[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Covalent Bonds

Chapter 14

Anakin leaned against the doorjamb, wondering where his maturity had gone, that he should have these thoughts. The Ruge led him into an imagined conversation with Obi-Wan, one about the same subject as earlier in the evening. You could have sex with a Jedi. I couldn't. I would need to go to whores or back to Padmé or Sabé or try to meet someone new ... Darra or Serra, not one of my friends could I ask ... I couldn't approach Ferus, with his eyes and his shoulders and his niceness and his height --- Anakin would stare into Obi-Wan's hurt blue eyes and knew right then that he would not do any of those things. Thinking is okay, doing would not be, not even once. I get it now. But what about Obi-Wan?

"So where's Master Kenobi?" 

Ferus daubed at the red stain on his tunic in the Kenobi-Skywalker 'fresher.

"He's with Master Tachi tonight. Late, he said. They like holovids."

"Don't you?" He was spreading the stain. The Quartermaster would know what to do, so Ferus put it out of his mind. "It won't come out. I'll look after it later."

"I'm sorry, Ferus. I was clumsier than Jar-Jar, I mean Senator Binks." The last of the Alderaan Ruge adorned Ferus' tunic, looking like a broken heart on the tawny material. The drink had gone flying as Anakin had gestured widely to point out Master Fisto's head tentacles twining around Master Secura's lekku as the two Jedi Masters exited the Opera House. But the evening had accomplished something: Anakin had tasted his first alcohol, and he liked the experience.

Ferus sat on the fourposter. "Is this your side?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"The dent is bigger. And I know you like sleeping near any window. Remember our trip to Euceron for the scramball finals?"

Anakin laughed a long time. "You kept kicking me, like all night long, Ferus. What was your problem?"

"I was getting sick and didn't want anyone to know. I guess I had a temperature and was restless." Ferus pulled the wet spot away from his chest. "Ugh."

Anakin touched Ferus' sleeve. "That was ... really dumb, not to tell."

"Well! See if I confide in you again!" But the young Knight smiled. "The trip was fun and not many volunteered to room with me. But you did."

"It was just to get something on you, I cannot lie. But there was nothing to get. You were, and are, one of the nicest beings I know." All these years later, we can tell each other this. Obi-Wan, if my midichlorians weren't too strong and if there were anyone else, besides you ...

Ferus held himself very still. "I'm not thinking nice thoughts right now." I'm a Knight. I can handle new things. "I want ... I w-want ... "

No. Oh, no.

"I want what you and Master Kenobi have."

Oh. Anakin ducked his head. "Well, erm, it is nice, Ferus. Who told you it wasn't?"

The old Code. "My upbringing, is what. I can't shed it quickly, but I'm starting to think having a partner would be a good thing, someone to come home with when I'm in-Temple, someone who understands me ... "

"It stays nice, even when they don't understand you. I'm in your corner, whatever you do about it. Do you, um, have anyone in mind?"

Someone like you. But you're taken. "No." Ferus finally undid his tunic, stripping away layers of rectitude. "But I'm looking."

So am I, so stop right there. "Take off the undertunic, too, and borrow some stuff of mine." Anakin faced resolutely away from his teammate and opened the mirrored closet doors. "Here." He handed a wad of clothing to Ferus and busied himself with turning down the bed. "Obi-Wan'll be coming back soon."

From the corner of his eye Anakin caught Ferus' movements, those of a natural athlete, as much as Anakin's were. Anakin had not had much opportunity lately to play sports. He thought of asking Ferus to help him recruit a new scramball team amongst the Initiates, then thought better of it. We'll most likely get a new assignment tomorrow. Shouldn't start something with younglings, get their hopes up that we'll be there for them, and then dodge. There was a stop to the sound of clothes rustling. "Thanks for the loan. I'll get them back to you soon."

