Archive: Yes! m_a (of course), anywhere else just please let
me know
Category: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Qui-Gon is asked to help a fellow Jedi adjust to the
pain of a great loss. Obi-Wan helps.
Feedback: Please! This is my first attempt at writing slash, or
any kind of fanfic for that matter, so any feedback will be
appreciated.
It was a solemn occasion when a Jedi Master died.
Qui-Gon Jinn pulled the edges of his cloak tighter around his
shoulders, trying to block out the post-dawn chill. The newly
risen sun illuminated the valley in a burnished orange light,
glinting warmly off the windows and walls of the Temple. The
sky overhead was a riot of dawn-tinged clouds, as a few of the
brightest stars still clung to their throne in the heavens,
refusing to the last their destiny to fade away with the coming
of the light.
The chill he felt wasn't entirely external, he knew. Partially
it came from within, and partially it came from the sensitivity
he shared with his Padawan. Obi-Wan stood behind his right
shoulder, as if unconsciously attempting to shield himself from
the finality of the ceremony they were witnessing. It was
hardest on him, Qui-Gon knew, because it brought to mind the
unspoken knowledge that someday, Qui-Gon, too, would pass on,
and he would be alone.
A Padawan without a Master. There was no greater grief that a
Jedi could know. Qui-Gon's eyes slid away from the raised
platform where Mace Windu was giving a stirring oration in
honor of the deceased, to focus on the lone figure that stood
at the fringes of the clearing. Of all the dozens of Jedi who
gathered here, she stood alone.
As if she sensed him watching, she raised her eyes to his. Her
face was composed, her thoughts coldly inscrutable. It was a
face not used to showing expression, chillingly beautiful,
framed by a silken mane of shoulder-length black hair. The long
Padawan braid that marked her status as an apprentice hung at
the right side of her face, strung through with tiny beads of
blue and green. Cool colors, soothing colors, that matched
exactly the cool effusion of serenity he sensed in her. This
sense warred jarringly with the grief-ravaged psyche that he
knew must be hiding behind her calm exterior.
Her eyes moved away from him, coolly dismissing. Around him, a
light rain began to fall, the icy drops stinging on his
grief-fevered skin. Mace Windu droned on.
//I'm here, Padawan,// he sent to Obi-Wan, needing to receive
comfort as much as he sought to give it. Obi-Wan responded with
a rush of warmth and gratitude, reaffirming the bond they
shared. Around them, Masters stood with their apprentices in
similar states of communion, standing together in silent denial
of that final darkness.
All but one. She stood alone, locked behind the iron armor of
her thoughts, and grieved.
It had been three days since Master Garinham's funeral. Qui-Gon
was surprised to be summoned to the Council Chamber, where he
found both Mace Windu and Yoda waiting for him. The sight of
them brought back memories of past times that he had been
summoned here. Usually it was for a dressing-down about some
tradition or other that he'd broken; he was a little too
willful for the tastes of the Council, although they never
denied his value as a Jedi.
Master Windu got straight to the point. "It's about Jerjenna,
Qui-Gon."
He nodded solemnly. "She's so young to face the loss of her
Master. Has another been selected for her yet? I'm sure there
must be plenty of volunteers; she should be able to have her
pick of them."
Windu sighed, rising from his chair and crossing the room with
barely subdued agitation, coming to stand in front of the broad
window. He looked out at the courtyard below. "It isn't that
easy. We're finding it difficult to get her to accept a new
Master."
"She's refusing to continue her training?" Qui-Gon was shocked.
"Not exactly." Another irritated sigh; it was strange, coming
from a man who was usually so much in control of himself. "She
has very calmly accepted whatever Master we choose to give her.
But there is no answering response within her. She goes through
the motions of training, follows all the commands . . . but
there's no warmth to her. No life."
"Worried, we are," Yoda said, speaking for the first time. The
diminutive Jedi Master's wizened head tilted up to gaze up at
Qui-Gon gravely. "Rare to find the talent among such as she.
Rare and dangerous." Qui-Gon knew the truth of that. Jerjenna
came from a world called Eoai, which translated as "Lost World"
in the native tongue. Located favorably at the hub of several
major trade routes, it possessed a sprawling metropolis, yet
its outer reaches were wild and untamed. It was a world
populated by fierce predators and an even fiercer ecology, and
its people tended to be both vicious and unforgiving. Jerjenna
came from one of the rare human families that had opted to
settle there. At the age of five, she had been orphaned in an
industrial accident, and for the next year had been forced to
survive on her own.
