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Archive: MA, or ask

Category: Angst?

Pairing: Q/O

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: George's <sniff!>

Summary: A rambling tale in which Insecure!Qui is having doubts...

Feedback: ginseng1ca@yahoo.ca

Please don't be too brutal, I have a frail ego. This is my first serious attempt at writing in this fandom, and I am truly nervous about finding my feet.

Notes: I know of at least one other story in this fandom with the same title, and possibly two. However, this has been my working title for this little piece for so long, I hesitate to change it. (Besides, after careful consideration, I couldn't think of anything better...)

Thanks to The Rose, who slogged through and thought it worthwhile, and for boxing my ears about those pesky commas. I don't always listen to advice, so all mistakes are mine.

The representative of the Thendori droned on incessantly, well into his third hour by Qui-Gon's internal chronometer. The big Jedi repressed a sigh, leaving only the mask of serenity that hid his inner feelings from the delegates gathered around the roughly hewn stone table. Apon Dewan, the little silver bells that adorned his formal Thendori headdress tinkling harshly every time he bobbed his heavy head, showed no sign of winding down in the foreseeable future, either.

Schooling his features to reflect only intense interest in Apon Dewan's endless list of complaints and demands, Qui-Gon chanced a sideways glance at C'chak Dir, the prime spokesperson for the Bri, seated on his immediate left. Tall, handsome and regal, the Bri answered his stare impassively; her dark violet eyes cool and detached. Then she slowly and deliberately winked at him before returning her gaze to the Thendori speaker.

Qui-Gon squashed his threatened response ruthlessly. Sheer exhaustion was beginning to take a toll, even over his great physical and mental conditioning; combined with the effects of the rarified atmosphere in this mountain-top conference centre he was beginning to doubt whether he was capable of completing this mission. C'chak Dir's unexpected conspiratorial gesture had almost provoked a near hysterical reaction, and it would hardly do to have the Republic's chosen representative at these talks interrupt delicate negotiations with a fit of giggles.

Brithen. It was truly a beautiful world. Peopled by two vastly different humanoid species, it had by dint of both luck and the foresight of ancestors escaped the usual fate of such a world. The Bri were native to the planet. An attractive, peacefully agrarian and occasionally nomadic people, they lived primarily in large family clans. Each clan was led by its own matriarch, and a loose code of ethics hammered out over centuries at chakas, sporadic gatherings of the matriarchs, seemed to be enough to keep order in the society.

The Thendori, as squat and pale and coarse a race as the Bri were tall, dark and elegant, had arrived in their spacecraft on Bri just over two centuries ago. Mining had been bred in their blood and bones for generations, their pallid features reflecting a race that rarely saw the light of day. Their home world of Thendor long depleted and left scarred and ugly in their wake, the Thendori were drifting from planet to planet in search of a world with both valuable mineral resources and a native population too weak to defend it. Bri seemed the answer to their prayers.

It would have been easy for the Thendori to simply take what they wanted. They had the necessary weapons, and the strength of will to wield them. A harsh existence had made them a harsh people. But Apon Fendoor was their leader, and he had made himself so by his quick intelligence and shrewd judge of character as much as his ruthlessness. He agreed to meet with C'crith Dow, the Embara, the Matriarch of Matriarchs, and together they agreed to share the wealth of Bri.

The Thendori would live in the mountains they wished to mine while the Bri simply stayed where they were. Semi-precious stones were in abundance, and the Thendori traded offworld with each turn of the seasons. The Bri raised their crops and their animals, and though they had no yearnings to venture offworld, they gladly exchanged produce with the miners for better farming implements and medical supplies.

The symbiotic relationship suited both species, and before C'crith Dow was finally taken to the arms of the Mother Embara, she agreed to Apon Fendoor's request to rename their world. Bri had embraced the Thendori, and was now Brithen, and for two hundred years they lived in harmony.

Then the rest of the galaxy discovered kliss. It had been a simple twist of fate, a chance meeting that should not have happened. With winter approaching, the Dir clan was in the Thendori capital of Klanton, bartering with mining representatives. Fine furs for glass lanterns and windows. The bartering took most of three days, for the Thendori loved the bargaining most of all. Finally, after the morning of the third day, all were pleased with their transactions, and both sides parted with blessings.

The Thendori then eagerly settled in for an afternoon's session with visiting Corellian traders. Anxious for a larger share of the semi-precious stones mined by the Thendori, the Corellian traders had argued long and hard to be allowed this first visit to Brithen.

With representative gems scattered for consideration before them on the table, both groups were startled from their vigorous bargaining by the entrance of a younger member of the Dir clan. She had forgotten her knapsack. With heartfelt apologies to all in the room, she had stooped gracefully to retrieve the pack. She backed to the door, only to find one of the Corellians already standing in the entrance, effectively barring her way. His eyes wide with a trace of wonder, he had reverently touched the shoulder of the gown she wore. In moments the other Corellians had gathered about the young woman, all enchanted by her shimmering clothing. What was it? Where was if from? Who made it?

The Thendori were mystified. The Bri supplied their clothing, too, but they preferred dark, durable coverings. In private the Thendori often scoffed at the lightweight, fantastically colourful garments the Bri favoured.

Although the young Bri was clearly uncomfortable in proximity to a race she had never before encountered, her innate good manners made her stay and answer the many question put to her. Yes, her people made their own clothing. Yes, it was a natural cloth, made from a special combination of plant fibres. No, they had never traded it before. Yes, it was very durable.

The Corellians pleaded with the girl to speak to her Matriarch, and later that week the Dir clan returned with several bolts of the fabric they called kliss. However, the Matriarch refused to deal with the Corellians, preferring instead a complicated process of negotiating with the Thendori, who then had to deal with the offworld traders. The Thendori were delighted with the increased opportunities to barter.

