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The Master's Touch

by Wednesday (grave_tidings@yahoo.com)

Obi-Wan's Master woke him with hand on his shoulder and a slight jolt through their training bond as dawn's first light crept across the Temple gardens.

"Follow me, Padawan." Traditional words, their meaning seared into the obedient soul of the young man who threw back the covers and did as his Master bade.

Qui-Gon wore a Master's formal robes this morning, clothed in white from head to toe. Obi-Wan paced three steps and slightly to his Master's side, naked as the coming ceremony demanded. He was eighteen now, halfway through his apprenticeship and considered an adult. This morning would see Qui-Gon guiding him alone through the formal Temple ritual acknowledging that. Afterward, he would be welcomed as a senior Padawan, able to depart from his Master's side at least part of the time. Able to select his first lover and to live separately with him or her, should he choose to do so.

Beyond that, the mantle of adulthood mostly meant more responsibility and more to learn. Lessons and missions would both be more difficult, and Qui-Gon would systematically surrender more and more preparation and reporting duties, in order to prepare Obi-Wan for his eventual, solitary life as Knight. Sometime over the next month, the Padawan would precede his Master into the Council Chamber and deliver his first mission report with Qui-Gon standing silently behind him. The position was symbolic, foreshadowing what would surely come: the Apprentice would overtake the Master.

Obi-Wan was meant to do this, as were all Padawans. He had prepared all of his life for the moment when he would do this. Ten millennium of Padawans before him had done it, including his own Master, but this Padawan felt a deep wrenching inside whenever he thought of the moment when the overtaking would actually occur, and no longer be just symbolic. But the morning of his eighteenth naming day wasn't the time to reflect on such things; there would be time enough to ponder and meditate and try to make peace with them over the remaining years of his apprenticeship.

Naked, the Padawan followed the Master. With his hood raised and his hands tucked serenely into his robes, Qui-Gon led the way out of their private chambers and through the Temple corridors. Pacing exactly three steps behind the Master, Obi-Wan kept his head bowed and his eyes firmly focused on the hem of his Master's white robe. He followed unwashed from his sleep-time, his braid fuzzy and parts of it in tatters. He followed as an obedient child, symbolizing the unawakened, ignorant, unrealized potential of the Initiate he had been before Qui-Gon Jinn had claimed him.

//Only one other has ever followed him like this,// Obi-Wan thought in wonder. //Xanatos never made it this far.// The one who had followed Qui-Gon on this journey had retreated from Temple life upon his knighting; he had abandoned his name and claimed a monk's sanctuary at a Temple halfway across the galaxy, called The Henge. He had retreated, the better to study the living Force.

Obi-Wan had sometimes wondered after the unknown Padawan, but Qui-Gon had never spoken of him and had no contact with him. In seeking to join the Force while still in this life, a Jedi contemplative monk abandoned all that had come before and asked to be abandoned by all of those who had loved him. That included his Master. If Qui-Gon was saddened by this, he had never revealed it to Obi-Wan.

Knights and Masters and senior Padawans stopped the two Jedi on their journey, so that what should have taken only a few minutes took most of the morning. Congratulations and compliments were offered to Qui-Gon, honoring him for raising such a Padawan as Obi-Wan. Solemn bows were exchanged, Master to Master. The knights and seniors whispered good wishes into Obi-Wan's ears and tugged on his braid; some offered to be his first this night. Obi-Wan bowed his thanks briefly to each one, never speaking a word in return or removing his eyes from the hem of his Master's robe.

//My focus is my Master, and I follow you.// Each time they were stopped, Obi-Wan calmly sent the traditional words through their bond. Each time there was no reply, as was also traditional.

Word would spread throughout the Temple this day that Padawan Kenobi was halfway through his apprenticeship, word that he was sexually available now. He hadn't known so many had been waiting for this day. Part of him was flattered, while another part of him found the prospect of so many hands and minds wanting to touch him just a bit intimidating.

//The choice is yours always, Padawan.// Qui-Gon broke the silence between them, reaching beyond Obi-Wan's dissolved shields to offer a mental hug. //You never have to do anything with any of them that you don't want to do.//

//Yes, Master. Your words give me courage. //

//And some reassurance, I hope.//

Obi-Wan basked in the warmth radiating through the bond. It felt almost as if his Master had ruffled his Padawan's hair, much as he used to do when Obi-Wan had been younger. The Padawan in question didn't remember this as part of the ritual, but that was fine. Ever the rebel, Obi-Wan doubted that Qui-Gon could have refrained from inserting some sort of his personal touch into this very special day.

Obi-Wan's stomach was rumbling and wanting breakfast by the time they reached the brass doors leading into the Masters' private bath. Pushing through the doors, Qui-Gon shrugged out of his robe and handed it to the attendant waiting patiently nearby. Peeling off his belt, tunics and leggings, the Master handed them to Obi-Wan, who folded them neatly before handing them to the same attendant. Qui-Gon's white dress boots were removed and set aside for his return. Approaching his Master once he'd shed his clothes, Obi-Wan dared to reach up and remove the last remaining piece of apparel­the brown leather hair-tie--before his Master could do so. An arched eyebrow questioned him.

//An adult I may be on this day, but I'm not ready to relinquish tending your hair, Master.//

The blue eyes holding his grew tender. A saber-calloused palm caressed his cheek. "Thank you, Obi-Wan."

The Master led the way out of the foyer and into one of the private baths. The tiles were cool and damp beneath Obi-Wan's feet, cris-crossed with cracks and appearing nearly as old as the Order itself. Steam rose from the water, gentle ripples caressing the sides of the bath. Fragrant oils and herb sprigs floated on its surface. Qui-Gon took the stairs down into the water without hesitation before turning and opening his arms.

"Join me in my world, Obi-Wan Kenobi." His eyes sparkled. A crooked smile teased the corner of his mouth.

Obi-Wan couldn't help it; he grinned. Most Jedi ritual was solemn and serious, but Obi-Wan thought perhaps this one wasn't meant to be so. He managed to look puzzled. "Am I just meant to enjoy this, Master?"

The eyebrow again. "Something about becoming an adult should be enjoyable. After all, you've survived puberty and having me as your Master for nearly six years. Surely that's worth some reward? Relax, Obi-Wan," came the command, confirming his hopes. "We're away from prying eyes and judgmental Masters. Let me serve you for a change, hmmm?"

The older man reached for the floating tray containing a generous assortment of soaps, shampoos, and sponges. Moving closer, Obi-Wan had the unique experience of letting his Master bathe him from head to foot. He sighed and almost purred as those long fingers worked their magic. He let the rough hands guide him down into the water and floated on his back at their command, basking beneath his Master's ministrations and committing every touch to memory as Qui-Gon began humming a series of songs they'd both had to learn for their last mission. He was cleaned and also shaved, finding it hard not to laugh when his Master apologized for being so awkward with the ritual, primitive razor.

"Here, let me before you cut my throat," Obi-Wan protested. "You've been away from it too long with that beard."

With a chuckle, Qui-Gon complied. Afterward, the Master wrapped him in a large towel and leed the way into an antechamber to dry Obi-Wan off. A haircut followed, with Qui-Gon rebraiding the Padawan braid and adding a green tie to the collection.

"You're an adult now," the Master said softly.

//Are we done?// Obi-Wan wondered, until Qui-Gon pressed him down to lie on the low table he'd been sitting on. He obeyed without question, rolling over when his Master encouraged it and wondering what came next.

He didn't have long to wait, as warm oil was trickled onto his back and strong hands began kneading his shoulders. Humming began, low and thrumming as it was transferring through Qui-Gon's hands, and Obi-Wan sighed at the touch--both physical and emotional--that let him know his Master was contented to be doing this and only this, in this moment. They'd massaged each other many times, but this was different. Lowering his shields just a bit, Qui-Gon let his apprentice feel the love and warm regard the older man held for him.

"I love you, too, Master," he murmured against the table.

Qui-Gon leaned over him, his breath close in his ear. "Hush, Obi-Wan. There will be no giving, no serving me today. Today, you will take--my gift to you."

A love fierce and protective and proud billowed through the bond then, bringing tears to Obi-Wan's eyes. Raising up on the table, he gasped beneath the intensity of feeling and twisted around, tried to see Qui-Gon's face at the same time he reached out to him. Clasping his hand around Obi-Wan's, the Master knelt beside the table and braced his forehead against his Padawan's.

"I am very proud of you. And I am proud to be your Master," the older man said softly.

"Master, I...." There were simply no words. Not for this depth of caring. //No one has ever... before....//

//I do.//

The tears fell freely then, catching Obi-Wan unawares and making him weep as Qui-Gon continued the massage. He'd never been touched like this, never expected the floodgates of an insecurity earned six years ago on Bandemere to come crashing open. Never expected his Master's touch to heal the doubt and pain he'd always suspected but had never acknowledged was there. Obi-Wan knew that every physical being stored hidden emotions; what he didn't know was how tense such hiding had made him. How it had turned him inside out and made him a stranger to himself in some respects. How easily his Master could tap into that emotion, dig into it as easily as the older man's fingers dug into Obi-Wan's shoulders and back and thighs. How Qui-Gon could shake it loose and make his Padawan deal with it now, on this table, on the day he entered a new world with a new life.

Obi-Wan sobbed beneath that touch, howled the small miseries and grievings of his childhood. He cried out the pain he'd found at Bruck Chun's words and deeds, wept in mourning for the boy who had been, and the bitterness and distance Obi-Wan hadn't been able to heal before Bruck had died. Gone... all dissolved and were gone... beneath a series of aromatic oils and demanding fingers that touched him endlessly and patiently with a healing sort of love that he'd never before imagined had been there.

//Does every Padawan go through this?// he sent through the bond, not yet trusting his voice to speak for him.

//Most every one,// came the gentle reply. //I certainly did. Let it wash through you, Obi-Wan. Let it carry you away.//

He did. He surrendered to his sorrows and sadnesses, forgotten desires and dead dreams, to regrets and doubts about himself and the Order... even about the Force itself. Obi-Wan journeyed on the pain into a turbulent river of emotion so swift and deep that he thought he might never come home again. He sank and floundered and sobbed, with his Master's touch steadying him through it all. He cursed and spat and mourned forgotten hurts until the turbulence and the tears finally... finally... finally eased. Until the river within him ran cleaner and brighter and the healing could begin. So many memories, so many emotions, all buried inside. Revealed and released this day.

Gradually, his soul calmed and Obi-Wan washed up on a lighter shore where he gradually became aware of his Master's hands massaging his buttocks and lower back. The older man was still humming--something Obi-Wan didn't know, now. The Master's touch was steady and firm, moving lower to tend the thighs and the caves, onward to caress the feet. Feelings of love and acceptance finally seeped past the grief and managed to make it through the bond. With a sigh, Obi-Wan rested his head on his arms and opened himself to his Master's peace. Absorbing it into himself, he made it his own and built a home for it in his own heart.

"For all that you are Jedi, you are not expected to be perfect, Obi-Wan," came the low murmur. "Growing up hurts, sometimes more than young hearts and souls are prepared for. Masters know this. They know also that some wrongs cannot be righted--like Bruck's death. Bad things happen, and there is not always a happy ending or even a happy beginning, but we will try to make it so for you here, today."

Long fingers moved up his spine and into his hair, an back down again. "You know that pain and loss and mistakes like these do not make you a bad person. It only means that the world is a turbulent, confusing place, and you can only do your best. You cannot control it, no one can do that. You can only control yourself."

A hand came to rest on the back of his neck. Warm and kind, that touch seeped into his very bones. "As a Jedi, you will survive the sadness of galaxies and still be able to smile, Obi-Wan. You will be a good man and a strong warrior."

It was both blessing and benediction. He fell asleep shortly after that, while Qui-Gon fell silent and continued to simply touch him. When he awoke, it was to find his Master sitting nearby and watching him. Once more, Qui-Gon was dressed in his robes. Frowning slightly, Obi-Wan sat up.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I'm in no hurry to see you grow up." Love and pride was in that voice. Reaching forward, Qui-Gon ran his fingers down the long braid that trailed nearly to Obi-Wan's waist. "It's time to get dressed now, and to break our fast."

Obi-Wan chose his first sexual partner that evening, a dark-eyed knight whom he had admired for most of his life. Tawn was even-tempered and tall and broad-shouldered, a well-muscled, gentle giant of a man who'd helped Obi-Wan strategize against Qui-Gon in free-form combat over the years. Practicing with the knight at every opportunity had made Obi-Wan better understand why his large Master moved as he did, while Tawn in his own turn had been flattered that Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan had thought his battle techniques close to the great Master's in any way, shape or form. But so shy was Tawn that, even after knowing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for years, he could barely speak in the older man's presence.

"You're being rather stupid you know?" Obi-Wan had told him a few months before. "My Master will talk to anybody who will talk to him. In a lot of ways, he's just a man."

"No, he's not," Tawn had said softly, not meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "You saw that when you were an Initiate, same as me. One day, maybe you'll see it again. For now, though, maybe we should just practice whatever kata he's got you doing this week."

Deflect and distract... They worked well for Tawn in the salle as well. Come to that, they worked well for Master Jinn, too. //I think I'd better work on those,// Obi-Wan realized and he had, for years. But both Knight and Master could still distract and best him. //Maybe I'll win in another six years,// he had reflected. //After I'm knighted.//

Knight Tawn and Padawan Kenobi shared an interest in history and war strategies as well, and had been friends since Padawan Tawn had taken his turn at child-care in the creche. He'd told Obi-Wan the first stories he had heard about what really happened to apprentices on missions. Looking back, Obi-Wan was sure that the creche masters would have thought Obi-Wan too young to hear such things; they would not have approved of Tawn's often blood-thirsty or gruesome tales of what fieldwork was really like. But forewarned had been forearmed in Obi-Wan's case. He'd sought out Tawn after returning to the Temple with Qui-Gon from Bandemere, had lain in the grass with him in the south garden after late evening meal, staring at the stars and telling Tawn about what he'd experienced with Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Because of the stories you told me, I didn't just stand there and gawk and die when the draigons attacked us."

"What did you do?"

"I had my lightsaber out and ready. I didn't panic, and I grounded in the Force. I remembered most of what you told me about killing them, that they attack in pairs and you can't let them get behind you. I even managed to call Qui-Gon and tell him that we were in danger."

"You called him?" Tawn blinked. "You had a comlink?"

"No, I called him through some sort of a bond. But we didn't have a bond..." Obi-Wan frowned. "Anyway, he heard me and he came. I think I did all right."

Tawn went very quiet. "You did more than all right," he said softly. "Master Jinn heard you before he created a bond with you, and he chose you has his Padawan."

"In the end, yeah."

Tawn laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Obi-Wan, listen to me. Jedi Masters don't go around hearing just anyone, any more than you or I can pick up on someone's thoughts if we don't have a bond with them. What you did is very unique. You must know that."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It didn't feel unique. I needed help, and he came."

Tawn had just shaken his head then, had asked politely about some other feature of the impromptu mission, and the conversation had flowed on.

Obi-Wan left his eighteenth birthday part in Tawn's smiling company, with his Master's permission to not come home that night and a swagger in his step that hadn't been there the night before. The two Jedi half-undressed, kissed and caressed and half-petted in Tawn's quarters until the knight drew back and stared at Obi-Wan with a strange look in his eyes.

"This doesn't feel like you thought it would, does it?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not really, no," he admitted. "This isn't working, but it's not your fault. I want... you know I want do. I just--"

"You just can't." The knight caressed Obi-Wan's cheek with the back of his hand. "If it's not right, it's not right, my friend. You must wait until it feels right."

A few minutes more, and Tawn turned Obi-Wan out gently into the empty corridors; it was third hour and everyone was asleep except the droid-driven maintenance and cleaning crew, which didn't give the solitary Padawan a single look as he straggled past them. His erection wasn't just flagging, it was entirely gone--embarrassing proof enough that Tawn simply wasn't the one for him.

//Will there ever be one?// Obi-Wan thought mournfully. //I was really looking forward to this, and I wanted him earlier, so what's the problem?// He kicked the solid titanium door to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon before palming the lock and wandering balefully inside. //This is great, just great. You're an adult now, Kenobi, but I'll bet you still can't get laid. Too bad Bruck's not still around, he'd get a lot of mileage out of that.//

His Master found him meditating on the mat he'd brought with him from the Initiate's quarters six years before. Obi-Wan wasn't surprised when Qui-Gon's immense shadow loomed beside him, or when the older Jedi knelt and squeezed his shoulder.

"Padawan, you've been bleeding agitation and unhappiness over our bond for about an hour now. Did Tawn hurt you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head miserably. "Tawn would never hurt me. In this case, he didn't even really touch me. Master, is there something wrong with me?"

"Of course not. What would make you ask such a thing?"

"I wanted Tawn to make love to me, and I wanted to make love to him. But when it came right down to the touching.... Master, I just couldn't. I couldn't feel anything, and these weird thoughts kept running through my head. Like that he smelled different, and he was thinner than I thought he'd be, and his hair was stiff... and other things. I couldn't.... you know. It wasn't too hard for Tawn to figure out, so he gave up. He said that I need to wait for the right person. But Master, I thought that Tawn was the right person. So how am I supposed to know when it's the right person?"

"The touching will feel right," Qui-Gon said softly, rocking back on his heels, "and you'll get lost in it." His fingers caressed soothing circles over Obi-Wan's collarbones. "For some Jedi, touch is more than just physical, and I suspect that you're as I am: physical touching will never be enough, you'll have to share some sort of bond with whoever you make love with."

"You're like that?"

"I am. Desiring and satisfying that desire will never be enough, because you'll be looking for--and will need--something more than just desire. Tawn is a good friend, and you find him attractive. But you do not share a bond with him."

"No."

Obi-Wan thought for a moment, while Qui-Gon shifted to a more comfortable position beside him and waited for the next question.

"Is that why you're celibate, Master?"

A brief nod. "There are worse things than waking up alone, Obi-Wan."

"Like what?" Obi-Wan could hear the sulking tone of his own voice. "Being a virgin for the next ten years or longer?"

"Like waking up next to the wrong person," Qui-Gon said adamantly, as if he spoke from bitter experience.

Obi-Wan knew better than to question his Master further. The details, if forthcoming, would not be pretty. Neither would they encourage Obi-Wan toward sexual activity, he was certain. Celibacy may have been right for his Master, but Obi-Wan just couldn't see himself stopping before he'd even started.

"So... I just need to keep looking for the right person?"

"I'd say so." Reaching out, the Master hugged him tight. "I'm sorry your first night didn't work out, it's never easy when that happens. But get some rest, now. You can keep looking for the right person in the morning, I think."

"Yes, Master." Rising from the meditation mat, Obi-Wan offered a brief, almost formal bow of thanks to the older man before wandering off toward his sleep chamber, and shedding his tunic as he went.

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon waited a few minutes and then felt along the bond. Smiling, he nodded satisfaction to discover that Obi-Wan's restless need had entirely dissolved. A few minutes later, when Qui-Gon checked on his Padawan, he found him sleeping peacefully.

CHAPTER TWO: AT TWENTY

If Obi-Wan could have slammed the door, he would have. As it was, he had to settle for stalking into their quarters, flinging down his cloak, and storming into the food prep area in search of a cup of something slightly stronger than tea.

"Good morning, Padawan," said Qui-Gon from where he sat in the common area, enjoying his tea and his Master's-quarters view of the Temple gardens. "The croisids are in bloom."

"Good for them."

Qui-Gon put down his tea mug and folded his arms. Tilting back in his chair, he ignored the croisids and focused on his Padawan. "Bad night?"

Adding hot water to complete his mug of instant cha, Obi-Wan didn't bother looking up.

"What makes you ask?" he all but growled.

"Let me give you list," Qui-Gon said mildly. "One: you've been tending those croisids for the past half-season, trying to convince them to bloom, but now you don't give a Sithly damn for them. Two: you come stomping in after having been out all night. Three: Your robes are rumpled and you smell of sex, yet you look thunderous. And so, I ask again: bad night?"

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at himself. "Let me shower, and I'll be back to tell you about it."

Nursing his cha, Obi-Wan retired to the 'fresher. A few minutes later, he returned, washed and dried with his waist-length Padawan braid still dripping. He'd also pulled on a set of his Master's old exercise sweats and was looking a bit lost in them. Qui-Gon thought that he could recognize the choice of apparel for what it probably was: a security blanket that wrapped all the way around his Padawan, almost as good as being hugged by the Master himself. As this particular Padawan was twenty years old rather than twelve, Qui-Gon thought that he understood hugs could not be asked for, not any more.

//A pity, that,// he thought to himself, carefully shielding the bond. "Tell me about last night."

"You know I've been trying to find someone to share with, someone to satisfy the hunger, the emptiness I feel?"

Qui-Gon nodded.

"I was with Sh'Taka last night," Obi-Wan all but spat. "Master Rucktal's Padawan? It's not the first time, as we've been seeing each other on and off for about the last two seasons. She's nineteen and beautiful and no innocent, but it's all about what she wants and how I'm expected to give it to her."

"I'm not sure I understand--"

"Do you know how this Temple sees you and me?" Obi-Wan norrowed his eyes and leaned forward, plunked his empty mug down on Qui-Gon's table. "You're some fantastic legend in everyone's eyes. You're the best warrior in the Order, almost preternaturally wise, devilishly handsome, wickedly attractive. 'Nummy,' they call you, and that's a quote. Since I'm lucky enough to be your Padawan, I get some of those projections, too­mostly the devilishly handsome, wickedly attractive, nummy projections because no one's going to say I'm anywhere near the best warrior in the Order. But it's really amazing what their imaginations come up with, Master. It's happened time and time again, with men as well as women. and I've had it. I've had their ideas for a perfect evening, too."

Qui-Gon nodded in what he hoped looked like a sage, wise way, regardless he didn't have a clue yet as to what precisely had set off Obi-Wan.

"I'm well aware of the matter of being a supposed legend," he murmured. "It has inconvenienced my own relationships at times as well. And you shouldn't underestimate your warrior capabilities, Padawan. But what has all of this to do with last night?"

"I'll get to that. Sh'Taka usually dresses so that she feels pretty and sexy, with a ton of perfume that makes me sneeze. In return for this visual and olfactory feast, I am to bring her gifts and bestow compliments. Which I did. 'You look gorgeous, here are some chocos for you, I don't know where on Coruscant I can take a lovely thing like you, everywhere is so unworthy....' I know all of the lines and how to kiss her so that her makeup's not destroyed, how to smile just so and hold her just so. I know all of the tricks and female expectations, Master. I'm even pretty good at fulfilling those expectations, but sometimes it's just too much. Last night was definitely one of those times."

Slumping back in the chair, Obi-Wan planted his feet before him and stared out the window before continuing. "I was going to take her to Gyrations, but one look told me that she was expecting something a little different. So I took her to The Phoenix. Romantic restaurant, great food, it's dark and intimate and it cost two hundred credits a visit. Just like I knew she wanted. We got a table for two in the back and some decent wine. I tried on some flirting and intimate talk, at which I'm lousy--the intimate part, anyway. I'm betting at the flirting."

"Nonsense, Padawan. You're an excellent diplomat."

"No, Master," he argued. "It's not like diplomacy. This is a woman. A human woman."

"Ah. I see."

"Afterward, I forgot about Gyrations because she didn't want to dance­not like that, anyway. So she's hanging all over me and invites me back to her place. She has that glint in her eye that says we're going to bed. No problem with that, I'm looking forward to it. She dims the lights, puts on some music, we snuggle and kiss and then we're headed for the bed...." Obi-Wan looked at his Master. "Are you as bored with this as I was?"

"I'm not sure I follow you."

Obi-Wan growled. "It's expected, Master, and so damn trite! Shaa knows she's sexy as hell, so I'm expected to be sexy by association and fall in with her little planned scene. Know my lines, give the command performance. I'm supposed to remove her clothes tenderly and caress her gently and make love to her all the fucking night long! To her sweet murmurs of gratitude and appreciation. Which. I. Did. Let me make that perfectly clear. I DID IT!

"This morning, we wake up and I see that her makeup's all over the place and making her look like some psycho-healer's 'Vhat does dis look like to yew?' psychoanalysis primitive inkblot, and we've both got morning breath, and she's got her face shoved into mine in the bed, so that I can see where her brown roots are starting to show through the blond. THEN she starts this conversation that demands that I still be attention and sensitive and PROMISE TO BE WITH HER FOREVER! We're going to bond after I'm knighted, right? We'll serve together on missions and never know a moment without each other, and ... and I'm sitting there panicking because I'm not feeling any of this! No matter how hard I try to feel something, Master, it's always the same. It's empty and lonely, even when I'm inside of... whoever. It's not real, and it's certainly not forever. That's how it feels."