Anakin saw Ferus to the door, palming it safely shut behind him. He wandered through their quarters before spotting a hairclip that Siri must have dropped the last time she was over. Master Tachi likes Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan likes Master Tachi. Is Nature taking its course this very minute? Anakin had seen couples coupling standing up against rough treetrunks while three red moons shone through wind-whipped leaves, he had seen a man enter a woman in a swimming pool with people sunning themselves deckside not two meters away, had seen the woman's head snap back and her eyes close and lips part like Padmé's used to do, and neither of these things had perturbed him morally as much as the thought, no, the vision, of Master Tachi and Obi-Wan on a sofa, watching Missives From The Unknown Region and snuggling. He would lean into her. She would respond. She would be the aggressor, in fact, if he knew Master Tachi. She would clap a claw on his knee and then move higher. He would put his hand over hers and guide her. He would roll down the thin strap of her undergarment until one, only one, breast tumbled out, he would thumb the nipple before they lay back against the sofa cushions. She would forthrightly divest them both of just enough clothing to do what she wanted. He would be slow and gentle and arousing, until the time came for quick action. Then he would push one leg to the side until it dangled to the floor, she would grab her other knee to her chest to make room for him, he would yank her hindquarters up in the air and spread apart her lips for his entry. Her head would snap back like the woman's had in the pool, she would encourage or even give brisk directives and when he labored at the very end, he would groan softly at climax while she clutched his back and hollered like a puuri cat in heat. Master Tachi always pumps in her own fuel into her Delta-7 starfighter. She didn't dance at the Jedi Cotillions, when we had them before the war. She comms Master Gallia every week, faithful as the geyser near the Gafsa wells in the Jundland. Master Tachi gave the impression of someone who went after what she wanted. Without thinking about it, he wandered into the kitchen and put the teakettle on.

Anakin moaned and hopped restlessly up on the island. It's a vision, it's torture worse than Dooku could devise because he doesn't know me that well, doesn't know how much I love Ma--- Obi-Wan. Sith didn't understand love, the unending consideration of the other being's feelings, the dancing tension omnipresent with day-to-day living with another, tension with which Anakin and Obi-Wan dealt with Jedi understanding for two, coming up on three years. He discounted all the years before their love had been consummated; that time seemed at an oblique angle to their present walk together on the Jedi path. That age had been filled with sparring, classes, missions, personal growth as well as physical growth for Anakin. He remembered the day he knew he'd outstripped his Master in height. That had felt strange, but good. This felt strange, but bad.

He fingered the clip, a utilitarian durasteel engraved with a starburst design in a distinct feminine flair. Obi-Wan had complimented Master Tachi's taste when he first spotted the glittering band holding back blonde strands from a well-shaped ear. Master was flirting, eeeuuuww. Well, be honest, Anakin. He's human. He can't have sex with you anymore, and he's a v-- , a vir-- , well, not with you, but ... a 'virgin,' there. And he's curious. And Master Tachi's a longtime fr--- ... acquain--- ... fellow Jedi. Anakin's old stuttering habit seemed to have become internalized. I won't stand in his way. I was married. I can give him this. Anakin wondered if the fact that he was still a Padawan affected Obi-Wan's feelings towards him. Did he see Anakin as a burden to developing his own life further, their happiness as a sham because they could not have sex? Aaagh, he's not going to ask me for advice, is he? Lines to say? Sand, he can't use the one about sand. Anakin pursed his lips. 'A kiss becomes a scar,' no. The tea kettle sang cheerily, but Anakin remained wrapped in misery. The vision would not go away: Obi-Wan's arm around Siri's neck, pulling her closer, his other arm drifting to the small of her back, tighter and tighter ... Anakin ground his teeth. He'll need me on this one. She probably has wrinkles under her unisuit, he thought nastily. Or gray hair ... somewhere on her. It wouldn't look as good on her as it does on him. Remembering his concussion-induced vision from two weeks ago showing Obi-Wan writhing on these white tiles amid spilled vegetables, he squirmed on the kitchen island, jumping down with a thud in his stocking feet on the tiles. In a steamy haze, he spooned tea into his cup and infused his favorite mixture of Kopi and muja fruit zest. It smelled divinely as usual. Anakin slumped at their plain table, thinking thoughts perilously close to brooding. More than steam turned his ruminations to a simmering confused mess.