Unfortunately, the Corellians could not hope to keep their good fortune a secret from the rest of the galaxy for very long. Kliss proved to be wildly popular, a sought-after commodity amongst the wealthiest and most avaricious races. As beautiful as shimmersilk and much more durable, the demand quickly outstripped the supply.

The Corellians requested more from the Thendori, but the Bri firmly, albeit politely, refused to increase their output. Smelling a fortune to be had by the fastest and the most powerful, once the knowledge of where kliss was obtained was leaked in the right ears, Brithen drew the dregs of the galaxy, including the Hutts, like wasps after honey.

Panicking, the Thendori sent a distress appeal to the Republic Senate. Help us, they entreated, and we will reconsider the requests to join the Republic.

Thrice in the past twenty years Brithen had been approached to join the worlds of the Republic, but the Thendori's fierce desire for independence had made them ignore the requests. Now, with the very real danger of their planet being plundered and ravaged under the ruthless control of the Hutts, the Thendori put their arrogance aside and prayed the Senate would consider their supplication.

The Senate took no time at all in considering and approving the Thendori's request. Although kliss was by far the most desirable, there were many valuable commodities to be obtained in open trade with Brithen. Also, another world under the control of the rapacious Hutts was something the Senate wished to avoid at almost any cost. So the Lord Chancellor turned to the Jedi. Would they be willing to send representatives to negotiate and oversee Brithen's entry into the Republic?

Thus Qui-Gon Jinn found himself here in the Thendori conference centre, listening to Apon Dewan enter his fourth hour of demands. The Jedi Council had responded to the Chancellor's request by sending the man they considered their best diplomat and negotiator. Little wonder, thought Jinn with a mental snort of derision. One of the gemstones mined on Brithen was amacite, a stone that had proven to be a powerful focusing crystal in the Jedi lightsaber. Hard and durable, yet easily faceted, the deep purple amacite was quickly becoming the crystal of choice among the younger Jedi. The Council was hardly likely to let the opportunity to ensure a constant supply of the valuable gemstone slip through their fingers.

The big Jedi stifled a yawn. He had been on Brithen for well over a tenday, and the negotiations hardly seemed any further forward than the day the talks started. If only the Thendori didn't enjoy the bargaining so damned much!

Qui-Gon was beginning to notice a definite pattern to the negotiations. First, Apon Dewan would state the Thendori's latest demand in a long-winded speech. Qui-Gon would calmly state the Republic's side and politely suggest ways to compromise. All three Thendori would then pounce on his suggestions, picking them apart in minute detail until his head ached and he thought he would tear his hair in frustration. At that point C'chak Dir would gently voice her opinion. The Thendori would quickly consult in quiet whispers, grudgingly agree with the Bri, and then go forward to the next item on their endless list. The whole process would begin again.

Not for the first time did Qui-Gon Jinn wonder at the influence of the Bri in these negotiations. The Thendori were doing the bulk of the talking, yet the Bri were, however subtly, clearly guiding the discussions. Again Qui-Gon allowed Apon Dewan's gravel voice to fade as he pondered the situation. Slowly his eyelids began to lower, until he was abruptly brought to attention by a sharp pain in his left ankle.

He covered his quick intake of air with a large hand and a quiet cough. Apon Dewan droned on oblivious, so Qui-Gon chanced another sideways glance at C'chak Dir. The Bri's full attention was given to the Thendori speaker, her lovely face perfectly serene. She didn't look like someone who had just landed a hefty kick to his booted ankle.

Slowly the Bri rose to her feet. Apon Dewan ceased his monologue in mid-sentence, giving the woman his complete attention. So did everyone else at the round table.

"Honoured Thendori. Your argument has, as it always does, much merit. However, as the esteemed Jedi has pointed out, the Republic Senate will leave us to decide who, if anyone, may settle on our world. Therefore your concerns over an influx of cheap labour to work in your mines are groundless. Perhaps it is time to concede the point and we can consider some of your more pressing worries."

The Thendori representative bowed low to C'chak Dir, the bells on his elaborate headdress tinkling merrily. Accepting the gesture with an elegant tip of her head, the Bri sat once again beside Qui-Gon, the corner of her mouth twitching every so slightly. Apon Dewan paused for a deep breath, then moved his stubby forefinger further down the page. Qui-Gon covered his inner groan with a tightening of his best diplomatic expression.

Qui-Gon strode through the dimly lit corridors barely able to suppress a quiet chuckle. Silently he gave thanks to whatever gods there might be for the presence of C'chak Dir at these negotiations. Without her, he was certain the talks today would have continued well into the night. Instead, she had calmly listened to Apon Dewan make one more point, then risen once more and politely suggested that this was an ideal place to suspend the discussions for the day, and perhaps they would all have a clearer view in the morning. The Thendori had grumbled among themselves briefly but had mercifully agreed, and with courteous pleasantries the groups had disbanded.

Now the Jedi hoped he was alert enough to find his way back to his accommodations. It was Brithen's rotational cycle that was proving to be his undoing. Days here were much, much longer than he was used to, and the Thendori insisted on spending every moment of the day around the negotiating table.

Of course the nights were much longer as well, but for some reason Qui-Gon found himself unable to sleep much beyond the hours of a normal sleep cycle on Coruscant. Neither meditation nor using the Force in sleep suggestion seemed to work. After over a tenday, with the end to negotiations nowhere in sight, Qui-Gon was as exhausted and irritable as a tesic fox in heat.

