know what to give them.”  He turned back to the door which slowly opened to reveal a backlit, hooded figure sitting in the foyer, facing him, but unidentifiable. 

Quinlan stared, trying to identify the figure, to determine if was really even a person, or just a cleverly draped robe.  Whoever or whatever it was, it was not Obi-Wan.  He couldn’t get a clear reading on this person in the Force.  If they were there at all, they had excellent shielding.  Quinlan could smell nothing, no personal nor designation scent, but if they were wearing the robe that could just be due to clothing and distance, not to mention Bruck’s pungent arousal display overpowering it.  The figure on the chair never moved and Quinlan began to wonder if it was a decoy or mannequin and Bruck was being lured with the Force, because he really didn’t seem to notice through his lust that whoever this was, it was not Obi-Wan, and they were not afraid. 

“There you are, Slut.”  He stepped into the doorway, looking back at the puzzled alphas.  “I told you I’d get my due.  You pathetic crap-stains have a nice night and leave us the hell alone.  Kenobi knows what’s coming and you all saw he opened the door.”  He turned back to the figure.  “And don’t you cry, Whore.  You get too loud, and I’ll gag you.  You know you deserve your punishment.”  He stepped closer.  “Little Bitches don’t make Alpha wait.  Little Bitches open their mouths and open their legs like the whores they are.”  He came suddenly with a groan, ejaculating across the figure’s chest and thighs.

Siri visibly recoiled.  Cass clenched his hands, not sure how to stop this, and Quinlan glanced at the camera before he noticed the faint silhouette of a second camera in Obi-Wan’s room, behind the figure.  He held up a hand, urging his fellow alphas to just let Bruck dig himself a deeper grave. 

“Oh,” Bruck panted, catching his breath before he moved closer.  “Come on, Bitch.  It’s time to get on with it, because there’s a lot more where that came from.” 

Quinlan had almost decided the figure on the chair was a dummy when it slowly moved, cowering, head down as it began to reach toward Bruck’s crotch. 

Bruck sneered.  “Come on.  If you’re good, I’ll even close the door, so your friends don’t get to watch.” 

Siri and Cass glared at Quinlan, obviously starting to doubt that wasn’t Obi-Wan, that he hadn’t escaped the ward in some sort of drug-induced haze of lust. 

“Yeah, Bitch.  Like that,” Bruck groaned. 

His groan was suddenly cut off by a sharp, high scream. 

Quinlan looked back at the doorway to see Bruck’s knees buckling as the figure in the chair began to rise to their feet, unmoved as Chun tried to push away the hand at his groin, where his penis was now trapped in a brutal, iron grip.  The figure’s other hand snapped out to grab Bruck by the neck, holding the large alpha up by his throat and his genitals.  Whoever they were, they were much too tall to be Obi-Wan. 

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” Bruck whimpered and gasped as the figure began to carry him back out the door and Siri, Cass and Quinlan suddenly got a whiff of a very pissed off alpha male with a very strong Force presence. 

“I don’t think you’re quite sorry enough,” the alpha hissed as they started to step into the light and turned into the hall.  Quinlan could see muscles and tendons flexing in the man’s hand large enough to not only have Bruck’s dick, but his balls in his grip too. 

“I’m sorry, Master Jinn.  I’ll leave him alone.  I won’t bother him again, I’m sorry.”  Bruck’s voice choked off as the hand on his throat tightened. 

“Shut up, you disgusting little shit,” the alpha towered over Bruck.  “Who is begging to breathe now?” 

“Please,” Bruck wheezed.  “Let me go.  I won’t touch your padawan.  I won’t take what’s yours.”  His feet scrabbled weakly, and Cass wondered if the lack of air or the pain in his genitals was the more pressing problem.  “I didn’t fuck him yet, he kept refusing, pushed me away.  I never had one hold out so long.  He’s still yours.” 

“You’re damn right he’s still mine,” the voice was deep, but it was not Qui-Gon Jinn’s.  The alphas shared confused looks.  “And you should be so lucky to have pissed off Qui-Gon Jinn.”  He tossed his head to make his hood fell back, stepping fully into the light to reveal himself as none other than Jedi Master Yan Dooku.  “Unlike Master Jinn, I protect WHAT.  IS.  MINE.”  The hand on Bruck’s cock gave a vicious twist and Bruck yelped, too breathless to fully give voice to his pain. 

“And you will never touch what is MINE again.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes!” Bruck gasped.  Clearly, Dooku was allowing him to breathe, if shallowly. 

With another harsh twist, he released the bruised genitals and turned Bruck around to display his humiliation to the other alphas, pushing him to his knees on the hard tile floor.  “And now, before we send you to the deepest, darkest, emptiest hole in the galaxy to serve your sentence for your crimes, I want to be sure you understand what will happen if I find out you’ve been trying to drug and rape other people for your sick pleasures.” 

Bruck whined, terrified, before he began to urinate all over himself and the floor in submission.  The hot urine clearly hurt coming out of his bruised member, because he gasped and writhed, but his self-preservation instincts were at full alert, his anxiety pushing his bladder to release and release NOW.  Dooku sniffed in disgust. 

“Do you understand?” he asked, shaking Bruck by the throat for emphasis. 

“You, you’ll kill me?” Bruck asked. 

Dooku began pressing a knee into his back, pushing his face closer to the puddle of urine.  “No.  I’ll cut off everything I just squeezed in my hand with a hot lightsaber, and then I’ll kill you.”

Bruck whined in terror, his face inches from his cooling piss. 

“You don’t touch what’s mine, and you don’t hurt other people.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bruck whispered, just as his nose breached the surface of the puddle like a scolded dog. 

Dooku nodded and suddenly the hall was full of Internal Security officers and Temple Guards coming from around the corners and out of nearby apartments.  Dooku met the eye of the inspector who was clearly in charge.  “I take it the recordings were clear?”

“Crystal.”  She watched calmly as two guards cuffed Bruck behind his back and adjusted his pants before they escorted him to a secure cell.  They did nothing to hide he had wet himself, their sympathy ending at covering his nudity.  “I’m sorry it took so long, but we needed to check that the essential information had recorded.” 

