Destinies Diverge

by Sian (Sian1359@yahoo.com)

Chapter Three

Although many delighted in pointing out that he, like Saesee Tiin, always seemed to wear a scowl on his face, Jedi Councilor and Master, Eeth Koth didn't need to see the hurried way the other Jedi in the hallways stepped aside to know that one was very much, indeed, engraved into his expression at this moment. Any time he tried to control it, to at least make the scowl appear less ... threatening, his mind insisted on resuming its fruitless pursuit of trying to figure out a way to get out of the task his feet were taking him toward.

He didn't need to see passing eyes widening in alarm if not outright fear. Their reactions were being drawn like a magnet to his own conflicted thoughts until it felt as if there was a live circuit between he and them. Only those who actually fled before he passed didn't reel away from the emotional feedback, and if it was his scowl that encouraged that flight, perhaps it should be kept so that the greater distress his presence was causing would be lessened.

His distress wasn't helped by the fact that he had had to face down Mace Windu, had actually called upon Master Yoda to order the dark-skinned, human Senior Councilor to back off, thus ending their dispute for now, but setting up a larger one for the future. Yes, Mace was Qui-Gon Jinn's closest friend on the Council outside of Masters Koon and Yoda, so yes, the news might come easier from Mace than from himself.

Being Jedi wasn't about having things easy.

Actually, Eeth probably should have let Master Yoda be the one hurrying to Qui-Gon's suite right now -- well, as hurrying as one so old as the venerable Master could go. But the likelihood was that Qui-Gon's new Padawan would also be at the Jedi Master's quarters this late in the day, and only Eeth had the experience to go with the knowledge that might be needed to handle the fallout this news would have on young Obi-Wan. He would just have to hope that Qui-Gon could handle the news himself without needing the support of one of his closest friends. Or his own Master.

When this was done Eeth promised himself a nice long, meditative break in the Still Water Gardens. He just hoped it wouldn't need be after a trip to see Niika.

Once he reached Qui-Gon's quarters, Eeth managed to calm his thoughts. He quickly sent his mind questing inward; by blushes, stammering and things Mace didn't quite say, the rest of the Council had gotten the impression that not only had young Obi-Wan moved into Qui-Gon's rooms and heart, but that he might very well have moved into the Jedi Master's bed. And since it was only a few hours since Obi-Wan had been released from the Healers, bed might very well be where the two were right now. Although his news truly couldn't wait, Eeth could at least ensure a more subtle warning to the Master than an abrupt knock on the door at an awkward time.

Both were sleeping.

Eeth's frown deepened; it was yet early for sleep for those who were not nocturnal. But no, fragile as they were, humans usually required rest after coupling, so the need of sleep might be nothing amiss.

He used the override code all Councilors had to all Jedi rooms and stepped silently into the outer room. Intending to strengthen his mental probe so as to gently bring Qui-Gon awake, he lessened the strength of his shields, and was instantly inundated with an echo of emotions permeating these quarters. He couldn't help but cry out in surprise at the intensity of them.

Without a hint of warning, Eeth suddenly found himself facing a towering Qui-Gon who had raced from the bedroom with Force enhanced speed, lightsaber in hand. That it was unlit was only by virtue that this room was inside the Jedi Temple and, therefore, theoretically protected from directed violence. Eeth started to reach for his own anyway, in response to the aggressiveness Qui-Gon was projecting, and who knows how it might have escalated, had both of them not been able to take a step back and regain control over their well trained responses.

"Master Koth." Qui-Gon inclined his head and lowered his weapon, but made no effort to apologize. Or to actually put it down.

Well, Eeth was the unannounced intruder. He inclined his own head in response to the less than enthusiastic greeting. Even being in his own home, another Jedi might have apologized, considering Eeth's rank. Might have at least shown embarrassment to be standing before a member of the Council wearing only sleep pants and a scowl. Qui-Gon Jinn, however, apologized to no one strictly because of their position, be they Jedi Councilor, Republic Senator or Head of State. Oh, Qui-Gon might do so when he truly gave insult; he was too good a man not to. But never just because it was expected or expedient. Such an adherence to honor and self-confidence were traits Eeth admired, even though it often put him and Qui-Gon on opposite sides of an issue. Of course, Qui-Gon had the luxury of having uncompromising convictions, for he was a warrior and a diplomat, a defender, and not a politician or guardian of ideas instead of people.

"Please excuse my intrusion, Mas -- Qui-Gon." He was not here as a member of the Council, per se, just as a fellow Master delivering bad news. And a friend, he hoped, if needed. Strict formality would be inappropriate.

"Matters of import have arisen that you need to be aware of, yet I did not want to disturb your Padawan by knocking." He couldn't help but try to look beyond Qui-Gon's frame as it filled the doorway to the darkened depths beyond. Not because he had a prurient interest in the mating behaviors of humans, but because, frankly, given how well he knew the youth, he was surprised not to have seen Obi-Wan in a defensive stance right behind Qui-Gon. And with his saber lit for all that they were inside the Temple.

"Obi-Wan is in need of rest, which I took steps to ensure even before your arrival," Qui-Gon offered, as if aware of the real reason of Eeth's interest.

There was not even a hint of relaxation or amusement offered from Qui-Gon, giving Eeth to think such a need for Qui-Gon's Padawan was not due to the typical stamina problems of human males despite the olfactory and emotional evidence that the two had indeed been recently engaging in their sexual rituals.

"I hope your young Padawan was not released by the Healers too soon to assure sufficient recovery from your Haven mission," he offered sincerely. Eeth genuinely liked both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, and had been pleased to hear that they had formed a Master/Padawan bonding. If, however, Obi-Wan had charmed the Healers into being released early as was his frequent wont, what Eeth had come to tell Qui-Gon could not have happened with worse timing. For it would put Qui-Gon in a position of having to leave Obi-Wan when he might still be needed.

"No, his physical recovery is actually ahead of what the Healers were predicting."

But Qui-Gon said this with a trace of a sigh, and something almost haunted appeared within his eyes for a moment. Eeth knew then that he hadn't imagined the slight stress on the word physical. The Councilor hadn't had time to read the report forwarded to him from Niika on her post mission consultation with Obi-Wan, but just by the virtue of one being sent his way instead of just a brief message, meant something significant had happened on Haven that had affected young Obi-Wan. And somehow Eeth didn't think it was simply the bonding between Master and Padawan or a sexual bonding between two humans.

Well, no, maybe it was, as there could be nothing simple in a sexual bonding if Obi-Wan was involved.

But how much did Qui-Gon know?

"May I sit down, Qui-Gon?"

The other Jedi seemed to come back to himself with a start, first looking down at the saber he still held if only in a non-threatening position, then to his unexpected guest. With innate manners even few born or bred to rule could command and a crooked smile, Qui-Gon gestured Eeth to take a seat on either the couch or one of the overly plush chairs arranged for conversation in this anteroom. Qui-Gon then set his saber down on the end table nearest the couch, and strode into the kitchen, returning in mere seconds with a tray bearing two pots and two cups.

"Water or Krelith Tea?" he offered.

Eeth wanted to smile, at least in thanks for the courtesy. But -- "Actually, do you have anything a bit stronger?"

Qui-Gon's brow rose, but he nodded and disappeared again, this time retreating into the bedroom before coming back out with a flask of single malt.

Eeth refrained from raising his brow at the unorthodox place for storing or indulging in strong alcohol. "I think you should pour some for yourself, first," he cautioned.

Predictably Qui-Gon didn't. And then did not even pour for Eeth. The human was much too stubborn and wary to acquiesce to something suggested by another even when it might be for his own good.

"Tell me."

Not exactly piqued by Qui-Gon's harsh demand, still Eeth paused. He took up the flask himself and performed the duties the other had declined doing. Then pushed the three-finger filled cup back toward the other, but didn't wait until for it to be taken though he strongly considered doing just that.

Anything not to have to say, "It's about Xanatos."

For an instant Qui-Gon's eyes darkened with shock and quick denial. But as he was trying to school himself into his typical serenity that was truly only ruthlessly suppressed emotion, Eeth could read those emotions Qui-Gon was trying to control. He saw the moment that Qui-Gon realized just what he wasn't feeling, and the subsequent flash of anger that Eeth had let him think so.

"No, he is not dead." Eeth did not acknowledge the anger. "At least he wasn't when he made contact with us. But the ship he was traveling on was undergoing catastrophic failure, and we have heard nothing further. We are actually hoping you can confirm he has survived the crash."

Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon nodded answer to Eeth's question. Before he could start with his own questions though, both Masters were distracted by Obi-Wan's presence in the doorway that Qui-Gon had only so recently vacated. Like Qui-Gon, he wore only a pair of sleep pants, but didn't have his saber; indeed he seemed to need both hands on the door frame to hold himself up.

Instantly Eeth's protective instincts came to the forefront.

"Obi-Wan, you should still be in bed," he and Qui-Gon chided simultaneously.

Eeth was glad that his species' signal of embarrassment was just a tightening of skin around his horns and not the more typical flushing of skin that could so easily be noted. Then he had reason to doubt Qui-Gon had even noticed that Eeth had overstepped his bounds by giving a command to someone else's Padawan, so had not needed to worry. His Padawan's vulnerable appearance had completely captured Qui-Gon's attention. With his hair mussed and his eyes half closed in sleepiness, he looked no older than a cub, and stood swaying as he fought against the Force-enhanced sleep compulsion Qui-Gon had given him.

Qui-Gon had arisen from the couch with the same speed he had first come into the room to confront Eeth, and caught Obi-Wan up into his arms before the Padawan stumbled. Although he could not hear any words, Eeth had no doubt they were conversing -- arguing. He then raised his brow in surprise to see it was Obi-Wan who had won, or so Eeth had to assume when Qui-Gon reluctantly guided his Padawan to the couch instead of back to the bed.

Of course, if they were connected so strongly that Qui-Gon's instantly contained spike of emotion upon hearing about Xanatos could awaken Obi-Wan out of Force-induced sleep, there would be little point in Obi-Wan leaving anyway. After what else he needed to say, Eeth doubted either of them would be sleeping again for hours.

When Qui-Gon left a steadying hand on Obi-Wan to keep the Padawan on his feet, Eeth expected to see a flush of embarrassment to color Obi-Wan's face. In Eeth's previous experience, most humans, but especially this young one, had ever been wary of showing weakness. What the Councilor saw instead was an Obi-Wan who made no effort to hide anything as his outer shielding was next to non-existent. In that instant Eeth realized the reasons for the distress and weariness in Obi-Wan's expression, posture, and thoughts, the reason for Qui-Gon's protectiveness and the reasons for some of the slowly dispersing emotional eddies throughout these quarters.

Obi-Wan had told Qui-Gon about his enslavement by the Hutts.

Which made his next words both easier and much, much harder to say. At least he wouldn't have to explain why the cub would have to be left behind.

"The Council is ready to send a rescue out to Xanatos --"

"I will be going --"

"We will be going."

Once again silent conversation took place between the two, and once again Eeth saw Qui-Gon acquiesce. But the Jedi Master looked even less happy about doing so this time.

As was Eeth, given the added complications. He let his expression fall into its natural frown. "Actually Padawan, it is better if you stay --"

And now Eeth had two Jedi glowering at him. There was little worse that one Jedi Master could do to another than make suggestions or orders to the other's Padawan, especially when that other Master was also present. Whether the suggesting Master was a member of the Council or not made little difference.

Even though Eeth was actually in support of Qui-Gon's wishes, the Jedi Master had taken instant affront for Eeth's presumption in suggesting he might know what would be better for Obi-Wan.

Or maybe it wasn't a Master's taking of offense. Just a lover's jealousy that someone did know Obi-Wan better.

Qui-Gon had only known the cub for less than a month while Eeth had worked with him for near to six years, not only as a Master on several missions, but as a Mind Healer. Eeth also had the benefit of knowing more about this mission than the other two did, which should have given his suggestion credence but which, instead, mattered not a whit to Qui-Gon. Or to Obi-Wan.

"We can send at most, only two Jedi." Eeth tried his next appeal from logic; Qui-Gon was already undergoing emotional upheaval enough in the possibility of having to choose between his old Padawan and love, or his new Padawan and lover. "A Pilot and a Healer."

"Why only two?" Obi-Wan asked when Qui-Gon's expression began to even out into consideration instead of reaction. The younger Jedi's voice and eyes held little trace of the vulnerability that still radiated from the rest of his body. He knew even better than Eeth, Qui-Gon's dilemma, and seemed to be seeking to eliminate its need.

Commendable but, Eeth feared, doomed to failure.

"Actually we should be sending only one Jedi, someone who is healer, pilot and warrior," Eeth vacillated. "But the Council would not think to prevent Qui-Gon's going if he insisted and so recognize the need for another to pilot who can also heal. We know that you could be that pilot," Eeth then quickly inserted when Obi-Wan would have continued questioning him. "But you can't -- you -- Xanatos' ship has crashed on Tatooine."

It certainly gave him no pleasure, not even a sense of satisfaction to silence Obi-Wan so thoroughly, though a very small part of Eeth had resented being so challenged by a mere Padawan. And it actually pained him to see the blood drain so quickly from Obi-Wan's face that he feared the other might faint. Qui-Gon also noticed and instantly put aside his own internal torment and pulled Obi-Wan closer to his side.

This time Eeth sensed energy in addition to words flow between them, and for a moment he found a smile as he wondered if either remembered they were not alone. The attention being given was comforting, not sexual. And quite intimate just the same.

"Eeth is right, Obi-Wan, you are not going into Hutt space."

If he had needed it, Eeth then had his confirmation. Qui-Gon was not just concerned about the open bounty on all Jedi from the Hutts. He knew.

"And I will not let you go without me." Obi-Wan's eyes held a sure serenity that was quite missing from Qui-Gon's.

"But I -- well, they --" Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "Perhaps someone other than either of us should go --"

And just like that, any pretense of serenity disappeared from Obi-Wan in the face of Qui-Gon's choice and willing sacrifice.

"No, Master," came the cub's stricken apology. "I should not have -- I cannot ask that you --"

Qui-Gon stopped Obi-Wan's words with a fierce kiss. "You are my concern now, Obi-Wan. While I will always love the boy I raised and guided to Knighthood, there are others, as Eeth has said, better able to help Xan now."

"No one better." And it wasn't said from misplaced hero-worship as might come from Padawan to Master. "You need to do this. And I need to come with you." Obi-Wan lifted his fingers to frame Qui-Gon's face. "We promised to be each other's light, love and strength."

It was too much, too personal, and oh, how Eeth wanted to be anywhere but here. To not witness the pain on each of their faces. And their acceptance of the dire consequences this mission would bring no matter which path was chosen. Eeth desperately wanted to rub his hands across his horns, but had been working long on trying to stop that telltale sign of distress and so cracked his knuckles to keep his hands in front of him.

"You both know that Jedi are not welcome in Hutt space?" he had to ask, had to make sure that they were cognizant of all of the dangers, not just the probability of problems for Obi-Wan. Or the guilt Qui-Gon would suffer if someone else went after Xanatos.

"That because there are bounties on any Jedi's head -- in part because of what we and your former Master needed do to free you from the Hutts, young Padawan -- you will need to travel in a ship of dubious origin and comforts? I know you are a fine pilot, but we do not expect --"

"He managed fine getting us from Haven," Qui-Gon snarled, again reacting to this perceived slight against Obi-Wan so that he could keep from reacting to the real cause of his distress.

This reaction was quite an intriguing example of the depth of Qui-Gon's commitment and involvement with his new Padawan despite how recently they had come together. Few other Masters would be quite so bristling at this early point in the relationship.

Eeth wasn't sure he had ever seen Qui-Gon less in control of his emotions, even considering all of the arguments and challenges the Jedi Master's conscience and personal code had led him to enact against the Council over the years. Not that Qui-Gon was raving. He had barely even raised his voice. Nor was exhibiting any of his own physical tics, like pulling on his beard, or clenching his fists. Of course, having his new Padawan within touching distance might work as a substitute, like Eeth's knuckle cracking.

Qui-Gon's expression and manner were clear if intense. Until you tried to meet his eyes. Then you could see a storm that put the worst physical manifestation of unregulated weather to shame. And had to look away.