Shooting out of the chair, Obi-Wan went to stare out of the window and banged his fisted hand on the plasteel that it boinged.

"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan, and since you're the perfect Master, I'm the perfect Padawan by association. You're celibate and they know it, so the aegis falls to me. Warrior, lover, friend--Hey, you name it and they think you've molded Obi-Wan Kenobi into it. Half of the time, I think my lovers are in bed with you as well as with me. Sh'Taka's not the only one, either -- they all project what they're feeling so I know. It's not 'There's Obi-Wan, I really like him.' It's 'There's Obi-Wan-Apprentice-to-Master-Qui-Gon-Jinn-the-Sexiest-Master-in-the-Temple-and-h\ is-Padawan's-not-bad-either.' They all want to find out how 'not bad' I am. Most of the time, I think it's because none of them can get to you."

"No, Obi-Wan...." Qui-Gon whispered.

"It's all right, Master," Obi-Wan turned and leaned against the glass, slid down so that he could sit on the thick sill and lean forward, steepling his fingers. "It's been that way for a long time and I can handle it. It's all just a fantasy on their part, and I know it. They don't know you, they don't know me, they just think they do. Attitudes like that can be amusing at times and work to my advantage, too. I get lots of attention, lots of practice with the other senior Padawans and even some Knights who want to test my mettle--sexually or otherwise--and I think that's a good thing. That's not why I'm upset."

He drew a deep breath and locked his gaze into Qui-Gon's. "Sh'Taka was terribly responsive last night, but it wasn't enough. Why isn't it enough, Master? Why don't I feel for her the way she feels for me? Being with her last night felt good, but I sure as the Sith hells don't want to bond with her."

Qui-Gon sat quietly for a moment, holding Obi-Wan's gaze and absorbing all that his Padawan had said. Sifting through the emotions battering through the bond, and considering the words that had flowed from the young man's heart, Qui-Gon was determined to choose his words carefully.

"I want you to focus solely on Sh'Taka for now, to the exclusion of every other lover you've had."

"Yes, Master."

"I want you to look back on your friendship, and then at your romantic relationship. Who is giving and who is taking?"

Obi-Wan released a long breath. "It's mutual mostly," he said slowly, "but it's still empty."

"What do you mean by empty?"

He shrugged. "Just physical on my part. Nothing seems to go further than this superficial sexual dance with anyone."

"Obi-Wan..."

"I know what you're going to say: focus on her only. But Master, there's a pattern here and I can see it. It's been there for a couple of years, and whether it's Sh'Taka or someone else, it's all the same. There's nothing special about their presence in my life or mine in theirs, but Sh'Taka's not the only one who's thought that we're having this glorious romance and are Force-bound to live happily ever after. I've replaced each lover with another lover and hoped that one was it, but the same dance goes on and on and on. That's why I'm so upset this morning. I don't reveal my most intimate self to any lover, and I suspect that I really don't want to. They don't want to, either. This dance is just too impersonal, and I'm finding that I'd rather sleep alone." Abandoning the window-sill, Obi-Wan sank down to sit on the floor. Drawing up his knees, he let his wrists settle there.

"Padawan, you are dating other Padawans," Qui-Gon pointed out. "Your expectations for a permanent mate are just a little high, and you must give this time."

"How much time?" Obi-Wan asked sullenly.

"Once you're a knight, there will be time and opportunity to deepen your relationships. Right now, you're to concentrate on your training, and so are your Padawan lovers. If your lover happens to be a wise Knight, he or she will know that your focus needs to be elsewhere. They will not seek more than you're able to give right now, as a deeper relationship would only distract you and incur my wrath. Try to simply have fun, explore and enjoy yourself for now. I know that it's lonely at times, but it won't last forever. Keep things casual and... dance out of reach."

With a groan, Obi-Wan rested his forehead on his knees. "It's hard, Master. I want... so much more."

Reaching over, Qui-Gon ruffled his hair and tugged on the braid. "As do we all, my Padawan."

He tried to take his Master's advice, but it didn't work. Not really. Something within him cried for a deeper connection, and the more he reached for that connection, the more he hurt when it didn't come with any lover.

"I don't want to keep taking lover after lover," he said when Qui-Gon gently probed for an update a few weeks later. They were off on another mission, sleeping out under the stars and stealing a few minutes of private time to talk before dawn broke and they continued the relocation of war refugees from one village to the next. "Trying to keep things on a casual, physical level just frustrates me. Not only that, I feel used by them and like I'm using them in return."

"What of Sh'Taka?"

Obi-Wan rolled over and stared up at the stars. Part of his mind set about matching the overhanging starfield with the one he'd studied a few days ago in the Temple's map room in preparation for their mission. At the same time, he replied to his Master's question. "I'm not comfortable with Shaa one-on-one any more because of her expectations. And I hurt her about a week ago after saying that I didn't want anything more emotionally entangling than what we already have. She heard, 'I just want to be friends,' and boom! It was like a blast door slammed closed between us. Hoth is warmer that Sh'Taka is to me right now."

"How unfortunate that she chose to react that way."

Obi-Wan made a dismissive gesture. "Dating isn't worth the grief, and neither's trying to satisfy this biological urge that I feel. I think I'd be happier without trying, really."

Qui-Gon rolled over. "What will you do now, Padawan?"

"I've decided to limit my activities to group outings."

Qui-Gon thought about this. "No more overnight adventures? With anyone?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, knowing Qui-Gon would see it in the half-moonlight.

"It sounds like you've decided to become celibate."

"Doesn't it just, Master." He sighed.

As Qui-Gon drifted off to sleep, he wondered how long this resolution would last.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hadn't been back on Coruscant very long before Mace Windu decided that it was time for him to descend from the stuffy Council Tower and coax his friend into an impromptu outing at Gyrations. Qui-Gon tried to protest, insisting that he'd rather spend the night at home with one of the antique books he'd acquired on his recent travels, but Mace wasn't having it.

"If you refuse, I'll just come over and ply you with Alderbaarian wine and endless Council questions until you give in, Jinn."

Knowing a threat when he heard one, Qui-Gon decided that concession was better than obstinance or refusing to answer the door. He knew that, in this current mood, Windu would just use his lightsaber to melt the lock anyway. And so the austere Master found himself in the company of others as they laid claim a shadowed corner booth and table that was blessed with many libations, reminiscences, and Temple gossip to which Padawans are not privy.

But there were Padawans nearby. After all, this was Gyrations, the hottest club catering to the Jedi since before Qui-Gon himself had been a Padawan. He'd burned up the dance floor with many a companion in preparation for an even hotter return to the Temple... but that was then, and this was now, and Qui-Gon's dancing days were long over. He no longer knew the current tunes, singers or groups, and the service droids no longer stored his name and account as a frequent customer. Still, he was glad he'd come. It wasn't often that he got to spend time with Mace, Depa, or Adi. It wasn't often they regaled one another with mishaps and memories enough to make them laugh until their ribs ached. How long had it been since he'd laughed like this, anyway? Well, since Obi-Wan had told him that joke.... He immediately shared said joke with the others, then launched into explaining to the two female councillors where it was that Mace had lost his virginity.

"You two actually did it in Yoda's quarters?" Depa asked, disbelief coloring her quiet voice.

"I was younger than him and under curfew," Qui-Gon protested. "Where else could we do it?"

"Yes, but... in a swamp?"

"Yes, Depa," Mace said solemnly. "Qui-Gon topped me, and I got mud in places I wish I didn't have."

Laughter peeled out, with Qui-Gon joining in. "You must admit that it was just as much fun removing the mud afterward."

"More fun if we hadn't been caught," Mace growled. "I'm surprised Yoda let me on the Council."

"And I'm surprised he hasn't forced me onto it."

"Wait a minute," Adi demanded. "If you're younger than Mace and he was still a virgin, what were you, Qui-Gon?"

"Erm..."

He didn't think he could still blush, but they made it so. Their laughter died down in time for him to hear a girl's shrill voice proclaim, from another table and loud enough to carry over the music to anyone within fifteen meters, "I don't care if you are a Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're still a man, and men are always aroused by the mere thought of sex!"

"That's not true, Sh'Taka."

The Master turned his head to see Obi-Wan seated at a table close on the edge of the dance floor. Surrounded by other Padawans and even Knight Tawn, Qui-Gon's Padawan was still looking more than a little lost and hurt at the attack that was obviously aimed only in his direction. For all that the girl was making generalities, it was plain she was speaking solely from her hurt, which she felt Obi-Wan had caused.

"You'd never fail to take advantage of any opportunity to make love with anyone!"

The others at the table gaped at her in disbelief. Had she just accused Obi-Wan Kenobi of being promiscuous? Was her intended revenge to turn the truth inside out?

//If Obi-Wan doesn't want her, then obviously she thinks that he has no honor and wants everyone else?// thought Qui-Gon. //The Sith hath no fury like a woman scorned.//

Without missing a beat, Obi-Wan protested, "Shaa, I am not just an appendage of my penis!"

Tawn chose that moment to rise. "Excuse me, all of you."

Bowing a bit stiffly, he exchanged a sympathetic look with Obi-Wan, but nonetheless deserted his friend's table for another one deeper in the shadows and some distance away from the quarrel. A table frequented only by knights, Qui-Gon noticed, so Obi-Wan would not be welcome there. Turning his attention back to his Padawan's table, Qui-Gon monitored their bond. So far, Obi-Wan was being outwardly good-natured about the entire thing, as they were in public, but privately he was seething, and Qui-Gon could feel it. Honor and the gossip-chain was at stake, so much so that Qui-Gon sensed that his Padawan felt compelled to stay and answer as long as the attacks continued.

"It's plain that we've come in at the middle of the vid," Mace murmured. "Sounds like this isn't the first time Sh'Taka has hammered him. It must be 'beat up Obi-Wan night.'"

Qui-Gon waved him to silence as the argument resumed.

"Yeah, right, you're not an appendage. At least it's honest!" she sneered at him.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, shifting his glass out of the way and leaning on his elbows. "Look, I'm just like you in a lot of ways."

That brought a chorus of derisive cat-calls from the female Padawans around the table.

"It's true," Obi-Wan insisted. "I can be too tired for it, or too worried and stressed, just like you. I can care too much about who I'm with or too little, and I can be scared too, you know?"

"What would you, the great Padawan Kenobi, have to fear?" Shaa baited. "I'm sure that your Master's taught you well in all things."

"Yeah, it's for sure that Qui-Gon Jinn isn't scared in bed," chorused another Padawan.

"Oh, give me a break." Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what my Master feels, I just know what I feel."

"Ok, so tell us, Obi; what do you get scared about?"

He played with the condensation on his glass a moment before answering. "I'm scared that I'm not going to get it right. That I won't get an erection, or that it won't last if I do. That I won't please my partner."

"Kenobi, all you have to do is walk into the room using that delectable swagger, and you've pleased me," drawled Bant, waggling a webbed hand at him. Raucous laughter met that announcement, with Obi-Wan laughing along with the rest of them.

"So what do you want from a night out, Obi-Wan?" Bant pursued, trying to rescue her friend and move the talk into safer waters.

"I want the same thing you want. To be respected, to be treated well. To be recognized as an individual whose feelings matter."

"Oooooh, he's such a serious Padawan," said Sh'Taka. "So much like your Master." Folding her arms, she glowered at him.

Pushing back in his chair, Obi-Wan folded his arms and glowered right back. "You're mad at me, Shaa, not at Qui-Gon. So why don't you just leave my Master out of this."

Qui-Gon knew that look well. It said, 'You've pushed too far, and if you keep going, you're going to see me explode.' //In defense of me? I think not.//

"Why should I leave Qui-Gon out of this? Is he your lover now? Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you said we could only be friends?"

"Stop it!" Obi-Wan growled, thumping down the chair and leaning over until he was nose to nose with his attacker. "My Master and I aren't connected at the hip or anyplace else. I told you that I only wanted friendship because you became a pushy little bitch who wanted more than I--"

"Obi-Wan, would you care to dance?"

A familiar voice over his head and a heavy hand on his shoulder announced his Master's arrival. Eyes widened around the table, and Sh'Taka slunk down in her chair, thoroughly cowed as a pair of cold blue eyes bore into hers. No one had known this particular Master was here; if they had, the topic of conversation would have been far afield­and far safer.

Obi-Wan knew what his friends had to have seen: Qui-Gon had stepped out of the shadows, regal and graceful and with more dignity than any man had a right to. Obi-Wan had seen what his Master had chosen to wear before leaving their quarters. Black: the man was all in black. Black leather trousers with a soft black pirate's shirt with an open neck and billowed sleeves, neatly tucked in at the waist. His silvered hair was lose and flowing, a thick mane over his shoulders, and he looked every inch the warrior of his own legend.

For the life of him, Obi-Wan couldn't move, couldn't even speak. //I've been rescued by him before, but not like this. What do I do?//

The hand on his shoulder tightened. Qui-Gon leaned down, his hair brushed Obi-Wan's cheek. His hand slid across to Obi-Wan's other shoulder. "Dance with me."

"Yes. Thank you for asking." Pushing back from the table, Obi-Wan all but lunged for his Master's hand, which was there for the taking. Holding it in a death-grip, he let the older man lead him onto the dance floor.

Qui-Gon guided him well away from the table and across the floor to stake a claim in the corner where they couldn't be heard and could barely be seen through all of the other couples dancing. The occupants of Obi-Wan's table were scattering as they suddenly had the urge to dance with one another, the better to keep their quarry under observation. Qui-Gon marked the location of each one through the Force, slid a hand around Obi-Wan's waist, and pulled him close.

Shivering, Obi-Wan tightened his grip, claimed Qui-Gon's shoulder with his free hand, and moved even closer. Their thighs were flush, their hips were plastered together. Qui-Gon spread his fingers hand in the middle of his companion's back, rested his cheek against the silk of his Padawan's hair.

"They weren't listening to you, Padawan, and you were sitting there looking far older and more discouraged than your years should allow," Qui-Gon murmured into his ear. Even with Force-enhanced hearing, he made sure that no one in the room would overhear his words. "I thought you needed rescuing. Forgive me if I was wrong."

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "You weren't wrong. There wasn't any way out of that argument, and Shaa just kept battering me with her anger. The others have their own expectations and fantasies, but hers are the worst."

"They're going to talk about this, you know?" Qui-Gon commented.

"I don't care."

"If you do, I can..." Qui-Gon started to move away, only to have Obi-Wan cling to him like a mynock on a starship.

"No, Master! Please stay."

They danced quietly for a moment, with Obi-Wan resting his cheek against his Master's chest. Qui-Gon felt him relax a little and rubbed his beard against his Padawan's temple. "Is this typical of the conversations you have with them?"

"Fairly. They tend to grill me about you, about what we do and don't do. They always have, but it's gotten really bad the last few years."

"YEARS?"

Obi-Wan nodded against him. "I don't think they care how I really feel, much less respect me. No one does that but you, Master. I thought things would be better if I just stuck to the group, but they're not. Shaa has them all stirred up. I've tried to ride it out, but it seems to get worse every time we're all together. They're centered on the sex, while I want...."

Qui-Gon drew back far enough to look down at Obi-Wan. "What is it you want?"

"Intimacy." He burrowed against his Master's chest as if trying to escape or to get closer, or to hie his embarrassment. Qui-Gon wasn't certain which. "Maybe I just want to cuddle up and fall asleep with a partner and save the lovemaking for the morning," Obi-Wan mused. "Maybe I want to be seduced. Or maybe I want to enact some fantasy and pounce on my partner like a lyrix on Yavin. It would be nice to have a choice."

Qui-Gon spread Obi-Wan's fingers out across the softness of his shirt.

"What we're doing now isn't bad at all," the younger man murmured. "I don't have any expectations or worries about what's going to happen when you and I leave this club. We're just being close and dancing, and it's a good moment. I can be in the moment with you, and you're happy with that. Why can't they be like you, Master?"

Qui-Gon's laughter rang out, making heads turn on the floor. Obi-Wan looked up at him, and he offered a crooked smile. "I don't think I've ever before heard a Padawan wish that their lover could be more like their Master."

"Yeah, well..." Obi-Wan shrugged. "You care about me, and you have manners. That's more than I can say about them." He tilted his head in the direction of his friends. "All they see is a functional penis, thrusting away. Why can't I be a human being, too? Someone with whom they're sharing something special, and not just sex?"

Qui-Gon looked down at him soberly. "That never happens in the Padawan pool. You have to wait for your knighting to earn respect among the ranks that have formerly known you from the creche onward."

"Familiarity breeds contempt?"

"Basically, yes. It's the same for all of us, Obi-Wan. They're not singling you out in that respect."

Obi-Wan settled against his Master's chest again. "Fine, but I'm not doing this again. I'll stay home and read reality particle concepts until dawn before I'll do this again."

Qui-Gon let his hand caress Obi-Wan's back, sent peace and affection through the bond. "Just live in the moment and don't think about that now." Pulling him closer, the Master commanded, "Just dance with me."

They did just that for the next hour, never shifting from their spot until the music changed to a kind that Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon wasn't comfortable with. Leading the way from the dance floor, Qui-Gon turned to ask, "Do you want to go home or find someone else to dance with? I think Depa could accommodate you."

Obi-Wan shook his head and didn't relinquish the grip on his Master's hand. "Let's just go home."

Qui-Gon hesitated. "You should know that our leaving together will likely start strong rumors in your circle of friends."

"I don't give a damn," Obi-Wan ground out.

Qui-Gon nodded to Mace on the way by and followed Obi-Wan out of the club. His Padawan's friends watched them go, as Qui-Gon knew they would, and Bant's eyes were huge.

"So that's the way it is," Sh'Taka hissed as they passed by, not caring who heard her. A look from Qui-Gon quelled her. Momentarily.

"Did I take you away from something important with Master Windu?" Obi-Wan asked once they were topside again and waiting for a transport back to the Temple.

"Not at all. We were merely reminiscing about how Mace lost his virginity in Master Yoda's common area."

Obi-Wan laughed--a far more relaxed sound than Qui-Gon had heard from him in weeks. "Now there's a horror story you should tell me when we're seated around the campfire on Hemlagh during All Soul's Night."

"Yes, indeed." Qui-Gon stood with his arm around his Padawan's waist and braced himself as Obi-Wan leaned more heavily against him.

"Who was Master Windu with in Master Yoda's common room?"

"I'd rather not say," Qui-Gon muttered, just as the transport drew up.

"It was you!" Obi-Wan hissed, then looked suspicious. "Was it?"

"Onboard, Padawan." A hand at the younger man's elbow was all it took to steer him into the compartment. They found seats easily at this hour, with Qui-Gon's bulk taking up much of the small seating space on the general transport and Obi-Wan accommodating him, as usual, by sitting half sideways and plastering his back against the bulkhead. They could have taken separate seats, but that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.

"Has Sh'Taka always been that competitive with you?" Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Since I told her I wasn't looking for a permanent relationship, yes. She hasn't learned when to quit."

"Actually, she hasn't yet learned when to stop taking the initiative."

"What?"

"On missions, you or I can make the first move in battle or negotiation, but I am still the leader," Qui-Gon explained. "I'm the only one in control, and we both know it. You respect it. As you've progressed in your apprenticeship, I've let you take the initiative more often. But my trust and faith in you took years to develop, because your skills took years to develop."

"Right. So what has that to do with Shaa?"

"It sounds like she has not had the patience to let things develop between you. She took the initiative at the beginning of the relationship, and she has never relinquished it. She wishes to lead the mission--the relationship--all of the time, and this makes you very uncomfortable. Obstinate about matters, even. Am I right?"

Looking stunned, Obi-Wan nodded.

"She has no authority of you, just as you have no authority over her. Now she is angry because you've repulsed her further efforts to take control," Qui-Gon continued. "She is still trying to shift the balance so that you are dancing to her tune all of the time."

Obi-Wan looked thoughtful for a long moment. "Do you think that's why you and I work together so well? Because there's plenty of room for both of us to take action or just let things develop?"

"Yes. I do. I think it makes for a much more peaceful relationship when neither Master nor Padawan is pushing the other to distraction. Though there have been times I've pushed you--"

"It was never a time when I didn't need to be pushed." Obi-Wan grinned. "We both know that. So why can't my relationships with others be like ours?"

"I suppose it is because some of the partners you've encountered haven't learned when to take control, while other lovers don't know when to stop. And speaking of stopping... here is ours."

Qui-Gon led the way from the transport, waiting as Obi-Wan caught up to him and walking beside him into the Temple proper. Nodding at the guards on duty, the two Jedi headed for the bank of lifts that would carry them to the Masters' Tower.

"There appears to be no balance in your relationships," Qui-Gon continued, once the lift had claimed them. "Early on, I learned that you crave balance and peace as much as I do. We've always gotten along in that respect. You don't create chaos from order, Obi-Wan. You don't become restless for no reason, and you have never sulked or thrown tantrums or lashed out at anyone in an effort to get your way."

"No, I just attract lovers who sulk and tantrum and lash out when I try to peel them off of me. That's a habit I'd like to break." Obi-Wan bowed at the door to their quarters. "After you, Master."

Going to the couch, Qui-Gon settled back on it, then promptly fell to removing his boots. Sinking his toes into the thick carpeting, he let his head fall back and let go a deep breath. "Now, that feels good."

Grinning to see how much pleasure his Master derived from the simple joys of life, Obi-Wan wandered into the food prep area to set water boiling for tea. A few minutes later, he joined the older man on the couch and handed him the old familiar, chipped mug that Qui-Gon liked so well.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan."

"You looked like you need this as much as I needed rescuing back there."

"How well you know me." Qui-Gon drank deeply before wrapping his hands around the mug and contemplating. "You know, Obi-Wan, an ancient Alderaanian poet wrote, 'The eyes are the scouts for the heart, and the eyes go forth to find an image to recommend to the heart.' The proper 'image' is a gentle heart--and gentle is a key word. That is a heart that is capable not simply of lust, but of love--two totally different things, as lust is simply the zeal of the loins to couple with another being. If you can find a gentle heart, you will find love, Obi-Wan. And so, look for the gentle heart."

"That's what I need," said Obi-Wan, staring across at his Master, tea forgotten. "That's what I've been looking for all this time, but didn't know what I was looking for. You know, I think that in your celibacy, Master, you have the right idea. How else can you focus on someone's heart?"

"How, indeed. But Obi-Wan, even if celibacy is the answer for me, it might not be for you. I think you might be confusing celibacy with remaining chaste until the right person comes along. If you find your celibacy taxing or frustrating, or worse than your current emotional predicament--"

"I'll take steps to correct it," he promised. "Adjust my definition and my behavior." Laying his hand across Qui-Gon's, Obi-Wan sent affection and gratitude through their bond. "Thank you, Master. You've provided a key that I think has been missing for a very long time."

Turning his hand, the Master enveloped Obi-Wan's. "As always, I am happy to be able to help, my Padawan."

CHAPTER THREE: ONE AND TWENTY

Obi-Wan sailed through the entrance to their quarters and leaped over the couch for the sheer joy of doing it. Bounding into the food prep area, he found his Master where their bond had told him he would: seated at the small table where they took their meals, with a collection of ancient dip pens with long wooden handles, an assortment of inks gathered from what were surely exotic places if the labels on the bottles were any indication, and a stack of weathered-looking parchment nearby. Leaning across the table, Obi-Wan grinned.

"Congratulate me."

"Congratulations," Qui-Gon murmured, rinsing a pen nib before setting it to dry and selecting another to slide into its holder. "For what?"

"I passed advanced quantum mechanics." Grabbing a chair, Obi-Wan turned it around and plunked himself down, stole an appa-fruit from a nearby bowl. "You won't get the test scores until tomorrow morning, but I know that I passed." He gestured expansively across the table. "Master, what are you doing?"

"Careful, you're dripping. I am preparing for our next mission."

"By praticing your writing?" He laughed softly. "Are they sending us someplace primitive again?"

"No. Far from it. We are going to Dalcarta."

Obi-Wan pondered that bit of information for a moment while polishing off his fruit. "Never heard of it."

"I'm not surprised. They just joined the Republic."

"Then another Master/Padawan team has completed the preliminary investigation and submitted their application to the Senate?"

Qui-Gon nodded.

"Then the work is done. Why are we going there?"

"To deliver what I am writing. Or, rather, what I am creating."

Obi-Wan went to his Master, braced a hand on his shoulder and peered down at what the older man was working on.

"'The Central Senate of the Unified Republic of Planets hereby grants your most courteous and humble petition...'" His eyes scanned onward in search of something more interesting after his brain stalled on the boring rhetoric. "'...to declare to all and sundry that Dalcarta is now a member of our esteemed Republic, granted every right and privilege regarding commonwealth and trade, able to enter into agreements with other members of the Republic...' etc., etc., ad naueseum. Master, have you turned scribe?"