Finally rounding the last corner before his room, Qui-Gon soundlessly pushed the lever to open the door, stepped into the darkened suite, and applied a touch of the Force to lock the door behind him. Blinking rapidly to accustom his eyes to the gloom, he crossed the large room noiselessly. There was the faint outline of a large couch to his left and Qui-Gon paused to run his hand over the seat. It was empty.

Smiling, he slowly unfastened the ties of his robe under his throat, shrugging out of the heavy garment and folding it neatly over his left arm. He laid the robe gently on the couch and stepped to his right, entering a much smaller room. Closing the door, he tapped a cluster of crystals to the left of the entryway. Immediately the crystals began to glow, bathing the 'fresher with a pale yellow light.

Qui-Gon stared at his reflection in the mirror over the washbasin. Ruefully he smiled at the image that returned his stare. His cheekbones were hollow and there were dark circles under his overly bright blue eyes, the lines in his forehead deeper than he could ever remember. Absently he rubbed his right hand over his beard.

"If I were clean-shaven I'd have stubble," he murmured softly. Far too exhausted to risk the shower facilities, he ran hot water in the basin, reached for a mildly scented soap and quickly washed his face and hands. The water felt wonderful on his skin. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tightness around his neck, he swiftly performed the rest of his ablutions, then tapped the crystals once more, plunging the washroom back into darkness.

Avoiding the furniture in the main room by sense rather than sight, Qui-Gon made his way to the open door on the other side of the suite. He paused in the doorway. There was a single long, narrow window in this room containing glass thick enough to keep out most of the biting cold. It would always be cold this high in the mountains, he mused to himself. At least one of Brithen's two moons must be shining tonight, for there was enough light streaming through the window to illuminate the large bed and the lone figure who slept there.

As gently as he could the big man sat on the edge of the bed and studied the sleeping form. Although it was cut extremely short, the sleeper's hair still managed to look rumpled. He lay on his side facing the window, his right hand tucked loosely under his chin, long fingers curled slightly. Qui-Gon leaned forward and touched his forefinger lightly to the sleeper's right cheek. Shadowed green eyes flew open.

"Hello there." The soft, melodious voice was only a little husky with sleep.

"I'm so sorry, Obi-Wan. I did not mean to wake you." Qui-Gon pulled back, his demeanour apologetic.

Quickly the younger man's right hand snaked out, grasping and entwining Qui-Gon's larger fingers with his own. "Don't be. I wasn't really asleep. Just napping. I've been waiting for you."

At any other time the husky whisper would have Qui-Gon Jinn shivering in anticipation, but tonight it only aroused a tinge of wistful regret. He rubbed the back of Obi-Wan's hand with his large thumb, shaking his head heavily. "I'm very tired, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan withdrew his hand and threw off the covers. Sliding from the large bed, he knelt at Qui-Gon's feet clothed only in soft sleep pants. "Please forgive me, Master. I'm afraid I'm not being a very conscientious Padawan, am I?"

Flashing the bigger man an impudent grin, he bent to unsnap the fastenings on Qui-Gon's boots. When Obi-Wan lifted his long legs and slipped off the boots one at a time Qui-Gon could not conceal his heartfelt sigh of relief.

"Here, Master. Let me help you with the rest." Obi-Wan rose to his feet and tugged insistently on Qui-Gon's sleeve until the Jedi Master reluctantly stood as well. He said nothing, simply swaying slightly on his feet while Obi-Wan quickly and efficiently divested him of the rest of his clothing. "Now, get yourself into bed. Take my side, I've already warmed it for you."

His skin already pimpling from the cold air in the bedroom, Qui-Gon never hesitated crawling under the mountain of blankets. He did not, however, choose to stay on his Padawan's side of the bed. Instead he moved further over, giving Obi-Wan ample room to crawl in behind him. As soon as he settled comfortably on his back in the bed he found his arms full of his Padawan's sleep-warmed body.

"Mmmm." Obi-Wan nuzzled under his chin, nipping gently at his throat. "I missed you. These talks are endless; I don't understand how you're staying sane. I'm bored out of my mind."

Qui-Gon smiled in the dark and gently stroked his Padawan's short, soft hair. Master and Padawan had already arrived on Brithen before they were informed of the Thendori's insistence that the Republic have only one representative at the negotiations. Trapped in the aerie that was the mountain conference centre, unable to attend the meetings and forbidden to visit other areas of the planet, Obi-Wan had run out of places to go and things to do. Trying to fill the long days with solitary exercise and course study with the few datapads they had brought with them, Qui-Gon understood that his Padawan was slowly going stir-crazy.

"Think of it as the ultimate test in patience, my Padawan."

"Hnnnn. Haven't you had enough of talking, my Master?" Obi-Wan continued to nibble at his neck, then ran his warm tongue wetly upwards, captured Qui-Gon's left earlobe, and began to suckle gently.

For a few short moments Qui-Gon closed his eyes and savoured the sweet attention. He longed to drift into sleep like this, but he knew that was not what his apprentice had on his mind. Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon laid his big hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders and carefully but firmly pushed the younger man away.

"Obi-Wan, please. Please. I am very, very tired."

The sudden, uncomfortable silence lasted for several heartbeats, before Obi-Wan pulled away from his grasp. "I am sorry, Master." An unfamiliar coolness in his Padawan's voice sent a chill up Qui-Gon's spine. "Please forgive me. I will not disturb you again this night."

Obi-Wan shifted away to his own side of the bed, his back toward his master, shoulders stiff with anger. There was a tightness in Qui-Gon's chest that threatened to rise in his throat and choke him. The distance between them was scarcely a foot, yet it felt like a yawning chasm. The Jedi Master sighed heavily, for he had not the energy to even attempt a bridging of the gap. Closing his eyes, he desperately sought his centre, looking for a calm that might eventually, if he were lucky, bring a modicum of sleep.

