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A Distant Refuge

by WriteStuff

Title: A Distant Refuge

Author: WriteStuff (Writestufflee@mindspring.com)

Archive: Certainly on M&A. Others please request.

Pairing: Q/O, implied O/Other (gen, even! Ew!)

Category: AU, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Sequel

Rating: Adult

Warnings: You pays yer money and yer takes yer chances. Explicit sex between two hot guys. Life-like situations and sometimes nasty surprises. Spoilers? For Force's sake, see the movie already.

Disclaimer: George's Boyz, George's Universe. Not only not making money, I'm hemorrhaging it in this endeavor.


Notes: All Gloriana's fault. This is a sequel to her lovely fic "Predicaments Beyond Our Control." All kudos to her for the initial idea and for ahem encouragement. Thanks to the gang on LJ for comments and similar encouragement.

All mistakes are mine.

«/» = telepathy

Summary: When the Republic and his own apprentice fall, Obi-Wan flees for his life and takes refuge with a man who is more than he seems.

Feedback: Any sort is a pleasure to receive if you care to give it.

The place hadn't changed much. It had been a backwater ten years ago and was still one. And thank the Force for that, though it was something he dare not say aloud. Not anymore. Not if he valued his life.

He'd begun to wonder if he still did, and if so, why.

The few people still on the dirt road that passed for a street eyed him curiously in the twilight but said nothing. Strangers were not unknown here, but were probably still a rare occurrence. Though he hadn't recently caught more than a distorted glimpse of himself in passing reflective surfaces, he was fairly sure he looked frightful: unkempt, dirty, ragged. Haunted. The shadows might hide some of that, and he was glad for the day's failing light.

The inn was where he'd left it the last time, smoke from its fire curling into the dusk, carrying the smell of food. His stomach growled loudly at the scent, reminding him he needed to fill it. It had been reminding him for days, to no avail. What coinage and monetary units he still carried were no good here. He'd have to find some odd job to do soon, before he got too weak to earn any that were.

There was more smoke in the air, from the hearth fires along the street, and from other homesteads set back behind those. That wouldn't help him find what he was looking for. He thought it likely the smithy would be on the edge of town somewhere, with its dangerous forge, but hadn't passed it on the way in. If it wasn't to be found on the opposite end, he'd have to stop someone and ask, though it was dangerous to give anyone anything to remember him by these days.

Then there was always the possibility that the man he was looking for was gone, ten years later. There was quite a spread of years between them, he suspected--thirty or thirty-five, though he himself had been a young man when they'd first met. Ten years later, the man who'd called himself smith and carpenter and part-time whore might be dead. Say to no-one that you've been here. It can be a refuge for you, when . . . if the time comes. Now the time had come, against his own certainty of its unlikeliness, and he needed that refuge, but there was no guarantee it was still to be found here. And if not . . . well. Best to face that when the time came.

The street was longer than he remembered, and the village seemed larger in fact than memory. Not surprising, he supposed, in ten years. And yet it was not very long before the space between the houses and cabins grew and he reached the end of the village where street became road, with no smithy evident. His heart thumped hard in a moment of panic. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself. Not time for that, not yet. There were other ways to look, other ways to see, though it would leave him dangerously exposed. He thought he might risk it here, for a brief moment.

So he stood in the shadows just past the last house and, for the first time in longer than he could reckon, opened himself to the Force.

He sensed the life concentrated behind him in the village and scattered in the forest surrounding it, people--mostly humans-- winding down for the day and wildlife either waking for the night or bedding down. A burst of laughter echoed up the street from the inn as its door swung open and closed again. A little beyond where he stood now, though, there was something . . . more.

« Jinn?»

There was no answer, but he expected none. Nonetheless, he hefted his too-light pack higher on his shoulder and started farther down the road in front of him. It curved gently south and night deepened around him before a clearing opened to one side, holding a small, snug-looking cabin and two outbuildings, one an open-sided forge, fires banked for the night. On the cabin's small porch sat a figure in shadow, watching the road. As he approached, the figure got to its feet, looming large in the darkness, one thumb hooked in his belt, the other on the bowl of a pipe he took from between his lips.

"Ben?"

The voice hadn't changed. Deep and resonant, it sent a chill down his spine, not of fear but relief and, yes, anticipation. He almost laughed.

"Ben?" the man called again, freeing his hand from his belt, reaching to put the pipe down in case he might need his hands--those enormous hands! He'd nearly forgotten how large they were. But not how gentle.

