Summary: When Obi-Wan is severely injured, Qui-Gon goes
through his former apprentice's collection of rocks and
discovers that he may not know him as well as he thought.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
It began with the rock Qui-Gon had given him for his 13th
birthday. Somehow, after that, on each world they visited,
Obi-Wan had taken away with him a stone, a crystal, whatever
caught his eye, as a tactile reminder of where they had been
and what memories each mission contained.
13 years later, there were several dozen such hard,
crystalline "photographs" in his collection, each catalogued in
a neat, minute hand, detailing date, mission, and where the
rock or crystal in question had been found.
But in amongst the small stones and glittering shards, there
were a few pieces that were marked only with date and a couple
of words, and these were the precious ones, not always pretty
or distinguished; these were the true memories of Obi-Wan
Kenobi, who didn't need more than a date and two words to
remember.
The collection was kept in his rooms, in a tall cabinet with
narrow, deep drawers and each rock had its own cubicle in one
of the drawers: it was handmade by Obi-Wan over the years. They
were cataloged by time, the first in the top drawer was
Qui-Gon's gift. The handwriting there was neat but childish,
not yet formed into permanence. The date, the mission, "Gift
from my Master (underlined) for my 13th birthday."
Qui-Gon Jinn ran one large finger over the stone, smiling a
little, remembering the boy Obi-Wan had been when they had
first met. All legs and eyes and courage, so ready to give his
own life. Qui-Gon shut his eyes briefly. Ready to give his own
life. . .
He closed the drawer and looked around. Without Obi-Wan, the
rooms were too silent, too empty. His former Padawan carried so
much light within himself, places seemed dimmer without him.
Resolutely, he shook off the feeling. He had been asked to
bring the most recent vidtape. . .and he found it on the
bedside cabinet, tossed carelessly, as if its owner would be
back soon. A small light for reading sat next to it, and on the
other side was a little crystal bottle. Curious, Qui-Gon picked
it up and uncorked it, sniffed, and one eyebrow went up.
Celeciad seed oil, used for many things, but mostly as a
lubricant.
He put down the bottle, picked up the vidtape, and left the
room.
"Master Jinn," the Healer took a handful of robe and not quite
dragged him down the hall. "With all due respect, Knight Kenobi
is resting and you should be, too. You've barely left this
place since you brought him in."
Qui-Gon allowed her to tow him along, but stopped at the door.
She let him go, but stood firmly in his path. He said quietly,
"He's no better."
"No. But he's not dead either." She smiled with sympathy. "Go
away. Even my med droids are complaining. You question
everything. If you do not feel we are competent, why did you
bring him here?"
Reluctantly, Qui-Gon smiled at her. "I know you are the best
Healer in the Galaxy. I know you work with the Force. I just. .
."
"Yes, Master. You and Yoda and most of the Council, several
dozen other Masters, most of the Padawans, and ALL the
students. You are driving us crazy. If he heals, he heals. We
are doing what we can do. A blaster shot through the guts does
not get better overnight. He's been in the Bacta tanks. He
survived the surgery."
"What about the head injury? He's still unconscious." He knew
the answer, but wanted to hear it again.
"There's nothing permanent. He gets agitated when he becomes
conscious, so he's being kept quiet with Force. And, as I
recall, you were here when he first came around, and he did not
seem all that glad to see you." She reached around him and
opened the door. "It's the infection, Master. He's strong in
the Force, and he's fighting to live. Quit screwing it up. The
more time I waste with you, the less time I'm with him."
Qui-Gon reached into his robes and pulled out the vidtape.
"One of the droids said he might like something like this when
he is allowed to come around completely."
"Thank-you. Go eat. Sleep. Go meditate or something." She took
the tape, accepted his bow, and shut the door firmly behind
him.
He ate with the other Masters, answering their concerned
questions with low-voiced grace. Obi-Wan had become a
well-respected Jedi in the two years since obtaining his
knighthood. As he was leaving the dining hall, he was stopped
by a table of Padawans with the same questions. Obi-Wan knew
them all by name and when he was in residence he could be
counted on to give assistance with everything from mathematics
lessons to the proper way to do the 7 level Shawlew. No, Knight
Kenobi was not any better. Neither was he worse. He would be
sure to let them know if there was any change. He went further
down the rows of tables and was stopped by a blushing, hesitant
student, speaking for her peers. The students, as a whole,
adored his former apprentice, who taught the occasional class
with much humor and a way of making dull lessons memorable. He
was gentler here, with some encouraging words, and was rewarded
with gape-toothed smiles.
He walked alone to his own rooms, not far from Obi-Wan's, and
palmed the door open. It closed behind him, and he leaned
against it, then slid to the floor, drawing his knees up,
burying his face in his arms. Obi-Wan could be dying. It had
taken too long to get help, and the help available was not
adequate for a close blaster shot in the belly. Had he done
everything he could? Had he missed something, anything, that
might have made a difference? He had run this through in his
mind again and again, but there was nothing.
The only reason Obi-Wan had survived to be taken aboard their
transport and brought back to Coruscate was due to his own
work. Healing Force, mountains of it, ALL of it, and whatever
they had in meager Ed supplies. He had stopped the internal
bleeding in Obi-Wand's brain, but that was easy. He had slowed
the river of blood from his abdomen to the point where he had
not bled to death, but Obi-Wan had spun and fallen face first
into a mud puddle carrying Force knew how many contagens, his
gut open, and by the time Qui-Gon had gotten him into the ship,
the infection had already started.
Qui-Gon lifted his head and stared at the bare wall in front
of him. All he could see was blood. Bright red, pulsing,
intestines spilling out onto his hands. Every time he closed
his eyes, anytime he didn't focus away, the scene was there.
Dark lashes on pale cheeks, mind link shut down...He rubbed his
face, twice, fiercely. Face it, Qui-Gon, the mind link was down
before Obi-Wan was hit.
Abruptly he stood. This wasn't helping. He had slept because
he was drained from the healing. He ate because he needed
strength. He meditated and exercised to heal his mind and body.
And all of it was to be ready when Obi-Wan awakened and needed
him. And now they were keeping him away and he had nothing to
focus on, nothing to stop the scarlet scene in his mind's eye.