Such conflict was why no Jedi Master ever took two or more Padawan on at a time, and why usually there were months if not years between taking one after another. Qui-Gon was being forced to consider sacrificing one to save the other. And quite possibly losing them both no matter what he chose.

"I can fly anything the Jedi can get their hands on," Obi-Wan said in no boast. "We need not go as Jedi, so should not be identified as Jedi."

Eeth closed his eyes, again barely controlling an abortive motion to raise his hand to his head. "It's not that simple, Obi-Wan. Yes, you can hide your lightsaber and braid, could possibly even hide most of your Jedi mannerisms. But you are still the Jedi the Hutts best know, save maybe your former Master. If you are recognized you endanger not only yourself, but Qui-Gon and Xanatos."

As an appeal it was pretty thin, but certainly Obi-Wan would not want Qui-Gon to be in danger because of him --

"It's been six years, Master Koth. I was sixteen, and I wasn't being held on Tatooine." Obi-Wan carefully slide a few inches from Qui-Gon that Eeth might accept him as his own person instead of just his Master's Padawan. Or lover.

"I am no longer that boy to be recognized, even if one of my former ... acquaintances might be present. Nor do we have reason to suspect they know of Master a'Thuul's death other than he had not been there to continue to bedevil them in the intervening years. Yes, the Hutts might assume he and I will be the ones sent after Xanatos because of our past familiarity with the region and their practices, but as Master a'Thuul will not be there, it is unlikely I would be recognized at someone else's side. They don't know Qui-Gon, or his Padawan. And all of this presupposes the Hutts even know that they have something more in Xanatos than a distressed spacer, and so are looking for a Jedi rescue in the first place. Which is not likely as Xanatos is aware of the danger in being identified himself."

Eeth sighed. Valid points, but --

"You are only just from the Healers today, Obi-Wan. I am sure they will not --"

"Respectfully, Master Koth, but the Healers have released me to my Master's care," Obi-Wan said firmly. "My mission status is no longer their concern."

Respectfully, his horns! But yes, Obi-Wan was technically correct. Unless Eeth was willing to challenge Qui-Gon's judgment, he had no right to bring the Healers back into this discussion. Still, by arguing, Obi-Wan was continuing to push Qui-Gon into accepting his presence on the mission, instead of giving his Master a way out by voluntarily surrendering his right to be there. And that was just not correct.

Eeth looked over at Qui-Gon and found that instead of the conflict he expected to see, the Jedi Master's face held pride. And even just a hint of amusement, giving Eeth cause to remember that as one of the Order's most successful warriors and diplomats, Qui-Gon was not above using every means at his command to bring about an outcome he thought best. Like letting another wear down an opponent before swooping in with the finishing stroke himself. Qui-Gon might not actively be encouraging Obi-Wan to argue with a Council member, yet by keeping silent, he was also not censuring it.

And Eeth couldn't really be angry at either the tactic or the inevitable outcome; it was a Padawan's place to fight at his Master's side. Or in his Master's defense.

But that didn't mean he was quite ready to concede.

"And if you are wrong, Obi-Wan, if you are recognized -- east as Jedi -- if not as one of their former slaves, are you prepared to deal with how that might affect you? Already those memories have slowed down your advancement. This trip could set back your trials even more, if not eliminate them entirely!" He had to be sure they considered all of the dangers.

Obi-Wan didn't even blink. "And I could die tomorrow of food poisoning or in a transport or training accident, Master Koth. Which would also prevent me from reaching my trials." He offered a wry grin, but it quickly faded under the serious intent of his next words. "Jedi are taught to face their fears. And if there is still one that controls me to the point that I need to refuse a mission I am needed on, it is my duty to excise it, is it not? Or I have already failed in my trials."

Although he had stated it as a question, Obi-Wan didn't give Eeth time to answer before continuing.

"The danger to my Master's former Padawan is real, whereas the danger to me is only one of many possibilities. Even if I knew I would be recognized the second I stepped off the ship, I would count that as acceptable, as it would pull attention away from a fellow Jedi and give Qui-Gon opportunity to search in less danger."

Eeth barely stopped himself from rising and stomping across the floor to use his height and bulk to bear down on the cub and intimidate him. "The Council will not trade one Jedi in danger by offering another!" he all but shouted.

And blinked widened eyes.

Well, perhaps he was above using his physical appearance to intimidate, but apparently not above using his rank. Which filled him with guilt, and served to restore some calm, as did Obi-Wan's next words.

"Except that by bringing the choice to us, the Council has abrogated its right to have a say in this decision."

Right yet again. Damn him.

Qui-Gon's faint smile had actually widened despite the severity of the crisis and the emotions involved. "I'll bet you never expected to find someone more outspoken than me," he laughed softly, and placed an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. The storm had calmed, but had not fully disappeared.

"As Obi-Wan has said, Eeth, he and I are going to Tatooine. If that need not be as Jedi in more than appearance, or if the Council chooses to send another as their representative, then so be it. But we will be going. And we will bring back Xan."

Eeth didn't have the spirit to call Qui-Gon on the challenges in that statement. Nor was there any point. As Qui-Gon had never bluffed in the past about taking leave from the Order if he felt doing so was the only way to accomplish what needed to be done for a stranger, of course he would be willing to go that far for someone he cared for. And while Eeth knew that one of these days the Council would not be able to back down from such a challenge, that Qui-Gon's leave might need become permanent, to push now when they all desired the same goal would be only out of injured pride. Something Eeth had no wish to acknowledge, despite feeling them both in abundance at the moment.

"As you wish, Qui-Gon. The Council will insure a ship and all the information we can gather is ready come morning. Anything they or I can put at your disposal to make the task easier, is yours."

"Is there a reason we must wait that long?"

Eeth visibly swallowed his automatic retort since the question had been asked by Qui-Gon most mildly, then almost wished he had said it. Instead of what he needed say. "Yes, there is," he responded bluntly. "Niika -- Master Healer Wekh will insist on Obi-Wan spending tonight back in Healers Hall under observation."

"I can watch over Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon growled. "He is my --"

In this Eeth was not willing to back down. "We realize you know your duty, and I know that you care for him as something more than Padawan, Qui-Gon. That you might even know as much about this as you are implying. But there are risks you do not know. And if Obi-Wan cannot control the repercussions to tonight's revelations, you will be in danger --"

"The telempathy, yes, I know." Qui-Gon sighed and tightened his hug around Obi-Wan when the younger man might have pulled away in growing distress. Their roles were now reversed, with Qui-Gon seeking to protect Obi-Wan just as vigilantly as Obi-Wan had him earlier.

And still casting Eeth too close to something like the enemy.

"Obi-Wan and I have already had to deal with being caught up in his telempathy on Haven," Qui-Gon continued. "And together we broke out of and put the memories to rest without assistance from either you or Master Healer Wekh."

"You've already --"

"He lived through my memories of the attack that put Master Billaba in her coma," Obi-Wan said softly.

"Is Master Wekh aware of this, Obi-Wan?" Eeth was dismayed to hear that Obi-Wan had already had a recent incident -- it made the likelihood of another almost a certainty. But he was also quite heartened that Qui-Gon had been able to help even as he had become involved.

The Padawan nodded. "She was encouraged to find out that it didn't last long, and that neither of us were worse off for the experience."

Eeth sat back in the chair he had almost vacated, surprise and bemusement overtaking him.

"Master Koth?"

He grinned at the confused expression. "Obi-Wan, that is not just encouraging, but wonderful news. Qui-Gon, has she talked to you about this, about what this means?"

The Jedi Master shook his head, just as confused as his Padawan.

Eeth widened his grin. "Gentlemen, may I have the honor of examining your link?" he asked in lieu of an explanation.

In this, as he should, Obi-Wan looked to Qui-Gon for guidance. Of course, it was just as much because he didn't have a clue as to why they were being asked, as in actual deference. Obi-Wan never had a proper bond with someone before, not even Master a'Thuul, so had no experience in the etiquette of having one examined.

Most Jedi bonded at least once in their lives, either when becoming Master and Padawan, or partners upon Knighthood. As lovers. And those bonds allowed each Jedi to be aware not only of a bond's presence in their partner, but to also sense similar bonds in others. While Eeth knew that Obi-Wan was intellectually aware of bonds and bonding, he had also noted first hand while helping the Padawan create stronger shields, that the cub had no practical experience in a link save for what had been forced on him along with so many other traumas by the Dark Jedi. Young Obi-Wan only knew of bonds either by their absence or presence as something that caused pain, despite being taught differently.

Until, perhaps, now.

All three would need to lessen their shielding for Eeth to test the bond, but not to the point that he could touch on those things best kept hidden. He waited patiently, as in this Obi-Wan also followed his Master's lead, that action and ability alone telling Eeth much of what he was hoping to find.

And then they were all partially open to each other and Eeth found so much more.

Many Jedi saw their bonds as cords or braids stretching away from their mind and joining to another's with aid from the Force. For others, bonds were all sound, something as simple as a child's rhythm or as complex as a Nedletti symphony. The smell of home, love. In truth, there were probably as many ways to interpret bonds as there were Jedi. But conventional teaching methods and visualization more often led the bond between two Jedi to be represented by some sort of tether.

Eeth, on the other hand, had always seen bonds as a tint in a Jedi's unique energy aura that was their life presence within the Force. Yes there were more Jedi than there were colors, even to him who could see differences in shading and hues that the eyes or vocabularies few others species could match. Still, any Jedi he had ever met, he could later recognize by their unique aura alone.

The presence of bonds often left the colors in swirls, with one being more predominant -- usually that of the Master in Master/Padawan bondings, the male in male/female bondings. The older two Jedi were at bonding, or if those involved were near equal in experience, the colors might be more in balance. But they were still usually separate with one vying for dominance. Much to Eeth's pleasure and surprise, the energy before him from Obi-Wan's and Qui-Gon's bond was a near perfect blending of one color instead of something simply complementary between two. And he had no doubt that upon Obi-Wan's knighting, that slight imbalance would be gone, that even their auras would become a single whole for the both of them.

Master Yoda had intimated he could sense a future of extraordinary closeness between the two. But it was another thing entirely to be able to actually see it. This bond bespoke of good things -- healing things -- and protections for them both.

Eeth would need to spend time trying to see and understand why they might need such protection, but would suggest nothing now but the positive aspects of what he had found.

"I can see why you were able to come out of the unplanned telempathic link relatively trauma free," he said warmly as he forced himself to turn away from the beauty that soothed his inner sight. "And I think I can safely say this ability to break out of the telempathy is not a one time occurrence, should you inadvertently link again." It was cleansing to be able to offer at least this bit of good news. "Which means that yes, Qui-Gon, I can speak for Master Healer Wekh and let you two leave sooner than morning."

He found, however, that he could not refuse to voice some cautions.

"I am not saying there won't still be difficulties; I fear there will indeed be nightmares before much more time passes, quite likely for you both as your minds try to sort and reorder your new awareness to their proper importance and place. Meditation will help this, of course. Please do so before trying next to sleep," he suggested. Then looked more directly to Qui-Gon.

"I think you can feel confident that Obi-Wan's shields will hold, however, if for no other reason than to protect you. And if they do fail," he added, turning then to Obi-Wan, "Qui-Gon can deal with that and still help you. So there is to be no guilt, sense of failure or attempts to spare each other from what you might be feeling. Trust, gentlemen, will lead to understanding and success."

Eeth's breath caught at the sudden look the two exchanged. Like their bond, this example of love and peace let Eeth release the scowl he had brought with him. He now knew they had a connection that would serve them well in overcoming the traumas this mission would invariably bring them. He was quite looking forward to telling both Niika and Master Yoda of what he had learned and seen, looked even more forward to showing the same to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon once they formally announced their pair bonding.

For it was inevitable they would one day soon acknowledge that their bond was much more than that of a Master and Padawan, more than even typical between lovers. Through the eyes of the Force, they were mated for life and beyond, one soul housed in two bodies and destined to be together for all eternity.

*******

Just as he had been taught all throughout his life, Xanatos du Crion cast his mind and body toward peace and acceptance of his current situation. Meditation, the Jedi way to deal with disturbing emotions or situations out of their control. Unfortunately, the only thing he could focus on in meditation was the headache that pounded behind his eyes

Pain was just the body's way of telling you something was wrong.

He had always preferred to think of pain as a body's way of telling you that you were still alive and, as such, could usually muster up enough gratitude or surprise to overcome it. But then, he had also always either been able to go straight to the Healers, or had his Master nearby to help him deal with the pain once he had gotten over the initial riot of emotion. Unless, of course, the pain was voluntarily and self-inflicted.

Oh, that the pain be from the hangover he had inflicted on himself twelve or so hours earlier, upon his first awakening of this day instead of from the impact against the flight console that had nearly cost him an eye. After all, had the headache simply been from the recklessness he had allowed himself during the previous evening spent in company of the King and Senator from Naboo, Xanatos could have banished it with barely a thought. The purging of toxins from the bloodstream was one of the first tricks taught to young Jedi, in part because of the ever present dangers of poisons used by those who opposed the rights that Jedi stood for and defended, and in part because no matter that they were Jedi, even their Masters recognized that occasionally their young charges would overindulge and might need such solace to manage the next day's training.

It didn't help that in addition to not being able to meditate or heal himself, the headache also interfered with his use of the Force. Not a lot, fortunately, but enough to make him even more skittish than just being on this planet did. Of all of the places to have to crashed on, a planet in the middle of Hutt space would not have been even his ... oh, hundredth pick. While he preferred to have the planetary natives to want a Jedi's presence, Xanatos was still used to them fearing the arrival of Jedi. But he would never get used to someone huntingJedi as sport.

Of course, instead of dwelling on what might have been, Xanatos should be reaching for an appreciation of what had gone right. He hadn't and wouldn't lose the eye. Indeed, he had survived the crash that had destroyed the ship and killed two of his charges with little injury himself other than a few additional bumps and bruises. Regrettable as it was to lose two, especially as it had been their pilot and the head of security for the Princess, it could have been worse. And he thanked the Force that the Princess was one who had survived.

Uncertain whether the King had survived the palace coup the King he'd stayed to counter while insisting the Jedi save his heir instead, Xanatos had reluctantly agreed. Between the two, Princess Amidala's loss would have been worse, not just for Naboo, but to the Republic. She was an only child, as had been her father. Assuming rightful rule needed to be restored, successions rarely happened completely trouble free, even when the heir was as well loved and trained such as Amidala. When there was no heir, however --

Unfortunately that future might still come to pass. Surviving the crash did not guarantee surviving being on this planet long enough for rescue to find them. But not if he could help it.

Though the two others who had survived the crash were two of the Princess' personal bodyguard, Xanatos' responsibility for keeping her alive hadn't lessened; both her King and the Senator representing Naboo in the Republic had entrusted Amidala to him, not to those bodyguards. And even were he not a Jedi trained to protect, as the former Regent and one-time heir himself to the rule of his home planet, Xanatos had a personal honor that was every bit as strict and binding as the Jedi Code. In truth, he felt that now he not only had responsibility for Amidala's safety, but also for her bodyguards. The female, Sabe, was only a fewer years older than her twelve year old Princess. And the male, Hugh Panaka, was at most twenty-three or four. At twenty-seven, Xanatos was the eldest not only by virtue of age, but by experience. Which instilled yet one more set of assumptions.

Not that Princess Amidala or her dark-skinned Lieutenant Panaka had agreed willingly to abide by his lead. Especially since his first command had been for them to leave the dubious safety of the nevertheless familiar ship. Xanatos had given them little chance to gather together anything other than emergency supplies, had even bodily carried the Princess out and dumped her onto the sand when she refused to budge from trying to compose the limbs of her dead subjects into something less ... gruesome. Had Panaka not been involved in splinting Sabe's broken arm, Xanatos had no doubt he would have gotten more than just a verbal argument. From all three.

Before Xanatos had a chance to explain himself, to warn them of the dangers their forced landing here on Tatooine had brought them, they had seen first hand one of those dangers in the form of twelve Tuskan Raiders come to salvage or steal what they could from the downed ship. That had quieted those from Naboo quickly as they followed Xanatos, as had seeing the Raiders mutilate the bodies of the dead and drink the blood. Xanatos wanted to explain that such actions came more from prudence than desecration, that on a world such as this, water in any form was more precious than the baubles and coins most other societies placed value in. Just as soon as they had reached the hiding place he had found, however, he had been angrily banished from the Princess' presence. And his head hurt too much to consider fighting against that decree. Just as soon as the three managed to reconcile their confusion in feeling resentment and gratitude that he had saved them but not their dead comrades, no doubt he'd be welcomed back.

