A Breath Away

by Jadyn (jadyn@inorbit.com)

Author's Website: Jedi Apprentice Desktop Central (http://jadc.jk-n.net) - a shameless plug, I know!

Archive: M_A, possibly somewhere in my domain as well (Not JADC). All others please ask, just so I know where.

Category: Angst, AU, Romance, First-Time, Qui/Obi

Rating: PG-13 (just to be safe; no smut, sorry!)

Warnings: Possible abuse of the English language ahead? Unbeta'ed work by a first-time slash writer?

Spoilers: TPM doesn't count as spoilers anymore, does it?

Summary: A young Knight reflects upon his feelings and his journey across the galaxy, alone.

Disclaimer: Don't belong to me. Not making any money. Lucas is God. Title stolen from Josh Groban's lovely, lovely song "To Where You Are". Even though the story has nothing to do with that song whatsoever.

Feedback: Give me what you've got. Praises, flames, comments, criticisms, I'll take them all! This is my first slash effort, so I really need some pointers from all the experts. And I'm not some insecure teenager in need of coddling, so you don't need to dress-up anything you might want to say. Amateur writer seeks blunt honesty about ideas, language, word use, and grammar, on or off list. Thank you very much.

Author's Notes: I haven't read every single piece of fan fic out there, so I hope that this wasn't already done by someone else. No way to be 100% sure, but as far as I know, this is original.

This is my first time writing slash fic. Hope I don't suck too much!

The title and summary are crap. I know that already!

And this was supposed to be short too, dammit! =)

Dedications: Sorry Yvonne! Didn't let you read this first. Everyone on list seem to be in such a good mood for feedback that I thought I might as well take advantage of it! =) And this is dedicated to you, who introduced me to this glorious world of slash stories all those months ago. I'll always love you for that!

And to Hilary, even though I don't know you personally. "Cinders and Padawans" was my first slash read. It was an absolute gem. Showed me that this isn't all about the sex. It's about the heart and the devotion and the love between two wonderful characters. But the sex isn't bad either!

Lastly, this is to all you WIP-writers out there. You know who you are. I'll always love/hate all of you, right down to the last chapter!

Twilight shrouded the metropolis. Shades of red and orange had long since given way to deep indigo with occasional glitters of white. Lights dimmed. Traffic slowed. Conversation quieted. Weary bodies rested in slumber, awaiting the dawn of a new day.

Amidst the eternally lit skyscrapers, the Jedi Temple stood above all others. Its appearance, simple yet distinctive, exuded peace, stillness. Smooth grey walls housed the keepers of the galaxy, broken only by non-reflective windows and the occasional balcony.

On one such balcony, high above any sleeping quarters, a silhouette stood in the sleepy, solitary night. Had there been light, or nighttime traffic nearby, passengers would have recognized the full attire of a Jedi Knight. Light brown cloak guarded a lithe and compact body against the evening chill. Muscled forearms in tan sleeves let to elegant hands lightly gripping the railing. Legs encased in soft, utilitarian brown boots stood apart, a contemplative stance. A light breeze gently ruffled shoulder-length hair; the golden strands framing beautifully fine features. The smooth, upturned face the very picture of calm and serenity. Oceanic eyes looked towards the heavens, which was only appropriate: their owner's thoughts were equally far away.

It still felt odd, even after three long years. Living alone, working alone, being alone. Other Masters and Knights had teased him in the beginning, and keeping up the façade, he had responded with knowing smiles, a hint of restrained eagerness in his eyes. After all, new Knights are suppose to prefer travelling the galaxy on their own, especially those at the young, adventurous age of twenty-three. It wouldn't do to disappoint.

So he had gone, even though off-planet was the last place he wanted to be.

Coruscant, such a bittersweet place. The only place he had ever known to be home. He had lived here, trained here, made friends here, all his life. So many memories, good and bad, all set against the bustling backdrop that is the heart of the Republic. So many events have taken place under this sky that have come to mean so much. Coruscant will always be more than just another dot on a star map.

But it was also here, beneath the very same sky, that he had nearly lost him.

