"I can't believe you don't sense anything that could be of use to us." Major Pendra's voice was incredulous.
"That's not our problem," Qui-Gon answered wearily, as he unfastened his heavy parka. "We're looking for a band of rebels. And there are so many in the mountains that we could barely count them, much less determine the intentions of them all. If anything, we're sensing too much."
Pendra's mouth curved downward. "I thought you guys were supposed to be our Republic's big guns." The major barely came up to Obi-Wan's shoulder, but was nonetheless somewhat intimidating. "The ones you go to when there's no time to lose. But you're just out there looking over rocks like the rest of us."
Obi-Wan saw the exhaustion in his Master's face, and longed to help him in some way -- to take the bulky pack from his back, to ease him into a chair, to push the Major out of the room and let the older man have some much-needed rest. Once, he might have done any or all of the above.
Now, he simply took up the conversation. "Our Jedi abilities have limits, Major. We've never met Senator Albeth's son and have no connection to him; as such, we'll have to actually get near him to be able to discern his presence. With so many rebel camps to find and search, that's going to take some time." Obi-Wan studied the woman's face for a few moments as he peeled off his heavy coat. "You understand that, really."
Pendra nodded curtly. "I know it. Doesn't mean I like it." Her face softened a little as she stepped to Qui-Gon's side. "Also doesn't mean I have to take it out on you two. Sorry about that."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "No need to apologize, Major." He looked down at Pendra with the first shadow of a smile he'd worn in a long time. "Your concern is understandable."
"We'll start again tomorrow," Obi-Wan added. "I know how hard it is to stop for the day without having made any progress, but we could all sorely use some rest." His own aching back and feet bore testament to his words, but in truth, he was thinking only of Qui-Gon.
Major Pendra nodded. "If I get any word, I'll keep you posted."
"Thank you," Qui-Gon replied, only just remembering to answer as she left.
Their quarters on Louar were spare, to say the least. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon each had a tiny cubicle in the army's mountain encampment; stone walls, a pallet on the floor, and a few simple necessities constituted all the comforts they could expect. Obi-Wan's mild displeasure at this fact turned to humility when he realized they'd been given the best the Louar had to offer.
On this inhospitable world, rich in minerals but no more, people had chosen to live in areas that would have been rejected as savage on most other planets. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were in an encampment in one of Louar's highest mountain ranges, a place properly left to thrill-seekers and masochists. But thousands of people eked out an existence there, despite low oxygen, high altitude, and extreme weather. Of late, Louar had been torn apart by civil insurrection; a small group wanted the restoration of the ancient monarchy and was unwilling to accept the will of the majority. Guerrillas had taken to the numerous caverns and passages in the mountains, striking at the populace and escaping with impunity.
The terrorist acts alone would soon have demanded the Jedi's attention. Now, however, the son of Louar's representative in the Galactic Senate had been kidnapped. Although an exorbitant ransom had been demanded and paid, Senator Albeth doubted that young Canob would be returned alive.
And so Qui-Gon and his young Padawan had spent the last several days searching without direction and, increasingly, without hope.
Qui-Gon let his heavy pack fall from his shoulders with a low groan. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then went to the older man's side. "Master -- are you certain you're all right?"
"I'm not yet so infirm as all that, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, pulling off his parka.
For the past six weeks, Obi-Wan's few attempts at intimate conversation with his Master had been met with similar responses. And he had always let the subject drop immediately. It was safer that way, easier.
But now Obi-Wan's concern for Qui-Gon finally outweighed his fear of rejection. "Nobody said you were infirm. But you are exhausted, and no wonder. Why didn't you let me carry the equipment?"
Qui-Gon was looking at him differently now, his expression unreadable. But he answered easily enough as he lowered himself slowly onto his pallet. "I knew I could handle it. I didn't see any reason to burden you."
"Next time, let me share the load," Obi-Wan insisted. Seeing his Master's stooped posture, he moved to the pallet and sat behind Qui-Gon. Before the older man could protest -- and before Obi-Wan could talk himself out of it -- he began massaging Qui-Gon's shoulders.
"Padawan --" Qui-Gon pulled away slightly.
"Damn it, Qui-Gon, you need this. Will you please just let me --" His voice choked off the end of the question. Obi-Wan paused for a moment. "Or can you not even bear my presence any longer?"
His Master turned around, looking steadily at the younger man. "That's not what I meant. Not at all." He sighed, then turned away again. Just as Obi-Wan's heart started to sink, Qui-Gon said, "Keep going, then."
Obi-Wan hesitated briefly, then began the massage once more. His fingertips made slow circles at the base of Qui-Gon's neck, finding the tension beneath the skin, pressing in upon it. He could feel the vibrations of his Master's voice as he spoke. "Obi-Wan -- this might be a good time to talk."
"What about, Master?" He kept his voice as even as he could.
"You know full well, but I'll answer you all the same. About what happened on Davmiles."
The name of the planet alone sent a cold shiver through Obi-Wan's stomach. Here it comes, he thought. All the anger he's kept from me, all the pain. I have to accept it. We have to get through it; if I can at least salvage our friendship from all this, it will be a blessing.
He was prepared for anything Qui-Gon might say, except the words he actually did speak: "Obi-Wan, do you think you will ever forgive me?"
"What?"
"I know I was cruel. I should never have touched you if I wasn't prepared to commit myself. Not only did I toy with your emotions, but I took my guilt and frustration out on you afterward. The results might have easily have killed you. I do not blame you for wanting some distance." Qui-Gon's head was bowed as he spoke. "I've indulged my own shame that way for some time. But we must work through this if we are to remain Master and Padawan. And if we are not -- if you feel you must move on -- then we must discuss that as well."
Obi-Wan blurted out, "Gods, no. I don't want that. I've never wanted that." He shook his head slowly. "All this time, you thought I was angry at you?"
"I can't imagine why you wouldn't be," Qui-Gon answered simply.
"I thought it was you who couldn't forgive me," Obi-Wan answered. "For what happened with Princess Gemma."
Her name hung in the air between them for a long moment. Finally, Qui-Gon said, "I turned you away. You were free to do as you chose, to move on when you wished. I was not wronged by what happened between you, and I should not have attempted to make you feel guilty."
"I don't feel guilt. But I do feel regret. I hurt you, and I never wished to do that." Obi-Wan longed to continue: I wasn't moving on. I could never give up even the chance of being able to love you.
But he didn't dare push his luck that far yet. The fact that he and Qui-Gon were finally having this conversation, and that Qui-Gon hadn't been quietly despising him all this time, was gift enough for one day.
Qui-Gon shrugged. "As far as I am concerned, I have nothing to forgive. But much to be forgiven for."
"Master -- we have both faltered, these last months. But the greatest pain we have felt has come from the punishment we've inflicted on ourselves, not each other." Obi-Wan laughed ruefully. "I don't pretend to know where we should go from here. But I do know we should stop making so many damned assumptions."
"Not a bad plan, that." He could tell Qui-Gon was smiling too; the older man's relief was as palpable as Obi-Wan's own. His apprentice returned to his earlier task, massaging Qui-Gon's shoulders, surprised at how much more relaxed they already were.
And at how differently he found himself responding to their closeness. A moment ago, he'd felt little other than a real desire to help his Master; during the last weeks, his attraction to Qui-Gon had been buried deep beneath his shame and fear. In only an instant, that had all changed. Another, more electric tension had supplanted their earlier awkwardness.
Obi-Wan accepted the slow kindling, neither shying away from it nor attempting to act on it. Instead, he continued, caressing Qui-Gon's back in firm strokes -- and turning his mind to other matters. "Master -- do you honestly think there's any chance the boy is still alive?"
"I couldn't say. Were these groups being run by professionals, he'd either have been safely returned or confirmed dead by now." Qui-Gon was allowing the touches, relaxing into his Padawan's hands, but otherwise not reacting. "We're dealing with inexperience -- people whose actions are driven by emotion, not strategy. The only advantage that gives them is unpredictability."
"So far, that's the only advantage they've needed," Obi-Wan said.
Qui-Gon gave a soft grunt of approval, though Obi-Wan did not know if it was for his comment or the fact that he was now working on the strained muscles in his Master's lower back. "True. We've exhausted every option trained kidnappers might have exercised. Every hideout that they might sensibly have chosen. So where do we go from here?"
The question was a rhetorical one, but Obi-Wan found himself answering anyway. "Consider, Master -- we know we're dealing with people who don't really know what they're doing. Maybe we should start with the least likely paths. Go to the hideouts they absolutely shouldn't have chosen."
"Are you kidding?" Qui-Gon glanced back over his shoulder.
"I was when I said it. But now that I think about it, why not? It couldn't prove any less productive than what we've tried so far." Obi-Wan swept his hands lightly up and down the length of the older man's back, finishing the massage with a light pat on the shoulders.
Qui-Gon nodded. "As strange as that sounds, I think you may have hit upon something. We'll tell Major Pendra in the morning. And thank you for insisting on the backrub. I did need it."
"Tomorrow, I take the pack," Obi-Wan insisted.
"Tomorrow, we'll take turns." Qui-Gon made the correction with a smile. "And now I think we'd both best get some sleep."
Obi-Wan started to frown at the dismissal, then realized that Qui-Gon's voice was warm. How much of the previous weeks' coldness had been imagined? How much of the trouble between them had he fostered?
It's over now, he reminded himself. "Yes, Master. Rest well."
He rose from the pallet and went to the door. Yet Obi-Wan hesitated to leave -- even knowing how badly Qui-Gon needed rest, and feeling in his own protesting muscles his own desire for sleep. "Master?"
"What is it, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon pulled off one boot as he spoke, wincing as he flexed an aching foot.
Obi-Wan had no answer to the question, except: I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice. So he fished about wildly for a topic of conversation. "It's been ages since we had a dinner with our friends. Once we made a point of gathering whenever we were all on Coruscant at the same time. But I'd wager it's been a year since we ate together last."