And if the Force was with him, that would happen before nightfall. They had food and water to last only for the three days it would take a ship from the Jedi on Coruscant to reach Tatooine, maybe a day or so longer if they rationed drastically. Assuming someone could be sent immediately, there was still no guarantee the ship wouldn't run into trouble along the way, or that their rescuers wouldn't meet dangers of their own upon arrival. Xanatos needed to find a new source for water and food, if not a town, and that would be much easier if he was certain his charges wouldn't try to strike out on their own after he had left them.

Assuming his message had even gotten through to Coruscant.

If his didn't, hopefully Senator Palpatine's would. The Senator had also fled the coup under the King's orders. Xanatos knew his friend would also be trying to get word to the Jedi and the Chancellor, would let them know two ships had fled, his with a few government officials, Xanatos' with the heir. So he was pretty sure that even worse case, they would only have to make it on their own for maybe a week before someone found them.

Xanatos frowned suddenly. Not just someone. Either by the Council's orders or the Supreme Chancellor's, chances were very good it would be his former Master who would be sent in rescue. Who would volunteer or even sneak away in violation of orders to the contrary, despite the things they had last said to one another. Despite Xanatos' relief of finally being away from the strictures of Padawan to Qui-Gon's Master. And despite his rejection of Qui-Gon's declaration of love.

No, he was not going to think about Qui-Gon Jinn!

Better that he spend time arguing with the Princess, or at least scaring her and her companions with the realities of Tatooine so that they wouldn't leave, nor try to follow him when he left to seek help. To reflect on his former Master now might bring him to believe he had made a mistake when he had fled from the love the other had shown him. Which could mean his need to escape from even his memories of Qui-Gon --because every person, every building, every item in his life served only to remind him of what was now missing after so many years -- a need which, in turn, led him to visit an ally of his brother at the most inopportune time of a palace coup, might also mean his being stranded here could have been avoided. Or was his own fault.

Such a conclusion would not assist him in finding the center he needed in order to perform the duties that were now demanded of him. And he had enough trouble just being on Tatooine without borrowing more.

From one fire to another.

Other than both being in the Outer Rim, Naboo and Tatooine had nothing in common. Naboo was a green world, rich in resources and wealth, populated by happy and healthy people working toward a common goal of a strong and diverse, thriving society. Tatooine was a desert world, barely containing enough moisture to sustain the few indigenous species, much less the transient wanderers that came seeking the anonymity of a society of cutthroats and outlaws who paid attention to their neighbor only because said neighbor might have something of value. Or be a bigger threat.

Governed by a constitutional monarchy, the people of Naboo recognized and supported the rule and the law not only of their own government, but that of the Galactic Republic to which they were eager members. The only law on Tatooine was survival of the fittest and the only rule was might. Which right now resided in the hands of the giant slug-like Hutts of Nal Hutta who, as a species, hated the Jedi and everything they stood for.

Xanatos wasn't too worried about the bounty that now stood over his head in being a Jedi in Hutt space. It wasn't as if he particularly looked like a Jedi at the moment. Aside from a rather standardized garb and the lightsabers that all Jedi wore, only Padawans were particularly distinctive with their braid and close cropped hair. And their somewhat servile manner as they deferred to their Masters in almost everything. Even before passing his trials and becoming a Knight, Xanatos hadn't looked the part. At least not since he and his former Master had been granted opportunity to take up residence on Telos so that Xanatos could serve as regent for his underage brother at their father's most unexpected death, while he was still undergoing his Padawan training.

As a result of the first meeting with his brother's so-called advisors and secretaries, and to prevent the civil war that had nearly followed, Qui-Gon had allowed him to dress the part of a Telosian noble whenever they were in the public eye, which was much more often than he dressed as a Jedi. In truth, Xanatos had never been particularly humble or servile as either an initiate or Padawan, though he had -- occasionally -- deferred to his Master's greater experience. Arrogance was one of his great flaws, and he could only be glad that his sense of duty was an even greater virtue.

Odd that arrogance would actually serve him better here on Tatooine than would duty. During his visit to Naboo, such arrogance had led him to forego wearing the Jedi tunics and robes that would now have helped identify him. He had gone to seek the company of those he had met as Regent, and had not wanted anyone to mistake him as a Jedi on a mission. Although a little dusty and worn now, no one would mistake the colorful and stylish clothing as something a Jedi would wear.

Here the arrogance would also serve as a warning. Respect out on the Rim was usually earned in only two ways: unwavering confidence or an unwavering gun-hand. While he had no qualms in killing in defense of another, Xanatos could not do so in cold blood. So, supreme confidence it would need be.

"You should come in and drink something, even if you will not eat with us," came a soft voice from behind him.

Xanatos lifted his head and opened his eyes, noting that it was much later than he had realized; both of Tatooine's suns would be setting within the hour. More surprising though was that the voice did not belonged to Sabe, the young bodyguard and handmaiden who had already been cast in the role of caretaker and peacemaker, despite her broken arm. Princess Amidala herself knelt before him, however, with chin and eyes downcast.

In size, coloring and superficial looks, Amidala and Sabe were near twins (as were all of the Princess' handmaidens), something Xanatos suspected had been engineered in the past either by the King or by the now dead Captain Magreta, since obfuscation as to who was whom would certainly aid in protecting the heir. In the Force he could easily sense differences between the two, of course, and now that he really took the time to look, he realized Amidala would always stand out for an inner beauty and a boldness the others would never be able to copy.

At the moment, however, the boldness was hidden behind a face raw and sunburned, and a manner of contriteness.

"I am touched by your concern, Your Highness," he offered in all sincerity, though from the quick lifting of her eyes, Xanatos knew she was not convinced. "It is the mark of a good ruler that she overlooks her own personal feelings for the benefit of her subjects."

And wasn't that a lesson Qui-Gon had needed pound into him over and over!

In another time, in another place, Xanatos had no doubt he could have been every bit as ruthless and self-serving as the Hutts; his father certainly had been so.

"You are not one of my subjects," Amidala said now with the beginning of a twinkle in her soulful brown eyes.

Oh, but she would be a devastating handful once she grew older.

"You are Jedi and are subject to no one."

Xanatos tilted his chin in a bow, the most his headache would allow him to move. "I am Jedi and serve everybody," he corrected gently. "It is my duty and pleasure that such service is on your behalf on this day -- evening."

The barest of smiles now played about her lips, the first Xanatos had seen since her tearful departure from her father and world.

"Well then, you could best serve me at this moment by eating," she sallied back. "I would not want it to become known that I would send someone out to do my bidding on an empty stomach, for how would I ever get others to serve me?"

Xanatos bowed again to hide his own growing smile, then rose to his feet. He barely managed to suppress a groan, but took solace in that he had managed without having to use his hands to push himself up. Needing to do such would have been utterly embarrassing and not at all in keeping with either his personal image of style, or with his reputation of being an invincible Jedi. Other than the blood they had not the water to spare to clean where it caked over his eye, the Jedi Knight had been very careful to give no evidence of further injury or discomfort, lest he have the ever-eager-to-prove-himself Lieutenant Panaka volunteer for a duty that would likely only get the young soldier killed.

"May I offer you escort, your highness?" Xanatos immediately extended his arm so that she would think he was still bent to aid her in gaining her own feet and not from a stiffness in muscles that took deep breaths to work out. Obviously he should have worked on centering himself before standing up, or used the time instead in a healing trance.

"Of course, my gallant Jedi." She tried for a maturity she couldn't quite sustain, her words dissolving into giggles when Xanatos continued to bring her hand up for him to kiss its back after he had pulled her to her feet. And then the giggle quieted into a blush, leading Xanatos to mask a sigh.

He would have to be very careful. At twelve, Amidala should be too young to develop the kind of crush his looks and manners had often inspired in older girls. But she was also a Princess, and under training to be a Queen, which meant she had not had the luxury of being a little girl for a long time. Add that he was Jedi, and her current savior, and he could be inadvertently encouraging a complication that would not make his duty or her survival any easier.

Unfortunately, the one thing Qui-Gon had never managed to teach him was how to interact with those Xanatos was serving without it becoming personal. Never before had he found himself wishing for more than a little of the distancing serenity that Qui-Gon always seemed to possess, the calm Xanatos had all too often accused of actually being stoicism or indifference, even as that calm always seemed to serve as comfort or inspire those others his Master was aiding.

So much for not thinking about his former Master. What did that make, the fourth or fifth time something about Qui-Gon had sparked a memory in the last couple of hours?

"Do you think the nearest settlement is far away?" Amidala then asked him when they had journeyed far enough back into the cave so that Panaka and Sabe could also hear his answer.

Xanatos stopped himself from shrugging; they didn't want shrugs. They wanted assurances. Unfortunately, while he had been with the pilot just before the crash, there had been no time to look over the scanner in detail, as he had been desperately trying instead to reach the Temple. That the Tuskan Raiders had found their ship scant minutes after they crashed meant that one of the nomadic bands currently lived nearby. Or that the orbital decay of their ship had glowed brighter than either of the suns for a length of time and the Raiders had traveled the quickest.

If there was a settlement nearby, it couldn't be too large. He didn't think the Raiders would have taken the risk of being challenged by other scavengers, since the settlers usually had better weaponry. But neither would the Raiders be nearby if there was no one to scavenge from. Ships, after all, did not come falling from the skies often enough to sustain a tribe.

"There is something nearby," he could offer in full truth. "It might not have a spaceport, might not even have a comm unit we could use to reach the nearest port, but no doubt I can pick up food and water. And directions toward somewhere which will have the other things we need."

Even if it was only the Raiders, and even if he had to use a few tricks in place of trade goods.

While King Veruna had provided him with cred sticks, coins and even a few gems to use to ensure his daughter's safety in those last moments in fleeing from Naboo, such currency would have little value to a scavenger. Or even to a moisture farmer. And they would have less than their normal value to pirates or smugglers. On the other hand, they would be enough to stake him in some form of wager, which was as much the manner of exchange of goods as was purchasing in a place like this. A wager that he could then obtain a proper currency or something else to use as barter assuming he couldn't outright gamble for what they most needed. And assuming he could find someone or somewhere to place such a wager with.

"I still do not like the idea of you going alone," Panaka grumbled.

Xanatos sighed and spread his arms in supplication; it would do no good to continue to alienate these people, nor was it Panaka's fault he was too inexperienced for the position the soldier now found himself in.

"There is no one else to go, Lieutenant. While under other circumstances I would welcome anyone of you as a traveling companion, I would be lax in my duty to allow the Princess to travel into unknown dangers, nor ask you to abandon the same, your duty or her. E'en if the fair Lady Sabe was uninjured I could not consider anything other than leaving the three of you here for mutual protection."

"We could all go," Amidala challenged. "We are not afraid."

Xanatos nodded. "Your talents and skills are formidable, my princess, as are those of your defenders. But this is not a place even for young girls, much less princesses and noblewomen. Slavery will ill suit any of you."

"Slavery is illegal in the Republic!" Sabe protested, eyes wide and innocent.

"So are palace coups and insurrections," he reminded her in gentle tones. "Unfortunately, there are many people who do not follow the ways of the Light. And in truth, I know of no place other than Nal Hutta itself where it is darker than Tatooine."

"How long should we wait for your return?" Although Amidala's eyes looked no less innocent, she was also an uncommonly bright young girl. And wise to know how to acquiesce when things were beyond her control.

"If you ration carefully, you have enough food for four days, and water for five. If I do not return within the third, you must assume I cannot. I would not wait to leave after you have nothing to sustain you in travel."

She nodded. "No longer than the night of the third day then."

"That sounds wise." Xanatos grabbed up the head covering he had made for himself to counteract the heat of two suns against his dark hair, and then the jacket he had taken from the pilot so as to hide the distinctiveness and wealth of his clothing.

"Will you take one of the blasters?" Panaka asked, offering the one he had removed from his own commander's body.

Xanatos started to say no, but his lightsaber would mark him as Jedi, which meant he would need to keep it hidden and not plan to use it except in an extreme emergency. Yet no traveler of his age or apparent health would be traveling without some form of weapon.

"I would be honored to carry Captain Magreta's."

Panaka gave him a brief nod.

Xanatos took the weapon and belt, then bundled the bit of food and one of the water sacks he had acknowledged he needed take though he was loath to lessen their rations. "Until we meet again, my friends," he offered.

"May your Force be with you, Jedi Xanatos du Crion," came Amidala's whisper as he turned away without looking back. "May your Force be with us all."

***********

"I have run out of places to find inspiration, Master," Obi-Wan sighed. Done going through the downloads, he shut off his data reader and shoved back from the table with a twist that popped his back. He only barely refrained from scrubbing his eyes with his hands as if that could energize him when Force and stamina could not.

He and Qui-Gon should have been asleep even if they weren't still feeling the effects of the exhaustive, emotional storm dredged up in the telling of his past; night had fallen over Coruscant many hours ago. But Qui-Gon's former Padawan had landed in trouble and Qui-Gon felt the need to be the one to effect his rescue away from Tatooine before someone could claim the bounty that lay on all Jedi in Hutt space in place because of his past. Which meant he and Qui-Gon had just spent the last couple hours trying to find a convincing cover for their arrival to insure they could help Xanatos.

"For the life of me, I can't even find a reason for the Hutts to value Tatooine," he groused, voice hoarse partially in frustration and mostly from exhaustion.

"Other than the sun and the sand?"

At the tone and words of mild amusement offered, even though Qui-Gon had to be just as tired and frustrated, Obi-Wan could only shake his head at his Master's ability to look to his Padawan's welfare before his own. He couldn't really imagine what Qui-Gon was thinking, how the other felt, as Obi-Wan had never had his own Padawan, of course, nor had ever felt a closeness to another in devotion or friendship as Qui-Gon still felt for Xanatos.

"Being little more than overgrown slugs, sand and sun are not usually high on their list of needs," he shot back in his driest voice. "I would think Dagobah to be more in their liking, other than what Master Yoda would do to even a single Hutt who managed to find his little home, sweet swamp." Accustomed to using humor, even if bad or misplaced, to help from brooding, Obi-Wan sincerely hoped this would also help Qui-Gon in not dwelling on what Xanatos might already be facing. And that Qui-Gon wouldn't resent the humor as had some of the other Masters he had needed work with.

Not that any exchange could help Obi-Wan from not dwelling on his new Master's former Padawan himself. He certainly didn't begrudge Qui-Gon's almost overpowering need to be the one who rescued Xanatos; Qui-Gon would not be a man he could have instantly fallen in love with had Obi-Wan not been able to sense the Jedi Master's deep core of compassion and loyalty. And it was quite natural for former Masters to keep a measure of fondness for their former Padawan apprentices; he would have been hurt had there not been such feelings from Master a'Thuul had his own former Master still lived and Obi-Wan been in similar straits.

It wasn't even really that he doubted that Qui-Gon loved him. Yes Qui-Gon had admitted to having feelings for Xanatos when it had been his Master's turn to bare the deep dark secrets that might have damaged their relationship by staying hidden, but Obi-Wan no longer had any question about Qui-Gon's feelings for him other than why. Although Obi-Wan had been a near stranger to the currents of the Living Force for too many years, it wasn't because he couldn't read them, just that he hadn't before now. And while he might never understand why such had come to pass, the bond he and Qui-Gon had formed within their first hours of meeting could not be denied or ignored. And he couldn't ignore how the bond made him feel, since for the first time in far too long, he felt healed. Whole.

Still, there was just the littlest bit of -- not jealousy, exactly. Maybe rivalry was a better term. And an edge of ... trepidation?

Something in the back of his brain was whispering trouble, more or different than that which his prescience was warning him about Tatooine and the Hutts. Something about Xanatos directly, something about the two of them meeting but quite vague, as if too many paths could converge from that moment and no one was more likely than the other. Or because more than one path was likely, and which would enfold would hinge on a single action or word. But like so many of his foretellings, Obi-Wan didn't have the skill or experience to focus in enough to actually learn something and, therefore, regardless of feeling or prescience, if Qui-Gon needed to be the one to help Xanatos, then Obi-Wan needed to be there to help Qui-Gon.