A trade dispute negotiation. Just like countless other trade dispute negotiations throughout the Republic. And the mission had begun easily enough, he supposed. Landing on the quaint little planet in secret. Freeing the Queen and her entourage from the mindless (and useless) droids. Bringing the party directly back to Coruscant. It had gone smoothly, no big mishaps, no malfunctions, no injuries.

Little did they know that darkness lurked just ahead. Until they came face to face with evil personified when escorting Queen Amidala to the Senate.

The all black attire. The blood-red lightstaff. The menacing head of horns. The snarling face marred with jagged red and black tattoos. The red-streaked yellow eyes filled with anger and hatred. This was the Sith. This was what nightmares are made of.

The battle was fierce, more dangerous than anything he had ever known. Every block, every parry made the difference between success and failure, between life and death. The dark warrior was an accomplished fighter, utterly without hesitation, the Dark side fuelling him on. He and his Master gave their all in that fight between good and evil. Together, their combined Light held the Darkness at bay.

Strike. Block. Parry. Duck. Roll. Strike again.

Too late. A black boot connected solidly with the unprotected flesh of his abdomen. Backwards momentum sent him sailing towards the pedestrian walkway one level down. A brief flash of pain. Shoulder and upper arm impacted harshly with the cold ground. Jumping up, he took a step then leapt up onto the platform above, all without conscious thought, totally given over to the battle. Sprinting, he began closing the distance between himself and the combatants on the opposite side. He was only seconds away when he saw it. Perhaps his Master saw it too. But they were both too late.

The red-black abomination struck lightning fast. His Master was tiring, strained muscles struggling to keep fighting the Sith alone. A sharp thrust of the lightstaff. The block that came too late. And then...

No. NO. Master. QUI-GON!

Stormy eyes closed in sudden grief, overwhelmed by the memory.

He had fought then, with a single-minded intensity to see evil defeated. He gave himself over to the dance his Master taught him. He gave himself over to the Light. He gave over so much of himself that blurry glimpses were all he would remember from the battle. Qui-Gon would have been proud.

But it didn't matter. Nothing did. Except for the man himself.

Cradling his head in his lap. Stroking the fall of silvered honey-brown hair. Sounds faded. He didn't hear his Master's whispered, rasping words, nor his own tearful murmurs. The world contracted. For one timeless moment, there were only blue, blue eyes and a deep, boundless ache in his heart.

The Temple healers arrived soon after. Their organized descent banished him from Qui-Gon's side. Not that it stopped him from hovering nearby until they were transported back to the Temple. By then, he had managed to regain his composure. Knowing that the abdominal would wasn't fatal, that the pale skin, the bloodless lips, the closed eyes were all temporary.

He had done his duty then. Relinquishing his Master to the care of the Temple healer ward. Reporting to the council. Apparently slaying Sith was a qualifying distinction for the Trials. And so, under the watchful guidance of Master Yoda, he passed his Trials to become a full Jedi Knight.

Two weeks had gone by. For one of them Qui-Gon had remained submerged in a bacta tank. Though not fatal, the wound was still severe, nearly severing the spine. So for days, he could only stand idly by while the bacta did its work. And when his Master was finally removed, consciousness continued to elude him. Perhaps it was the severity of the wound. Or the influence of the Dark side. The healers didn't know for certain. But complications due to the injury arose one after the other. As for the young Knight, he could only continue his vigil when time allowed. Sitting silently by. Holding onto a broad, limp hand.

And when Master Windu came to him at the end of the two weeks with a mission, there was no real reason to say no. None other than sentimental ones anyway. He had wanted to be there when Qui-Gon opened his eyes, as he had always been. What would his Master say to his slaying the Sith? How would he react to his new status as a Jedi Knight?

Duty called, however. And he could never in good conscience shirk his duty in favour of personal matters. Nor would his Master approve. So, with serene anticipation on his face and great reluctance in his heart, he had gone. Packed a small bag of necessities. Reviewed the mission objective. Said farewell to Qui-Gon, his friend, his mentor, with a kiss of equals on his cheek. Boarded the transport headed for the Outer Rim. And embarked upon a new chapter of his life.

Despite what he had left behind, he found field work as a Knight to be every bit as challenging and satisfying as his predecessors had claimed. Making his own decisions. Devising his own solutions. Being on his own gave him a sense of freedom he had never been granted before.