Dooku looked down at the semen smeared on his robe, which was noticeably rattier than he usually wore.  “I do hope you will want this for evidence.” 

“Oh, yes, we can take care of cleaning that after taking samples.”  She signaled with one hand and a tech stepped forward and moved to carefully disrobe Master Dooku without disturbing the sample.

“You can keep it.  I insist,” Dooku nodded at the tech, checking to make sure his clothing underneath the robe hadn’t been soiled. 

Another gaggle of technicians poured out of T.J.’s room, followed by T.J, Carae and Master Tholme.  Quinlan, Siri and Cass stared at them incredulously while the techs confirmed with Dooku and the inspector that the audio and visual evidence had been secured. 

“Master?” Quinlan asked.

“T.J?” Siri glared.  “What the hell is going on?”

T.J. shrugged.  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you about the sting.  Inspector Sahn said it was need to know and didn’t want it to get to Bruck.” 

“You put a camera in Obi-Wan’s room,” Quinlan frowned.  “I thought you said it was illegal.” 

“It would be illegal to put one in without Padawan Kenobi’s consent,” Inspector Sahn clarified.  “However, seeing that Padawan Kenobi is currently incapacitated, and Master Jinn is currently occupied, his temporary guardian,” she nodded at Master Dooku.  “Authorized the installation and recording for the sting.”

“I take it the camera angle left no doubt as to Chun’s intentions?” Dooku asked.

“Oh, no, there was no issue there.”

“Wait,” Siri looked over the lot of them before her gaze settled on Dooku.  “Can’t Bruck press charges against you since you . . . assaulted him?”

Sahn and Dooku shared a look and the former shrugged.

“I suppose he could,” Dooku allowed.  “If he were particularly foolish.  After all, he assaulted me first, admitted to drugging my grandpadawan and was waiting around to rape him.  I’m confident I have a solid defense.” 

Master Tholme stepped up behind Quinlan, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “We know the three of you were very concerned about Obi-Wan’s welfare, but we didn’t want you getting involved in a fight with Chun.  Firstly, because we didn’t want anyone getting hurt, but also because a good defense counsel could argue it was an alpha territorial spat, and Obi-Wan’s case could lose credibility.  A master or grandmaster stepping in after Bruck had dug himself a hole is a lot harder to defend against.”

“Exactly.”

“Um, thank you for stepping in Master Dooku,” Cass gulped nervously, having never spoken to this particular master before.  “We were very concerned about Obi-Wan of course, but the other residents were also feeling unsafe.”

Dooku nodded.  “The four of you did well,” he told them, including T.J. in the praise.  “We all have a responsibility to take care of each other.  The rest of the galaxy certainly won’t.”  He looked them all in the eye.  “I trust you can keep my name out of it when you discuss this outside of the legal hearings?”

Quinlan gave him an odd look. 

Siri looked confused.  “Um, okay.”

“I was never here,” he reiterated.

“Should we not tell Obi-Wan?” Quinlan asked.

“Definitely not,” the master clarified.  “Just let him know Bruck Chun is never going to bother him again.”

“Yes, Sir,” Cass confirmed.  The others nodded.

“Excellent.”  Dooku stepped back into Obi-Wan’s room, past the swarms of technicians, to retrieve a much newer robe which he put on before he returned to scrutinize the puddle of urine one of the technicians was sampling.  “I trust this will all be cleaned up before my grandpadawan is released by the healers?”

“Yes, Master,” the technicians chorused.  The padawans agreed.

“May the Force be with you.”  Without another word, the master swept from the hall, leaving the lingering stale scent of his earlier aggression. 

“Wow.”  Siri stared after him, cowed.  Cass looked no better.

Tholme sighed, giving Quinlan a one-armed hug and kissing his temple.  “I’m very proud of your restraint Quinlan.”  He looked at the rest of them.  “All of you did a very good job.” 

“You knew about this?” 

Tholme shrugged.  “I didn’t know for sure it would be tonight, but Master Dooku sensed something in the Force.  Not that he wasn’t wiling to camp out in Obi-Wan’s rooms for days and weeks until we got enough evidence.” 

Siri looked skeptical.  “I thought he didn’t like Obi-Wan.”  Obi-Wan rarely spoke of his grandmaster, never even referred to him as such, but what little he had said indicated relations were strained. 

“It’s not a matter of liking or not,” Tholme explained.  “This was a crime committed against his lineage.”  He looked down at the urine puddle and winced, having witnessed the entire encounter in high resolution with enhanced sound.  “Now, Darling Padawan mine, do you understand why I told you to never, ever cross Jedi Master Yan Dooku?” 

Quinlan gulped.  “Um, yes.  I think I understand you perfectly.” 

T.J. snorted.  “When would any of us get a chance to cross Master Dooku?”

Tholme rolled his eyes.  “You’d be surprised.”  Quinlan blushed, but Tholme just hugged him again.  “I have stew in the slow cooker if you young people want to come over for dinner.”  He looked to Inspector Sahn.  “Do they need to be questioned tonight?” 

“No,” Sahn shook her head.  “We have everything we need recorded, but we will be speaking with you all in the next few days just to make sure there aren’t any toeholds for the defense to dig into and everyone’s story is straight and documented.”  She looked them over.  “Go eat tonight.  Get some rest and meditation.  You all did good.  Thank you for keeping your cool, all of you.  And thank you, Tomas Jarlo, for keeping us updated with what was happening on surveillance.” 

T.J. winced at his actual name.  “You’re welcome and thank you Inspector for finally getting this resolved.”

“Is this resolved?” Siri asked.  “I mean, can’t his defense get him released?” 

Inspector Sahn shrugged.  “We never like to assume with things like this, but we do have recordings of Bruck Chun admitting to drugging Kenobi, admitting to intending to rape him, and ejaculating on Master Dooku, who not only used to head the Discipline and Reassignment Committees, but who is also a former High Council Member.  That’s enough keep him in custody for quite a while and transfer him out of the Main Temple.  At the very least, it will be safe to release Padawan Kenobi from the healers when he’s ready.” 