"You are right about the Hutts, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon agreed more soberly, perhaps because he had picked up on Obi-Wan's dip into introspection. "Dagobah's climate would be much more comfortable to them than sand and sun, so there has to be something else to attract them to Tatooine. While it may be no more than the planet's location to other systems, there is something else going on to make it an attractive destination, at least temporarily." The Jedi Master hit a button and immediately a list of names started to scroll across his pad. "I have found a remarkable number of charters booked into Tatooine over the next few days. Even some of the guild pilots are taking the action."

"Into the Outer Rim?" Eyes widening in amazement, Obi-Wan got up and moved to look over Qui-Gon's shoulder. He had a moment's disorientation when a head full of hair flopped over his own shoulder; one of the first things Qui-Gon had suggested as part of their as yet undefined cover, was for Obi-Wan to call one of the Healers to come and speed his hair growth so that at least his Padawan cut would be unrecognizable.

So now, for the first time he could remember, Obi-Wan's hair hung just past his shoulders. And into his eyes. A young Calamarian Healer who had introduced herself as Bant (and of whom he vaguely remembered being an age mate when they were initiates -- hadn't she been the one who had saved ... Garen from the results of his and Bruck Chun's fight) had also lightened the now longer strands so that the red highlights were subsumed almost completely by blond ones. For the moment they had opted not to also change Obi-Wan's skin coloring, although that was still a viable option, depending on what they might need do to reach Tatooine.

He stifled a sudden laugh at memory. That young Healer had also quite tentatively suggested to Qui-Gon that she could encourage the brown to reclaim those strands of silver that lightened his Master's hair. Silver which Qui-Gon had loudly and indignantly denied having -- at least as little as a week ago, then conceding that any silver had to be recent and, therefore, Obi-Wan's fault. Qui-Gon's words had been said with a broad smile, and they had all chuckled, but Obi-Wan had been shocked to see Padawan Healer Bant then send a wink his direction. She deftly pulled a few of the strands around and thrust them in front of Qui-Gon's eyes, with a hurrmph that they were not from new growth.

Initially she had seemed far too awed to so tease a Jedi Master she had just met. Or offering him friendship based only on playful conspiracy, to someone else she didn't know. While Obi-Wan had no doubt putting another at ease was just one of his new Master's better talents regardless of the other's social or political position, it certainly was not one of Obi-Wan's. Yet that hadn't seemed to matter to Bant either, at least if he had correctly interpreted her species' version of a smile as she left. Once he and Qui-Gon returned from Tatooine, maybe he would look up the surprisingly open woman.

It might be nice to know a Healer for reasons other than needing one.

Before Obi-Wan began looking at the list Qui-Gon had put together, he dropped his head lower and sought to take advantage of his new position next to his Master. As much as he never thought he would ever desire doing it, Obi-Wan had instead found himself now quite addicted to kissing. Maybe only to Qui-Gon's feel and taste, but then that was just fine, as he could not image ever wanting to kiss some one else.

When he had first felt his lust and arousal for the other man on Haven, he had thought it simply part of the role he had been adopting to hide the children he had been entrusted to protect. Even had Qui-Gon not been handsome in physical appearance, the Jedi Master's aura and presence within the Force would have called Obi-Wan to him, for the man exuded calm and protection. And while he might not have wanted to admit it even to himself, protection -- or at least someone to share responsibilities for the mission -- had been something Obi-Wan was definitely needing right then. Had probably been needing for much longer than just those few days after leaving a terribly injured Master Billaba.

When the lust had turned into a more radiant desire, Obi-Wan had still figured it to be a reflexive response to the safety he had felt around Qui-Gon. Master Healer Wekh and Master Koth had spent a lot of time trying to explain that the responses he had given while being a pleasure slave had been natural; his body's way of protecting life, limb and sanity. And that he might find himself occasionally unable to control his body's need to reaffirm being alive in those moments after experiencing great stress or danger. These were feelings all sentient creatures shared. Jedi were simply better taught to control themselves and not always give in, lest they find a temporary yet ultimately unsatisfying closeness with someone who would then be hurt afterward.

Of course, Obi-Wan had never had such feelings during or after a mission until meeting Qui-Gon. Not even when working with Masters Windu or Gallia, both of whom Obi-Wan could intellectually admit were attractive and alluring in their own ways. He had never physically or emotionally found them to be someone he had wanted to get close to. And it hadn't simply been because those two were Masters and members of the Jedi Council; feeling lust was acceptable even when exhibiting lust would be dangerous or inappropriate. In truth, Obi-Wan had never felt lust or even closeness for another since his brutal initiation into sexuality. Which, his counselors had said was also natural but unlikely to last forever, as humans were sexual and social beings.

Masters Wekh and Koth were always encouraging him to explore his own sexuality so that when different feelings came over him, he might recognize which were based on wanting the closeness that usually came with friendship or from family, which might be needs based on lust, and which were simply human biological imperatives. If he understood the different needs, he wouldn't then be overcome or taken advantage of when true feelings did finally manifest.

That he had felt everything they had tried to teach him about -- friendship, family, lust, biology and love -- for Qui-Gon, was a revelation he was still getting used to.

Qui-Gon welcomed Obi-Wan's kiss, then tugged on Obi-Wan's arms so that even when they separated, they could still be touching if Obi-Wan wanted.

Upon learning that all of Obi-Wan's previous sexual encounters had been born in violence and from someone else's control, Qui-Gon had been leaving it to Obi-Wan to initiate their own contacts. Which was gratifying, and so much in keeping with his Master's nurturing character. Still, Obi-Wan had also been gratified that when he did initiate something, Qui-Gon would then usually take over control instead of leaving the aggression and decisions to him, since he had little idea of what to do other than show his interest. He knew Qui-Gon was concerned that his reticence meant he had not completely come to terms with his past despite the talking and crying. And maybe he hadn't.

But submitting to a Master's instruction was also normal for a Padawan in so many things and the reason relationships between any two were so carefully monitored. This need might just as well be out of the comfort and expectation given the roles between them instead of from his sexual indoctrination or lack of experience. It also just might be the true nature between them as people. Obi-Wan was independent, yes, but had never especially been domineering. On the other hand, he suspected Qui-Gon had been a natural leader even before position and experience had given him ample opportunity to perfect this aspect of personality.

"Have you found a reason for this rendezvous?" Obi-Wan let his fingers play with the soft hairs that darkened Qui-Gon's chest, letting them roam where lips wanted to. Studying the names himself he thought he recognized a few, but couldn't come up with a reason as to why. He and Master a'Thuul had spent almost two years in the Outer Rim before those last two missions, so they could simply be targets or troublemakers that had been part of the reams of background information provided for their numerous missions of recovery or rescue.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Not yet." His voice broke as Obi-Wan had raised first one hand then the other to moisten forefingers and thumbs, then use them to tweak the nipples now exposed by his rubbing from under the loose wrapped tunic. "I doubt ... it to be a gathering of ... crime lords, since the information is too easily available." Another gasp, and a longer moan, yet Qui-Gon persisted in his recital with as much dedication as Obi-Wan was pursuing getting reactions. A contest then, to see which of them would reach their goal first. To distract the other away from theirs.

Not that Obi-Wan wanted to distract Qui-Gon too far away from their research. No matter the unexpected delight and desire to repeat any aspect of their being together as often as he could, they were Jedi first and would be lovers second. Even now he wouldn't have even started with anything more than just being by Qui-Gon, if he didn't know that they would have another couple of hours before they could depart. They were being given Master Saesee Tiin's ship to use on the mission, and basic maintenance and safety checks were still being completed by the Iktotchian Councilor. Yes the extra time might be better spent sleeping once they found what they needed, but Obi-Wan also doubted either could find sleep despite their exhaustion unless they could also find a way to relax for a moment, and forget what they were about to do. And for that, Obi-Wan had finally discovered, sex worked as well or better than meditation.

"Perhaps there is some other reason for gathering there ..." Qui-Gon lifted his arm to split the screen and called up a calendar of holidays throughout the Republic, incidentally brushing his elbow up against Obi-Wan's stomach, then down across his cock when the Master lowered his arm back to his lap. Obi-Wan stifled his own gasp but not the last step forward to where he needed to drape himself further over Qui-Gon to be able to see the screen. Qui-Gon was collating the data between species as well as planets. Unfortunately there was little information about Tatooine directly, as it was not a Republic world.

Caught up the in data, Obi-Wan kept his own fingers to Qui-Gon's ribs and above, but wasn't above flexing his hips against Qui-Gon.

"Wait, go back."

Although Tatooine didn't really have seasons other than wind and no wind, had no agriculture other than sand, Obi-Wan remembered that some of its earliest immigrants had come from Jipor. And Jipor had a festival coming up within five days, Boonta Eve. Some of the tradition could have stayed with the people despite the lack of blessings on Tatooine, or perhaps because of that lack, as surely it would be considered a blessing simply to survive each year on such an inhospitable world. Of course, like anything else, the Hutts would then likely have corrupted the holiday's original purpose for their own ideals: money and power. In granting such a celebration, they could better control the populace they ruled. And owned.

Abandoning all thoughts of teasing Qui-Gon for a moment, Obi-Wan raised up and reached through the Force for his own pad again. Something about those names on the charters and other ships when connected to a celebration. He connected to the public net while Qui-Gon programmed his own pad for specific Hutt practices. Together they found a match.

"Races, Master. Some of those names belong to speeder, swoop, cycle and pod racers. The Hutts must be sponsoring an event on Tatooine nominally connected to Boonta Eve."

Qui-Gon leaned back, his head resting against Obi-Wan's sternum. "And have invited all of the known gamblers and thrill-seekers. It could be our way in," he mused. "Although most of the big money gamblers on the circuit would be known, there is always room for ..."

Something nagged on the back of Obi-Wan's brain, distracting enough that he wasn't really listening, and was only peripherally aware of when Qui-Gon turned far enough that he started to nuzzle the offered flesh to invoke a response instead of being ignored. Even at that Obi-Wan was trying not to let him derail his thoughts, but then Qui-Gon dropped his beard-covered chin further down so that a moist tongue dove into his navel. Obi-Wan didn't quite shriek, but he did drop the data reader and needed to clutch at Qui-Gon's head lest his knees buckle from the gentle sucking Qui-Gon then started.

"Master!"

*I was just wondering how good your concentration really was, my Padawan,* came Qui-Gon's playful thoughts through their link so that he didn't have to break off his attentions.

*Not that good,* Obi-Wan sent back with a groan as Qui-Gon moved down lower, his breath hot and arousing even through Obi-Wan's sleep pants.

*Well, then, that is something we must practice.*

*But Master, I -- We -- there is something --*

Qui-Gon didn't let him finish, then Obi-Wan couldn't finish as his leggings were loosened so that they dropped to the floor. Fingers, chin and tongue moved to complete what Qui-Gon's breaths had started. Not a moment too soon, his Master's fingers moved from the root of his cock, from tickling his scrotum to grab him around the hips. Qui-Gon swallowed him whole, cheeks sucking, throat rippling, and Obi-Wan was coming as if they hadn't already made love five or six times in the last fourteen hours since he had left Healers Hall. This time his knees did buckle, but Qui-Gon was still there, tonguing him clean, holding him up, sheltering and comforting and demanding all of his attention.

When he next became aware of his surroundings, he found himself lying on the couch with Qui-Gon poised above him, eyes looking down on him with such tenderness that his breath caught. *This was actually number eight,* came laughingly across his mind just before his lips were devoured. Obi-Wan bucked his hips up into Qui-Gon's, still aching and partially erect. Still needing -- or still feeling Qui-Gon's need -- and then it didn't matter whose need as they both wanted fulfillment for the other. He kept his hips raised and pulled Qui-Gon in, sighing in pleasure to feel his Master slowly fill his body and mind. Thoughts became intertwined, not on what had happened or what might still happen; it was just this moment and this connection, then overwhelming pleasure sparked through his body yet again to be matched by Qui-Gon's.

And this time, when both lay still and truly satiated, the elusive something that had been twisting in his memories was there. Obi-Wan showed it to Qui-Gon, the way they could land on Tatooine, likely catching the eye of everybody, including the Hutts, but not as Jedi. And even if Xanatos couldn't find them, this would also give them access to the Hutts -- to anybody and anywhere -- so that they could use their resources to find Xanatos.

Chapter Four

"Who do we have near Tatooine?"

Years earlier, the creature now known only as Darth Maul had despaired that he could never sense his Master's arrival, had thought it to be a failing, and in a way it was. But it wasn't so much his failure as an indication of his Master's skill. And they both knew one day -- soon -- he would be able to pierce the false cloak his Master wove around himself. On that day he would no longer be Darth Sidious' apprentice, although it could be years still before he would call himself the Master. Years and the death at his hands of this dark one who ruled his life.

"We have no one reliable, my Master," Maul answered quickly. "The Hutts --"

"The Hutts could prove useful," Sidious mused, and strode further into the room Maul used to monitor his Master's minions and schemes. "But I want them controlled."

Maul said nothing, only bowed before the gnarled and wrinkled hand thrust out of the other's all-concealing cloak. His lips touched the dry and withered skin and he had to suppress the hunger the scent of the other's blood so near the surface of his skin raised in the back of Maul's throat. As always the hunger threatened to steal his control, and it was only part learned pain and part tainted love that kept him from turning the wrist over and feasting on his Master's life. Control had been hard won, as had every step forward in his apprenticeship. Pain and his own blood had been given so often that he could no longer conceive of wanting a pleasure that did not come twisted to leave him howling in rapturous agony.

"Contact the Hutts," Sidious commanded, giving no notice of the trembling even now Maul could not completely conquer. "Let them know there are Jedi once again coming to hunt for one of their own. The Hutts can have the hunters, but they are not to harm the prey, not even the one that is Jedi. Oh, a little harm is acceptable, especially for the innocent little princess, and her companions other than the Jedi are of no consequence. But no permanent damage, and no ... accidents unless the Hutts want to end our arrangement and be shown conclusively that their power is only by my sufferance. The princess and her noble Jedi must have the opportunity to express their gratitude to Senator Palpatine for their rescue."

******

As the sole offspring of her parents, Amidala had been trained to be Queen all her life. So even though she was actually the youngest of the three that had been left in hidden safety by their Jedi savior, she had taken charge. Not so much in issuing orders, but in making suggestions on how to pass the time, about exploring and rationing. And training.

At first both Lieutenant Panaka and Sabe had objected to her request of the Lieutenant to begin teaching her some of the close combat attack and defensive moves. Just as they had objected to her taking her share of the watches. She appreciated their zeal to duty and their loyalty to her, but had rightly pointed out that the two had enough worries in just surviving their unintended stranding on this horrid, hot planet, especially Sabe with her broken arm.

Amidala had no intention of leaving the protections of the other two, but intentions and reality had a nasty way of not always coinciding, such as their crash when they should have been able to make Coruscant in safety, and then the deaths of those even more senior whom her father had entrusted his only daughter. If worse things happened, up to and including their Jedi not coming back, Amidala wanted to make sure she could defend herself with something more than a blaster that would eventually lose its power source.

Although never having left Naboo before this frantic flight from assassins, she had made a practice of studying those other planets most likely to become involved with hers in the future. And while she had had no intention of ever having to deal with the Hutts even after becoming Queen, she had also known enough about their control over many nearby systems to realize that even if she never saw one, at some point she would be reacting and basing decisions based on their manner of conducting business. So she was quite aware of their penchant for lawlessness, for ruling by terror and deceit, and for trading in sentient misery, such as slavery. No matter how careful they might be, there was a real possibility that she would find herself without her loyal protectors before finding home again.

As much as she trusted and liked Hugh, Amidala found herself wishing, not for the first time, that it was the terribly handsome Jedi who was working so closely next her to, hands touching in a familiarity she was quite unused to. She also knew this infatuation for what it was. Although only twelve, she had needed to be aware of how others would react to her, and her to them, since her friendship and ... more would be cultivated by those who saw only her position and their potential to use it. Of course, if her father or his advisors had learned that some of her education -- especially in regard to dealing with the opposite sex -- had come from talks with some of the older girls like Sabe she had had as companions after her mother's early death, he and they would have been mortified. Quite likely a few of her chaperons would have summarily been dismissed.