"For the moment, yes. Careful of the ink, it's still wet." Setting aside his pen, Qui-Gon pushed back from the table. "You're quite right, another Jedi team visited Dalcarta some months ago. The Senate approved the petition a few days ago, and Dalcarta's ruling family then informed Master Sorn that their ancient culture dictates that physical documentation be archived for all official dealings. Master Yoda recommended that Sorn ask me to create the documents and deliver them, as he and his Padawan will be otherwise occupied during the celebration which begins three days hence at the Summer Palace on Dalcarta."

"So you're creating their history even as we speak. Complete with...." Obi-Wan fingered a strip of sealing wax. "Archaic seals and signitories?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "I've been at it all afternoon, but this is the last one."

Picking up the pen once more, he returned to the task at hand. Settling into a nearby chair, Obi-Wan braced his chin on his arms and watched the fine calligraphy take form. He looked appropriately solemn when his Master cursed softly and crumpled a piece of the precious handmade paper, beamed when the offensive words were finally set aside to dry.

"Where did you learn to do this?" the younger man asked.

"From a master scribe long passed into the Force," Qui-Gon answered, closing up the inks and cleaning the pens, "else Yoda wouldn't have told Sorn to see me about all this. Master Ki painted my face as an amusment and an honor the evening of the day Master Yoda chose me as his Padawan--for luck, he said. He gave me a warrior's jagged blue lightning streaks and a scholar's golden spirals, and then told me in all solemnity to work hard and I'd be able to live up to the power he'd just called to enter me.

"He lived just long enough to see me become a knight, and after the ceremony told me that he had planned to take me as his Padawan if Yoda had passed me by. He used the Padawan meditation garden in the east wing every morning, so I saw him frequently. Always, he was practicing this delicate writing on some bit of paper he'd managed to find. The forms that flowed from his fingers were beautiful to me, so much so that I thought it was a kind of magic.

"I watched him for a long while before I dared to ask my Master if I could perhaps learn to do that. Yoda gave a non-committal grunt and peered at me with that ever-present scowl between his eyes, but next morning, after my meditation, Master Ki handed me a lead stick and a pad of Initiate's paper. He had me to kneel beside him, and my lessons began."

"With a lead stick?" Obi-Wan said, incredulous.

Qui-Gon nodded and sprinkled a fine powder across the last piece of parchment, then tapped off the excess to seal the ink. "I had to learn the shapes and slants of the letters before he would let me practice with a pen. It's been quite a few years since I did anything of consequence like this with what he taught me. I fear that I'm long out of practice."

Obi-Wan surveyed the collection of graceful pieces. "It's still beautiful, Master. They should be well-pleased."

Leaning across the table, Qui-Gon slid a long arm over his Padawan's back and hugged him tight. "Congratulations for passing your class. As we've both things to celebrate this night, and as I have commandeered the table, shall we go out and brave the commissary for evening meal?"

//Forty cycles,// Obi-Wan reflected, balling his fingers into fists and standing braced like a coiled spring where he stood, staring at the battered and half-destroyed ship that had limped her way through normal space to deliver them, finally, on a wing and a Jedi's prayer, to Dalcarta. //It's only been forty cycles since we shared that meal, good company, and much laughter. We were happy and he was laughing... He was alive and well, just forty cycles ago.//

Obi-Wan stood alone in the nearly unbearable dry-desert heat of the spaceport, waiting for permission from the inspecting authorities to once more board the crippled ship. Sweat trickled between his shoulderblades, his cloak and the searing wind wrapped him up in a tangle of suffocating brown cloth.

Dalcarta had the dubious distinction of being hotter than many planets on the outer rim, including Tatooine. Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan that night was day to most of the populace, as they hid in dwellings half-submerged in the shifting sands in an effort to escape the soul-draining heat. Food was grown underground in hydroponic pods, with sunlight fed carefully through a network of mirrored shafts. Indigenous animals were kept only as pets--a finding that had delighted Qui-Gon when he'd discovered it. The planet had never known war, and Obi-Wan had put forth the theory that this was because no one could possibly get up the energy to fight during the day. As for the nights, Master Sorn's Padawan had insisted that they were simply too beautiful for anyone to sustain any hostility toward anything.

Obi-Wan had looked forward to exploring the planet. Now, he couldn't think past getting back on that ship, to find Qui-Gon and ascertain what, exactly, had happened. Regardless the heat, Obi-Wan was so cold that he couldn't stop shivering, for the bond he shared with his Master had been dead for the past thirty-six cycles.

He hadn't slept on the trip out, thought he'd never sleep again. Barely three cycles into the journey, three of the stabilizers had blown at the same time and the ship had been thrust out of hyperspace and directly into an asteroid field. The shields hadn't been strong enough to deflect the incoming debris--some of it had been the size of small planets, and the pilot of a necessity had dedicated his efforts to coaxing his shuddering, non-responsive ship in between and around them, while Obi-Wan worked frantically to stabilize what could not be stabilized and give them just a bit more control.

They had done a good job, but not good enough. They'd managed to best most of the field, when a half-meter chunk of rock bounced off a much bigger specimen and doubled back on its course to slam through the hull guarding the passenger quarters.

They'd lost oxygen and air pressure immediately, with ten different species screaming in terror, Qui-Gon feeling them, and leaving Obi-Wan at work on the bridge. Fifteen clicks later, the training bond had snapped, sending a splintering agony through his mind and blackening his vision. He nearly threw up on the deck, so deep was the pain. The roaring in his ears was nothing compared to the seering agony squeezing his heart.

//He's gone,// Obi-Wan had thought to himself. Gasping against the pain, he'd shoved back the trauma, erected the thickest shields he could to keep it at bay, and continued working. His hands knew what to do; what else could he do, but let them flow with the Force. The asteroid field was still a threat, but a glance at the pilot's monitors told Obi-Wan that they were no longer losing air or pressure. Was that Qui-Gon's doing? //Master?...//

Silence, as cold as space, met his query. After that, he didn't ask again. In time, the asteroids had been left behind and Obi-Wan had coaxed the shaky life-support system into accommodating their needs just a few cycles more. He ascertained that the hyperdrive was indeed blown until considerable repairs could be made, then checked out the sub-space engines. They drifted in space for a cycle while he worked, with the passengers growing more agitated and more worried by the minute, but Obi-Wan knew he wasn't capable of soothing their worries any more than he could his own. So he erected one more shield -- this time between him and them -- and concentrated on making sure the sub-spacers would get them safely to Dalcarta. Eventually, he was able to tell the pilot to set course for home, they'd see the spaceport in an estimated thirty-two cycles. Nodding, the pilot had set the course and informed the passengers that he was sorry for the delay, they were back on course and would arrive approximately a day later than scheduled. Many thanks were due the Jedi in their midst, without whom the repairs would not have been possible... etc., etc., ad infinitum.

His duty done, Obi-Wan left the bridge and headed with all purpose back through the ship to the last place he had felt Qui-Gon's presence. Weaving his way through an assortment of Corellian merchants, Toydarians on holiday, and suspicious-looking Dugs who were far from their home planet, Obi-Wan only half-heard the murmured thanks and snarling criticisms. Obviously, for some, his rescue had come too late. //Believe me, I know.//

The mental trail ended at a set of blast doors, which were of course locked down to preserve the rest of the ship from suffering the same fate as the foyer beyond. Laying a hand on the door, Obi-Wan felt the ice-cold metal. Bracing his forehead on it, he closed his eyes and remembered what the bond had told him before it had shattered. Through Qui-Gon's eyes, he had seen the blown hull, and the unforgiving mound of solid rock which had imbedded itself in the far wall. He heard the roaring out-rush of air, felt the vacuum of space suck at his robes. His Master's shields had slammed down then, and because the blast doors were down Obi-Wan knew that the Jedi had succeeded in his mission. But there had been no way for him to get back once the doors had come down. Space was an unforgiving opponent and its rules were simple: if one was ill-equipped to survive in its vacuum, one died. Obi-Wan knew all too well that there had been no time for Qui-Gon to don a protective spacesuit, much less to have taken any sort of oxygen supply with him.

Knowing all of this, Obi-Wan had simply sank down before the blast doors, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"You can go back onboard now. And gentle Jedi, I am sorry." Someone laid a hand on his arm while a quiet Dalcartian voice interrupted his thoughts. Obi-Wan blinked into the doe-eyes of a young woman who smiled at him sadly. "Not knowing your wishes, we have left your Master undisturbed."

Nodding his understanding, he tried to voice his thanks, but it came out as little more than a croak, and he hadn't the energy or the desire to fight it. The woman's hand slid away from him when he stepped forward, forced one booted foot before the other on their journey back up the ramp and into the interior of the injured ship.

Obi-Wan blinked in the ship's ambient half-light, made darker to him after he'd been standing in the bright sunlight. His eyes felt gritty and ungrateful; he'd not slept on the journey here,and doubted that he would be able to sleep for some time to come. He knew that no one else was on board, and his boots whispered across the smooth deck as he made his way to the back of the ship. All was as he'd left it, with one notable exception: the blast doors had been ripped away. The resulting maw seemed to mock him; what business had the living among the dead, even if the dead was one's Master?

He stepped carefully across the threshold, avoiding the shrouded bodies lying crumbled nearby--victims of the loss of air and vacuum which slammed them across the room and battered them against the gaping hole into space. None of them carried the right Force-signature; none of them were Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had to circle the room before he found his Master, literally on top of the blast door controls, where he'd lashed himself via his obi while he'd forced them to close. He was slumped, lifeless, over the controls, and Obi-Wan lifted back the long silvered hair to see that his master's skin had become a sickly gray.

Sobbing, Obi-Wan shoved the body back and worked frantically to free him. Sliding down with the dead weight of Qui-Gon's body, Obi-Wan landed on his butt with his Master's head and torso in his lap. Great heaving sobs overtook him while he sat, stroking back the thick mane. The blue eyes were closed, forever now.

"Master... no. Not like this. And besides, where would you go that you wouldn't take me with you? Why didn't you take me with you?" He shook Qui-Gon's body a little and listened for the answer, but there was none. "If you've gone into the Force, why can't I hear you?"

He sobbed and he railed. Begged and pleaded and demanded. Tried to strike a bargain and make any promise in the world if Qui-Gon would just come back -- just for a moment -- and let them see each other just one more time.

"We didn't even get to say good-bye," he told the Force, swiping away the tears only to have them intrude again. "We didn't even get that much. Please let him come back... just for a few moments?"

But there was no reply. No one would walk before him now, leading the way into his future. Obi-Wan knew the truth of it now; it wasn't as Master Yoda had said, a Jedi didn't survive death. He didn't manifest through the Force, didn't appear to those who loved him. After death, there was... nothing.

Nothing but silence.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan shielded himself against his grief and straightened his cloak. Looking around the cabin that had been his and Qui-Gon's last shared quarters, he made sure he'd missed nothing, that the single satchel they'd brought was sitting close to the door, that Qui-Gon's cloak lay folded across it--as it always had, and never would again. Gathering the packet of documents Qui-Gon had prepared, Obi-Wan exited the small room and he paused before the nervous official where she hovered in the corridor outside. Her brown eyes stared up at him, pleading for his cooperation, while her skin was three shades paler than it should have been. Holding a data-slate in one hand, she twisted her long black braid with the other hand and looked as though she might begin chewing on the end of it at any moment.

"My name is Seleka, and I've never had to take care of anything like this before, gentle Jedi. Please forgive me if I, as you say... walk on your feet?"

Obi-Wan spared her puzzled glance, and then nodded. "Step on my toes?"

"Yes, forgive that too, please." She gave an abbreviated bow. "I've just received word from our highest level that we are not to release any information on either the accident or the deaths until after the festivities are concluded," she relayed miserably. "A death is a very bad omen for our people, so we're going to stay silent, with apologies to your Master's spirit." Another bobbing bow of apology followed and another deep breath before she rushed into the rest of her bad news. "I've made arrangements for the victims to be taken to a deathhouse nearby, and if you'll just sign here I'll see that your Master's body goes with the others."

"No."

She blinked and closed her mouth, only to open it again. "No? He must go somewhere, he cannot stay here."

"I want him taken to the Palace, to whatever rooms they've assigned to us."

"The... Palace?" Seleka gawked at him, growing even paler, if possible. "You wish to take the dead to the Palace?"

"My Master and I were scheduled to meet with the vizier later today. I will keep that meeting, and my Master will go where I go, just as he did in life."

Her brown eyes grew black with alarm. "You can't take a corpse into the palace!" she squeaked. "It is unseemly, it is disrespectful to the Ahn, to the spirits of the Palace! And it is--it is messy!"

Obi-Wan nodded sadly. "But that is where he will go, all the same."

"At the very least, you will be expelled, and I will lose my station here. At worst, you will be arrested! Our traditions demand that no eyes fall on a corpse after the third hour of death. And to take-- take that into the Royal House? No, gentle Jedi, you will not."

Stepping back into the cabin, Obi-Wan snatched up his Master's robe and then whirled back to wave his hand before the girl's face. "We will wrap my Master in this."

She took the thick material and looked puzzled. "Your Master will be wrapped in this?"

"You will find transport for me, and we'll bundle my Master into it, along with the luggage." //What am I saying? And by the Sith, what am I doing? The Council will skin me for this, and my Master isn't luggage!// he thought to himself. //I'm not leaving my Master alone, that's what I'm doing.// "Pack him in with the rest of my things."

"We will pack him in with the rest of your things," Seleka said woodenly, still staring at the garment in her arms.

Obi-Wan waved at her again. "You will forget Master Jinn's death and lose the paperwork pertaining to it."

"There is no paperwork pertaining to Master Jinn's death."

"No record will be kept of his passing."

"No record..." She blinked and shook her head. "But there must be records. We have records for everything, it's required."

He waved his hand again. "No records ever existed for this because it did not happen."

"No records... none," she repeated obediently.

Sliding the data-slate from her fingers, Obi-Wan erased the report he'd given earlier on his Master's death. Tracing the communications link backward via the slate's connection with the central computer serving the planetary government, he retrieved the pertinent messages that had been sent, then quickly programmed the slate to send another, private message to the computer's processor dictating that all reports of the Jedi Master's death were to be erased. The information was erroneous, he informed the computer, the pertinent entries were to be purged.

He knew from experience on other information-fanatical planets that most governing officials couldn't stand any report being erroneous; the documents would be stricken from the record in almost hysterical haste. //So much for your traditions where the death of Qui-Gon Jinn is concerned.//

Handing the data-slate back to Seleka, he gathered the satchel and escorted the girl to the gangway. "You will secure my transport now. Then you will bring back a hover-sled and help me move my Master's body. You will do this quickly, and discuss it with no one."

She nodded and moved down the gangway.

//How easily they are convinced,// he thought to himself. //So many beings are like children, wanting guidance. Wanting to be told what to do to make everything all right. No wonder you cautioned me not to attempt this sort of manipulation very often, Master. It cuts through the red tape and the grief most effectively, and would definitely be habit-forming.//

Qui-Gon's body was shrouded with not only his cloak but also with a tarp that Seleka managed to locate.

//What have we here, independent thought?// He snorted to himself as he unrolled the tarp, realizing that the young woman didn't want the dead Jedi problem to stick around any more than did the live Jedi.

"Here's some liquid cable that might help." Seleka handed Obi-Wan a pressure cannister containing once he'd rolled Qui-Gon's body into the tarp and Force-lifted it onto the hover-sled.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He sprayed the cable around the tarp until Qui-Gon's body resembled nothing so much as a huge, bulky, unidentifiable something beneath the wrappings.

"Your transport is waiting, gentle Jedi." Seleka met his gaze then, bowing slightly.

Obi-Wan felt sympathy alongside her nervousness, knew then that his mind trick had very much worn off; she would remember all of this encounter. Only the Ahn knew what she'd do with the memories. He didn't want to manipulate her any more; he'd just have to take his chances. Tossing the satchel onto the sled, he spared a moment to give the young woman a hug.

"I'm very sorry for all the trouble we've caused. Believe me, it wasn't supposed to be this way." He swallowed against the anguish that threatened to close his throat and ducked his head when she hugged him back.

"Safe journey, then, for you and for your companion's journey into the Great House of Ahn," she murmured against him, all delicacy and softness when Obi-Wan's heart cried out for the touch of a mountain of a man who used to loom beside him and engulf him in hugs so tight that he couldn't breathe. His Master's presence had always been as solid and safe as the bond they'd shared, but all of that was gone now.

"You, too," Obi-Wan managed. Turning away, he pushed at the hover-sled to start it going, then concentrated on guiding it across the landing dock. Blinking fiercely against the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him, he shoved his grief deep.

//Now's not the time or the place,// he growled to himself. //Just let me get through this mission. There will be enough time afterward to take out what hurts and let it demolish me.//

The Dug driving the transport was uninterested in his passenger's cargo, and Obi-Wan used what remained of the liquid cable to lash the sled to the back of the transport. His attention was commanded when he felt the hovercraft sink as the weight of Qui-Gon's body made the small craft sink.

"Cas chua yooka," he snarled at Obi-Wan, who translated easily, 'That'll cost you extra.'

Obi-Wan didn't argue; he paid and climbed in at the front of the sled to keep an eye on it. It wouldn't do to have it come undone and drop down through the airlanes. One in-flight disaster was enough for his Master's passing.

They made the journey as quickly and safely as Obi-Wan could have desired, through the excruciating heat of the desert and across the Royal City, until they were stopped at the cool service tunnels that served the palace. Obi-Wan climbed out to tell the solemn guards who he was, and that he was expected. A brief communication with whoever was stationed on the other side of their comlink, and they were on their way again. The Dug weaved the transport easily through the roomy tunnels until they leveled off into a service area where no one looked twice at the arriving Jedi or his strange luggage.

Obi-Wan was met by a respectful guard who snapped to attention and helped him release the hover-sled. The Dug was dismissed with a hefty tip being paid by the palace guard. A few minutes later, and Obi-Wan found himself and his troublesome cargo in a suite of cool, dark rooms deep inside the palace.

"Welcome to Dalcarta, gentle Jedi." The guard bowed solemnly before he backed from the rooms, closed the doors behind him, and left Obi-Wan alone with his problem.

Running a hand through his short-cropped hair, the Jedi stared at the hover-sled and wished he'd awaken from the nightmare he'd found himself in for the past three days. Shoving at the conveyance with what was fast approaching resentment in the middle of his fatigue, he Force-guided it into the sleep chamber and parked it at the bottom of the huge bed that he should have been sharing with Qui-Gon. It would have looked so very welcoming to both of them after cramped and cold quarters on the ship. Qui-Gon wold have enjoyed the luxury of accommodations that suited his size, as well; now, however, the chamber merely looked empty.

Falling into a nearby chair, Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared at the bulky bundle that didn't resemble his Master at all. Technically it wasn't his master anymore. Technically it was now a large, heavy, awkward inanimate object. It looked exactly like what it was, except that Obi-Wan's heart didn't see it in those terms.

"This is wrong, Master! So wrong...." Not only his death, but his bringing the body with him. Wrong also, because in a matter of hours the body was going to become an even bigger problem.

But first things had to be served first, and that meant the duty that had brought him and Qui-Gon to this miserable planet in the first place. Obi-Wan had to get through the scheduled meeting with the vizier and present the accursed documents to him, her or it. After that, he might be able to explain his Master's incapacity and beg out of additional functions. With any luck, he'd be on a ship back to Coruscant before morning.

CHAPTER FOUR

The vizier turned out to be a growly Dug who had the habit of scowling at everything while caressing his glittering nose-beads, and cartwheeling over himself to get anywhere. He burst into Obi-Wan's guest suite a few clicks later, all but howling for the Jedi, sniffing around the guest quarters, and nailing Obi-Wan with a beady black glare until the Jedi very nearly confessed to having a corpse in the bedroom.

"Where is Jedi two? Two they sent, one I see."

"My Master...is resting. He was not feeling well after the journey."

The Dug snorted, sending his nose-beads a-clattering. "Feeling well he is not," he agreed. "Maybe feeling dead is he?"

Obi-Wan schooled his features past the shock and started to reply, but the Dug waved him to silence.

"We know the fate of your Master, young Padawan," the vizier said in heavily accented Basic, "know where he lies," he added, waving a foot toward the closed door behind the Jedi. "Strange are Jedi, sleeping with the dead. But strange are Jedi, anyway. All Jedi." He snorted and shrugged, or at least Obi-Wan assumed that was the purpose of the twitching of the almost non-existent shoulders.

"Prepared we are to ignore your ignoring the customs of this world, if capable you are of successfully completing the duties we require. Two duties were set before Deadmaster: to give me the papers you brought so that our entry into the Galactic Republic might be archived, and to attend our festivities beginning at moonrise. You do this." He poked a toe at Obi-Wan chest, then pointed with it at the door. "Not Deadmaster."

Obi-Wan offered a formal bow. "I will do this, gentle vizier."

The Dug held out his hand, which was a vision of too-big knuckles and overgrown fingernails. It was, by far, one of the ugliest appendages Obi-Wan had ever seen. Delving into the voluminous sleeves of his cloak, Obi-Wan withdrew the elegantly rolled and formally be-ribboned and sealed packet of manuscript. The Dug snatched it from him, tearing at the ribbons and sniffing at the seals. Noises of either satisfaction or deep suspicion--Obi-Wan wasn't certain which--rumbled from the being.

The Jedi waited patiently, feet braced and hands folded in his sleeves. He watch the long head sway from side to side during the examination, mildly intrigued by the beads' sway and clatter as the Dug wove back and forth, faster and faster on his hands. He fully expected the vizier to turn on him and announce that the papers were not in order--

//Help me.//

Obi-Wan flinched at the weak but undeniable mind-touch and snapped his head around to stare at the sleep-chamber door, which was firmly closed as he'd left it. His heart pounded at the shock of that touch, and he missed the growled demand from the dignitary before him.

Slamming his feet -- hands -- whatever he stood on -- upon the floor angrily, the Dug demanded Obi-Wan's attention.

"Who prepared these?" he repeated irritably, sliding an oily finger down the side of one parchment, which rolled up against him as if to protest his touch. Obi-Wan hoped that finger was cleaner than it looked, for the idea of having his Master's final works smudged by that grubby-looking digit was abhorrent.

"A master scribe, well-trained in the calligraphic arts," the Jedi answered quietly, his attention once again focused on the moment before him. //My Master is gone, he is one with the Force, the bond is gone, and I'm hallucinating. Yes, that's it. I am--//

//Help me...// There it came again, weak, but there.

//Gods, I've gone crazy. I can't help you, Master,// he answered as a headache began throbbing behind his eyes in time with the racing of his heart. //You're dead, you should have gone into the Force. Are you stuck?//

The Dug leaned over the papers and peered at them, his lower lip slinking out in a pout below narrowed nostrils that spoke of irritation. "I should meet this scribe. Who is he?"

"He was my Master."

"Ah, Deadmaster? Convenient. He is dead, we cannot talk?" The chin lifted, the eyes narrowed.

//Let me out.//

Obi-Wan shivered and clamped down against the touch of that voice. "No, I don't think so."

"Who trained him?"

"A... Master Ki. He died some years ago."

//It's hot, and I can't breathe, Padawan. I can't move.//

//Of course you can't. You're dead! And you don't need to breathe!// he snapped back at the voice in his head. //Oh gods, I am going mad. Please let the Dug leave before I lose it in some noticeable way.//

"Only Dug do this work," the vizier challenged, poking a ragged, dirty nail at the elegant calligraphy. "Deadmaster was no Dug. You lie, Jedi."

"Master Ki was a Dug. He taught my Master in your style."

The vizier growled at the papers, rolled them up and cast aside the ribbon that had bound them. "Ah. Almost Dug work, then. Impressive work. Almost. Festival begins at moonrise. Be there, alone," he emphasized. "No Deadmaster at celebrations. You mingle with our people, give a good showing of yourself. Tomorrow we release you and Deadmaster. You take the body at dawn and be on your way." He nodded and his beads clattering, clearly satisfied with this plan. "Yes, I say nothing. You say nothing. Deadmaster is merely sick and resting we say. He should keep until dawn. No one knows about Deadmaster, agreed?"

//OBI-WAN!!// The bellow reverberated so loudly through his mind that the Padawan in question winced and staggered forward, certain that the vizier himself had to have heard it.

"Agreed," he ground out against the pain, not really caring if his reply didn't follow the conversation. "Thank you for... inviting me."

The Dug grunted and poked him with the papers. "Didn't sleep much on the journey?"

Obi-Wan supposed the creature was smiling at him, but it looked more like a smirk. He shook his head.

"Fretting over Deadmaster won't make him live again. Five cycles before festival. You rest. Jedi must look good tonight."