"Yes. It's Ben," he said hoarsely, voice rusty with long silence.

Light flared in the man's hand, moved, blossomed inside a lantern. The lantern rose and he stepped into the circle of light to be seen. The face that greeted him was much the same, perhaps a bit more weathered, but the hair had gone greyer. The expression was a mixture of relief and--what? Not quite pity. Sorrow, perhaps.

"I'd hoped you'd escaped. Hoped you'd remember my words."

"I hoped you were still here."

"I am. Come inside, lad. You look all in."

His stomach chose that moment to complain again, loudly, and the man's teeth flashed in a grin. "And sound it, too."

"You may want to hose me off, before you let me in," he said, stepping up onto the porch. Jinn still towered a head above him, posture straight as one of the posts holding up the porch roof. "I'm probably a bit ripe."

"I've smelled worse," Jinn said, with a faint smile. "Food, first."

Inside, the cabin was neat as a pin, sparely but comfortably furnished, and larger than it looked from outside. A huge stone hearth took up one entire wall, extending back beyond an interior wall to what he suspected was a bedroom. Wood and kindling were stacked against it and a low fire burned there now. But the cooking was done across the room on a huge black monster of an iron stove fed with more wood. A pot simmered on the stovetop, and the rich aroma of stew made his stomach cramp with hunger.

He felt faint all of a sudden and reached for the back of a chair to steady himself. Jinn caught him and eased him into it as the room whirled and darkened. A hand on the back of his neck pushed his head down between his knees and that was the last he remembered: the feel of that big, callused hand on the nape of his neck, familiar and warm, from another life.



Obi-Wan woke stretched out on some soft surface in front of the hearth, covered with a blanket. Full dark had fallen, he saw through the window, but the inside of the cabin was lit softly by spots hidden in the corners shining up from the floor. Jinn sat beside him on a chair, unlit pipe in hand, watching him intently.

"Welcome back," Jinn rumbled. "Had me a bit worried, you were out so long."

"Sorry," Obi-Wan muttered, and started to push himself up on one elbow. The room whirled again and he sank back onto whatever soft surface he'd been placed on, stomach roiling.

"Stay put, lad. Let's get some food in you before you try anything as strenuous as sitting up." Jinn got up and rattled somewhere behind him for a few moments, then came back with a heavy, steaming mug in one hand and piece of bread in the other. "How many days since you've eaten?"

"Properly? Four or five, I should think. However long it took me to get here from the port."

"On foot?" Obi-Wan nodded. "Longer than that, then. No wonder you're in the state you are." Jinn slipped a hand beneath his head and held the rim of the mug to his lips. "Drink a bit of this, first. Have a care: it's hot."

Obi-Wan took a mouthful of the thick broth and closed his eyes in bliss. Nothing, he was quite sure, had ever tasted so good. He wanted more, immediately, but Jinn made him pace himself, and it was a good thing. A few more sips into the cup and his stomach cramped hard again, unused to anything in it. For a moment he thought what little was in it might come back up again, but the cramps passed, leaving him sweaty and shivering.

He finished the rest of the broth slowly, mopping out the mug with the piece of bread Jinn gave him, then sat up carefully, swinging his feet to the floor. The dizziness returned briefly and subsided.

"Wait there while I run a bath for you. Afterwards, you can have a bit more to eat if you think it will stay down."

Obi-Wan nodded, suddenly too tired to speak. He leaned back and had a better look around as Jinn disappeared through a doorway at the back of the cabin. He heard water running. The soft surface he'd found himself on turned out to be a long, wood-framed couch, covered in deep, overstuffed cushions. The woodwork of the frame wasn't fancy but beautiful in its own way, sturdy and well-made. Nearer the fire sat a bentwood rocker that was more obviously a fine piece of craftsmanship and just as obviously well-loved, the wood burnished from the touch of a body that used it frequently. A small table, also handmade, sat between couch and chair; the thick black pelt of some animal occupied the floor. But for the wood stacked in its niche, the fieldstone hearth was unadorned, Obi-Wan thought, but on second glance he noted the andirons, grate, and tools were finely worked--no doubt in Jinn's own forge.

He was imagining those big hands turning the iron in the furnace, beating it into a new shape against the anvil, when the man himself reappeared, one muscular hand outstretched to help him up. Obi-Wan levered himself onto his feet and Jinn gently took his elbow, guiding him toward the back of the cabin.