And when Obi-Wan awakened it was likely that Qui-Gon Jinn would
be the last person he would need
He wandered through his rooms, took a shower using the scented
soap his former Padawan had given him last year, dried with a
towel that was Obi-Wan's because the laundry kept forgetting
the Knight had his own rooms now, eventually ended up curled
only in his robe, on his sofa, drinking wine they had bought
together on their last mission to Alderan. That had been a good
time, with much laughter, and light-hearted teasing over their
mind link as Qui-Gon told him to be more respectful and Obi-Wan
kept running visuals of each dignitary as some sort of galactic
reptile. There was no real disrespect, just boredom, and in the
end he had flashed back a mental image of the sanctimonious
High Priest in fishnet stocking and high heels, and Obi-Wan had
been sorely tried not to bend double with laughter.
His hair was too long now, falling over his shoulders, and
Qui-Gon had not bothered to tie it back. He tucked a strand
behind his ear, remembering, then the moment was gone and he
was seeing blood in the wine glass. He tossed it away and it
shattered on the floor.
"Stop it, you damned idiot!" His words echoed, because these
rooms, which had housed Obi-Wan until his Knighthood, were also
too empty, too quiet, too dark. He had a sudden need to be
closer to Obi-Wan, to the man he had become. Gathering his robe
around him, he left his rooms and went down the hall and around
the corner, palmed the door there and went inside.
A Knight's accommodations. One bedroom, bath with shower, a
common room, a small alcove/kitchen. Decoration was sparse,
with occasional flares of color amid neutral tones. Qui-gon
remembered helping to carry in the big sofa, moving it from
space to space until the new Knight was satisfied. In the end,
it was left exactly where Qui-Gon's sofa sat in his rooms,
because Obi-Wan was comfortable with a sofa being in that spot.
These rooms were quiet, but when he opened himself to the Force
Obi-Wan was everywhere. The smell of him especially. Clean and
dirty, shower fresh and covered in sweat, his favorite tea,
with honey, fresh fruit, cressa bread, and Celeciad seed oil.
And another scent, suddenly sharp in his nostrils, of sex.
Without thinking, Qui-gon went through to the bedroom. He'd
never been in this room before until he had searched for the
vidtape. Besides the bed, the only piece of furniture of any
significance was the rock cabinet. Of all the objects in the
rooms, this one held the highest signature Force, because
Obi-Wan had poured his whole life into it. It was larger now
than when it had been in the second bedroom of his Master. Two
years larger, some twenty missions or more, one more drawer
added to the bottom.
Qui-Gon pulled out the top drawer again, this time clearing it
from the cabinet. He sat on the bed and balanced the tray on
his thighs, touching each stone, reading the dates, missions,
comments. A red stone with yellow streaks, date,
mission/comment, "Terriul Province to persuade King to get back
with Queen. Sympathize with King - Queen looks like a fish.
Good sweetcakes."
A black clod, not quite stone, from Bestine. "Trade franchise
for this goop. I hate mud. Midi-clorians and mud - the two
things I can find on any planet."
An orange fire-rock from Suthuila 3. "Government overthrow.
Found in street when tripped over body. Ran for miles, carried
further. Fed by fat farmer and 3 daughters. Great cressa
bread." No mention of his injury there, Qui-Gon noted. Of how
the boy's leg had twisted on the steep mountain path, and the
fall stopped by Qui-Gon's use of the Force. He hadn't seemed
any weight at all, and it hadn't been so far to the fat
farmer's house. The three daughters had been interesting.
Qui-Gon did not remember anything about cressa bread.
He went on to the next stone, a small pebble really, of no
distinguishing marks. Now that was odd. A date only, and two
words: "Waking sleep." Qui-Gon thought about it, trying to
remember back 13 years. After Suthuila 3. Baranthia -- another
mission, and wasn't that when Obi-Wan had come down with fever?
Qui-Gon set the tray aside and leaned back against the pillows,
still half-sitting, trying to jog his memories. He had been
kept in meetings for days, staying in touch with Obi-Wan by
mind link, always told that Obi-Wan was fine, practicing his
lessons, and all was well. On the third day, he felt the slight
disturbance, but was assured everything was all right. He was
taking two hour naps between talks, and it woke him from a
light sleep. A niggle of unrest, nausea, a quick shift in
barriers to not disturb him.
Obi-Wan?
Master... it was weak but entirely obedient. I don't
feel too well.
Understatement. The boy had not wanted to bother him, and by
the time Qui-Gon got there he was burning with fever, violently
retching, babbling incoherently.
All talks stopped or went on without him. He spent a week with
his Padawan, keeping him cool, soothing fever induced
nightmares, and using the living Force to hold him in light
stasis, so his body could heal itself without all the attendant
miseries of vomiting, diarrhea, and such. "Waking sleep," the
card read. Yes, perhaps that's what the living Force would feel
like in that case.
Obi-Wan's initial first-hand knowledge of that part of the
Force that sang with life. Looking again at the pebble, he
recognized it for a tiny hearthpiece, probably picked up when
he had carried his apprentice close to the fire as he
recovered.
Interesting.
PART TWO
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
The com link went off, and Qui-Gon reached for it, still
half-asleep, only to find there was no table next to the bed,
and even the bed was foreign. "Lights," he commanded, and then
remembered. He must have fallen asleep, remembering old times.
At least there had been no blood in his dreams.
The com link sounded again, and he realized this was the wall
unit. He left his robe behind in the bed, and gave a quick
thought to time - 3rd hour - long before dawn. As he reached to
punch the signal on, he paused and searched along his mind link
to Obi-Wan. It might be shut down, but it had not broken.
Knight Kenobi still lived. Therefore Qui-Gon still hoped.
Healer Marquand sounded tired. "Just wanted to let you know,
we've decided to call in Healer Salint. Actually Yoda called
him a couple of days ago but forgot to mention that to us.
Anyway, he'll be here in a few hours. DO NOT COME. Give him
time to do his work."
One side of Qui-Gon's mouth went up. "Thank you."
Healer Salint was considered the greatest medic in the Galaxy,
after those at the Coruscant Temple, and he had quite a bit
more experience with blaster injuries, coming originally from
one of the Corellian outposts. He kept a huge hospital on
Corellia Prime now, but years ago Qui-Gon had met him while he
was a Med Force Healer on a mercy mission dovetailing with the
Jedi's. Obi-Wan had been there, too. Qui-Gon wondered if Healer
Salint would remember the Padawan, and then wondered what
coercion Yoda had used to get such a busy man to come so
quickly for the sake of a lowly Jedi Knight with a blasted gut.