“That is good news.”  Tholme looked them all over.  “Come, young ones.  Let’s go eat.  You too Carae.  I know this was stressful for all of you.” 

The padawans agreed, gathering quickly, wanting to get away from the hall which was starting to stink of urine (which could not be cleaned until the scene was fully documented) and still felt tense and sharp in the Force.  The group headed off to the Master’s Tower, picking up a few strays who the Temple Guard had kept out of the hall during the sting. 

“Thank you, Master,” Quinlan spoke quietly as they reached the door.  “You always take good care of me.”

“That’s my job, Padawan mine, not that I wouldn’t anyway.”

“I know.”  Quinlan sighed, grateful none of them had to be alone.  Well, other than Obi-Wan.  “Do you think we can get Obi-Wan to come next time we do this?”

“Of course, Quinlan.  We’ve got to put some meat on his bones.”

Quinlan chuckled, as did Cass who was coming in right behind them. 

“Thank you, Master.”

* * *

“Can any of you smell me?” Quinlan asked, nervous. 

Natok shrugged.  “You smell like a human.  Male-ish.” 

Carae looked at his strangely.  “You smell odd.  Natok is right, you smell like a human, but I can’t smell your designation scent at all.”

Cass chuckled.  “That is so weird.”

“You kind of smell like Obi-Wan to be honest,” Natok shrugged.  “I could never guess what his designation is, not that I’m all that good at it anyway, and I can only make a good guess if you get really close and sweaty.” 

The rest of them laughed. 

“Natok,” Cass explained.  “It’s not you.  None of us can tell.”

Carae rolled her eyes. 

“Oh,” Natok seemed very surprised.  “I thought it was just because I wasn’t human.”

“No,” T.J. explained.  “He doesn’t have a strong scent.”

“He really doesn’t have any scent now,” Natok reported.  “They have his glands sealed and they have been washing him down twice a day so he can’t react to his own pheromones.  I didn’t even know that was a thing.” 

“Me neither,” Cass admitted.

“Do you think he wants to see me?” Quinlan asked.  “I mean, is there anyone else he wanted to see?”

“I think he needs to see people,” Natok explained.  “He looked really . . . weird and he seemed very anxious, and embarrassed over the whole thing.  He asked about everyone.”  He looked at Carae.  “He said to tell you good luck if you hadn’t had your breeding yet.” 

“Thank you, Natok.”  Carae’s private party was due to start at nightfall.  “I’m glad we got Bruck out before we started.”

“Me too,” Cass affirmed. 

“What looked weird?” Quinlan asked.  “Was he pale?”  Obi-Wan tended to have a naturally light complexion, and he had been sedated for days, so seeming a little pale would be expected.

“He, um, looked . . . thicker.  And his eyes were weird.” 

“Thicker?” Cass asked.

“Bloated?” Carae suggested.

“Hmm, could be,” Natok nodded.  “He is usually so thin, and he wasn’t.”

“Humans can puff up sometimes from hormones and meds,” T.J. explained.  “He’ll probably slim back down to normal when he’s feeling better.”

“Don’t point out the thickness,” Natok warned.  “He seemed upset about it.”

“Got it,” Quinlan nodded.  “Okay, if no one can smell, me, all of tonight’s breeders need to leave so T.J. can spray me down one more time and then I’m off to go see the patient.  Anyone want me to tell him anything?” 

“That we miss him and hope he’s feeling better,” Siri replied.  The others nodded in agreement.

“And tell him I need to get my ass handed to me in the salle,” Cass grinned. 

Quinlan laughed and nodded.  T.J. picked up the spray canister as the others filed out, then sprayed Quinlan down one more time while he turned so all sides could be covered. 

“You tell him to get well soon,” T.J. told him. 

“I will.”

Quinlan met up with his master at the front of the Healer’s Hall, ignoring the strange looks he had gotten along the way.  While he usually wore scent blockers to knock his designation scent down for polite company, he usually didn’t eliminate it entirely and the effect could be disorienting to people who knew him well.  Not that Master Tholme wasn’t used to it. 

“Good job, Padawan.”  Tholme walked around him, sniffing at him.  “Very good, but you have to pass Gray’s inspection.”

“I know.”  Quinlan looked nervous.  “I hope I pass.  Natok said Obi-Wan really needed visitors.”

“Gray said that too,” Tholme told him as he led him to the Secure Ward.  “Obi-Wan is still very upset over everything and they’re worried he may be getting depressed.  It will be good for him to see his friends.” 

“I hope so.” 

They waited a few minutes in a ventilated room before Gray came in, stopped the flow of air, then inspected Quinlan carefully for scent. 

“Good, Vos.  You’re approved.  Just stay calm and positive and don’t get alarmed if he gets emotional.  We had to knock down his hormones, that can be very destabilizing.” 

“Okay.  Does he want to see me?”

Gray shrugged.  “He’s a little embarrassed, but he really needs human contact, more than he can get from the healers and therapists.  You’re his friend, just be yourself and be supportive.”

“Right.  Supportive.” 

Without further delay, Gray led them both down the hall.  Tholme waited outside the airlock while Quinlan and Gray entered, waiting for the air to cycle a few times before they could enter the patient’s room.

Obi-Wan was seated on the bed, huddled in a large, hooded patient robe, his head tucked against his chest, shaded glasses over his eyes.  He did not react to the sound of someone entering the room, but then he was still being checked every two hours, so it was not an unusual sound. 

“Obi-Wan, you have a visitor,” Healer Gray called when the airlock finally opened.

Obi-Wan turned to face him but did not lower his hood or take off the glasses.

“It’s not a healer or an investigator, I promise,” Gray assured him as he entered the room and came into view.

“It’s a droid, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to sound as if he wasn’t hopeful.

“Sorry to disappoint, Obes, it’s me,” Quinlan waved as he stepped inside.

“Quinlan?”  Obi-Wan sounded as if he didn’t quite believe it was really him.

“Yes, it’s me.”  He glanced at Gray, who gestured toward the chair at the side of the bed, then approached the patient to check his vital signs and read him through the Force.  Quinlan sat down, putting his messenger bag next to the chair, then held out his hand.  Obi-Wan didn’t take it. 