The fresher was larger than he expected, accommodating a tub nearly as large as the monstrous stove in the kitchen. Big furnishings for a big man, he thought. The tub was full of steaming water that looked almost as heavenly as the food had tasted. Jinn took his clothes as he peeled them off. He felt strangely awkward, stripping in Jinn's presence, though he'd never been self-conscious about his body, and it wasn't as though the man had never seen him naked before. But Jinn was studying him as he disrobed, as though reading the map of his skin. There was a great deal more to read on it than there had been ten years ago. And now there were ribs to count.

"There's plenty of hot water if you want to wash off first and fill it again to soak when you're clean," Jinn told him. "You won't drown if I leave you, will you?"

"Not now," Obi-Wan promised. "But I've got nothing clean--"

"I've left you a robe, here on the hook, and a towel, and you can borrow a nightshirt until you've got some clothes of your own clean again. We'll do that tomorrow. Take your time." And Jinn left him alone.

Obi-Wan climbed into the steaming water and just let it warm him through for a bit before scrubbing off, head to foot. The water was grey by the time he was done, and he took Jinn's advice, letting it out, rinsing the tub, and refilling it. His brain seemed to shut down then, and no wonder, he thought distantly, head wreathed in steam. He'd been on the run for weeks, since--no. No. Not now. Not tonight. It was still too fresh and yet still seemed strangely unreal in its horror. The images came anyway, unbidden and unwanted, images of fire and death and red sabers. Tears pricked his eyes. He squeezed them shut and dunked himself back under the water again, as though trying to literally drown the memories. It was minutes before he came up again, gasping, shaken. Was it himself or the memories he was trying to drown?

He soaked until the water was tepid. By the time he climbed out for good, he was logy and waterlogged. He toweled off and wrapped himself in the thick robe Jinn had left him, then ventured back out to the cabin's main room. He was surprised at how warm the floor felt beneath his bare feet.

Jinn was sitting at the table near the stove, a three-quarters-eaten plate of thick stew in front him and a book propped open just above it. Obi-Wan took the chair across from him, where another place had been set, and Jinn closed the book, putting it aside.

"Better?" he asked, turning that blue gaze on Obi-Wan. He felt transparent beneath it, as though Jinn had seen his moment of weakness in the bath.

"Cleaner, at least," Obi-Wan replied.

Jinn leaned back in his chair. "Summat more solid to eat?"

His stomach made its opinion known with a loud growl. One side of Jinn's mouth curved upward. "I think that means `yes,'" Obi-Wan agreed.

Jinn looked him over for a moment, as though gauging his appetite, then nodded. The plate he set in front of Obi-Wan was half-full, and held another thick slab of bread. Jinn pushed a crock of butter toward him and then added a glass of water. "I think you'd best stick with this for now, though there's generally beer or tea or whiskey."

"Water's fine, thanks," Obi-Wan replied, and tucked in. It hadn't looked like enough when Jinn had set the plate before him, but by the time he was done--and he made himself eat slowly--his pinched stomach was just full enough. Exhaustion settled over him as he put down his utensils.

Jinn seemed to sense that, too. "I've changed the sheets on the bed. I'll sleep in the loft."

"No, I don't want to put you out of your own bed. I'll take the loft."

"No, lad. The state you're in, you'll do the same thing I did two years ago and break your neck instead of a leg. That's why I added on the bedroom and built myself a bed. Too old for that foolishness."

"Then we'll both sleep there. It's not as though we haven't--that is--"

Again, the deep blue eyes searched his own, stopping the rest of his words in his mouth. Why was he so awkward with this man? He'd stayed five days the last time, and Jinn had taught him more about himself, about his own needs and desires, than he'd learned in all the years before or since from his master or anyone else. In the end, Jinn had returned the money Obi-Wan had paid to have himself put in chains and his own flesh laid open. He'd left a different man.

And he was a different man now. They both were, ten years later.

As if to deny it, Jinn reached across the table and covered one of his hands. "I meant what I said, all those years ago. That this should be a refuge for you. That's not changed."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know."

"Then you know you owe me nothing."

I owe you more than you'll ever know, Obi-Wan thought, but nodded his agreement. "But I won't put you out of your own bed. And I, I'd rather not sleep alone, if you don't mind."

Jinn continued to study him. "No, I don't mind," he said at last. The man's mouth quirked up again and he squeezed Obi-Wan's hand and let it go. "But I won't hurt you. Not now."

"I didn't come here for that," Obi-Wan replied.

"Maybe not. But you'll want it again, in time."