He really should have known better. Exhausted as he was, he knew sleep was never going to come when there were unresolved problems with his Padawan. It had always been thus, and so was unlikely to change now. Mentally he counted the minutes, considering then rejecting every possible opening he could try with Obi-Wan. Anything to get the boy to turn around. He listened to the soft, steady breathing indicative of slumber, but he knew Obi-Wan was no more asleep than he was himself.

The mattress dipped every so slightly as his Padawan shifted his position. For several minutes there was nothing more, until Qui-Gon felt the movement, a continuous barely-there rhythm he was oh, so familiar with. The Jedi Master smiled in the dark. He ignored the rhythm for a while, allowing it to build slowly in momentum. Only when he heard a slight harshness in his Obi-Wan's breathing did he choose to roll over. His long arm protectively encircled his Padawan and his large right hand covered the smaller man's fingers.

"Please. Let me help."

"There's no need." Obi-Wan stiffened, his voice tight.

"I want to. Please."

Ignoring the waves of cool irritation rolling off his Padawan, Qui-Gon tightened his grip over the younger man's hand. He could feel the heat from Obi-Wan's erection through the clenched fingers. Ever so slightly he tugged on the fingers in his grasp. At first he met resistance, then Qui-Gon felt the tense shoulders give a little as Obi-Wan released the breath he had been holding. Qui-Gon smiled and pressed a tender kiss into the soft hair at the back of Obi-Wan's neck at the same time as he slowly encouraged his Padawan's fingers to slide up and down his firm shaft. Faster and faster their hands moved in tandem as Obi-Wan climbed back up the spiral of pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Qui-Gon could hear the frantic scrabbling as the younger man's left hand struggled for purchase on the mattress cover. Writhing now in Qui-Gon's arms, Obi-Wan thrust forward into their entwined hands, then ground his buttocks backwards into the bigger man's groin.

Obi-Wan's movement's ceased abruptly.

"Master?" A query filled with disbelief and a touch of anger.

Qui-Gon felt as though he had been dashed in the face with cold water. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry. But I told you; I'm truly very tired. Just let me--"

He never got any further. Obi-Wan released the firm hold on his own erection, flinging Qui-Gon's hand back and away. Hissing his displeasure, he slid from the bed as he evaded his master's attempt to hold him back.

"Obi-Wan!"

"Forget it, Master. I've heard the same excuse now for the last four nights. I'm heartily sick of it." A note of petulance crept into Obi-Wan's angry voice as he gathered the heavy darak down cover that lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed into his arms.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch, Master. Perhaps after a night or two you might feel more in the mood for us." Without waiting for an answer he stalked out of the room.

Qui-Gon lay back in the large and empty bed, slowly dragging the covers up under his chin and shivering with the cold. He knew that he ought to go after his Padawan. He knew the boy should be chastised for his anger, his childish outburst, and his flagrant show of disrespect. But the fist of ice that gripped his vitals slowly tightened, forcing a chill lassitude out into all of his limbs. He did nothing.

Qui-Gon knew that he was not likely to sleep this night. Not now. He had long feared something like this, and now it looked as though his fears had not been unfounded. The faint moonlight trickling through the window disappeared, plunging the room into darkness. Qui-Gon turned and shifted in the bed, laying his cheek on Obi-Wan's pillow, inhaling the scent of his Padawan. One by one the memories began to come, and he slowly sifted through them in his mind. Tonight they were all he had left.

Three and a half year earlier:

Today was Obi-Wan's sixteenth Nameday. For once Qui-Gon had managed to juggle missions, enabling them to be on Coruscant for this day. Although he tried hard to maintain his serenity, Obi-Wan was practically beside himself with delight; it was his first Nameday they would be spending at the temple since becoming Qui-Gon's Padawan. Uncharacteristically, his Master had softened his typical stern disposition and proceeded to indulge his Padawan for the duration of the day.

To Obi-Wan's open astonishment, his Master had begun the day by allowing him the unheard of luxury of sleeping in. It amused Qui-Gon immensely to see the sleep-befuddled look on his Padawan's face when he was finally awakened by a gentle tug on his braid and a cheerful reminder that breakfast would be served in twenty minutes. When Obi-Wan emerged from his shower with his expression a mixture of hope and trepidation, Qui-Gon struggled to hold onto his own serenity, finding it difficult to maintain his stern Masterly façade.

"You are not still asleep and dreaming, my Padawan. Now be seated, or your sherra egg omelet will be cold."

"Master?"

"I said sit, Padawan."

There was no more argument. Obi-Wan quickly slid into one of the two chairs at the table that had already been set for breakfast. His eyes widened at the bright yellow yanto flowers gracing the table in one of his Master's slim pottery vases. As soon as he was settled Qui-Gon carried the frying pan from the kitchen, deftly manoeuvering the sizzling omelet to his Padawan's plate. Obi-Wan sniffed cautiously, and his face slowly took on an expression of ecstasy at the delicate, enticing aroma of white bretl cheese he realized he was going to find at the centre of his omelet. Chuckling, Qui-Gon placed two thick slices of nerris grain bread slathered with butter at his Padawan's elbow. While Obi-Wan attacked his food as only a healthy growing teenager could, Qui-Gon settled in the opposing chair with a bowl of grain cereal topped with miliberries. All in all it was an auspicious start to the day.

A little later Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair, feeling rather paternally affectionate as he watched Obi-Wan devour his second muja fruit tart. His Padawan was almost always so very serious; it gave the Jedi Master a warm tickle under his ribcage to see the boy pleased with such a simple thing as breakfast. Keeping a firm grip on his mug of tea, Qui-Gon returned the front legs of his chair to the floor, rested his elbows on the table and smiled encouragingly at his Padawan.

