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Aloneness (What Came After)

by Diotima

Title: Aloneness (What Came After): Part II: Homecoming
Author: Diotima
Editor: Merry Amelie
Email: graphikos@writeme.com
Archive: Yes
Category: Qui/Obi, angst
Rating: R
Warnings: mildly sexually explicit
Spoilers: N.A.
Summary: sequel to "Being One". This is two of three parts, Part III will be will be "Agonies of the Flesh". Coming soon!
Feedback: Yes. Email me!

Part I: Delirium

Part II: Homecoming

"Today is the big day," said Qui-Gon. He was smiling as he moved quickly about Obi-Wan's convalescent room, packing up the few items left.

"Yes, it is," Obi-Wan agreed without enthusiasm. He made to take the packed bag, but Qui-Gon took it from him.

"You are not to do anything," Qui-Gon said adamantly.

Obi-Wan was about to protest that he was not an invalid, when Master Asklepia strode into the room.

"Good day, Obi-Wan, Master Qui-Gon," she said, nodding to them both.

Qui-Gon bowed to her, smiling. "I must thank you, Master Asklepia, for your excellent care of Obi-Wan."

She bowed graciously in return, "It was my pleasure, Master Qui-Gon. And although his wound was serious, it helped that he was young and healthy to begin with. He will do quite well - if you can fatten him up a little."

"My Master's cooking will do that for me," Obi-Wan put in, almost defensively.

"I will try and get him to eat more," agreed Qui-Gon.

"And from what I understand, you are quite the cook, Master Qui-Gon," complimented Asklepia.

"I don't know if I am any good, Master Asklepia, but I do enjoy it," Qui-Gon replied modestly, "But you must come for dinner sometime. It is the least I can do, since you returned my Padawan to me."

"Indeed," she agreed, inclining her head.

"I must thank you as well, Master Asklepia," Obi-Wan said, bowing to her with genuine gratitude. He was more indebted to her than she could possibly know, for by denying him visitors over the past few days, he'd had the chance to recover without the constant pain of seeing his Master.

"I did not do much, but you are quite welcome," she replied and then went on with emphasis, "Please let me know if there is anything else you need. I will continue to be concerned with your welfare even after you leave."

Master Asklepia was assessing him with her eyes, which were so remarkably dark that it was difficult to discern the pupil, appearing always dilated. This illusion, along with her fiercely intelligent expression and slanting black brows, gave her gaze an effect akin to a keen predator about to seize its prey.

Obi-Wan was very uncomfortable both with her intent scrutiny and her probing words, but he was determined not to flinch under her gaze. Resolved to end this discussion, he answered her so firmly that his voice was almost harsh, "Thank you, but that is not necessary. I am fine."

"Perhaps," she said, holding his eyes with her own for another moment. "But my offer still stands."

She then turned back to Master Qui-Gon and said, with emphasis, "Take good care of your Padawan, Master Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise at the injunction but did not take offense, for after a moment, he said quietly, "With my life, Master Asklepia."

She jerked her chin in satisfaction. "Very well, then. I will bid you both good day." She then bowed to both of them in turn and strode out the door.

Obi-Wan was discomfited with the whole interaction in front of his Master, but Qui-Gon only said, "You are lucky that you had Master Asklepia, for she is a very caring Healer."

"Yes, she is," Obi-Wan agreed.

"But now that all your things are packed, we can head out. Will you be fine to walk? I can get a hover chair."

"It's only another part of the Temple. I'll be fine." "It is not that close."

"I'll be fine," Obi-Wan insisted.

As they walked back together, Obi-Wan was hearing his Master talk but not really listening. His Master seemed to sense that he was not in the mood for responding, so what he was talking about didn't need much of a reply, except for an occasional nod or noncommittal sound.

Obi-Wan felt extremely nervous, but he could not fully articulate why. It was almost as if both he and his Master had become utterly different people, and he had no idea what to expect.

Standing before the entrance to their rooms, Qui-Gon broke into his thoughts.

"...I have a surprise for you," he was saying with a smile.