Sometimes, situations threatened to overwhelm him with their complexity and enormity. And it was during those times that he felt so grateful to have had such a good teacher in Qui-Gon. His Master had truly prepared him well. And for that, he would always be thankful.

Qui-Gon himself was never far from his thoughts either. But instead of being by his side, he found himself halfway across the galaxy with Master Yoda as his only source of information.

Every Knight on a mission had a contact on the council, to exchange new information, provide progress reports, etc. It has been protocol for hundreds of years. Just as it has been protocol that any and all personal communications were disallowed for any Knight on a mission. The Order had precious little funds to spare. And a Jedi couldn't afford unnecessary distractions to deter their focus from the problem at hand. A first of many lessons under Qui-Gon's tutelage.

However, the lack of information proved to be equally distracting to the young Knight. And Master Yoda, in his infinite wisdom, sensed his plight, and seemed to almost dotingly take pity on him. He had been on his way to yet another assignment, a Mid-Rim world this time. Tired, hungry, and sore, all he had wanted was to give his report and collapse onto his tiny bunk.

At first Yoda grumbled and muttered about being awakened in the dead of the night. Something about unsympathetic and disrespectful young Jedi; he was too bone-weary to care. Somehow, he had managed to stay upright and awake while delivering his report as Yoda looked on with half-lidded eyes. He was just about to sign off when Master Yoda spoke up again.

"Call me so late again you should not. Wake up today a certain Jedi Master did. Need my rest I will to keep the peace in the healer's ward."

With a slight enigmatic twitch of his ears, the ancient ended the transmission.

It took him one full minute to get his stunned mind working again.

And so it went for the weeks ahead. As he traversed the galaxy, the small, green Jedi became his only link to his endearingly stubborn Master. Through the brief and often cryptic remarks, he had learned when Qui-Gon first got back to his feet, when he was discharged from the healers, when he had begun sparring again.

Every time he learned of Qui-Gon's progress, he could feel the cold hollow of worry in his heart dissipate little by little. Relief filled his heart at knowing that the other man was on the mend. Even though he could have almost given an arm and a leg to be there with him. On the heels of relief came a wistful sadness, however. For even after all these months, he had neither seen nor spoken to his Master. While Yoda would gladly pass along important tidbits of news, one could hardly ask the revered council member to be your personal messenger. Apparently Qui-Gon agreed, since no message was forthcoming from him either. It was probably for the best. He had so much to say, yet it seemed like it had all been said before.

A week became a month. A month became two. And five months after the whole fiasco with the Sith, he continued to travel the galaxy in the name of peace and justice, alone.

In hindsight, he could see why it eluded him for so long. His mind was laden with so much at once. Responsibility. Worry. Stress. A lone Knight isn't an easy role to fill. He was still adjusting, at the same time juggling the increased workload. He barely had enough time to sleep, let alone think about personal matters.

And when he finally let the feeling surface long enough to be examined and labelled, he failed to delve deep enough to see the truth of it. He was lonely. The nights were cold. Space was vast and so, so empty. So when a certain pair of deep blue eyes would float into his vision when he lay awake at night, he passed the ache in his heart off as only normal. Some Knighted friends had told him that they had missed their Master during the first few months. That feeling will eventually dissipate. His longing for Qui-Gon's presence was no different.

But as the weeks went by, the ache only increased. He missed Qui-Gon with an astounding intensity. He did not only crave his presence in battle or at the negotiations table. He missed him during state dinners and celebratory banquets. He missed him in his rooms after a hard day's work. He missed him when he would wake up in the morning, alone in his sleep couch.

Six months after his departure from Coruscant, he found himself on Kiol, another successful mission under his belt. The completion of his duties left him with a rare afternoon of free time. Time he chose to spend on a quiet, pristine beach with fine, white sand lining the shore as far as the eye could see. Leaning back on his elbows, stretching out his bare feet, he simply soaked up the warm sunshine and let the lapping waves wash the tension from his body. Rhythmic sounds of the surf slowly lulled his eyes closed. Behind his eyelids, his mind's eye could still see the wonderful scenery before him. But its beauty faded to irrelevance when a long shadow fell over him. His imagined self turned his head slightly, and caught a glimpse of the figure settling in the sand beside him. Lips twitched upward at the confirmation of the other's identity; he had known all along that his chimerical companion was Qui-Gon.