That was where Master Garinham had found her, on a mission of
diplomacy thirteen years ago. He had recognized the signs of
Force-sensitivity in her immediately, and brought her with him
to the Jedi Temple at Coruscant. After a heated and rather
drawn-out discussion by the Council, she had been accepted as
an initiate. Garinham had taken the responsibility for her
training on himself.
Qui-Gon remembered it well: the fierce and willful girl-child
with the unkempt black hair, twilight-blue eyes peering out of
her somehow too-wise face. This was a child who had experienced
much, suffered much, in her short span of years. She attacked
her studies with a ferocity that stunned her elders, as if the
unknown itself was an enemy that threatened to consume her if
left undefended against.
Out of that raw ore, Garinham had forged the beautiful, poised
young woman who graced their halls today. She was described as
cold by the other apprentices, holding herself aloof, but there
was never any arrogance or sense of superiority to her
withdrawal from them. It was simply the way she was; she was
ever the lone wolf, strong and fierce and bright and clever,
her love for the Jedi life preceded only by her loyalty to her
Master.
It was a tragedy that that bond had been broken. The Wheel of
Time stops for no man, and Garinham had proved to be as
susceptible to its effects as any of them. It had been the
wasting sickness, and all of their technology combined with all
of the efforts of their Healers had been unable to save him.
"What can I do?" Qui-Gon said simply, offering whatever
services might be required of him. As difficult as it was to
heal a sickening body, it was even more difficult to heal a
sickening soul.
"Our concern at this point is that she will fall under the
influence of the Dark Side," Windu replied. "What she needs is
a strong Master, one who can guide her on the proper path, but
one who is possessed of rare sensitivity and empathy."
With a shock of sudden comprehension, he realized what Windu
was telling him. "But I already have a Padawan," he objected,
feeling as if the universe were canting under his feet.
"Discussed this at length, we have," Yoda said. "Only one
option do we see. Alone she is, an orphan again, filled with
great bitterness and rage. Fights it, she does, but it is not
enough. The Dark Side lies in wait for such as she."
"It's your choice, of course, Qui-Gon." Windu had turned from
the window and was gazing at him steadily. "This situation is
completely without precedent; usually when a Master dies, the
Padawan is transferred to the care of a new Master without
incident. After a suitable grieving interval, life and training
go on. But Jerjenna is unpredictable, independent, and she has
already suffered great loss in her life. After a great deal of
thought, we've decided that you have the best chance of
handling her . . . situation."
"You mean I'm a sucker for hard luck cases." There was wry
humor in his voice, but no real bitterness. He knew he had a
reputation for championing the causes of all the underdogs in
the known galaxy, sometimes to the severe frustration of the
Jedi Council. It was what he believed in, however: that all
life had value, that every individual deserved their chance at
happiness and prosperity.
Now it looked like he was Jerjenna's only chance. If he
refused, there would be no condemnation, no disapproval of his
decision. Many Jedi Masters would have been mortally offended
if it had even been suggested that they divide their time
between a second Padawan. But of course, Qui-Gon had never been
one to quail at bending the rules when he felt the cause
warranted it.
His only concern was how this would affect Obi-Wan. It was a
mark of the Council's confidence in the young man's training
that they even considered this course of action. If either he
or Jerjenna had been younger, less mature in the Force, it
would never have been allowed. But both of them were nearing
maturity, drawing close to the time when they would no longer
need a Master, and might even benefit from such a union.
Who was he kidding? It would be difficult, no matter what
decision he made. If he walked away from this, Jerjenna would
be given over to the care of another Master, and the
responsibility would no longer be his. And yet, if that Master
was unable to help her through her grief, she would be snared,
perhaps fatally, by the Dark Side. The Council would be
watching her carefully for such a sign, and then they would
destroy her rather than allow her to turn. It was an
unfortunate and unpleasant responsibility of the Council, to
insure that their students kept to the light.
He sighed; there was really only one decision he could make.
"Very well," he said, although he sensed they knew as well as
he did that there was really no choice at all. "I accept."
Obi-Wan was standing at the sink in the kitchen when he came
home, washing up in preparation for the evening meal. By the
rich aromas that suffused the room, Qui-Gon guessed that dinner
was already cooking. He hovered at the doorway for a moment,
dreading this confrontation. How, exactly, was he supposed to
explain this? Sorry, Obi-Wan, but you aren't an only child
anymore. . .