The door opened before Obi-Wan could reply.

"Welcome home!"

Qui-Gon had apparently invited about thirty of Obi-Wan's closest Padawan friends, who were milling about in the common room. At the opening of the door, they burst out into cheering and applause.

Obi-Wan was intensely disappointed and profoundly relieved at the same moment. Not knowing what to say, he turned to his Master and said automatically, "Thank you."

"You are most welcome. I thought you might like the company of other young people, instead of an old man, for a change. So now I must be going - "

"You are leaving?"

"Just into the kitchen. To finish making dinner," said Qui-Gon, who headed off in that direction.

Obi-Wan stared after his Master, feeling abandoned, but he was soon surrounded by all his friends, who were embracing him and asking after his health. They soon had him sitting in the place of honor in a soft chair, and they saw to his comfort, bringing him drinks and some of the refreshments that Qui-Gon had laid out.

He was grateful that they seemed to want to spare him the effort of conversation, as he found he had very little to say. His friends seemed to take for granted that he would be tired or feeling unwell, and like his Master, they were entertaining him with their conversation without expecting much in return.

In fact, when one of the Padawans, a Togruta male named Basanisth, had asked for a recounting of his adventures on Pyades, the rest of his friends had almost angrily shushed him.

"It is not time for this now," snapped Uper'Maxos, a Twi'lek Padawan, and looked significantly at Basanisth, "Obi-Wan is exhausted. Another day."

Obi-Wan smiled gratefully, for he found he had nothing to say. Or nothing he could say. So if they thought he did not want to speak about Pyades because he almost died, let them think it.

Did he have any true friends, after all? Out of all these Padawans who clustered around him, would any of them remain his friend if they had even the slightest intimation of what had happened between him and Qui-Gon on Pyades?

Not one, Obi-Wan thought, his mind wandering as his friends chatted with him.

If any of them ever had any idea of what had happened that night, they would have been deeply shocked - more than shocked - horrified, disgusted! The sexual act that had occurred between Master and Padawan - whatever the motivation - had put them both outside the Jedi Order forever, for that apechthema was beyond understanding, or forgiveness.

He was utterly alone. Apart even from his Master, who was now lost to him more than ever.

"Is anything the matter?" Bant asked him. Her large yellow eyes were dark with concern.

"It is nothing," he said hastily, "I have a headache, that's all."

Qui-Gon had brought out the bowls and plates of food he had prepared. The guests had quickly surrounded his Master, as Qui-Gon was known for being an excellent cook. The food would be simple fare but made of the freshest, most flavorful ingredients and carefully prepared. It would be absolutely delicious.

Obi-Wan felt as if he could not eat a thing.

Qui-Gon, ever the solicitous Master, brought Obi-Wan a full plate. "I made some of your favorites," he said, smiling, before going to serve someone else.

Obi-Wan stared down at his plate. Slowly, without appetite, he took a few bites and swallowed. He thought he was going to vomit. When he was sure Qui-Gon wasn't looking, he put his plate down.

Some of the Padawans were now insisting that Qui-Gon stay for the party, rather than head back into the kitchen. "A story, please, Master Qui-Gon!" a few shouted. Qui-Gon had a large number of astounding and witty stories, so many that he seemed never to repeat himself in the telling.

Qui-Gon smiled but shook his head. "This old man will only get in the way of your fun," he said flippantly. "Another time, to be sure. For now I must prepare dessert!"

Obi-Wan watched his Master retreat into the kitchen but quickly looked away. A few of his friends had taken out musical instruments, including a drum and a stringed lyra, and began to play loud and lively music, for which he was grateful, because now he had an excuse to make less conversation.

Shortly Qui-Gon came out, carrying a tray of homemade desserts, all Obi-Wan's favorites. At the sight of the desserts, in a multitude of colors and all beautifully made, the Padawans burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Qui-Gon, after assuring himself that the tray was placed securely on the table, gave them an elegant mock bow. Before he could even fully straighten up, the Padawans had swarmed the table, helping themselves to the various desserts and exclaiming ecstatically with every taste.