"If not more than that. How can we have let it go so long?" Qui-Gon shook his head. "I don't think I've talked to Trel for more than ten minutes together in all that time. Good of you to think of it, Padawan. Send a message in the morning, won't you? Tell your fellow apprentices to invite my fellow Masters to dinner after we get back from Louar."
"I'll do that," Obi-Wan said, cheering at the prospect. "I don't know why we never considered this before now."
"Oh, of course you do," Qui-Gon said lightly. "You and I have been a bit distracted of late."
His Master's eyes were not as casual as his voice; Qui-Gon was looking up at Obi-Wan more easily than he had in all the months since their tangled romance began. The younger man smiled in response. "Sleep well, Master."
The smile stayed on his face as he went to his room, stripped off his heavy clothing and collapsed onto his own pallet. Qui-Gon was not angry at him; whatever anger he had harbored in his own heart had dissipated. That in itself was more relief, and more joy, than Obi-Wan had expected to feel for a long time. As he pulled the thick blankets over himself, Obi-Wan found himself considering a new approach. Why rush things? he asked himself. Maybe Qui-Gon's right; maybe my apprenticeship isn't the time for this. As much as I love him -- as much as I want him -- we've made an awful mess of it so far. Perhaps I should be patient, spend these last months learning what I can from him. That's honor enough for me, for anyone. And then, when I am a Knight -- then, maybe, it will be time. Each thing in its turn.
Obi-Wan wasn't entirely happy with that answer; it might be a long time before he was knighted. Qui-Gon could have little interest left in pursuing a romance that had already proven to be difficult and confusing. And his desire had long defied his best efforts at patience.
Still, it seemed to be the best of many imperfect solutions. Wait. Hope. And prepare for the day when he could approach his love as an equal, and try once more.
This settled the question enough to let Obi-Wan drift off into much-needed sleep.
"How in all the underworlds of myth did you manage to carry this thing around by yourself?"
"Is the pack troubling you, young Padawan?" Qui-Gon's eyes were twinkling -- half in teasing, half in pride at his own strength.
Obi-Wan sighed. "Troubling, yes. But I think I can manage for a while yet."
"Tell me when you need help. Don't be as stubborn as I was."
"As though that were possible," Obi-Wan muttered. His Master laughed, a clear, ringing sound that echoed through the caves around them. The younger man smiled in return; it had been too long since he'd heard that laugh.
Major Pendra had not been inclined to spend her troops' time on a search through the least likely hiding places. That was how Qui-Gon would put it to the Council in his report, anyway. Her actual comments had been far more pointed, and had introduced a few new obscenities into Obi-Wan's already-considerable vocabulary. She had, however, consented to allow the Jedi to search separately -- or, as she put it, to waste their own damn time.
After hours of searching, Obi-Wan was beginning to think Pendra had a valid point.
Qui-Gon moved to the rim of the cave, pulling his goggles back down over his eyes. Obi-Wan did the same as the chill air whipped against his face; he spared a moment to envy his Master's beard. "Back to the skimmer?"
"No, Obi-Wan. There are some crevasses further to the west; I don't want to move to a different altitude until we've checked them out."
"Master -- we are only a half-hour's journey from the castle. The chances that they'd choose to hide the Senator's son here are minimal --"
"And the consequences of our missing him are grave. We can't discount any possibility. Come on, Padawan." Qui-Gon began across the rocky promontory leading west, gripping the craggy terrain with his strong hands. Obi-Wan followed, cursing the weight of the pack yet again as he struggled for balance.
He was still searching for his first handhold when he heard Qui-Gon call: "To your left!"
Obi-Wan jerked his head around in time to see a shawled figure lifting a projectile rifle. Aiming right for him --
He felt the blow before he heard it, felt pain splintering into his shoulder. Pain streaked through him like slow summer lightning, crackling in jagged arcs over his entire body.
"Obi-Wan!"
Why was Qui-Gon calling to him from so far away? And where had the pain gone?
Why was he falling?
Reality came crashing back as he tumbled onto a rocky ledge; Obi-Wan gasped for breath as agony rolled through him, nauseating in its intensity. He tried to roll over, the better to retch onto the ground, but realized he could barely move.
Footsteps. Scrabbling against rock and ice -- too light on the ground to be Qui-Gon's --
Realizing he had but a moment to defend himself, and no strength to do it, Obi-Wan called on the Force; he could at least pull his lightsaber and ward off any other blows until his Master reached him.
But the Force did not answer. Where he should have felt strength, power, energy -- there was nothing. Numbness. Emptiness.
"Get back!" a hoarse voice cried. "You stay back or he dies."
Obi-Wan managed to look sideways and see the blaster leveled at his head.
"If he dies, you die." Qui-Gon sounded closer now -- was that the humming of a lightsaber? His Master was speaking calmly, almost pleasantly. "I promise you that much. Consider your next move accordingly."
"Look around you, Jedi. You're surrounded. You might get me, that's true. But you won't get out of here alive. Neither will this one. Neither will Albeth's son."
Padawan? Can you take him?
Obi-Wan felt a rush of excitement; he could still hear his Master's voice through the Force. His ability was coming back -- now he could defend himself --
No. He could hear Qui-Gon, could feel the desperate concern levied at him. But he could do absolutely nothing.
"Tell me what you want," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"Good. That's a little more like it. Not so damn proud now, are you? The high and mighty Jedi --"
"Tell me what you want," his Master repeated.
"You're going to go back to Albeth, and you're going to give him this." Obi-Wan heard the skittering of a datapad pushed across the rock. "You'll tell him that if he doesn't enact these changes within 3 days, his son will die. And you can tell your Chancellor that if he doesn't encourage the good Senator, his Jedi Knight will die as well."
There was a moment of silence before Qui-Gon spoke again. "You've got the wrong man."
"What do you mean?"
"This one's only an apprentice. He's never even met Chancellor Valorum. He can't serve as much of a bargaining chip for you. But he could carry your message to Senator Albeth as well as I could."
Qui-Gon, damn you, don't you do this --
If his Master heard him, he gave no sign. "I've worked with the Chancellor many times over the years. I am a full Jedi, a Master. My disappearance will garner a little more attention than this young fellow's, I assure you."
"Why would you go in his place?" his captor snarled.
After a moment of silence, Qui-Gon said simply, "He is my responsibility."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Why shouldn't you? I don't see that you have anything to lose." Obi-Wan heard the hiss of a lightsaber's deactivation. Felt Qui-Gon's calm acceptance of the inevitable.
Silence again -- then a shout. "Take him down!"
Obi-Wan jerked his head around at the sound of the shot; from the corner of his eye he could see the dark shape of his Master falling. He winced as he heard the solid thud of Qui-Gon's body against stone.
Hands pulled at him, towing him across the ground. Obi-Wan struggled to speak: "What are you doing?"
"Don't expect you're up for much mountaineering today, apprentice. We were going to make good use of this skimmer. Instead, we're shipping you back home to mommy in it. You heard what I told the other one?"
"I heard you," Obi-Wan rasped. His world lurched again as he fell backwards into the skimmer. The datapad was thrown after him, clattering at his feet.
Obi-Wan finally managed to focus his vision; the rail-thin man who had held a blaster to his head was now punching in an autoreturn sequence on the skimmer's control panel. He slowly lifted one hand to his wounded shoulder, pulled it away again to see blood on his glove.
"Don't worry, little fella. You'll patch up again good as new. Can't say the same for your friend back there, unless you help us out."
Obi-Wan heard the man's laugh, and slowly looked up to meet his eyes. "You'll regret this," Obi-Wan said evenly.
The taunting smile faded -- to be replaced by something far harder. "We'll see who has regrets when the day is done."
And the skimmer's door slammed shut as Obi-Wan fell into darkness.
"I should've listened to you." Major Pendra's face was grim. "If my troops had been there, those bastards wouldn't have had a chance."
Obi-Wan flexed his hands, winced at the ache in his shoulder. He turned his attention away from his body, pushed it inward -- reached with the Force towards a nearby table, where his lightsaber lay jumbled in with his clothes --
The lightsaber flew through the air, landing in his hand and igniting into brilliant life with a satisfying hiss. Major Pendra took a step back. "Hell, man, I'm trying to apologize. Calm yourself."
"Sorry, Major. That was for my benefit, not yours. I just wanted to be sure I could do it." Obi-Wan deactivated the saber and hopped down from the medcenter's bed, wincing a little at the twisted ankle he'd suffered in his fall. Louar's poverty extended to its medical facilities; while he'd been patched up somewhat, he had nothing like the complete mending most Republic worlds could have provided.
"What do you mean? I thought something like that would be pretty basic for you guys."
"Normally, it would. But not after a dose of triveristhone." Obi-Wan tapped the medidroid's readouts.
"Triveri -- what's that?"
"A drug that inhibits a Jedi's ability to manipulate the Force."
Pendra frowned. "I thought the Force was some kind of mystical power. What's a drug got to do with it?"
"The Force is both mystical and spiritual. But our ability to manipulate the Force comes through the extensive training of our bodies, as well as our minds. Injuries to the body affect our ability to use the Force. This drug cuts off that ability entirely." Obi-Wan gingerly picked up the injector dart that had been cut from his shoulder and showed it to Pendra. "It only lasts for a few hours. But I suspect they must have more in reserve."
Major Pendra took the dart from him, studying it as though it would offer up answers. "Never heard of anything like this. You guys keep it fairly quiet, don't you? Can't say as I blame you."
Obi-Wan shrugged. "It wouldn't make sense to advertise its existence. We do study it at the Temple; we even use it in training exercises."
"What for?"
"Triveristhone cuts off our ability to manipulate the Force, but not our ability to sense it. Young apprentices are dosed with it to learn patience, passivity. To accept the living Force on its own terms, rather than as a tool to be used."
He remembered his own dose -- remembered how terrified he had been to surrender his power. Qui-Gon had stood behind him, wrapping his arms around his sixteen-year-old Padawan. "Let go, Obi-Wan," he'd whispered, beard scratching against the younger man's ear. "Don't be afraid. You have to accept weakness before you can master strength."