“It’s good to see you,” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet as Gray checked his pulse, temperature and breath rate. 

“Is it really you behind that robe?” Quinlan asked, trying to be funny.  He winced when he realized that Obi-Wan might be sensitive about it. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan grumbled.  “I know I look weird, and I freaked out Natok yesterday.”

“Aww, I’m sure it’s not that bad, Obes.”  He tried to see Obi-Wan’s face between the hood and the glasses.  “I think your eyebrows look very normal.”

Gray coughed on a laugh.  Quinlan could hear Obi-Wan’s eyeroll. 

“I’m all puffy,” Obi-Wan confessed.  “I was asleep for three days and I blew up like a Blunge Beast.”

“That’s the steroid hormones,” Healer Gray explained.  “You are just retaining an admittedly ridiculous amount of water.  The good news is you will piss it out over the next week because we knocked down your blood pressure before you had kidney damage.  The bad news is it won’t count toward your weight goal.” 

“Weight goal?” Quinlan asked. 

“I lost too much weight and they changed my diet.  The healers say I’m too thin and was too thin before.”

“So we have to feed you?  Master Tholme will be thrilled.”

“It’s going to screw up my Ataru,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“It’s going to prevent you from dying of hypothermia or drowning because you can’t float,” Healer Gray assured him.  “And you can use the Force to help with your Ataru.”

“I’m not talented enough for that,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Yes, you are Obes.  Master Drallig will help you.”

“Master Jinn won’t want to wait for me to adapt,” Obi-Wan insisted. 

“Master Jinn is, um, busy at the moment,” Quinlan shrugged.  “You can ask about it during your physical rehab and you know Master Drallig will give you tutoring to help you get back in shape.” 

“Maybe.”  Obi-Wan grimaced.  “But I don’t know if I’m strong enough in the Force for that.”

“Obi-Wan,” Gray sighed.  “Your nurses caught you on camera using telekinesis to get your toothbrush because you were told not to get out of bed.  I think you’re strong enough in the Force.”

Quinlan covered his mouth, eyes bright.  Obi-Wan gave him a glare behind his glasses. 

“Size matters not, Obes.”

“Next time, just ring for the nurse.  They’ll help you get to the refresher, even if you just want to brush your teeth.”

“Sorry.”  Obi-Wan slumped.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Gray patted him on the shoulder.  “You’re still on bedrest.  We’ll get you up and moving tomorrow when your blood pressure comes back up to normal.” 

“Thank you.”

“Why do you have the glasses?” Quinlan asked.  “Besides being the coolest padawan in the ward, of course.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, exasperated.  “One of the medications is causing my pupils to dilate and my eyes are sensitive to light.  But I didn’t want to be in the dark all the time, so they gave me these.”  He shrugged.  “Natok didn’t think pupils could get that wide.” 

“He mentioned it.” 

Obi-Wan slid his glasses down just enough for Quinlan to see.  “How weird does it look?” 

Quinlan nodded.  “I can see why Natok was concerned.  You look a little high, and it makes your eyes look darker.  But it’s not that bad, and you’ll be back to normal soon.” 

Obi-Wan held out his hand.  “I hope so.”  He was frowning at the backs of his fingers, which were noticeably swollen.  “I hope I don’t get stretch marks.”  

“You haven’t so far, so you probably won’t,” Gray assured him.  “Your swelling has actually gone down since you woke up.”

“Oh.  I didn’t notice.”

“Waking up is hard work.  You slept through it.”  Gray gave Quinlan an encouraging look.  “I’ll leave you two young men alone.  I trust you two won’t get in trouble?” 

“No trouble here, Sir,” Quinlan saluted. 

“Thank you, Healer Gray,” Obi-Wan called as Gray stepped back into the airlock.

“You levitated your toothbrush?” Quinlan asked, amused.

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “My mouth tasted awful.”  He was frowning at his swollen hand.  “They still haven’t told me how long I have to stay.”

“Did they give you anything to do?”

“A little.  Master Yoda brought a datapad with some texts on it.  They told him not to give me anything exciting.”  He pointed it out on the bedside table.  Quinlan picked it up, looking over the file list. 

“Philosophy, history, and historical poems.  Very Yoda.” 

“Normally it would be interesting, but my brain is still a little too fuzzy for it.”  He frowned.  “He said not to worry about the Discipline Council, but I’ll have to face them sometime.”  Obi-Wan cringed a bit, pulling his robe closer.  “Master Jinn was so angry.”

“Of course, he was angry.  Bruck was an asshole to you.”

Obi-Wan gave him an odd look.  “He was angry at me, not Bruck.” 

Quinlan frowned.  “I don’t know what that’s all about, but if Yoda says not to worry about it, you can probably stop worrying about it.  Besides, you probably won’t have to worry about Bruck any time in the next twenty years or so.”

“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asked, confused.  “The only good thing about being in here is that Bruck can’t get in.  At least I hope he can’t.”

Quinlan snorted.  “He can’t get in unless he’s learned to travel through hyperspace without a ship.  He’s not on Coruscant anymore.” 

Obi-Wan gave Quinlan a suspicious look.  “What did you do?” 

Quinlan shrugged.

“Quinlan, he could get you in trouble.  Please, tell me you didn’t do anything.”

“I swear, I didn’t do anything.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms.  “Say it so I can believe you.”

“Aww, Obes, I promise, I didn’t do anything and I’m not in trouble.  Believe me, if I were in trouble, they wouldn’t be letting me visit you.  Now, Bruck on the other hand, is in trouble.  Big trouble.  He went up against the wrong person and lost.  Badly.” 

Obi-Wan looked suspicious.  “Did anyone get hurt?”

“Bruck did.  He was stupid enough to gloat about his conquests in front of a former Council Member.  They did not take kindly to his admitted abuse.  With that kind of mistake, he was shipped off the planet before nightfall and last I heard his defense counsel was trying to work out a plea deal on all his charges.  They say he’s definitely going to have some incarceration and will probably be asked to leave the Order.” 