Qui-Gon touched the mind link carefully. I don't care if
you're listening or not. You will not die. DO YOU HEAR ME? You
will NOT DIE.
In response there was nothing more than the same hum of 'there
but not open.' Sighing, he went to the kitchen alcove and
looked through cabinets. Very basic supplies, but they hadn't
been on Coruscant for more than a couple of days in the last
six months. He needed warmth on the inside where it had started
to get very cold.
Hot tea and some stale crackers would do. They'd had worse and
less many times.
He took his repast back into the bedroom, not knowing why
particularly. Maybe because Obi-Wan seemed less not there in
this room where he slept, and with the rocks. Qui-Gon sat on
the bed, sipped his tea and pulled the drawer closer. After the
hearth pebble all the stones were indexed and he remembered
most of the missions, though his Padawan seemed mainly to
categorize each place by whether or not he liked the food
and/or the weather. Setting the tea, still steaming, on the
bedside cabinet, he returned the top drawer and took out the
second.
The first stone was a clear purple crystal with dark
inclusions. There was a date, sometime around Obi-Wan's 15th
birthday, and the words: "Saw Qui-Gon." Qui-Gon tried to put
some meaning on the two words. Of course Obi-Wan had seen him.
They were pretty much together all the time. That particular
stage of development necessitated close supervision from
Masters with human Padawans. Rebellion was strong, a constant
testing, and not of apprentices, but of their teachers. Basics
set down now could form the strengths of the entire future. He
could not remember doing anything that his teenage Padawan
could have found worthy of a rock.
He touched the stone and withdrew his finger as if it had been
burned. There was Force there, gathered in the crystalline
eddies, where he had least expected it. He eyed the purple and
then let his curiosity take over, opening himself to the Force
in the inclusions, drawing it out.
And he saw. Saw himself from Obi-Wan's point of view. Coming
in quietly from exercises to innocently ask him something,
hours before he was supposed to be there. Coming to the bedroom
door, raising his hand to knock, the door swinging open. . .
The other man's name was Wingfle, tall and strikingly good
looking, with a pleasant face and glorious body, in which
Qui-Gon was taking great pleasure. He saw himself, head thrown
back, hair swinging, as he knelt behind this casual lover,
buried deep inside him. He felt astonishment, then shock, then
a curl of something else, and a rapid lift of shields. The men
on the bed had not seen him, were too involved with each other
to notice, and the door was pulled closed and the memory ended.
"Saw Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan had never in any way shown him what he
had seen . Qui-Gon remembered Wingfle. They had been eating,
fully clothed, just talking, when Obi-Wan knocked on the door
and peeked his head around. There had been no strange look, no
shyness or curiosity. He touched the stone again and got a last
image. His Padawan in meditation for hours. Oh, Obi-Wan. You
should have said something.
They still wouldn't let him in. Qui-gon stood outside the
door, arms in his sleeves, and waited with apparent patience,
the picture of a stalwart Jedi Master. Inside he was a mass of
swirling emotion, all of which boiled down to 'Obi-Wan will not
die.' Healer Salint was there with him now, had been for over
an hour. Qui-Gon had waited until after the healer should have
been through with his exam, only to arrive and find the ship
from Corellia had been delayed. So now he waited.
He had stood in heavy ceremonial garb for hours in hot
sunlight without a problem, and in pouring rain without much
notice, able to gather the Force around himself and sink in for
the duration. Standing outside the door to Obi-Wan's room, time
dragged to a standstill. He stood, and waited, kept their link
open from his end. Any sign, anything. He would take anger and
even hate, disappointment. Just let him be alive.
It started infinitesimal, and grew to tiny. Qui-Gon's head
went up and he closed his eyes, focusing internally. The Force
holding Obi-Wan in his quiet coma was being carefully removed,
and he was waking. Without hesitation, he opened the door, and
when Healer Marquand whirled around, he waved a hand and
blocked anything she might have said or done. It was his right
to be here. She glared at him and turned back to the bed, where
Healer Salint held both hands steadily over Obi-wan, channeling
almost incandescent Force. It covered him like a blanket,
giving his waxy features faint color, and it was being slowly
unraveled, each strand carefully pulled away, until there was
only a dim light between Salint's fingers. He channeled it
straight into Obi-Wan's forehead and the Knight opened his
eyes.
He did not toss as he had before, his eyes were sentient now,
and the first thing he saw , across the room with his back to
the door, was his former Master. He said nothing, and there was
nothing in his eyes to greet him. No anger, no disappointment.
Bare recognition.
Healer Salint asked softly, "Obi-Wan?"
And Qui-Gon saw light fill the Knight's expression as he
turned toward the voice. Obi-Wan reached out a hand that shook,
wrist almost skeletal, and Salint took it in both of his.
Obi-Wan said, "Sal? You're here?"
"Well, of course I'm here." Salint was smiling down at him,
stroking his cheek with one finger. "Where else would I be, you
idiot?"
Qui-Gon watched a moment longer, enough time to see Obi-Wan's
answering smile, then left the room, closing the door carefully
behind him.
PART THREE
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
Bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
He walked in the gardens but could only see hazel eyes that
barely recognized him. How many times had those eyes lightened
at the sight of him? Always. From the very beginning. He had
grown accustomed to seeing that light, depended on it, did not
realize how much he needed it until it was gone.
Beings began to stop him, asking him about Obi-Wan. Somehow he
answered graciously, but it sent him to his rooms, seeking
solitude. His mind link with Obi-Wan remained and he could tell
that the Knight was still awake, but shields were firmly in
place against him. He did not push, would not do anything that
cost Obi-Wan any more energy.
Calls came in. Healer Salint's arrival was noted and everyone
wanted to know. He answered none of them, and finally left his
own rooms to retreat even further to the only place where no
one would bother him. Down the hall and around the corner. This
time he took his own journal pad.
He went straight to the rock cabinet and pulled out the third
drawer. Only one special stone, dated when Obi-Wan was 16. The
words were: "Soft lair." He pulled up the date from his
journal, and there it was. Obi-Wan had successfully completed
the Twimsum, an incredibly complicated series of mental and
physical exercises. He had practiced with another Master, had
toiled on his own after doing hours of regularly assigned work,
and had presented his Master with the perfect execution, a full
two years before anyone had ever done it before. He had done it
for no reason other than he wanted Qui-Gon to have a good
birthday present. And Sith knew that no matter what The Code
said about pride, Qui-Gon had definitely had an excellent
birthday.