Long limbs folded into a cross-legged position. And then, a comfortable stillness, as his Master's presence soothed his weary soul. But it was impossible to resist for long. At last he turned to face the Qui-Gon of his imaginings.

The man looked just as he remembered. Large and powerfully built. Weathered hands capable of great gentleness. Lined face framed with falls of straight, soft hair. Tied back just enough so the silky mass won't be an impediment. Bearded face, broken nose, and...

Staring into those deep, smiling blue eyes, he felt something slide into place. As if a circuit was completed between his mind, his heart, and his soul. A truth, as fundamental as the stars, as the Force, fired into his thoughts and exploded into his awareness, a shower of incomparable brilliance.

He loved this man. He was in love with Qui-Gon Jinn. Completely. Wholeheartedly. Irreversibly.

His eyes snapped open, rousing him from the semi-meditative daydream. Though unexpected, his heart wasn't pounding, and his respiration wasn't elevated. He found himself surprisingly calm despite the enormity of the revelation. Of course, his feelings were as normal as breathing. How could one be distressed over something so natural? True, he hadn't felt this way during his apprenticeship, hadn't even thought it possible. But the past does not dictate the present. And in the present, he knew with absolute certainty that he loved Qui-Gon with all that he is. He should just take his Master's advice, he thought with a wry grin, and live in the moment.

But it wouldn't be real life if there were no complications. He may be perfectly comfortable with his newfound emotions, but how would Qui-Gon respond? For there was never any question, he will reveal his love to the man. Complete honestly was the foundation of their relationship. And his Master's sharp eyes could probably see it in his aura before he even said hello anyway. But did he have any hope of reciprocation? He himself had never seen Qui-Gon as a father figure, but how did Qui-Gon see him? As a child? As his child? Was he someone the Jedi Master could fathom entering a romantic relationship with?

His heart contracted at the painful possibilities. Wondering eyes stared unseeingly as the beautiful Kiolan sun slipped below the horizon.

Life went on for him after Kiol. The galaxy's troubles couldn't stop just so he could go home to Coruscant, to Qui-Gon. And so he kept his feelings to himself, bound by the enforced communications silence. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with a hologram of Qui-Gon anyway. Time alone with his emotions gave him a sense of peace and contentment. So different from the nervous fumblings of adolescent crushes. He knew then, from his surety, his calm, just how deep his love went.

Then came the transmission from Yoda. And as was the norm with the elder Jedi, it left him off-balance and floundering all over again.

"Served the Republic well you have. But away from the Temple you have been, for too long. A respite, you need. Or fall over soon I suspect you will, hmm? Come home you will after seeing to Senator Z'hal's safety."

Heart pounding, he counted the days mentally. Barring any complications, the escort mission should be over in two weeks. Two weeks, and he would be home, reunited with -

"A shame that chose to wait Qui-Gon did not. Know you should that he asked for extended leave. Left on a Ke'Shir's quest he had, three days ago."

A Ke'Shir's quest. Ke'Shir roughly translated into 'tainted soul'. A remnant of the Order's ritualistic past, the quest had evolved into an uninterrupted time for soul-searching, offered to Jedi Masters only. He had always thought of it as a glorified vacation. Head off to anywhere in the galaxy alone. No obligation to inform anyone of your whereabouts. No limit on the return date. It was every Initiate's dream.

And now his Master had gone. It could be five years, ten years, twenty years before he would have a chance to see Qui-Gon again.

Did his injury at the hands of the dark warrior affect him so much? Even as his heart pained at the thought, he didn't believe Yoda would fail to inform him if it was that serious.

As soon as he was dismissed from the council debriefing with Mace Windu and Adi Gallia, he had sought Master Yoda out. It was his first time back in seven months. He should be taking in the familiar sights. Look up friends and acquaintances. Relax in his quarters. Not chase down a short, green Master who seemed to hobble faster than he could run.