And somehow it had been all right, as long as Qui-Gon was holding him. Was that the first time he'd seen his Master as more than a teacher? The feel of that embrace, of that inevitable descent into powerlessness made beautiful by Qui-Gon's guidance, was still vivid eight years later.
Obi-Wan realized his attention had wandered, and that Pendra was now staring at him dubiously. "I'm sorry, Major. I'm concerned for my Master."
"I understand that," she replied. "Listen -- there's something I want to ask you."
"Certainly."
"When you Jedi showed up here last week, more than a few people -- and I'll tell you I was one of them -- were a little offended that they'd sent along a trainee." Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the terminology, but didn't interrupt. "We felt like this was important enough to warrant two real Jedi. So I took it to your Master. He told me you were as good a Jedi as any full Knight. And he said I could trust your judgment every bit as much as I could trust his. That satisfied me." "He said that?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
Pendra nodded, looking up at the younger man with an expression that was almost gentle. "The situation's changed now. I'm asking you straight -- can you handle this on your own? If you can't, there's no shame in it. He's a friend to you, and you're bound to worry. Just say the word, and I'll call to Coruscant for some more help; they've never got to know that came from anybody but me. But if you can handle it -- we only have three days. We could do without the wait for another Jedi."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "It's all right, Major. I can help you."
She studied him for a moment, then clapped her hands together briskly. "Well, then, where do we go from here?"
"Someplace quiet."
"I beg your pardon?"
As he strapped on his utility belt, Obi-Wan gave her a half-smile. "Qui-Gon can still sense the Force. That means he can still sense me."
Meditation was born of serenity, usually practiced at moments of leisure and reflection. Obi-Wan had achieved moments of peacefulness and enlightenment at less serene times: combat, for instance. But combat was, in some ways, a path to meditation -- the motions of battle were so well-drilled into him that following them could be a kind of ritual. He did not have Qui-Gon's depth in the practice; he knew that the contemplative arts of the Jedi were not his strength, and never would be. But he understood meditation, in theory and in practice, and had pursued it in some form nearly every day of his life.
Now, however, at the moment Obi-Wan needed serenity more than he ever had in his life, it eluded him completely. His very fear of losing Qui-Gon was making that loss more probable by the moment. Had he lied to Major Pendra when he told her he could handle this alone?
Concentrate, Obi-Wan told himself. My Master may be cut off from the Force, but he remains a Jedi. He will be able to protect himself from much, to endure the rest. I may be cut off from my Master, but I remain a Jedi. I will be able to find him, and endure the time until I do. He finally relaxed into trance, feeling the world slip away slightly. The energy of those nearby flowed around him, into him -- Pendra's tightly coiled tension, wrapped thickly over a core of sympathy -- tired soldiers joking with one another, friendly despite the travails of the day -- a few pack animals sleeping in their den, dozing in the contentment of beasts.
Obi-Wan let his awareness expand, taking in more and more, feeling in its fullness the vibrancy of the life around him, even on this desolate world. Finally, he let himself begin seeking -- searching within that brightness for one specific filament of light. The one soul in these thousands he knew and cherished beyond all others.
Master, please hear me. Please answer --
/pain recognition hope confusion discouragement pain/
Obi-Wan's eyes flew open. "Qui-Gon," he whispered, fighting to retain the slender link between them despite his own rising fear.
Qui-Gon, can you answer me? Can you tell me where you are? Are you all right?
/effort fear desperation pain/
His Master could not speak to him, only project a tide of emotion that threatened to pull Obi-Wan under. Obi-Wan sent as much strength towards Qui-Gon as he could, shielding his own mounting terror.
I am with you, in whatever has befallen you. You are not alone. Never alone, my Master.
/pain surrender acceptance love/
And their connection snapped.
"Damn!" Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth. His hands knotted into fists at his side as he took one shuddering breath.
He forced himself not to think about the agony he'd sensed through their brief link, nor of the emotional disarray that had accompanied it. Nor of the sheer power of that last moment, in which Qui-Gon had let him see a glimpse of something he'd kept shielded from his Padawan for so long --
Concentrate. Qui-Gon cannot speak to me. He cannot tell me where he is being held, who his captors are, how the boy is. My original plan has failed, and I must think of something else.
The answer presented itself with surprising speed. He went to the door and looked into the hallway. "Major Pendra?"
She rose quickly from the chair in which she'd been sleeping, awake in an instant. "You've got something for us?"
"Not yet, but I hope to. I'm going to need a little help. Get someone who's extremely familiar with the terrain, maybe an armaments expert."
Pendra nodded, looking up at Obi-Wan curiously. "Where are we going?"
"None of us are going anywhere. Not physically, anyway." Obi-Wan's voice was a little too uneven; he knew his own fears and doubts were still too much with him. Considering the task at hand, this was hardly surprising, but he knew he had to conquer his emotions.
"I don't follow you, Kenobi. What's your plan?"
"I can't yet tell you where Qui-Gon is. But I think he may be able to tell you himself."
The four soldiers Pendra had gathered sat in a semicircle in front of Obi-Wan. She paced back-and-forth in the back of the room. "I don't like this."
"This is a traditional telepathic skill of the Jedi," Obi-Wan said, hoping he sounded reassuring.
"An advanced one. One you've never tried before."
"Correct," he admitted.
"One that could throw you and your Master into shock. Or a coma. Or drive you insane." Obi-Wan began to wish he had kept a few possibilities to himself.
"Only if I do it incorrectly. If I do it properly, my mind will be within Qui-Gon's body for a few minutes, and he in turn will inhabit my body. In that time, he should be able to tell you about his captors and his surroundings. Enough, perhaps, for us to find him. It's worth the risk."
Pendra sighed. "You're the one on the line here, Kenobi. Do what you have to do."
Obi-Wan nodded, then attempted again to relax into the meditation posture. It took a few moments, but he found center once more. He managed to ignore the stares of those around him, to concentrate only on their support and strength.
Master, hear me. I can help you now, if you will let me. Qui-Gon, I am here, I am here --
Once more he felt the electric shock of recognition; Qui-Gon's spirit was there -- confused and weary, but unmistakable. Obi-Wan tried not to think on the agony he sensed, tried only to focus on the task at hand. He projected the image of what he wanted to do, and felt his Master's flat rejection.
It is the only way to help you, Master. I can't do it without your acceptance. Please help me.
Still, rejection. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's pain intensifying, realized suddenly why Qui-Gon refused to let go. He was enduring torture at the hands of his captors -- torture he did not want his Padawan to know.
Something deep within Obi-Wan quailed at the task before him; he damped it down and renewed his plea.
If you can face it, I can as well. I would rather face any pain than your death, Qui-Gon --
No. That wasn't the way to convince him. Obi-Wan gathered his control more strongly around him.
If you will not think of yourself, or of me, think of Albeth's boy. This may be his only chance. We can still save him, Master. This is the only way --
The world went gray and dim. Obi-Wan felt a strange rushing throughout his body, a disorientation more profound than anything he had known. Numbness, dizziness --
And pain, hammer-strong and hot, lancing into his side. He fell onto ice-cold stone as the grayness drained away into light. "You disappoint me, Jedi." Obi-Wan recognized the reedy voice of the man who had put him in the skimmer. He turned his head -- Qui-Gon's head, heavy and aching -- to look around.
He lay in the middle of a dimly lit cavern. Perhaps a dozen guerrillas milled around the edges, some actively watching Qui-Gon's torment with pleasure, others simply cleaning their guns, eating or merely attempting to sleep. Their leader -- the man who had attacked the two Jedi that morning -- was pacing in front of him, shaking his head.
Blood was on his fists, and all over the cavern floor.
"I thought the Jedi were powerful warriors. Strong and mighty. The whole galaxy fears you." His captor stopped pacing and smiled coldly at the man who lay before him. "What is there to fear, I wonder? A simple injection makes you as harmless as a baby." With that, the man kicked him savagely in the thigh. Obi-Wan felt the sharp, wet agony of it -- knew Qui-Gon had been kicked there repeatedly, so much that the flesh was beginning to give way. He stifled a cry of pain, forced himself to simply roll away and take in a deep breath.
"Do you think you're powerful now, Jedi?" The man leaned over and clutched a fistful of hair, towing him up into a sitting position. Obi-Wan tried to straighten himself, but was clumsy in the large, unfamiliar body. His tormentor laughed at his swaying uncertainty. "Do you think you're strong, when I can break you as easily as this? When I can kill you whenever I wish?"
One of the onlookers threw something -- Obi-Wan wasn't certain what. A rock, maybe, or a heavy canister. Whatever it was, it struck him in the side, against ribs already bruised. He couldn't choke back a brief moan, and heard his agony repaid with laughter.
How long have they been doing this to him? Obi-Wan thought. How long have they hurt Qui-Gon, and mocked his suffering? Minutes? Hours? At least he doesn't have to feel this. Anything I endure, I am sparing him.
"I think we might have you crying before long," the man sneered. "Do you think you're brave now, Jedi?"
"Braver than some," he said, almost startled to hear his own words in Qui-Gon's rich voice. "I only fight those able to fight back."
His captor stiffened, his blue eyes shifting into something akin to shame. But not for long -- he lashed out again, punching him in the jaw. Obi-Wan toppled backwards, hitting the stone floor so hard it felt like another blow. Ice cut into his cheek, and he groaned yet again.
"You had your chance to fight me. You decided to bargain for that boy of yours instead. Do you think he was worth it?"
Apparently, that was the end of it -- at least for a time. The thin man backed off, took a deep drink of something in a pale-green bottle. His cohorts muttered uneasily; they were disappointed that their entertainment had come to an end, but none of them was bold enough to attack a Jedi. Even one so broken.
Obi-Wan tried to catalogue the injures to Qui-Gon's body; without his ability to manipulate the Force, he couldn't be certain of anything. But he knew his Master had suffered broken ribs and torn skin. His mouth was swollen with a dozen small cuts inflicted by his own teeth during blows to his face, and one eye was puffy and sore.