“But you’re okay and not in trouble?”  Obi-Wan sounded as if he was trying not to cry.

“No, I’m not in trouble.  I promise, I’m not in trouble.” 

There were definitely tears slipping out from beneath the glasses. 

“Oh, Obes.  You know I wanted to kick his ass, but I promise, it wasn’t me and it wasn’t any of our friends.  We all wanted to, but we’re not in trouble.”  Before he realized what he was doing he was pulling Obi-Wan into a hug.  Obi-Wan went willingly, almost desperately, crying into his tunic.  Quinlan tried not to panic, hoping he wasn’t exposing Obi-Wan to pheromones, but when he looked up at the window, Healer Gray was making a reassuring motion behind the glass.  Quinlan rubbed Obi-Wan’s back and let him cry.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan sniffled after a few minutes and tried to pull away. 

“You don’t have to go,” Quinlan kept running his hand up and down Obi-Wan’s spine.  After a moment, Obi-Wan stopped trying to pull away and resettled.  “It’s better to let it out.”

“I tried to meditate, but it wasn’t working,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “Master Yoda said he’d come back tomorrow to help me when I felt better.” 

“It will be okay, Obi-Wan.  It will come back to you when you are rested.”

“I was asleep for three days.  I am rested.”

“Hey, remember that time I got hit in the head and they had to drain the blood out?  I had to stay in bed for a week, and I was still exhausted when it was over.  It just takes time.” 

“Quinlan, you also got shot in the gut and almost bled out, and you had a broken leg.  We were all terrified you were going to die.”  He sniffed.  “I wasn’t even injured.  Just . . . out of balance.” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Obi-Wan.”  He couldn’t get a good psychometric read on Obi-Wan through his robe, but it was obvious his friend was distressed.  “We all get sick sometimes.” 

“I’m never going to catch up.  Master Jinn dropped the charges, but I’m not allowed to train, and they won’t give me my classwork or my mission reports, and I’m blown up like a balloon and they want me to gain more weight, and I won’t be able to fight the same.  Master Jinn is going to get rid of me because I can’t back to field ready fast enough.” 

“Oh, Obes.  Master Jinn is not going to get rid of you.”

“Yes, he will.  He told me I can’t afford to fall behind and I’ve been out for almost a week already.”

“Obi-Wan, most apprenticeships are ten years or more.  A few weeks isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Yes, it will,” Obi-Wan sniffed.  “He’s going to have to leave me behind and I’ll never catch up again.” 

“It’s going to be fine, Obi-Wan.  Master Jinn hasn’t gone on any missions and you’re both off the mission roster right now.  It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t understand,” Obi-Wan’s voice was very small.  “Master Feemor is trying to get pregnant.  Master Jinn needs me to take on more responsibility, not get sidelined when I’m supposed to be pulling more eight.” 

“Obi-Wan, it’s not your responsibility to pick up the slack if your master’s boyfriend gets pregnant.  You’re a padawan, not a slave.” 

“He told me I have to.  He ordered me to do the reports and do more of the research.  And there’s gear maintenance I couldn’t do because Bruck kept tracking me, and how am I supposed to do the laundry if I can’t be around pheromones?” 

“Master Jinn is just going to have to do his own work for a while, and we can do your laundry.  We’re your friends, we won’t leave you to do it all yourself.”

Obi-Wan pulled away, sitting up and wiping his eyes, squinting against the light until he could put the glasses back on.  “You can’t do everything for me, Quinlan.  You have your own duties.  And everyone should be helping Carae right now.”  He didn’t say anything more specific, but it was clear he expected Quinlan and most of their friend group who prefer to be attending to a padawan with child than a sick one. 

“Carae is my friend too,” Quinlan conceded.  “And a lover, but I told you, I’m not fathering her children, and there are plenty of us left to help look after you too, so stop fussing.  Besides, it turned out all six of her potential fathers are still in Temple, so that’s plenty of testosterone to keep her and Phig well taken care of.” 

“Did she have her group breeding yet?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s tonight,” Quinlan told him.  “All the more reason to hide out here with you so I don’t have to listen to someone else’s party.” 

“Thank the Force Bruck was removed first.” 

“Yeah,” Quinlan nodded.  “That could have gone bad.”  He stretched.  “I have a good feeling about Carae though.  How many babies do you think she’ll have?” 

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “Carae is very fit and healthy.  Hopefully she will get as many as she can handle and not more.” 

Quinlan snorted.  “Let us hope the Force isn’t too generous then.” 

“It’s okay If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be,” Obi-Wan assured him, but his voice was quiet, as if he didn’t really want Quinlan to leave.  “I know a breeding party has to be more exciting than here, but then most places are.” 

“You ever attend one?” Quinlan asked.  Even though Obi-Wan had never been pregnant to his knowledge, as a male he could have technically fathered a child, no matter his designation, though it was statistically unlikely if he was an omega. 

Obi-Wan snorted.  “No.  Who the hell would want to have children with me?  I’m short, scrawny, sunburn within five minutes on most planets and if I did my master would end my apprenticeship, so I wouldn’t be able to support a child.  You?”

Quinlan shrugged, trying not to react to Obi-Wan’s casual assertion that Master Jinn would renounce him for reproducing.  “I’ve been in an orgy before, but not a breeding orgy.  One of the few things I haven’t actually tried.  I don’t want children right now.  It’s not time yet.  Someday I’ll be ready to be a father, but not today.” 

“I hope your time comes,” Obi-Wan told him, all too aware that many Jedi died young, which was one of the strongest reasons planned pregnancies were encouraged for senior padawans. 

“I hope the right person comes,” Quinlan admitted.

The airlock began to hiss.  Someone had entered from the other side and the connecting hall was being flushed to remove trace pheromones. 

“You have to hear that all day?” Quinlan asked.

“And night,” Obi-Wan confirmed.  “The nurses said they can tell I’m getting better because the noise kept waking me up.”

The door opened to reveal Meda, holding a large vase of flowers. 