"I doubt--"

Jinn touched two fingers to his lips, silencing him. "Later. We'll talk later. You need sleep, now that you've eaten and washed up. That's clear enough."

And it was, even to Obi-Wan. He hadn't the strength or desire to argue otherwise. Jinn led him through another doorway in the back of the cabin, to a room nearly filled by the bed that occupied it. The hearth continued along one wall where another low fire burned. The bed--oversized like the tub and neatly made up with a thick patchwork quilt in blues-- faced it, parallel to the back wall and its window. Most remarkable was the wall of shelves that framed the headboard, lined with old, frayed, and well-loved books and other media. Obi-Wan had never seen so many bound volumes outside the special collections in the Temple's library--something he would never see again. The realization was like a knife in his gut.

The only other furnishings were a chest at the foot of the bed and a table beside it. A small braided rug in bright colors covered the floor next to the bed. Jinn opened the chest and tossed a long homespun nightshirt on the bed.

"You'll need this. The nights are cool up here, this time of year. And I keep the window open."

The shirt hung nearly to his ankles and was laughably large on him, but it was soft with wear and smelled of sun and wind.

Jinn pulled the covers back and Obi-Wan crawled in gratefully. "I'll leave a glass of water by the bed. If you want anything before I come in, give a shout. Sleep well, lad."

"Thank you, Qui-Gon," he mumbled, closing his eyes and tumbling downward once again into the haven of sleep.

In the grey light of early morning, Obi-Wan woke to the soft patter of rain and the scent of wet forest through the open window. It was only open a crack, but it was enough to let in a brisk waft of fresh air, and to make him glad he was tucked under warm covers with someone at his back.

Not someone. Qui-Gon Jinn, who was wearing nothing but his own skin. Obi-Wan knew this because the man's large, lean body was spooned against his own at back and arse and knees, a large, solid morning erection tucked between them against Obi-Wan's buttocks where his shirt had rucked up in the night. Obi-Wan had his own erection this morning, but not much inclination to do anything about it. He found himself still in that dreamy state between sleeping and waking and let himself enjoy the fresh air, and the sensations of Jinn's breath on his neck, the man's arm snugged around his waist, and the heat at his back. It was far more pleasant to just drift in peace than open his eyes. Waking would involve thinking and remembering, neither of which he wanted to do.

As though his own state had broken Jinn's slumber, the man nuzzled against him, huffing a warm breath against his hair and tightening his grip around Obi-Wan's waist. "Morning, lad," Jinn rumbled in his ear. "Sleep well?"

Obi-Wan rolled over, still in that not-yet-awake place he enjoyed but seldom had opportunity to indulge. "Yes," he murmured and yawned. "Thank you." Jinn was disconcertingly bright-eyed for having just woken. "For the first time in a long while."

"Ah, you don't remember then," Jinn said in a quiet voice, and brushed a stray fall of hair from Obi-Wan's eyes. "Just as well, from the sound of it."

"Remember what?"

"When I came in last night, you were dreaming. And not happily."

He'd forgotten how easily this man read him, how accessible the inside of his head was. Jinn had honed his own powerful gifts from the Force in whatever way he could during his life and read Obi-Wan like one of his books. What could he say to that observation?

"It's all right, lad. You quietened down once I got hold of you. But I suspect it's not the first one you've had, is it?" Jinn said with a concerned frown.

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut again, images from other dreams and from the reality that sparked them rising up unbidden, ambushing him. "No," he said hoarsely.

Jinn pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's forehead and pulled him close. The kindness snapped something in him. Obi-Wan's arms went around the bigger man almost convulsively. He seemed unable to stop himself. Too long on the run, suppressing grief and terror and rage in the interests of survival, too long without releasing the more poisonous emotions to the Force for fear of being tracked. He shuddered in Jinn's arms and tried to push himself away, to spare Jinn the wash of feelings he knew he was leaking, but the big man held on to him, not ungently but firmly. One hand closed on the nape of his neck, fingers pushing up into his hair and flexing lightly there, soothing him as they had long ago when he hung in chains at Jinn's mercy. Obi-Wan sank against him, surrendering.

Jinn rolled him over on his back, the bigger man's weight pinning him down, his lips tracking a faint trail from Obi-Wan's temple to his neck, breath warm on his skin. When his lips found Obi-Wan's, he opened them hungrily, desperate for something to keep memory at bay. Jinn pushed in and Obi-Wan let him, whatever protest he might have made silenced by his need. He wanted this and didn't, the way he'd both wanted and hadn't wanted the lashing Jinn had once given him.