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he crossed the floor
and stepped up behind his Padawan. Wrapping his arms around the
younger man's waist, he pressed a rain of light kisses behind
his right ear. Obi-Wan arched back cat-like into the embrace
and chuckled gently, his thoughts a soft bloom of surprise at
the arduousness of his Master's greeting.
"Welcome home, Master," he said, turning off the faucet taps
and rubbing his hands dry on a nearby towel. "I trust the
Council meeting went well?"
Qui-Gon didn't respond, and he sobered, at last noticing the
edge to his Master's thoughts. He allowed himself to be led
into the cozy little living area behind the kitchen and sank
down onto the couch, waiting.
Qui-Gon explained the situation as succinctly as he could. He
was prepared for just about any reaction; Obi-Wan could be
anything from hurt to offended to angry to bitter, and any of
these responses would be well within his rights. But true to
form, Obi-Wan accepted the news with calm deference, yielding
to his Master's judgement. Qui-Gon felt a surge of pride that
his pupil could be so openhearted.
There was a spare room towards the back of the house, which was
currently being devoted to the storage and display of several
large starmaps and navigational charts. It was also a cast-off
area for any training items not currently in use: practice
sabers and bits of light armor, harnesses and ropes for rock
climbing, staffs and electronical parts and discarded pieces of
machines. The following day was spent clearing all of it out,
then scrubbing and refurbishing the walls. Some furniture was
brought in: a bed with a richly carved wooden headboard, a
nightstand, a chest of drawers.
Jerjenna came to join them for dinner that night. She looked
like a statue carved from some pale and exotic stone, cold and
impassive despite its beauty. Seeing her brought back the pain
of Garinham's loss, but Qui-Gon effectively beat it down. He
reached out to her with the Force as he invited her in, trying
to project feelings of warmth and welcome, the comfort of
family and home. She accepted his overtures without a word, but
gave nothing of herself in return.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Qui-Gon understood now what Windu
had meant when he said she was "going through the motions." She
Yes, Mastered and No, Mastered in all the right
places, but she might as well have been an automaton,
programmed to pass as a civilized being but having no interest
in anything that went on around it. Her thoughts remained
closed to him.
After dinner, he asked her to help Obi-Wan with the dishes.
This she moved to do without objection, tirelessly deferential
and faultlessly polite. There was absolutely nothing in her
manner that you could object to at all. He had a sudden image
of them going on like this for years, a hysterical parody of
Master and apprentice, and the thought sickened him. A Master
was supposed to see to all aspects of his Padawan's life:
physical, spiritual, emotional, intellectual. Without love,
this relationship would be barren, empty. He thought of the
rich love with which he and Obi-Wan interacted; not all
Master/apprentice relationships progressed to a sexual level,
but it was a common occurrence. He and Obi-Wan were like two
parts of the same soul.
And how would he feel if ever Obi-Wan were to be taken from
him? Would he react any differently than Jerjenna, closing off
his emotions, guarding himself from the outside world? Would he
ever dare to trust again? The loss of a family, a home,
replaced by the love and guidance of a Master who, in turn,
left her alone in the cold. His heart ached for her, and he
longed to take away her pain. But he did not know how.
When the dishes were done, Jerjenna asked for permission to
retire. Obi-Wan showed her to her room at the end of the hall.
She accepted this without comment and closed herself away
behind the heavy door.
Obi-Wan came back to join Qui-Gon on the couch. With a brief
maneuvering of the Force, the Jedi Master caused the bed of
kindling in the fireplace to ignite into guttering flame.
Obi-Wan sat down next to him, snuggling in close, and Qui-Gon
wrapped his arms around him. Qui-Gon could remember holding him
like this when he was still a child, after some imagined terror
had frightened him from sleep. He slept in Qui-Gon's bed often
in those days, cuddled up next to him like a tame werecub,
drawing strength and courage from his Master's presence.
Although the boy was a man grown now, some things persisted in
staying the same. Qui-Gon found that he was glad of it.
"She's hurting," Obi-Wan said, speaking against his Master's
chest. Qui-Gon stroked his hair comfortingly. "So much pain,
Master, so much loss. . ." His voice trailed off.
"She's strong, Obi-Wan. She will pull through this, but she'll
need our help." Now if only he could share that confidence.
Some wounds just could not be healed. He kept these thoughts
from Obi-Wan, however, and did his best to keep them from
himself.