Fourth drawer. Dates taking his Padawan into his seventeenth
year. There were two special remembrances. One was a plain
pebble, with what appeared to be grass stains, labeled: "First
time."
Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. He remembered that occasion. They
were on a mission to one of the inner worlds, ceremonial, with
all the fancy trappings of banquets and balls and elegant
dress. Obi-Wan had enjoyed himself because there were humans
his own age that took him in for various activities. It had
quickly become apparent that one of the group, a very good
looking young man with long blonde hair, had taken quite a
fancy to his Padawan. Qui-Gon looked up the time period in his
journal and found the exact date. 'Obi-Wan home quite late, not
talking, but serene. Somewhere in the night he has lost his
virginity. He seems inordinately pleased about it.'
The second stone was beautiful, a deep fire orange jewel. He
was almost 18 by the date. The label read: "Innis here."
Qui-Gon frowned. The only Innis he knew was a young Knight,
permanently attached to the Temple on Methelir. His journal
told him nothing except he had perceived his Padawan as being
distracted for a few days, and tired. He was disciplined once
with extra work and had accepted it without complaint or ill
humor. Qui-Gon shook his head. How had he missed it? But
Obi-Wan's shields were quite good by that point, and his
journal indicated he himself had spent a large amount of time
in Council session over some flap or other. Qui-Gon touched the
jewel. Methelin's prime export was its Delta crystals, used
over a large part of the galaxy for energy magnification.
Qui-Gon put the drawer back carefully. How many affairs had he
'not noticed.' How many had he not wanted to notice? Had
Obi-Wan been right? In that final flurry of words, had he
spoken the truth?
Qui-Gon pulled out the fifth drawer, sat with it on the bed.
Dates were for the Padawan's 18-20 years. Fewer rocks because
they had spent so much time back in Coruscant so Obi-Wan could
catch up on his work with other Masters, pass his teaching
trial, take some of the upper level work. The first stone was
right in the middle of this time period. It was familiar, and
explained why there was a small piece of stone missing from the
walls in his own rooms. The words said only: "He sees."
Qui-Gon had no idea what it meant until he put it together
with his journal. Oh, yes. The journal said only, 'Doing
meditations in minding my own business,' but there was no need
to say more. He had walked in on his apprentice and another
Padawan having sex and had stood there a moment too long, with
the vision of Obi-Wan's moving body etched in silver moonlight.
He had shut the door and gone away immediately.
But the label said, "He sees." There had been no mention of
the incident, nothing from Obi-Wan at all. No change in
anything. But it was the first time he had seen his Padawan as
something other than, well, his apprentice. And Obi-Wan had
known that for a few seconds his Master had watched him, and
had savored the memory. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a long
moment, reliving it.
Until the mental picture filled with a wash of scarlet and all
he saw was blood.
He pushed the sight away and almost frantically felt along
their link. Still there. It didn't matter any more if the link
was open. As long as it was THERE. As long as Obi-Wan was
alive. He whispered, "The Force can't have you yet." He laughed
harshly at his own words, then bowed his head and fought for
control.
The negativity was collected and released. Qui-Gon took a
breath and went to the next rock. It looked like milky quartz.
It was labeled: "Bell tones."
There was nothing in his own notes. They were on a mission on
the other side of the galaxy, working in an entire star system.
Obi-Wan had been doing quite a bit of work on his own,
especially in outlying areas. The journal talked about how
excellent his work was, how much more adult he seemed, but that
was not unexpected. Obi-Wan's work was always of the highest
standard, and he was a young adult. Qui-Gon was complimented
everywhere they went on his apprentice's abilities, his charm,
his loyalty and diplomacy. Of course those doing the
complimenting did not know what was going on in the Padawan's
head at the time. But he did. Obi-Wan was no angel by any
means.
He glanced at some of the stones set around the milky quartz.
Now the notes were written in a man's hand, and spoke of
diplomatic intrigues, understanding of missions. There was no
mention of food, weather only if it had hampered them. Qui-Gon
observed that he was no longer called Master; he had become
simply 'Qui'. There were many 'Qui told me,' and 'Qui said,'
sentences. There was never a suggestion that 'Qui' could be
wrong about anything.
Well, he'd taken a giant tumble off that pedestal.
The next drawer had no special stones. The seventh drawer took
them through Obi-Wan's knighting. Two beads from his Padawan
braid sat in the small cubicle. No need for more than the date.
Next to it another two word label: "Asked. Answered." The stone
was a Gellititian crystal, used for fuel on that planet, the
first place they had gone after Obi-Wan became a knight. It was
an easy assignment, a chance for the new knight to get his feet
wet as a full-fledged diplomatic ambassador. The stone was
crusted and charred on one end.
Qui-Gon did not bother to open his journal. Gellitia was
burned into his memories as well. Obi-Wan had done his job
admirably and they were leaving the next day for a more
difficult negotiation in another sector. That night in their
quarters, with fuel crystals burning prisms in the fireplace,
Obi-Wan had come to him, told him of his love, and offered
himself to his Master.
It had been too soon. Obi-Wan was a grown man and Qui-Gon
wanted him to realize his potential. He'd said it, but in his
heart all he saw was the scrawny little boy. The one brief
moment of realizing his apprentice had become a beautiful man
was buried -- inappropriate, against the Code. All those years
couldn't be erased overnight. And he'd said, "I still think of
you as my Padawan...I'm sorry..."
And Obi-Wan had risen to his feet with perfect balance,
answering, "I'm not your Padawan anymore, Qui, and perhaps you
need to get used to it."
It was after his shower and he was wearing only his robe.
Obi-Wan wore sleep pants. He stood in front of Qui-Gon, unlaced
the pants slowly, shifted a little and let them fall to his
feet. The crystal fire flickered prisms over his pale body, and
it was a man's body, muscled and strong, lean and hardened.
Obi-Wan stepped toward him again, then knelt beside the chair.
He was dazed, stunned by the leap his body had made without his
mind being involved.
Obi-Wan whispered, "Tonight, Qui-Gon Jinn. Want me for this
night. Please."