"If you are finished Obi-Wan, perhaps you have thought about what you would like to do today?"

Obi-Wan hastily swallowed the bite of fruit tart. "Do, Master? Well, we're between class rotations. Hmm, I haven't had a swimming session in a long time. Or we could always get some extra sabre practice." His face lost a little of his cheer. "And there's the Running River kata, Master. You said I had a lot of work to do on the fourth form. I suppose we could work on that."

"Padawan. You are not listening to me. I asked you what would you like to do today."

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon, agitation written all over his face. He wriggled uncomfortably. "Umm... anything, Master?"

"Anything, Obi-Wan."

"Well...there's an exhibition at the Kulon Plaza. It's called 'Starcraft Through the Ages'. They've got examples of all the latest class fighters, and you can even get to take the engines apart!"

Obi-Wan's wriggle had turned into a definite bounce. Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. Only his apprentice could get so completely enraptured at the thought of looking at engine schematics for the day. But he had promised, and there was no way the Jedi Master would do anything to remove the brilliant smile that now lit up his Padawan's face.

All things considered, it turned out to be a very pleasant day. Obi-Wan's boundless enthusiasm proved to be infectious, and Qui-Gon had found himself willingly standing by with spanners and wrenches as his Padawan happily took apart and put together the demonstration engines and drive systems provided at the exhibition. He sat as co-pilot in the simulators, silently wondering at his apprentice's growing abilities. And when Obi-Wan had finally realized how late it had grown, Qui-Gon waved his apologies away with a declaration that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was only a little startled when he realized he had meant it.

It came as no surprise to either of them that it was Obi-Wan's complaining stomach that finally brought his Padawan back to reality, and they made their way through the huge Plaza in search of something to eat. When Qui-Gon offered to treat them both to a late lunch of nerf steak and fried sliced pommis root, Obi-Wan's smile could have easily lit the entire restaurant.

The last couple of hours in the afternoon were spent leisurely wandering the aisles of the Plaza, mostly window shopping but occasionally venturing into a store if something caught their eye. Qui-Gon lingered in front of a shop window that displayed models of starcraft, the selection ranging from the simple to what looked like, to the Jedi Master, the extremely complex. He scanned Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye, hoping for a reaction. His apprentice stared appreciatively at the display, but said nothing. After waiting for several minutes, Qui-Gon sighed softly.

"I haven't seen you work on a model for a very long time, Obi-Wan."

His Padawan shrugged. "I don't get much time anymore, Master. Besides, I think I'm a little old for that now."

Qui-Gon arched one eyebrow. "Do you, now? Well, we have a little time to kill, let's go inside and have a look. Humour your old Master."

Smiling up at the bigger man, Obi-Wan happily preceded him inside. Qui-Gon tagged in his wake as they wandered up and down aisles of starship models made from every conceivable material. Obi-Wan was interested in all and fascinated by some, but none seemed to rivet his attention. After almost an hour the boy turned and smiled.

"We've been here a long time, Master. If we don't leave soon, we shall be late for last meal."

Qui-Gon nodded, hiding his disappointment. "As you say, Obi-Wan. Perhaps we ought to be getting back to the temple."

It was as they were passing the cashier's desk on the way out that something on the back wall caught Obi-Wan's attention. Stopping so abruptly that Qui-Gon almost trod on his heels, he pointed above the clerk's head.

"What's that? Yes, up there. The figurine above the Nubian Class C."

The bored looking shop attendant reached high and grasped the item by its narrow black base. He brought down a small silver figure of a star ship and placed it on the counter so Obi-Wan could see it properly. It looked like no ship that Qui-Gon had ever seen before; almost an abstract representation of a ship rather than an accurate depiction. Obi-Wan slowly twisted his head, looking at the figure from all angles. Slightly less than a foot in length, the star ship gleamed dully in the bright light of the shop; more like old-fashioned pewter than any durasteel, yet...

"What is it made of?" Obi-Wan finally voiced the question Qui-Gon was about to ask.

The clerk shrugged. "Some kind of Boran crystal, I think. It's been kicking around here for ages. Has no real appeal. Not flashy enough."

Obi-Wan reached out with his right hand and placed his forefinger gently against the sleek body of the space ship.

"Sith!" The curse was out before Obi-Wan could stop it, and he yanked his finger back hastily. "It... moved!"

The clerk made no attempt to smother his laughter. "Yeah, that's the first reaction from everyone who bothers to look at it. Got something to do with Boran crystals, I guess. They're supposed to change according to how the person who touches 'em is feeling. Doesn't do anything for me, just stays that same ugly grey."

Qui-Gon searched his memory and brought forth a recollection from a course taken decades before on Outer Rim geology and mineralogy. Boran crystals were said to alter composition when touched; reflecting the personality and mood of the person touching them. They were also reputed to be very rare. He had never seen an example before.

Obi-Wan glanced quickly at his Master for reassurance, then hesitantly reached to touch the figure once more. This time he held his fingertips against the smooth side, and as the three of them watched the star ship began to morph before their eyes. Qui-Gon heard his Padawan's quick intake of breath as the dull grey material flowed and changed, becoming longer and sleeker, taking on a warm, golden glow. The gold reflected in his Padawan's wide green eyes.

"Do you like the model, Obi-Wan?"

"Oh, yes Master!" Obi-Wan's reply was a soft, whispered sigh. "It's beautiful."

"How much?" Qui-Gon asked the clerk briskly.