Two hours, a bland dinner, and many cups of tea later, he had begun to gain a real sense of what Qui-Gon's life had been like during his recovery. Strolling aimlessly down the dimmed corridors of the Temple, he tried to absorb what he could glean from Yoda's twisted syntax.

Qui-Gon's recovery had been a gruelling one. Though the physical wound had healed after four long weeks, even bacta could only do so much. The next two months had been series after series of therapy and exercises. Qui-Gon, a master swordsman, was reduced to performing katas at a quarter, an eighth speed. How frustrating it must have been for him, forced to exercise as an Initiate would. Of course, it wasn't something the stoic, self-reliant Jedi would show to others. His protective side fervently wished that someone had been there for Qui-Gon, even if that someone wasn't himself.

Emotionally, the encounter with the Sith had sparked a few nightmares and brought on extended hours of meditation. Nothing he himself hadn't faced. Master Yoda hadn't been concerned about them. No, something else about his recovering Master's emotional state had caught Yoda's attention.

It was subtle, barely perceptible even with Force senses. But a shroud of sadness had cloaked Qui-Gon's presence ever since he awoke at the healers'. Master Yoda had observed listless wandering of the halls, lonely, sleepless nights spent on windowsills. None of which had anything to do with his injury. Refusing to discuss his problem, Qui-Gon had continued to suffer in silence. And then, a few weeks before his return, a troubled and confused Qui-Gon had approached Yoda, requesting leave for his Ke'Shir. Concerned, the elder had informed Qui-Gon of his impending homecoming, hoping the man would confide in his former apprentice. But the prospect had almost sent him into a panic. In the end, all Master Yoda could do was watch uncomprehendingly as Qui-Gon took flight from the Temple.

He could still taste the bitterness of that night. On his knees, deep in meditation, he had stayed unmoving until the sky reddened from the rising sun. It had taken him hours to come to terms with Qui-Gon's unwillingness to turn to him and the uncertain future of his desires. It still hurt, to know that his Master had refused to seek him out and sought isolation instead. Watching as the stars faded from the brightening sky, he could only have hoped that Qui-Gon found peace and solace in his solitude, wherever he was. It had not been easy, reconciling himself with all the unknowns surrounding his life. What choice did he have but to be a good Jedi and go on?

And now, here he stood, three years down the road. Still no sign and no news from Qui-Gon. Time had been his ally, it seemed. Time had prepared him for countless possible scenarios. Qui-Gon might chide him for straying from the here and now, but grounded in the Unifying Force as he was, it was only common sense.

Even if his Master turned him down, or if they never saw each other again, he knew that he would be all right. The possibilities no longer brought the panic and heart-wrenching pain he once knew. Because he would have his love to warm his heart, always.

And then there was his sense of his Master. With his ascension in rank, the bond they had forged on Bandomeer had gradually faded. Leaving him with a vague sense of Qui-Gon, no clearer than his perception of any other Force-sensitive. But ever since Kiol, he had begun to detect faint stirrings along the connection. Which was impossible, neither was actively strengthening the bond. But the sensation grew and grew, until it coalesced into something extraordinary. Somehow, he could feel Qui-Gon as if he was right by his side. The steadying presence of the man was always there, even though he travelled alone. It was preposterous, he knew. His Master was most likely light years away. Nevertheless, there it was. He could feel it.

It wasn't a memory, that much was certain. This felt different, more textured, with a deeper flavour somehow. He was at a loss to explain it. A manifestation of his thoughts? A message from the Force? For all he knew, it could be an indicator of dementia. But he was inexplicably reluctant to seek advice from another, even Master Yoda. So he kept it secret, feeling hopeful and blessed by the development. Glad that their bond still existed, even thought he had become so different.

And he was different from the apprentice that he had been three years ago. More mature, and not just because of the longer hair. Experience as a Knight gave him confidence in his actions. Allowed him to develop his own methods, assert his own opinion in decisions. He had changed much. And he hoped that Qui-Gon would look upon this Jedi Knight with approval. When they meet again. If they meet again.

The night wind began to pick up, whipping the cloak around a slender frame. He was unused to the chill, rarely staying up so late. Even though he had become somewhat nocturnal this past year. It wasn't that he had taken a liking to the darkened cityscape. Or that he enjoyed the cold now anymore than he did as a Padawan. No, he had only one incentive for admiring the skyline whenever he returned. The deep indigo overhead never failed to remind him of Qui-Gon's beautiful eyes.