Obi-Wan shifted against him, sliding one hand inside his tunic
to ruffle the hairs of his chest. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and
pressed a tremulous kiss to the back of his Padawan's head,
feeling a familiar heat rise in him. Obi-Wan's lips locked onto
his left nipple. His body arched, and Obi-Wan slid down onto
his knees in front of the couch, bracketed between his legs.
Qui-Gon allowed his apprentice to open the front of his tunic,
laying down a trail of hot kisses across his chest. He was
starting to grow hard with sweet anticipation. Obi-Wan's lips
left a burning path down his stomach, teasing the soft hairs
over his navel. He bit down on his lower lip as his Padawan's
hands slid down the insides of his thighs and touched the
hardness that he found there. A haze of dreamy pleasure
enfolded him, and he clutched at the back of the young man's
head, massaging deeply, twining the short hairs through his
fingers.
Then Obi-Wan was pulling at the opening to his trousers, and
Qui-Gon stifled a gasp as his cock was freed from the confining
fabric. Obi-Wan's hands were soft and warm as he cupped the
velvety sac in his palm, one thumb trailing lightly over the
glistening head. Cat-like, he rubbed his face against the
quivering member in his hands, breathing a sigh of deep
contentment. It was a gesture of such tenderness that Qui-Gon
felt unexpected tears sting at his eyes. What had he ever done
to deserve this man's adoration, his love? How could he have
ever been so lucky?
Then all thoughts were ripped away from him as Obi-Wan's mouth
closed over his eagerly waiting penis. Qui-Gon felt the
pleasure of that contact tear through him and couldn't stop
himself from thrusting up into that warm, moist cavity, his
hips lifting off the couch. Obi-Wan swallowed him readily,
opening his throat and taking him in as far as he could go, his
nose brushing against his Master's coarsely curling pubic hair.
Qui-Gon threw his head back as he was pleasured with lips and
teeth and tongue, fingers clenching in his lover's hair as the
sensations raged through him, threatening to send him over the
edge.
At the last possible moment before he lost control completely,
Obi-Wan drew back and placed a blanket of feather-light kisses
across his damply cooling cock. Qui-Gon made a strangled sound,
his mind whirling, one hand roughly stroking his apprentice's
cheek. Obi-Wan's thoughts were clear: he wanted his Master to
find his pleasure within his body, skin to skin. The need for
it crackled through the young man's body like an electrical
current, and Qui-Gon rubbed at the trembling shoulders, drawing
the tension out of those tightly wound muscles.
Slowly, Obi-Wan drew up in front of him, his features soft in
the flickering fireglow, eyes dark with deepening desire. This
was what they both needed, Qui-Gon realized. To feel this
connection, this reaffirmation of their love and devotion for
one another.
They kissed. Qui-Gon's eyes drifted shut, his arms closing
possessively around his Padawan. Obi-Wan's body was firm and
yielding under his hands, his mouth hot and open and willing.
Qui-Gon felt a shudder pass through that lean frame, the quick
tongue insistent in its demands as it probed his mouth. He did
what he could to respond to that need, not bothering to be
gentle. This was going to be a rough one; they could both feel
it.
He lifted Obi-Wan up onto the couch next to him and pressed
him back against the cushions, covering his body with his own.
Their erections rubbed together through the fabric of their
pants, and Qui-Gon moaned into Obi-Wan's open mouth, his need
blossoming into something feral. His hands scrabbled at
Obi-Wan's clothes, removing all barriers to further contact, as
Obi-Wan just as eagerly removed his.
Somehow, through the haze of his passion, Qui-Gon became aware
that he was being watched. Disentangling himself from Obi-Wan's
arms, he pulled back enough to see over the side of the couch.
Jerjenna was standing in the hallway just outside the room, one
hand resting against the frame of the archway. Her sapphire
eyes were wide and staring.
It was true that the Jedi tended to be more open about sexual
matters than most other civilized societies. Not that they
would ever do it in public, but a sexual relationship of some
kind was anticipated, if not encouraged, between Masters and
their Padawans. Not all Master/apprentice pairs were compatible
sexually, but even in these cases, sex was an open subject
between them.
Qui-Gon felt no shame at being caught here with Obi-Wan, but he
did feel extremely guilty. He should have known that the echoes
of their love would have come to her where she hid in the back
room, like salt catching in the ragged edges of an open wound.
How could they flaunt their relationship so blatantly, when she
had so recently suffered such a loss?