Obi-Wan managed to nod in agreement as the mind touch grew more forceful. //Obi-Wan, help me! NOW!//

Clutching his precious documents in his feet and not seeming to care that he crinkled them in the process, the vizier wheeled across the room on his gnarly hands, shoved through the chamber doors, and slammed them behind him. Obi-Wan lunged for the door into the sleep-chamber and flung it open, bounding across the tile to stand next to the wrapped lump of his master's corpse.

"Master, I'm sorry," he explained hesitantly. "You died, and I don't know how to help--"

The waterproof cover began to shiver, then to tremble even more strongly. Eyes widening in disbelief, Obi-Wan stared at the transport sled. The trembling became more pronounced.

//Post-mortem electrical discharge,// his brain raced to supply the information. //Yes, I've seen that. Energy stored in the muscles is released, making them contract.// Obi-Wan had even seen a body sit up once, and the witnesses had to be feeling just as he did now. //That's all this is. Nothing more.//

The muscle contractions increased until the bundle was fairly convulsing before him.

//OutoutoutoutoutoutoutOUT!// chanted the frantic voice in his head.

Obi-Wan's mind refused to process coherent thought any longer. This was just too far outside his realm of experience, and too much of a shock when it was added to everything else he'd endured since that hyperdrive had died. He'd had no sleep, and no food, his Master was dead, and all logic now fled. All clear thought fled. But his feet, for some insane reason, inched him closer to the frantic activity beneath the tarp. Was this some sort of Force transformation that Obi-Wan had not heard of? Joining the Force had always sounded like such a peaceful process....

Obi-Wan was within a few inches of the now-writhing body, which was still firmly enshrouded in the he tarp and liquid cable. Muffled sounds could be heard from within, while the mental litany that begged for freedom took on a tone of fast-rising anger.

"M-master, please, rest quietly," Obi-Wan whispered. "You should go into the Force now--"

He halted his advice in mid-sentence when a new sound emerged from the struggling cocoon -- the very familiar sound of a lightsaber being activated. Obi-Wan threw himself backward just as the green blade rose up through the tarp to slash its way through all of the bindings. Roaring up through the wrappings, the scorched and melting cable and the singed cloak, came Qui-Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan thought that his heart was going to burst, so hard and loud was its pounding. He stared, somewhere between shocked and terrified at the giant of a man brandishing the lightsaber: his hair was wild and his blue eyes blazed with fury in a dead gray face. A string of soulful invectives that Obi-Wan had never heard before accompanied the apparition's emergence from the shattered cocoon. Once his feet were once more firmly on the ground, Qui-Gon whirled and glowered at the mess that had imprisoned him. Next, he rounded on his Padawan.

"Why in the name of the Force did you stuff me in there?"

"...Master..." Obi-Wan whispered as though from quite a distance.

"You tied me up!" the newly animated body ground out in a rough parody of his Master's voice. "You tied me up, wrapped me up, and left me there. WHY?"

"....uh.....I...ah...ah...."

"I suppose that I should be grateful you didn't stuff me beneath the bed for storage."

"I didn't think you'd fit," Obi-Wan said plaintively.

The Master gaped at him and gasped for air. "Obi-Wan, I expect a better explanation than that. I couldn't see or breathe in there. It was hot. It was confining. It was uncomfortable. It is against the Code to suffocate your Master."

The tall Jedi took a step forward, which Obi-Wan answered by retreating, his green eyes huge and his own face now ghostly pale in shock. "M-master, you don't need to breathe. And--and they couldn't know you were here, and I couldn't let you go to the deadhouse--"

The blue eyes blinked, easing back on the fury they contained.

//His eyes make an interesting contrast to the blue of his lips,// Obi-Wan noted absently in the corner of his mind still capable of coherent thought. //And his hair tie is missing. He'll be disappointed; it was his favorite.//

"Obi-Wan, are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, Master. I was doing the best I could. Nobody told me how to handle this sort of situation, and I tried to let the Force guide me. I think this is what it said to do, and I'm going to take you back to Coruscant in the morning, so you'll have proper Jedi honors for your sac...sacrifice."

"Honors? Sacrifice?" The voice was gentler now, and the eyes were not quite so murderous, but looking a little concerned. "Padawan, what are you talking about? And have we missed the ceremony here?"

"No, it's in ab-about five cycles. I'll see it done and we'll leave in the morning. You can wait here."

"Wait? I'll be ready by then."

"No, Master, you can't go."

"Why not? Obi-Wan, you are making no sense. Explain this from the beginning. Please." His Padawan was now trembling visibly and was absolutely colorless. Qui-Gon took another step forward, and Obi-Wan retreated two more steps toward the door.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't stabilize the shields on the ship," the younger man said. "I tried, but I couldn't, and you died, and they won't let a dead Jedi attend the ceremony. They can't look at you because you've been dead more than three cycles. M-master, please put down the lightsaber. "

Startled, Qui-Gon looked down at the still humming lightsaber clutched tightly in his very blue fingers, then back up at Obi-Wan. He thumbed the control and the glowing blade hissed out of being. "Dead? I'm not dead. I'm talking to you right now."

"You..." Obi-Wan fell back against the open door and edged around it as though to put the bulk of it between himself and the apparition of his Master. "You were dead."

"I most certainly was not! I was in stasis."

"You were dead!" Obi-Wan argued, abandoning the doorway and backing into the suite's reception room, further away from the thing that was still stalking toward him. "You're still dead! You're all gray and... and ugly, just like before. You're dead!"

"Obi-Wan, I've never been beautiful, and of course I was gray! You're gray as well when there's no oxygen in your blood. Do you not recall the lessons I gave you, not five seasons past, on suspending all bodily functions when the emergency warrants it?"

"Yes, but.... Master, you didn't look that gray, then."

Qui-Gon halting his stalking and frowned. "Why are you avoiding me? Come back over here."

"Um... I'd rather not, if you don't mind." Obi-Wan stared across at him with wide and frightened eyes. "How do I know you're my Master?"

"How do you... Oh, gods, this is unbelievable." Qui-Gon fell into the nearest chair and glowered at his Padawan. Gasping for breath, he held up a shaking hand and peered at it. It was still mostly gray. "You're right about one thing: I haven't fully recovered. Give me a few minutes."

Obi-Wan hovered nearby for a moment before settling on the floor against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself, and shivering. He never took his eyes off of his Master.

What little energy Qui-Gon's adrenaline rush had given him to escape the tarp had vanished. He sagged against the seat cushions and panted as his body desperately absorbed the oxygen he'd so long denied it. Taking a moment, he took stock of how he felt: fatigued and in pain, he had a terrible oxygen-deprivation headache, was overheated from being swaddled in waterproof coverings, and was still wearing a heavy cloak which only added to his complaints. Beyond all of that, rather than leaping to his aid, his Padawan was staring at him as though...as though.... Qui-Gon couldn't think of an analogy, but Obi-Wan looked distressed, in any case. His eyes had shadows beneath them, the bond between them felt... fatigued... and now the young man was trembling. Something was very wrong here.

//I don't look well, either,// Qui-Gon decided upon further scrutiny. His muscles ached and those that didn't were trying to cramp as his blood struggled to return to them. He couldn't breathe properly yet, and his time sense was totally blown.

"Obi-Wan, where are we?" he asked gently, trying to coax his Padawan back onto the path of rational thought.

"Palace. House of Ahn. Guest quarters underground. Interior, two exits off of the main corridor, no outside windows," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes still huge and staring.

"Thank you. And how long have we been here?"

"A very little time. We've five -- no, perhaps most of four cycles until the festivities begin at moonrise. And the vizier has the documents which my Master prepared."

"Good," Qui-Gon wheezed. "I think that rest might be a good thing for both of us during these cycles. Then we can finish up this mission." He gestured abstractly. "You'll have to carry it, Padawan, as I'm not going to be completely recovered by then."

That brought the younger man shooting onto his feet. "But you can't go to the festival, Master. It will be a horrible insult. The dead do not attend festivities here."

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon whispered a prayer to the Force. //Grant me patience, please.// "Obi-Wan, I'm not dead. I was just in stasis. Not dead."

"Dead," the Padawan contradicted obstinately. "There was no bond. It was gone."

"Gone?" Qui-Gon blinked at that. //If the bond was gone, if Obi-Wan was deprived of his connection with me for the first time during his apprenticeship... No wonder he's upset. // But...I was merely in stasis. The bond doesn't end because of that."

"It did. For three days, Master. You were GONE."

"Three days?" He blinked, considering that information. "Obi-Wan, I didn't mean for you to think that I was dead," he continued, more gently than before. "I went deeper into stasis than I had before, but I had to be sure that the ship would reach the docking bay and fresh atmosphere before I came up again, or I would have been dead. I had no idea that our bond would collapse with my doing this. It must have been a terrible three days for you."

Obi-Wan nodded, though he still didn't look convinced.

"Is it back now? Can you it now?" Qui-Gon asked.

A moment's looking inward, and then Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Master."

"So I'm not dead now, am I?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps not, but you still look awful."

"So do you. Have you slept recently?"

"Recently?"

"Since we spoke last? And have you eaten?"

"No, Master. There was much to do and I... I didn't think of it." It sounded like the excuse it was, but it spoke volumes of the pain beneath it.

//He's seen to the mission and to me-- in his own, strange way-- but he hasn't seen to himself for three days,// thought Qui-Gon, //because he thought me dead.// Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon considered what needed to be done.

"Obi-Wan, we're going to sleep," he decided. "Come here and help me out of this chair," he requested in his most commanding Master voice.

Rising hesitantly from the floor, Obi-Wan crossed and held out his hands for the Master to pull himself upright. After gaining his feet, Qui-Gon held onto Obi-Wan even more tightly. Sliding a hand across his Padawan's shoulders, he guided him beneath his arm and slowly began walking him toward the sleep chamber.

"Obi-Wan, I'm here and I'm alive. All is well. Now it's time for us to sleep."

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan shivered slightly but leaned into him, and Qui-Gon took that as an encouraging sign. Pushing the younger man down to sit on the side of the bed, the Master laid a hand across his eyes. "Sleep now, Padawan."

Obi-Wan didn't even have time to record the use of the Force, or to object to it, before his eyes closed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Obi-Wan came slowly awake, with the sound of Qui-Gon's heatbeat in his ear and his Master's scent in his nostrils. Gradually, he came to realize that his leg was flung over Qui-Gon's, his nose was against the older man's neck. His arm was resting across the huge chest, while his fingers were tangled in the silvery mane. As for the Master, he was lying on his back with his arms around Obi-Wan, embracing him tightly and allowing no room for escape. And he was deeply asleep.

//Not dead. Just asleep.// Obi-Wan smiled against his Master's collarbone.

Taking a deep breath, he considered drawing away, only to decide against it. To do so might wake his Master, and they had both been so exhausted that Obi-Wan was loath to do anything to disturb the older man's rest. Thankfully, Qui-Gon man wasn't gray anymore; he looked normal. He felt normal. His skin was warm, and it felt good for Obi-Wan to be where he was. It didn't seem that Qui-Gon had any objection to his nearness, either, so why should he move? Come to that, what was there to object to? They were in bed, it was true, but they were only hugging... weren't they? Same as they would do, standing up, from time to time, right? Perhaps they were a bit closer, but not that much...

//Not that I'd object if we were....// Obi-Wan blinked at the thought. //Where did that come from?//

Someone had stripped him down to his skivies. That same someone had lost his own robe and tunics, boots and leggings. He'd also obviously climbed into bed with Obi-Wan, and one or the other of them had wrapped themselves around the other to end up like this when they awoke. Tightening his fingers, Obi-Wan clutched a little harder at his Master and closed his eyes again. Breathing deeply, he filled his senses with his Master's scent, drew it hard into himself so that it filled and calmed him. //How many years have I done this without realizing it?... Loved the smell of him, the breadth and height of him, the way he moves and the way he speaks. The lessons he's taught me, the ways he touches me. All of that, along with his just existing? As long as he's just in this world, everything is fine in my world.//

//I almost lost all of this without ever really having had it -- or realizing what I had,// Obi-Wan reflected, daring to slide his hand down and caress the older man's chest. // I thought he was gone -- one mistake, and he could have been gone. All of his warmth and his hugs. His laughter and his voice. His rare smile and his touch. His wisdom. His just being here and our being together. I thought I'd never hear him speak again, or comb out his hair, or have him braid my hair. Thought we'd never share a mission together again, or a cup of tea, or a quiet conversation. Never to wake up and see him again, to hear his quiet, 'Good morning, Obi-Wan.' I thought I'd never have him to care for, or him to care for me again. I thought I'd lost all of this. All of him, and his love. Because I do love him. Gods, I love him so much that it hurts.//

"What time is it?" His Master's voice rumbled beneath Obi-Wan's ear. A large hand moved over his back, caressing in lazy, soothing circles. Otherwise, the older man didn't budge.

"Soon time to get up, but not quite yet," Obi-Wan murmured, fast feeling boneless under that hand.

//He loves me...// he thought in quiet revelation. //And I love him, too. Have for years.//

It didn't come as any sort of shock, didn't demand that Obi-Wan act upon it immediately or do anything different from what he was already doing. He didn't want to shout it from the rafters, or even to announce it to Qui-Gon. It was enough to just be with the man in this moment, to enjoy their closeness, the intimacy they shared. It was enough. At the same time, he wanted to stay in this man's arms forever, to know more about what it was like to love and be loved by such a man.

That hand was still rubbing his back. Obi-Wan snuggled a bit closer on a sigh and began finger-combing the thick mane. Turning his cheek, Qui-Gon rubbed his beard against that hand, laid his fingers across Obi-Wan's arm and left them there.

//He let me sleep on his shoulder,// Obi-Wan reflected. //And he's touching me.// In all of their years of serving missions together and sharing a bed, this had never happened before. //Why now?// he wondered. //Did I turn to him while I slept? Did he pull me to him?//

"You were crying and whimpering in your sleep," Qui-Gon rumbled. "I felt your panic and grief through the bond, and my touch was the only reassurance you'd respond to."

Startled, Obi-Wan reached for the bond, only to find it was totally open. Neither of them were bothering to shield. "Did you hear what I've been thinking all this time?"

"You were thinking rather loudly, Obi-Wan." He pressed a kiss to the top of his Padawan's head. "I do love you. And I didn't mean to frighten you so badly. Please forgive me."

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around as much of the man as he could. "Not your fault. And I love you, too, Master."

Showers had been gotten, new uniforms had been pulled from the satchel to replace the ones the two Jedi felt they'd been living in, or had been dead in, for days. Obi-Wan was merely unduly grubby, but Qui-Gon was singed and severely wrinkled, courtesy of his Padawan's diligent efforts at Master binding,. All in all and after their nap, the two Jedi had seldom presented a more disreputable pair. Qui-Gon had claimed first shower rights, which Obi-Wan was more than happy to accord him.

Once both Jedi were clean, Obi-Wan surreptitiously set about watching Qui-Gon dress and noted the slower movements, the careful meditative breathing. //He's conserving energy already. This doesn't bode well for the night.//

Rummaging through a small storage case, Qui-Gon sifted through their collection of shared toiletries and retrieved his hairbrush. Moving to his Master's side, Obi-Wan pulled the brush from Qui-Gon's unresisting fingers and nudged the older man toward the bed.

"Sit and rest, Master. It's my turn to care for you."

Nodding on a sigh, the Master did just that. Setting aside the brush for the moment, Obi-Wan entangled his fingers in the thick, still slightly damp mane of hair, now smelling of familiar soap, and massaged the older man's scalp before moving on to his neck and shoulders. The muscles loosened reluctantly after a brief argument.

"Do you still want me to take the lead this evening?" Obi-Wan asked as he combed through his Master's hair. Taking the hair-tie Qui-Gon offered, he replaced the one that had been lost, and then smoothed a hand up Qui-Gon's forehead and back across the hair behind in a final benediction.

"Yes," Qui-Gon said after a moment's reflection. "You'll need to continue taking the initiative throughout this mission, as I've a limited amount of energy to spend at the moment." He sighed, then nodded assertively -- or tried to, yanking at his hair gathered in Obi-Wan's hand.

"I suspect that's an understatement." Obi-Wan let affection color his tone. "I've seldom heard you admit to being vulnerable."

"It's a wise man who knows his limits. And a wiser one who keeps from falling on his nose in front of the dignitaries. Stasis took more out of me than I'd care to admit, Obi-Wan."

The older man turned in place and looked up at his Padawan. Embarrassment and a certain amount of guilt reflected in the blue eyes, and Obi-Wan couldn't resist hugging the older man tightly.

"I don't think the technique was designed to be used for quite such a length of time, Master. You did what it took to stay alive, and I'm grateful you had the strength and skill to manage it. Though I suspect that once our report to the Council concerning this hits the corridors of the Temple, you'll find that you've added to the Legend of Master Jinn yet again with this one," he couldn't help pointing out with amusement. "I'm comfortable with seeing this mission through, so don't worry about it. I thought I was going to have to do it solo anyway. Having you just sitting there is a vast improvement on my expectations for the evening. Give me a moment to tend to this," he indicated the waist-length strands of loose hair from his Padawan braid, "and I'll be ready to go."

"Very well. I'll wait for you in the other room."

Retrieving his outer robe, Qui-Gon settled it across his shoulders as he left the sleep-chamber. Traversing the small, dark suite, he made a study of the few strange objects d'art and had only just reached the double doors when something hurtled through them.

A Dug slammed itself into Qui-Gon's thigh, only to bounce off and skid back the way it had come. Struggling to regain its balance, the long-faced creature stared at Qui-Gon's kneecap, which had made solid contact with its elbow, and then looked up. And up. And up.

"Tall Jedi..." the creature hissed to himself. "Jedi two...." Eyes narrowing, it peered around Qui-Gon's legs into the sleeping chamber. "Young Jedi? When did new Jedi arrived? Nothing was I told of new Jedi," he growled.

"No new Jedi have arrived," Qui-Gon advised him mildly, leaning over slightly to at least try to address the Dug directly. "I was invited with my Padawan."

"No, Young Jedi we have and Dead Jedi we have. Not you. You are who?" he demanded.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn," he replied smoothly, bowing to the glowering creature. "I arrived with my Padawan and I've been resting in the most comfortable quarters provided by the House of Ahn. I apologize for missing your earlier visit."

"Deadmaster!" The long jaw dropped, the hooded eyes widened. And then the Dug hit reverse, running backward, using all appendages available. And then the Dug fell down, staring up in shock from flat on his back.

Qui-Gon regarded him mildly, waited for him to regain his stance. Huffing, the Dug leaped to its hands and waved its feet. Nostrils quivering, with his lip stuck out in an sulking pout, the Dug growled. "Dead Jedi."

He bowed and repeated himself. "I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and I assure you that I am very much alive."

"NOT alive. Dead." The Dug turned his attention to Obi-Wan, who had immediately appeared at his Master's elbow and was bristling with protectiveness. "You lied."

"I never said that he was dead," Obi-Wan murmured smoothly, in his best seductive negotiator voice. "I said that he wasn't feeling well, that he was resting. I believe you were the one who decided that he was feeling dead."

"The House of Ahn appreciates it not when its sympathy and trust are toyed with, Jedi." He caressed his nose beads. "Dead Jedi feeling still just a little dead maybe?" the Dug said hopefully, clearly seeking some sort of compromise.

"I am very tired," Qui-Gon inserted.

"But he's on his feet, and he's eager to do his part for your festival."

"You said no talk with Deadmaster," the Dug accused. "I said Deadmaster not attend festival."

"Dead ones, no," agreed Obi-Wan. "This one is not dead, obviously. And he was sleeping.

"Dead," the Dug growled. "Dead in reports. Dead in chambers. Dead you agreed."

"Check the records," Obi-Wan urged. "I doubt there is any official record of the death of a Jedi representative."

"Dead you agreed!" the Dug howled, weaving from hand to hand, toes flexing and unflexing in agitation. "Wrapped up and strapped up as cargo!"

"He wasn't feeling well, and we wanted to keep him out of the sun."

Qui-Gon shot Obi-Wan a startled look over that lame explanation, then stepped in before the conversation got any more outlandish.

"But as you can see, I got better," Qui-Gon inserted. "And I would welcome the opportunity to talk with you on any subject of your choosing."

The Dug wheeled around the two Jedi, glaring and sniffing at Qui-Gon from all sides, then wheeled back the way he had come, all the while huffing and snarling to himself. Leaping up onto the couch, he stretched himself as tall as possible, and peered up at Qui-Gon who still towered over him. "You are very tall Deadmaster."

"I am," Qui-Gon agreed.

"Too tall. Much too tall. How then you learn flowing letter arts from Dugmaster?"

"I was only as tall as you are when I began studying."

The head lowered, nostrils and eyes narrowing as he stared at Qui-Gon's boots. "Feet too big. Too big for brushes."

"My Master found my fingers to be satisfactory, even though not traditional," Qui-Gon replied serenely, though Obi-Wan could hear the suppressed laughter under the words.

"Prove you are this Master. Show me your art you will. At festival."

Qui-Gon bowed slightly. "Of course. We will let my Padawan handle the other matters tonight, so that you and I might talk. You and I will discuss this traditional Dug art forms, and perhaps you can show me your style. It has been long since I have had the opportunity to watch a master scribe at work.

Far from mollified by Qui-Gon's flattery, the Dug nervously stroked his beads with calloused fingers. "If you cannot show this, Deadmaster you are not. Insult we will claim. Dead Jedi in palace without permission, new Jedi arrive without permission. Complaints we will lodge. Terrible insult it is to be dragging dead Jedi around this place." The Dug leaped backward, landing on his hands and whirling. "Festival begins now and you will both come. Deadmaster and gentle Jedi. Come now. Too much time wasted on Jedi silliness. The moon rises soon."

He wheeled down the hallway so quickly that Obi-Wan used the Force to call his cloak to him, rather than spare the seconds it would have taken to snatch it up. Qui-Gon preceded him out the door, hair flowing in the breeze, his boot-heels ringing on the tile. From the pace he set to keep up with the Dug, no one would have suspected the Master's fatigue. Hurrying to catch up, Obi-Wan paced up beside the older man, spared a glance upward.

"I hope he doesn't call me 'deadmaster' at the festivities. I don't want to hear you try to explain this again," Qui-Gon commented as they pursued the vizier. Obi-Wan could hear the slight choppiness to the sentences, heard also the increased rate of Qui-Gon's breathing.

"You'll tell me if this is too much and you want to leave early?"

"Of course, Obi-Wan. Please don't fuss."

//Don't fuss in public,// Obi-Wan translated the order.

"Yes, Master." Bowing his head, he fell back the required three steps and followed Qui-Gon as a proper Padawan should. Yes, his Master had asked him to lead the mission, but at the moment said Master had a point to prove: he wasn't dead, wasn't weak, and he could damn well keep up with a bead-clattering, cart-wheeling Sith of a Dug on his way to a planetary celebration. He would not reveal his weakness in public, would not put the Jedi to shame in any way. As for Obi-Wan, he knew the years and the care that had gone into the cultivation of this Master's image; he would support Qui-Gon in any way that he could, without taking offense that his leadership of the mission had been bumped to the side for the moment.

//Balance is part of the foundation of our relationship,// he remembered, //and my Master is busy creating order from the chaos his death caused. He's busy helping to restore my credibility in the eyes of the Dug-vizier as well. Remind me to thank him for that, later.//

The festival turned out to be simply that: a city-wide festival celebrating Dalcarta's entry into a new era. The Royal Family made an appearance on a dias high above the huge Hall into which the nobility had been crammed. Surrounded by their Dug officials, they smiled on the Jedi but did not ask to meet them, and that was just fine with Obi-Wan. A brief bow before the dias was all that was required before the vizier led his robed guests to a table piled high with a selection of delicacies and rare meats that had Obi-Wan all but drooling on the hem of Qui-Gon's cloak, so hungry was he.

Jumping ungracefully into his chair, the Dug draped a foot over the back of it and gestured to the Jedi. "Eat eat. Festival begins."

Neither man needed any further urging. Offering a formal bow to the others seated at the long table, Qui-Gon removed his cloak, draped it over the chair, and took his place at the Dug's right hand. Obi-Wan followed suit and took his place beside Qui-Gon. The food was astonishingly good, the wine even better, and the conversation was stimulating in its own way.

Both Jedi managed to sustain a conversation with a number of their dinner companions, despite the Dug's constant monopolization and interrogation of the older Jedi on ancient calligraphic techniques of the Jedi. Their dinner companions -- mostly young humanoid men and women, whom the vizier introduced as handmaidens and assistants serving the women of the Royal Family -- waited politely for the vizier to subside and ponder Qui-Gon's latest historical point before beginning their flirting, which was easily accommodated by both Jedi. Qui-Gon was every bit the regal, dashing Master as they desired him to be, letting no trace of his fatigue show as he listened attentively to whatever was said to him and included all of their table companions in his replies. Obi-Wan followed his Master's lead easily, inserting commentary so that their replies became one long narrative, as if composed by one person. Both were totally oblivious to the knowing glances exchanged from time to time between several of the handmaidens. //Nummy Jedi,// Obi-Wan could almost hear them thinking.