Qui-Gon walked over to Obi-Wan, who was still seated in his chair. He indicated the full plate of food beside Obi-Wan. "You are not eating."

"I ate a little," Obi-Wan said, on the defensive.

Qui-Gon seemed reluctant to argue, so he did not challenge Obi-Wan's assertion but only added humorously, "Well, at least you saved room for dessert. Do you want me to get you something?"

Before Obi-Wan could answer, one of Obi-Wan's Padawan friends, a blue-skinned Etti female named Melitta, brought Obi-Wan a full plate of dessert, with a small piece of almost everything. "I didn't want you to have to get up," she said, beaming, placing the plate on his lap.

"Thanks," Obi-Wan answered, pretending enthusiasm.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked Obi-Wan, indicating the group of Padawans, who having moved aside most of the furniture in the common room, had begun to dance to the beat of the drum.

"Not right now but maybe later," Obi-Wan said.

"Master Qui-Gon, you have outdone yourself!" Melitta exclaimed before rejoining the other Padawans.

"Since I see you are well taken care of, I will return to the kitchen," Qui-Gon said, "The clean-up will take hours."

"I can help you," Obi-Wan said, quickly getting to his feet.

"Don't be ridiculous," Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. "You will do nothing of the kind. This is your party."

"But I want to help - "

"As my Padawan, you are sworn to absolute obedience," Qui-Gon said, pretending stern gravity, "so my command is this - you are to eat your dessert. And you are to have as much fun as possible. Dance."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, miserably, sinking back into his chair.

To Obi-Wan, the night seemed to go on and on. It took hours before the party even started to wind down, and for him it was hours of making inane conversation and picking at desserts on his plate, all melting into a sickening sludge. Despite his Master's humorous command, he had politely refused all offers to dance.

I wish this night was over, Obi-Wan thought tiredly, for the thousandth time. He had a pulsating headache over his left eye that pounded relentlessly like the beat of the drum his friend was playing.

It was early in the morning before everyone left. When he finally, gratefully, closed the door behind the last guest, he wandered into the kitchen, where Qui-Gon was scouring pots and pans under the hot water. His back was to Obi-Wan, his long dark hair pulled away from his face and tied neatly with a cord, for it was hot and sweaty work.

"Did you enjoy your party, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked brightly, not turning around.

"Yes," Obi-Wan lied. Then he added, "But I would have liked it better if you were there."

"I was there," Qui-Gon said lightly.

"Not just serving."

"You can see me anytime. I thought that you would have more fun with your friends," Qui-Gon was closely scrubbing a particular spot, "You forget sometimes that you are young, Obi-Wan, not old like me."

"You are not old, Master," snapped Obi-Wan, irritated all of a sudden, "You are mature."

At that last comment, Qui-Gon half-turned to look up at him, wiping the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand. If he noted Obi-Wan's irritated tone, he did not react to it. "Mature, then," he agreed affably and smiled. "You still need more time with others less mature.

"I think I should be the one to decide how I spend my time," said Obi-Wan irately.

Qui-Gon did not respond to the comment directly but only asked sympathetically, "Why don't you shower and go to sleep? Your nerves are all on edge from exhaustion."

Obi-Wan nodded wearily. He turned to go but before he had gotten too far down the hallway, he heard Qui-Gon's voice behind him.

"I have hung a clean night-robe in the 'fresher for you to change into after your shower," Qui-Gon said, casually, "It is behind the door."

Obi-Wan paused in the hallway, not knowing how to respond.

It was an extremely awkward moment. It had always been their habit to change into sleeping attire in the 'fresher, usually after a shower, but Qui-Gon's comment was unnatural and slightly forced. It was as if he wished to emphasize that there would be an unspoken agreement between them that strict Jedi modesty still applied, and they should act as if they had never seen each other naked.

As if I could forget, Obi-Wan thought.

"Thanks," was all he said finally.

"Don't mention it," Qui-Gon answered. He was intently cleaning a dish.

After a quick hot shower, Obi-Wan pulled on the night-robe that Qui-Gon had considerately left out for him. He wiped away the steam that fogged the durasteel mirror.