“Pardon me,” Meda gave Obi-Wan a small smile, then glanced at Quinlan and blushed.  It was clear who the beefcake was in the room.  “Healer Gray asked me to bring you these since you’re doing so much better.  They actually arrived yesterday, but you weren’t cleared for strong smells yet.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the colorful blooms.  Floral arrangements weren’t unusual for patients in the Healing Halls, even for Jedi, but Obi-Wan couldn’t think of anyone close enough to send flowers for him, even if he had died. 

“Who are they from?” he asked Meda.

Quinlan tried not to laugh at his puzzled face, still half-shrouded.  “It’s your secret lover, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan gave Quinlan a sour look that echoed in the Force.

“Ah, sorry, too soon.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.  “Too ridiculous.” 

“Maybe it’s from your master,” Meda suggested.  “That’s who usually sends them if masters aren’t also patients.” 

Obi-Wan shrugged.  “I really don’t think he would.”  He looked at the flowers again.  “Is there a card?  These might be meant for someone else.” 

“Yes, and your name is on it.”  Meda put the vase down on a side table and plucked a shiny white rectangle from the blooms, handing it to Obi-Wan.  “We had to laminate it to seal in any pheromones.” 

Obi-Wan peered at the crisp white card, puzzling over the message and signature.  “I don’t know who this is,” he finally admitted, handing the card to Quinlan. 

“The florists delivered it,” Meda reported, unable to help. 

“The florist printed the card too,” Quinlan shrugged, his psychometry offering no assistance either.  He read over the message which had been handwritten on a screen, then printed.  The penmanship was surprisingly neat, but the sender was still a mystery. 

“Who is the Noo?” Quinlan asked. 

“I have no idea,” Obi-Wan admitted.  “I can’t think of any of our friends who would go by that.” 

“Maybe it’s one of your master’s friends,” Meda suggested.  She gestured toward the window.  “Several masters have come by to check on you, not just Master Yoda, but they can’t visit because of the pheromone thing.  You also slept through most of them.” 

Obi-Wan frowned at the window, not having noticed it before. 

“Master Tholme is out there,” Quinlan mused.  “Do you want me to ask him?” 

Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet.  “I’d rather you didn’t leave,” he admitted. 

“You don’t have to,” Meda told them.  “You can talk through the port over there.  There’s a microphone and speaker.”  She looked a little embarrassed.  “You’re still on bedrest, so they were probably going to tell you tomorrow.” 

Quinlan got up with a nod and walked to the window, tapping on the glass.  Tholme looked up from his datapad, then came over, listening patiently as Quinlan explained the problem.  The young Kiffar held the card up to the glass.  Both young men were surprised and confused when Tholme started to laugh.

Quinlan adjusted the settings so Obi-Wan could speak and hear from the bed.

“Master?” Quinlan asked. 

Tholme wiped his eyes, composing himself. 

“Obi-Wan,” Tholme chuckled.  “It’s from your grandparents.”

Obi-Wan looked even more mystified.  “I don’t know any of my family.  I came to the Temple as a baby.”

“No,” Tholme managed to stop laughing.  “Your lineage family.”  He pointed to the card Quinlan was still holding.  “It’s signed the Noo, the Doo and the Fee.  Jocasta Nu, Yan Dooku and your brother Feemor.”  He smiled at Obi-Wan’s surprised face.  “It’s Jocasta’s handwriting, so she must have ordered them.  She usually just signs herself and Yan, but that’s my best guess as to the identity of the Fee.” 

“Oh.”  Obi-Wan looked back at the flowers, stunned.  “They’re beautiful.  Thank you for explaining Master Tholme.” 

“Thanks Master.”  Quinlan grinned at the flowers.  “They really brighten up the place.  Which reminds me,” the Kiffar walked back to the chair by the bed and opened his messenger bag.  “I brought you a present to keep you occupied.”

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Meda interjected.  “I have to check your brain before I leave.”  She gave Obi-Wan an apologetic look.  “I, um, need you to take your hood and glasses off.” 

Obi-Wan looked less than thrilled.  “I understand.”  He glanced at Quinlan.  “Just don’t get alarmed at the bloating.  Healer Gray promised I would get back to normal eventually.” 

“It’ll be fine, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan reassured him. 

With a sigh, Obi-Wan moved to sit on the side of the bed, then took off his glasses and lowered his hood, his eyes on the floor, squinting slightly. 

It really wasn’t that bad, but Obi-Wan had always been skinny, so Quinlan imagined it must have been very jarring to wake up to in the mirror, not to mention for Natok.  Obi-Wan’s face was definitely puffy, his cheeks rounder than Quinlan had ever seen them.  After the initial shock, Quinlan thought it wasn’t bad at all.  It kind of made Obi-Wan look like an omega, not that he thought he should actually tell him that. 

“Aw, Obes.  Don’t worry.  You make puffy look good.” 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes again, and with the dilated pupils that did look weird.  Meda snickered, then began her quick exam. 

“Very funny, Vos.”

Meda nodded, made a note on Obi-Wan’s chart, then slipped back into the airlock. 

“What’s in the bag?” Obi-Wan asked as he put the glasses back on but didn’t bother with the hood since Quinlan seemed less alarmed than Natok had been. 

“A little bit of nostalgic fun to brighten your day.”  He opened the bag and pulled out some coloring books, crayons and colored pencils.  “You always used to share your crayons when we were young, so I thought maybe you’d want to color since they won’t let you work.” 

Obi-Wan looked over the stack of books, some for children and some for adults.  “Are you going to color too?” he asked, a bit hesitant, not sure if Quinlan was serious or not. 

“Sure.”  He picked up a children’s book about spaceships and Coruscant’s urban architecture. 

Obi-Wan tugged over the rolling table that stretched over the bed and lowered it so they could both use it.  “The one with the tookas looks like fun.”

“That’s because you’re secretly a tooka,” Quinlan told him.  “You look small and unthreatening and have thick hair, but when someone challenges you in the salle the claws come out and you leap around and almost always land on your feet.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head, trying not to laugh.  “Oh, that’s mean.  Obi-Wan the tooka.” 

“Well, you’re also really clean.  And you’re agile and you give good hugs.” 

