Disclaimer: It all belongs to the Flanneled One. I'm just having fun in his galaxy.

One

Padawan Xanatos duCrion was arrogant, everyone knew that.

Most simply dismissed it. After all, he had been chosen early as the apprentice of one of the greatest Masters in the Order, rogue though Qui-Gon Jinn might be, and it was true that the boy's talents were exceptional. A little arrogance was excusable, especially in one still so young.

But rather than that making the other's boy's distant pride and subtle conceit easier to bear, those mitigating factors only made Initiate Jerec hate him more. Xanatos had been chosen by Qui-Gon when the stuck-up little vreldt was nine—nine! Jerec was nearly thirteen, and he still hadn't been chosen as a Padawan. Every day brought his birthday and the Medical Corps closer. Every day he had to watch other Padawans, his age or younger, even, walking around the Temple accompanied by their Masters. Every time he had to address the younger boy as "Padawan" Xanatos, acknowledging Xan's higher status, Jerec felt a sick, tense heat building in his stomach, in the back of his throat, until he had to grit his teeth and clench his hands into fists to force it back.

That tight, nauseating resentment had settled into a ball in his stomach, growing and festering until Jerec resented everything about the younger boy, from the noble blood apparent in the defined angularity of his features, his pale skin and jet black hair and deep blue eyes, the aristocratic tilt of his chin, the straight line of his noble nose, the finely curved arches of his cheekbones, to the patrician, slightly Telosian lilt of his speech, to the proud, confident, superior way the other boy carried himself, to the way he tugged thoughtfully on his Padawan braid, twirling it between his fingers, whenever he was thinking about something.

That was what Xanatos was doing now, his long fingers twisted up in the inky black strand, slipping it back and forth, back and forth, as he walked down the hall. Jerec gritted his teeth at the sight of the younger boy and moved to block his way down the hall before he was even aware of what he was doing.

Xanatos looked up as he did so. "Initiate Jerec," he said in that slightly mocking, supercilious tone he always seemed to use around him, as if he knew how much it bothered the older boy. A long, tense moment passed, and then Xanatos moved to cross his arms over his chest. "This is a public hallway, is it not?"

"The last time I checked," Jerec replied.

Xanatos smiled. "Than what do you mean by getting in my way? The hallway is wide, and I have as much right to walk down it as yourself. Do you mind?"

Jerec crossed his arms across his chest. "As a matter of fact, Padawan Xani," he replied, using Xanatos's nickname from the crèche, "I do mind."

Xanatos's eyes flashed dangerously, but his tone was pleasant enough. "My name is Xanatos," he said. "My friends call me Xan, but you cannot. And I'm not following your logic, Initiate Jerec."

He really sounded far too intelligent for a boy who had only just celebrated his eleventh Life-Day. Jerec could feel the sick anger welling up in his stomach again.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson, little boy," Jerec growled, and he reached out to grab hold of Xanatos's short, spiky hair, twisting painfully. He pulled back with one hand and slammed his fist into Xanatos's face.

The smaller boy gave a cry of pain, his entire body shaking from the blow like a duracrete rat caught in a hawkbat's claws. Jerec let go and Xanatos stumbled back against the wall. Cold satisfaction trickled down Jerec's throat and into his belly at the damage his punch had inflicted. Xan's pale skin wasn't nearly so perfect now.

He felt no guilt, none at all, to see Xan raise a shaking hand to his eye, staring at him with shock in that glittering dark blue gaze, no matter that Xanatos was smaller and younger and he knew very well that the younger boy had only recently recovered from a bout with the Terellian flu. There was only that quick, heady rush of pleasure to seeing Xan's hand shaking a little, the rapidly purpling bruise around his eye.

He was doing nothing wrong, Jerec assured himself. Xanatos had gotten above himself and needed to be brought back down. It was not the Jedi way to take pride in one's own perfection. Xanatos had erred, and he would have to be punished. Jinn wouldn't do it; he doted on the arrogant little kath hound. It was up to Jerec to administer justice.

"What the Force do you think you're doing?" Xanatos burst out, the imperious tone incongruous with the soft youthfulness of the eleven-year-old's features and his slumped posture against the wall. He straightened up, his eyes flashing with haughty defiance. "I won't let—"

"I'm teaching you a lesson—in humility, Xani," Jerec bit out, wrapping blunt fingers around Xanatos's Padawan braid, twisting the silky strand roughly in his hand and yanking brutally upward. Xanatos let out a sharp gasp of pain and his hands flew up to the braid as Jerec clenched his fist even tighter and used the leverage his hold on the braid gave him to forcibly tilt Xanatos's head backward. The younger boy's slim fingers caught against Jerec's fist, raking scratches into his skin, but Jerec was big and strong for his age, and a slender, still-frail child just past his eleventh Life-Day, no matter how athletic or skilled at lightsaber drills, was no match for him. Jerec shook Xanatos, slamming him back into the wall, and the boy's head cracked loudly against the tiled plaster. Xanatos gave a thin cry of pain before he bit his lip to keep it inside.