It's all right, he told himself. Nothing they can't fix, once we get him back safely.
"Sir? Qui-Gon, sir?"
Obi-Wan glanced over to see a small shape crouched in the shadows. Albeth's son, he realized. What was the name again? "Don't be frightened, Canob. I realize it is scary to see. But you must be brave."
The words felt inadequate; Obi-Wan did not have his Master's gentle warmth with children. And it was obvious from the boy's wide, dark eyes that he was very frightened -- and that Qui-Gon had already spoken kindly to him, given him some strength. Strength Obi-Wan felt incapable of showing.
But perhaps what he'd said was enough. The little boy straightened up slightly. "Can I do something for you? I could give you some water -- I have some left."
"No, Canob," he whispered. "Don't draw any attention to yourself. I appreciate your kindness, but I can manage without. Just stay in the shadows. That's a good boy. Don't worry. I'll be all right."
But the barely reined anger of Qui-Gon's captor frightened him. He was pacing again, watching the man who had shamed him. He wouldn't be held back for much longer. What else might he do?
And then the world went gray again --
"No," Obi-Wan managed to gasp, before the very air seemed to be torn from him. The dizziness swept over him, through him, sickening and liberating all at once --
"Kenobi? Is that you? Can you hear me?"
Obi-Wan realized he could see, could focus in on a face. Warm brown skin, dark eyes, hair pulled back in a severe braid -- Major Pendra's image coalesced before him as he took a long, shuddering breath. "I can hear you, Major. What happened?"
"I have to hand it to you -- that's some trick. Jinn was able to tell us a lot about who we're dealing with."
"Their leader's a man named Gerlinn," said one of her soldiers. "We've had a few run-ins with him before. He's mean as hell, but he doesn't have a lot of manpower behind him."
"I only saw a dozen men or so," Obi-Wan said.
"That's what Jinn said." Pendra was actually smiling. "Nothing we can't handle. Especially now that we know where they are."
"We do? Where?" Obi-Wan's exhaustion vanished, replaced by a rush of adrenalin. The soldier who had spoken before pushed forward a holotransmitter, punched in a key.
"They're hiding at the peak of one of the taller mountains by the lakes. The one we call 'Saber's Blade.' It's not even an hour's journey by skimmer." The holoimage showed a mountain that almost seemed to be leaning; instead of coming to a point at center, it jagged sharply southward, peaking at a plateau that extended from the bulk of the mountain itself. It traced a shape not unlike the curved edge of a scimitar.
"According to your Master, they've only got one transport that can maneuver in the mountains, and it only holds three," the soldier continued. "So it takes them a while to move anywhere. Meanwhile, we can be there within an hour of dawn."
"Dawn?" Obi-Wan stared at them blankly. "Why couldn't we go now?"
Pendra pursed her lips. "We could. We will if you think it's necessary. But I have to tell you -- we can only take the skimmer so close to the camp without giving ourselves away. My troops will need to climb some distance to get there; that's high-altitude climbing, Kenobi. Three miles up. It's tricky business at the best of times, and in the dark -- well. I've got a few who could handle it. But I've got more who'd be in danger of dying before we ever got to the rebels. My soldiers trust me; I don't risk their lives needlessly. If you think Jinn and the child are at risk this instant, we'll do what we have to do. But if there's a good chance they'll make it to morning, we're more likely to see everyone come out alive."
Obi-Wan nodded, taking that in. He knew that Qui-Gon was suffering -- knew also that Gerlinn's wrath had only abated for a few moments. The hours between this early evening and dawn would be hours of torment. Every fiber of his being cried out to go to his Master, to save him from still more agony.
But as he looked around the table, he saw the faces of Pendra's soldiers -- all willing, all trusting. All people with their own lives, their own loves. Each of them as dear to someone as Qui-Gon was to him.
"I think we can wait, Major," he said. "But at the first possible moment tomorrow --"
"We're out of here," Pendra finished.
Obi-Wan walked numbly back toward his quarters. Every step echoed in the empty corridor, reminding him of his solitude.
He'd spent hours with Pendra and her troops, drawing up plans of attack to cover every possibility. Apparently the guerrillas had some sort of shield generator; Major Pendra was familiar with the type, and was certain they could disable it with a conventional projectile weapon. After that, they would be able to sweep down upon the rebels quickly -- before any more harm could be done to Canob or Qui-Gon.
Assuming Qui-Gon lived until morning.
Obi-Wan tried not to think of it; he had five hours in which to sleep and refresh himself, to make himself efficient for the next day's attack. He could do Qui-Gon no good by tormenting himself with his fears.
At that moment he walked past the door to his Master's quarters. Obi-Wan's steps slowed, and he found himself opening the door and going inside.
They carried so little with them, and had been on Louar so brief at time -- and yet Qui-Gon had already made this room his own, in a way. The regular boots at the foot of the pallet, the pillow plumped up into a tight ball, one of the old-fashioned cloth-and-paper books his Master loved lying on the floor nearby.
Obi-Wan sank onto the pallet and picked up the book; it was in Old Alderaani, a language he had never learned. He'd never regretted that until this moment. It seemed very important to know what Qui-Gon had been reading.
He lowered his head carefully onto the pillow, breathing in deeply. Qui-Gon's scent still lingered there; just recognizing it nearly unmanned him. Trembling, Obi-Wan ran one finger across the spine of the book and held it close to his chest.
All the planning, all the work, all the thinking was done. He had nothing to keep him from his fears. Still, Obi-Wan fought for control. Time to break down later, he told himself. When Qui-Gon's back safely, or -- time for all that later.
He might have won the fight, if not for the heavy blanket next to him. Looking at it, he couldn't help but think of Qui-Gon -- Gerlinn's men had stripped the parka from him, so their blows might hurt him the more. Obi-Wan remembered the chill of the cavern's floor, the cutting edges of the ice against skin.
He had braved himself against the thought that Qui-Gon was in pain, even dying. But the thought that he was cold --
Obi-Wan rolled over, burying his face in his Master's pillow, giving in at last to his tears. He sobbed as he had not since childhood, until exhaustion finally claimed him.
"Master, I'm frightened."
And he is frightened -- more so than he has been since his first night at the Temple. The triveristhone weakens muscles, numbs sensation; Obi-Wan is unable to stand on his shaking legs any longer. Qui-Gon keeps holding him, lowering him down to sit on the earth in the temple gardens.
If it were his body alone, Obi-Wan would not fear. But the Force is strangely absent, and this he does not know how to endure.
"The Force is still with you, Padawan," his Master whispers. Obi-Wan can feel warm breath on the back of his neck, still sense Qui-Gon's powerful arms embracing him from behind. It is as if Qui-Gon is the only thing left existing -- the only person in Obi-Wan's world.
"How can that be, Master? I can't find it -- I cannot use it to help me stand, or to get my balance, or --"
"That is a good question. What is the Force, when it is not at your disposal? What then?"
Obi-Wan calms himself, considers this. "The Force flows from all life. It does so whether I perceive it or not."
"And is it of use to you then?"
He thinks on that for a few minutes. In truth, he is also thinking of the man who holds him close. Obi-Wan is sixteen now; he has already discovered the beauty of his classmates -- girls with their curving bodies and full lips, boys with their angled faces and whipcord muscles. He has even kissed his friend Prie, felt her mouth open beneath his with an electric jolt that stayed with him for days.
But he has never thought of his Master that way before this. Now, when Qui-Gon's body is the only warmth in the world, his embrace the only strength, Obi-Wan cannot account for his blindness.
"Concentrate, Padawan." Is that amusement in Qui-Gon's voice? Embarrassed, Obi-Wan turns himself to the question at hand. Of what use is the Force to him now?
He realizes, slowly, that the Force is still perceptible, still palpable. He can feel it coursing through the trees, the grass, the blue-and-gray bird swooping overhead. Between him and Qui-Gon, binding them together as it always has, always will. Obi-Wan cannot tap into it -- he can't take that energy for himself. But he can still feel it. And as he looks at it for the first time as something besides an instrument at his disposal, he realizes how beautiful it is. The beauty itself is the lesson.
"Why did I never see this before, Master?" Obi-Wan is asking a thousand questions in that one question.
"You were not ready to see."
Obi-Wan turns to face Qui-Gon; he is no longer sixteen, but an adult. And his body has regained its strength with its form. Everything else is the same, though -- the temple gardens, the dappled sunlight, the man who is holding him tightly, looking into his eyes. Now Obi-Wan realizes that things are happening differently than they did before; the rest is memory, but this --
-- this perfect moment when Qui-Gon kisses him, lowering him onto the soft earth --
"Kenobi? Are you there? Answer."
The metallic voice startled Obi-Wan into wakefulness. He lay still for a moment longer, then took up his comm unit. "I'm here, Major Pendra."
"About time. You sleep like the dead, Kenobi." Pendra's voice was almost affectionate.
"Are we ready to go?"
"We're getting there. But we're still short one Jedi. Think you can help us out with that?"
"I'm on my way." Obi-Wan said, snapping the channel shut. He looked around Qui-Gon's room, taking in each detail; once more, he ran a fingertip along the battered cloth book. He thought of it in his Master's hands. Softly, he repeated, "I'm on my way."
Pendra gave him a quick nod, indicating that they were getting close. Obi-Wan didn't need the signal -- he'd been able to feel the chaotic swirl of the terrorists' mental activity for some time. But he acknowledged it all the same, and began working towards getting in position. It gave him something to do besides wonder why he couldn't sense Qui-Gon.
He may be dead, he told himself savagely. I have to be prepared. The boy will still need help, and Pendra's soldiers will still need support. Even if he's dead, I have to keep going. No matter what.
That was enough to keep him moving up the steep incline.