He shuddered again as Jinn leaned back and slid the nightshirt up over his hips and torso, up over and off his arms and head in a slow sweep of callused palms. His fists clenched in Jinn's hair as the man leaned down again to lick at first one nipple then the other, biting down on the rucked brown flesh and sending electric shocks straight through him. Obi-Wan squirmed and whimpered beneath Jinn, flooded with physical sensations that drove thought from his head. He heard himself cry out, the cry turning to a sob as Jinn's mouth closed around his stiff cock. "No! Oh gods! Please!" His hips bucked as Jinn began to work him. One hand entirely enveloped his scrotum and squeezed and rolled his balls until Obi-Wan was almost frantic with a need he hadn't suspected. Then Jinn swallowed him down.

The sob turned to a shriek as Jinn's expert attentions pushed him over the edge into an orgasm that shook him from head to toe, a release he'd need for a long time. He collapsed back onto the mattress, panting and trembling, one arm thrown over his eyes to hide the tears slipping from them. A moment later, he felt Jinn lie down beside him again and flinched away like a nervous animal when the man's fingers stroked across his belly. Jinn's big hand lay flat there for a moment until the tension ran completely out of Obi-Wan's body, then stroked gently along his flank. The touch was soothing, affectionate.

"You've not grown any quieter, I see," Jinn observed.

Obi-Wan could hear the amusement in Jinn's voice and let his arm drop, barking out an answering wry laugh. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, wiping the tears away. "Not with you, at least," he acknowledged. "Though it's been a long time since I've been with anyone else."

"Part of the reason you're wound up like a spring, I'd say. That should take a bit of the edge off for now, lad."

"And what about you?" Obi-Wan rolled over on his side and found himself tangling his legs with Jinn's. The move surprised both of them. Jinn cupped his cheek in one hand, thumb lightly brushing across the skin, an unexpected tenderness in his face.

"It's been a long time for me, too," he admitted, "but you don't--"

"I want to." Obi-Wan reached for him and Jinn took his hand and closed it around his cock. With that hot, soft velvet-over-steel in his hand, Obi-Wan remembered how large Jinn's penis was-- too big for a comfortable mouthful. He squeezed hard and Jinn groaned quietly, eyes closing, head thrown back, tendons in his neck standing out beneath papery skin. It struck Obi-Wan suddenly, in the dim daylight, how much Jinn had aged in the intervening years. Not that it mattered.

Jinn set the rhythm for him and Obi-Wan followed it, swiping his thumb along the slit and beneath the crown at each upstroke, making Jinn shudder. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jinn's, felt them open, and slipped his tongue in, tasting himself there. Jinn bucked into his hand, one of his own hard on Obi-Wan's hip, the other cupped beneath his head as they kissed. At last, Jinn broke away.

"A little--yes!" Jinn hissed as Obi-Wan sped the rhythm and dragged his nails up Jinn's cock. It jumped in his hand and Jinn shuddered as he came, groaning. "Ah, lad!" Obi-Wan thought there would probably be bruises on his hip, later. That didn't matter either.

Jinn heaved a sigh and sank back into his own pillow, pulling Obi-Wan close again, their legs still tangled. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling drained and sad. Jinn was, right, he was calmer now, but the sex had been nothing but a mechanical release. He was too bruised to put any affection into it, though he thought it was there, somewhere. Jinn's lips brushed his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, Ben," the man murmured, using the name Obi-Wan had given him years ago. He'd never told Jinn his real name and Jinn hadn't asked. " It's time I got up to see to the beasts."



Much later, he heard the door slam and Jinn stamping on the threshold, then the sound of water running and metal clanging. He'd slept again, after Jinn got up, and felt thick-headed for it rather than refreshed. The robe Jinn had given him lay at the foot of the bed and Obi-Wan put it on and padded out into the main room. Jinn was at the stove and had set two places at the table.

This was the first good look at Jinn in daylight that he'd had. The leggings he remembered from years ago had been replaced by trousers in some heavy woven cloth that buttoned up the front. In place of the smock and leather apron from Obi-Wan's memory, Jinn wore a deep green woollen shirt that pulled on over his head, tucked in, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing powerful forearms. The long, loose braid he'd wound his hair into fell far down his back and was heavily shot with grey and silver among the bronze. The beard he remembered was still there, neat around his mouth and closely trimmed. Deep lines spread from the corners of his eyes like a river delta. In another Obi-Wan would have called them worry lines, but even now Jinn was humming quietly to himself, radiating content with day. Sensing Obi-Wan observing him, the man acknowledged him with a nod and went back to his cooking.