Raw emotions surged beneath the thin veneer of her thoughts,
like the fathoms-deep movement of some great leviathan causing
ripples across the surface of a lake. He felt a connection with
her then, and saw through her eyes how the firelight glowed on
the sweat-bronzed skin of his and Obi-Wan's lust-entangled
bodies. There was no revulsion in her at the sight and, more
importantly, no renewed pain. In fact, she thought them quite
beautiful together, and in her eyes Obi-Wan was particularly
handsome. For the first time, he noticed that those eyes were
wet with tears.
He could feel the conflicting emotions within her: grief at the
loss of her beloved Master, anger at his presumptuousness at
trying to replace him, fear of opening herself up to anyone
again, and, beneath it all, a deep and soulful longing for the
kind of connection she sensed between him and Obi-Wan right
now. She was like a starving child peering in through a window
at the family that was sitting down to a great feast, and
everything in her cried out to be made a part of it. But she
was so scared. . .
Obi-Wan shifted restlessly, silently begging for more
attention. Qui-Gon hesitated, his gaze raking over the younger
man's lustful eyes and sweetly bruised lips, aching with all of
his being to ravish the sweat-slick body beneath him. Was
Obi-Wan aware that Jerjenna was watching them? Would he want to
continue this if he did?
Obi-Wan cupped one hand at the back of his Master's neck,
pulling him down, and Qui-Gon gave a small gasp as his
Padawan's tongue flickered over his ear, hot breath moist
against his neck. Sharp teeth nipped at the lobe of his ear,
sparking an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure that shot
through every nerve ending in his body. Obi-Wan's hands slid
down his back to cup the taut muscles of his ass, lips and
tongue working magic against the soft skin of his throat, and
Qui-Gon felt himself rapidly losing coherence. //Obi-Wan,// he
objected weakly, trying to remember the silent figure in the
doorway. So much pain, and he'd never seen a soul-wound that
deep. . .
//She needs this,// Obi-Wan replied, deft fingers massaging his
Master's buttocks until Qui-Gon found himself humming faintly
in pleasure. //Almost as much as we do.//
Qui-Gon was quick to realize the truth of this. It was natural,
after all, to want to bask in each other's love after being so
forcefully reminded of their own mortality. Woven in through
the light of their passion was the thickly flowing life Force,
the power of it connecting them on a level that they rarely
achieved outside of sexual intimacy. With this epiphany, the
last vestiges of his control snapped, and he fell upon Obi-Wan
like a bantha in heat.
With sudden determination, he rolled his Padawan over onto his
stomach, hands loving but firm. Obi-Wan obeyed immediately,
stretching his body out beneath him, a sudden jolt passing
through his lean frame when his erection touched the soft
cushions. Qui-Gon pressed hungry kisses to the back of his
neck, stroking and kneading every inch of that luscious skin
that he could reach. When he bit down suddenly on the back of
the younger man's shoulder, Obi-Wan's body arched under him.
His apprentice was making small sounds of urgent desire, his
fingers clutching at the pillows under his head.
Using the Force, Qui-Gon reached into the shadows of his
bedroom and drew forth the small tube of lubricant that he kept
there. It levitated smoothly despite his preoccupation and fell
gently on the rug next to the sofa. His breaths were coming in
shallow pants now, his need all but suffocating him. Gods, but
he loved this man. The strength of that love flowed freely to
Obi-Wan, who returned it with equal intensity. Again, Qui-Gon
felt a pang of wonder and joy that they could have found such
happiness in each other, that the Force would have brought them
together like this.
He opened the tube of lubricant and squeezed a small amount
onto the tip of his finger. Laying himself out full-length
across the back of his Padawan, he used his other hand to
spread open the cheeks of that delectable little ass. Pausing
only a moment to suck in a tremulous breath, he positioned his
lube-slick finger at the entrance to his anus and slid it
smoothly inside.
Obi-Wan fairly vibrated with pleasure beneath him, and Qui-Gon
had to close his eyes against the riot of emotions that surged
against his half-raised mental shields. Kissing the slopes of
those strong shoulders, he moved his finger in and out, slowly
at first, loving the way Obi-Wan's breath quickened and
shuddered at the contact. He quickly added a second finger, and
Obi-Wan's hips lifted under him. Qui-Gon moved back obligingly,
letting his apprentice arch up into his touch, planting wet
kisses along the length of his spine, tracing the line of it
with his tongue. He was acutely aware of Jerjenna watching
them, her thoughts warming to the communion she felt between
them, and he opened himself up to her, holding nothing back.
There was something unaccountably erotic about being observed
like this, about sharing this most intimate association.