"Fifty credits." Obi-Wan's lovely smile faltered and Qui-Gon frowned. "But, seein' as it's been here long enough to meet the half-price deadline, you can have it for twenty-five. I'll even box it for you."

Aware that his apprentice was holding his breath, Qui-Gon nodded to the clerk and opened his belt pouch, searching for his credit chip. Ten minutes later he trailed Obi-Wan out of the shop, not even trying to keep the smile from his face as he watched his Padawan bounce along before him, his precious parcel held tightly, safely tucked under his chin.

"Aren't we going to the dining hall for late meal, Master?" There was puzzlement in Obi-Wan's voice as he clearly realized his Master had taken the wrong direction once they entered the Temple.

"Um, we have lots of time Obi-Wan. Perhaps we should go back to our quarters first to freshen up. Besides, wouldn't it be best to put your new model safely in your room?"

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan grinned up at him, and Qui-Gon could not stop himself from reaching to fondle the softness of his Padawan's hair, letting his long fingers run down the length of the braid lying against Obi-Wan's chest. He stroked the unruly end until it lay flat, then glanced up to see his apprentice staring at him, an unreadable look in his deep green eyes.

Clearing his throat self-consciously, Qui-Gon turned and strode down the corridor to their quarters, Obi-Wan having to run a couple of steps to catch up with him. When they reached the door Qui-Gon palmed the code panel. The door slid silently open and Qui-Gon waved his apprentice through. A slight furrow marking his brow, Obi-Wan hesitated, then preceded his master into their suite.

"Surprise!" Obi-Wan halted, his mouth dropping, then took a step backwards. His way was blocked by the solid mass of his Master, and Qui-Gon lightly rested his big hands on Obi-Wan's thin shoulders, giving a gentle push forwards.

"Happy Nameday, my Padawan." Qui-Gon leaned and whispered in Obi-Wan's ear, taking delight in the look of shock mixed with dawning happiness on his apprentice's face.

"You're just in time." Bant, her silver eyes big with excitement, stepped forward to draw Obi-Wan towards his friends. "Master Qui-Gon planned it perfectly."

"P-planned?" Obi-Wan stuttered the word out.

"Yeah! We've been plotting this with him for the last two tendays." Garen's grin was infectious, and even the normally aloof and dignified Siri was beaming happily as she waved a brightly coloured package in the air.

"C'mon Obi. There're presents for you."

"Yeah," muttered Reeft, eyeing the laden table. "'Cause Bant says we can't start on the food until all your presents are open."

Obi-Wan looked back shyly, and when Qui-Gon gave him an encouraging smile and nod, he turned to his friends and waded forward through the brightly coloured balloons and streamers. With Dessa and Tho'lin leading the Nameday Cheer, he sat on one of the many large cushions littering the common room floor, his precious present still held tightly in his arms.

Qui-Gon, ignored, sidled quietly to the side. For a few moments he watched his Padawan laugh in delighted wonder as he was deluged with packages from the dozen friends Bant had gathered to celebrate this day. When the Mon Calimarian padawan had shyly approached him about hosting a Nameday party in their quarters, he had almost dismissed it out of hand. Only a quiet earnestness in the gentle silver eyes had caused him to pause, and before he realized it he had found himself answering in the affirmative. Now, seeing the boundless joy in his normally serious Padawan, he thanked his lucky star systems he had said yes.

Inching around the perimeter of the common area, Qui-Gon finally reached the door to his room. With Garen's raucous "We've got holovids, lots of holovids!" ringing in his ears, the Jedi Master slipped unnoticed into the bedroom, silently closing the door behind him.

The noise outside faded to a dull murmur as he sat on the edge of his bed. It had been a long day, but not one he would ever regret. He untied his robe, tossing it haphazardly to the foot of the bed, then slowly toed off his boots. His outer tunic followed, draped carelessly over his robe, followed by a pair of socks thrown to land wherever they would. Lying back on the bed with a heartfelt sigh, he let his mind wander into a lazy meditation.

Surfacing several hours later, Qui-Gon smiled as he realized the party was still happening outside his door. He allowed his thoughts to dwell on Obi-Wan, his smile fading a little as he realized today was the first day in a long, long time he had seen his Padawan truly smile. "Hmph. Not good enough, my Padawan. From now on, it will be a part of my Masterly duties to see that you smile like that at least once a day. Maybe even twice a day."

Chuckling in bemusement at his own sleepy nonsense, Qui-Gon sat up in preparation to removing the rest of his clothes, when his attention was taken with the soft, insistent buzz of his comm link. He fumbled in his robe pockets for the device, thumbing it clumsily on. He snapped to attention when he recognized the authoritative tones of Mace Windu.

An hour later he lay in quiet contemplation of the ceiling in the darkened room. Blinking, he finally registered the quiet in the outer room, and when he cast his mind back he realized any activity had ceased at least half an hour before. Slowly he pushed himself to a sitting position and briefly wondered where he had thrown he socks. Finally deciding it didn't matter, he arose and padded barefoot to the door, opened it, and walked out into the softly lit common room.

Obi-Wan was sitting by himself at the small dining table. Except for a few large pillows still artfully scattered about the common room floor their quarters were surprisingly neat, considering the whirlwind that had occupied the space not an hour before.

Quietly Qui-Gon crossed the floor, slipping into the seat opposite his Padawan. Obi-Wan looked up at him with a shy smile, his fingers still stroking the golden crystal star ship on the table between them.

"Thank you, Master." When Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow in question, Obi-Wan's smile deepened, a suggestion of impish humour dancing in his green eyes. "For my model. I think-- I think it's one of the nicest rocks you have ever given me."