He was kissed with lips that knew how to prolong the feeling,
tasted by tongue that snaked provocatively against his own. He
had tried to speak, to stop this, but Obi-Wan held him in the
kiss until he was returning it, pulling the younger man over
the edge of the chair, into his arms. He felt it was wrong, but
he was responding; this was a man who wanted him, a beautiful
creature, treasured, and sacred. Not to be used in any way. Yet
his body responded to the hands traveling over him like a
map-maker, charting out the planes and angles, crests and
ridges, mouth following hands, exploring. He was breathless in
an instant, fully erect the next. Obi-Wan was hard against him,
still touching, kissing, undulating closer.
Somewhere between that first sinuous flow of body over his,
and the second, he had lost his mind.
They ended up on the bed, Obi-Wan under him, reaching for his
erection, his other arm pulling Qui-Gon closer, to be kissed,
unabashedly licked, and he had begun an exploration of his own.
He held his weight on his arms, bending to trail his tongue
down the cleft chin, the exposed neck, between nipples, down
the flat stomach, muscles rippling where he touched. He could
hear a low moan rise from the body under him and arms go tight
around him, and Obi-Wan was saying, "Tonight. Just for tonight
then. Love me tonight. . ."
His lips went from stomach, to large cock and Obi-Wan had
arched up into his mouth, begging to be sucked. And he had,
letting Obi-Wan fuck his mouth, sucking hard, settling over
him, holding his slender hips in his hands. There were hands in
his hair, twisting, pulling.
He wasn't thinking. He had lost his mind, hadn't he?
Reluctantly, he let go of the hard length, with a last lick
over the head, ignoring the groan of loss from Obi-Wan. For a
moment he gazed down at the faintly golden figure panting
beneath him. Laid out like a sacrifice, arms out wide, head
back, exposed, totally vulnerable. He waited too long. Obi-Wan
let out a sound like a snarl. He sat up and shoved Qui-Gon back
so hard he bounced on the bed.
Then Obi-Wan straddled him, twisting, grinding their groins
together. Qui-Gon had let the sweet heat flow over him, and
when Obi-Wan paused he had allowed it, letting the younger man
to position himself, sliding his body down in one move to
sheath Qui-Gon's cock. He held still for a long moment then
rose and fell, and Qui-Gon had met him, thrusting up, his hands
reaching until they found Obi-Wan's rampant length, stroking,
thrust for thrust.
It could not last long. Obi-Wan rode him hard, and the
incandescence went through him like a wave, centering in his
groin. One more thrust and his whole body arched, and he was
pulsing and pulsing into heat. Obi-Wan froze with him,
incredible ecstasy on his face, a look that Qui-Gon had never
forgotten. Then Obi-Wan had come, and when it was over his
former apprentice had fallen heavily asleep, wrapped in
Qui-Gon's arms.
And Qui-Gon had fallen asleep, too. No chance to come to terms
with what the consequences might be for losing his mind.
In the morning he was alone. Obi-Wan had left a brief note on
his compad saying their pick-up ship had arrived and he had
gone to meet the Captain. Their bags were packed, the room was
spotless and Qui-Gon had nothing more to do but shower and
dress.
The Captain had been waiting for him, they were late. To his
question, he was told that Obi-Wan was in communications on a
holo-call. Reporting in, no doubt, letting the Temple know they
were moving on to their next destination. He had gone to his
assigned room and was unpacking for a long space voyage when
Obi-Wan came in. Calm, serene, smiling a little.
Qui-Gon remembered with complete clarity, as if it had just
happened. He had turned, some banal greeting on his lips, and
Obi-Wan had moved a hand, a small Force wave asking him to be
silent.
"I wanted to tell you," Obi-Wan began, and there had been no
strain in his voice. "Last night was. . .a special gift to me.
But I know you don't feel the same way about me that I do about
you. And I can't do it again with you because I need more from
you, and you can't give it to me."
He had started to answer, stopped again by the slightest of
smiles.
"It's perfectly all right, Qui-Gon. We work so well together.
Let's don't do anything to hinder that. The work we do is
important. So last night is over and we won't bring it up
again." With that he had gone. When they saw each other for
dinner with the Captain, Obi-Wan seemed to be his normal self,
older maybe, but there had been no untended emotion, no pain he
could feel. Trust as always. Love as always. Respect. No pain.
Qui-Gon blinked, putting the memory away. The special rocks,
the times Obi-Wan felt were so special that he had not even
suspected. . .how much pain had he caused that he never knew
about? How much had Obi-Wan been forced to hide? Words from
their last argument whirled in his mind: "You don't know me,
Qui-Gon, you haven't known who I am for years." Impossible,
but, it seemed, this was the truth.
The door chime sounded loudly in the silence and Qui-Gon
jumped, almost dislodging the drawer in his hands. He set it
aside. No one knew he was here, everyone knew Obi-Wan was
injured. He went into the common room and waved a hand.
The door opened and Qui-Gon felt a terrible fear hit him like
a slap in the face when Salint entered. The Healer was tall,
broad-shouldered, with close cropped dark hair and a day's
growth of beard. He had large brown eyes, kind eyes with deep
laugh lines and severe intensity. He did not look happy.
Qui-Gon let the door frame hold him up. "Obi-Wan?"
"Alive. Awake. Severely disturbed." Salint sat heavily on the
sofa. "This has nothing to do with the blaster injury or the
infection. I can fix that. Hell, you did most of the hard work
before you got back to Coruscant."
Qui-Gon relaxed a little and sat heavily in the nearest chair;
his legs had gone out from under him. "Severely disturbed?"
Salint considered him for a moment, then leaned forward. "To
get into this, I'm going to have to ask you some very personal
questions. I know you want him to live. Anybody else would
already be dead. YOU kept him alive. But you have to be
completely honest with me. If I don't know what's going on --
well, frankly I think he's going to die."
"NO!" Qui-Gon rose in one fluid motion. He turned away, then
back. "No, he won't die. I don't matter at all. Ask me anything
you want."
Salint nodded. "First, you should know that Obi-Wan and I have
been friends for years. Good friends. Even lovers." Salint sat
back again. "Lovers in the beginning, then friends. We've kept
in touch over the years. I've acted as a sounding board, I
think."