Obi-Wan sat where he had last night and sank his head in his hands. Today he would have to start thinking about what to do next, and the truth was, he had no idea. He'd been on the run for weeks now, his only purpose since he'd left Coruscant to get here. Now that he'd arrived, there were more decisions to be made. He wasn't sure he had the wherewithal to make them.

Jinn set a steaming mug down in front of him and went back to the stove. It turned out to be tea, black as sin and strong enough to melt a spoon. Obi-Wan diluted it a bit with the milk on the table and stirred sugar into it. The first mouthful was pleasantly hot and chased some of the fog from his head. When he was halfway through it, Jinn set two full plates down on the table and joined him.

"Eat up, lad," Jinn told him, tucking into his own meal. "You'll feel better for it."

The man was right, Obi-Wan knew, but he had no appetite. Still, he forced himself to eat, not wanting to waste what was put before him--a precept inculcated in him early in his Jedi training. The food was good--he knew that somewhere in his mind--but it could have been sand he was eating for all the taste it had for him. Somewhere between last night and this morning, he'd lost whatever had kept him going since he'd left Coruscant.

When they were finished, Obi-Wan started to collect their plates. "I'll wash u--"

"So you won't have to think?" Jinn said with a deadly accuracy but not unkindly. "You'll have to, sooner or later, Ben. It's best done sooner."

Obi-Wan sank back down in his chair, plates still in hand. Jinn took them from him gently and set them to one side.

"We've all heard what happened," Jinn said in the kind of voice Obi-Wan imagined he used with nervous animals: quiet, calm, unthreatening. "Even out here. The Jedi declared enemies of the state. Massacred in their temple. The temple burned. The rest cut down by clone troops wherever they were. The manhunts and bounties. It goes without saying there's a price on your head. I need to know if you've been followed. If you ever spoke about this place to anyone."

"No," Obi-Wan replied, not meeting Jinn's gaze. "No. I kept my promise. No one knows I was ever here." He was looking down at the table but not seeing it, one hand sweeping back and forth across its surface, fixated on the smooth grain.

"Is it possible you were followed?" Jinn repeated, and closed a hand over Obi-Wan's, trapping it.

"Anything is possible," Obi-Wan said with an air of fatalism he'd never felt before. "But I took pains to make sure I wasn't. I was a long time getting here, doubling back, covering my trail, laying false ones."

"Does anyone know where you've gone? Anyone?"

"I told you--no."

Jinn reached across the table and lifted his chin, but said nothing. The look was enough. He was endangering this man by his presence; Jinn had a right to know who might betray them.

"Yoda," Obi-Wan said. "Just Master Yoda. The--I suppose he was the head of the order, the most senior councillor. We were the last two left alive, as far as I know. He's gone to--"

Jinn stopped him. "I don't need to know where he's gone. I need to know if they'll find him."

Obi-Wan smiled but it was bitter. "Not likely."

"I'll take your word for it, then," Jinn responded, leaning back. "Were you seen coming through town?"

"Yes. But I didn't stop. Or speak to anyone."

"Good. That buys us a bit of time. If anyone asks, you've stopped for a few days to odd-job for me while you're looking for a homestead site. Luckily I've a few projects I could use another hand on. I'll make up a pallet in the barn so it looks like you're sleeping there."

"And then? When the jobs are done?"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes. It's enough for the moment to get you properly fed and back on your feet, and get you some clean clothes. I've got yours soaking now. You wash up while I go wring them out and put them on the rack to dry." Jinn got up with the plates in his hand and put them beside the sink. "In the meanwhile I've got some leggings that have shrunk up, and shirt that'll hang on you, but at least it'll keep you warm. Since the floors are heated, I think you'll be all right barefoot. I usually am, but take a pair of socks if you need to. I'm afraid my other small clothes won't be of much use to you, despite the size of that package of yours." And he grinned, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Obi-Wan found himself grinning back, Jinn's good humor too infectious to resist.

"Better," he nodded, approving. "It looks like it's going to rain all day, so you might as well stay inside, until we get you some decent clothing. I'll be out and about in the workshop out back. Make yourself at home, and shout if you need anything."