Qui-Gon leaned back in the chair and laughed heartily. Gods! It felt so good to be sharing such a comfortable moment of warmth with this young man who was his Padawan. Right now the idea that he could have ever rejected this lovely human being both puzzled and frightened him. Not for anything would he have traded the companionship of this day.

"You are welcome, my Obi-Wan. I am just very pleased to have contributed to the success of your Nameday."

Qui-Gon was surprised and a little amused to see a blush spread across his Padawan's features. The sleek star ship between them swirled with shades of gold and amber under Obi-Wan's gentle touch, and Qui-Gon was riveted by the intensity of his Padawan's direct gaze.

"Master." Obi-Wan hesitated, then squared his shoulders and stared directly at him. "Master, do I have your permission to speak freely?"

Perplexed, and not a little uneasy at his Padawan's look and change of manner, Qui-Gon nodded slowly. "Of course, Obi-Wan. I would be remiss in my duties as your Master if I thought you could not approach me with anything that is on your mind. And, as your friend, I would hope you would not hesitate to tell me if something is bothering you."

"This-- this is personal, Master." Obi-Wan paused, and although he kept a firm hold on his side of the training bond, his personal shields tightly closed, the wildly fluctuating shades of gold and orange and red in the star ship model bespoke of the agitation his Padawan must have been feeling.

Qui-Gon nodded encouragingly. "If I can help, Obi-Wan, you know I will."

"I love you, Master." The words were softly spoken, but their impact was deafening in the quiet of the common room. For a brief moment Qui-Gon felt his heart pause, then once again resume its steady rhythm. He blinked and took a deep, cleansing breath before he could reply.

"Obi-Wan." That wasn't loud enough, even to his own ears. Clearing his throat he tried again. "Obi-wan, I think I know what you're feeling. It's not an uncommon emotion for a Padawan, especially when they are a compatible species with their Master. It's... well, we're together so very much, practically living out of each other's pockets when we're on a mission... you're bound to feel close to me. It's nothing to feel ashamed of, I'm told it's a natural reaction for a Padawan... it's partly hero-worship, partly hormones..."

Qui-Gon faltered to a halt. The sadness and hurt in his Padawan's green eyes rendered him speechless.

"I feel no shame, Master. I don't think love is anything to be ashamed of."

The serious, matter-of-fact tone in his Padawan's voice brought a flush of embarrassment to the Master's cheeks. Qui-Gon could feel the heat. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, seeking his centre and his serenity.

"You are right, my Padawan. I apologize to you if I implied any such thing." He forced himself to meet the unwavering green eyes, a little startled by the conviction he saw in their depth. Trying to excuse his Padawan's feelings as a mere childhood infatuation was not the way to go right now.

"You know that what you are asking for, what I think you are asking for, is simply not possible. No, please don't turn from me now. Hear me out Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon grasped his apprentice's hand, for Obi-Wan had started to withdraw both mentally and physically. Clutching the slender fingers in his great hands that so easily dwarfed his Padawan's, the Master desperately tried to rearrange his thoughts to make his words both convincing yet comforting.

"Obi-Wan, the last thing I want you to think is that what I am going to say is the tried and true 'Master's response to love-struck Padawan'. You know I would never dismiss your feelings that way. But we all follow the Jedi Code for good reason; it isn't an arbitrary list of rules set down by a group of ancient and dusty Jedi who are beyond emotion. You are an amazingly bright and intuitive student, Obi-Wan, you know the dangers inherent in any relationship that goes beyond teacher and apprentice. The rules are there to protect both sides."

"Tho'lin is in a relationship with his Master."

Qui-Gon stifled his inner sigh. Slowly he began to massage the back of his Padawan's hand with both of his thumbs. He wondered briefly if Obi-wan was deriving half as much comfort from the caress as he was.

"But Tho'lin and his Master are both Zanttorians. Their physical maturity comes much earlier than most species, as you well know. And Tho'lin will be knighted within the next cycle or two. He has had a preliminary lifebond with Master Tha'tan for the last half cycle; they will formalize it upon Tho'lin's knighting. Although she despairs of his ever passing Khruxian poetry."

Qui-Gon frowned as his attempt at humour failed to raise a smile from his Padawan. He softened his voice. "Tho'lin was a poor comparison to draw, Obi-Wan. You might be an outstanding student, but you are still very young. I would be a poor Master to take such advantage of you. No, do not seek to argue with me. I would be taking advantage. I regard nothing in my life as seriously as I do your training. Nothing must interfere with that, Obi-Wan, nothing. It would be a great disservice to you if I should start to slacken in, say, your sabre training, simply because either of us were distracted. Or, what if we failed in a mission because feelings we had for each other got in the way of our duty?"

"You would never allow that to happen, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was husky and sad, his eyes down, seemingly captured by the gentle movement of his Master's thumbs on the back of his right hand. His other hand was still curled about the star ship model, which was now swirling in colours of deep indigo and black.

"You think not, Padawan, and I think not, but who can say what might truly happen? Your knighthood is simply not to be compromised. I would not hurt you for all the galaxy, Obi-Wan, but what you are asking is simply not to be, and I ask that you respect my decision."

Qui-Gon waited in trepidation while his apprentice seemed to carefully consider his words. He did not, however, release his hold on Obi-Wan's hand until his Padawan's quiet, "Yes, Master. I understand. I will not broach the topic again."

Smiling, Qui-Gon gave the long fingers a last, firm squeeze, then leaned back in his chair. "Good. I'm glad. Now I have some news. It's damned poor timing to be sure, but there is very little I can do about it. Master Windu contacted me earlier this evening with details of a mission."