“Have you ever tried to actually hug a tooka, Quinlan?” Obi-Wan asked as he opened the crayons, selected two and passed the box to Quinlan. 

“Yup, and I have the scars to prove it.  You have to get the tooka’s trust first.  Then they give good hugs.  When they want to.  They have standards.  And taste.  You’re a tooka Obes.  Just accept it.”

“What does that make you?”

Quinlan frowned, thinking it over.  “I don’t know.  A bird of prey?  A wolf?  A hawkbat?  A newt?” 

“A newt?” Obi-Wan asked, skeptically.

“Hey, newts are cute.  I’m cute.  They are also very promiscuous, at least the ones on Chandrila are.” 

“A fox,” Obi-Wan decided.

Quinlan posed dramatically.  “Because I’m sexy?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.  “Because you’re clever.  And a little crazy.  And very intelligent.  But you have teeth when you need them.”  He switched to another color.  “You generally smell better than a fox though.” 

Quinlan snorted.  “Well, you usually smell better than a tooka.” 

“It will be nice to be able to smell things again,” Obi-Wan sighed.  “The flowers really do smell nice after smelling nothing for days.” 

“Master Tholme wants to feed you.  Maybe we can have you over when cooks so you can smell the food.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach unexpectedly growled.  Both of them cracked up. 

“That sounds like fun,” Obi-Wan told him.  “But I don’t know when that will be allowed, or if Master Jinn won’t expect me to be working by the time I can visit others.”

“We’ll figure it out, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan assured him.  “Just take it one day at a time.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan nodded.  “Live in the moment.  Thank you for making the moment less boring.” 

Quinlan began coloring in the exhaust trail on a bright purple starship.  “Any time, Obes.  Any time.”

Out in the hall, Tholme had settled onto a bench and pulled a sock out of his robe pocket, carefully repairing a hole in the heel and peeking in at the young men every so often.  Quinlan was no longer nervous, and Kenobi looked much better than he had been expecting.  The room was airtight, he couldn’t smell Quinlan at all, which was a little unsettling when he could still see him.  He could only imagine what it was like for Obi-Wan, cut off from all pheromones, as if all the other humans were suddenly alien.  Hopefully he would respond to his treatments and it would be over soon. 

“Hi.”

Tholme looked up to see Cin Drallig smiling down at him.  “Cin.”  He sniffed.  “I’m afraid the patient is still on pheromone lockdown, even from betas like us.” 

“I know,” Cin sat down beside him on the bench.  “His temporary guardian was meeting with me and his healers to set up realistic rehab goals now, rather than leave Qui-Gon in charge of it later.  Apparently, Kenobi is also supposed to put on some healthy weight, so we also need to add that into the training program.” 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Tholme asked as he wove in the loose end and clipped it. 

“The problem is that it should have been done a few years ago.  I honestly thought Obi-Wan was just naturally thin and slight because of his genetics.”  He grimaced.  “I also thought he was a beta.  I would have been more vehement when voicing my concerns if I had known.” 

Tholme patted his knee.  “Obi-Wan presented very late.  He thought he was a beta too.”

“Poor kid.”  He watched, puzzled, as Tholme took out another sock and began the repair.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for Quinlan while he visits and being supportive if he needs me.  I’m also darning socks.” 

“Darning?”

“Repairing the holes.  Those of us on stealth missions can’t just go out and buy more socks, so I learned how to repair them in quiet moments.”  He shrugged.  “That and hemming pants.  Padawans grow fast.  It’s a useful skill.  I haven’t figured out how to stretch boots yet, but having good socks is a welcome comfort.” 

“I know.  Warm socks are preferable to warm tea in the field.”   Cin peeked into the isolation room to see the two padawans poring over something on the bed table.  “So how did Quinlan get in if Kenobi is on scent-lockdown?” 

“Stealth mode.  Good reason to practice.”  Tholme finished repairing the hole, then bit back a sigh when he found another.  What did his padawan do to his socks?

“Ah.”  Cin looked back at the padawans.  “Are they coloring?”

Tholme snorted.  “Natok said Obi-Wan was getting bored and stir-crazy.  Quinlan decided to indulge in childhood joys.” 

“They look like they’re having fun.”

“They are.”

Cin frowned.  “Are they together?”

“No,” Tholme chuckled, grateful he wasn’t the only one who could see it.  “They haven’t figured that out yet.” 

Cin rolled his eyes.  “Youth is wasted on the young.” 

“Jinn works Obi-Wan hard.  In fairness, I don’t think he’s had time to figure it out.” 

“That’s very true,” Cin agreed.  “His guardian is concerned Ataru may not be suited to him with the weight gain, but I think we can make it work, not that broadening his repertoire is a bad thing.” 

“Qui-Gon Jinn is a bit of a one-trick pony, so that will be a hard sell.  Let me guess, Yan suggested Makashi.” 

“Oh, however did you know?” Cin asked sarcastically.

“Just lucky.” 

“On a serious note, he did ask about cross-training with other masters, as he suspects the Mentor’s Council is going to put Jinn on probation for quite a while.  Any chance you and Quinlan would be interested in a spare padawan?” 

Tholme paused, feeling this out with the Force.  “All things considered, if we do, we should probably do so when they are not lovers.” 

Cin laughed, hard.  “Yes, that’s not a distraction either one needs in the field.” 

“What about you?” 

“Yes, I already volunteered to mentor him for a teaching module.  He doesn’t get enough exposure to the younger students.  Makes it hard when you take a padawan if you miss out on that.” 

“Maybe Jocasta can help,” Tholme suggested. 

“Hmm, good idea.”  Cin noted it on his datapad.  “Any other ideas?”

“Hmm,” Tholme frowned at a tricky part in the sock.  “I would not recommend the Temple Guard right now.  He needs to be comfortable with himself, not suppressing his identity right now.”

“Agreed.” 

“Perhaps one of the Council members will agree to mentor him.  That would keep him out of the field for a bit, and really let him recover.”

“Now that is a good idea,” Cin nodded.

“Yan isn’t planning to train him?”