//Everywhere we go, it's the same,// Obi-Wan realized. //What I didn't notice before is that my Master makes it a habit to encourage those impressions to serve particular missions, and the will of the Force. He doesn't fight against them or try to change them or explain them away. He makes room for them and works around them. In this case, he's using them to build good will between the Jedi and the beings who have the ear of those who rule Dalcarta. planet.//

The dancing began shortly afterward, with Qui-Gon expressing his regret that he didn't feel well enough after their journey to join in. His gaze nudged Obi-Wan to offer his hand to the nearest assistant and accompany him onto the floor. The others scattered about the room, chattering and laughing and selecting their own partners. Soon, the only ones left at the table were Qui-Gon and the vizier, who offered a sly smile.

"Now you show what letters Dug Ki taught you." Sticking a filthy-looking finger into Qui-Gon's wine, the vizier Dug began drawing an ornate line of Duggan text across the table cloth. "Translate now."

//Translate upside down and sideways, I notice,// thought Qui-Gon, ignoring the slight headache beginning behind his eyes. Glancing sideways as he heard Obi-Wan laugh, he saw that his Padawan was occupied with gently refusing the proposition of the partner he'd selected, as the man was trying to convince him that his hands should go here and here during the dance, rather than on the more publicly acceptable parts of his anatomy. Confident that his Padawan could handle the situation with his normal diplomatic aplomb, Qui-Gon shrugged to himself and stuck his own finger into the blood-red wine to almost lazily began translating what the Dug had written.

He could barely work, so close was the vizier's muzzle to the table as he keenly watched Qui-Gon work. Another dirty finger went into the wine; the vizier wrote again. Again, Qui-Gon translated. Pulling the tablecloth closer and all but upsetting the remains of their meal, the Dug growled and peered at the writing.

"Preserve this, we will, in our archives."

"I am honored, gracious vizier," Qui-Gon answered automatically, his attention once more on the dance floor and focused on his Padawan.

The assistant had given up trying to get Obi-Wan to seduce him and had wandered off for easier prey. In his stead had come a group of handmaidens, who were engaging Obi-Wan in what seemed to be an intense conversation. Obi-Wan was laughing down at one that seemed the ringleader. His stance was relaxed, his head slightly bent as he listened to whatever she was saying over the driving beat of the music. Straightening, he smiled and shook his head in denial before finding Qui-Gon with his eyes. Not yet finished with her argument, the handmaiden laid a hand on Obi-Wan's chest, pushed lightly, and offered another comment.

Shock filled Obi-Wan's eyes as his smile drained away. Still, he stared at his Master, and Qui-Gon felt startled surprise streak through their bond. A sudden grin split Obi-Wan's face in the next moment, and he laughed outright. It was a shout of such joy that Qui-Gon was at a loss to understand its source. Obi-Wan murmured something else to the woman, something that made her smirk as he offered a formal bow to the group and returned to Qui-Gon's table. Once there, he leaned over Qui-Gon and reached for his glass of wine, only to have his Master stop him.

"My wine was claimed for our writing, Padawan. I've been drinking yours."

"So?" //We've shared canteens, well-water and cups too often for me to worry about your spit at this late date.// Leaning over Qui-Gon's shoulder, he sipped at the wine.

//Well said, Padawan. I just thought that if given the choice, you might choose otherwise.//

Replacing the glass, Obi-Wan didn't stop leaning against his Master, but looked down at the bundle of tablecloth the Dug was still muttering over. //Is he in raptures, or does he just look it?//

//I think he likes my writing style,// said Qui-Gon, dipping his finger into the wine and straightening a section of the neighboring table-cloth to begin writing something that was not Dug. //What was the handmaiden saying to you?//

//She... thinks we belong together.//

Qui-Gon momentarily stopped his calligraphy. //But we *are* together.//

//She meant... more together than we are, Master. She doesn't understand... a great many things that I'm not inclined to explain.// Obi-Wan's hands tightened on his shoulders as Qui-Gon wrote on. //What are you doing?//

//Something I memorized a long time ago. It's in Raelic. Can you read it?//

He translated silently before trying it out across the bond, calling up his Initiate lessons in Raelic and knowing that if he messed this up his Master would probably send him back for more lessons. //'The path to love isn't always a choice,'// he said slowly, //'and sometimes it is a journey rather than a destination....'//

Obi-Wan smiled softly. Abandoning the bond, he whispered into his Master's ear. "I know this quote." "Then tell me the rest of it, and I will write it for you," Qui-Gon murmured.

Obi-Wan laid a hand on the Master's wrist, feeling the lean muscles tense as continued writing under Obi-Wan's direction. "'The journey can be postponed. You can lose faith in it or even despair that love exists. But none of that is permanent; only the path is.'"

Qui-Gon finished the lettering with a flourish and turned his head to lock gazes with Obi-Wan. So close were they that the younger man could see the flecks of dark blue in Qui-Gon's irises, the distinctive pattern of breaks beneath the skin of the nose that had been so badly set.

"I think, Master," Obi-Wan ventured, suddenly a little nervous, "that you and I may possibly on the same path."

The calm in those blue eyes didn't shift to alarm. That calm held Obi-Wan as it had held him through countless storms and battles, emotional as well as physical. The Master embraced and guarded the apprentice's fragile hope, and let a slight smile curve the corner of his mouth.

"Yes," was all the Master said, too softly for anyone else to hear.

The one word was more than enough. A jolt of energy streaked down Obi-Wan's spine, curved beneath his tail-bone, and shot between his legs. The arousal hit him faster than any that had ever come before, as if the Force itself had entered him and he was being filled to an almost painful hardness. He felt his cheeks flush, his hands grow damp. His breathing quickened and he shifted his stance to accommodate the demand between his legs.

"Dance with me." Obi-Wan offered his hand, palm up.

A brief nod of acceptance, and then his Master was rising, all willing, dignified grace. Taking Obi-Wan's hand, Qui-Gon let himself be claimed and led onto the floor. Once there, however, he reached for his Padawan to slide his hands across the small of Obi-Wan's back and pull him close. Obi-Wan's arms went around the taller man's neck, his chest braced itself against his Master's, his cheek rested happily beneath the bearded chin as his thighs and stomach and erection found a home and an answering need against Qui-Gon.

Still, Obi-Wan didn't make the mistake of thinking the dance was any more than it was. They'd danced like this before - though not quite so close - many times on many planets as local custom had demanded, and would again, no doubt. But never before had they danced with such a heated, physical awareness of each other, nor had Obi-Wan ever been this close to his Master with such a deep awareness of how fragile their life together was.

Closing his eyes, he savored the feel of the hard body moving against his. Savored the open bond thrumming between them, so deep and comorfortable. Savored the sheathed power, potency and strength of the man he realized now that he loved. Obi-Wan reveled in his right to be in his Master's arms. Reveled in his need for him and let himself feel all that such need implied. Yes, Qui-Gon was celibate and had been for years, and his Padawan respected that commitment, but right now they were together, and that was the memory Obi-Wan would cherish, no matter what happened or didn't happen between them afterward.

"Your Master is magnificent," the handmaiden had told him earlier. "You must find him a wonderful lover."

For the first time, Obi-Wan had seen Qui-Gon through her eyes. The rank of Jedi Master was mysterious, elevated. He wore his authority and confidence as effectively as he wore a cloak, and his aura was all too masculine. Obi-Wan had seen the holopics and knew all too well how a reed-thin Padawan with nondescript features had grown into a regal Jedi. Qui-Gon's shoulders were broad, his waist slender, his long legs well-muscled. His was a warrior's attitude and body, but he also oozed enough charm when he wanted to that he could set a dozen simpering handmaidens to drooling. Yes, he was exhausted from being in stasis. But he was still magnificent. More than that, part of him belonged to Obi-Wan.

//Is it even permitted for a Padawan to desire his Master?// Obi-Wan wondered. In all of the wide-roaming, revealing conversations he and Qui-Gon had had about sex in the past, the question had simply never come up. //Why not? How could I be so oblivious to him? Did I think he was out of reach to me? Was I blinded by the master/student dynamic that's always been between us? Or was I simply blinded by the familiar? He's been in my life since I was twelve. Until this mission, I thought he would always be there. Now, I know how quickly that could change. Now, everything is different.//

The dance ended eventually, and Obi-Wan stepped back. Sliding his hand down his Master's arm, he didn't give the older man the chance to move away, but captured his fingers and held on.

"Do you think it's time to leave?" Obi-Wan asked, letting his eyes reveal his concern, rather than his desire.

"I believe so," came the murmured answer. Glancing over Obi-Wan's shoulder, Qui-Gon smiled at someone and gave a slight bow. Turning, Obi-Wan saw that the handmaidens he'd been speaking with earlier had reassembled and were standing there grinning at both of them. "Shall we make our excuses and withdraw, Padawan?"

They did so, only to be dismissed with a distracted wave by the Dug who'd obviously gotten what he wanted: official documents and a bit of linen for his archive. The Jedi retired from the Hall, and Obi-Wan finally relinquished his hold on his Master's hand as they wound their way through the corridors. They traveled in silence, arriving at their suite of rooms to discover that the hover-sled had been removed in their absence, along with the debris of the broken tarp-cocooon.

"Thank the Force for small favors," muttered Qui-Gon, pulling off his dress tunic and falling back on the bed to tug at his boots.

Kneeling at his Master's feet, Obi-Wan gently released the buckles and slid the boots off. Sitting up on his knees, he met Qui-Gon's gaze squarely and rested the palms of his hands on the big man's thighs. There had never been secrets between them. With the lack of shielding through the bond, Obi-Wan knew that his Master already had to be aware of how he felt. Still, the words needed to be said.

"Master... I want you."

A battle-calloused hand cupped his cheek. Gentle blue eyes bore into his. "I know, Obi-Wan, and I am flattered. But I also know that these are new feelings, born with this night. Perhaps you should meditate on your wanting until you know exactly what it is you want of me. I'm not rejecting you -- far from it. Instead, I am asking that you come to know your own heart and mind. Look at your feelings and see what it is, exactly, that you're feeling."

The hand cupping his cheek went on to caress his jaw. Obi-Wan shivered at the touch and closed his eyes when long, warm fingers explored the soft skin beneath behind his earlobe.

"Can you do this for me?" Qui-Gon pursued.

Bowing his head, Obi-Wan nodded and ducked away from his master's hand. "As long as you don't distract me like that and make me think of other things, I can do anything." He offered a half-embarrassed grin before setting Qui-Gon's boots aside. "Thank you for not just telling me, 'Gods, no, Padawan, what are you thinking?'"

"I couldn't do that," came the solemn reply, "for it's not what I feel. Come to bed, Obi-Wan. We will hold each other and take solace in the touching."

He couldn't strip down fast enough. Teeth were cleaned and lights were turned down in record time. He all but leaped into the bed, with Qui-Gon laughing a protest only to open his arms. He felt young and silly and didn't care as he shifted lower in the bed to accommodate his Master's length, then dove for the arms that welcomed him without hesitation. Resting his head on his Master's arm, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the older man's shoulder, nuzzled at his chest hair and finally settled in.

Qui-Gon took the abbreviated exploration in his stride, stroking through his Padawan's spiky hair and pressing small kisses to his forehead and temple. Sliding his free hand across Obi-Wan's hips, he pulled him closer, cradling him against his own erection and stroking down the younger man's flank.

"Easy," he murmured when Obi-Wan hissed and began rubbing himself against him. Sliding a hand around to the small of Obi-Wan's back, he caressed in small circles and used the training bond to seek out his apprentice's nerve endings and slow their impulses. "Open your mind to me, Padawan. Let me in."

He dropped his shields at the request every bit as quickly as he would have dropped at an order given by Qui-Gon during battle. Reaching for his Master, he met him halfway on a mind-plan of their own creation. The bond vibrated around them, bleeding off the intense desire until only a steady, intimate touching was left. His Master engulfed and surrounded Obi-Wan, wrapping him in a cocoon that was far more pleasant than the one he'd subjected Qui-Gon to.

"I wish it could always be like this," Obi-Wan murmured on the edge of sleep, his fingers entwined in his Master's hair.

Qui-Gon knew he should disentangle those fingers. If he didn't, he'd lose more than a few hairs when Obi-Wan turned over. Regardless of the threat, he let the fingers stay where they were because it pleased him to have Obi-Wan need him so. The older man waited a few clicks, until he was sure that Obi-Wan was asleep. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, the Master pulled Obi-Wan ever closer and settled in with him tucked beneath his chin. "I wish it too, my Padawan."

CHAPTER SIX

Upon returning to Coruscant, Obi-Wan found that his life and his emotions had become permanently divided into before Dalcarta and after Dalcarta. Qui-Gon didn't seem to be very much affected by his previous death and resurrection, but Obi-Wan definitely had been. After receiving a glimpse of what life without Qui-Gon would be like, Obi-Wan could close neither his heart nor his eyes to the love he bore for his Master. Something had awakened within him to the point that he now craved every moment of being with the older man, in whatever form their togetherness might take.

The trip home was made without incident, but Obi-Wan found that he couldn't keep his eyes nor his thoughts off of Qui-Gon. He got hard, just watching his Master. His body was responding as it never had before, letting him know without question what it wanted. But Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan to meditate on his new feelings until Obi-Wan could be certain of what, exactly, he wanted. The Padawan had to respect that directive, and not act on what he immediately felt until he understood all of it.

//Is an intimate relationship between a Master and a Padawan even permitted?/ Obi-Wan wondered. He thought it must be, as Qui-Gon hadn't refused him unequivocally, but Obi-Wan felt a strange reluctance to voice the question so blatantly. Instead of asking, he began researching the matter almost the moment their ship settled back on Coruscant. Then, he discovered that Master/Padawan relationship weren't approved or disapproved: they simply weren't mentioned in the records, period.

He tried to think of any objections Qui-Gon might have to initiating a relationship with his own Padawan. First came the Master's age. A few minutes' searching revealed that Qui-Gon was about half-way through his life. //So we'll die about the same time unless one of us is struck down in battle.// That meant age wasn't an issue, which brought Obi-Wan a sense of comfort, but a number of other unknowns brought much trepidation. Unknowns such as whether Qui-Gon wanted this as much as Obi-Wan; whether he would even consider setting aside his celibacy; whether he would consider any of this until Obi-Wan was knighted; whether the Council would interfere with any intimate relations they might want to begin; if the gossipmongers in the Temple would damn the relationship as soon as they learned of it (for Obi-Wan sensed that neither Jedi would want to keep their relationship a secret), and thus caused even more problems.

//I wish I could talk to someone about this. My Master would have been my first choice, but I'm supposed to be meditating alone about this. And what might happen between us is private, so there's really no one I can talk to about it.... Except Tawn. If he's in Temple.//

Tawn, Obi-Wan's first choice for a lover at eighteen. Tawn, whom he had never bedded, but who seemed to have accepted easily that Obi-Wan's desires lay elsewhere, for all that Tawn's own desire for Qui-Gon's Padawan remained steady. Steady it may have been, but the Knight was mature enough and respected Obi-Wan enough to not let his attraction interfere with the friendship they had maintained over the years.

Leaving the archives, Obi-Wan checked the residence kiosk and found that Tawn was in Temple. Calling his quarters, Obi-Wan spoke briefly with the Knight's new Padawan and was directed to find Tawn just finishing a workout session with Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan walked into the practice salle in time to see the two men completing what appeared to have been an extensive battle. Disengaging their weapons, they bowed formally before extinguishing the lightsabers and clasping arms.

"Well fought, Tawn." Qui-Gon smiled across at the other man. "I'm sorry that Obi-Wan wasn't around to accommodate you."

"When one cannot take down the Padawan, being thoroughly trounced by the Master is always preferable," Tawn assured him, following the line of Qui-Gon's gaze and nodding a greeting at Obi-Wan, who was watching their exchange and waiting patiently on the edge of the mat.

"Padawan, you were missed," said Qui-Gon, catching the towel Obi-Wan threw to him and moving to his side, "but I think that I've given Tawn much ammunition for the next time you spar together."

Obi-Wan bowed slightly. "I'll look forward to being... trounced. Tawn, I came to see if you wanted to join me for mid-day meal. And you as well, Master, if you're free?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Master Turin roped me into a presentation for her Advanced Battleforms at fourteenth hour."

"You mean that you have to go and do this all over again, so to speak?" Tawn said incredulously.

"Yes, but I don't mind. Such sessions are far less arduous than many missions Obi-Wan and I have shared." Sliding an arm around his Padawan's shoulders, he settled Obi-Wan beneath his arm in a tight hug.

Obi-Wan returned the hug with enthusiasm, no matter the sweat-drenched tunic and the damp arm claiming him. Tawn arched an eyebrow at Obi-Wan at the unusually open show of affection. The Padawan in question grinned all the wider, but Tawn dared not ask questions with Qui-Gon standing right there.

"I'll leave the two of you to your meal and head for the showers," said the Master. "Obi-Wan, I'll see you tonight for evening meal?"

"Yes, Master."

Knight and Padawan watched Qui-Gon go, waiting until he was well out of earshot before turning to each other with both trying to talk at once.

"Obi-Wan, your auras are fair singing together. What's going on?"

"Tawn, you won't believe what happened on Dalcarta--"

Grabbing his own towel, Tawn all but dragged Obi-Wan out of the salle. "I'll change in quarters before we go to mid-meal, while you spill what's happened."

By the time they reached the commissary, Obi-Wan had updated Tawn regarding his own vow of chastity or celibacy ("Take your pick as to the definition"), and why, Qui-Gon's death and revival, and Obi-Wan's resulting realizations.

"I love him and I want him. Beyond that, I don't know a thing," said Obi-Wan over his tray. They had settled into a private corner of the room, guaranteed to be undisturbed as Tawn used his Knight status to weave a "don't come here" temporary Force shield around them. Private matters were being discussed; no intruders were welcome.

"You know that he's not against it," Tawn pointed out. "So you've got a chance no matter what you decide."

"I wish I could talk to him about that," Obi-Wan said wistfully. "It would help to know my options. I mean, does he want only a casual affair or to maintain the status quo until I'm knighted? Does he want a partnership after I'm knighted? Does he have something a little longer in mind, no matter when we begin?"

"I don't think Qui-Gon has any expectations in mind," Tawn said slowly. "Were I in his place, and if I loved you as much as he does, I'd want whatever you wanted."

"That won't work, not with someone as mentally strong and independent as Qui-Gon. He can sacrifice for a mission and set aside his own desires to follow the will of the Force, but I'd never want him to sacrifice himself for me and follow only my will."

Tawn scowled. "That's not what I meant. I'm explaining it badly. What I mean is that I think this situation must be just as new to Master Qui-Gon as it is to you, and he probably doesn't have any pre-conceived notions as to what the two of you should or shouldn't do. I think he's asked you to figure out what you're feeling behind the desire so that the two of you can decide together what to do about it. He's probably going to subject himself to the same meditations he expects you to complete."

Obi-Wan stirred his mazj pudding around in circles, more to give his spoon something to do than anything else. "You know, my Master and you have both told me that when it's right with someone, I'll know it. But all I've had are relationships that started off good but soon didn't feel right, no matter how much I wished differently. What if this is the same, and it goes just as sour with Qui-Gon as my affair with Sh'Taka?"

Tawn laughed outright. "Hey, hold it right there. I can't see any affair you might have with your Master ending with the sort of behavior Sh'Taka subjects everyone to. You and Qui-Gon are friends as well as Master and Padawan. I don't think either of you would ever do anything to risk that, or wreck it."

"But how do I know if it's the real thing, or if it's just hormonal? If it's the latter, then it's not right to treat Qui-Gon that way."

"And what if it is right, Obi-Wan? What then?"

Obi-Wan's eyes went wide. "That's just as scary to contemplate."

"Some dreams are scary when they start to come true," Tawn admitted slowly, "but what is it, exactly, that you find so scary about your Master?"

"I don't know...." Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. "It's not scary, precisely. It's one of those things I guess I need to meditate on, because it's nothing I can really put into words yet. It's more a feeling. I'm drawn to him, but I'm also holding back. I can't explain it. I trust him as my master and mentor, teacher, guide, father, friend. Why not also as my lover?"

"That's a question I can't answer for you," Tawn said. "I can answer from the Order's perspective, but not from whatever perspective you're holding inside of you."

"So answer from the Order's perspective and let me see if that helps," said Obi-Wan."

"Masters can't take advantage of apprentices, or be seen as doing so," Tawn observed. "It's as simple as that. Besides that, from what I've seen, Qui-Gon isn't someone who enters into any sort of relationship lightly. He's a deeply private, reserved man who comes across as aloof--even cold--to many outside observers. I have to be honest with you, Obi-Wan: many Knights and Masters think that it's an absolute miracle that you've gotten as close to him as you have. I personally think that the Force ordained it, that you were meant to be with him."

"Then does that mean we're meant to be lovers, too?"

"You're the only one who can figure that out, Padawan," said Tawn in a reasonable imitation of Qui-Gon himself. Obi-Wan threw a qualla berry at his friend, who snatched it from the air and promptly ate it.

"Hey," Tawn said, switching back to his own voice, "you know as well as I do that when you're in doubt as to the proper way to proceed, it's usually wise to wait until the proper way reveals itself."

"All I'm certain of is that I want him," Obi-Wan admitted. "Beyond that, my knowledge and the future is just too murky." He shook his head ruefully. "I can see why he told me to meditate on this. Initiating an affair with one's Master isn't the same or as simple as choosing another Padawan or a Knight and falling into bed after a few drinks. I couldn't do that with my Master. I wouldn't want to do that with him.

"Perhaps it will all come clear when you're knighted," Tawn suggested. "Until then, no matter what happens you're still his Padawan. You can be with him, focus on him and learn about him, not just as a Jedi Master, but as a man."

"Yeah," Obi-Wan agreed. "And I can tell my hormones to shut up, that I need to learn a little bit more about what I'm feeling beyond this initial wanting. That's a choice I can live with."

Tawn nodded. "If you do that, it shouldn't rock things between you too much. At the same time, it will give you the chance to grow closer. In the meantime...." Tawn arched an eyebrow, asking Obi-Wan to finish the thought.

"In the meantime, I'm still celibate," Obi-Wan said with a sort of half-serious gloom. "But like my Master says, there are worse things than waking up alone."

As the weeks passed, Obi-Wan eventually settled into a celibate sort of intimacy with Qui-Gon Jinn, even as his Padawan duties took on another level of meaning, another layer of caring. Touching became more frequent between them, with Obi-Wan laying a hand on his Master's arm to direct his attention, or sweeping back a strand of hair that had gotten caught in Qui-Gon's beard, or leaning up against him in the practice salle as they watched the other Padawans and Masters spar. Caring in the moment became much easier since Obi-Wan had learned how swiftly his Master might be taken from him.

Qui-Gon seemed to welcome the newly initiated touching, sliding a hand across Obi-Wan's hip to anchor him more firmly against him, offering a private smile meant only for his Padawan when Obi-Wan touched him in any way, and offering many of his own, small touches in return.

Three months later saw them on a hopeless, bloody mission to Kalen. The filthy, unwashed clan leaders spread out their animal-hide maps and snarled at one another over a huge rough-hewn round table, while the clans themselves ambushed and hacked at one another in the treacherous mountain terrain surrounding the city stronghold. The wounded were a neverending stream taken into the healers' tower where they were placed on cots side-by-side. The patients spat and swore at one another, lurched off of the cots and regularly tried to strangle each other or plant daggers in the enemy's ribs.

Negotiations were hopeless. Qui-Gon knew it, and Obi-Wan knew it as well, without having to ask. If these barbarians were as bent on self-destruction as they seemed to be, there was little two Jedi could do to change their minds. Wrapping detachment about themselves as they wrapped up in their cloaks, the two men rose at dawn to move through the lingering mist, climb the central tower, and began yet another endless day in service to the Force and the Council which had ordered them there as a last-ditch effort before the Senate expelled this world from the Republic. Entering the negotiation chamber, the two Jedi wordlessly reached for each other, grounded in the Force, and deliberately strengthened the bond between them.

//Your touch is the only gentle thing in this world,// Qui-Gon told Obi-Wan gratefully before taking his place at the head of the table and wearily turning his attention to the latest bellowed petition, delivered via yet another animal skin cast upon the table, with a blood-encrusted knife slammed through it to anchor it. Qui-Gon's expression never changed, but Obi-Wan felt him flinch through their bond at the strong vibration of pain and torment lingering on the blade.