He stared at his own reflection. He was still pale and thin from his convalescence, now gone over from slenderness into gauntness. His collarbones and cheekbones seemed in high relief, his blue eyes very large and staring. His blond hair, which had grown long and untidy in his convalescence, and now wet from the shower, was sticking out in odd places.

I'm irresistible, he thought sarcastically. He shut off the light and headed down the hall. When he went into their sleeping quarters, Qui-Gon was standing near the door, carefully not looking at him.

"I still need to clean up the common room, but you should go straight to sleep. You need your rest, and it is very late."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed. He went to his own sleep-couch, and climbed beneath the covers.

Qui-Gon lowered the light and almost walked out but turned around awkwardly to pull the blankets up around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "It's been so long, I almost forgot," he said with an apologetic smile.

Obi-Wan did not believe him; it seemed more likely that his Master had felt uncomfortable tucking him in to his couch but then had returned because, having tucked Obi-Wan in for years, not to do it would have seemed too strange and even more uncomfortable.

"Good night, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said tenderly. He ruffled Obi-Wan's hair with his hand and again headed for the door, but then, instead of leaving, he hesitated in the doorway, his hand resting on the wall by the door, as if needing to steady himself. He took a deep breath, a diver about to dive into the darkest and most treacherous of waters. He seemed, for once, to be struggling for words.

"Obi-Wan," he finally said, never turning around, "I know that things right now are...difficult. But they will get better, I promise."

"Yes," agreed Obi-Wan quietly. "I hope so."

"Good night, Padawan. Sleep well."

"Good night, Master." Qui-Gon is wrong, Obi-Wan thought, staring miserably into the darkness, I don't think it will ever get better.

The very next day he presented himself before Mace Windu, asking to be immediately sent back on missions.

"Absolutely not!" Mace Windu had exclaimed, shocked at the request. "I admire your work ethic, Obi-Wan, but you are not ready."

"I am," insisted Obi-Wan.

"You cannot be serious. I am very surprised that Master Qui-Gon would allow you to make such a request." Mace Windu then looked at Obi-Wan penetratingly for a moment.

Hesitantly, as if it was forced out of him, Obi-Wan answered, uncomfortably, "My Master does not know." Obi-Wan neglected to add that he had snuck out of their rooms when Qui-Gon had left to pick up some Muja fruit to eat with their morning meal.

"Obi-Wan," Mace Windu said sternly, "I know what this is about."

Startled, Obi-Wan was about to guiltily stammer a reply, when Mace Windu triumphantly concluded, "You are concerned, as always, about your duties as a Jedi." He smiled approvingly at Obi-Wan. "You are the best of all the Padawans."

"I am not!" replied Obi-Wan shortly.

"And you are humble, too!" Mace Windu exclaimed. "Your modesty only proves my point. If only allPadawans were like you!"

Feeling keenly his own guilt at such praise, Obi-Wan was about to violently disagree, but Mace Windu cut him off with a decisive motion of his hand, "You are not to go back to work. You have been through so much and deserve some time for rest and healing."

"I don't need any rest," Obi-Wan maintained.

"Ridiculous! You will have a vacation, and that is final!" Mace Windu said in a voice that would allow no argument. "Spend some time with the other Padawans, and of course, your Master. I insist!"

"Yes, Master Windu," Obi-Wan had mumbled, before bowing stiffly and walking away.

How could he have explained to Master Windu that he could not stay at the Temple? That he was desperate to work, so that he could distract himself with activity? Instead, he would be forced to remain here always in close proximity to his Master. How could he forget what he needed so desperately to forget?

When he returned to their rooms Qui-Gon was preparing their morning meal, whistling a low tune under his breath. "Where were you?" he asked mildly.

"Nowhere," Obi-Wan replied laconically. He realized he sounded surly, so he added, "Nowhere important."

"You have good timing. The meal is almost ready," Qui-Gon said, placing some Muja fruit on a dish.

"I am not hungry."