Amidala knew the Jedi would have been just as careful and impersonal as her Lieutenant was being. Just as solicitous and deferential. Nor would anything come of it, even if Xanatos wouldn't behave so properly, for she knew she was too young, and that there was no relationship she could enter into now that wouldn't have ramifications later in her rule. She also knew that even if Xanatos hadn't been almost three times her age and saw her as something more than a little girl, nothing could come of it. By birthright Xanatos might have been an acceptable suitor and consort. Her father and their representative Senator to the Republic also liked the man quite a bit. But Xanatos had turned over his birthright to his brother and by choice had stayed Jedi. If the rule of his own planet could not tempt him from such a calling, Amidala knew co-rulership of another would have even less of a chance.

But it was fun to imagine, to even wish a little bit. After all, she was a long way from home, still just as scared as she had been when seeing those men come for her and her father, and Xanatos had cut such an impressive figure when he had leapt to their defense. He had been like one of those storybook princes, handsome, gallant and oh, so skillful as he had deflected the shots aimed toward them with his beautiful lightsaber. Even Senator Palpatine had remarked on his skill, which had also impressed Amidala since the Senator had met so many other Jedi to compare Xanatos to.

She let out a sigh. Instead of mooning over something she would never have, she was supposed to be sleeping. And her next watch would be coming soon enough that she already knew she'd have a tough time getting through it. On the other hand, even if she had been sleeping away the last twelve hours, she knew she'd be too anxious come her next watch. For it would bring them to the end of the second day. Technically, Xanatos would only just then be considered late, and they had agreed to stay one more day to give him time to return, but Amidala truly found herself believing she would never see her dark prince again.

A noise from outside the cave had her scrambling from the blanket she was wrapped within. Only a little starlight in the darkened sky filtered through a series of narrow cracks in their sheltering rock, but it was enough for her to make out Lieutenant Panaka as he eased up from his watch position and stepped further outside. She grabbed the blaster the others insisted she keep at hand and moved to join him.

Outside there was a little more light; radiant stars filled a sky blacker than she'd ever seen before from horizon to horizon. Amidala simply nodded to Hugh when he turned at her arrival, and took a place at this side. The advantage was hers; he couldn't take the chance of being heard reprimanding her for her presence. So, together they strained to make out any moving shadows in their surroundings. Although dusk was the preferred hunting time, they had already found out Tatooine had its share of deep night predators too. And sentients, no matter the species, would hunt no matter the climate or conditions, if they thought there was something worth finding.

There. She grabbed the Lieutenant's arm and pointed to the shadow she had noticed. When no more movement repeated, she thought herself mistaken, but then felt the soldier's stance stiffen under her grip and knew that he had seen something too. In another moment's time they could make out more than one creature -- person -- moved along in the night, and Hugh eased out and away from her to take a more protective stance.

It could be Xanatos, one of the shadows looked large enough, sort of. But it wasn't moving like the Jedi, and the other shadow was quite small, that of an animal or child. Both moved slowly. Too slow to be a predator on the hunt, unless it was intelligent enough to know that its prey was also intelligent, and was trying to fool them. It was almost as if the larger shadow was injured --

With her heart in her throat, Amidala realized that was exactly what it was. Xanatos, yes, and a small boy. Who was doing his best to help an injured Xanatos keep moving. She gave a little cry to awaken Sabe, then fairly flew down the rocks after Hugh, her boots slipping on the sand that covered them.

She actually passed the Lieutenant, and ignored his harsh whisper for her to wait. In further unmindfulness to the potential danger from their surroundings, Amidala then dropped her blaster to the ground when she reached the boy and Xanatos and slid her shoulder under the Jedi's, then steadied her arm around his waist. Unfortunately her own height was only a few more inches than the boy's; Xanatos was still probably a foot taller. She staggered under his sudden weight. Then Hugh was there, slipping under Xanatos' other side, using his cross hand to gently push Amidala away. She bit her lip, but let go, conceding that despite her wishes, he could handle this better than she.

"Ani, get her gun," Xanatos rasped out, his voice in a harsher whisper than Hugh's had been.

The boy nodded solemnly and kicked her blaster up into his hand, then turned it around and presented it to her with manners quite out of place for both his age and the obvious upbringing she could make out in the darkness by the threadbare state of his clothes.

When Amidala moved even further back from the two to better give cover, the boy stayed with her though she was sure he had no weapon of his own. She threw a startled glance his way and found herself caught by beguiling blue eyes much too bright and aware for someone who could be no older than seven. The look of fierce protection he was projecting confused her even further, for she wasn't quite sure that it had not been directed for her and not at her on behalf of Xanatos.

Neither the time nor the place to ask. Or even to worry and try to figure the boy out.

The trip back up to the narrow cleft in the rocks took maybe three times as long as it did going down, and Amidala found herself quite winded, though she figured it was as much from the tension that had strung her body bow tight, than the actual distance and incline. Even when she had caught sight of Sabe in a protective stance at the top of the path with their only distance rifle in her handmaiden's hands, Amidala hadn't been able to relax her own vigilance. And she wouldn't, not until they had gotten Xanatos inside and she could see how badly he had been hurt.

"Don't bother with the light," she heard Xanatos growl from ahead of her as she moved past Sabe and on toward the inner cave upon their eventual arrival.

"We have to see to your injuries," Hugh was arguing.

"They're fine. I'm just tired --"

"He's been shot and cut," a high tenor piped up from her side.

Amidala looked down and was again captivated for a moment by the eyes that met hers, before her mind then processed the words and their meaning. Xanatos was truly hurt, not just overcome with exhaustion by hurrying back to her!

"The wounds have been seen to and dressed." Xanatos was still snarling, in either embarrassment, anger, or both, and Ani darted past her, no doubt eager to help his friend.

New friend or old friend? Was that why Xanatos knew so much to warn them about; he had been here to Tatooine before and had contacts?

Even if true, Amidala had trouble believing Xanatos would have so befriended a little boy, that the boy would have left his parents to follow someone into the desert. Such willingness in the boy -- or in his parents -- spoke of something else, something that might mean even more danger. Or salvation.

When Amidala would have hurried also to see if Xanatos was all right, and to get the answers to her many questions, she found Sabe's hand on her arm, holding her back. Sabe then gave a quick shake of her head when Amidala turned to protest.

"Let Hugh see to it," the handmaiden instructed in a voice much more quiet than the others had spoken in.

"I can handle seeing battle --"

"Yes, I know," Sabe smiled. Although only two years separated them, in that smile Sabe showed a lifetime's more wisdom, making Amidala feel very young indeed. "No one doubts your bravery or fortitude, my Princess. But perhaps our most noble Jedi might not handle your presence as easily as he has his wounds."

Amidala frowned, not sure she understood.

"Even though we know that Jedi are not invincible, I think that sometimes they forget it themselves, Padme. And I do know that such language --" and indeed Amidala could now hear some rather colorful curses that brought a bright blush to her cheeks, "-- is not generally acceptable in front of young ladies." Her smile widened. "As a Jedi, he will be uncomfortable enough with the fact that he has lost his composure. To realize there are witnesses, especially you with whom he has been entrusted to protect, would be distressing I am sure."

Well, yes, that Amidala could sympathize with. It was very hard to always maintain the facade people expected of their Princess, but it truly was more difficult to need to apologize when she didn't. Still ...

"If he is hurt --"

"Hugh is the most experienced of us all in treating battle wounds; if our Jedi is hurt, he will be cared for." Sabe turned her head back toward the opening, her face falling into a pensive expression. "If I may be so bold as to offer more advice, you might want to coax the boy to you, keeping him out of the way. Then you could find out how he has come to join our refugee camp. I will take over the rest of Hugh's watch."

Amidala nodded and watched Sabe disappear back out into the shadows. So far they had only run into four-legged predators, which had been easy enough to scare off. But should Xanatos have spilt blood nearby, the night hunters might not be so quickly put off this time. And it seemed even more likely the Jedi and his unexplained companion had been followed by hunters of the two-legged variety.

Now, what had Xanatos called the boy?

"A-Ani, could you please come and give me a hand?"

An exchange between Xanatos and, she presumed, the boy followed, though Amidala could not make out what had been said. Then came the sound of quick footstep scrambling over the rocks. When the boy found her, he carried one of their glowsticks.

"Yes, your highness?" his voice squeaked. His eyes were wide, full of awe and not a little bit of trepidation, if not out and out fear.

Amidala smiled and felt ridiculously old and out of her depth. She never interacted with younger children. There were few even amongst the palace staff as most retainers took leave to raise their children until the young ones were at least her current age, before returning to service. "Call me Padme," she offered.

It wouldn't do for her to be called Amidala once they were moving amongst the locals, and she wasn't sure the boy wouldn't accidentally slip up and not use the common identity Captain Magreta had worked up for her, if she was introduced to him as Amidala. This was assuming Hugh or Xanatos hadn't given her full name when they told the boy she was a Princess.

"Here I am not a Princess, but am just like you."

She was shocked to see the scowl take over his rounded features.

"Not like me," he whispered and lowered his head in shame. "No Princess would want to be confused for a slave."

Her heart went out to the little boy and she knelt down, though refrained from opening up her arms to give comfort. From what she knew of any boy, such an expression of her sympathy would bring embarrassment, not comfort.

"You are right, Ani," she nodded solemnly. "But not just that a Princess wouldn't want to be a slave. No one should have to be a slave. And I am sorry that someone has done this to you. Is it your whole family?" As terrible as that would be, Amidala really did not want to hear that the boy's family had been the ones who had sold such a bright spirit into slavery.

"There's just me and my mom," Ani explained. "Watto owns us --"

"No, neither of you are slaves any longer, Ani. Don't you remember that Watto has turned you both over to me."

Amidala and Ani both looked up in surprise, not having heard Xanatos arrive beside them, as intense were their own thoughts. Ani's face screwed up in confusion.

"Watto traded us to you, so we are your --"

"Jedi do not keep slaves, Anakin. Come first light, we will be returning you to Mos Espa and your mother."

If possible, Ani -- Anakin's eyes widened in even more awe than they had when he had come at Amidala's call. Undoubtedly to a young boy, Jedi were more mythical than princesses. And much more interesting.

"You are a Jedi?"

Xanatos nodded. He made an abortive movement to kneel as Amidala was, but his face twisted in a grimace. Now that she looked, Amidala could see blood covered most of his right thigh, and she remembered Ani's mentioning that Xanatos had been shot. And cut? Yes, she could also make out rough bandages tied around his left hand. She raised a gaze full of questions to meet his.

He shrugged. "I was visiting junk yards to see about parts for a ship that I had a line on. That was where I meet this young rogue, Anakin Skywalker. He was working for a most annoying Toydarian by the name of Watto."

"We were just recently sold by Gardulla the Hutt to cover a lost wager," Anakin offered. "Watto took us instead of money."

Amidala raised her brow. She really didn't want to ask Xanatos if he had spent some of her father's money to buy two slaves -- undoubtedly Mos Espa was full of slaves, given what he had been warning them about. Yes, it was sickening to think that someone so young was a slave, but if they could not save them all --

"While I was ... negotiating with Watto, several thugs broke into his shop and started shooting things up, the proprietor included." Xanatos continued, as if aware of her confusion and dismay. "In his gratitude for my saving his livelihood and life, he wanted to reward me."

Again Amidala stifled a comment. In the week Xanatos had been visiting with her father, she had over and over again been told about the selflessness of the Jedi. How they worked as guardians of peace, defending others but never attacking. And how they never, ever, took a reward for their protection. Well no reward other than the knowledge of doing their best.

"So I accepted two of his slaves when they were offered to me," he finished in a quiet voice.

Amidala imagined she could hear just the faintest uneasiness as Xanatos said that. She certainly couldn't fault that his reward was actually the reward of freedom for two sentient beings, but then had to wonder if his Council and Order would see it that way. She was gladdened to see that Xanatos was troubled by the ethics of the situation; she had been taught that doing the moral thing was not always doing the easiest or the right thing in other people's mind and so doubts were a self indicator that probably meant that what you had done was both right and moral. She also felt relief, though that shamed her, as she had feared the freedom of two others might be at her own expense, at least temporarily, as they would then lack the funds to charter a ship to get her back home.

"I must say, I am surprised the Toydarian offered up something so valuable as slaves," Hugh mused as he came over to join them, using sand to wipe of the blood stains he had gained in seeing to Xanatos' wounds. They didn't have water to spare for something as ... trivial as keeping clean.

Amidala read something new in Xanatos' eyes. Not doubt this time, but still some kind of trepidation. Or foreknowledge. And just as obviously, he didn't want to have to explain what he knew -- or sensed -- in front of the boy.

"Actually, Lieutenant, I think we can just be thankful at his lack of greed," Amidala offered with a smile she didn't exactly feel. She was no Jedi, but something within her responded to the momentarily unshuttered future in Xanatos' gaze. Anakin, his mother, or the Toydarian would bring them more trouble before they managed to get away from Tatooine.

If they managed to get away from Tatooine.

***********

"So, you truly think you can convince people -- convince my old friends and rivals and lovers that you are me."

"You have to admit the resemblance is uncanny, Jerom," Evan Piell said in his regretful but becoming even more necessary role as facilitator and peacemaker.

While the role was common enough for any Jedi, the normally reserved Lannik Warrior was having to make peace with someone quite different than the typical politician; if it wasn't so necessary for success, Qui-Gon would have been amused watching. He had already been surprised that the Councilor had actually volunteered as facilitator when he and Obi-Wan had gone in front of the Council with their plan. Master Piell's suggestion had been agreed upon not because he knew Jerom CuWil from a past mission or the political arena, but because the Master Jedi was a closet racing aficionado, and had met several of the racers, including one Jerom CuWil.

They had hoped the proposal coming from someone he knew would make it easier for the racer to say yes.

Instead, at least so far, he had only laughed at them and frowned. "I am much more than my looks," the racer scowled at all three of the Jedi that stood before him.

Given the time they'd been made to wait and care the racer had put into dressing before agreeing to meet with them, Qui-Gon could have disputed that statement. He kept those thoughts to himself, however, shielding them even from Obi-Wan as his Padawan was having enough trouble keeping his own, even less charitable thoughts from their link. Or from his expression. Obi-Wan was successfully keeping temper if not his attitude, but so far Jerom hadn't noticed they had that in common too.

He and Obi-Wan could have been brothers; it had been a resemblance remarked upon more than once by Obi-Wan's former Master, who had shared the same passion about racing with Councilor Piell. Physically they were of a similar build (Obi-Wan had more muscle), height (Jerom might be no more than half an inch taller), and had matching facial structures, right down to the cleft on their chins. Obi-Wan had a scar there, but racers picked up scars in the course of the business and training, as Jedi did, so that could be easily enough explained if noted by any of those fans, rivals or lovers. And with the lightening Padawan Healer Bant had done to Obi-Wan's hair, the two were even matched there as well, which gave Qui-Gon hope that the Force might be with them in this necessary stop on their way to rescue Xanatos.

The length of Obi-Wan's hair didn't matter so much since so many people cut or didn't cut it, plus changed styles almost with as much frequency as they changed clothes. Nor should Obi-Wan's darker skin color matter. Racers rode under many different suns, and tans deepened or faded with much the same regularity as did a Jedi's. One month might be spent planetside under multiple suns, while another might be spent on board ship without seeing any.

Add that Jerom had been a recluse for most of the last year and had not raced in sixteen months, any other minor differences in appearance or personality could be chalked up to undefined life changes that had kept the racer from the circuit.

"If you are worried about him losing, we are prepared to pay you sixty percent of the purse just to let us ... borrow your identity," Evan offered, a faint smile lifting the scar tissue that covered the left side of his face from brow to chin. Foregoing a cybernetic replacement for the lost eye, the Lannik warrior had long ago chosen to wear his mutilation like a badge instead, in tribute to the honor practices of his homeworld.

"You know that Jedi reflexes and Force awareness can make up quite a bit for lack of experience," the small Master Jedi continued. "True, Obi-Wan might not win, but then you didn't always win either, my friend."

"I'm worried about my reputation," Jerom snarled.

*Which one?* came snidely from Obi-Wan through their link to Qui-Gon.

A sentiment Qui-Gon had to agree with and so could not, in good conscience, censure. But he also didn't think he should encourage his Padawan in such remarks even silently, at least while there was a Council member present. So he did not respond.