Many non-productive hours later, the sun began to set and the first snow of the season began to fall. Obi-Wan left the tower to make his way past the clan dregs who were camping in the courtyard and into the cold, damp chamber the Jedi had been assigned on the edge of the stronghold. He had a fire blazing, soup prepared, and an unleavened bread nearly done when Qui-Gon ducked through the low, narrow door. The snow came in with him, swirling around his cloak and boots before he closed the door and shook out his cloak. Leaning against the door for a moment, he bowed his head and heaved a great sigh.

"I think we're done here, Padawan."

"You've given up, then?"

"Balog challenged Talka a few minutes ago," Qui-Gon explained, crossing to the fire and settling on the bed of furs they'd been given in place of a bed. "Talka leaped across the table to take up the challenge. The chieftains ended up slitting each other's throats and the negotiation chamber is drenched with their blood. When I left, their clansmen had already broken the treaty table and were battling it out

"Gods."

"I'm sure their selected deities will welcome them," the older man agreed softly, with no trace of bitterness or sorrow, either.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked before handing his Master a bowl of soup and a platter of bread.

"I'm fine; they were focused on themselves. Even had they not been, physically defending myself would have been simplicity itself. The emotional barrage these past two weeks is something else again." He eyed Obi-Wan as the younger man settled across from him with his own portion. "How are you doing?"

"I'm happy to hear that we're going home. You've definitely given up?"

"The heads of the delegation are dead," Qui-Gon pointed out. "By mid-night, so will the other negotiators. Without them, we can do nothing here. Even with them, we were still doing nothing."

Finishing his meal in short order, the Master shrugged out of his cloak as the heat of the fire and a good meal finally began to penetrate the chill. Lying on his back, he stared up at the rafters while Obi-Wan finished eating. The light of the fire threw the Master's face into stark relief, emphasizing the crooked, yet regal nose. His hair fanned out over the skins, while his eyes glittered in the half-light. There were shadows under those eyes, Obi-Wan knew, for all that the firelight masked them. //He's set to brooding, about lives lost and the senselessness of such battles. Can't have that... he needs to rest in mind as well as body.//

"I found some massage oil in our packs this afternoon," Obi-Wan commented, setting aside the empty bowls. "Would you like a backrub, Master?"

The warm smile that Qui-Gon gave him left no doubt what the Master wanted. Sitting up, the older man immediately raked his tunics up over his head, unbuckled and slipped out of his boots, and shimmied out of his leggings. Obi-Wan laughed at the speed with which the older man achieved nakedness, rolled onto his stomach, and waited for his Padawan's ministrations. Retrieving the oil and a hairbrush, Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon's hips, then reached for the tie securing the older man's hair. Resting his head on his arms, Qui-Gon murmured his approval as Obi-Wan gathered the thick mane and began brushing it. Long, firm strokes convinced the tangles that they needed to leave and coaxed the big body beneath his hands to begin relaxing.

"I really don't deserve you," Qui-Gon said, his voice muffled by the furs.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Remember this moment the next time you're pounding me into mush in the salle."

Setting aside the mane, Obi-Wan took up the massage oil and poured out a generous handful. Warming it in his hands, he then slathered it across the broad back before going back for two more handfuls. The thick muscles were far harder than they should have been, and Obi-Wan spent many minutes digging fingers and thumbs into frozen pressure points, coaxing their release. Qui-Gon grunted under his ministrations, using yet another variation of their special Master/Padawan communication to let Obi-Wan know when he'd Obi-Wan had found a particularly tight area. The older man groaned long and hard when Obi-Wan finally began kneading his shoulders in earnest, spending long minutes there until moving on to his back, proper. He took his time, enjoying the feel and play of the muscles beneath his hands, knowing that his Master was sinking down into the strokes and thoroughly enjoying being touched. He finished the back, only to move on to the arms, the buttocks and the legs, with his Master growing ever more boneless as the session progressed. A deep, steady breathing had replaced the tense hitchings of his breath when Qui-Gon's muscles had been locked.

"Roll over?" Obi-Wan asked softly a few minutes later, uncertain if Qui-Gon was even still awake.

He was, and he did as Obi-Wan requested, turning over on the pelts and revealing his half-erection. Obi-Wan's heart skipped a beat to see his Master's arousal revealed, to mentally register how well-endowed the man was and estimate how much larger he'd grow.

//My touch did that to him?// His gaze skittered up to his Master's face, but Qui-Gon's eyes were closed. Giving a deep sigh, the older man tucked his hands beneath his head and stretched like a cat, all but purring. Grinning, Obi-Wan took up the massage oil once more to drizzle it boldly across his Master's chest and ribcage.

Qui-Gon gasped at the contact with the cold oil, opened his eyes and bolted half upright. His hands automatically went to his chest, but Obi-Wan's were there first, spreading the oil and pushing him back down.

"Relax, Master." He laughed softly. "Let me finish."

"That was cold, Obi-Wan."

"I couldn't resist. You looked so... satisfied."

Settling back on the furs, Qui-Gon resumed his pose but didn't close his eyes. "I thought satisfaction was the purpose of this exercise."

"Relaxation is," the younger man contradicted, still grinning as he trailed his hands firmly across Qui-Gon's collarbones and down his arms. "If I wanted to satisfy you, I'd make love to you."

His Master's breathing hitched, then quickened. The erection filled and lifted a bit more. Ignoring both, Obi-Wan concentrated on finishing the massage, on tending every inch of the long, beloved body beneath his hands. Concentrated on driving out the tensions created by the madness of the past two weeks, on just taking care of his Master with no further expectations, demands, or desires. //Just let me love you.//

His Master's arousal grew even further under Obi-Wan's ministrations, with Obi-Wan pointedly avoiding that particular area. Obi-Wan watched, fascinated, as the sac beneath the ever-filling organ drew up, needful and taut.

//Is that because I'm touching him, or simply because he's being touched?// he wondered, carefully shielding the thought from the open bond he and Qui-Gon had maintained on this mission. He sensed that if should he ask Qui-Gon would answer honestly. Obi-Wan decided that, perversely perhaps, he wanted the answer to remain a mystery for now.

Working his way down the long, well-muscled arms and legs, Obi-Wan finished by massaging his Master's feet and then his toes. Returning to the long arms, he took up each finger, rubbed and pulled at it. Obi-Wan could feel the heaviness in limbs now; Qui-Gon was making him do all of the work, which was as it should be. He could feel the utter relaxation and sleepiness tugging at the older man. Glancing up, Obi-Wan saw that his Master's eyes had closed once more, while his breathing had steadied. His need was still more than evident, standing proudly in the firelight, but Obi-Wan sensed that the urgency was not great and knew that the erection would fade with sleep.

Recapping what remained of the oil, Obi-Wan set it aside and contemplated the long, perfect form before him. He couldn't remember ever having had the chance to see his Master totally relaxed and naked before. Yes, he'd seen Qui-Gon asleep and had seen him at rest. Had seen him in the shower and towelling off. But this vision was a rare treat, indeed. He took a moment to memorize the shine and glow of Qui-Gon's skin--far more skin than anyone ought to have, and which covered a body that was so tall and so strongly built that Obi-Wan felt himself harden at the sight.

What would it be like to be enfolded, covered, possessed by that heavy body? He knew what his Master's hugs felt like; he cherished every one that wrapped him in the pair of warm, safe arms that had protected and guided him every day for the past nearly ten years.

Being possessed wasn't the same as being protected--far from it--and Obi-Wan found that he craved the possession. He had seen his Master many times in the passion of battle. What would the man be like in the throes of making love? Would he be one to dominate and control, or one to give generously in equal measure with his partner? Or would he be something else in bed? There was no way to know, but Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon was well aware of his size, and how it could intimidate. Damage, even. He could pull back that intimidation, to gentle an animal or a child, to reassure someone they were rescuing, to convince them to trust him. But he could also take full advantage of it, to push back an enemy, to give them pause, to make them fear for their own safety simply by crowding their space. No lightsaber was needed; it was all a state of mind. Qui-Gon could be a formidable opponent, in the salle and on the battlefield. Obi-Wan had no doubt that, should the older man wish it, he could be a formidable lover as well.

//I've always been the one to lead in a relationship,// Obi-Wan reflected. //Should my Master ask it--should he demand it--could I submit to him as his lover as I've submitted to him as his Padawan?//

It was a disturbing question, one for which there was no immediate answer. Obi-Wan simply had no experience being a submissive lover. It had never been asked of him, since those he'd bedded had wanted him to dominate. Had his Master's directive on Dalcarta that he meditate upon his feelings and expectations regarding any possible relationship with his Master included this consideration?

//Possibly,// Obi-Wan reflected. //No, let's make that probably.// This was, after all, the directive of an experience--if celibate--Master. //And just because he's celibate now doesn't mean he has been all of his life. I know that he hasn't been all of his life. He oozes so much sexuality, there's just no way he could be inexperienced.//

Obi-Wan felt that certainty straight through to the bond. No, Qui-Gon was completely aware of the effect he had on others. Should he choose to melt Obi-Wan into puddles simply by kissing him where he stood Obi-Wan had no doubt that the choice would be made reality.

//Any man who knows he's erect and rolls over in front of another man, only to stretch and purr like that.... My Master knew damn well what he was doing.// Rocking back on his heels, Obi-Wan thought hard for a moment. To initiate a sexual relationship with his Master, Obi-Wan was beginning to realize, was to wake a sleeping jykar. //He really meant what he said, that I should consider what I want from him. Maybe I should also ask myself what he might want from me.//

Shivering slightly at that thought, and damping down his own arousal, Obi-Wan stored his musings away until such time as they'd returned to the Temple and he could meditate more completely on them. His Master's erection mocked him, almost, to the point that Obi-Wan couldn't resist leaning over and placing a soft kiss on the tip. Breathing deeply, he smelled his Master's musk--a scent immediately familiar and somehow comforting. It as all he dared to do without Qui-Gon's express permission and consent.

//Not only that,// he reflected, //I don't think I'm ready to deal with this jykar once its awake.//

Getting to his feet, he gathered stray furs and settled them over his Master, effectively removing temptation from his sight. A few minutes later, after preparing for sleep and stripping off his own robes, Obi-Wan slid beneath the furs, rearranged them, and snuggled up against Qui-Gon. A long arm snaked across his middle as his Master rolled over in his sleep and reached for his companion. Obi-Wan found himself snugged tightly up against a warm body, with his Master's obvious need pressing against the small of his back. Obi-Wan ground his teeth as that need found a happy echo in his own body.

//Now is not a good time,// he reminded himself with some reluctance. Entwining his fingers with Qui-Gon's across his chest, he contented himself with just being held and forced himself down into sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN--AT TWENTY-TWO

"What have you learned?" asked Yoda, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze with a smile. On this, his 22nd Naming Day, Obi-Wan had been scheduled for their annual meeting, alone. Yoda left his Council chair during these meetings. He consulted with his victim eye-to-eye while seated on a cushioned platform in his private chamber with his legs stuck straight out before him and his gimer stick within easy reach beside him.

There was no hiding from Master Yoda; no lying to him, either. After observing the obvious affection and frequent public touching between Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi, the Temple gossip chain had decided recently that the two Jedi had become lovers. Yoda was perhaps the only one besides the two Jedi in question who knew that they were not, since the first order of business during these private interviews was to drop all of one's shields. Obi-Wan had done so the moment the chamber doors had slid closed behind him, holding Yoda's gaze and crossing the short distance to kneel before the old Master. Prevarication and avoidance was allowed before the Council, never before the ancient one. This bothered some Padawans, but Obi-Wan was not among them.

The Initiate Obi-Wan had been had memories of being the same height as Yoda for a very long time. He'd despaired of ever growing, and the old troll assuring him repeatedly, with more patience that Obi-Wan thought he would ever have, "Much taller than me will you be." Yoda had been right, and Obi-Wan cherished the memory of a Master who had understood a little boy's fears and had offered reassurance, rather than teasing or admonishing him that fear led to the Dark side as others had done.

He couldn't remember a time when Yoda hadn't been in his life; the Master's gravelly voice seemed entwined with the very midichlorians singing through Obi-Wan's blood and with the Force itself. Yoda had been one of Obi-Wan's first friends before he'd become his first Master; why would Obi-Wan have resisted dropping his shields before the one who'd known him from the beginning? Even if Yoda wasn't already aware of all of the shadows inside this Padawan, nothing the Master could find would surprise him.

"Master, I believe that I've learned most of the lessons that the Temple, my Master, and our missions have taught me so far. Right now, I am learning how to wait for what I want, as well as to work for it."

"Want Qui-Gon, you do," Yoda observed bluntly. "Know if having would be as good as wanting, you do not. Attractive man your Master is, hmm? But learn to be swayed not by externals, you must."

Obi-Wan bowed and touched his forehead to the carpeting. "As always, Master, you express what leaves me tongue-tied."

"A warrior you are, Obi-Wan. Not a philosopher."

Obi-Wan straightened and grinned at that, remembering a time when he had pestered Yoda with questions--"Why is the sky blue? Why is space black? Are stars hot? Where did all of the animals on Coruscant go?"

"Force philosopher you must become to discover answers to your questions," Yoda had predicted. "Bother your old Master with them then, you will not."

Half-closing his eyes, Yoda nodded. "More questions you should ask of yourself now. More questions you have to answer than you know."

"The more I learn, the less I feel that I know," Obi-Wan admitted.

"Know everything we cannot," said Yoda, wisping his fingers down Obi-Wan's braid. "Soon, a Knight you will be. Even more questions will you have."

"Was it so for you, Master?"

He nodded. "It is so for all of us. More for you, perhaps, who would tie your soul to a jykar."

Obi-Wan blushed to the roots of his hair, knowing that the old Master had caught his thoughts of becoming Qui-Gon's lover.

"Embarrassed you must not be," Yoda scolded with a smirk. "When 800 years old you are, matters of love and biology will be boring. What other inner lessons have you?"

"I feel that I'm growing closer to knowing who and what... and whose... I am. Or want to be. When I was younger, my foundation was you and the creche, then the Initiates' Tower and our lessons there. Now, my foundation is my Master."

"Foundation is not your Master." Yoda gave a sharp Force yank on the Padawan braid, and Obi-Wan winced. "When knight you are, other foundation must you seek. Stronger foundation is found within. Not without, Padawan Kenobi."

"I don't understand, Master--"

"You will." Yoda nodded his satisfaction and waved his hand in sudden dismissal. "Pleased I am with your progress, Obi-Wan. "Tell your Master, I will."

And the interview was at an end. Obi-Wan had countless questions when he left; questions he knew that Yoda had no intentions of answering. "Go within," he would have said, which meant that the answers were for Obi-Wan to seek alone, regardless that they might be a lifetime in coming.

Every year, it had been the same. //When 800 years old I am, interviews will I still have with him, hmmm?//

"Obi-Wan, I can't keep giving you rocks for your Naming Day," Qui-Gon said from where he was leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe leading into Obi-Wan's sleep-chamber.

The younger man ran his fingers over the reticulated gemstone, enjoying the way the dark blue lightning flashed in the light blue foundation, rather like his Master's eyes. "But I like rocks."

"You must have something else for your special day," Qui-Gon insisted.

He looked up at his Master and grinned. "I'm having something else. We're home at the Temple, no one is firing at us, we're clean, we're gotten enough sleep over the past few days and plenty of good food. I'm comfortable, not cold or wet or muddy or sick, I haven't broken anything lately, and we're together."

"Obi-Wan, that's not what I--!"

"If you'd kiss me, Master, my day would be complete." He made the observation softly, conversationally as he stroked his new rock, and then waited to see what would happen.

Qui-Gon looked startled. The startled look was then replaced with something else. Something...almost predatory.

Obi-Wan widened his eyes when his Master unfolded his arms, pushed away from the doorframe, and stalked.... yes, stalked... over to join Obi-Wan at the dresser where he was installing the new stone among the others that Qui-Gon had given him. No one but a predator on some distant planet or other had ever looked at Obi-Wan the way his Master was looking at him now.

//Is this what it feels like to be prey?// he wondered as Qui-Gon invaded his personal space and loomed over him.

//Yes,// came the answer through the bond, definitely a hungry purr.

Obi-Wan's mouth went dry, and he seriously thought of backing up a step or two. The bond sizzled, desire exploding from both sides as Qui-Gon held his gaze. A large hand came up to smooth down his cheek. He shivered to feel the smoldering need behind it. Bending slightly, Qui-Gon tilted Obi-Wan's chin and touched his lips to his Padawan's.

//Warm. Dry,// Obi-Wan thought before he remembered to kiss his Master back. Sliding an arm beneath Qui-Gon's mane, he leaned closer to deepen the contact. Growling, Qui-Gon slid an arm about his waist. His lips moved over Obi-Wan's, firm in their exploration but not all that demanding. He simply kissed his Padawan, and let Obi-Wan kiss him back. The moment extended, stretched, and went on and on until, eventually, their bodies' demands required that they breathe which they did, in unison, sharing the breath they took between them.

Pressing even closer, Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's jaw between his hands, nipped the end of his nose, and kissed him again. Long fingers caressed Obi-Wan's ears, extending the intimacy of the kiss to one of Obi-Wan's most sensitive areas. A jolt flashed from ear to groin, and Obi-Wan gasped, clung closer out of pure reaction and bit Qui-Gon's lip only to begin suck on it furiously.

Qui-Gon pulled back from the kiss, amusement in his eyes, but his fingers were still teasing Obi-Wan's earlobes. "You liked that?"

"Gods, yes!" Obi-Wan managed, releasing his Master, stepping out of range of those hands that made his skin tingle, and shaking his head as if to clear it. He'd never been kissed like that, not with such clinging affect, and he was instantly, painfully hard, wanting nothing more than to tackle his Master onto the bed or the floor--it didn't matter, so long as Qui-Gon nuzzled his ears again. "Uh... should I apologize?"

Laughing softly, Qui-Gon pursued his Padawan, all but pressing him up against the plasteel wall until they were plastered together, from chest to hip. One long finger reached up, to caress the shell of his ear. "Your ears are that sensitive?"

"Oh, yeah...." He moaned and tilted his head when his Master leaned closer, captured an earlobe between his teeth, and began suckling again. Between the sensation and the noises, Obi-Wan had to choose between two instinctive reactions: trying to climb his Master, or sinking bonelessly down onto the carpeting. He gave in to the latter impulse, only to find his Master's arms had entwined around him. Qui-Gon was not only supporting him; he was also effectively preventing his Padawan's escape. //Like I want to escape?//

"What happens if I... do this?" A curious tongue blazed a trail from Obi-Wan's ear down his neck. His tunic was pulled back and his collarbone was thoroughly explored, nipped and nibbled and lapped as though Qui-Gon were trying to map it for posterity.

Obi-Wan rubbed himself against his Master's thigh, which had somehow insinuated itself between his legs. //Probably to help keep me upright,// came the sem-coherent thought. His sensitive bits were riding on that hard thigh, and his arousal was demanding more room, more attention, and definitely more stimulus. Stepping closer as if in direct answer to Obi-Wan's increasingly urgent need, Qui-Gon thrust his thigh even more firmly between Obi-Wan's legs and then sharply arched his hips so that Obi-Wan was left in no doubt as to the effect he was having on Qui-Gon.

That creative tongue continued working its magic. Qui-Gon added the cool torture of his breath to blow across the wet skin, which sent new shivers down his Padawan's spine. Someone was whimpering; Obi-Wan thought it might have been himself. Gasping, he knew that his senses had narrowed to recognize only the mane of silvered hair in his face, Qui-Gon's breath on his skin, his strong fingers kneading at his lower back, and that ever-present, maddening thigh between his legs that made him want to rub himself against it.

Sunlight streamed through the window behind him, warming his back as Qui-Gon was inflaming his front. Large hands swept firmly up his back and back down, only to settled on his buttocks and squeeze. Moaning, the Master rubbed his beard against Obi-Wan's throat before kissing a trail back up to his mouth. Teasing lips coaxed him to open his mouth, at which point Qui-Gon drew back slightly to breathe between Obi-Wan's lips.

"Want you," he murmured, just before he began thrusting.

A furious backwash of blazing desire-need-love streaked through the bond, surrounding and engulfing Obi-Wan so that he could only thrust blindly once... twice...three times. He found his release and was undone as Qui-Gon followed him over the edge, roaring his Padawan's name and holding Obi-Wan so tightly that he couldn't breathe.

//Master?// He reached automatically through the bond as Qui-Gon crashed to his knees and further collapsed to carry them both to the floor. There they collapsed with Obi-Wan half in Qui-Gon's lap and both men panting to catch their breath. Obi-Wan eventually became aware that his fingers were tangled in Qui-Gon's hair. He withdrew his trembling hand only to discover that he'd nearly snatched his Master bald in the throes of his climax. Untangling the woeful hairs from his still-shaking grasp, Obi-Wan summoned a wobbly smile as he sent the hairs on their way. //So much for my vow of celibacy,// Qui-Gon's voice reverberated through his mind.

"Uh... sorry?" Obi-Wan offered, shame-faced.

"I'm not sorry." Qui-Gon smiled a smile of such delighted, wicked, and hitherto unseen proportions that Obi-Wan could do nothing but gape at him.

"Master?..."

Those strong arms were around him again. His Master pressed a kiss to his temple. "Happy Naming Day, Obi-Wan. Would you like another kiss?"

"You claim that that was just a kiss?" His voice broke as it hadn't since Obi-Wan had been fourteen.

Qui-Gon nodded and tried to look innocent, but the arrogant victory in his eyes wrecked the effect.

"Master, that was this side of an all-out seduction--even if we didn't get undressed."

"We didn't need to." Qui-Gon brushed back the Padawan braid, pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's temple. //I don't need to undress you to--// The Master clamped down on his side of the open bond before Obi-Wan could hear the completion of the thought.

"If you start it, you have to finish it," Obi-Wan argued.

"Very well." The blue eyes were darker and closer than Obi-Wan could remember ever having seen them. The Master's voice dropped to nearly a purr. "I do not need to undress you, to finish you."

Obi-Wan shivered. //You don't have to undress me, you have only to touch me, Master. So this is what it feels like to be prey. It could be addictive.// He thought it, but didn't dare confess it, knew that he'd been undone and would continue to be so at little more than a look or a caress from this man. He eyed Qui-Gon cautiously and sensed that the Master had banked his desire once more: he'd been careful to give Obi-Wan what he had asked, with only a little more. Perhaps to give him a taste of what might await, should he decide to make this Master his lover.

Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon's instinct to pursue him, to take him, to possess him was still there, and for the first time Obi-Wan wondered if he were equal to it. //I've never been prey before.// Qui-Gon had been celibate for literally years, but it didn't mean that his passion was dead. No, it merely meant that, once stirred, this Master's passion was probably deeper, more devoted, and far stronger than any other lover's that Obi-Wan had ever had. This Master didn't do anything by halves--not even love.

"Now you may understand a little more of why I asked you to take your time," Qui-Gon said, the hungry, needful look disappearing completely from his gaze. "Why I told you to be sure of what you want. When I love someone, I love them thoroughly. And I expect it to last forever. Not many are secure enough within themselves to deal with that sort of intensity. If you decide that you are not, it will change nothing between us, Obi-Wan."

A final warm, dry kiss and one last affectionate sweep through the short Padawan haircut was his before Qui-Gon set Obi-Wan aside. Rising to his feet, the Master looked down at his stunned Padawan. Except for his vaguely mussed hair and tunic, Qui-Gon once again looked every inch the Master in control.

"We both need a shower," the older man observed, "and then I think we should discuss what else you would like to do this day." A big hand caressed his cheek, and then his Master was gone, the door quietly sliding closed behind him.

Obi-Wan spent the next ten minutes trying to absorb what had just happened. Trying to figure out why he felt thoroughly loved at the same time that he felt thoroughly threatened, and why he liked both feelings. He also tried to convince his boneless legs that they should deliver him up off of the floor.

CHAPTER NINE--Almost a Knight

Naboo.

For all that it was one of the most beautiful planets in the Republic, Obi-Wan would forever suppress a shiver when he heard its name. His Master had survived their battle with the Sith warrior--barely, and only because by some miracle Obi-Wan had managed to pour three-quarters of his own life force into Qui-Gon, so that when they had been found both men had been close to death.

Yoda himself had come to tend them, along with three of the strongest healers on Coruscant and two others from the mysterious, mystical Henge temple. Obi-Wan vaguely remembered the six shrouded beings entering the darkened, secluded room where he lay with his Master. /Deathwatch,/ he'd concluded then, grateful that the Force would take them together. And then Yoda's mind had slid inside of his, and Obi-Wan was being coaxed gently back from whatever twilight world he'd entered to retrieve his Master.