"But you are eating, anyway," Qui-Gon replied implacably. He placed a plate of Obi-Wan's favorites before him.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, but he felt the way he always did lately around his Master, so upset that his throat seemed to close and it was impossible to swallow. Under his Master's look Obi-Wan managed a few bites anyway, washing them down with generous swallows of juice.

"Delicious," Obi-Wan lied, for if it was delicious he had no way of knowing, because he was quickly swallowing without tasting.

After Obi-Wan had gotten most of a plate down, he stood up to clean his dish, to prevent his Master from piling more on top of it.

"Let me do that for you - " Qui-Gon protested, standing up and reaching for the plate.

"I am not disabled," contended Obi-Wan.

With a smile, Qui-Gon obdurately took the plate from his hands, settling it in the sink. "Why don't you just leave it for later, then? I am sure you want to spend some time with your friends."

Obi-Wan looked up almost defiantly at his Master, "I intend to spend most of my time training, so I can go back to work."

Qui-Gon shook his head, still smiling. "I was told by the Council that you will not be sent on any missions until you are fully recovered. And to recover requires rest and enjoyment. Not just training."

"Do you know how long that will be?"

"I don't know. A few months, anyway."

"That long?" Obi-Wan protested, desolate at the thought of months of uninterrupted and undistracted time alone with his Master.

"If necessary. I will still have a few duties, of course, but I was told to focus on your recovery."

"I don't need you to take care of me. I am not a child," snapped Obi-Wan.

"True," agreed Qui-Gon calmly, "Still, I will be here if you need me."

Obi-Wan felt a sudden flush of remorse at his Master's gentle tone. It was not his Master's fault that everything was now so difficult and painful. Qui-Gon had done nothing wrong, and here Obi-Wan was, venting all his feelings at his Master, who had never been anything but kind to him and had responded to all his uncharacteristic rudeness with the most patient equanimity.

And did he imagine it, or in his Master's eyes did he see - guilt?

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and managed a smile. "I am sorry, Master. I am just fatigued and yet eager to get back to work."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Qui-Gon said carefully, as if meaning more than what was implied by his words.

"I don't agree, but thank you. But if you don't mind, I think I will go see some of my friends now."

"Of course. Have a good time. I will prepare the midday and the evening meals for you, but if you don't have time to return to eat them, they will be waiting for you."

Without looking at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan headed for the door. He had no plan of seeing anyone, only to escape from the claustrophobic rooms and the closeness of his Master. He retreated, as had been his habit for a long time, to the silence of the Jedi Library.

Obi-Wan had always been an excellent student, but the Jedi Library had been, for the last several years, a place of refuge and safety for him. When what had been vague yearnings for closeness to Qui-Gon had finally come into sharp focus, he had been thrown into anguish and confusion. He had been too innocent to fully understand all the implications of his longings, but he understood enough to know that these longings were forbidden. And although he was well liked by the other Padawans, he realized that he could say nothing to anyone, for there was no one who could understand. He was alone.

He had begun to spend his spare time in the library, reading obsessively. At first, he had done so to better understand these confusing feelings, to help him find peace with his struggle, but reading the Jedi commentaries on such things only increased his pain. They offered no answers, or even comfort, but only stern admonitions. Every text written by the Masters on the subject merely reiterated that any feeling between Master and Padawan should be of the most platonic and philosophical kind; any other, even if it was not physically expressed, was, without exception, immoral and utterly forbidden.

And the word they used for such feeling was not the more familiar "harmartia," denoting "flaw" or "error" - a matter for compassion, and forgiveness - but the cruel and frightening word, "apechthema," "abomination."

Obi-Wan had been sitting in an alcove in the Jedi Library the first time he had read that word in regards to his own feelings. The word, ugly and unforgiving, had paralyzed him; he had been unable to read any further, as if the word was a black and accusatory eye staring right through him, denouncing him for who or what he was. His pain was so tremendous that he could feel it in his chest, and he had to place his hands on the library table to steady them from trembling.