"She probably knows all kinds of tricks to lure him," Anakin moped. "She's old and experienced, wants him, nothing to hold her back ... now that the Code has been changed ... " Along with Yoda sometimes, Anakin wondered if changing the Code had been a good thing. He'd wanted it for himself and his Master at the time. His schooltime debate from years ago hadn't stood the test of time well; attachments could weaken as well as strengthen one's power to walk the Jedi path. It was all so complex. Anakin peeled a spring celto, braiding its tough strings in an old nervous mannerism he hadn't been plagued with since his early teens. He slathered on whipped yellow Byss cheese from a dispenser, piling the crisp vegetable high with enough richness to make him sick. He ate it with one bite. I've stopped blossoming. I've done the Padawan thing, the husband thing, the divorce thing, the Chosen One thing. What's next? He squirted on more cheese on another piece of the vegetable, then peeled six more and laid them on the island. He adorned each with loops of cheese and ate them, one after the other. Someday soon I'll be a Knight. Master Yoda promised I could take the Trials when the war ended. Penance Anakin understood. Having pallies taken away from him when he'd failed at fixing broken droids was nothing compared to being the Order's oldest Padawan. Other species might have different aging templates, but for a human, he was the most Senior of the Senior Padawans. It rankled now, in the midst of a long night. Yoda's judgment was fair, but onerous to live with after two years. Anakin plodded to the common room to select a vid. Obi-Wan's pile of horror titles loomed in the darkened room, stacked neatly by the holoprojector. Butcher King of the Downlevels, Octagonhead Part Seven: The Facets of Fear, It Came From Beneath The Speederpark ... He chose the most lurid one and turned on the device. Eerie music punctuated by stings of agitato vioflute trills began and Anakin settled to wait.

"Shouldn't eat so much cheese, Anakin. You know what it does to you." Obi-Wan replaced the cheese in the conservator.

Anakin had nearly nodded off and hadn't heard him enter. "Huh. Thanks for reminding me. How was your" --- date --- "evening?" He left the holoprojector on to provide some background noise and picked up his unfinished chore casually, spreading the necessary implements across the caf table. At a look from Obi-Wan through the kitchen door, he spread some flimsiplast underneath his project.

"Quite interesting, thanks. Did you know she plays the mouthharp?"

Anakin buffed his boots. He spat on the vamp and stretched the taut white cleaning cloth between the clenched fingers of his left hand and the more relaxed ones of his right. "No, I didn't." Obi-Wan poured himself a cup of lukewarm Kopi tea. He always likes it piping hot. He must really be distracted. Obi-Wan sat at his usual place at their kitchen table, putting up his feet on Anakin's chair with a sigh. He leaned forward to meet Anakin's eyes.

"She learned how when she was undercover in Krayn's slaver employ. Lots of free time on her hands between raids."

"Was that all she learned to do with her mouth?" Anakin met his gaze briefly before he snapped the bootblacking cloth up and then down sharply on the left side of the vamp of his boot. He repeated the buff, and then flicked the cloth savagely against the right side.

The holoprojector said, "Cleo, the *bleep*ing speeder's stalled and it's pouring rain now. Let's head for the mansion up on the hill there. It looks deserted." Obi-Wan generally checked out the expurgated vids from Madame Nu's archives, claiming he heard enough cursing in everyday life.