Obi-Wan felt it too, and it inflamed their desire for each
other almost beyond endurance.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, Qui-Gon pulled his
fingers free of his lover's body and reached for the lube
again, using his hands to smear that cool slickness over the
entire, throbbing length of him. With a shudder of pent-up
yearning, he braced himself against the cushions of the couch,
supporting all of his weight with one arm while he positioned
his cock at the opening to Obi-Wan's anus. Clenching firmly at
the lean hips to steady them, he shoved inside.
Velvety warmth enfolded him, taking his breath away. He was
peripherally aware of Obi-Wan crying out his name, but all
outside perceptions swirled away from him and he found himself
pumping determinedly into that hot crevice. Every movement sent
a flare of pleasure racing through him, filling him, turning
him inside out with the power of it and making him beg for
more. He realized he was panting Obi-Wan's name over and over
in time with his thrusts, a soft, impassioned litany of love
and lust. He caught a fevered image of his Padawan's smooth
back, muscles flexing under the onslaught of sensation that
consumed him, golden head lifting back with a pleasured groan.
So beautiful, he was so very beautiful. . .
Desperately, his hands moved around his lover's body to clutch
at the rock-hard length of his erection. Obi-Wan let out a
passionate cry as those hands enfolded him, stroking him
eagerly, and his entire body shook with the intensity of the
dual sensations that rocked their way through him. "Master!" he
screamed, and the orgasm ripped through him, bringing tears to
his eyes with the force of it. Qui-Gon followed him a moment
later, the seed exploding from him in a fount of purest
ecstasy, and his knees gave out without warning, sending him
toppling down onto the quivering body of his Padawan.
They lay like that for a long while, skin to skin, breathing
heavily. Slowly, Qui-Gon became aware of his surroundings: the
soft fabric of the cushions beneath them, the steady crackling
of the fire in the hearth. The heat of it on his skin felt
strangely cooling after what he'd just experienced. Breathing a
contented sigh, he kissed his Padawan firmly behind the ear. "I
love you, Obi-Wan," he whispered fiercely.
"Love you," Obi-Wan murmured back, too sated to make a more
impassioned reply. Qui-Gon chuckled softly.
He sensed her coming closer before he actually saw her. She
dropped to her knees next to them, her expression carefully
neutral. The firelight pooled in her liquid blue eyes, touching
an edge of gold on her black hair, and Qui-Gon couldn't help
but think how exquisite she was, beautiful in an entirely
different way than his beloved Obi-Wan. Where Obi-Wan was all
heat and hunger, she was night incarnate, cool and sharp and
achingly isolated. Her face was wet with tears.
//Padawan,// he sent to her, passing a note of sincere welcome
along with the mental voice. Her eyes closed as if she'd been
struck, but there was no denial in her anymore.
//Master,// she replied, and this time when she said it, it was
more than just an honorary title. Qui-Gon felt a rush of joy
that she'd opened up to him this much. It was far from the
ardent passion that he and Obi-Wan shared, but it was enough.
All great furnaces had to begin with a single spark.
Obi-Wan reached out one hand to pull her close, and she
relented, letting herself be enfolded in the embrace of their
arms and thoughts. She stared to cry, the sobs wracking through
her slim frame, and buried her face against his shoulder.
Qui-Gon stroked her hair, offering what comfort he could, but
knowing there was nothing he could do to make it easier for
her. Grief was like fire - it could heal or harm - but Qui-Gon
was certain now that she would triumph over it.
He met Obi-Wan's eyes over the top of her bowed head. //Thank
you,// he said, enormously grateful for his Padawan's
sensitivity, his compassion, his desire to help. But of course,
he should have expected nothing less from his Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan's thoughts were filled with warmth and love. //I
learned my lessons from you, Master,// he said with wry humor,
his eyes filled with laughter. //I guess I'm just a sucker for
hard luck cases, too.// Jerjenna heard the thought, and a spike
of amusement speared through the sorrow that enveloped her.
They moved into the bedroom together, curling up on Qui-Gon's
large bed to sleep. The Jedi Master tucked the girl securely in
his arms, while Obi-Wan spooned him from behind, and a sigh of
deep contentment breathed out of him. His two children's warm
presence surrounded him. There was no doubt that the path they
were on would be fraught with difficulty, but he had confidence
that they would persevere. Jerjenna had a reputation for being
fiercely competitive, and Obi-Wan was not one to succeed to
anyone. The complex and sometimes trying relationship of newly
introduced siblings lay spread out before them.
He had a feeling that life would become a lot more interesting
from here on.
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