For if his feelings for his Master, which ran so deep and true in his being, were an abomination, then he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was an abomination as well. The Jedi Council praised him as the most promising of all the Padawans, the most dedicated, the most brilliant, but it was all based on falsehood. If the Jedi Council could see into his heart, they would cast him out. And Qui-Gon, if he ever discovered who Obi-Wan truly was, would turn away in revulsion.

In that terrible moment in the library, Obi-Wan saw with painful clarity that he would be forced to always hide who and what he truly was, and to learn to dissemble and deceive, if he hoped to remain close to his Master.

If he had been alone, instead of in the Jedi Library, he would have wept.

He soon put aside those particular texts, for he had learned that there were no answers there for him. But he still returned most nights to the library, reading all sorts of scientific treatises and philosophical discourses, for since childhood he had learned to suppress his emotions by being rigorously intellectual, and he sought that again, in the mental exercise of abstruse and difficult texts.

If he was alone for too long with Qui-Gon, and the confusing feelings raged uncontrollably inside him, he could always retreat to the library and study. With his mind distracted by logic and philosophy, he would quiet temporarily the pain in his heart.

He had also learned that there was the added benefit that he could be alone, if not actually concealed behind stacks of datapads, and that he would still never be expected to socialize with anyone there.

He now pulled a few datapads off the shelves. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a few Padawans and Masters he knew, but he acknowledged them with a polite nod that indicated he was seriously studying. He began to read, mechanically and without understanding, his mind still racing.

A passage caught his eye, from the writings of Jedi Master Epiktetu'us,

"Freedom is secured not by the fulfilling of one's desires but by the removal of desire. The fool says, if I may but possess my lover's body, I will be free of desire. This is false, for indulging in pleasures of the flesh only increases desire.

That is why to indulge in pleasures of the body is the shadow of the Dark, for it is the soul that should be the object of all love and attention, never the crude matter of flesh.

Indulging in such pleasures is not freedom but, indeed, the lowest and most degrading form of slavery."

He closed his eyes for a moment and put the datapad down.

For the rest of the day, he turned to his studies with a vengeance, reading difficult text after difficult text, and taking copious notes. He neglected the midday meal and continued to study until he became so tired that the words swam before his eyes and refused to make sense. Still, he stubbornly read on until the evening, until he finally fell asleep over a stack of datapads still cradled in his arms.

He was shaken awake by an irate Jocasta Nu.

"If you are that exhausted you should return to your sleep-couch," she said crossly, but, after a moment, looking at the bluish shadows under his eyes and his gaunt face, she went on less harshly, "You don't need to make up all your lost study time in one day."

"Yes, you are right," he agreed, looking down at his own hands still holding the datapad.

Observing the thinness of his vulnerable wrists protruding from his robes, Jocasta Nu continued, more kindly still, "As always, Obi-Wan, you are an exceptional student. But perhaps I can help you find what you need. What are you looking for that requires so many hours of searching?"

He hesitated for a moment. He wanted to say, I am searching for what will cure a Padawan of forbidden love for his Master. He finally said, "Nothing." He gathered up the datapads and stacked them on the return shelf. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"Not at all. Go home and get some sleep. You look tired."

You have no idea, he thought wearily. "Good night, Jocasta Nu."

"Good night, then, Obi-Wan."

When he finally returned to their quarters, to his relief Qui-Gon seemed to be asleep already, for their sleeping room was dark, and only a single light illuminated the common room.

After quickly preparing for bed, Obi-Wan slid very quietly into his sleep-couch, not turning up the light.

But then he heard his Master's voice. "Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan cringed inwardly but managed politely, "I am sorry I woke you."

"No need to apologize. Did you have a good day?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, not volunteering anything more.

"I am glad you are having so much fun with your friends. And Padawan - "

"Yes, Master?"

"I am glad you are home."

At his Master's words, Obi-Wan felt a sensation in his throat and behind his eyes, as if in another instant he would weep. What was wrong with him? Obi-Wan had always been a master of self-control, not prone to outbursts of emotion, yet now, after Pyades, he had discovered his command over his feelings had abandoned him.