Another thing he'd never known. Obi-Wan had never mentioned
Salint, ever. One more lover he'd known nothing about. A friend
he didn't even suspect.
Salint went on. "He has been so in love with you for so long.
He's been willing to do anything just to be with you."
Qui-Gon said softly, "I thought. . .I didn't know."
"The renowned Qui-Gon Jinn," Salint shook his head. "As far as
I can see, you're either a fucking bastard or you're just
fucking stupid. I was the one who told him to wait until he was
Knighted. I told him to tell you how he felt. So he did and the
next morning he called me on the ship's vid channel. He was
crying like a baby."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes.
"He said you'd given him some story about how you still
thought of him as your Padawan. He was perfectly clear that he
seduced you. He was also sure that your seduction had nothing
to do with love. Not on your side anyway. Not the kind of love
he needed. Still needs."
Qui-Gon sat down again, listening.
"I told him to get out of it. Request a change. Get away from
you. You know what he said? He said, 'I don't trust his safety
to anyone but me.' Even then, all he could worry about was your
life, what YOU wanted." Salint's tone held disgust. "You don't
deserve him."
"I know."
"Really?" Salint seemed about to say more, then shook his head
"somehow I doubt it. He told me later what he'd said to you. It
must have taken incredible courage. But, of course, we can't
let Qui-Gon Jinn have any guilt in this. We have to make it
easy for our perfect Jedi Master."
Salint stopped, taking a deep breath.
Qui-Gon whispered, "It didn't seem to bother him. It didn't
seem to affect him at all. I thought that if he could get over
it so quickly that it must have been just a case of wanting
what you can't have and then, when you get it, you find you
don't want it anymore."
"I know what Obi-Wan did after that," Salint told him. "What
did you do?"
"I left it entirely alone." Qui-Gon was remembering the last
two years. "That first morning...on the ship...I was going to
tell him I was wrong, that I didn't see him as my apprentice,
not anymore. But..." He trailed off. He hadn't pushed, had he?
They had gone on missions together, washed, slept, ate,
meditated together. Their working bond had grown in place of
the training bond, solid, saving their lives again and again.
If Obi-Wan had wanted more, he never gave any sign. "I didn't
push things."
"Why? Unless, were you comfortable with nothing?"
Qui-Gon didn't answer directly. "We were on that ship for six
weeks. We hadn't been there more than half that time before he
was bedding one of the officers."
He looked Salint in the eyes for the first time. "Believe me
when I tell you that it was much better for everyone that I
just let it go."
"You were jealous."
"I was furious. I could have strangled the officer with my
bare hands. I had no right to be possessive, but I was." He'd
spent most of the last three weeks on that ship meditating.
Clearing his feelings, over and over. Every time he saw Obi-Wan
smiling at the other man. Especially that one night, when most
of the ship's officers were in the lounge area after dinner.
Obi-Wan had slowly gotten to his feet, walking toward the
door, and he had paused, looking at the officer -- just
looking, as he picked up a half-full bottle of wine. His eyes
had gone half-closed, sultry, clearly offering an invitation.
Then he had simply, languidly, walked out the door. In less
than a minute the officer followed him. Neither had shown up
for breakfast.
Salint asked, "You don't want him but nobody else can have
him? What did you expect him to do? He needed somebody to need
him. Can't you understand that? He was hurt and here was
someone who told him he was beautiful and desirable and someone
he didn't have to seduce to have sex. Casual, uncomplicated
sex."
"I understood it was just sex," Qui-Gon told him. "And it
wasn't the last time."
"All right." Salint half-smiled. "So let's get this straight.
He said nothing to you because he was protecting you, and he
didn't want to leave you. I told him that was ridiculous. We
fought about it quite a bit. And you said nothing to him
because. . ."
"What makes you think I had the right to say anything to him?"
Qui-Gon heard his voice rise and re-centered himself. "He was
having a good time, wasn't he? I am not his Master any more and
his body is his own."
Salint said softly, "And he always came home to you."
"Yes, I suppose so. Yes." This was awful. Horrible. Laying
bare even glimpses of his innermost thoughts. It had been
bearable because, in the end, Obi-Wan always came back to him.
"Well, it worked for two years, and apparently very well."
Salint fixed that intense gaze on him. "I had a letter from him
not long before the incident. Everything was all right. He was
involved with someone, it wasn't a grand passion, but he was
thinking about looking ahead."
"Tasher Drake. He was our pilot. We traveled from one capitol
to another."
"That's what I know, Master Jinn. So now you tell me. What
went wrong?"
Qui-Gon saw the day over again, wanted it to go away,
understood that it wouldn't and that the healer needed to know.
"We had an argument."
Salint waited.
"We rarely disagree about anything." He sighed. "I'm beginning
to think that was one of our problems." Qui-Gon went on, "He
was supposed to have some figures ready for the final signing.
Five minutes work. But he hadn't done them yet. In fact, he
didn't even come back until it was time to go to the square.
He'd been gone all night, with Tash. He looked -- frankly, he
looked well fucked."
"So you got mad."
Annoyed. The figures weren't actually that important. I didn't
get angry until he brushed aside the figures. Said he'd have
them done straight away. It seemed. . ." Qui-Gon was searching
for words, "it seemed as if the mission didn't matter. It
seemed as if the only thing he was thinking about was Tasher
Drake. For the first time he was letting someone take more
importance than our work."
Salint nodded. "And that scared you senseless. Because. . ."
"Because that meant he put someone else before me." Qui-Gon
said it slowly, knowing it was true. "So THEN I got angry..."
Angry. It had taken all his control not to reach out and shake
Obi-Wan until his teeth rattled. Instead, he'd ground out, in
as withering a manner as possible: "What is more important,
Knight Kenobi - the mission we're on or the warm body you seem
to have in every port - and every transport?"
Obi-Wan's hazel eyes had darkened to the green of a tornadic
sky. "I overslept, Master Jinn. It happens. Get over it."
"Overslept?" Qui-Gon's voice had been cold, disbelieving and
his tone was harsh. "Like hell. If you want to amuse yourself
fucking anything that moves, including our very accommodating
pilot, that's your business, but not at the expense of our
work."
"The figures are not that important."
"If I say they're important, they're important! What is it
about young Tash that is so diverting Obi-Wan? He must be quite
something -- I've never known you. . ."