“No,” Cin shook his head.  “He’s aware that Obi-Wan is very intimidated by him and he’s trying to balance nurturing Kenobi without antagonizing Jinn.” 

“That’s a tough needle to thread,” Tholme conceded, as he cheated with the Force to literally do exactly that.

“Maybe we can get Obi-Wan involved in outreach too.  He needs to be around people, not working in isolation.” 

“Are any of his other lineage kin getting involved?” Tholme asked. 

“I doubt it,” Cin sighed.  “Feemor has enough on his plate and is handling Jinn.  Jinn’s siblings all seem to think Obi-Wan is incompetent and that it was only a matter of time before his apprenticeship ended in failure.  One or two of his lineage cousins were a bit more generous in their assessments but had their hands full with their own padawans.” 

Tholme shook his head as he finished off another sock.  “They let this go on too long.  Jinn’s not letting that young man fly.” 

There was a sound of laughter from behind the glass wall.  Both masters peeked in to see the two padawans holding up their pictures to show each other.  It was utterly wholesome.  Tholme shared a grin with Cin as he pulled out another sock and got to work. 

“Kriff, how many of those do you have?” Cin asked, eyes wide.

“How many socks did your padawan go through?” Tholme asked. 

Cin laughed.  “Not that many.  With Darila it was sports bras.  So many sports bras.”

“Herryl always tore the knees out of his pants.”  Tholme smiled at the memory.  “I finally made him wear knee guards.  Much cheaper than new pants.” 

“They grow up so far,” Cin mused.  “Won’t be long before both of them are knighted.”

“That’s always the hardest part.” 

Cin peeked in on them again.  Kenobi did look a little bloated, but it illustrated clearly that his frame really should be carrying more flesh on it.  “Has Master Jinn visited him?”

“He can’t,” Tholme explained.  “He’s too domineering.  Not a good idea just yet.” 

Cin scowled, not liking the sound of that.  “Did he send the flowers.”

Tholme shook his head.  “Jocasta.”

“Has he done anything?” Cin asked, exasperated with Jinn’s continued indifference to his own padawan. 

“He added Obi-Wan to the recipient list when he filed the papers to withdraw the disciplinary charges.”  Tholme sniffed.  “No personal messages so far as I know, though with his current attitude that may be for the best.” 

“Are they going to be separated?” Cin asked, very concerned.

Tholme sighed, putting down his half-done sock.  “I don’t know.”

* * *

He blinked, slowly coming awake in the darkened room.  The other side of the bed was empty, but the covers had been tossed aside, as if his bedmate had gotten up but intended to come back.  He felt the sheets and there was still faint warmth there, so they hadn’t been gone long.  He stroked his hand over the sheet again, feeling peace, contentedness, no signs of distress.  There was no one in the refresher, and it was much too early to be getting up for the day.  Where had his lover gone? 

He could hear faint sounds outside the room, so he let his feet carry him out of the room and down an unfamiliar hall to another dark room.  His feet, his muscle memory seemed to know the way, even if his brain didn’t. 

The door was half open, and he could see a dark, indistinct silhouette against the night light, swaying gently back and forth. 

“Everything okay?” he heard himself say, his voice barely over a whisper. 

“We’re fine,” his lover whispered back.  “Someone was a little hungry, but now just doesn’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Really?” he asked, amused. 

“Yes, really.”  The figure looked at him over their shoulder, but he couldn’t see their face.  They looked back down at something they were holding.  “Hmm, maybe your father can help you get to sleep.  Do you want to have Daddy hold you?” 

There was a tiny chirp as the figure turned.  He felt his arms come up to take what was being handed to him and then suddenly a warm, brilliant Light was in his arms, a bright, shining love that he could feel in his hands, in the Force, with his psychometric sense and it filled him with joy and pride and love he had never felt before.

Oh.

I’m Daddy.

The brilliant Light snuggled against him and his still faceless lover, his mate, stroked his cheek.  He leaned down into a kiss and oh, there was love here too, and for a moment he thought his heart would burst, that he would burn alive with it, that one mortal body could not be expected to contain these feelings. 

“Was it worth waiting for, Daddy?” his lover asked, whispering in the Dark. 

“Every moment.”  He held the child, his child, against his chest and pulled his lover into an embrace that lit up his psychometry all down his body.  Love. Joy.  Passion.  Serenity. 

“Was I worth the wait too?” he asked.

His lover kissed him again and he could feel long, silken locks against his face, the flutter of eyelashes against his skin, warm lips and smooth teeth in their kiss. 

“I would have waited for you forever.” 

Quinlan woke with a gasp, his body tingling, his Force sense sharp and alert.  He looked down at his body, but the phantom child was gone.  Or rather it just wasn’t here yet. 

He sat up and ran his hands through his short, thick hair, then over his face, surprised to find it wet with tears.  He could remember the love he had felt, from his lover, from his child, from himself, and the loss of those feelings was painful, knowing this was something he might have someday, but could not have now. 

There had never been an actual child in his dreams before.  They had talked about it, they had tried to conceive, but it had never been present before, never something he could hold.  His lover had never seemed so comfortable before, so casually open with their love.  Their identity remained elusive.  He tried to quiet his mind, poring over the details. 

He couldn’t see his lover’s face or body, could not identify their gender, but he could feel their hair and he had leaned down a bit to kiss them.  His lover was probably not a Kiffar, the texture of the hair was not characteristic of most Kiffar, smoother in texture, not thick and curly.  His lover was also a bit shorter than he was.  Not so short that they were most likely female, male was still a distinct possibility.  They also felt a bit heavier when they leaned into him, but if they were post-partum and lactating this was expected. 

When they had kissed, his mind had lit up as if they shared a mental bond, but it wasn’t enough for him to recognize them. 

“Who are you?” he asked, trying to feel hopeful, not desperate. 

The Force didn’t answer his question.

“Why do we have to wait so long?”

He remembered his master holding him after his first painful break up, when he had first asked about the Questioning Meditations. 

“Quinlan,” Tholme had told him.  “These things come in their own time.”

It wasn’t time yet.

He hoped that someday it would be.