He slipped quietly out of the room, across the veranda, and out to a small
clearing. Taking a deep breath to
center, Qui-Gon Jinn began his morning katas. Beginner levels to
warm up, working up to full fighting
speed and complexity. Deep meditative routines that cooled down muscles
while clearing the mind,
working down to a full meditative state. He did an unarmed routine
prescribed for Jedi on worlds where
lightsabres were either forbidden or unknown, as they were on this one.
As he rose from his meditation, a voice asked, “Do you do that every morning?”
“I exercise every morning, Alex, but I vary the routine. Jedi are
required to maintain their physical bodies
for as long as possible. Even the oldest of us does some form of
exercise, though they may long since have
retired from field work.” Alexander Waverly was one of the few people
who knew Qui-Gon Jinn’s real
name and origins, and had kept the secret well. “When do you want
to tell your Mr. Solo about the Jedi?”
“Sometime today, I think. Watching you move gives me some idea of
how little hand-to-hand combat you
taught us.” Alex commented.
“It takes decades to master some of those moves,” Qui-Gon replied.
“I couldn’t do about a third of that
routine when I taught you and the others. I‘ve been working with Ilya as
I said before; he’s an excellent
student. Every bit as good as you were.”
“I should think he’d be a bit better,” Alex said. “Speaking of Ilya, he isn ’t in his bed.”
“He’s in mine,” the other man told him, “by his own choice. He said
he couldn’t sleep when he came to my
room last night, but he dropped right off after crawling into bed with
me.”
“I’d better tell Napoleon where he is, before he organizes a search party.”
They separated, Alex to find his
protégé and Qui-Gon to shower, dress and return to being
John Quinn.
Waverly caught Napoleon just as he was about to knock on Ilya’s door, and
explained where he was. The
younger man nodded and the two proceeded into the dining room for breakfast.
John came out of the master bath to find Ilya awake. “Good morning,
snowflake. How are you feeling this
morning?”
“Much better,” his snowflake said. “Sleeping in your bed must agree
with me. Can I get up and eat
breakfast in the dining room?”
John sat on the bed and gave him a quick kiss. “No, but you can have
a bath – I’ve already filled the tub –
while I bring us back breakfast. Alex and Napoleon know where you
are, so they’ll probably drop by later
to see how you’re faring.”
“I’ll remember to dress for company,” Ilya deadpanned; he was wearing what
he normally slept in since
arriving on the plantation: nothing. “Bottom drawer?” John
kept various articles of clothing in his room for
the young man since they’d become lovers, in closets and drawers.
The older man nodded. “Hurry along before it gets cold. I’ll
leave you out a pair before I fetch breakfast;
how about the peach silk ones? They look really good on you.”
Ilya stopped halfway to the bath. “Real men do not wear peach silk
pajamas!” he stated emphatically. “Are my white ones here?”
“Right here,” answered John, shaking out the lengths of white silk.
“Now, shoo!” Ilya shot him a grin and
dutifully shooed.
John chuckled all the way to the kitchen, where he ordered a meal for two
and asked it be brought on a tray
to the dining room. Then he went there to play host, having tea while
his guests ate and chatting amiably
about this and that.
“We should tell them both, don’t you think?” Waverly said suddenly.
“I think you’re right,” John agreed. “Half an hour, to let Ilya finish eating breakfast?”
“No need to rush,” the other man said. “Make it an hour; there’s
something I need to discuss with Mr.
Solo.”
“Mind if I ask what you’re talking about?” Napoleon inquired.
“All in due time,” John said as his tray was brought in.
“I can carry this into the bedroom if you wish, sir,” the butler said.
“No need,” his employer said with a smile, “I have it.” He took the tray and departed.
The butler picked up the empty breakfast dishes, refilled their cups, and
asked if they needed anything
further. After finding they didn’t, he departed as well, taking the
dirty dishes to the kitchen.
“There are certain matters of policy within UNCLE which, while rarely brought
to anyone’s attention, have
been and hopefully will continue to be far more liberal than most of their
governmental and corporate
counterparts,” Waverly began. “Specifically, that a person’s sexuality
is his or her own business, so long
as it doesn’t involve coercion or partners who for one reason or another
are unable to give consent, such as
minors, the mentally ill, or non-sapient animals. Before we return
to New York, I need to know your
feelings on the matter, both in general and specifically as they relate
to Mr. Kuryakin.”
“I think I just had this conversation with someone else,” Napoleon replied.
“In general terms, sir, I’ve been
aware of certain anomalies of behavior among my co-workers and have turned,
and will continue to turn, a
blind eye to it. As for my partner, his sexuality doesn’t bother
me. I trusted him to guard my back before,
and I hope to have him doing so again. May I ask you a question,
sir? How long have you known?”
“From the very first; the background investigation potential field agents
go through is mercilessly thorough,”
his boss told him. “In fact, it’s a major part of why the KGB offered
him to us; they regarded his sexuality
as a liability. Which in plain fact it was, to them. He’s been
very discreet with his liaisons. Far more so
than others I could name. You had no clue at all?”
“None,” the other man said. “As you said, he’s very discreet.”
The rest of the hour passed without incident, and when the time came they
knocked on John’s door.