An amused shake of his head. He shouldn't have stayed up reminiscing for so long. But before he could move a muscle to turn around, he was frozen into immobility by two hands that fell onto the railing on either side of his. The tanned, weathered skin. The broad width. The blunt fingers. All of which took him only a nanosecond to recognize. Stunned beyond words, he could only stand dumbly and stare at the hands bracketing his own while the telltale heat along his back finally registered. It took him five minutes, but he finally worked up the courage to turn around.

Facing the man now, he was relieved to see that much had remained unchanged. The golden brown hair, still worn past his shoulders, with a few more streaks of silver perhaps. The face, maybe a little more lined and a little more tanned, but no gauntness, definitely healthy. The lips, no, not pale, quirked up in a slight indulgent smile, as familiar as oxygen. His gaze flew to those amazing eyes then. His intelligence, his gentleness, his intensity; all woven into the glittering blue depths. He could look into them forever.

Slowly, realization dawned that he was staring, impolitely. And that Qui-Gon was standing mere inches away, trapping him to the railing, examining him with a critical eye. Suddenly self-conscious, he glanced away, fighting to keep his blush down.

At that Qui-Gon's expression became one of amusement. Humour surfaced in his eyes. Relenting, though he didn't move an inch, he waited patiently for the younger man to speak.

What could he say? Probably best to start with the mundane. His higher brain functions hadn't fully recovered yet. A deep breath, composure regained. He met Qui-Gon's eyes once more.

"When did you get back?" His voice was surprisingly steady.

"An hour ago. Then I came looking for you." The deep, soothing rumble could be felt all the way down to his toes.

"So you came right up to this balcony? The Force told you I would be here?" He quirked an eyebrow. His impish side making an appearance.

The smile broadened. "No, I have other sources."

Master Yoda. He should have known. Nevertheless, it was gratifying to know that he ranked so high in Qui-Gon's priorities.

"Did you find your peace?" The Ke'Shir. It still hurt that Qui-Gon hadn't come to him with his troubles. No matter what his rational mind told his heart.

Seriousness shifted into place on his Master's features. "I did. And Force knows I didn't want to go. But... it was something I had to resolve on my own, Padawan."

The man could still read him like an open book. So much for tightening his shields. He allowed a smile to creep up at Qui-Gon's chosen term of address. Teasing eyes peered up at the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon grinned in half-embarrassment, acknowledging his slip. Never mind that he himself will always refer to the man as his Master.

His gaze drifted downwards. Appreciative eyes taking in the strong column of his neck, the broad shoulders, the muscled chest, the...

He couldn't tear his eyes away from a spot on Qui-Gon's abdomen. After all this time, he could still see it. The bloodless, gaping hole that nearly stole this wonderful man away. A trembling hand rose slowly, lightly covering the healed flesh. Feeling his Master's body heat even through layers of tunics, tears sprung unbidden to his eyes.

"I'm sorry." A strangled whisper. Tinged with shame and sadness.

A large, warm hand moved to cover his. Meanwhile the other gently tipped his head up.

"It wasn't your fault. And the apology should be mine. I'm sorry you had to spend the last three years alone."

He had to smile at Qui-Gon's heartfelt sincerity. "I wasn't alone." His voice reassuring. "Even when you were light years away, you were still there." Each word rang true, just as their connection gradually swelled and brightened.

A tear fell then, sliding down a creamy cheekbone. But before it could go any further, a callused thumb came up and wiped it away. Closing his eyes, he relished the sensation of Qui-Gon's hand cupping his face.

But it wasn't the comforting contact that he had come to know. No, this... this was the touch of a lover.

"Qui-Gon?" Wondering eyes looked up. His tone both anxious and hopeful.

"Obi-Wan." A benediction. A caress. A promise. An answer to the question that wasn't asked, that didn't need to be asked. Yes.

The distance between them closed. Strong arms enfolded one another as lips and tongues met and tangled for the first time in a loving dance.

Dawn was approaching. And it was going to be a glorious day.

END