Jerec was glad to see he knew screaming would be of no use.

"Get off me, Initiate," Xanatos ordered breathlessly, still fighting vainly to break away. "L-leave me alone. I don't have to answer t-to you." His husky, childish tenor quavered slightly, and Jerec could feel the fear behind the bravado.

It exhilarated him. He enjoyed seeing the proud Padawan humbled and frightened. One part of Jerec was crying out for him to stop, shouting that this was wrong, that he shouldn't be taking such pleasure from the other boy's wide, frightened eyes or flinches of pain, but that part of him was overpowered by the rush of anger and resentment and Jerec didn't listen. He caught Xanatos's struggling fingers in his other hand, closing his own fingers into a fist around Xan's slim wrist and tilting it backward.

Xanatos's face twisted in agony. "Stop it, Jerec," he said. "Stop it."

Jerec smashed Xanatos's twisted wrist against the wall, then slammed it into the hard surface again, grinding his knuckles against the back of Xan's hand. Xanatos gave a small whimper and let his eyes slide closed.

Jerec could feel Xan's mind reaching out with the Force, searching for his Master. Well, no one had ever said the boy was stupid. "None of that!" he ground out, bringing up his knee to slam it into Xanatos's stomach. The smaller boy gasped weakly, but didn't bother to cry out as he slumped over Jerec's knee in pain. Jerec twisted Xan's abused arm behind his back until he could hear the shoulder-joints pop.

There were tears now, silent glistening streaks slipping slowly down the other boy's ghost-pale cheeks. "Let's see how well you do in your next lightsaber drill with your arm like that," Jerec taunted.

Xanatos sniffed and lifted his good hand to rub his tears away. He was taking deep, shuddering breaths and didn't respond to Jerec's taunts.

Jerec hit him again, knocking his face to the side. "Not so pretty now, are you?" he added, and raked his fingers in deep scratches across that pale skin, knowing full well how vain Xan was. Another failing, more proof of his unsuitability to be a Padawan when Jerec was not. He grabbed the braid again as Xan fell, rubbing his fingers and thumb up and down it to muss the neatly plaited strands. He rolled the bead at the end between his fingers for a moment, then fisted his hand and yanked it out.

"Don't," came Xanatos's weak protest. "Don't. I'll—I'll—stop hurting me. I mean it, Jerec."

"Oooh, big bad Xani wants me to stop," Jerec taunted. "I'm so scared."

"Stop it!" Xanatos screamed, and then he was on top of Jerec, his uninjured hand wrapped around the other boy's throat and squeezing, his young face twisted in a mask of frenzied rage. Jerec gasped for air as Xan's knees drove into his stomach. Through the dark stars dancing across his vision he could see Xanatos go for his lightsaber and he wondered if this was how he was going to die. Even a training lightsaber could be fatal at this range—"I told you to leave me alone; I told you. You're going to regret—"

"Xanatos!"

That deep voice came from the end of the corridor, and Xanatos simply . . . stopped. His arms dropped, and he slid off Jerec to stare at the floor. Jerec simply concentrated on gasping for air. Xanatos had a strong choke for someone that slight. "M-Master," Xan whispered, then seemed to gather himself together. He looked up at Master Jinn. "Master, I—this isn't what it looks—"

"Xanatos, what is going on here?" Master Jinn had reached them by now, and out of the corner of his clearing vision Jerec could see the big man's frame hunker down beside them.

Xanatos threw Jerec a terrified glance; and then, slowly, new tears began coursing down his cheeks.

"Oh, Xan," Jinn said in a rush, and he reached out to lay his hands on those small, shaking shoulders. Jerec watched in bafflement. Xanatos was tougher than that. His silent tears earlier had been real. These were not--instead, they were accompanied by sniffles and moans and frequent wipes of his eyes.

"He—he hurt me, Master," Xan whimpered pathetically, in a voice Jerec had never expected to hear from Xanatos's lips. "I—I tried—"

"Shhh," Jinn said. "Shhh. I know. Easy, Xan." He enfolded the boy in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his black, spiky head, and Xanatos collapsed weightlessly into that strong hold, his good hand clenching in Jinn's tunic.

Jerec watched in shock. What was going on here? What was Xanatos playing at?

And then Master Jinn turned to him with steel-blue fire in his eyes, and Jerec understood.