/Not without him!/ he'd mentally hissed at the old Master, clinging to Qui-Gon's essence and refusing to move from the spiritual plane until Yoda had sighed and brought back the older man first. Obi-Wan had followed the slender, frayed bond he still shared with Qui-Gon, pacing back through the Jedi Master's mind and feeling the agony of re-entering a body whose lungs and spine and diaphragm and belly had been cored out by gamma-beam radiation that was never meant to touch flesh, much less linger in ways that continued burning long after the Sithblade had been removed.

Qui-Gon's heart had lurched and then flatlined with the pain, so that Yoda's helpers had to literally yank Obi-Wan's mind from the older man's and force him back into his own body before going to work on Qui-Gon. Yoda himself had sat on Obi-Wan mentally until another healer could rush forward and inject something that knocked him senseless, all in the effort to keep him in his own body and not follow Qui-Gon down into a still-probable death.

/Master... please... stay..../ he sent through the still-unravelling bond, all of his tears and half of his heart still focused on the other man.

He went down into the darkness without hearing any reply, terrified that when he awoke it would be to find the other bed empty and Yoda close by to deliver the message that the Padawan most dreaded hearing. /He died on me once. Isn't once enough?/ he managed to send into the Force before losing consciousness. /Please.... not again./

He had awoken days later to his Master's voice softly calling his name in the middle of a Naboo night. A long time afterward, and Obi-Wan had been told that he had been unconscious as long as his Master had, perhaps keeping Qui-Gon company in some unseen realm until the injured organs had been regenerated and stabilized.

"Master?" he whispered, turning onto his side and groping in the dark between the beds.

"Obi-Wan...." A cold hand found his and held on. The voice behind it was weak and thready, but it was still there, and that was all that Obi-Wan had asked to happen. Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan used the Force to slide their beds closer together. The machinery protested momentarily and Obi-Wan held his breath, lest the healers descend on them en masse. His Master was shaking so hard that Obi-Wan had the bedrail down and was half into the other man's bed, had his arms around Qui-Gon before he had the chance to wonder what he was doing.

"So... c-cold."

"You're probably still in shock, Master.." Obi-Wan was grateful for Qui-Gon's intricate lessons in Force manipulation as he used it to layer the few blankets they had and ordered his body to warm itself another two degrees. "But you can breathe, and your toesnails are scraping against mine so that I know your spine has been renewed. That means that you're not paralysed and you can walk and... and... gods, Master, but you're ALIVE."

Qui-Gon offered a breath of a laugh, all he could manage as he still shook hard enough to rattle the beds. All of these gifts were more than Obi-Wan had dared to hope for. Qui-Gon's teeth chattered against his Padawan's neck while his long arms reached all the way around him and just held on. Obi-Wan had never seen his Master so vulnerable, had never dreamed that he could be so vulnerable, or that life could be so fragile. Pressing a kiss to his Master's forehead and moving even closer, Obi-Wan realized that such fragility made their time together all the more precious.

/What of the Sith?/ Qui-Gon sent through their bond.

/Dead. Went to pieces./ He sent an image of the creature whistling its way down the energy shaft.

Qui-Gon wheezed another laugh through lungs that were still working to clear themselves of some faint fluid. /Well done, Padawan./

The Master faded into sleep soon after that, but Obi-Wan stayed awake for a long time, sifting his fingers through the long hair and pondering what tomorrow might bring.

/He didn't ask about Anakin,/ he thought to himself. Even if he had, Obi-Wan had no idea where the boy was, nor did he much care, come to that. What had happened in the Council chamber now held the sense of non-reality to it for Obi-Wan. His journey to the other side of life to hang onto his Master felt like a much stronger memory.

/Did my Master really toss me aside?/ he wondered. /Try to trade me in for a... better model of Padawan? Did that really happen, or did I just dream it?/

Two weeks later, and Obi-Wan had his answer: the Council meeting had happened, but the Force had been merciful in more ways than one. When the battle of Theed was over, after the droids had all been melted down, the Nemoidians had been taken back to Coruscant for a Senate tribunal, and Qui-Gon was finally allowed to leave the medical center under Obi-Wan and Yoda's watchful eyes, the Chosen One announced at about the same time and to Queen Amidala that he had decided he didn't want to become a Jedi after all. What he really wanted was to learn how to pilot her wizard ships like the one he'd used to destroy the droid control ship, and by the way could 'Dala get his mom off of Tatooine and bring her there?

Seated in the garden of the villa which he and Obi-Wan had been given for the time it would take Qui-Gon to recover fully from his injuries, the Jedi Master set his jaw and glared at Yoda who had brought the news.

"All that I put Obi-Wan through, and Anakin wants to fly ships?" he growled.

Those words earned a startled look from the Padawan in question, wrecking the flow of the kata he was working on, to the point that Qui-Gon turned his glare on his Padawan and gestured that he should begin again.

Breaking off his effort, Obi-Wan wandered across the grass and sank down to sit at his Master's feet. "Actually, I think I'm far more interested in this conversation."

Yoda hrrmphed before continuing. "Stay here, young Skywalker will. Change his mind again, he will not."

"What about his mother?" Qui-Gon pursued.

"Sent for, she has been. A Jedi young Anakin was not meant to be, Qui-Gon. See this now, you do?"

The Master reached for his apprentice's braid, entwined it around his fingers. "Yes, but he still needs watched. He's too powerful with the Force to not be watched."

"Agree, the Council does."

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "How good of them. I'm only sorry that this solution did not present itself before I took on the Council and hurt my Padawan in the process."

Obi-Wan squeezed his arm. "It's all right, Master. You thought you were following the will of the Force."

"Hard to hear, the Force is sometimes," Yoda pronounced, starting at the Master. "Especially when your own will you try to layer over it."

Qui-Gon looked away as Yoda gathered his gimer stick. The old Master chuckled. "Meditations you should do on humility, Padawan. Leave you to heal I will. Home to the Temple I am going now. Will see you next when you are healed." He pointed his stick at Obi-Wan. "Tend him well, Padawan. When next we meet, a knight you will become."

"Yes, Master." Wrapping an arm around Qui-Gon's legs, he held on and shivered as his Master silently continued winding his braid around and around.

"Find my own way out, I can."

They watched the old Master skirt the pond. Yoda waved and chortled at the fish who came to the surface expecting to be fed. Qui-Gon sighed deeply when Yoda was out of hearing.

"I am sorry, Obi-Wan."

Half turning, Obi-Wan resting both arms across Qui-Gon's knee. "For what? For thinking that Anakin was the Chosen One? For trying to train him when I was still your Padawan? For making me very angry, or for creating such turbulence in our bond that you nearly died of it?"

"Yes. Sorry for all of it, " Qui-Gon said quietly, cupping Obi-Wan's face in his hand. "Your eyes are still shadowed from that day, and you shield far more often from me than you should."

"I'm concerned for your healing--"

"That is only half of the truth, Padawan. What is the other half? That I broke your heart when tried to claim Anakin as my learner?"

"I can't claim that it didn't hurt, Master. It did,. And deeply. But it's been set right now, and Anakin is apparently where he needs to be. It's just that I...."

"You... what?"

Frowning, Obi-Wan gazed out across the pond. "I never expected my trials to come in such a heartbreaking way, nor my impending knighthood to make me feel so sad. I don't want to leave you, any more than I wanted you to leave me during that fight."

Qui-Gon ran the braid between his fingers. "That's what Masters and Padawans do, Obi-Wan. One prepares, and the other is prepared, and one day they part company. The Order doesn't expect us to stay together forever."

"What if I want us to be together forever?"

"Then I'd say what I have said before: you must search your feelings and be certain of what you want."

"I'm cer--"

"What you are is still under a great deal of stress," the Master interrupted, shaking his head.. "This is no time to make decisions that might affect both of us for the rest of our lives. I am not fully healed, and that makes you fret and worry that you might lose me again at any time. I gasp for air and cannot breathe during our workouts. My muscles are not yet built back to their former strength, and I sense your fear that I will never be the same as I was. I'm not going to collapse on you, Obi-Wan, but the healers were right; it's going to take a good three months for me to regain what the Sith took away so quickly. We shall see where I am then, and you shall have the time you need after you are knighted to decide if you wish to commit yourself to this old knight."

His fingers brushed Obi-Wan's cheek. "I am grateful that you are here with me, working the Sith out of me, quite literally I sometimes think. But the truth of it is that in three months you will be sent out on your own as the knight you are meant to be."

"And my being alone feels right to you?" Obi-Wan pressed him.

Qui-Gon swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. "What I feel about it doesn't matter. A Master is meant to train a Padawan, to set free the Knight."

"But what do you feel about that?"

Qui-Gon stared down at him for a very long time. "I will miss you," he finally whispered. "In my life as well as in my heart and my mind."

Turning his head, Obi-Wan rested his head on Qui-Gon's thigh and let his tears fall, unnoticed, into the grass while his Master continued combing through his hair.

"Idyllic and painful and rather scary," was how Obi-Wan later described the three months he spent alone with Qui-Gon.

It was the most honest time they'd ever spent together, with Qui-Gon snarling at his student when Obi-Wan cajoled and almost cruelly provoked his Master into raising his saber just one more time, just one more round of defending himself and all in an effort to make screaming muscles respond as they had before they'd been damaged.

Qui-Gon wept and cursed at himself and at his Padawan, calling forth every hellish phrase in every language he knew to hurl his fear and his despair not only through his words, but through the bond as well. Battered physically and mentally bruised, Obi-Wan still absorbed it all and threw everything back in a controlled frenzy of physical therapy, knowing all too well that if he let the older man slack off Qui-Gon would never have back what he had been. Failure and open compassion was simply not options, and both of them knew it.

Within only a few days, the masks had been totally ripped away. Nothing remained of the gentle, elegant Master Qui-Gon Jinn; of a complementary necessity, little remained of the respectful, diffident Padawan Kenobi. No longer bound by the roles of Master and Padawan, then were simply men--one injured and hurting and struggling against a body that wanted nothing more than to sit down and quit, while the other poked at the injured one an intricate dance of torture, challenge and encouragement.

Halfway through their time together, Qui-Gon simply hit the wall. "I have had enough of you, Padawan!"

Snarling, he cast aside his lightsaber and stalked away from the therapy session. Bolting after him, Obi-Wan knocked the older man to the ground so hard that all of the breath left his lungs.

"Fight me, damn you!" Rolling the older man over, he punched him hard.

Obi-Wan was Force-shoved across the clearing and into a tree for his trouble. Gaining his feet, Qui-Gon glared at him and made sure his nose was not bleeding. Brushing down his robes, he then turned around to keep walking.

Behind him, Obi-Wan ignited his saber and launched himself at his quarry once more. A warrior's howl erupted from him, learned on some planet or other, guaranteed to strike fear into any enemy and to scatter any avian bystanders gathered within two parsecs.

The training of more than forty years kicked in when Qui-Gon's instincts and the training bond told him that Obi-Wan was not going to pull back from this attack. Whirling, the Master called the fallen lightsaber to his hand, only to discover that the weapon he now faced was the same double-bladed lightstaff that had killed him.

All color drained out of his face. "Obi-WAN!"

The Padawan offered him a death-head's grin. Laughing and dancing sideways, he twirled the weapon and then advanced. Slashing at his Master's feet, he made the older man Force leap over his head in an effort to get away.

"Running, Master? I wouldn't advise it. I'll follow, no matter where you go."

Lungeing forward, Obi-Wan attacked with all that was in him, spinning and slashing, forcing his Master backward until the older man stumbled and went down on one knee. The blades slammed together and sputtered. Qui-Gon flinched.

"Where did you get--"

"I built it." Shoving harder, Obi-Wan growled into his Master's face. "You call yourself a Master? Get up and fight, damn you."

That did it. Rising, Qui-Gon pushed back and set his shoulders. The coldest look Obi-Wan had ever seen came over his face as the Master gathered the Force into himself. It swirled past Obi-Wan to become a nexus of power within the Master, lending strength to his strategy that Obi-Wan had never seen before, not even with the Sith. The next moment, Qui-Gon bore down on his Padawan as though he'd become the Sith himself.

"You call yourself a Jedi? Fight, damn you," Qui-Gon murmured, a gentle, sinister echo of Obi-Wan's own words before he offered a casual Force-shove that made the ground feel as though it were tilting Obi-Wan's feet. Striding forward as Obi-Wan danced backward in an attempt to regain his balance, the Master offered a violent series of offensive lunges that his apprentice was hard put to avoid.

Obi-Wan's lungs began to burn as Qui-Gon pushed him back through the clearing. The dance began in earnest now, with Obi-Wan calling upon every bit of his training to avoid the next saber singe, the next bruise to thigh or shoulder or arm, not to mention the next riposte that would demand that he dance out of the way to avoid having his ankles nipped.

He raised the lightstaff to the horizontal, only to have Qui-Gon thumb his own saber up to full power and slam the weapon the same as he'd done on Naboo. Obi-Wan's eyes widened to hear the thrumming vibration increase to that power.

/Sith's blood, he can really hurt me now!/

Gathering himself, Obi-Wan did a series of backflips to put much distance between him and his Master. /I've pushed him too far--he's really going for me now./

Qui-Gon followed calmly--too calmly, much as he had down the reactor corridors before the fight had turned against him. He paced carefully after Obi-Wan who had no choice but to raise the lightstaff again as the older Jedi came bearing down on him. Everywhere he spun, Qui-Gon was there, cutting off his planned exit first, and then his room to maneuver. All he could do was spin and kick and fly and defend... and none of it was enough. He dared not set the staff itself to full power--he would not risk hurting his Master--but Obi-Wan could also not see a happy end to this fight.

"Master, enough!"

But it was as though Qui-Gon couldn't--or wouldn't--hear him.

Once again the staff was at the horizontal, and this time Qui-Gon's saber slammed through it at its most vulnerable point. It splintered in Obi-Wan's hands with only a single blade remaining; it sputtered as it was also damaged. Obi-Wan did the only thing he could think to do in a desperate act of self-preservation; he slammed the hilt straight toward his Master's nose, just as he'd seen the Sith do.

The Master had learned all too well what such an opening could do, and his weapon was there to defend this time. The titanium hilt went to pieces in Obi-Wan's hands, and the green blade of his Master's saber swept past his ear on the upswing. Faster than thought, it reversed direction only to halt mere millimeters from his shoulder, ready to quarter him. The lightstaff lay in pieces at Obi-Wan's feet, and he dared not change out his weapon, dared not draw his own, spare lightsaber against the older man. Locking his gaze with the older man's, Obi-Wan lifted his chin in false defiance, only to have a soft whimper of dread escape his lips.

Stepping back, Qui-Gon doused the saber and bowed to his Padawan. "It appears that I also do not need to kill you to finish you, Obi-Wan."

"It would appear not... Master." Obi-Wan gasped for breath, the adrenaline melting out of his limbs and his legs threatening to not support him as they began trembling. Shakily, he bowed in return and felt the Force power fade from around his Master. "Why did you do that?"

The older man grinned down at Obi-Wan before reaching out and pulling him into a hard hug. "To make sure that I still could. Thank you for a fight well fought, my Padawan."

"Right. Sure. Anytime."

Qui-Gon came to him that night as Obi-Wan lay in a naked, boneless heap, feeling his muscles tighten and starting to ache after the abuse they'd undergone. /Now, you'll pay for it,/ they seemed to say. Obi-Wan had gotten used to feeling the message after numerous battles throughout the years; frequent battering were a Jedi's way of life. He usually just ordered everything to heal while he slept and felt pretty much all right by morning.

He didn't bother to gather a sheet across himself when Qui-Gon entered his quarters; he was simply too tired to care and besides, the Master had seen it all before for a great many years, anyway. Obi-Wan wasn't, however, too tired to care that Qui-Gon came in wearing only his leggings, loosely tied at the waist to hang low on his hips. His muscles were well-defined, and Obi-Wan looked with a critical eye.

/His definition is good, so the workouts are definitely working, and he's gained back most of the weight he lost. Even the scar is fading./ Obi-Wan's penis twitched at the sight of the big man coming ever closer, straight for him. His stride was focused, if not predatory. /I don't think I'm up to predatory tonight,/ Obi-Wan decided. /Next time we fight, remind me to ask him to remove his tunics./

Qui-Gon was also wearing his hair down. It flowed free over his shoulders after it had been allowed to air dry after his shower. /And that's because I didn't have the strength to dry it for him as I usually do. He'll have the Sith's own tangles in there tomorrow morning./

Moving with a warrior's grace across the thick carpeting and looking as though he hadn't fought a fight in weeks, the Master sat on the side of the bed and tapped Obi-Wan's hip bone. "I have something for you. Roll over."

"I don't think I can."

Qui-Gon chuckled softly before sliding his hands beneath Obi-Wan's rear-end and back, and then rolled his Padawan over without further ceremony.

"Hey!" Obi-Wan protested.

"I thought you might want a backrub."

Oil was drizzled abruptly onto his back. Obi-Wan arched and hissed, and then buried his nose in the pillow.

"You must be tired," Qui-Gon noted. "You didn't even complain."

"If I complain you might change your mind, and I know what's coming will be good. Be nice to me, Master. I got beat up today."

Long-fingered hands spread the oil generously across his back. "Was your opponent a terrible bully?"

"Very much so. He didn't let me win."

"Perhaps you'll win tomorrow."

Obi-Wan groaned at the thought of another workout the following afternoon, then lost himself as strong hands began working swiftly and firmly in an undeniable demand that his muscles relax. There was no sleeping beneath this massage; his Master's touch was too determined. Too ruthless. Those muscles would relax from sheer intimidation, if nothing else.

His feet were tended next, and then his legs and even between them. His buttocks and balls were also massaged, with Obi-Wan raising on his elbows to protest the swift, almost cavalier treatment.

Qui-Gon merely shoved him back down. "You're too exhausted for lovemaking; you'd only fall asleep on me, and I prefer my partners awake as well as willing."

"Then I want a rain check."

"I'm sure that can be arranged." A kiss was placed at the back of Obi-Wan's ear. A heavy weight rested half across him, and then those lips were back. A beard was nuzzling and those skillful lips were suckling on his earlobe.

"Masterrrrrr," he purred, feeling his erection start to press into the mattress.

An insistent hand parted his legs and began stroking his balls. "Yes, Padawan?"

"I thought you said I was too exhausted? And what happened to my rain check?"

"I'm sure it's raining somewhere."

That voice was so close, as close as the caressing hand between his legs. The strokes became more like petting... gentle, sweet pettings that relaxed as they aroused him.

"I want to turn over," he demanded.

"Very well."

The heavy weight disappeared, and Obi-Wan was turned over slowly. Warm oil was applied then to his legs, flank, chest, belly, and arms. Slick-coated fingers wrapped themselves around his erection to begin a hot, gliding motion up and down. He thickened and throbbed, and a finger traveled the length of the heavy vein on the underside. Obi-Wan groaned at the sensation, then arched as a hot tongue licked firmly from the base of his erection straight up to the top.

His fingers were in his Master's hair and he sat half-upright, only to have a huge hand push him gently, but firmly back down onto the bed. A forefinger began stroking between his eyes... relaxing him.

/Don't..../ he protested through the bond. /That's always put me to sleep..../

/That's the idea, Padawan./

/I thought you.... you wanted to... make.... to make love./ Gods, he was going cross-eyed again, and that tongue was doing things. Again. Licking slowly, agonizingly, repeatedly over his manhood. It was stimulating and relaxing and just too much to think about--Qui-Gon's mouth on him, savoring him as though he were the finest of the cold, creamy, sweet treats. He felt himself seep at the thought, and then his Master's tongue was at his tip, wriggling inside to taste the sweet, salty bitterness of his need. Moaning, Obi-Wan opened his legs a bit further and arched in sheer luxury.

"More....." he groaned.

Qui-Gon removed the Padawan fingers that were tangled in his hair, entwined his own with them, and purred as he descended and swallowed his Padawan. Obi-Wan gasped and writhed as Qui-Gon set up a slow, firm sucking rhythm, meant to bring him slowly to full erection, to let his climax grow evenly, steadily. Cupping his Padawan's testicles, Qui-Gon caressed the base of his erection, only to hold the velvet-tight sacs in the palm of his hand and squeeze, ever so gently.

"Master...." Obi-Wan arched slowly, his heels digging into the bed.

/You are exquisite, my love./ Qui-Gon watched the beauty of it and pressed his own throbbing arousal against the mattress. He suckled harder and just a bit faster only to pull pulled back and swirl his tongue inside once more. To lap at the essence there, to inhale the unique musk that was Obi-Wan and all his.

Obi-Wan cried out and arched again, stronger and harder. Humming, the Master resumed his slow sucking and felt the balls tighten ominously in his hand. The Master drove their rhythm as he controlled Obi-Wan's dance in the salle back at the Temple. /Follow me, Padawan..../ Obedient to the end, Obi-Wan followed, instinctively using the bond to link his desire with Qui-Gon's and listening with an exquisite trust. Just as he had always listening to his Master in battle, so it was that he listened to him in bed.

Qui-Gon purred beneath the power his Padawan had so willingly placed between his loving hands. /Now, Obi-Wan./

He suckled hard at Obi-Wan's explosive need and sent the sensation of his own thickened arousal straight down the bond to overwhelm his Padawan. Obi-Wan screamed his release and Qui-Gon opened his throat and swallowed him down, suckling greedily before losing himself in his own climax. Collapsing half across Obi-Wan, he spasmed hard, panted and lapped at the softening organ, and finally thought to release Obi-Wan's testicles.

"Master." Obi-Wan's voice was slurred in passion and exhaustion. His fingers were in the older man's hair, petting and stroking before he sent a wave of love through the bond that made Qui-Gon gasp with its intensity. "Love you so much....So glad you stayed...."

Within a very few minutes, he was asleep. Well-satisfied with his relaxation methods, Qui-Gon rearranged the covers over his Padawan and then climbed into bed beside him. Obi-Wan murmured softly before rolling over and wrapping himself around his Master. Entwining his own limbs with Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon was contented that it should be so.

CHAPTER NINE -- Knighted

Three months later nearly to the day, Obi-Wan once again stood two paces behind and to right of his Master in the Council chamber. He'd done it a hundred times over the past twelve years, but after today he would never do it again. Qui-Gon was the picture of serenity, standing as tall and strong as ever, his graying mane fanned out across his broad shoulders, his robe swirling about his ankles as he tucked his hands into his cloak and answered Mace Windu's last question.

"Agree with the Council's assessment, I do."

Mace Windu gestured shortly. "Come forward, Padawan Kenobi."

He took two steps forward, which brought him up to stand beside his Master. Glancing up, he exchanged a slight smile with the older man before kneeling before Yoda, who was nodding in satisfaction.

The Master's dark eyes glimmered with pleasure. "Bestow on you the rank of knight this Council does. Waited a long time for this day have I, Knight Kenobi."

"As have I, Master." Obi-Wan dipped his head lower, then rose to face Qui-Gon.

Drawing a deep breath, the big man reached for Obi-Wan's braid to gently pull the bottom tie free. It was then that Obi-Wan realized his Master wasn't quite as calm as he appeared. His fingers were trembling, and his eyes were shadowed.

/Master?.../

/Plenty of time to talk later, Obi-Wan. Now, hold still./ A mental smile accompanied the order--the last he'd ever give his Padawan. Qui-Gon began to gently unravel the braid that he had begun and completed for Obi-Wan countless times over the years. Those moments had been a solid part of their relationship, with Obi-Wan never really giving a thought to the time when the braiding would end. He'd imagined being a knight, and knights did not wear braids, but somehow it had always escaped his musings when he thought ahead to actually being a knight.

The colorful ties were removed, and the braid was unraveled until the hair flowed free from Obi-Wan's temple, down to his waist. Long, thick fingers stroked from his temple to the end of the braid, smoothing the thin, rippled strand of hair that had long been a Force-tangle of auburn and near-gray. Qui-Gon's fingers trailed over his cheek.

"Our commitment to each other as master and apprentice ends now, my Padawan. Go forward into the Light and serve it always."

"Yes, Master."

Traditionally, it was the last time Obi-Wan would hear Qui-Gon call him Padawan; conversely, it was also the last time he would be required to call Qui-Gon his Master. Blue eyes locked into green as Qui-Gon took the ceremonial dirk from his belt and laid it against Obi-Wan's temple. The first strands of the braid were severed, and the training bond pulsed as Qui-Gon prepared to sever it as well.

/Master, don't end the bond.? Cut the braid, but please don't end our bond. The words flowed out in a rush at the last possible second, and Qui-Gon frowned down at him, alarmed.

/Tradition dictates--/

/Sod tradition! I don't want to lose you!/

The briefest of hesitations, and then Qui-Gon drew back from the bond. /As you wish, Obi-Wan./

A few short strokes with the dirk, and it was over. The hair at his temple blended in with the other short spikes. Moving around Obi-Wan, the Master severed the senior Padawan's tail as well. Wrapping the hair in the palm of his hand, the older man concentrated a moment before lifting his hand and dropping the hair. It disintegrated before touching the shining tiles, dissolved into mist under the Jedi Master's focused power to become one with the Force.

