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"You've had worse. You'll live." Qui‐Gon doctored Quinlan's wound with efficient and gentle fingers. Quin managed a pained smile and flexed his arm, the muscles bulging around the bandage.
"Thank you, Master Jinn." Qui-Gon smiled at him affectionately, reaching out to ruffle his hair, even as the Knight sat on his table, long legs almost reaching the floor and giving lie to the nostalgic memory Qui-Gon had of a padawan-gone-by.
"It's been many years since you came to me for this type of care, Quinlan."
Quin’s smile grew, mirroring the affection, sharing the obvious memory. "You haven't lost your touch."
"Nor have you," Qui-Gon replied smoothly. "There are only a few reasons you'd come to me instead of Tholme or the Healers, and you've managed to keep your own counsel as tightly now as you ever did."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Quin avoided Qui-Gon's gaze and stood up easily, as tall now as the Jedi Master.
Qui-Gon stopped his retreat with a gentle tug on a locke of hair that fell where his padawan braid had once rested. "And I'm sure you remember how I feel about falsehoods," Qui-Gon chided gently.
Quin flushed and his eyes flew to Qui-Gon’s, measuring. The guilty look on his face once more pulling memories of the past into the present, making Qui-Gon blink to clear his mind. "It's not what you think."
"With you, it almost never is," Qui-Gon chuckled, and Quin snorted in a moment of conciliatory admission.
"Aayla and I just returned from a mission," Quin said slowly, clearly trying to think each word through as he said it. "We had a small, ah, run in with, with some smugglers."
Qui-Gon nodded, brows knitting. "I didn't hear about this."
"It was… ahhh… personal. Sort of. In a manner of speaking." Quin rubbed his head with the hand on his uninjured arm, eyes sliding away from Qui-Gon’s. "Involving a game of sabbac and a misunderstanding that has been cleared up now. Minus this one slight injury that…umm… wasn't healing on its own. Likely due to, possibly, although I’m not totally sure, but knowing the source, I would guess, maybe a, umm, poisoned dart."
Qui-Gon frowned. "Does the Council know about this?"
"Generally speaking, yes," Quin hedged, the tips of his ears darkening as he blushed. "And now that everything is cleared up, there's no real reason to cloud up the reports with extraneous details."
Qui-Gon's frown deepened. "And Master Tholme?"
Quin nodded slowly, his expression pained. "Oh, he knows… enough."
"I see." Qui-Gon sighed. "You are avoiding telling the Council everything because you don't wish Tholme to see the reports."
"I wouldn't say that, Master!" Quin protested.
"Am I wrong?" Qui-Gon asked.
"I wouldn't say that, either, Master." Quin admitted after a moment, lips quirking upwards on the sides in an attempt to downplay the situation. "I wouldn't say anything about it at all, if I could help it."
“What, exactly, does Tholme know?” Qui-Gon crossed his arms. “Be specific, youngling. I’ve had quite enough prevarication.”
“Well,” Quin leaned back against the table again, careful to keep his backside protected. “He knows that I lost a game of sabbac a few months back and that I owed someone more credits than I carried, and that there was an IOU of sorts.”
Qui-Gon’s eyebrows rose. “An IOU?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Quinlan,” Qui-Gon spoke quietly. “What kind of IOU?”
Quin looked at Qui-Gon sideways. “The kind that you pay eventually if you don’t want someone to shoot you with a poison dart.”
“A bounty, perhaps?”
“To be fair,” Quin hastily spoke, “the smugglers don’t know that I’m a Jedi.”
“And when you say you’ve cleared this up?”
Quin cleared his throat. “Master Jinn, I think perhaps you don’t really want to know the answer to that.”
“Oh, I’m quite certain I do.” Qui-Gon stood up straight, his expression stern. His arms swung to his side and Quin watched them carefully.
“The person who shot me saw fit to pay the debt,” Quin said after a moment. He edged towards the side of the table. “It was a thank you of sorts.”
“To you?”