What Evan wasn't mentioning, and what neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan would think to interrupt with, was their hope that Obi-Wan would not to have to race at all. Ideally they would find Xanatos and be on their way back before the races even began. Of course, the racer would likely take that potential slight against his reputation even worse than the thought of losing.

That other reputation Obi-Wan was bitterly complaining about was also a valid concern. And a great source of fuel for gossip mongers. The fact that Jerom was just as much known for being as fast and easy with the groupies as he was on his motorcycle would be the primary influence on how Obi-Wan portrayed the other man. And while Qui-Gon had faith that Obi-Wan could be convincing in such a role, had to even admit he was looking forward to at least seeing Obi-Wan in the type of apparel Jerom seemed to prefer wearing, there was still his Padawan's sensibilities to be concerned about. And Qui-Gon's own jealousy. Undoubtedly there would be others just as eager to see Jerom CuWil in action once word of the racer's return reached them.

Qui-Gon turned his face away for a moment to hide the evidence of the desire his imagination was easily inflaming, lest Evan or Jerom notice and assume the wrong thing. He couldn't completely keep his feelings from Obi-Wan as they both held only light shields against one another, but since such thoughts from either one of them generally escalated until they both felt passion, and since nothing appropriate could be done now, it was best not to make an uncomfortable situation worse.

Unfortunately for his libido, Qui-Gon was already quite aroused by what Obi-Wan had put on to meet with the racer, as it was what he'd been wearing when they had first met save for the gold shirt that had been shredded to make bandaged for their wounds. It had been replaced with one that shimmered under the light in the same tones of blue as often were Obi-Wan's eyes. When thinking about what Jerom was currently wearing, how the racer's clothes would further accentuate all of Obi-Wan's attributes beyond what he now wore, well Qui-Gon needed hide not only his expression. Leather and silk were definitely Obi-Wan's fabrics, both having textures that just begged to be touched.

"He's a Jedi, dammit!" Jerom ranted. "Oh, no offense," he then said, more to Evan than the other two. "Our lifestyles are just too different. Even if he can handle the bike, no one is going to believe he is me, unless he is at every party and into every ..."

*Lap,* Obi-Wan sent darkly when Jerom trailed off before completing the statement.

*Not every lap, my love, just one.* Qui-Gon abruptly grinned and let the other see the potentiality that had sprung to mind from Jerom's concerns.

Like Obi-Wan, he had changed from Jedi robes before they had met with the racer; in fact they would be leaving any trace of their Jedi ties here with Jerom and Evan before continuing on to Tatooine. Except for their lightsabers, and even those would be hidden within the ship in case it was boarded once they reached Hutt space. Qui-Gon had not chosen the similar leather pants and jacket he'd worn on Haven, however. Instead he had chosen something more utilitarian, something that might remind someone of a thousand different military uniforms, but with no identifiable insignias, rank markings or recognizable sigil of a specific service and affiliation. Ex-military, then, and possibly not voluntarily. As before on Haven, he really couldn't disguise the fact that he was a warrior, so wasn't going to try.

But his part in their upcoming deception hadn't been defined any further. Until now.

"Does anyone know why you retired, Sri CuWil?"

The racer pulled his attention away from frowning again at Obi-Wan, and shot a look of confusion toward Qui-Gon. "No," he said cautiously. "There are rumors of course, of an accident, of losing my nerve ..." He shrugged. "I didn't bother to confirm or deny anything. The press and people decide what they want to believe regardless of the truth. I imagine more than a few figure I've just found something or someone else to occupy my time. It's not like I needed the purses to maintain my lifestyle. Just the thrills."

Based on seeing the extent of the home and surrounding grounds they had over flown, Qui-Gon could quite believe both. His smile deepened. So far there was nothing that might poise a problem to his solution.

"If they were to see you with a sponsor paying your entry fees, and that sponsor also made it clear he had no intention of letting you involve yourself indiscriminately with your old friends, it would sound plausible, then?"

Another shrug. "I assume you are talking about yourself as my sponsor?" the racer said with a bit of challenge in his tone. "You are thinking that others might believe you have something to offer worth me giving up my independence? Something to keep me exclusive? That would have to be something pretty special, indeed, Mister Jedi, sir," Jerom laughed mockingly. "Sure," he then added with an even more broad laugh. "If the two of you can make me believe Jedi can feel heat, I'll let you guys do whatever you need to in my name."

More laughter, this time spilling through their link from Obi-Wan. The trick so far had been keeping enough in control in front of Jerom so that they could convince him of the seriousness of the mission.

Obi-Wan bade Qui-Gon to stay still; Jerom saw himself as the dominate in any relationship, so it would be better for the racer's ego to see Obi-Wan take the lead in this. Qui-Gon agreed. Nor could he stop the shiver of anticipation that swept over his body, or keep his gaze away from Obi-Wan as his Padawan began to move.

Watching Obi-Wan simply walk was something Qui-Gon could never grow tired of. Even when not moving in so purposeful a stalk, his young lover glided with innocent sensuality. This time though, there was nothing innocent about him, and neither was the claim Obi-Wan made on Qui-Gon's mouth. Or body. It took almost more control than Qui-Gon could muster to temper his reactions into something that wouldn't embarrass them.

They broke apart only when Evan cleared his throat for a second time, and then only pulled away from each other's lips. Obi-Wan's body was still plastered all over Qui-Gon's, every place they could connect fused tightly. As one they finally turned their heads to take in Jerom's reaction, and Obi-Wan had to bury his face against Qui-Gon's neck and shoulder so his giggles wouldn't jeopardize the capitulation they had apparently just won.

Jerom's surprise and interest was obvious, from the way his mouth hung open and his eyes had glazed, from the unconscious clenching of his fists and the erection he had not controlled anywhere nearly as well as the two Jedi. With Obi-Wan being his virtual twin, Qui-Gon wasn't sure which place Jerom wished he were in, wasn't sure if Jerom knew himself.

Had he a gimer stick like Master Yoda, Qui-Gon had no doubt the nearly as diminutive warrior would have thumped Jerom to get his attention, but Evan just dryly asked instead, "I trust then, your reputation as a ... sensualist will not suffer from the impersonation?"

Jerom took a few more seconds to find his voice and his wits. "Ah, you Jedi can do that?" he stammered. "But I thought you were -- that you couldn't ..." He didn't finish what he had thought, though the others didn't need to hear again what was all too often assumed about them.

At one time the Jedi had been more a religious than philosophical order and, no doubt, celibacy had then been more the norm than the exception. But as the Jedi learned more about the Force and their relationship to it, as more worlds and people were found and accepted either as brethren or those worthy of serving and protecting, those of the Order also learned more about themselves. Love was a fundamental aspect of the philosophy they willingly devoted their lives to. Most of the time the love was filial and represented by bonds between student and teacher, healer and patient, defender and victim, but not because romantic love was frowned upon. It was simply that there were few people who could accept knowing they would always come second to a cause.

Even amongst two mature Jedi, relationships rarely progressed to something beyond exploratory couplings or casual liaisons, since so many needed their attention and care elsewhere. The depth of love developing between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan was something to be celebrated and cherished, for given the scope of a Jedi's duties, who knew how long any lovers would have together before one or both might become one with the Force in a more luminous state.

"So we have an agreement?" Evan prodded again before Qui-Gon needed to remind them of the purpose behind this unexpectedly amusing diversion, and the urgency of continuing on.

Jerom finally shook himself and nodded. "Yeah, if Jedi Kenobi will come with me, I'll let him pick out suitable clothing from my closets. We'll also probably need to check the fit on several racing suits, so Master Evan, if you can get Master ... Jinn's assistance, you will probably want to go ahead and load two of the cycles while you are waiting."

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's reluctance as they let go of each other, and was cheered that it mostly stemmed from their physical parting than from having to follow and work this next bit with Jerom alone. He knew his Padawan wasn't happy to need to be alone with the racer, but knew also that he wasn't about to do anything that might break the deal now that Tatooine again beckoned strongly.

Chapter Five

Xanatos should have known they would run into trouble trying to reach Anakin's mother. The trip into Mos Espa had actually gone quite well; having located the best route there and back previously, Xanatos led his charges into the outskirts of the sprawling town with no incident. And in less than a day's travel.

Concerned that once he did find a ride off the planet he wouldn't have time to get the others, Xanatos had instructed them to bring all of their meager supplies. While they rationed water on the off chance something might have happened prior to their arrival, still they had enough that the walk hadn't been too much of a hardship. It had helped that his injuries were now only a minor inconvenience, and that he had had energy to spare to aid in starting to heal Sabe's arm too. Neither were one hundred percent, but both were a damn sight better than they had been.

It hadn't actually been his own energy that had mitigated the injuries, and for more than a moment he had felt guilty drawing upon the vibrant Force connection surrounding the boy he had brought back. But Anakin had offered it in his concern over Xanatos' getting hurt, although unconsciously. And Xanatos knew that trouble still lay ahead of them; he needed to be able to defend those who looked to him!

And so he had made use of the unprecedented wellspring of energy, and made plans to have the boy tested when they returned to Coruscant, though he didn't mention that part of the plan so that the boy wouldn't have unrealistic expectations. Likely Anakin would be deemed too old to train to become a Jedi even at seven. But there was something about the boy ...

Well, too old or too rich in the Force or not, none of that proposed future would matter if they didn't escape the trio of ambushers that had been hiding near the Skywalker home. Warning had come in time through the Force so that no one had been hit during the first exchange of weapons. And both Panaka and the Princess were proving adept with the blasters they carried -- in fact were both better shots than he was. Had Xanatos been able to use his lightsaber or the Force directly against their foes, this ongoing gun battle throughout the back alleys would have been over in mere seconds, but to do so would proclaim him Jedi amongst people who hunted them. Yes, Xanatos was more than willing to make a final sacrifice in the course of his duty, but dying right now -- or even getting detained -- would result in a lot more than just his death.

"This way!" Anakin was yelling and windmilling his arms as if that would get his elders moving more quickly.

Xanatos gave a brief nod when Amidala would have questioned trusting the boy, and gestured for Sabe to take the lead. He and Panaka brought up the rear, both taking turns in dropping back to offer more discouragement to those who still pursued. In just minutes Anakin had brought them to a junk yard filled with old speeder and ship parts. Few were intact enough to hide even a native womprat, but it was obvious that Anakin had something in mind. The boy quickly disappeared through a hole in a ship's hull that had obviously been caused by explosive decompression.

The tear was barely big enough for Xanatos to crawl after him, but he was the only one truly disadvantaged. And he gave a moment's silent thanks that those around him were children or just barely beyond. Had the pilot or Captain Magreta survived, this place of hiding would not have worked, but was the only basically intact hull he had noticed.

Which Xanatos did not want to think about too closely. Within the Force there were rarely coincidences, but he did not want to have to explain to the Princess why two of her people might have needed to die so that they rest of them might fit within an old hull

Anakin's choice was sound. Once in through the narrow tear, they had to crawl for few feet through a tunnel of rusted and warped metal and cables but then the passageway delivered them into one of the former staterooms or internal lounges. Somewhere, light filtered in from other openings and Anakin flipped on a small work light which cut the gloom even further.

This room was large enough for all of them to take their ease and catch their breaths. It was also intact, with a built-in counter still bisecting one corner in an ell, and several seat frames scattered about the edges. They had come through the designed opening, sliding past the jammed door.

While Anakin was busy removing bits of junk and what looked to be partially constructed or fixed droid parts from the few surfaces -- it was obvious this was a place he used for himself as there were also a few blankets and food wrappers piled up in a corner -- Xanatos used his Force sense to see how things stood. Even the room's shielding was intact. So unless one of their pursuers had actually seen where they had disappeared into, even if they used scanners they wouldn't be able to find them.

If they stayed relatively quiet, they would stay safe.

"Does Watto know you come here?" Xanatos asked in a low tone of Anakin's former master.

Anakin shrugged. "I don't think he knows about this hole specifically," the boy finally said in a loud whisper. "He knows I come back into this discarded junk area when I can, but he's never done more than call for me."

Xanatos nodded and scrubbed his face with his hand, surprised to find that it came away with more blood than sweat. He hadn't even felt getting cut.

"It looks like you were hit by some flying metal." Amidala was tearing part of her tunic and had a water bag tucked under an elbow.

For a moment Xanatos was going to stop her from wasting their water or her time, yet figured he'd have better luck moving about the city if it didn't look like he had recently been in a fight. And he should be able to replenish their water supply at the same time he went back for Anakin's mother.

He lowered into a squat when the Princess made her way towards him, also glad to get some of the weight off his leg, though he was careful not to let anyone know it still pained him.

"It's actually pretty deep," she observed in dismay and had to rip off another strip of cloth when the first could no longer get clean enough. "I am afraid with things as they are, this will scar before we can get you to a proper medical unit."

Xanatos schooled his face not to show his own dismay. Although it was vanity and, therefore, an emotion unbecoming a Jedi, he had gotten rather used to catching someone else's eye because of his looks. Of course, if the scar was bad enough, he still would, but not to the same advantage.

"It's not quite a full circle," Amidala was continuing as she finished up. "And it's not too big."

"It lends his face character," Sabe said from her place perched on top of the counter.

"It could lend his face a disguise," Panaka rumbled. "Although with it being so new, it might attract the wrong attention."

No coincidence in the Force.

"That's an excellent idea." Xanatos beckoned to Anakin. "Ani, would you be willing to help me with a disguise so I can go to your mother."

Anakin's face scrunched up in a frown but he came over. "Don't you mean we go get my mother?" he began.

Xanatos shook his head. "That would not be wise or safe, Ani," he said gently. "We both should have known Watto would not have given you to me out of the goodness of his heart, not for something as meaningless as a life debt." He turned so that he couldn't exactly see the look of disapproval on Amidala's face, though that did nothing to block her regard. But Xanatos couldn't lie to Anakin, not even to spare his feelings, not for something this important.

"Ani, it wasn't me the hunters were waiting for," he continued, placing his hand on the boy's arm. "And it probably wasn't really Watto they were after when I first met you."

The boy was quick on the uptake, but then, Xanatos had expected that. "But I'm just a slave," he protested. "Why would anyone be after me?"

"You are also full of the Force --"

"Like a Jedi?" Anakin's voice was full of wonder. "I've dreamed I would become a Jedi, and I'd come back to free all of the slaves ..."

"Yes, like a Jedi." Again Xanatos kept his dismay from expression or voice. Even as Anakin had said it, Xanatos could feel the truth of the boy's words in the Force. But he could also sense the boy's path would be hard and fraught with Darkness. He shouldn't remark on Anakin's dream, not yet.

"I imagine that while you and your mother were owned by one of the Hutts, no one worried about your potential. But someone has found out you were sold to Watto -- or to me. There is a bounty on Jedi here in the Outer Rim. Even those only Force sensitive are probably considered dangerous." He kept his eyes from straying toward Amidala.

"Then my mom will be in danger," Anakin protesting crossly, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "She needs me."

Surprisingly, Amidala came up behind Anakin and placed her hands on his shoulders when he started to pull away from Xanatos. "In time I know you will be able to help your mother, but right now you must let Jedi du Crion do it for you, Ani. He is very good at protecting people."

"And you will still be helping," Xanatos said quickly. "If you are willing to lend me a little of your strength, I can make some changes in my appearance so that even if the same ones are back waiting for you to go home, they won't recognize me when I go to find your mom."

"You're the Jedi, why can't you do it with your own?"

Xanatos hid a smile at Anakin's mixture of hostility, curiosity and even a bit of pride in the fact that a Jedi might need a slave's help. "I have had little time to rest since we landed on Tatooine," he admitted frankly. "And I have had no time to ... recharge." He had been going to say meditate, but he doubted very much that a seven year old would understand the Jedi's need to meditate, whereas a gifted mechanic, no matter what age, should understand why things needed to charge or recharge.

Even though the Force surrounded and was part of all things, to be able to use the energy took a lot more effort than it did desire. And to control the energy meant controlling and understanding yourself, which was why Ani, even with his staggering potential, couldn't really use it except unconsciously. And without any formal control.

Meditation was a Jedi's best way to center oneself, and to gather the quiescent potential within for a latter use. In many ways it was akin to being a battery. And this one's charge was way down.

"What do you intend to do?" Sabe asked.