Obi-Wan supposed that since the training bond was still intact, he was probably still a Padawan. /I don't care. He's still in there, that's all that matters./

"Congratulations." Mace Windu offered one of his rare grins. "Go and celebrate, you two."

"Have we committed any grievous sin by keeping the bond intact?" Obi-Wan asked once the chamber doors had closed behind them, and they were left alone in the cavernous corridor on their way to the turbolift.

"No sin that I know of." Sliding a companionable arm around the younger man's waist, Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "Most Padawans are more than happy to get their Masters out of their thoughts permanently."

"I just... I can't lose you." Settling beneath Qui-Gon's arm, Obi-Wan returned the hug.

"You'd never lose me, bond or no bond."

He shook his head, shivering at the absence of the braid that had been part of him for so long. "I want you right where you are, Master. Just a thought away. If you don't mind."

"Mind?" Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow as they stepped into the lift. "I was dreading the severance of our bond as much as you were. Perhaps more." He lightly stroked Obi-Wan's temple where the braid had resided. "You were been a pleasure to teach and to guide, Padawan. More than that, you cast light and healing into the dark places forged by Xanatos. You are an endless joy in my life."

"Endless?" Obi-Wan laughed outright. "I think not. Remember that night on Talurigh, when you watched me sneak off with the king's fourth daughter and was helpless to stop me?"

"You were a joy even then," Qui-Gon insisted. "The joy faltered only temporarily when the king threatened to cut off your essentials the next morning."

"You always said that you'd tell me how you got me out of that after I was knighted. Well?" He leaned against the opposite side of the lift, crossed his arms, and waited.

Qui-Gon studied the turbolift's level lights as they flashed by. "I lied to the king. I told him that appearances were deceiving, and that you preferred being with me to being with any female. I assured him against all odds that his daughter was certainly still a virgin."

"You said that?" Obi-Wan gaped up at the older man.

"I did. The young woman was summoned, and she agreed with me," Qui-Gon continued calmly. "It was a masterful performance on both of our parts."

"No wonder you wouldn't tell me how you resolved it," Obi-Wan groused.

"So tell me, Obi-Wan... was she untouched?"

Obi-Wan merely smiled.

Entering their shared chambers that evening for perhaps the last time as Obi-Wan was destined to move into a new set of knights' quarters, Qui-Gon shrugged out of his outer robe and laid it across the couch. Drawing a deep, weary breath, he pulled the hair-tie free and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'll make tea, Master." Obi-Wan slipped past him to lay his own robe over his Master's before moving into the food prep area.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." /So many endings, yet much is the same,/ the older man thought, watching him go. /But not for long. Even now, he's moving out of my life./

Wandering across the room, the Master reflected that the dinner celebrating his Padawan's knighting had been a much more subdued affair than he'd thought it would be. Qui-Gon knew that Bant had stopped by weeks before only to disappear into Obi-Wan's chamber and plot out the celebration. When Qui-Gon had probed politely afterward, Obi-Wan had said that yes, they were indeed going to Indiscretions, but it would be a small, intimate group as so many of his set were either already knighted or were traveling the galaxy with their Masters.

When the evening finally came, only Bant, Tawn and Qui-Gon had actually been in attendance. Tawn and Bant made one couple, Obi-Wan and himself the second, and rather than eat a hurried meal and then retire to the more public, entertaining section of the club, the new knight had seemed contented to remain at the Master's side all evening and engage in a somewhat subdued conversation.

Dinner had been a quiet affair in a private salon featuring archaic candles for lighting and quiet, soothing music piped in. Pillows were thrown around a low table, with Obi-Wan somehow managing to half-recline on Qui-Gon all evening. The Master hadn't minded in the least; it had been extremely pleasurable to have Obi-Wan's solid weight and happiness so close for so long. The food had been exquisite and the conversation amusing, with Bant and Tawn telling incidents from Obi-Wan's childhood.

"I haven't heard these stories before," said Qui-Gon, sipping his wine. "Where was I while you coached my Padawan in the finer arts of battle?" He arched an eyebrow at Tawn. "And where was I when you and Obi-Wan played all of your pranks?" Blue eyes locked on Bant, who blushed a bright orange.

"Actually, we paid Master Yoda to keep you out of the way," Obi-Wan drawled, tracing a pattern on Qui-Gon's thigh.

"You must have. I never heard any of these stories."

"Of course you haven't heard them. They're embarrassing.

"He also paid us to keep quiet until after his trials," Tawn murmured. "We'll collect shortly, Kenobi. A joint mission or two with me to Hoth should cover my side of the debt."

"Hey, ice is preferable to mud, any day."

Exchanging a glance with Bant, Tawn and her finished in unison, "Calamarian mud mission, definitely."

Qui-Gon toasted them. "It sounds like you have the next near of Obi-Wan's life planned out for him."

"Over my dead lightsaber they do."

Everyone had laughed, but Qui-Gon hadn't missed the frequent, yearning looks Knight Tawn had cast Obi-Wan's way. /That one would like nothing better than to actually serve missions with my Pad.... with Obi-Wan. How long will it be before he formally petitions Obi-Wan to do just that?/

The evening had wound down with Bant and Tawn inviting Obi-Wan to come with them and enjoy the hard-driving beat of the dance floor long into the night. Much to Qui-Gon's surprise and confusion, Obi-Wan had refused the invitation with a hug and a smile. Waving his friends on, the new-made knight had turned to Qui-Gon and asked if he minded if they went home.

No, of course not, and so home they went.

Settling on the couch, Qui-Gon watched took the mug of tea that Obi-Wan offered to him. "Padawan, you don't have to serve me any longer."

"But I enjoy serving you, Master. I have always enjoyed taking care of you." Sitting crosslegged on the couch, close beside the older man, Obi-Wan drank from his own mug and then waved a hand, dimming the lights.

"I'm sorry that more of your friends couldn't be there tonight," Qui-Gon murmured.

Obi-Wan looked confused. "But they were there, Master. You and Bant and Tawn were exactly the people I wanted with me to celebrate tonight."

Qui-Gon considered that information for a moment. "You wanted a quiet dinner instead of the same sort of boisterous party you had when you became a senior Padawan?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"But so many of your friends were missing."

Obi-Wan set aside his tea mug. "I think that you may be confusing the people I run with and my closest friends. A few years ago, you were used to seeing me out with an entire group of Padawans."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed.

"Do you remember that night at Gyrations, when I was out with the group and you rescued me from Sh'Taka's baiting?"

"I do."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "That's the last time I went out with that group. Do you also remember a conversation we had shortly after that, when I told you about how empty my relationships were? The night you counseled me to chastity?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

He slipped off of the couch to kneel between his Master's legs. "That night, you also told me to look for a gentle heart. To look for someone capable not just of lust, but also of love. A few months later on the mission to Dalcarta, I nearly lost you and realized that I loved you. When I told you, you asked me to meditate on my desire and find out exactly what I wanted of you."

"I remember, Obi-Wan. I also remember asking that you come to know your own heart and mind. To understand what, exactly, you were feeling for me."

"And then on my Naming Day, you kissed me." Obi-Wan grinned up at the older man. "There have been other touches as well. All of the times we made love on Naboo, as if you couldn't get enough of me but didn't really mind trying. It was... rather enjoyable, Master. Now that I'm knighted, I want to tell you that I've been thinking and meditating for a number of months, and I've made up my mind. I would like very much to--"

Leaning forward, Qui-Gon pressed his fingers to Obi-Wan's lips. "Obi-Wan, think before you speak, please. You're very young."

"Master--"

"No, hear me out. You have lived under my influence since you were twelve years old. That's over half of your life. You've never had time to be away from that influence, to be out on your own. Never had time to be the knight you've dreamed of being."

Rocking back on his heels, Obi-Wan looked up at his Master for a long moment. Shaking his head, he murmured. "You're telling me to wait again? Suggesting that I don't know my own mind yet?"

"I'm suggesting that you need to spend some time alone to see if you don't prefer being off on your own, to me."

"Master...." Rather than finish the sentence, Obi-Wan shook his head and snapped his mouth closed. Rising to his feet, he said, "Right, then. I guess I should be packing."

Sketching a brief bow, he left Qui-Gon without another word and disappeared into his chamber. Slumping back on the couch, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. /I did the right thing in encouraging him to leave,/ he thought, /but it doesn't feel very good. What am I going to do without him?/

Drawers were pulled and slammed in his former Padawan's room. Rustlings were heard, and in a very few minutes Obi-Wan exited the chamber. Qui-Gon braced himself to say goodbye, but Obi-Wan didn't seem headed for the front door. Instead, he carried a box into Qui-Gon's private suite of rooms across the hall. Qui-Gon entered his bedchamber in time to see Obi-Wan hanging up his tunic in the closet.

"Obi-Wan, what are you doing?"

"I'm moving," came the calm answer. Turning to the chest of drawers where he'd parked the box, he gestured. "Would you mind telling me which one of these I can put my stuff in?"

"Your... stuff?" Qui-Gon shook his head. "I don't understand."

Leaning against the dresser, Obi-Wan folded his arms and scowled up at the older man. "You told me that I should move, and I am. In with you. And before you say another word, please listen to me." There was a steel to his Padawan's voice that Qui-Gon had never heard before. "I've listened to your points for years, but you're not hearing mine. You keep telling me to be sure of my commitment to you, but you never seem willing to let me make that commitment. Well, Master... I've got news for you; surprise, I've already made that commitment."

"Obi-Wan, we need to talk about this."

"No. We've been talking about this for years, but the words aren't cutting it. So let's try some action. Find me a drawer and make room for me." He glowered up at the older man.

"Obi-Wan, you've never had a life of your own!"

"Thanks to you and our missions, I've seen a lot of lives. Beyond that, I have a very good imagination. And you know... when I think of myself in those other lives, I'm not happy."

"But you're a knight now!" Qui-Gon protested, stepping forward and squeezing Obi-Wan's shoulders. /We can't do this... it's too fast, he doesn't know what he's doing, asking... what he's committing to. He can't!/

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "You know what the difference is between being a padawan and being a knight? It means that you cut off my braid. I'm still the same person I was yesterday, the same person I'll be tomorrow. And you know, Master, I don't want to be a knight if it means that I can't have you in my life. You know what else? I think you're scared of me."

"I'm what?"

"Scared. Of. Me. Of having someone in your life who's really committed to you. Who says, 'All right, show me who you are and what you need and I'll be there for you.'"

"That's not true, Obi-Wan."

"Then you tell me what the problem is, Qui-Gon, because that's the best I can come up with until you talk to me."

The Master rocked back at the sound of his given name on Obi-Wan's lips. The younger man grinned... a 'gotcha' grin that told Qui-Gon that the use of his name had been a deliberate choice.

"Yeah, Master, that's right. We're equals now. So, are you going to tell me what the problem is or not?"

"What if you change your mind about me? About all of this?" Qui-Gon's gesture encompassed the room they were standing in, which contained the essence of what Qui-Gon was, as well as the bond he and Obi-Wan still shared. "As your Master, I could command your attention and respect. As your lover and bonded mate--"

"You'll still command my attention and respect. Master, I've loved you since I was thirteen, so that's nothing new. I've been in love with you and wanted to share everything with you since I was twenty-one and nearly lost you on that trip to Dalcarta, so perhaps you'll agree that this is hardly a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part. But...." Pacing forward, Obi-Wan laid his hands on either side of Qui-Gon's face, reached up on balls of his feet, and kissed him lightly. "Should the day ever arrive when I change my mind, you'll be the first to know."

The bond sparkled with amusement, as though falling out of love with his master was the most impossible thing Obi-Wan could imagine, but if it pleased Qui-Gon to worry about it, then Obi-Wan would accommodate that worry.

"You are the one I want, Qui-Gon. No other. I haven't wanted another since before Sh'Taka. My head just had to catch up with my heart in order for me to realize that. Now...." He rained kisses up his Master's nose and nibbled at his beard. "Why don't you clear a couple of those drawers to I can put my stuff in?"

Qui-Gon laughed. "You certainly have a one-track mind, Obi-Wan."

"Yeah, for about three years now. Now, about those drawers...." When Qui-Gon still didn't move, Obi-Wan shrugged. "Look, it's really very simple. You told me to search my mind and my heart and be sure that I wanted to be with you. I have, and I am. I don't know how to convince you, except by not letting you separate us. If you want me gone, you're going to have to toss me out on my butt."

"You don't understand," Qui-Gon all but growled, grabbing his former Padawan by the wrist to stop the distracting caresses. "If I let myself love you, there will be no separation. I will never be able to let you go."

Obi-Wan grinned up at him. "Sounds good to me. I don't want to be let go."

"Please, Obi-Wan... be sure."

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life, Master!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"How can I..." Obi-Wan blinked up at him and pulled away to sit down hard on the bed. "Wait a minute." A dawning awareness and horror filled his features. "This isn't about me, is it? It's about you. You're the one who's not sure. It's not that you're afraid I don't want you, it's that you don't want me."

Clutching the comforter with rigid fingers , Obi-Wan closed his eyes and bowed his head. "How could I be so stupid? That's why you told me to move, to go. You didn't ever mean for me to stay. It was all just a game to you, wasn't it?"

"I--"

"I'm so very sorry, Master. I misunderstood." Green eyes shimmering with tears lifted to meet distraught midnight blue. Obi-Wan blinked back the tears and set his jaw. "I'll go."

Getting to his feet, he retrieved his box and turned toward the door.

A low growl from behind him was all the warning Obi-Wan got before the door slid shut and locked, almost on his nose. A broad hand on his shoulder spun him around so hard that Obi-Wan dropped the box. He was yanked hard against a broad chest, melded hip against hip as long-fingered hands slid the length of his back and a warm mouth captured his. A warmer tongue slipped between his teeth to decisively claim him, and his Master's growls resumed as a low rumble in his ears and a deep vibration in his own chest.

He gulped great breaths of air into oxygen starved lungs when Qui-Gon finally released his mouth, but Obi-Wan was not allowed to move away. Those large hands roamed over his body, slid off his tunics and pulled them free to drop them into a puddle at his feet. His face was cupped in large, calloused hands. His Master's graying moustache tickled his skin, and the kissing began again. Qui-Gon's hair trailed over Obi-Wan's chest as his collarbones were tongued and sucked at. Every inch of his chest was inspected and his nipples were sucked and tweaked, so quickly that Obi-Wan could do nothing but moan and arch for more of the same.

His ribs were neglected in favor of his behind being clasped and squeezed, and then he was being lifted higher to meet the all-too-obvious and very insistent straining need behind his Master's leggings that found an urgent answer in Obi-Wan's own body.

"Qui-Gon..." he choked, uncertain if he were begging or protesting. It didn't matter; his Master either wasn't listening, or Obi-Wan was being ignored. Entwining his fingers in his Master's mane, he climbed the older man until he was straddling his hips, shivered as the Force sparked with their shared arousal, and felt that he might explode right there.

"You will not," came the low voice, the accent thick with passion. "I will not allow it."

Obi-Wan was carried to the bed and settled upon it. Climbing up over him, Qui-Gon stripped away their boots and leggings, and then arched over Obi-Wan to remove his own tunics. Long, strong thigh muscles bunched, a supple spine arched. Reaching up eagerly, Obi-Wan ran his fingers from Qui-Gon's sternum to his crotch, lifted and weighed the heavy testicles, caressed the foreskin that was already straining away from the swollen, engorged organ tip.

"Gods.... you're beautiful. So large and so full. Where to begin?"

"I have never been--"

"Don't say that, don't ever say that again!" Obi-Wan hissed. "You can't see what I see, what I've seen for the past thirteen years but haven't been allowed to touch or taste or claim before."

Obi-Wan swirled his hands over the furred chest, the well-defined muscles and all of the small scars. Each one had a history, each one told a story, and Obi-Wan knew them all. Had shared so many of those stories. His hands trembled as he encountered the last scar, earned on Naboo. Tears streaked from the corners of Obi-Wan's eyes only to be lost in his hair.

"I came so close to losing you, and now you have the balls to tell me that you don't want me?"

"My Obi-Wan...." Leaning forward heavily, Qui-Gon braced his hands to the side of Obi-Wan's head. His flowing mane created a private world within its confines as Qui-Gon nuzzled between Obi-Wan's eyes and urged another kiss, this one slower and deeper than the last.

"Of course I want you," he rasped in a voice made rough by passion. Their erections rubbed and throbbed together. "I have wanted you for so long that it is a constant ache inside me. I have wanted you each time you walked out that door on your way to see Tawn, or Sh'Taka, or any of the other two-score lovers you have taken. Wanted you each time I told myself that you could never want me."

His lips were close against Obi-Wan's now, breathing the same breath, speaking against the softness and driving the younger man nearly mad. The bond between them blossomed and expanded as Qui-Gon pushed closer, demanding that Obi-Wan drop his own shields in answer to his master's ever-increasing need.

"I stayed behind every time when you walked out, to battle fury and frustration." Qui-Gon's beard tickled Obi-Wan's lips as he spoke. Settling more heavily over his Padawan, the Master tangled his fingers in the short, spiky hair and caressed Obi-Wan's ears until the younger man writhed beneath him. "Listen to me... feel me against you... and know how much I want you, how much I have always needed you.

"You must be very sure, Obi-Wan, for once we have joined, I will never let you go." He arched slowly against the younger man and purred deep in his throat. "Once I have been inside you, I will stay inside you. You'll never be rid of me, my Padawan. I will claim you and keep you and never let you walk out that door alone again. This is why I ask, repeatedly, are you so certain that you want to tie yourself to me?"

The focused strength of the Master was within him, entwining heart and soul, reaching ever deeper.

"You can refuse me yet." Qui-Gon's lips were at his ear. With every exhalation, the Master made soft noises of need, acknowledged and magnified by Obi-Wan's own body. "You can ask me to go yet, Padawan, and you will be safe. Safe from my need and my possessiveness. But once I have entered you...."

Fingers of the Force caressed him, just there, inside of him. Crying out, Obi-Wan arched and panted as his need expanded tenfold. His fingers curled around Qui-Gon's wrists.

"Master..." he whispered.

"Master, what?" Qui-Gon whispered. Ever so gently, he set up a rocking motion against his Padawan's hips. "Tell me, Obi-Wan.... What do you want?"

"You... always... please!"

"Please what?"

"Dammit, take me!" Raising his head, he snapped his teeth at Qui- Gon's throat. "Stop teasing me!"

He needed so badly to climax, but before that happened he wanted... Gods, how much he wanted.

"Take me!" he nearly sobbed, entwining his fingers with Qui-Gon's and trying to match that maddening rocking with his own movements. "Gods, Qui-Gon. What do you want from me?"

The Master stilled over him then. Absolutely stilled, and Obi-Wan wanted to scream and lash out in frustration. He settled for shuddering deeply and summoning every ounce of control he'd learned at Qui-Gon's hands to lie still beneath the heavy Master. To match his breathing, and to wait.

"What do I want...." Qui-Gon purred. Lifting his head, he breathed against Obi-Wan. The predator was back, contemplating the fate of his prey. He tightened his grip on Obi-Wan and his blue eyes held raw hunger and a self-knowledge of that hunger that made Obi-Wan's eyes widen. "It's very simple, my Obi-Wan. I want everything."

"What the bloody Sith do you think I'm offering you!"

A long hand caressed the length of his thigh, and Qui-Gon smiled. "What, indeed."

That hand raised Obi-Wan's leg. Qui-Gon slid back a little and Obi-Wan felt him slide between his thighs. His engorged penis slide down as well, caressing every inch of Obi-Wan and leaving trails of moisture behind to remind him of its journey.

"Gods....Master....." Obi-Wan groaned.

"Lift yourself and open to me."

He obeyed, just he had obeyed every other order this man had ever given him. Obi-Wan was then prepared in silence with Force touches and a sweet-smelling oil that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The new knight was sobbing by the time Qui-Gon began sliding into him, so very slowly, so very... maddeningly... slowly. He clung to his Master's broad shoulders and spread himself wide, savored the heavy heat and musky scent as Qui-Gon thrust ever deeper in the smallest of increments.

Nothing existed in the world but Qui-Gon... his hands urging Obi-Wan upward at intervals, his hips pushing Obi-Wan's legs ever wider in order to give his Master exquisite access to the warm haven before him. Qui-Gon filled him, body and soul, wrapping his mind around the bond they shared as easily as he had wrapped the Padawan braid around his fingers. The claiming came slowly and sweetly, with a Maser's torturous control. Obi-Wan shuddered time and again, certain that he must empty himself before the joining was complete.

"You will not... I will not let you," that voice came again. It echoed through his mind as well as around the room, until Obi-Wan wasn't certain if they were still in Qui-Gon's rooms or if they'd found a private Force level all of their own to share.

Obi-Wan's nose was buried against Qui-Gon's neck, his fingers were tangled in his mane. His senses were filled with the man--the scent of cinnamon and stark arousal, naked power and need. His Master had never been so close, and Obi-Wan felt a fullness, a stretching in both mind and body that had never been there before. Qui-Gon's thrusts took on a languid heaviness, his growls dropped into purrs. The Master stretched that moment into forever, forcing Obi-Wan to ride the wave with him. /Not yet... not yet.... not yet.../ came the litany and the rhythm in his mind. They rode the wave and denied the crest together as the bond expanded within both of them.

Finally, Obi-Wan could stand no more. Summoning all of his will and shaking himself mentally from the spell Qui-Gon had woven so completely around them, the younger man raised his head and fastened his teeth around his Master's earlobe.

Between his teeth, he hissed, "Mine," tightened his grip on Qui-Gon's neck, and quite deliberately sucked.

In an instant, Qui-Gon was roaring over him and thrusting hard. Once, twice, twice and he held there, suspended in the moment. Obi-Wan thought that he felt those full sacs tighten and spasm against him a moment before the Master shuddered deep within him, and crashed over the crest they had created together.

"Padawan!" he screamed, rigid as he came. Obi-Wan continued to suckle, drawing every bit of passion he could, basking in the exploding bond and clutching Qui-Gon's back as his own climax claimed him. It went on and on and on, stretching luxuriously against Qui-Gon's hot stomach, spreading itself and its seed as though it had come home at last.

/I think I have,/ Obi-Wan through smugly. He spread himself mentally across Qui-Gon's mind as he softened, purring his contentment at the all-encompassing bond, savoring the warm, solid, safe connection he felt with this man.

"I love you," Obi-Wan whispered, still attached to Qui-Gon's ear as the older man collapsed over him. At the last minute, Qui-Gon was sentient enough to spare Obi-Wan at least some of his weight.

Boneless and connected, the two men floated for a long time, until day turned to night. Until their entwined limbs were illumined by the silent, eternal traffic of Coruscant. Until Qui-Gon summoned energy enough to shift slightly and kiss his Padawan's temple, the same that had lost its braid so many aeons ago and only that morning.

"I love you, too, Obi-Wan," he managed, his fingers and legs still entwined with his Padawan's.

"Does this mean that you'll empty one of those drawers for me after all?" Obi-Wan asked sleepily.

Qui-Gon laughed softly. "I think it does."

Epilogue

Obi-Wan awoke to boneless bliss and the added bonus of Qui-Gon rubbing his back. He was lying with his face smushed into the pillows and could only mime a kiss when that blanketing mane descended and his Master pressed a kiss at the side of his mouth.

"G'morning," he managed, squinting against the light of day. Never, if he lived to be a hundred, would Obi-Wan be a morning person.

/Good morning,/ came the mental answer, purr-growled as it had never been before.

/The hedonist is back,/ Obi-Wan thought as Qui-Gon settled beside him, pulled him closer, and Force-closed the evil curtains against the light that had awoken him in the first place.

/The hedonist never left, Obi-Wan. He just had to wait until you grew up and decided that you wanted him./

"Oh, I want him." Obi-Wan poked at the expanded bond, the touch that now encompassed him inside and out. "Will it always be this intimate between us?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon smoothed Obi-Wan's hair as it tickled his nose. "The bond has deepened considerably. We can't be parted now, not even by death. That means you'll never be alone again, my Padawan."

"With anyone else, that thought would terrify me," Obi-Wan admitted after thinking about it for along moment. Pressing his lips to his Master's shoulder in an affectionate kiss, he basked in the sated sensation of being well-loved. "With you though, it's like sinking down into warm bath water."

"I think that's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me," Qui-Gon murmured. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Master." Sighing, Obi-Wan draped an arm around his Master's torso and snuggled closer. He smiled to feel Qui-Gon relax into the new bond, and looked forward to continuing their life together.

The End