Obi-Wan had been mountain-climbing before, of course, but he had never spent such an extended time at severely high altitudes. Every moment was a constant struggle -- not merely to find holds in ice-encrusted rock, nor to keep going despite exhaustion, but to make up for the effects of the altitude upon his body. The oxygen level was low, the slant of ultraviolet rays through the thin atmosphere blinding. His Jedi training allowed him to compensate, however taxing it might be. What surprised him was the endurance of Major Pendra's troops; they wore heavy packs with oxygen cylinders, breathed through claustrophobic masks, yet moved almost as quickly and efficiently as he did. Together, they had managed to ascend even faster than Pendra had hoped.
With the peak in sight, the soldiers began fanning out, getting into attack position. Obi-Wan took his place by Major Pendra's side; she unlatched her blaster from her side, giving the Jedi a sideways glance as she did so. "Won't change your mind and take one of these?"
"My saber will do," Obi-Wan said quietly. In truth, he was tempted. Too tempted. It would've been far too easy to attack for revenge and justify it all later.
They began edging forward; now the voices of men could be heard, grumbling and cursing the dawn. Obi-Wan was much too edgy to center himself and reach out for his Master through the Force, so instead he strained at each half-caught syllable, trying to make out Qui-Gon's voice.
One of the sharpshooters shifted into position; Pendra's comm unit gave the two short clicks that signified his target lock on the shield generator. The other soldiers began their final preparations --
"Gerlinn! We've got company!"
"Damn!" Pendra hissed, bolting forward, all caution left behind. Obi-Wan ignored the spasming of his heart and leapt after her, activating his lightsaber as he landed atop one of the higher rocks.
Gerlinn's men were scrambling into their own makeshift defense. Behind the barely visible blue glaze of the shield, he could see one guerrilla clutching small Canob, holding a blaster to his head. And to the side --
Qui-Gon's face was bloodied, his posture stooped, his hands bound behind him -- but he was alive. A soldier held a gun to his head as well, and with the other hand forced Qui-Gon closer to the rim of the rebel encampment, near the cliff's edge. Obi-Wan took a slow, deep breath
"So, you've come back for your boss," Gerlinn said, stepping forward from the pack.
"Kenobi," Major Pendra whispered, "keep him talking. We've got to regroup here. Stall him." "I told you you'd have regrets," Obi-Wan said evenly, without even glancing down at the Major. "Didn't believe me?"
Gerlinn's smile was a terrible thing. "None yet, little fella. And you might regret this trip of yours yet."
Pendra's voice was low, her posture unmoving. "We have a guy on the shield generator, and one other sharpshooter in place. We can pick off one of the soldiers with a gun on somebody's head. Not both."
Obi-Wan continued looking at Gerlinn, but projected his thoughts as strongly as he could toward Qui-Gon.
You see what we're up against, Master. What can we do? What should we do?
"Why is that, Gerlinn?" Obi-Wan called. "From where I'm standing, it makes sense for you to give up now."
Giving up. Surrender. Acceptance of the inevitable. Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he caught the tenor of Qui-Gon's thoughts, saw the mental image playing in his mind.
"I don't give up, boy. Your friends there could tell you that without all your whispering," Gerlinn replied. "I'll walk out of here free and well, or I'll take as many people out with me as I can."
Pendra glanced up at Obi-Wan, recognizing his hesitation. "What's the matter, Kenobi? Can Jinn tell you anything?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered.
"And what's that?"
"That for us to get through this -- I have to be willing to let him die."
Gerlinn was pacing now. "Didn't you hear me? Don't you think we ought to start dealing?"
"I have to think about this," Obi-Wan said, transparently stalling now.
"Have your little chat," Gerlinn barked, glaring at Pendra as he did so.
Major Pendra shook her head slightly. "Give us a minute. We can come up with something."
"No," he said, straightening his goggles. "He's right. This is the best way. Target the man holding Canob."
"You can give him up to die just like that?"
"Major -- there's a difference between what I'm willing to do and what I intend to do. Get ready to fire on my mark."
Obi-Wan straightened up and extinguished his saber. "All right, Gerlinn. What do you want to bargain for?"
"That's a little more like it," Gerlinn said. "My men and I get safe passage, first of --"
Obi-Wan brought one hand down, a brief slashing motion.
He saw, as if suspended in time, Pendra's first sharpshooter firing his projectile weapon at the shield generator, saw also its pale-blue light dissolving instantly. The second sharpshooter took that first moment to fire at the man holding Canob; the child flinched at the shout and the blood.
But all that activity, all that horror, was as nothing.
At the first movement of Major Pendra's troops, his Master had used his last strength to pull away from his captor. And before the man could react, even before he could pull the trigger on his blaster, Qui-Gon staggered to the edge of the cliff and let himself fall.
Even as Obi-Wan screamed, a sound terrible in its pain and rage, he made himself count.
One. Two.
He leapt into the fray, lightsaber again glowing brilliantly. Obi-Wan moved to Pendra's side, blocking blaster shots with his weapon, freeing her to take out as many of Gerlinn's men as possible.
Four. He meant to spare me the sight of his death. Five. Damn his protectiveness, anyway. Six.
Gerlinn pushed forward, leveling his blaster at Obi-Wan. The Jedi responded by a clipped swing upward, ripping through the terrorist's weapon with his saber.
Eight. So easy to kill him now, no one would ever blame me --
Obi-Wan pushed out with the Force, knocking Gerlinn off his feet. Pendra leaned across to punch the guerrilla leader in the gut with her weapon. "We've got them!" she cried.
Ten.
It was true. The men were scattering, running around crazily. Canob had already been caught up in the arms of one of Pendra's soldiers. The fighting wasn't done -- but the battle was over.
Obi-Wan ran to the place where Qui-Gon had jumped, tossing his lightsaber to the ground and calling out, "Handle the rest, Major!"
"Kenobi? What the hell are you doing? Kenobi!"
Twelve. Thirteen.
Without so much as a glance behind him, Obi-Wan threw himself off the edge of the cliff.
Levitation was a complex Jedi art.
Padawans learned it early in their training, first as a meditation practice. Its utility as a strategical skill came only later; as they all soon discovered, defying gravity from a center of calm serenity was one thing -- it was quite another to do the same while escaping from hostile troops, or attempting to defuse a bomb, or holding a hysterical accident victim twice your size. Its use in the field was usually limited to moments of absolute necessity, for even at the best of times, levitation was difficult and taxing.
Plummeting down the side of a mountain at near-maximum velocity did not constitute the best of times.
Even as he leapt into the abyss, Obi-Wan was calculating mass, velocity, momentum. He'd known, before his signal to attack, that Qui-Gon would choose to fall, and had made his decisions accordingly. If he hadn't been able to jump before fifteen seconds had passed, he would have had to accept his Master's death. The distance between them would have been too great for Obi-Wan to breach in the limited time he had, much less to find a way to suspend both him and Qui-Gon from the laws of gravity.
As it was, he didn't have much chance. But he had to try.
Obi-Wan managed to tuck his body into a ball, speeding his descent. He spared a moment to be thankful for the goggles that allowed him to see despite the ghastly wind tearing at his face; beneath him, almost too small to make out, was the shape of his Master.
Even this quick glance strengthened him, centered him despite the terror of their situation. He reached out with the Force, sending as much energy as he could muster toward Qui-Gon, attempting to tether them together.
Master, help me. Open yourself to me.
He felt Qui-Gon's realization of what his apprentice had done, followed by a wash of the darkest despair. Obi-Wan understood the emotion but pushed it aside.
There's no time for that. We can live through this. We still have a chance if you will only help me.
Qui-Gon still could not answer in words, but his refusal to join his spirit to Obi-Wan's clearly said, Save yourself. The younger man pushed through his panic and fury to call to his Master once again.
This is my life to risk as I choose. Let me try, just let me try!
And suddenly Qui-Gon was there, in his mind. The bonds they had formed recoalesced in an instant, tying their energies into a unified whole. Obi-Wan was startled by the change, but immediately embraced it, used it.
He put all his effort into slowing Qui-Gon's fall, allowing himself to tumble freely; in only a few seconds, he saw his Master coming nearer and nearer, until only two or three dozen yards separated them.
Unfortunately, he could now also see the glacier lake beneath them, growing larger and larger as it rushed upward.
Obi-Wan now began attempting to levitate them both; in theory, when two Jedi were as close in space and spirit as he and Qui-Gon now were, this should have been no more difficult than levitating alone. Which was to say, incredibly difficult, but possible.
However, Obi-Wan realized as their fall continued that he was not going to have to time to stop them both.
They would strike the water in perhaps ten seconds --
For one of those seconds, Obi-Wan was blinded by horror, deafened by the rushing wind in his ears.
In the next, he felt Qui-Gon's recognition of the situation, his sorrow, and his desire for his Padawan to live at any cost, including his own life.
And in the next, Obi-Wan realized it wasn't necessary to stop their descent at all.
He kept on, working to slow their fall, ignoring Qui-Gon's increasing desperation. And they were slowing, ever slower, even though they were almost there --
The surface of the lake smashed into Obi-Wan with the force of a thousand blows, slamming his skin into agony, his muscles into pain, his very bones into a deep, vibrating ache. His mind went blank with shock; his connection to Qui-Gon snapped in an instant.
But he was alive.
The shock dissipated, leaving more pain and the heavy, frigid reality of the water surrounding him. Obi-Wan groped at his utility belt; in a moment he was able to pull forth his breather. He slipped it into his mouth, gratefully sucked in a lungful of air.
His thick parka, now soaked through, hindered his every movement; Obi-Wan struggled to pull it off with his belt, managing it only clumsily. The boots were damnably heavy as well, but he had no time to see to them. He forced himself to start swimming, to reach out with the Force one more time.
Qui-Gon? Can you hear me?
No response. His Master was unconscious or --
Obi-Wan pushed himself through the water, casting about for Qui-Gon. He finally discerned a flicker -- not of consciousness, but of life -- within a few feet of him. After a few more strokes, his hand made contact with too-cold flesh; Obi-Wan clutched onto Qui-Gon's arm and began frantically swimming upward.