She and Panaka had both come closer, the better Xanatos guessed, to see the Force in action. Certainly since crashing here, Xanatos had not used the Force much, so as not to give away his presence as a Jedi and, thereby, endanger the others. If he had, he wouldn't now be needing to heal another damn cut!

"There are a lot of strangers arriving in town right now for some sort of event --"

"The Boonta Eve races," Anakin interrupted with great enthusiasm. "The pod racing is wizard!"

Xanatos hid his grin with a nod. "I will make my way back to one of the docking bays and just add myself to those leaving one of the newly arrived ships; no one should give me a second look. Yet before that, and only with Ani's help, I intend to better look the part of someone interested in wizard pod racing." He gave Amidala a wink that Anakin didn't see.

"As the good Lieutenant said, a scar will help disguise my appearance, especially if I can age it so that it doesn't look like it had just been earned." His eyes slid down to Anakin. "That's part of what I'll need your help for."

Anakin face brightened with a wide grin, concerns about his mother either forgotten or pushed away in his enthusiasm to get to use the Force.

"We can do the same with the cut on my hand, keeping and aging the scar so that it looks like I've had it for years. There is also a trick with growing my hair." Xanatos grinned suddenly as he realized he was also getting a bit enthusiastic about his plan. Being regent on Telos for eight of his years training as a Padawan had kept him from the types of missions many of his fellow Jedi Apprentices had experienced. He knew many of the techniques Jedi used to disguise themselves in the course of their duty, but he had never had the chance before to practice them.

"Lots of people cut their hair to try and disguise themselves, but only Jedi can grow it," he laughed. And as he had hoped, Xanatos got smiles in return from everyone but Panaka. From the lieutenant he got a look of speculation that was almost approval, and almost as good as the smile would have been.

"What do you need me to do?" Anakin asked eagerly.

"Let's start with my cheek. All you need to do is hold your hand above it and think about mending it, like you were doing with the droid head when I first met you. I'll do the rest."

Xanatos could have predicted the way Anakin closed his eyes in concentration, his tongue tip poking out between his lips; it was the same with every young initiate when first asked to feel for the Force. For some reason, children thought closing one's eyes was necessary, whereas it actually only helped shut out distractions. By the time initiates became Padawan apprentices, they had been drilled thousands of times not to close their eyes unless they were absolutely sure of the safety. And by the time a Padawan was ready for the trials of Knighthood, drills and practical applications had shown the young Jedi he needed to be able to call upon the Force in any circumstance: eyes open, shut, blinded by pain, exhaustion or injury, or he might not ever get the chance to call upon the Force again.

Amidala's face registered a sudden shock and Xanatos gave her back a reassuring smile. She had not removed her hands from Anakin's shoulders and so could feel a tingling herself when the energy transfer started. Not surprising since she had her own bit of Force sensitivity about her, though he doubted anyone had ever told her so. The sensitivity was not enough for her to have been identified as a candidate for Jedi training even had her father been willing to give up his heir as Xanatos' own father had done. But should she ever mate with a Jedi, their offspring might hold a few surprises.

His cheek healed quickly, and Xanatos bowed his head in courtesy as Sabe managed to produce a mirror from her small bag of possessions and offer it to him to check. He and Anakin had done so good a job that Xanatos wasn't sure he'd ever be able to rid himself of the scar, but then he also decided that maybe it did lend his face a little more character as Sabe had first teased. Too pretty a face often meant a vapid personality, and it just might be nice not to have to keep proving that assumption wrong.

Sensing that although Anakin was still willing to do more, even this first bit had drained him -- and might that not be because Xanatos had already siphoned off some of the boy's energy without asking first? -- Xanatos decided to skip the almost healed cut on his hand and direct the flagging energy to lengthening his hair as that would be the biggest aid in disguising himself. It was something that had always grown quickly, so much so that Qui-Gon had had to cut it every few weeks to keep it in the proper Padawan style before they had both decided that would no longer be appropriate for a planetary Regent, and thus let it grow to his shoulders before cutting it back.

Now Xanatos manipulated the dark lengths to extend past his waist. With the proper braiding, and if he could borrow a little bit of the Princess' jewelry, he should be able to convince others he was one of those types of petty nobles that had thrived in his father's court. Someone with more money than sense, someone bored and looking for a little adventure.

"Wow!" Anakin exclaimed when they had finished. And the speculative glances both Amidala and Sabe shot him were heartening, even if he might wish either of them had been a few years older.

"Might I prevail upon you, your highness, to help me braid some of this?" He would have asked Sabe since undoubtedly she was one of the ones who helped Amidala's rather elaborate styling, but with her arm still injured ...

She nodded, then even before being asked if he could borrow them, Amidala began pulling the silver clasps that held own back. She also removed a few other pieces of jewelry, and snapped for Sabe to do the same.

"I don't think that will be --"

"You need to look like you belong," Amidala simply said.

************

Despite it being his idea initially, Obi-Wan's doubts about being able to impersonate Jerom CuWil were growing. It didn't help that he was tired, that instead of staying overnight as invited, he and Qui-Gon had left Master Piell to wait with the racer, and had returned right away to the ship they had on loan from Master Tiin to continue on to Tatooine. Obi-Wan had gotten them underway, then had given into Qui-Gon's insistence that he try to rest, but not even five hours of sleep could relieve his deep, bone-seated weariness.

Or his fears.

He knew a part of his distress stemmed from needing to return to active status too soon. Both he and Qui-Gon should have still been on Coruscant in a recovery cycle from the injuries they had sustained during their first mission together. But even if he had had the recommended two weeks down time before this mission, Obi-Wan doubted he'd be feeling much better. It wouldn't have mattered if he had had a month off. Or a year. For it wasn't the occasional twinges of pain reminding him that he wasn't back to full physical fitness that kept him exhausted.

No, for nearly every moment awake over the past two days since he had first talked to Qui-Gon about them, Obi-Wan had been reliving the memories he had tried to avoid for six years. And just as he was managing to put them back into the box where they could be ignored again, along came Jerom CuWil, whose freely chosen appearance and lifestyle -- style and traits Obi-Wan would need to emulate -- served as a too closely aligned reminder which pretty much shattered the box.

It had been bad enough just needing to follow Jerom into his bedroom to go through the clothing and have the discussion Obi-Wan couldn't have managed in front of even Qui-Gon, much less the Lannik Warrior and Jedi Council Member, Evan Piell. And then Jerom had suggested unclothing to compare physical attributes. While Obi-Wan had no intention of letting anyone of Jerom's previous acquaintance get close enough to make such a body comparison, the racer had several visible tattoos. And his attitude suggested at least one more hidden. It would be foolhardy to let pride or modesty prevent him from successfully enacting the impersonation and, therefore, endangering the mission. So he had finally agreed.

Fortunately, except for a few superficial differences and that fact that Obi-Wan took much better care of his body and health, their physiques were close enough for Obi-Wan's to be convincing should circumstances get beyond his control. Jerom had fewer scars, but since most of Obi-Wan's were from sharp implements or burns, those differences would actually aid in the explanation of Jerom's retirement stemming from a horrific training accident. A crash on a motorcycle could easily have caused similar scarring.

So it was only the tattoos that needed be duplicated; Obi-Wan had given thanks to the Force that there were no potentially embarrassing piercings. And that none of the markings were particularly garish, elaborate or even colorful. Distinctive and elegant in their simplicity, they were more like tribal markings, geometric shapes and fluid patterns in shades of blues that deepened into indigo and even black. Obi-Wan might have considered them attractive save for the hidden one's location. At least they would not need to be actually pricked into his skin; with inks and a few Jedi tricks they could be duplicated and would not inadvertently wash off.

Jerom had been eager to help in this, but had acquiesced to Obi-Wan's suggestion that Qui-Gon would be a better choice. The racer had even retreated in good humor when Obi-Wan drew the patterns from memory to convince him they would not need him as a model. Jerom offered the inks, which he then handed off to the Jedi Master before sending him on into the bedroom with a nudge and a wink.

They did the banding around Obi-Wan's penis first, figuring to get that which was most embarrassing and difficult out of the way. Obi-Wan had only a light dusting of hair leading down to that around his groin and none at the small of his back, so little had to be shaved to add the next band that arrowed down from his waist both front and back. The wrists and triceps came next, then Obi-Wan requested Qui-Gon to add one around his neck to replace the soldiered collar Jerom had worn as an affectation since adulthood. While he could manage the rest, he could not wear a collar. Never again.

During this Qui-Gon had been understanding and patient, deftly painting him with a clinical touch. Well, as clinical as either of them could be given Obi-Wan's state of undress and the fact that he needed to be erect for the banding to be placed properly on his penis. And that he then had to stay erect long enough for the process to dry properly. For aid in that Qui-Gon used only the Force and words, then brought Obi-Wan gently to climax to test the set of the ink.

It could have been embarrassing, and Obi-Wan could only feel relief that not only was this not Master a'Thuul, but that he and Qui-Gon had already been intimate. Had something like this been necessary while he had been working with the various Council Members, Obi-Wan was not sure he could have gotten through it.

Embarrassment would have come anyway when Obi-Wan had become erect again as Qui-Gon painted the other places on his body, had the Jedi Master not also been similarly affected. The innate eroticism and simple pleasure of the feel of the brush on skin never before particularly erogenous had snuck up on Obi-Wan, as had the fact that it was Qui-Gon doing this. Their mutual feelings of arousal bled through the link between them until even Qui-Gon's control began to falter. This time each stroked the other to climax.

Had that been the end of their interaction with Jerom, Obi-Wan could have managed. But the racer had one more suggestion regarding Obi-Wan's successful impersonation when he returned to help pack up the chosen clothing. In order for Obi-Wan to recognize those he would likely run across as past acquaintances, the racer had offered his memories and thoughts, actually opening up his mind in a willingness that was astounding and, initially, gratifying, even as it was exhausting trying to meld with someone Force null and decidedly non telepathic.

The astonishment had stayed -- along with a nagging headache -- but his gratitude faded almost immediately. Obi-Wan quickly discovered that most of Jerom's memories of his fans, friends and even his unfriendly rivals were centered around how they interacted in bed instead of from expected circumstances. In his past, the racer showed as little care about another's sex, as he had about their species. Or care as to why they wanted to be with him.

Pleasure, pain, all were simply a feeling, simply another thrill.

Just as was Jerom's willingness to offer these memories to Obi-Wan. He hadn't given a thought to how the memories might have bothered or disgusted Obi-Wan. At least he hadn't offered them out of maliciousness or to challenge a Jedi's serenity. They were simply his clearest memories of those on the circuit. And Jerom wanted to know what it would feel to have his mind sifted by a telepath.

Obi-Wan couldn't even feel good about knowing Jerom's headache would last the same twelve or so hours his own was from the effort to mesh their minds. Unfortunately Obi-Wan's emotional ache wouldn't be ending until they had found Qui-Gon's former Padawan.

Between Jerom's jaded preferences, Obi-Wan's memories of similar activities that were most involuntary on his part, and Qui-Gon's sudden trait of possessiveness that Obi-Wan was not all certain was just part of Qui-Gon's upcoming role, Obi-Wan was losing sight of himself. Intellectually he knew Qui-Gon was desiring him and not the Jerom he would need to be, of course. But their own relationship -- and Obi-Wan's familiarity with consensual sex -- was too new, too fragile for emotional understanding, much less control. And Obi-Wan was finding it just as disconcerting to realize he no longer felt the same inhibitions that had affected so much of his growth into adulthood. While unwelcome and detrimental to his advancement, the mental block of being intimate with another had been ... familiar. Even comfortable after a fashion. These new feelings, however, were quite alien.

Nor did it help his self-confidence to realize so much of his past trouble had been of his own making, given how eagerly he responded to even a look from Qui-Gon. The implication was that if he had previously been honest with himself and with others about what had happened six years ago, he might have found peace earlier with his anger and guilt. He might not have managed finding a sexual partner, but perhaps he could at least have found some friends.

If this self-disgust and confusion was what Master Yoda had intended by pushing him and Qui-Gon together, well, Obi-Wan might have to have a few words with the little green troll once they made it back.

Obi-Wan knew, of course, that he would eventually come to terms with himself as a sexual being, and with the fact that he desired Qui-Gon as a Master, a partner, and as a lover. But he did not think he would ever be comfortable with pretending to be Jerom. The tattoos were one thing, the clothing he now wore was quite another.

As the ship was only scant hours away from planetfall, it had become time to change and put Obi-Wan away to become Jerom. It had taken him most of an hour to reach the stage that now looked back at him from the mirrored surface of the bulkhead in his cabin. The pants had gone on first, and Obi-Wan had to wonder how Jerom had ever managed them without being able to use the Force. At least three hands were needed to tighten the laces that spanned each side from leg hem to waistband.

Oh, of course. Jerom must have thought he'd be helping them get into their roles when he had packed the damn things; the object was for there to be four hands working the laces to stretch the leather around the muscles of his legs.

At least they would not be as difficult to get out of. And Jerom had made concessions to Tatooine's climate and multiple suns. These were made of obexis hide, and had not only a soft, buttery feel, but a buttery color. None of the darker colors Jerom preferred had made it through packing, but that had also severely limited Obi-Wan's options.

So now he stood in pants the color of the summer hills of Alderaan and which hugged every bone, every muscle and every curve in high definition. Because of his better physique, too much skin already showed between the crosses of the slightly darker laces and he could wear nothing else underneath. At least he could be thankful the front was made a little more generously, given the tightness of the rest. The laces there allowed not only additional ... breathing space, but were part of the design to prevent loss of time in freeing Jerom for some of his favorite activities. These laces also accentuated what they framed, as did the veed waistband across the front and the back. The pants hung low enough that almost all parts of the waist tattoo showed.

Boots followed, Obi-Wan needing to take a few moments to get used to the higher heel. Obviously Jerom was no more comfortable with his lack of height as Obi-Wan had once been, yet had not had someone who insisted on his wearing flat heels as a source of humility. These boots were darker brown than his pants and even the laces, were almost the color of his Jedi ones, and were just as well-fitting and comfortable. Except for the heel, he quite liked them, even as they pulled up over his knees. While he knew it was solely psychological, ever since telling Qui-Gon of his past, his knee had ached a little, and the pressure placed on it by the boot actually felt good. Like a support wrap.

As bad as the pants were all of the shirts. The only ones that really fit were because they stayed open in the front, no buttons and only a tie or two to strategically placed to keep them from falling off completely. All of them also had sleeves that flowed from shoulder to just below his elbow with almost as much material as was in the rest of the shirt, then tightened into long cuffs. The cuffs were further constricted by a pair of dark, intricately carved leather bracers, the pattern matching that of the tattooed bands around his arms that could partially be seen through the shirt front as he moved. A thin spill of lace completed the sleeve, dropping down under the bracers to fall halfway across the back of his hands and palms which were encased in fingerless gloves the same color as his boots.

The only jewelry Jerom had worn was the collar which Obi-Wan had refused, and an earring. The one he had picked up on Haven would work, allowing him not to have to borrow anything so closely attuned with the racer as his own, and which wearing might have set off a Force reading that he did not particularly want to experience.

Disconcerting as the outfit was, Obi-Wan did have to be thankful the clothing was comfortable regardless, and not as restrictive in inconvenient places as he had first imagined upon seeing Jerom holding them out. The shirt could get in the way of him using his lightsaber or for some of his usual aerial moves in fighting, but at worst it would hang across his back from his forearms and not actually bind his shoulders. He wouldn't have his lightsaber anyway, at least not initially. If such weapons were needed before finding Xanatos and those from Naboo the Jedi Knight was protecting, their mission would fail. Obi-Wan was not sure Qui-Gon could abandon his former Padawan in even the circumstance of them being identified, even though being caught as a Jedi was an automatic death sentence.

Choosing not to dwell on Qui-Gon having to make such a choice, Obi-Wan could just as easily justify in his mind not having his saber by virtue that he was not yet recovered enough to fight normally with it. Any Force enhanced speeds or natural acrobatics would be out, unless doing so meant the difference between Qui-Gon or another's life or death. He could manage a few of his normal moves -- once -- but there would be repercussions afterward, much like there was on Haven when he reserved nothing to stay on his feet after fighting those who had awaited them in the elevator. The main regret here lay in whether his lack of stamina and flexibility might not compromise Qui-Gon's safety or the mission's success, not from ego or need.