He now felt his emotions with the directness and intensity of a child, as if he had never truly experienced emotion before. And every emotion was underlain with an overwhelming sadness and sense of loss, so he, who never cried, now frequently struggled not to cry, as if his bones had turned to water.

Obi-Wan paused to steady his voice, before carefully replying, "So am I, Master."

"Good night, Padawan."

"Good night, Master." In a few minutes Obi-Wan heard the deep breathing that indicated that his Master had fallen back asleep. Obi-Wan lay on his side, his head resting on his curled arm as he looked at the shadowy form of his Master

Since childhood, he had been prone to bouts of insomnia, and in the old days, when this had happened, Obi-Wan had been in the habit of sharing his Master's sleep-couch.

"I can't sleep," Obi-Wan would say, standing between the two couches, his bare feet cold on the stone floor. He was always too reserved to ask directly if he was welcome to share his Master's sleep-couch.

But Qui-Gon would always say warmly, "Then come here, Padawan."

Obi-Wan would be very careful when he got into the couch beside his Master. He would first gently move Qui-Gon's long hair off the pillow, so that he would not pull or tug on it as he lay down. The long dark hair would be heavy and almost slippery in his hand, like silk, and he would painstakingly move it aside so there would be enough room for him to fit his head on the same pillow as his Master.

He would then pull down the covers just enough so he could crawl underneath, into the chaste embrace of his Master's arms.

"You are so warm. I must feel very cold to you," Obi-Wan would say apologetically.

"Not at all," Qui-Gon would reply. "I am warm enough for both of us."

Obi-Wan would feel very shy, and he would quickly bury his face in his Master's shoulder. His Master was not only warm, but he always smelled wonderful, a clean smell like green growing things, or rain. Sometimes, if a lock of Qui-Gon's hair itched Obi-Wan's nose, he would sneeze, making them both laugh.

"Better now?" Qui-Gon would ask, ruffling Obi-Wan's hair with his hand.

"Yes," Obi-Wan would sigh happily.

Then most times his Master would just pull Obi-Wan to him, so his Padawan would have his head in the crook of Qui-Gon's arm, and then Qui-Gon would start to talk about the Force. Sometimes he would make a comment on the writings of a Jedi Master that Obi-Wan was obsessively studying. Qui-Gon's statement would always be so simple and yet so profound, that Obi-Wan would realize, humbled, despite all his brilliance and effort, he had not truly understood what he had read at all.

Other times, Qui-Gon would talk about all the wondrous things in the galaxy he had seen. He had been from one end of the galaxy to the other and had experienced many amazing things, and better still, he was a good storyteller, so his stories would have Obi-Wan astonished or laughing hysterically in turn.

"Master, you have done everything," Obi-Wan would exclaim in admiration when his Master was finished, but there was always another feeling, lying heavily in his stomach, that he could not articulate, a profound sadness. Sometimes, listening to his Master, Obi-Wan felt that he could never fully understand Qui-Gon and be close to him, as he had lived a hundred lives before Obi-Wan had even been born.

But Qui-Gon, understanding this, would caress the softness of Obi-Wan's hair and pull his Padawan closer still, saying affectionately, "But perhaps someday we will see these things together." And whenever he said that, the pain in Obi-Wan's stomach would ease a little, as he thought of seeing a thousand worlds at his Master's side.

Other times--and this was rarer, but more wonderful still - they would just hold each other in the dark, saying nothing, so close that Obi-Wan could breathe in his Master's exhalations and almost feel the beat of his Master's heart in his own chest.

At first Obi-Wan would tentatively embrace his Master, too diffident to be forceful, but Qui-Gon would always return the embrace with such warmth and enthusiasm that Obi-Wan would become more and more bold. Finally he would be squeezing his Master so tightly that sometimes Qui-Gon would laugh and tell him that breathing was at least occasionally necessary, but his laugh was never unkind, and he never pushed Obi-Wan away.

Obi-Wan would feel such happiness that he would be at a loss to express it, for his usual skilled way with words always abandoned him whenever he was overwhelmed with feelings. He would sometimes try to tell Qui-Gon how he felt, stumbling over his words, frustrated at his own stupidity.