They broke the surface at last. Obi-Wan gasped for air, but heard no answering breath from his Master. Treading water despite the leaden boots, he pulled Qui-Gon's face from the lake. "Come on, damn you, come on, don't do this, don't do this," Obi-Wan gasped.
But after a moment Qui-Gon did choke out a mouthful of water, then breathed in unevenly. His Padawan instantly turned his attention toward swimming to an outcropping of rock several meters away; his strength was already severely taxed, and he knew he couldn't continue to support them both in the cold water for long. Qui-Gon was towed along behind him -- dead weight.
When Obi-Wan's free hand made contact with the rock, he pulled his Master in front of him, bracing the older man's body against the stone with his own. He groped at the front of his tunic, hoping the comm hadn't been lost in all this; thankfully, it was still there, still working. "Jedi Kenobi to Major Pendra. Are you there?"
"Kenobi?" The astonishment in Pendra's voice would be gratifying later on, when he could remember it at leisure.
"Major, I need transport and medical help down here immediately. Qui-Gon is injured, and I've been better myself."
"How in the name of -- never mind. You'll tell me later. I'm sending a skimmer with medics down to you right now, Kenobi. Remind me to stay on your good side."
Obi-Wan coughed out a short laugh as he snapped the comm off. He looked once more at Qui-Gon and fought back a shudder; the older man's nose was bleeding, the left side of his face purple and ugly, his jaw slack, his skin deathly pale. Obi-Wan shook his shoulder, desperate for some sign of consciousness. "Qui-Gon? Are you all right?" he gasped. "Can you talk to me? Say something, anything. Please --"
Qui-Gon opened his uninjured eye, staring back vacantly as if unable to see. Obi-Wan brought his hand up to his Master's face. "Qui-Gon?"
A spark in Qui-Gon's gaze answered him. Finally, the older man gasped out, "You are -- a stubborn -- reckless -- fool." Obi-Wan realized a very stupid grin was spreading over his face, but was far too happy to care. "Well, you know, I learned from the best."
"You've got two options," Pendra said.
Obi-Wan propped himself up on the medcenter gurney. "What would those be?"
"One, you and your Master can stay here for another two weeks until we have another passenger transport departure. Two, you can take off on a cargo freighter tomorrow morning. Comfort or convenience -- your call."
"Convenience, then. We'll go tomorrow, if that's all right with Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan swung his legs off the edge of the gurney and dropped to his feet; his body was still somewhat sore, but he could manage. "Can I speak with him yet?"
"Should be out of the bacta tank by now," Pendra said. A small amount of the valuable substance had been brought out for Qui-Gon's use; of all the honors his Master had won for himself through the years, Obi-Wan valued this one the most. "Let's see, shall we?"
Pendra gave Obi-Wan a sideways glance as they walked through the corridors of the medcenter. "Gerlinn's being kept not far from here, if you want to see him."
Puzzled, Obi-Wan asked, "Why would I want to see him?"
"The two of you had a bit of a grudge match there. And you came out on top. You're entitled to remind him of that fact."
Obi-Wan was genuinely nonplused. "That would serve no purpose. My business with him has been concluded."
He said the last as they came to the door of Qui-Gon's room; his Master was sitting up in bed, still bruised and somewhat pale, but apparently much improved. "I wondered where you'd gotten to," Qui-Gon said, smiling gently.
Obi-Wan returned the smile as he walked to the older man's side. "I needed some mending of my own, Master. But I think I needed to see this most of all."
Pendra turned aside to make a brief comm call; Obi-Wan spared a moment to wonder if she was distracted or discreet. "Padawan -- I don't believe I thanked you for what you did."
The younger man shrugged. "We've rescued one another more times than we could count, Qui-Gon. Thanks have never been necessary between us."
"This was something different," Qui-Gon said gravely. "You know that as well as I do."
Obi-Wan would've protested further, but better grace prevailed. "You're very welcome, Master. Shall we wait two weeks for a luxurious ride home to Coruscant, or take our chances on a cargo ship tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Qui-Gon replied. "I'm eager to be home."
"I thought you would be."
Major Pendra finished her call and smiled at the two Jedi. "Two things. First, we retrieved these from the mountaintop." She held out their lightsabers; Obi-Wan took them both, grateful that Pendra had thought of it. "And then there's somebody here who'd like to speak to you."
"Very well, Major," the older man said, pushing himself into a slightly more upright position.
Canob came running in, only barely recognizable as the pale, terrified boy Obi-Wan had seen in the guerillas' camp. He was now smiling, perhaps a little too brightly "You're alive!" the little boy cried. "I didn't see how you could be, but here you are."
"My friend Obi-Wan was able to help me," Qui-Gon explained. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you," Canob answered, in the well-rehearsed cadence of a child who has been frequently reminded about his manners. "But how did he do that?"
"With the help of the Force."
Canob wrinkled his nose. "What's the Force?"
Obi-Wan turned away from the scene and went to Major Pendra. "I can tell you from long experience that this is going to take a while."
Pendra patted the younger man's shoulder. "Anything else we can do for you two?"
"Does he have to stay here tonight?" Obi-Wan asked. "He'd finish recuperating more quickly if I could assist him with a healing trance. I could do that here, but it would be better if we could have privacy and quiet." This was all true, but in actuality, Obi-Wan was motivated by a far simpler, more emotional impulse: he just wanted his Master to himself, to watch over and care for as he'd so desperately longed to do.
"I'll check with the medics. According to what they told me earlier, I think that'll be fine." Pendra smiled at Obi-Wan, one eyebrow lifted, as she turned to go. "You know, Kenobi, they're talking about you a lot around here. And I haven't heard the word trainee once."
"You're sure you've got it?"
"I'm injured, Padawan, not incapacitated," Qui-Gon protested as he slowly began stripping off his bloodied tunic. "If I need you, I'll call you. I promise. Now, will you pack this away for me?"
Obi-Wan took the proffered garment and left Qui-Gon to his shower. As the water began hissing, he sat down on his Master's pallet and pulled out his traveling bundle. As a younger apprentice, he'd often been given more menial tasks, such as packing and unpacking for Qui-Gon; when he'd graduated from that status, Obi-Wan had thought he wouldn't miss the work. But now, as he took out a fresh tunic, and balled the dirty one up at the bottom of the bag, he found himself taking a strange pleasure in it.
Remembering his other old tasks, he smoothed the sheets on the pallet, then retucked the blanket over it, then laid out the rest of his Master's clothing for the next day.
What else could he do? The small freeze unit in the corner had some juices in it; he poured a large glass of the strange blue one he knew Qui-Gon liked, and set that beside the pallet. He paused for a minute, then plumped the pillow back into the right shape. Finally, he took the book he'd seen last night and set it on the blanket.
"Making me a nest?" Qui-Gon asked, raising one eyebrow as he stepped from the bathroom. He was wearing only a pair of shorts; Obi-Wan took in a slow breath as he saw, for the first time, the catalogue of injuries his Master had suffered. Despite the bacta, Qui-Gon still had dark bruises over his rib cage, along the left side of his face, and along his arms and legs. The ugly gash on his thigh was better, but would still require care. "It's all right, Obi-Wan," the older man said quietly. "It looks worse than it feels."
His stifled groan as he sat down upon the pallet belied his words; Obi-Wan hurried to help him lie back, easing him down onto the soft blanket. "Let me dress that cut for you," he said. "Then I can help you with a healing trance, and you can get some rest."
"All very wise," Qui-Gon said distantly.
Obi-Wan took out the synth bandage and thick gel the medics had given him and turned to his task. He softly patted the skin on Qui-Gon's leg dry, then began spreading the gel gently on the wound. His Master winced slightly, and Obi-Wan paused. "Am I hurting you?"
"Not as much as you're helping," Qui-Gon said. As Obi-Wan continued, moving his hand further up the older man's thigh, his Master spoke again. "Obi-Wan, there's something I want to know."
"What would that be, Master?" Obi-Wan felt his heart beating a little faster -- whether from suspense at the question or the proximity to Qui-Gon's body, he wasn't sure.
"If you had realized that you couldn't save us both -- what would you have done?"
This answer was one Obi-Wan did not relish giving, but he knew his Master deserved honesty. "If I had known there was no chance of saving us both -- I'm sorry, Qui-Gon, but I would have let you go. That sounds so hard. It feels unimaginable. But there would have been little point in letting Gerlinn's acts destroy us both."
"There you go again with the apologies," Qui-Gon said kindly. "You don't have to be sorry. That is what I hoped you would answer."
Obi-Wan finished with the gel, then took out the bandage and spread it out carefully, affixing it with as little pressure as possible. Besides helping his Master, this had the added benefit of keeping him from meeting his eyes. "I've learned something through all this." "And what would that be?"
"I can manage on my own. Without you," Obi-Wan admitted, finally looking up into Qui-Gon's face. "I just don't ever want to."
The silence stretched between them for a long moment; Qui-Gon's expression was unreadable. Obi-Wan finally shook his head and straightened up. "You need your rest. Perhaps I should go."
Even as he began to rise, Qui-Gon's hand stopped him; fingertips brushed against his face, halting him in place. He met Qui-Gon's gaze again, searching, disbelieving.
"Perhaps --" Qui-Gon said hesitantly, "perhaps you could stay."
Obi-Wan could not answer, could not think, as Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed him once, softly, on the lips. His Master settled back onto his pillow after that, watching the younger man closely, making no other move than to stroke his cheek once more.
"Why now?" It was the first thing Obi-Wan could manage to say.
"There's an easy answer to that," Qui-Gon replied quietly. "That you proved your independence today, that I don't have to be afraid of hindering your progress any longer. But, in truth, you proved yourself a long time ago. So, why now indeed?"
Qui-Gon paused as he let his fingertips run down the length of Obi-Wan's braid, then rest on his sleeve. "Maybe I'm an old man who got a little too close to death. Maybe I'm tired of watching you suffer over this. I do not know why this is the hour. But I do know how very desperately I want you to stay here with me tonight."