As Obi-Wan washed up their breakfast dishes, Jinn spread the clothes he'd washed out on a rack to dry before the fire, which he carefully stoked up before going out again. Obi-Wan acquainted himself with the kitchen's contents as he dried and put things away. Jinn didn't have much in the way of dishware, enough for two or sometimes three, all of it stored on shelves near the sink. Other shelves held jugs and jars of staples and a small coldbox held milk, butter and fresh produce. A few well-cared for cast-iron pots and pans hung on a hand-forged rack above the stove. Eating and cooking utensils sat upright in two crocks on a hardwood counter scored with knife cuts. Three knives and a cleaver honed to glittering sharpness rested in a slot between the wall and cutting surface.

Obi-Wan explored the rest of the cabin after Jinn headed out to his workshop, but it didn't take long. He'd seen most of it the night before. There was only the main room that ran the width of the cabin and held the kitchen and living room, and behind it, the fresher, and the bedroom. The loft Jinn had referred to was tucked over the kitchen area where the heat from the big stove would make it a warm place to sleep. A steep set of stairs, almost ladder-like, led up to the loft near the back wall. The space was empty now, aside from another chest. Obi-Wan wondered how Jinn had wrestled it up there. Perhaps his Force skills were good enough to levitate it. A trap door in the kitchen with a slightly gentler set of stairs led to a root cellar well stocked with provisions. All of it was surprisingly clean and neat. Jinn lived as simply and neatly, or neater, than the Jedi Obi-Wan knew.

Had known.

And now there were only two of them left, perhaps a handful, out of what had been hundreds of thousands scattered across the galaxy, slandered, falsely accused, hunted and murdered. And a few people like Jinn, untrained but powerful. The realization came back to him again in a flash, stealing his breath, choking him. How could this happen? Why hadn't anyone seen this coming?

Jinn had seen it coming. Obi-Wan remembered his words clearly, all these years later. He'd mulled them over often enough. I've seen a monster with red markings and a red sword, like your lightsabers, he'd said. There's deceit, too. A man in a cowl--he'll make fools of the wise. I can't see an end to the folly. Yes, they'd been fools, all of them. Even the Council, fooled by Palpatine. Worse yet, fooled by--

But he shied away from that memory. It was too painful yet. Why hadn't he known? His own visions had been clear enough and he'd learned--been taught--to distrust them.

And he'd wanted to believe otherwise. That people he had known and loved had betrayed him and everything he stood for was still unbearable. The memories flooded him: the clues he'd been given and ignored, the awful moment when his own troops had turned on him, scenes from the temple he wanted to forget. He tried to push them away but couldn't. They'd chased him down the lightyears from Coruscant; he'd spent as much time fleeing his own memory as he had working his way toward this place. As Jinn guessed, it found him most often at night, when he had no defenses. He could cloak himself from his pursuers, but his own mind had no trouble finding him.

As it found him now, finally, when he was too worn to ward it off, even wide awake.

He sank onto his knees blindly, overwhelmed by memory, and that was where Jinn found him a short while later: in the middle of the floor, folded in on himself with his hands over his face, cheeks and beard wet with tears. The first he was aware of it was the touch of a hand on his shoulder squeezing gently, then moving to the back of his neck and up into his hair. "It's all right, lad, it's all right," a deep voice murmured. "Let it go."

He didn't know where he was and sat up on his heels abruptly. Heart thumping, he looked around wildly, recognizing nothing, flinching from the touch on his hair.

A large hand gently stroked down his back and Obi-Wan felt an overwhelming sense of peace flow through him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the present resolving itself around him until the room became familiar once more. Jinn's hand stroked over his back, his voice murmuring, "Easy lad. You're safe here. It's all right. It's all right."

Obi-Wan shuddered and wiped his face. "I'm sorry," he muttered, and stumbled to his feet, still in the robe Jinn had given him. The man helped him up and kept a hand on his arm as he led Obi-Wan to the couch again. They sat together silently, Jinn smelling of fresh wood and dusted with wood shavings from the knees down. "I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said again. "I, I don't know what--"

"You've not had time to grieve, is what, I suspect," Jinn said. He took his pipe from a pouch on his belt and began to fill it, tamping it with one huge finger. "That's what it felt like, at least: grief."

"You felt--" Obi-Wan began, panic making his heart thump again. If Jinn could sense his feelings, that meant anyone could.

Jinn chuckled. "There's no one here but me to know, lad. I'm the only Force-sensitive here, besides you. Believe me, I'd know."

"That's what we thought, too," Obi-Wan said grimly. "And yet the Sith lord hid from us in plain sight."