“Aayla had a blaster to his head,” Quin explained, then darted around the table as Qui-Gon made a grab for him. “She’s quite resourceful. And this person was grateful that she didn’t pull the trigger, so… it all worked out.”
“What’s to keep them from coming for Aayla?” Qui-Gon asked seriously. “Or you, again?”
“I’m even more persuasive than Aayla,” Quin said, edging towards the door. “When I’ve not been shot with a poison dart.”
“And Tholme knows all of this?”
“Oh,” Quin shook his head. “Umm, not all of it. He possibly mistakenly believes that I’d taken care of the IOU before now, and, since it’s been dealt with now, I’d really prefer if you’d keep that between us, Master, because I think I’ve reached my quota of close calls for this mission.”
“I am not keeping that from Tholme,” Qui-Gon replied flatly. Quin had the audacity to look outraged.
“You should have told me that before I told you, then!”
Rubbing his eyes with his fingers, Qui-Gon sighed. “Quinlan Vos. You’re not keeping it from him either.”
Quin looked skeptical. “That doesn’t sound like me, or my current plans. Which just shifted to going off-world.” He turned and started for the door, and Qui-Gon raised his voice slightly.
“Hold.”
“Damn it, Master!” Quin protested, but he stopped just before leaving, hand hovering over the exit button. “I didn’t come to you because I needed you to be my conscience.”
Qui-Gon snorted softly. “Oh, I think that’s exactly why you came to me. You’ve never been good at keeping this type of secret from your former Master and trying just makes you - and everyone around you - miserable until you finally confess. So, I propose that we go and tell him together.”
Quin didn’t turn around. “Master Tholme is off-world, helping with injuries caused by the solar storms in the Arcc System.”
Comprehension dawned. “I see,” Qui-Gon spoke gravely. “Quinlan, look at me.” Quin did not turn around.
“Master, you’re right. I should tell the Council and...”
“Look at me.” Qui-Gon repeated. He did not raise his voice, but he inserted steel in the center and Quin slowly turned. “I care for you, Quinlan, as if you had been my own padawan.”
Quin's cheeks flushed as red as his ears. “I know, Master,” he said gruffly. “You’ve always been clear about that.”
“So, I will handle this as I always would have,” Qui-Gon said. “But you will still tell your own Master at the first available opportunity, is that clear?”
Quin swallowed. “When you say first available…?”
“If I find out that you didn’t tell him when you had the chance, I will turn you over my knee,” Qui-Gon said simply. “And you can ask me all the semantics questions you wish while I paddle your backside.”
Quin sighed, shoulder slumping. “Master,” he complained. “You can’t just say things like that.”
Qui-Gon smiled. “I’ve found it best to be direct and make sure that there are no bits which can later plausibly be claimed to have been unclear.”
Quin hesitated again, his expression shifting to one of real doubt for a moment. “Master, I am not your former padawan, and I am not your responsibility. I appreciate your help with the wound, but…” Qui-Gon lifted his chin a fraction, his face mirroring Quin’s in seriousness. He crossed to the younger Jedi in three quick steps, gently but firmly took his arm, and turned him so that he could land two very hard smacks on his backside.
“We may not have held formal titles between us, Quinlan Vos, but you were and are mine in all ways that matter, and I am yours still in all ways that matter. Is that clear, or should we start our discussion with a reminder of those facts?”
Ruefully, Quin reached back to rub his stinging bottom. “No, Master. As always, you are quite eloquent on subjects about which you feel strongly. Even my feeble brain understood.”
Frowning, Qui-Gon aimed another set of smacks at Quin’s bottom, and Quin yelped and danced to the end of Qui-Gon’s grip. “I do not tolerate negative self-talk better now than I did in the past.”
Quin shot Qui-Gon a wounded look. “Easy, Master! I’m injured, remember?”
Qui-Gon shook his head, amused and surprised at Quin’s gall. “I do remember, Quin. I believe that is the precise reason you’re about to go over my knee.”
Quin’s expression changed again, clearly embarrassed. “You mean bend over the table, surely.”