Obi-Wan cut him off. "You want, you say, you order...no, you
don't know me, Qui-Gon; you haven't known whom I am for years.
Haven't wanted to know. If you don't want me, then why can't I
be with someone who does? Anyone would be better than you. I'm
sick of all the questions, the covering up, the lies. Enough."
It was all the more deadly for not being shouted. "You may want
to be alone on a pedestal for the rest of your life, Qui-Gon,
but I do not."
Qui-Gon came back to the present; Salint was regarding Qui-Gon
with a bit more sympathy. "And?"
"He told me to get out of his head. Then he shut down the bond
we have and went out the door. Neither of us picked up the
danger. We should have, but we didn't. The blaster shot hit him
as soon as he got to the street."
He saw it again. Himself, stunned by the break in their bond,
just standing there, listening to the echoes of the slammed
door, then hearing the blaster shot. Bolting out the door,
sudden terror, and all that blood. Obi-Wan was crumpled,
face-down in the puddle. There was blood everywhere, even the
muddy water was red.
The healer studied Qui-Gon for a long time, the silence
stretching between them until it had a shape and feel of its
own. Finally, he nodded, as one coming to a decision. "All
right. You can see him."
"What?"
"Talk to him. Tell him the truth."
"Which is?"
Salint grinned, it lit up his tired face. "Stop being a
diplomat. Just tell him you're in love with him. Have been for
at least two years. Tell him you're the biggest fucking idiot
in the entire Galaxy. You'll have to convince him of that, but
the Great Master Jinn should be capable of that kind of
persuasion." The grin faded. He pinned Qui-Gon with the most
direct look the Jedi could ever remember encountering. "If you
don't, he'll die. He's exhausted all his reserves. I'm no Jedi,
but I can guess something of the tremendous energy that's been
needed to hide all this from you."
Qui-Gon's expression was wry. "He may just toss me out on my
ass."
Salint shrugged. "So? Toss yourself right back at him."
PART FOUR
Light Takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep , and take my waking slow.
"Is this wise?" Healer Marquand looked even more doubtful than
she sounded.
Salint nodded. "Necessary. What do you do when a wound
festers?"
Marquand frowned. "Drain the infection. Wash it with bacta.
Pack it with. . .oh."
"I'll see they're not physically interrupted. If you can
deflect the Council members for the time being?"
"I can deflect Council members with one hand tied behind my
back, Salint."
"Good." He started to walk away, then turned back, "Doing
anything for dinner, say -- tomorrow evening, Marquand?"
"What?" She blinked at him, "Are you asking me out?"
"Yes."
"You think this will work?"
"Yes."
"Meet me here. 15th hour."
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
Jedi Masters do not, as a rule, experience extreme
nervousness. Qui-Gon Jinn was known for breaking rules, and
this was no exception. He stood outside the door to Obi-Wan's
room, attempting to gather his wits about him. They insisted on
scattering like leaves in an autumn wind. He might have stood
there forever, except for a cool voice which called through the
barrier between them: "Are you coming in? I'm supposed to be
resting. That's hard to do with you staring a hole in the
door."
Qui-Gon sighed. So much for presenting a collected facade. But
then, Salint was right. The time for masks was long past.
He palmed the door and went in.
Obi-Wan looked decidedly better. Still much too pale, of
course, and there were bacta tubes running into his left arm
and abdomen. But he was awake, and the hazel eyes though wary,
were no longer devoid of expression when they looked at
Qui-Gon.
"How did you know I was outside?" Their bond was still shut
down.
Obi-Wan snorted. "A two year old initiate could have picked up
on that."
Qui-Gon smiled faintly. Doubtless he had been -- probably was
-- broadcasting all over the place. "Thank you for seeing me."
As much of a shrug as exhaustion and tubes would allow. "Sal
insisted. "
"I must thank him, then."
"I trust him."
That hurt. Qui-Gon couldn't quite stop himself from wincing.
"So, what is it that is so important it can't wait? If it's
about my being reassigned, I've already decided to put in a
request as soon as they let me out of bed."
Dry-mouthed, Qui-Gon said, "No, its not about you being
reassigned."
"Then what?"
He marveled at Obi-Wan's ability to shield and act so coolly,
even now, even when he had just been redirected from death's
door. He'd always known his former Padawan was remarkably
gifted, but this was extraordinary. If the situation had been
different he would have been. . .if the situation had been
different, Obi-Wan wouldn't have needed the ability in the
first place.
"Do you remember Gallitia?"
Obi-Wan's apparent cool shifted just a bit. "First mission
after my knighting. Of course."
"You should have stayed around the next morning."
Apparent cool was dissipating like fog in hot summer sun.
"Why? So you could do the whole "that was nice, but you're
still like a Padawan to me, my child," speech?"
"Salint tells me I am the biggest fucking idiot in the entire
galaxy, Obi-Wan. I think he may be right. But even I'm not so
stupid as to wake after an. . .after what we shared and think
you a child. Or just my Padawan. You ran away." As he said it,
Qui-Gon realized it was true. Obi-Wan hadn't been able to face
him.
"So? At least that way I could. . ."
"You could what?"
"It doesn't matter." More than a hint of the old stubbornness.
Qui-Gon took a deep, calming breath, and sat down on the side
of the bed. "It does matter."
"Why? What difference does it make now? Oh," hazel eyes
narrowed to slits, "Sal's been telling you Obi's tales of woe,
is that it? You feel sorry for me."
Qui-Gon looked at the worn, too-thin face and shook his head.
"Believe this, if you never believe anything else I ever say to
you, Obi-Wan -- I feel many things for you, but pity is not
among those emotions. Never that. You don't need it. You ran
away, then you never did let me say a word, even after we were
on the transport."
"I wanted to keep the. . .memory, intact. Untainted."
"Like the stones and crystals in your cabinet."
That surprised the Knight. "Yes. Besides, what would you have
said?"
"That I'm obtuse, often clueless, but that I love you."
"You said I didn't care for you the way you did for me. The
way you needed." Qui-Gon wanted to touch, but did not dare. "I
would have told you that you were wrong. That I did care. But
you convinced me that you were fine, and I was too afraid to
push things, and then you went off and seem quite content with
someone else." He studied the plain blanket that covered
Obi-Wan, knowing his former apprentice was watching him
closely, but unable just then to meet his eyes. "I was afraid
of losing you. And so, that's exactly what's happened. You were
right -- I deliberately refused to see you as you are. And you
helped, Ben, hiding behind shields all these years, even when
you were a child. Even your real feelings. Innis, Salint, how
many other friends and lovers don't I know about?"