His voice was low, warm, rough. Obi-Wan could feel himself weakening, in body and spirit, just at the sound of it. Yet he forced himself to say, "Qui-Gon -- that's not enough." At his Master's raised eyebrow, he continued, "I won't come to you and be turned away again. I can't bear it. If you do not know why you want to be with me -- you might yet change your mind. And that I could not endure."
Shaking his head, Qui-Gon said, "Don't misunderstand me. I don't know why I've had this revelation today -- maybe I never will know. But, Obi-Wan, I've always known why I wanted you. Why I loved you." The older man was looking at him, vulnerable with hope and desire. "From the first days I knew you, you were an example to me. Of courage, of clarity, of strength. You taught me belief, at a time when I thought it beyond me. And watching you grow into the man you've become -- this man whose bravery and conviction I can only admire -- that has been the greatest joy of my life."
Obi-Wan wondered at the evenness of his voice as he replied, "Whatever I am, you made me."
His Master shook his head. "I didn't make you this. At best I only helped you to see what you could become. That's honor enough for any man's lifetime, Obi-Wan. If you choose to leave our relationship as it is, I will still be grateful for having had the chance to be at your side." Qui-Gon ran his hand down his apprentice's arm, until their fingertips touched. "All that said, I do want you for my own, for as long as you'll have me. If that's still what you want."
"Qui-Gon --" Obi-Wan tried to find words, failed, and finally just kissed his Master; his touch was gentle, almost uncertain, but Qui-Gon responded with heat, opening his lips, opening Obi-Wan's in turn. For a few long moments, the younger man explored the warmth of Qui-Gon's mouth, the taut curve of his tongue.
When the kiss ended, Obi-Wan breathed out slowly, trying to make his heart stop pounding, to make his mind accept the sudden fulfillment of his fantasy. Qui-Gon smiled as he ran a hand over the younger man's hair. "That's your answer, then?" His tone was not quite teasing.
"Of course that's what I want. It's what I've always wanted," Obi-Wan murmured, tilting his head back as Qui-Gon's hand moved down his neck.
"I wonder, sometimes, if you've considered all the obstacles," his Master said, more seriously. "I'm twenty-six years older than you, after all --"
Obi-Wan made a disparaging sound. "As if that mattered to me. You're still very much in your prime."
"Don't patronize me," Qui-Gon chided gently. "I am indeed still perfectly hale and hearty, as I plan on enthusiastically proving to you. But those years make a difference, Obi-Wan. I don't know how many more years of the journeyman existence I'm good for. You -- you're still searching. Still finding out what you might want, who you will eventually be. You may yet discover another destiny for yourself."
"No, I don't know the future," Obi-Wan replied. "No one ever does for certain. We'll face those obstacles when they present themselves, and not worry about them until then."
"You are indeed very young." His Master was smiling softly now, but the concern in his eyes was very real. "You'll be even more in the middle of my battles with the Council than you already are."
"I'm used to it."
"Your abilities and credentials will be called into question, as will my objectivity. You'll have to fight twice as hard to prove yourself."
"All the better motivation to perfect my skills."
"When you're fifty -- and a man still very much in your own prime -- I'll be seventy-six, and well past mine."
Obi-Wan took Qui-Gon's face in both of his hands, and dropped his joking tone. "You're afraid I would leave you. As afraid as I was before."
Qui-Gon did not deny his apprentice's words. "I don't doubt your feelings, Padawan. But I know how hard it will be for you."
"You've never failed to support me through my troubles, and I know you never will. So I do not fear what lies ahead for me." He traced the edges of his Master's jawline, brought his hands up into the long damp hair, as he smiled once more. "For you -- Qui-Gon, I want to see that seventy-sixth year. And every day leading to it. I want to know your troubles, to help you where I can and comfort you where I cannot. You could do me no greater honor. Nor give me any greater joy."
"And to think --" The older man's voice was suddenly shaky. "To think I would have let you go --"
Qui-Gon clutched Obi-Wan's shoulders and pulled him close, kissing him fiercely. His apprentice responded with equal fervor; the bone-deep ache of the last months, the pent-up desire, the agonizing frustration -- all of it was being burned out of him by Qui-Gon's touch. Obi-Wan, longing to be even closer, wrapped his arms tightly around his Master --
-- at which point Qui-Gon winced, stifling a cry of pain.
Obi-Wan jerked back, looking down at the bruised ribcage with shame at his own thoughtlessness. "Qui-Gon, I'm sorry --"
"So much for displaying my youthful vigor tonight," the older man said ruefully.
"You mean -- you just need to rest." Obi-Wan felt every muscle in his body protesting the idea of leaving Qui-Gon, but braced himself for acceptance.
Instead, Qui-Gon took his Padawan's jaw in his hand and brought him close once more. "If we're both very careful," Qui-Gon said, "I think we can work something out."
"Careful," Obi-Wan repeated, bringing his face next to Qui-Gon's, nuzzling the soft beard with his cheek.
"Gentle." Qui-Gon turned his head ever so slightly, letting the corners of their mouths touch, finding the barest brush of their lips.
"Slow." Obi-Wan's voice was only a whisper as he turned the soft touch of their mouths into a brief kiss, then pulled away almost instantly.
He leaned back, moving his palms down Qui-Gon's chest, relishing the warm skin and hard muscle he felt there. He slid back further on the pallet, bringing his hands to the older man's waist; Qui-Gon breathed in sharply as Obi-Wan tugged the thin shorts away.
As he stumbled to his feet, Obi-Wan looked down at the naked form of his Master. Although he had seen Qui-Gon's body innumerable times, he had never witnessed him like this -- sprawled upon the pallet, eyes electric with wanting, blood-dark erection curving against his abdomen. He hurriedly began undressing, kicking off his boots even as he worked himself free of his tunic.
When Obi-Wan finally stepped free of his leggings, he moved to lie down alongside Qui-Gon again, but was stopped. "Not just yet," the older man whispered. "Let me see you."
Abashed and thrilled all at once, Obi-Wan straightened and stood, a little uncertainly. Whatever awkwardness he felt was quickly banished by his delight in Qui-Gon's hungry gaze. After the barest few seconds, Qui-Gon sat up and held out a hand to his Padawan.
Obi-Wan sank down upon the pallet, taking his Master's hand as his did so. Qui-Gon enfolded the younger man in his embrace. For a few moments they remained still; Obi-Wan rested his head upon that broad chest, listened to the sursurrations of Qui-Gon's heartbeat as he tried to steady his own breathing.
Eventually Qui-Gon shifted slightly, letting his lips graze Obi-Wan's hair, then his forehead. Obi-Wan looked up, parting his mouth slightly in anticipation; the older man ignored the subtle suggestion and continued covering his apprentice's face with small, warm kisses.
Obi-Wan returned the gesture; he touched his mouth to the soft crinkling at the corners of Qui-Gon's eyes, the evidence of years of smiling, then to his chin and his throat. As he moved a little lower, testing with his tongue the hollow at the base of his Master's neck, Qui-Gon took one of his hands and brought it to his lips.
As though from a distance, Obi-Wan heard himself groaning as Qui-Gon ran the tip of his tongue against his fingertips, then kissed his way down the palm to the younger man's wrist. The gentle pressure of Qui-Gon's teeth against the delicate skin there made Obi-Wan shiver.
Lest he become entirely lost in the pleasure of what his Master was doing to him, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to his own task. He brought his mouth lower still, slid the tip of his tongue out to trail against Qui-Gon's nipple. When the soft touch was answered by a gasp, Obi-Wan continued, lapping softly at the skin peaking beneath his lips.
Qui-Gon let go of his arm and instead began caressing Obi-Wan's legs; strong fingers clasped the firm muscle of his calf, then shifted to the back of his knee. The massaging pressure there filled the younger man with an unexpected rush of delight; as he trembled with newfound sensitivity, he heard Qui-Gon laugh quietly at the discovery. He laughed too, from nothing more than simple joy, as he looked up once more into his Master's eyes.
Their lips met again in a slow, searching kiss. Obi-Wan continued the kiss as he carefully pushed Qui-Gon back down upon the pallet, taking his weight on his arms even as he lowered himself over the older man's body. As their bodies met, they moaned together as their firm erections brushed against each other; Obi-Wan moved sinuously against Qui-Gon, bringing them even closer. "Yes," Qui-Gon whispered roughly. "Just like that."
Through his flush of happiness at hearing his Master's encouragement, Obi-Wan was already eager to heighten the pitch of their lovemaking. So he continued the rocking motion of their bodies for only a few moments longer before sliding slowly down the length of Qui-Gon's chest, kissing every inch of skin along the way.
He brought his hand up to firmly cup the heavy sac between Qui-Gon's legs, pausing only to enjoy the satisfied groan he heard before dipping his head down to take Qui-Gon's hardened flesh in his mouth. That long-remembered taste, long-desired contact enflamed his own senses almost past coherence; Obi-Wan somehow managed to concentrate, to bring his thoughts to the here and now.
This is it, what I've waited for, he told himself through his warming delirium. What I desire, I possess. Qui-Gon is finally mine to have, to enjoy, to love.
Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon pulse once within his mouth, answered with the firm caress of his tongue. His Master slowly pushed himself deeper inside; the back-and-forth motion was almost imperceptible, but Obi-Wan worked with it, finding the slow tempo and matching it.
Just when he felt that Qui-Gon was on the very edge of orgasm, he felt the older man's hands on his face, pushing him back. Puzzled, Obi-Wan looked up. "What is it, love?" he whispered, flushing slightly as he used the endearment aloud for the first time.
"We said slow," Qui-Gon murmured with a faint smile.
Obi-Wan obeyed him, languidly kissing his way back up his Master's body. As their lips met again, Qui-Gon rolled his apprentice over on his side; he began exploring again, his hands finding every place on Obi-Wan's body that made the younger man shiver. As a thumb brushed against his nipple, Obi-Wan tried to clutch his lover to him more tightly, but Qui-Gon resisted. "Let me do this -- I've wanted to do this for so long," he said softly, bringing his mouth down to the hard peak of skin.