“I do not.”
“The sofa?”
“No.”
“Master, I’m as tall as you are.”
“You’ll fit.”
“You’ll be more comfortable…”
“Let me worry about my own comfort,” Qui-Gon interrupted. “It’s your comfort level that I intend to diminish, not my own.”
Quin blinked, then shrugged sheepishly. “Master,” he protested again, his voice more of a whine than anything serious, but he accepted Qui-Gon’s grip on his good arm and followed him to the sofa meekly enough. Then, to his horror, Qui-Gon passed by the sofa, and took him to the adjacent corner. Meeting Quin’s eyes, Qui-Gon spoke calmly. “Stay here for a moment, Quinlan. I need to fetch the hairbrush.”
“Master, I assure you that you do not need to do any such thing!” Quin hastily replied, but Qui-Gon smiled serenely.
“I feel certain that it will be needed before our conversation is over,” Qui-Gon said. “So far, you seem to need additional persuasion about every step of this process, so I see no reason not to believe that these next steps will be similar.”
“I do not!” Quin countered, then bit his lip as he realized that he was proving Qui-Gon’s point.
“Turn around, if you please. A few moments of contemplation will do you well.” Qui-Gon kept his voice even, but he meant to convey it as an order, not a request. Quin blew out a sharp breath and obeyed, hunching in on himself as he waited. His tension escalated so high that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Qui-Gon returned.
“All right, youngling, come here,” Qui-Gon sat on the sofa, with his back firmly against the rear cushions. “There should be enough room for you to lay flat across me, with no need to support your weight on your injured arm.”
“Master, I’m fine, I assure you,” Quin began, but Qui-Gon held up his hand.
“I am not asking you, Quinlan. I am instructing you, with full expectations of your immediate obedience.”
“Oh,” Quin sighed, eyeing Qui-Gon for a moment before stepping towards the sofa. He put a knee on one cushion, prepared to bend forward, when Qui-Gon stopped him.
“If it has been so long since you’ve been disciplined that you’ve forgotten to lower your trousers,” Qui-Gon said, his tone conversational, “I will consider that evidence that you need a thorough reminder of the process. If you’re being stubborn, I will consider it evidence of the same.”
Quin almost stumbled in his haste to stand and unfasten his trousers. “Sorry, Master,” he mumbled.
“It’s alright, Quinlan. I’m happy to spend as much time as you wish reminding you that you’re cared for tonight,” Qui-Gon reassured him. “I have nothing else pressing until tomorrow morning.”
Quin paused as he fumbled with the ties on his trousers, eyes widening as he looked up at Qui-Gon. “That’s kind of you, Master, but surely this won’t take that long.”
Qui-Gon tilted his head. “Something tells me that this may take longer than you’re expecting. While retrieving the brush, I took the liberty of asking Obi-Wan to collect Aayla and Anakin and bring them to his apartment for a while this evening. He will present it as an adventure, I’m sure, and undoubtedly allow them more sugar than is healthy.”
Quin’s left eye twitched briefly, but Qui-Gon noted it. “That’s not necessary,” Quin said, making no further move to unclothe himself. “Aayla is my responsibility, not Obi-Wan’s, or yours.”
“Aayla is a padawan of the Jedi Order,” Qui-Gon said softly. “She is the responsibility of us all, as are you, Knight Vos. There is no shame in needing or accepting help.”
Quin still didn’t move, and Qui-Gon waited patiently. Finally, Quin dropped his hands. “Master, this was a mistake. Thank you for tending my wound, but… I should go.”
“We’re not done here,” Qui-Gon countered, his voice calm.
“I think I’m done,” Quin replied, his affect suddenly flat, tone completely neutral. “Sorry to waste your time.”
Qui-Gon sighed, standing abruptly and cutting off Quin’s retreat. Gently, he reached out to cup Quin’s chin with one hand. “You are never a waste of my time.” He trailed his hand gently down Quin’s shoulder to his bicep. “And I told you earlier that I intended to handle this the way that I always would have.”