Jinn held a brand from the fire to his pipe and drew on it. Once it was going, he settled back into the cushions and stretched out, crossing his legs at the ankle, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke. Obi-Wan remained on the edge, elbows resting on his knees. "I wonder how much you lot bothered to look?" Jinn said.

Obi-Wan felt a flare of anger that quickly faded. Jinn was right. None of them had really believed the Sith had returned until it was far too late. Not even after Obi-Wan had killed that monster--the one Jinn had described--on Naboo. "Not closely enough, obviously," Obi-Wan admitted.

"You killed that one I saw, with the red markings." It was a statement, not a question.

Obi-Wan nodded, staring down at his hands dangling between his knees. "The apprentice. But it was a near thing. And not until it killed my partner. The moment I saw it, I knew what it was, thanks to you, but I couldn't sense it in the Force."

Jinn nodded thoughtfully. "No, you wouldn't be able to. Not unless they wanted it. The Sith are masters of concealment, like the Fallanassi."

Obi-Wan turned around and stared at Jinn, who sat calmly next to him, teeth gripping his pipe while he clipped the pouch to his belt again. "How do you know?"

Jinn looked up at him, eyes glittering with more mischief. "You think only the Jedi know anything about the Force? You can't be that naive, lad."

"You had a teacher." It was Obi-Wan's turn to make statements.

"Aye. Several, and good ones, but neither Jedi nor Sith. And not until I was older--older than you."

Obi-Wan frowned. "That shouldn't be possible."

Jinn snorted, amused. "If only the wee ones could learn to use the Force, we would never have had any Jedi to begin with, would we?"

"No, but--"

"I don't deny it's easier when you've got no pre-conceived notions to get in your way, but that in itself is a good lesson: learning to let go." Jinn leaned forward and tapped Obi-Wan's knee as he'd tamped his pipe. "Not everything your order has taught you is the whole truth, Master Kenobi. Or should I say, General Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan looked at him in astonishment and Jinn winked. And now he was afraid again. If Jinn knew who he was, where else had he been recognized? For the first time in years he'd cut his hair down to nubs and gone bare-faced in his first weeks as a fugitive. He'd kept his shields high and only used the Force sparingly to cloak himself or misdirect others' attention. And he'd stripped himself of everything that might mark him as a Jedi: clothing, mannerisms, possessions, contacts--everything but Anakin's lightsaber and his own. Those two things he could not bear to part with, though he carried them wrapped in leather in his pack and not at his side. Yet Jinn had known who he was.

"Don't fret yourself, lad. I knew it was you the first I saw you on the holonet at the start of the war. You've made quite a name for yourself, you and that boy you lot were calling the Chosen One, which makes it all the more astonishing to me that people would believe you or the rest of the Jedi would betray the Republic. That's quite a propaganda machine our new emperor has."

"Yes, it is," Obi-Wan agreed, voice thick with sarcasm. "I'm sure fear and intimidation help a great deal, as well." Obi-Wan sank his head into hands. "I can hardly believe what's happened myself."

Jinn's hand came down on his shoulder again and squeezed. "No, I can only imagine what you've been through," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. Give yourself time to grieve. If you need to talk, I'll be here to listen. You're safe here, Ben, and you can stay as long as you like."

"I don't think I should stay long," Obi-Wan said, already regretting that fact. "I think my being here might endanger you."

"That's my lookout, innit?" Jinn got to his feet. "Now, if you're all right, I've got a bit of work to finish up. Go get yourself dressed, lad. We'll eat summat a bit later. Off you go."

The leggings were still too long but snug enough to stay up and the shirt was more a tunic than anything like a shirt. He retrieved his belt from the fresher and cinched it tighter with that. He made up the bed and then found himself at a complete loss.

Wherever he'd stopped before, his time had been filled with finding food and shelter and transport on to the next stage of his journey, as well as making sure he wasn't recognized or followed. When he could, he'd slept, hoarding his resources. Even though he'd finally come to rest, his brain was still geared to flight, no matter how exhausted his body was. He felt twitchy and anxious, so far from the calm centeredness he usually experienced that he hardly knew himself.

Stripped of home, friends, and purpose he might be, but he was not without resources. It had been too long since he'd had the luxury of time or safety to meditate. It was time he did so again. Past time.

He sat down on the bed, legs folded and back straight, hands loose on his knees. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then another, and another. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale . . . and he felt himself downshifting, the tension leaving his body, his heartbeat slowing . . .