And it wasn't that he was completely defenseless -- not even completely weaponless. Twin flat blades of some darkened metal had been slid into the bracers by Jerom, and he had also given Obi-Wan a small, single pellet gun to tuck into one of the boot heels. The gun was more an indication of Jerom's lifestyle than from any real defense, since given the pellet's bore, the shot would have to be perfectly placed to stop another, especially one of the many alien species the racer seemed to enjoy ... teasing. He had decided not to wear a blaster; Qui-Gon would have one, and Jerom never did.

The last bit of Obi-Wan's transformation into Jerom had been his hair. He had never worn it this long before, except for his Padawan braid. At least Jerom's preferred style was not as bothersome as he had expected. Padawan Healer Bant's use of Force had encouraged its overall growth by several inches. A quick cut by Jerom had that hair now pushed back from his forehead and softly framing his cheeks, then longer to dust his shoulders in front and even longer across his back. His Padawan braid was coiled up and under, and would stay hidden, or so was the hope. His one vanity, perhaps, but the first beads it held had been from Master a'Thuul, and the newest from Qui-Gon, and the ones in between a testament of his progress that all Jedi could read. He knew it could be replaced should it need be cut, but it just wouldn't be the same.

His natural hair color had been wrong, but the Healer had also already taken care of that, not just on his head, but all over his body. And it was this lighter color where there should be ginger, almost more than the clothes and the markings, that made the person looking back at him surreally someone else. No trace of the Jedi remained. Nor was it the pleasure slave he had once been turned into. Frankly, Obi-Wan didn't know who this person was, other than not himself.

"Obi-Wan, we drop out of lightspeed in about ten minutes," Qui-Gon's voice suddenly filled the room. "Did you want to go ahead with contacting the surface and resuming piloting duties?"

Obi-Wan was not sure he was ready for Qui-Gon to see him like this, but with a ship this size, there were few places to hide. And better to get it over now when they could still deal with any reactions privately, than in front of others who might question any surprise or discomfort between them.

"I'll be right up."

It was unlikely Jerom would allow someone else to land this little beauty, had he a ship like it anyway, even if it was registered in Qui-Gon's assumed name. Quinn might own both the ship and Jerom's contract (and body), but Jerom would not defer the opportunity to fly.

And that's who they needed to be now, Jerom and Quinn, from here on in until they found Xanatos. No Padawan and Master, no Jedi, just two seekers out for money, laughs and thrills.

I can do this.

***********

Although he was grateful for Jerom's offer of his comm system since it was much more powerful than his own, and even more grateful for the racer's overall hospitality, Evan Piell wasn't anxious to make his call. It wasn't fear, of course; he was far too old and too much a Jedi to fear duty when required of him. After experiencing near-death as often as he had as a result of those duties, Evan found little left in life to fear except, perhaps, that of growing even older.

So something as minor as a call, especially one to a companion, if not a true friend, could not shake his implacable serenity.

Unfortunately, the niggling feeling in the back of his brain, was doing so all on its own.

But the feeling wasn't going to go away, whether he made the call or not, and at least if he did pass on his worries to one of the others, he wouldn't be the only one bothered. Nothing quite so satisfying as misery shared.

He climbed up onto the seat of the chair, long used to environments set for humans, though they were not the majority in the Republic they pretended to be -- well, not the majority in numbers, but he had to give them that in power. And there were enough truly alien species who considered his own to be a human variant, that he really shouldn't be so bigoted about it anyway. By kneeling he could reach the controls as well as Jerom, who the system was set up for. And years of using the Force to compensate for the loss of one of his eyes had given him an approximation of binocular vision again, so he didn't even miss in his reach by his lack of depth perception.

After a quick input of codes that only twelve others knew, a quick memory wipe for the system, and he barely had time to better settle himself before the connection was completed.

"Since when do you answer Master Yoda's comm?" he barked out gruffly to hide his surprise in seeing Mace Windu's bland face instead of the ancient one's character-filled visage.

"Since Chancellor Valorum requested his input on the situation in Naboo and the trouble with his sister's husband, instead of asking for his recently returned to service and very good friend, Qui-Gon Jinn," Windu responded just as brusquely, although neither of them meant it as a rudeness.

Even if Windu was too young, and by being human, relatively sheltered and uninteresting, Evan had always appreciated his fellow Councilor's brevity and no nonsense attitude. He knew several of the other Councilors and many of the rank and file of the Order were uncomfortable with Windu's stiff manner, but at least it beat the political posturing or the self-righteousness that some of their fellows too often indulged in.

"More trouble?" Evan asked with a raise of a single brow, a practice he had perfected since losing his eye.

Windu shrugged. "Just the on-going hints of corruption and impropriety. Even if he is the only one in the Senate to know about it, having his brother-in-law being accused of attempted kidnapping and murder has been distracting the good Chancellor. The situation on Naboo could not have come at a worse time for him politically. And speaking of which, have you heard anything more from the Chancellor's very good friend?"

Even though this communications channel was secure as they could possibly make it, the Council had decided in advance to give anyone as little opportunity to figure out a rescue was underway as they could. Or who the rescue involved, from either side of the mission.

"The meeting was successful," Evan finally said after a little more rearranging on the chair. While he was used to making accommodations for his size around humans, few in his circle of acquaintances had quite the amount of money Jerom CuWil did, and did not usually indulge in something quite so ... pliable for sitting on. Every time the Lannik warrior thought he had found some equilibrium in the depths of the fur and leather covered seat, some part of the gel interior would shift as his use of it taxed its sensing ability to contour itself to his needs.

"The two decided not to spend the night, so they should be arriving a day or more before expected. And depart, therefore, before needing to live up to someone else's reputation."

"Why doesn't that sound like a good thing?" Windu frowned, and stroked around the edges of his mouth to flatten the dark mustache and goatee.

"Because something else is going to happen," Evan snarled as that niggling feeling grew a little stronger. He threw up his hands, though, when nothing else was forthcoming, and was nearly pitched off the chair. Only the reflexes that for years had managed to save his life kept him from impacting against the console and possibly disconnecting. And kept him from embarrassing himself to one who had just enough of a sense of humor to have enjoyed it.

"Perhaps when Master Yoda returns he can see something ..."

Windu nodded. "I will pass on the news," he agreed, and Evan knew the other Master was just as aware of how much interest their wizened colleague was keeping on his former Padawan. Padawans, technically, since once Master Yoda worked with one of the young apprentices -- even if only for one mission as he had young Obi-Wan -- forever would they be considered his, no matter who trained them to Knighthood.

"And our concerns," Windu continued. "If anyone can see through the shadows of the future --"

"Just in case, you might also have another ship prepared. If something does happen, I will need a way back to Coruscant if we decide not to attempt recovery again."

Windu's face paled as much as one could with his coloring. "Let us hope it does not come to that."

"As you say, Brother Mace. As you say."

*******

Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's arrival before he heard the other's near silent step. He gave the control board one last look to make sure it was ready for another pilot's hand, then turned to say hello. And was rendered speechless for several heartbeats -- even worse than when he first saw his new Padawan in Healers Hall. His eyes might not know this fey sprite before him, but his heart and soul did -- would -- no matter the outward appearance.

The Jedi Master had certainly lusted before, had even loved before, but the connection to Obi-Wan was a wonder so far beyond sight, beyond desires and even Force-blessed bonds. Qui-Gon knew little about the man before him, could remember his own life before they had met, of course, but still he could truly say he had never loved, never lived before Obi-Wan came into his life. And he could not imagine continuing to do so without Obi-Wan in his life.

Such closeness was not the wisest pursuit for someone whose life could be measured from mission to mission. For two someones. Yet it was the only course Qui-Gon could or wanted to follow. And despite their initial doubts and the things that still needed to be worked out between them, he was beginning to think Obi-Wan felt the same.

Obi-Wan was certainly no longer shying away from the naked hunger Qui-Gon couldn't mask in his gaze. If he was not mistaken, Obi-Wan was even preening a little, encouraging the hunger's depths. Like a sand panther stalking his prey, Obi-Wan glided forward, approaching Qui-Gon and the pilot's chair from the side Qui-Gon was vacating, so they could not pass each other without touching.

Qui-Gon needed no further invitation. He lifted his hands to brush against the silken and lace collared shoulders, then splayed his fingers underneath the opening and against the tautly muscled planes of Obi-Wan's chest. A few firm strokes had Obi-Wan's breaths deepening. And his own. Qui-Gon leaned down and tongued apart the loose tie at Obi-Wan's throat, then moistened the ridges of his Padawan's collar bones, dipping now and again to also trace the hollows.

His hands never stopped moving; the difference between the smooth skin under his hand and the silk across the back of it bringing his own nerve endings alive. When he could not resist moving downward to sample the feel of the leather, and cup the growing bulge that matched his own, Obi-Wan pulled away long enough to lean over and push the controls that would drop them out of hyperspace before twisting back. His Padawan made no move to take the seat, however, nor touch any other controls except that which sent the ship to drift harmlessly out of the space lane.

No words had been said between them, no words were needed. Obi-Wan clasped the hand Qui-Gon had used to steady him when he leaned over the control board, and gently tugged. Qui-Gon followed, taking advantage of their height difference so he could keep at his stroking without losing a step. They made it as far as the corridor off the bridge before Obi-Wan shifted and pushed, sandwiching Qui-Gon between the cool metal bulkhead and his heated skin as the younger man melted his body against Qui-Gon's. In this Obi-Wan proved skilled as well as eager to take the lead, for all that such a role in this was new to him.

The barest of touches, and Qui-Gon lowered to his knees. He began running his hands along Obi-Wan's leather clad legs, finding the diamonds of skin between the side lacings irresistible. Obi-Wan's skin tensed from his teasing, making the leather stretch even more until every muscle was clearly defined and the leather was but a second skin. As Obi-Wan's legs trembled and threatened to give out, Qui-Gon carefully pivoted them so that the bulkhead was to Obi-Wan's back. Only then did he turn his attentions to the front lacings, first outlining with lightly placed fingertips the enclosed genitalia to coax more trembling. And a deep throated groan.

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened almost painfully around his shoulders when Qui-Gon took pity and began to work those lacings loose, again using only his tongue after first working free the knot. Although he could control his breathing to the point where he could go without air for a little over five minutes, the Jedi Master panted right along with Obi-Wan, teasing his Padawan with his mouth only centimeters from Obi-Wan's groin. Obi-Wan moaned again and dug his fingernails into Qui-Gon.

Finally Qui-Gon peeled away the triangular pouch of leather and released Obi-Wan's straining erection. Then, fully intending to go for a new personal best before needing to take a breath, he devoured Obi-Wan's penis, wrapping his tongue and sinking his lips to the root and the soft brush of hair with a speed and urgency Obi-Wan wasn't prepared for.

Speed or finesse, Qui-Gon was a Master of many things. But little brought him more pleasure than connecting with another on this level; were he not careful, he could become overwhelmed in the cycle of nature, life and the Force this act represented to him. But this was his bonded mate, the one he intended to spend his life with. And while he respected and lived with the Force, this time he made sure that all of his attention was on Obi-Wan's feelings, not his own. Other than the enjoyment he derived from the little noises and shudders his partner could not contain.

As Obi-Wan let his mental shielding go, Qui-Gon found a new reason for enjoyment. Only once before had Obi-Wan done the penetrating in their loving, and it had been at Qui-Gon's insistence -- the first time they came together after Obi-Wan had finished baring his secrets and soul. But now Obi-Wan was ready to take such action again without needing any encouragement.

Not quite as gently as before, he pushed Qui-Gon back. For a moment Qui-Gon stayed there with just the tip of Obi-Wan's cock resting lightly at his lips. He then looked up, making sure in expression and emotions over their expanding link that Obi-Wan knew he was not just willing, but quite aroused by his Padawan's desire.

The Jedi Master rose and let his leggings drop. A hug first, and a hungry kiss, then once again they exchanged places and Qui-Gon leaned forward on his crossed arms against the bulkhead. Saliva and pre-ejaculate were all that they had, but the Force and love were all that they needed.

When Obi-Wan would have gone slowly, Qui-Gon's willingness rendered that unnecessary too.

The feeling of fullness was all unbelievable pleasure even before Obi-Wan's long strokes found Qui-Gon's prostate. Because it was Obi-Wan's first time truly aware and in control, Qui-Gon used every technique and trick to make it last, even using the Force to augment his muscle control. He intended to come first, well aware of the contractions his orgasm would produce to milk Obi-Wan's cock.

And that was how it happened, except for Obi-Wan forcibly reminding Qui-Gon that his Padawan was in control this time. And that Obi-Wan had a few tricks and a wealth of experience himself, even if none of it had been gained willingly. Indeed Qui-Gon orgasmed first, but only after being driven to the brink so many times that he could no longer remember his name, much less remember how to count. And Obi-Wan had never touched his penis!

How they remained standing, Qui-Gon had no idea. Even through the thickness of his double tunic, he could feel the sweat of Obi-Wan's forehead against the mid of his back, or maybe that was his own. Certainly the cool metal of the bulkhead felt wonderful underneath his own overheated skin. And even though Obi-Wan was a furnace of heat against him, Qui-Gon was loathe to have them part. Obi-Wan seemed to agree; he pulled away only far enough so that Qui-Gon could turn around.

Again their mouths came together, and their hips, their groins, which were quickly stiffening despite the mind-shattering orgasms they had both experienced. Before Qui-Gon could protest, Obi-Wan slid to his knees and mouthed his weeping erection. And then he couldn't argue, for Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's desire to give this pleasure and shatter one more memory, one more ghost. To replace an old terror with something glorious.

Obi-Wan knew what to do, of course, had been rigorously instructed during his captivity on the ways to bring about the most exquisite torture between pain and pleasure. And Qui-Gon also sensed that, for the first time ever, Obi-Wan found something to be thankful for in receiving such instructions. In the center of his deepest core of shields, Qui-Gon felt thankful too, for never had he moaned, panted and writhed in such a loss of control. Quickly enough there was no place for guilt in his enjoyment, for a few long minutes there was no room for any thoughts of Obi-Wan's past, their future together, or even the mission. Only pleasure. And love.

Chapter Six

*What is the word from Tatooine?*

The words of Maul's Master poured into his mind and overpowered his own thoughts like acid through an open wound. Maul was allowed to show pain in such circumstances, but that also showed a weakness, and that was something he could no longer show his Dark Lord and still consider himself useful. Surprise is the only emotion he allowed himself. And satisfaction. Although he had not expected to hear from Sidious for at least another two nights, Maul had updated information.

Maul made sure he always had updated information.

*Since all docking berths are full, subsequently arriving ships have been held in orbit since Espa's sunset yesterday, my Master,* and Maul showed a playback of his contact, the Caridan's expression one of fearful consternation when he passed on such assurances only hours past. Both Sith felt a moment's pleasure and satisfaction at the visible fear that had gripped their thrall as he had given his report. As with any they used, this one knew the penalty for lying to or refusing them. For something as minor as displeasing them.

*Contraband searches will begin at sunrise, and only after each passenger and crew is also scanned, will the ship then be allowed to land. These subsequent landings will be made out in the Dune Sea as the only place large enough, yet with solid ground to accept the number of ships still inbound. Local transports will then ferry passengers for a fee from there into the cities. Not even a Jedi could survive walking across the Wastes to somewhere ... civilized.*

*Never underestimate the power of the Jedi.*

This time Sidious's words burned with the intensity of an electro-jabber lodged within an internal organ, though they were only the mildest of admonishments, and Maul could feel no real anger from his Master for his unasked for opinion. But for a moment Maul couldn't breath or think, couldn't remember than he had even known anything other than such agony. And still he didn't cry out vocally or within his mind, didn't beg although his body bowed as his muscles locked. In the next instant the pain was gone, leaving his muscles cramping and shaking in fatigue.

*I will ensure that everything than can walk on two feet is monitored, even if it is through the desert, my Master. No matter in what ship the Jedi travel, they will be found. And identified.*

*Good.* And Sidious' expression of pleasure was just as intense as his admonishment.

*Remind the Hutts that this opportunity comes only by my allowance, and that I shall expect a returned favor for the extra money they will be earning from operating the ferries. Remind them also that young Xanatos is not to be harmed. Unless it be from grief for his former Master's untimely and most drawn out demise.*

*It shall be done.*

go on to the next part...