“Yes, Master, but,” Quin tried.
“At no point would I ever have let you, or anyone in my care, leave in a haze of guilt, feeling alone and abandoned, and unworthy of care.”
“That’s not what this is,” Quin said, his voice stilted. "I'm not in your care."
“And I do not intend to start now,” Qui-Gon concluded, ignoring Quin’s protests. With that, he sat down and pulled Quin over his lap as he went, angling his descent to make sure that Quin’s torso was on the sofa, and catching Quin’s legs between his own. He leaned forward to pick up the hairbrush from the small table that sat in front of the sofa, and carefully caught Quin’s injured arm in his hand as he leaned back, pinning the younger Jedi in place over his lap. “We’ll revisit the state of your trousers in a moment,” he promised right before bringing the brush down on Quin’s sit spot with a heavy smack.
“Ouch!” Either the unexpectedness of being over Qui-Gon’s lap, or the heftiness of the smack, broke through Quin’s sudden reserve, and he set to shouting with each swat on his upturned backside, utterly heedless of his pride. Qui-Gon rained them down freely, waiting until Quin’s ouches had taken on a sincere note before stopping.
“Are you ready to listen to me now?” Qui-Gon asked, and Quin nodded frantically. Qui-Gon let him up. “Very good. Then, you were lowering your trousers so we could begin, I believe.”
“What?” Quin asked, utterly dumbfounded. “What do you call what we just did?”
“Persuasion, I suppose,” Qui-Gon said after thinking for a moment. “Do you need more of it?”
“No, no, Master, no.” Quin’s hands flew to his trousers, and he unfastened them, shoving them down to his knees. “You were most persuasive already.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “Very good. Now, over my lap, please, and be careful of your arm.” Hesitantly, Quin obeyed, shifting so that he lay over Qui-Gon’s lap as he’d been told to do. When Qui-Gon nudged his hip to move him further forward, Quin groaned, but obeyed.
“Tell me what just happened.” Qui-Gon said once Quin was fully in position.
“You smacked the druk out of me,” Quin grumbled, and Qui-Gon hummed his disapproval, bringing the brush down firmly.
“If you don’t want an honest answer,” Quin protested loudly, “don’t ask!” That earned him a hefty smack again, and Quin rocked forward, his good hand flying backward. Qui-Gon cleared his throat. “Sorry, Master,” Quin managed, his voice strained. He pulled his hand back out of the way.
“It’s your backside,” Qui-Gon replied sternly. “But you do yourself no favors.”
“Yes, Master,” Quin responded, more subdued. He breathed out harshly, shuddering. “I just… it’s… I feel… Aayla…”
“Take a deep breath, Quinlan,” Qui-Gon urged, coaching him through a calming exercise. “Release it slowly. Good. Again. Now, try telling me again.”
Quin nodded. “It is my fault Aayla was in that position to begin with,” he finally managed. “I should have dealt with the bounty before we went to that sector of space.”
"Ah," Qui-Gon nodded. "While I do not know the details, it does seem as though not only was that an option, or that you could have declined this mission, but that you actively deceived those who care for you when you made the choice to ignore the bounty?"
Qui-Gon waited for a long moment as Quin let those words move through him. When he spoke, tears choked his voice. "You fully understand, Master."
"Well, then." Qui-Gon tapped Quin’s backside with the hairbrush meaningfully. "I will let you discuss the deception with Master Tholme when he returns. But I will remind you now that he cares for you deeply. He does not expect perfection, but I cannot imagine he will be pleased that you lied to him."
Quin shuddered. "No, Master, he will not."
Having seen Tholme's response to Quin's youthful lies, and having heard tales of at least one similar incident, Qui-Gon shook his head. "He'll forgive you, Quinlan. Just as he always has. Just as he always will."
"Thank you," Quin managed, touched despite it all that Qui-Gon took the time to reassure him. "I know he will. I also know he'll likely beat my backside completely off."
"It's possible," Qui-Gon admitted. "But he is not the one your backside should fear at the moment."