But Qui-Gon, as always, would understand, and he would comfort Obi-Wan, stroking his hair, saying very softly, "It's okay, Padawan. I know. Do not worry, I know."

And Obi-Wan, knowing that there was no greater happiness than this, would finally fall asleep in his Master's arms, in the trusting deep sleep of a child.

Now lying alone in his cold sleep-couch, staring blindly into the darkness, Obi-Wan let out a deep, shuddering breath. If he did get up and ask his Master if he could share his couch, what would Qui-Gon say? After what had happened between them, he would certainly think that Obi-Wan was trying to seduce him, hoping not only to sleep at his Master's side, but to have sexual relations with him as well.

And he would be right, Obi-Wan thought, deeply ashamed. Even if I think my intentions are good, even if I swear up and down on everything good and sacred that I will try nothing, that I will ask him for nothing...I cannot be trusted.

Qui-Gon would reject any such attempt at seduction.

But then Obi-Wan was suddenly struck by another thought, which started his pulse racing wildly in his throat.

Would he reject me?

If I lie down beside him right now, pleading for his love; if I told him the truth, that the pain inside me is unbearable - what would he do, then?

Would he push me away, as he should? Or would he have compassion for my pain? He had compassion for me on Pyades.

At the memory of Pyades, Obi-Wan felt a shudder of desire so profound it was like a seismic shock going through his body.

Only a few feet separated the two sleep-couches. Obi-Wan could cross that distance in an instant, if he wanted.

If I pleaded with him, he might...he might even kiss me again.

At the thought of his Master's mouth on his own, Obi-Wan had to bite his lip, hard, to keep from groaning out loud. He added to himself, hastily, I would not ask him for...anything else. Just to kiss. And surely, Obi-Wan rationalized, to kiss him - just once - would not be that wrong, would it?

He rose to his feet in the dark and quietly approached his Master's sleep-couch.

His Master was breathing the slow deep breaths of someone deeply asleep. The night was moonless, but there was some dim light coming in from the single illumination in the common room, and up close, Obi-Wan could make out his Master's features, which looked younger and more peaceful in sleep. As always, Obi-Wan was struck by how beautiful his Master was, his features very strong and not perfectly regular, but with an expression, even in repose, of boundless compassion and nobility.

Obi-Wan, his hand uncontrollably shaking, reached out to gently touch his Master on the lips with his fingertips.

I hurt. I hurt so badly.

A single touch would awaken Qui-Gon. Looking down at his sleeping Master, so vulnerable and untroubled in sleep, Obi-Wan was all at once so overwhelmed by love and tenderness for Qui-Gon that the feeling was actually painful, and for a moment he felt as if he could not catch his breath.

Suddenly ashamed, he dropped his hand.

I would have him lose everything - his honor, his status among the Jedi, even belonging to the Jedi Order itself - for me. Has anyone ever been so selfish?

Obi-Wan knelt down on the floor, by the side of his Master's sleep-couch. Qui-Gon's dark hair was spread out over the pillow. Very gently, so his Master would not be disturbed, Obi-Wan took a lock of the hair in his hand, and pressed it to his lips for a long moment, in a reverent kiss.

This is my kiss, he thought, smiling crookedly as he blinked back tears.

Obi-Wan then tenderly rubbed his cheek against the softness of the hair in his hand, deeply breathing in its scent before slowly, regretfully, placing the lock of hair back down.

I will never hurt you again, Master, Obi-Wan promised, silently, I have hurt you enough.

Crawling back into his sleep-couch, and pulling the blankets back over him, Obi-Wan thought tiredly, I guess I should try and get some sleep.

Emphasis on try, he added ironically, staring up at the ceiling. For although Obi-Wan was physically and emotionally exhausted, he knew that sleep would evade him.

It is my own fault, he chastised himself sternly, I must forget. Somehow, I must forget.

And until then, he thought, with a wry smile, I am sure the dawn will be very beautiful.

Part III: The Agonies of the Flesh