How was it that he could feel such pleasure through his whole body at this smallest touch? Obi-Wan did not know and could not imagine; he only understood that the circling of Qui-Gon's tongue against his nipple was causing seismic tremors of sensation in his fingertips, the soles of his feet, the back of his neck. His arousal was almost painful in its intensity, and he longed for release even as he reveled in the slow, delicious suspense his Master created.
Finally unable to bear even such exquisite passivity any longer, Obi-Wan arched against Qui-Gon, moving heatedly against him once more. Qui-Gon threw his head back at the contact, returning the motion even as he grasped the hard curve of bone at Obi-Wan's hip, forcing their bodies even closer together.
They moved that way for what seemed like a very long time, kissing each other deeply all the while. When Obi-Wan cupped his hand beneath Qui-Gon's thigh and brought his Master's leg over his own, he was rewarded with a long, shuddering sigh. Encouraged, he let his hand move to the hardened flesh pressed against his own; the welling moisture he found there made his fingertips slippery and warm as he slowly stroked Qui-Gon. After a few moments, his Master responded in turn; as the pressure of that fist enclosed him, Obi-Wan cried out, fighting the urge to begin thrusting hard. "Like this, then?" he gasped, looking into Qui-Gon's eyes, hoping desperately for permission to seek their mutual completion.
Instead, Qui-Gon released him, lifting that hand to touch the younger man's face. "I'd much rather have you inside me."
Considering everything, Obi-Wan should not have been as shocked as he was. "I -- Master, are you sure?"
"Very much. I've dreamed of this for a long time." Qui-Gon's forehead furrowed in concern as he took in the younger man's discomfiture. "If you don't want to, we needn't."
"No -- I mean, I want to," Obi-Wan answered, breathing in slowly, trying to steady himself. "I never have --"
"I realized that. I'm selfish enough to be glad of it," his Master said, a touch of humor in his voice. But he was serious again as he dipped his head to kiss Obi-Wan once more.
His Padawan accepted the kiss almost absently; his mind was racing. How did one go about this? He'd heard enough shower-room talk to know the basics, but when faced with the reality of Qui-Gon, lying here ready for him, that information seemed sketchy at best.
Obi-Wan finally ended the kiss and sat up; he saw the tube of gel he had used earlier on Qui-Gon's leg and could almost have sighed with relief. He clambered over his Master to reach it, then began fumbling with the cap.
Instead of turning with the younger man, Qui-Gon remained as he was; it saved Obi-Wan a few blushes as he worked clumsily with the tube. Once he'd managed to open it, he coated his fingers thickly with the gel while curving his body along Qui-Gon's back.
He tested his way carefully, slowly gaining entrance, feeling with surprise the intensity of the pressure around his finger. The thought of being within such tightness and heat made blood rush to his extremities, and he had to force himself to move no faster. As Obi-Wan slid a second finger within, Qui-Gon groaned in pleasure.
Obi-Wan dropped a wet kiss on Qui-Gon's shoulder blade as he continued his task, adding a gentle circling motion that made his Master shudder. "Obi-Wan, now, please now," Qui-Gon whispered with a heat his apprentice had never heard before.
He took only the briefest moment to coat his erection in the slippery gel, then grasped Qui-Gon's waist as he began pushing himself inside. Both men cried out, half in pleasure, half in pain; Obi-Wan had never imagined such exquisite, crushing pressure, nor such blazing heat. He forced himself to lie still, to accept the flood of sensation and to feel Qui-Gon relax around him.
Finally, Qui-Gon moved, shifting backwards to bring Obi-Wan within him even more deeply. Obi-Wan responded, pushing slowly and rhythmically, burying himself in the body of his beloved.
When he could go no deeper, Obi-Wan paused; for a moment, he savored the feeling and the knowledge of their joining. He brought one arm around Qui-Gon's waist, hugging him close; his Master responded by taking his hand.
Obi-Wan brought their hands down to Qui-Gon's own arousal; he cupped his hand around the hardened length as he began thrusting. The warmth and tightness were already almost too much to bear. Obi-Wan tightened his grip around Qui-Gon, yearning to share even a shadow of the pleasure enfolding him before his fast-approaching climax.
Qui-Gon enclosed Obi-Wan's hand in his own, moving with him even as he moaned. Obi-Wan thrust faster and faster into Qui-Gon, his voice joining with his Master's as heat overtook his body, his mind. Dizziness -- a flash of brightness arcing through him -- a loss of all sensation except the pleasure rushing up through him -- Obi-Wan came, crying out only a second before Qui-Gon followed him over the edge. Even through his orgasmic haze, the younger man kept stroking Qui-Gon, extending the moment as long as he could.
When at last Qui-Gon let his head drop backward in exhaustion, Obi-Wan released him and lay still. For a little while they remained joined, silent and shaking; once he had found the breath to speak, Obi-Wan whispered, "I love you."
"And I love you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied. It was all that seemed necessary for a very long time.
Eventually Obi-Wan pulled away; he grabbed up a soft cloth as he climbed over to the other side of the pallet. Qui-Gon soon pulled him down for a deep, thorough kiss as they embraced again. When their lips parted, Obi-Wan whispered, "I didn't hurt you?"
His Master shook his head, smiling gently as he cupped Obi-Wan's shoulder in his hand. "I told you I had dreamed of this. Reality was far better, my love."
Despite the warmth with which Qui-Gon spoke, Obi-Wan could see the tiredness flickering in his eyes. He ran one hand down the older man's chest, bringing it to rest gingerly on the bruised ribs. "Will you let me help you with a healing trance?" The question was a more delicate one now; joining minds during sex was an act reserved by tradition for Jedi who had bonded for life. As their lovemaking had just ended, the trance was allowed but would still be of unusual intensity; Obi-Wan knew he was asking for an act almost more intimate than what had gone before.
But Qui-Gon nodded; almost immediately, Obi-Wan realized that he was dropping his mental shields. Obi-Wan returned the gesture almost abashedly, knowing how fully his pleasure, his exhilaration and his love would be revealed. What he had not prepared for was the returning rush of emotion from his Master.
The younger man's eyes widened as Qui-Gon's love flooded into him -- the fullness of what he had glimpsed the day before finally revealed. He saw himself as he never had before -- golden, exotic, brilliant, all quicksilver energy in body and mind, all kindness and courtesy in speech that thinly veiled the fire within. Moved almost beyond response, Obi-Wan found a way to show Qui-Gon the image his apprentice carried within his heart -- strength and power embodied, compassion incarnate, masculine beauty unmatched.
His Master made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
Can you truly see me this way, Padawan?
Obi-Wan smiled softly.
I know you. This is who you are, even if no one else knows it. Even if you do not.
Their lips met once more in a gentle kiss. Obi-Wan pushed aside the temptation to linger in their togetherness and concentrated on Qui-Gon's injuries, turning their matched consciousness to the healing trance.
As the warmth and light of it flowed through them, dragging them down together toward sleep, Obi-Wan took a last look at his beloved's face. Qui-Gon's eyes were already shut, his breathing deep and regular as he rested in the warmth and comfort Obi-Wan had so longed to give him.
The sparsely furnished room seemed strangely, perfectly beautiful; the pallet seemed soft and luxurious; even the light seemed to be touched with rose. Obi-Wan laughed at himself, at the happy silliness of a man in love.
And this was how he knew himself -- as a man, and not a boy -- as he joined Qui-Gon in sleep.
Obi-Wan awoke from a dream -- uncertain, unsettling -- with a start.
"Are you all right?" Qui-Gon's deep voice brought back his memory; Obi-Wan looked up to see his Master -- his lover -- sitting up next to him, pillows piled behind his head. The Old Alderaani book was on his knees.
"I'm fine," he answered. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better, thanks to you. I think the leg needs another day or so to heal, but the rest of it is almost gone."
"You're reading?" Obi-Wan thought of other ways they might have begun the day.
"I was hesitant to wake you. You must have needed the rest as much as I did. Besides, I liked watching you sleep." Qui-Gon began to put to book aside, but his apprentice took it in his hand.
"What is this about? I was wondering, night before last."
"It's a history of the development of faster-than-light travel."
Obi-Wan laughed ruefully. "Beware the temptation to seek meaning where none exists," he intoned, in a deadpan impersonation of Master Windu that won a chuckle from Qui-Gon.
After a moment, the older man reached down and stroked his hair. "Why were you looking for meaning here?"
"You were being held captive. I knew you might not return. I wanted to be brave; instead, I cried myself to sleep on your bed."
"Do not doubt your bravery, Padawan. No one else who saw you yesterday could do so."
The formality of Qui-Gon's words unnerved Obi-Wan. He took a deep breath, then propped himself up on one elbow. "You're having doubts," he said quietly.
"Doubts? Of course. I always will doubt that I've done right by you," Qui-Gon sighed. "But, to borrow words you used in a very different context yesterday -- it's your life to risk as you choose. You have become an adult capable of making your own choices, and taking your own chances. I will not deny that any longer."
Qui-Gon slid down next to the younger man, taking him in his arms. "I meant what I said, my love. I will never leave you again." He smiled a little. "I should like to see anyone try to make me."
Obi-Wan hugged him, weak with relief and happiness. After a few moments, he was able to reply. "So we're together for the rest of our lives. I like the sound of that."
"So do I," his Master said. "But we're not making any big decisions just yet."
Obi-Wan let that pass. "No, instead we're leaving on a three-day trip on a cargo freighter where we'll have no privacy and less comfort. What were we thinking?" he groaned.
"Of being home. And when we get there, I promise to make you doubly glad of it." Qui-Gon ran his hand up and down Obi-Wan's arm. "When we arrive, we will have to deal with some important questions. You know that."
The younger man rolled back, laughing softly. "So, after all we've been through, you're telling me the easy part is over?"
"More or less." Qui-Gon was laughing too, even as he nodded his head. "We've multiplied our problems along with our pleasures."
"That's all right, then," Obi-Wan answered, leaning up for a kiss. "Bring them on."