"Believe me, Master, I'm well aware." Quin reached up to rub his eyes. "I failed her. I put her in danger. I'm not fit to…ouch!"
Qui-Gon stopped Quinlan's self-recriminations with a sharp smack. "That's enough of that. Drowning yourself in guilt in not the Jedi way. Meditate on your actions. Figure out why you did what you did. Work to eliminate whatever lies you told yourself that made you feel that it was necessary. Accept the consequences of your actions. Learn. Grow." Qui-Gon kept up a steady barrage of smacks as he spoke, pitching his voice to be heard over the nose of the brush and Quin's pained cries. It spoke volumes that Quin remained almost completely still, accepting each swat as well earned. "And remember this, too. Aayla did well. You both came home. She is a credit to her Master."
The last comment broke Quin's resolve and he sobbed once loudly, then a second time, then cried like he couldn't stop. Qui-Gon stopped speaking, choosing instead to let the brush drive home the points of his lesson until Quin lay limply over his lap, sobbing hard enough he shook from it. Eventually, his good hand came back and Qui-Gon took it, squeezing lightly. Finally, Quin gasped. "Stop, Master, please!"
Qui-Gon stopped, setting the brush down and letting his hands rub circles on Quin's back. "Very good, Quinlan. You're doing so well."
Quin shook his head, unable to accept the praise, and Qui-Gon’s hand slapped down firmly on his bottom, pulling a yelp from his throat. "Yes," Qui-Gon spoke firmly, letting his hand fall slowly and firmly as he spoke, "you are. Being someone's Master is not easy. Nor is it easy to be a Jedi Knight. Much is asked of you; more is demanded. And yet, the hardest lesson for so many of us is to give ourselves grace. That is what you must do, Quinlan Vos. You must do it for your padawan, who will watch you and mirror your actions for her entire life. You must do it for your Master, who will feel your failure to do so as keenly as you. You must do it for your Order, who will continue to rely on you to help create peace in a chaotic universe. For your friends who will hurt every time you do. And for yourself, because no matter how hard you try, you will make mistakes, and you do not deserve to pay for them with your happiness."
Quin brought his injured hand to his face, covering it, as he cried. He let the truth of Qui-Gon's words seep into him, replacing the guilt he'd been carrying. The pain of his failure burned away in the fires raging on his backside, until he finally felt the sweet threads of relief started to pour through him. Finally, he calmed. After a few more moments where he soaked up Qui-Gon's affectionate soothing, he pushed himself up to his knees. Then he stood and slowly pulled his clothes straight. Qui-Gon stood and waited, pulling him into a fierce hug the moment he was settled. Settling them back to the sofa, Qui-Gon tucked Quin under his arm, watching with interest as Quin let his fingers smooth over the edge of Qui-Gon's cloak.
"What do you see?" Quin started and Qui-Gon had to pull him back down. "No, no. You stay put."
"I'm sorry, Master," Quin apologized. "I do not go very deep into your memories. It's habit, I'm afraid."
"I don't mind," Qui-Gon reassured. "I'm just curious."
"Oh, umm." Quin took a breath and reached for the cloak again. "I can feel your affection, mostly. Your concern. It feels like sunshine when the sun comes from behind a cloud. It's nice."
Qui-Gon softened. "Good. Then you're feeling the truth." Quin flashed him a smile and its brilliance startled Qui-Gon for a moment. Quin lived so often in the land of mischievous grins and arrogant smirks, that Qui-Gon wondered how many times he'd actually seen Quin truly smile. "Tell me about Aayla and how she's doing," he said after a moment, earning a repeat smile. As he listened to Quin talk about his padawan, his admiration and affection palpable, Qui-Gon felt the stirrings of the Force in his mind and felt comfort that even though he might not know what came their way in this troubled universe, he was doing as he was meant to do. "Chaos, yet harmony." Words that Qui-Gon did his best to emulate and live by, words he hoped Quinlan would take to heart, words he hoped they all would.