Title: Datapad 67248 (aka Loose Mornings)

Summary: Xanatos has a nice day. Everyone else . . . not so much.

A/N: This was originally written to stand alone, in response to a request for 'Evil Xan'. I was convinced to continue the story, which I do, from Obi-Wan's perspective (hence the title of the story). I will post Obi-Wan's journal in two or three parts after this.

A/N2: Not a happy story; bad things do happen, and these does have some dark themes.

I hope you enjoy, and as always, I love and appreciate and adore feedback. :)

Loose mornings.

Loose mornings are mornings where there is nothing to be done. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and there is nothing on the horizon. Not a trouble in sight. Today, it feels like a loose morning.

I wake up in the morning feeling refreshed. I get out of my silk bed, put some pants on, and walk out to my balcony. The stone of the rail feels cool against my arms as I lean against it, The sun has just risen, in time the stone will heat, but now I can feel the warm sun on my face and cool stone beneath my feet, against my hands. I push my black hair out of my face, absentmindedly tracing the scar on my cheek as I do so. Not quite a nervous habit, I only allow myself to do it when I'm alone, but it reminds me of the past, and the present. Not that the remembrance of that scar is the only thing I focus on, but it's important to me, even now.

I yawn a few times, the sun still steady, unlike me when I've just woken, and then walk back inside. I go out of my bedroom into the hall, looking around for any sign of blood. No, it is all gone. I smile, pleased and satisfied.

I walk downstairs. As usual, there is no one there, though a full breakfast awaits me. I have no worries about the food being poisoned; they know what would happen if I died. "I suffer you to live," I mutter to myself, then shake my head and laugh.

I ate my breakfast, which was excellently made. I made a note to reward them. I'm not a cruel man, after all. I reward those who obey me. Of course, it's very, very difficult for them to do just that, and so when they do good, I reward them. It confuses them, I know, makes them doubt themselves. But sometimes I do honestly enjoy rewarding good work. I always do with my employees. I'm as good at rewarding those who please me as destroying those who don't.

I go outside, to the beachfront. No one is in sight, though I feel them nearby. I sit down on a wooden chair, letting my feet sink into the warming sand. The sea spreads out before me like it was made for me. It is a darker blue than most seas, about the color of my eyes. Dark blue. I sigh happily.

There's a beautiful thing about being in charge; everything is done just the way you like it. The beach I kept as it was, already perfect, but I had them build and tear down the house and patio four times before I was satisfied. Though getting a new architect every time was a bit of a pain, the last one still lives rather well.

Today, there is nothing to do. It is my 'day off'. My subordinates are trust-worthy; they know better than to subvert me, and they also know what happens when they serve me well. It makes them loyal. That I do care for them, to some degree, also helps. Good help is just so hard to find, I keep it whenever possible.

"Obi-Wan!" I call out suddenly, earlier than usual. I feel a surge of panic in the Force, but it subsides quickly.

Obi-Wan comes to me from under the patio. So that's where he was staying out of my sight. They could only be in my sight when I permitted it, when I requested it, but how they obeyed that order was up to them; I'm sure there are many hiding spots such as Obi-Wan's all over the property. The boy is growing up now. He's getting taller, almost gangly, except his Jedi training kicks in and he appears more graceful than he should. His hair is finally grown out properly from the shave I gave all of them in the beginning, to get rid of status reminders such as Padawan braids. It reaches his shoulders.

I feel like a parent when I think it, but sometimes it's hard for me to believe that Obi-Wan is nineteen now.

"Yes, Master?" Obi-Wan says.

I point at the seat next to me. Not the ground, the chair, which is more than I generally permit. "Sit."

He sits warily. Obi-Wan is an interesting person, I think. I initially took an interest in him because he was my replacement, Qui-Gon's Padawan, and that had galled at me. But I soon realized he really was unique. While most of the Jedi either hated me or tolerated me in that stay-on-the-light-side way, Obi-Wan was neither of those things. He was a little afraid of me, of course, but he appeared to actually see me as a human being, instead of a Dark Side monster or deluded, insane individual. Or at least, he sees me as more than that. Even more unusual, especially considering his age – fourteen – when he came into my service with the rest, was that he actually dared to disagree with me. Several times. Even after being punished. But he didn't do it just to disagree, nor did he particularly do it unwisely.

He has found some sort of balance in dealing with me. I don't understand it, but I like it. Overall.

"Your back?" I say politely.

He turns slightly so I can see. The marks on his back have scabbed, though it looks more recent than it should. He must have cleaned up the blood in the hallway himself, reopening the wounds – not doubt trying to spare Qui-Gon, who can never stand it when I hurt Obi-Wan. Of course, Obi-Wan did strike at me, which I would have killed others for. But it was justified; I had threatened to kill Qui-Gon once and for all, instead of making him a servant – nice substitute for 'slave' – on my estate.

I nod. "Make sure they heal well."

"I will, Master." That's another thing I require, mostly because it grates at the Jedi especially. But what did they expect? I won. I destroyed the Temple, I overthrew the New Republic . . . It was mine to enjoy.

Obi-Wan is biting his lip. It's a nervous habit, which gives me some clues into his mind, so I haven't mentioned it in our talks.

"What is it?" I ask. He'll answer, of course. He can keep his mouth shut if I don't ask, but if I do, he has to answer honestly and completely. Unlike the Jedi Masters, he is not so skilled at lying, and I always know.

"Some of the collars are getting too small on the children," Obi-Wan tells me.

Ah. I nod. The collars are what I use to keep the Jedi in line. He usually is the one who does so; I've threatened to not bother to change the collar sizes out of spite before. Of course, they don't hinder Force ability, but they do all connect, and if I die, so do they all – the women, the children, and a few hostages I have here and there. It's how I keep the Jedi in line. Naturally, only I can undo the collars. It can be a pain sometimes in having to change them on the growing children, but worth it, I think. I don't want to give anyone else that power, and they couldn't be made to stretch without taking away security. "I'll take care of it," I assure Obi-Wan. I'm not a cruel man.

Obi-Wan nods absentmindedly, then hurriedly says, "Thank you, Master." He forgets, sometimes, but I think he believes he's only come close to forgetting that 'Master'. I let him get away with it.

I wonder if I'm going soft.

"So what do you want to talk about this morning, Obi-Wan?" I say. It is our weekly ritual to talk on these 'day off' mornings. Well, my ritual, at any rate. I always make him pick the topic; it keeps him on his toes, wondering which to pick, which will please me, or if he should even bother trying.

Today, Obi-Wan surprises me. "Let's talk about love."

"Love?" I say, surprised. "Romantic love? Familial love?"

Obi-Wan hesitates. "Familial."

I look at him, absurdly proud of his bravery. "Be more specific."

Obi-Wan almost shrugs, then thinks better of the action, remembering his back. "How about the love of a son for his father, and vice versa?"

Very daring. I lift my eyebrows, curious, a little twinge of anger rising.

He hesitates again, and I suddenly know there's more, and that more is important, so I wait.

"Or maybe that between a superior and subordinate?"

That makes me truly pause. "Or a Master, and his slave? His Jedi slave, perhaps?"

Obi-Wan looks down, and he's nearly hyperventilating. He's trying to calm himself down, probably cursing himself for his forwardness.

I take his chin, make him look at me. He has not guessed wrong, and I smile at him. I don't know why I'm willing to let him know this, but I am. "I think it can exist," is all I say. Then I lean back, looking out at the sea again. "Pick another topic, Obi-Wan."

And that's all we say on the matter.

It was a lovely loose morning.