He managed to not jump when Obi-Wan's hand tentatively covered
his own. "I'm so sorry. I did it at first because I was just
embarrassed. Then because I cared so much. Too much. I kept
hoping someone would be able to fill in the gap you left, but
no one did."
Qui-Gon raised his head and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "Not even
Tash?"
Faint smile, very faint, but it made Qui-Gon's heart lighten
for the first time in months.
"Not even Tash. I tried very hard, but. . .no. He finally --
very kindly -- kicked me out of bed that last morning and told
me to go get the man I really loved. He was happy to be of
service, but preferred partners who didn't call other people's
names out at inappropriate moments."
"Ah." Qui-Gon shifted slightly, tracing a pattern on the back
of Obi-Wan's hand with one finger. "And to think I wanted to
strangle him bare handed."
"You are joking?"
"No. I also wanted to shove that officer on the Talisman out
an airlock. Especially after you slinked out of the officers
lounge with a bottle of wine in your hand and a come hither
look in your eyes. I'm surprised the entire crew didn't follow
you to your cabin. I certainly wanted to. My knees have never
recovered from all the meditation I did on that voyage."
"I wish you had. Followed me, I mean. Shoving people out
airlocks is so uncivilized."
Qui-Gon placed his free hand along the side of Obi-Wan's face.
"Somehow, I don't feel very civilized when it comes to you,
Ben. And, Force knows, I haven't been wise at all. If, at some
point, I'd done what I really wanted to do, maybe you wouldn't
be here, hooked up to these tubes."
The hazel eyes studied Qui-Gon carefully, intently, then began
to grow light. "What did you really want to do?"
"Carry you off and kiss you senseless."
"And?"
Qui-Gon smiled. "Lots of other things. I've got quite a list.
Would you care to see?"
Slowly, tentatively, Obi-Wan re-opened the working bond
between them. Qui-Gon couldn't stop his gasp of relief -- not
until it was back did he realize how much he had missed that
presence within his mind. Carefully, not wanting to overwhelm
the other man, he let his love, a passionate, real, deeply felt
entity flow over their link, followed by a carefully edited set
of images of just what he would like to do with a healthy,
fully operational Obi-Wan. With equal care, he pulled back,
leaving the link open; ridiculously happy when Obi-Wan made no
move to shut it back down.
"Oh." Knight Kenobi's face was decidedly flushed.
"That's it? Oh?"
Grin, eyes dancing with light. "For right now, that's about
all I can do. I take it those images were edited?"
"Slightly. Sal threatened to dismember me if I set back your
recovery."
"Sal. . .he's right. We are two prize idiots."
"Not any more." Qui-Gon said. Definite. Certain. The old
Master in charge tone.
"Yes, Master."
"Never again, Ben. Qui to you. Only that."
"Yes. You're the only one who calls me Ben."
"I'd better be."
"Always."
Qui-Gon ached to do more than just sit there, but common sense
told him that over exertion would do Obi-Wan no good, and
besides, Salint would kill him. He suddenly remembered he'd
brought his love a gift. "I have something for you."
Obi-wan took the small box, studying it curiously, running one
finger over the etching on the top. The carving was beautifully
intricate and impossibly tiny due to small dimensions of the
box. "It's amazing."
"Open it."
He lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, nestled
an object that was clear with deep silver inclusions. They
sparkled even in the subdued med-center lighting. The crystal
was shaped vaguely like a lightening bolt.
"Its from my homeworld. Check to see if I've labeled it
correctly." Qui-Gon instructed. Obi-Wan picked up the crystal
and read. It was labeled, in Qui's flourishing script: "Finally
got it right."
The air between them hummed with the Force; it tingled along
their working bond, which seemed to broaden and deepen in just
the time it took between one breath and the next. "Yes."
EPILOGUE One Standard Year Later
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Obi-Wan smiled as he heard the door to their quarters open,
followed by the now familiar sounds of a cloak being tossed
onto the couch and, a minute later, boots being tugged off and
dropped aside. Another Council meeting and this one had kept
Qui-Gon even later than usual.
Ben?
In bed. I finished the report for the Chancellor and
answered some information inquiries from assorted Senators.
They're flapping about Nividehian oil rights. What was it this
time?
He smiled as Qui-Gon followed his voice into their bedroom.
Sometimes, after all the misery of what he had, privately,
labeled 'the waste of time' years, he still had the urge to
pinch himself, make sure that this was real. Then Qui-Gon was
sitting on the bed, kissing him and it was very real indeed.
"You'll never guess -- oil rights. On Nivideh."
"Well, I never. When do we leave?"
"Two days. It's Tash's ship for transport. Do you mind?"
"Not if you don't."
"I don't. What are you reading?" Qui-Gon got up and began
undressing, tossing the clothing he was wearing in the general
direction of the laundry chute. His sash landed on the cabinet
full of stones. It was taller now, another drawer had been
added.
Obi-Wan suppressed a grin. "Letter from Sal."
"How is he?" Qui-Gon had finished clothes tossing and pulled
the tie-back out of his hair with a sigh of satisfaction. It
was even longer now, the way Obi-Wan liked it.
"Come to bed and I'll tell you."
"Immediately." Qui-Gon slid under the covers beside him. "So,
how is Sal?"
"That's all you have to say when I'm sitting here next to you
naked?"
"Ben, I'm going to do something extremely uncomfortable with
that compad, if you don't answer my question."
"Snarky, aren't we?"
"Oil rights for six hours and the Vice Chancellor droning on
about protocol."
Instantly contrite, Obi-Wan relented. "Well, the exchange
program with our healers teaching in the hospital is going
great. He thinks he might have found another way to regenerate
limbs...oh, yes, he and Healer Marquand are a couple." At that
point, Obi-Wan seemed to be having some trouble breathing. "Um.
. .oh. . .what are you doing, Qui?"
"I've definitely been neglecting you, if you have to ask."
This was muffled, but distinct. "Number 37 on our list. Are you
going to read all night?"
Laughing, Obi-Wan tossed the compad aside.
FINIS
Note: All quotes come from the poem: The Waking, by Theodore
Roethke.
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