Obi-Wan yawned and stretched. "Nope. She can do reptavian imitations, too. And Krayt dragon mating calls." He stirred his tea, slurping it as he never had before. Anakin gouged out a dab of metal polish from its tin and flung a small blob on each boot's buckle. Mating calls, hummmph. He wrapped a section of cloth around his longest flesh finger only, rubbing and twisting the buckle, shining its surface to a mirror. Obi-Wan clinked his empty cup into its saucer. He yawned again. And just why is he so tired? "Mmmmhm. Those animal sounds would be a good distracting maneuver on a mission. Siri has developed her oral talents." He extended his right leg. "Help me remove my boots, Padawan?"

A female voice on the vid trembled, "Hello? Anyone in here? I could have sworn I saw someone at the window, Radik."

Anakin pressed his lips together, delivering a final snap! to his own glossy footgear. He crossed to the kitchen in four brisk steps. "Sure. Why not?" He straddled Obi-Wan's outstretched thigh, facing away from him, bending forward as he grasped the counter and the toe of the chestnut nerf leather boot. He pulled as Obi-Wan placed his other foot on Anakin's backside and pushed.

"Uhhhnggg. Harder, Anakin! Harder!"

The words percolated through into a particularly vivid and cherished memory of their lovemaking, two years ago. Anakin snapped. "All right!" He yanked, Obi-Wan pushed, the boot slid free, and he staggered forward three steps. He turned on Obi-Wan, dropping the boot exaggeratedly. "All right! If you want her, just say so! I'll accept it, but nobody could expect me to like it!"

"It's enormous! Let's hide in the basement!" whispered Radik. Muted thunder rumbled in the background of the soundtrack. Obi-Wan twitched a finger and the holoprojector was silent. The Master did not move from his comfortable position at their table. "What's this all about? I'm getting to know Siri better after many years, that's all. We've been reminiscing. We've been through some things together lately, surely I don't have to enumerate them to you."

"Maybe you do, Obi-Wan."


Meanwhile, down in the Temple labs ...

Plo Koon hummed a response to a part of a Kel-Dor litany he had studied as part of a Get To Know Your Homeworld studies. With species such as his, such study was mandatory, as it was not with human or even near-human Initiates. He used the chanting as a mind-focusing technique while in his laboratory, but only when he was hard put to achieve results. For two weeks he had needed to chant.

"Yesterday barged in
Chasing Tomorrow-row-row away
Today had no chance."

"I make my own cha-a-a-ance," he replied in a monotone. He needed this "Present, Tense" part of the liturgy at times to spur him on to greater effort. Peripheral neuropathy. That was what the younger-than-he-looked trooper in front of him was afflicted with. It didn't show up all the time. It was nastily unpredictable. No known medicine or therapy could cure him. The demyelination progressed steadily with its resulting unsteady gait, tremors and general weakness.

ARC5231 coughed. "Sir, some water?"

"It's at the end of the counter, Trooper. Help yourself," Plo replied absently. He scrolled his datapad to the ending projections of memory loss, loss of dexterity and double vision. Not fatal. Painful, costly to the Republic in terms of supporting these beings that the Jedi had ordered into being, but not fatal. Plo wondered if the young man knew his future may include heat sensitivity and loss of control of the bodily functions of elimination. Heat sensitivity. Adi was using the hot water part of the dispenser to make tea when she was here a while ago on her recruiting mission. "Trooper, be careful of --- "

"It's okay, sir. I know I'm not myself anymore." ARC5231 ran a hand through his thick black hair and came out with a tuft between his fingers. "See? Started last week."

Kriff. "I'll get you the water. Sit down."

"Sir, it's not fit that you should --- "

"That's an order, Trooper."

Plo turned off the heat for the hot water half of the dispenser and handed the soldier a cup of cool water, curling his talons around the man's hand to ensure he gripped it securely.

ARC5231 gently lifted off the Master's hand. "Not that bad off, sir. Thanks, anyway." He brought the flimsi cup to his lips slowly, as if he had had accidents doing this in the past days. "Mmmm, hits the spot."

Plo took notes and redoubled his efforts. ARC5231 stayed with him for tests uncomplainingly until dawn, when he returned to his barracks. ARC2813 replaced him immediately.
 
TBC

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