"A mission, Master? When do we leave?" Qui-Gon released the mental breath he had been holding with a great feeling of relief. At least Obi-Wan was not shrinking at the idea of their going on missions together. Shared conversations with other masters had led him to believe the likeliest reaction from a rejected Padawan was to keep as much distance as possible from their Master, at least until the embarrassment faded.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, but not this time. I'll be flying solo for this mission."

The hurt in his Padawan's face shook the Master. Obi-Wan turned away, resolutely facing the far wall. "Please, Master. Is it because of my feelings? I promised I wouldn't mention it again."

"No, Obi, not at all. Never think that." Qui-Gon started to reach for his apprentice's hand again, but Obi-Wan now had them both curled in his lap under the table.

"I said Mace had already spoken to me. The Council has been discussing several of the Midyear and Senior Padawans, and have decided too many of you have been in the field for far too long without equal time here at the Temple. They feel your studies will eventually suffer. Starting with the new semester a few Masters, myself included, are being sent on missions where the Council judges we will not need backup."

Qui-Gon gave his Padawan what he hoped was a conspiratorial smile. "So, my Padawan, while you are back here on Coruscant with your friends having a good time, you might want to spare a thought for your poor Master having to attend endless treaty signings, boring court functions and diplomatic weddings."

If anything could bring a smile to Obi-Wan's face it was the thought of his Master desperately trying to maintain his legendary serenity though day after day of court functions, and now was no exception. It faded quickly, however. "Will I have to move to the Padawan's creche?"

Qui-Gon suppressed a smirk at the undertones of horror in his Obi-Wan's voice. It was common for younger Padawans left on their own when their Masters were assigned solo missions of any length to have to bunk in large communal dorms. They were far easier to keep a watchful eye on that way. There wasn't an apprentice in the Temple who didn't abhor the thought of going to the dorm, and the derogatory title of 'Padawan's creche' aptly reflected that feeling.

"No, Obi-Wan. Not this time. I've decided you are mature enough to stay in our quarters while I am gone. That does not, however, mean you will be allowed to have spice parties every other evening, nor drunken orgies at weekend." He could not suppress a chuckle at Obi-Wan swift glare of denial. "I'm just teasing you, Obi-Wan. I trust you implicitly. On the other hand, I will be asking you to check in with either Master Windu or Master Gallia twice a tenday. They have been assigned to your well-being while I am gone."

Qui-Gon laughed again as Obi-Wan's face pulled into a grimace of distaste. "Now, Padawan, it's not that bad. Master Gallia thinks very highly of you, and Mace is not nearly the ogre you purport him to be. Besides, they will only be concerned if there are any problems. And there won't be, will there Padawan? No, I didn't think so. Don't worry, they'll not invade your privacy; you are to go and see them, just to let them know how your new courses are coming and perhaps to check on your training regime. Who knows, perhaps you might even come to enjoy sparring with Master Gallia more than me?"

"Certainly more than Master Windu," muttered Obi-wan under his breath. Squaring his shoulders, he finally looked Qui-Gon directly in the eye. "How long will you be gone, Master?"

"I'm not certain. At least two tendays, but certainly no more than two months at the most. Quite likely not even that."

"Two months is a long time Master. I-- I shall miss you."

Qui-Gon could not resist reaching out and giving Obi-Wan's long braid a gentle tug of affection. "And I shall miss you, my Padawan. We have not been parted for a mission in over two years. What shall I do without you to keep me grounded and focused?"

Obi-Wan snorted scornfully. "More likely you'll miss my cooking after you've run out of all the ration bars. Or get frozen toes because I'm not there to keep track of where you've thrown your socks."

Qui-Gon sighed theatrically, his expression mournful. "You're right, my Padawan. It is going to be a long two months."

Two months turned out to be an optimistic forecast. The simple signing of a treaty extension on Regan 3 turned ugly when both sides decided they wanted a bigger piece of a large, previously undisputed island simply because underground gas sources were discovered there. The crowning of a new monarch on Tholassa became a true farce when Qui-Gon arrived to find no less than six members of the royal family all vying for the dubious privilege. Since the last three monarchs of Tholassa had been assassinated, Qui-Gon failed to see the appeal of the position. And on Sjardan, plans for the wedding of Prince Ambar and Princess Meril nearly erupted into planet-wide war when the mother of the potential bride declared the dowry to be an insulting pittance not worthy of the Royal House of Nabarr.

Four months after leaving Coruscant, with treaty signed, a king crowned, and a prince and princess finally joined in connubial bliss, Qui-Gon approached the city planet with an immense feeling of relief. Thankfully the King of the Royal House of Nabarr had been so overjoyed at finally getting his daughter to the altar and his wife placated, that he offered the Jedi Master a trip back to Coruscant in the luxury of the Royal Nabarrian star cruiser. Qui-Gon had felt no compunction in accepting the offer.

As the decadently swift star cruiser approached the Temple landing pad, Qui-Gon fidgeted in his seat with very unJedi-like impatience. Gods, but how he was looking forward to being home. And Obi-Wan. During his mission on Sjardan Qui-Gon found he had begun to miss his Padawan with a fierce longing that took him by surprise. He longed for Obi-Wan's irreverent humour, his boundless energy, and his sunny disposition. Not to mention the fact he could never find his clean socks.

The ship touched down with a brief, gentle rocking motion. Checking his chronometer, Qui-Gon noted it was midmorning, so his Padawan would likely be in the midst of classes. No one was expecting him, he realized. At the time he had sent his last message to the Temple he had still been planning to hitch a ride on a lumbering Corellian freighter. The fast Nabarrian cruiser had put him on Coruscant at least two days ahead of schedule. Qui-Gon smiled. So he would surprise Obi-wan.

After gathering his hastily jumbled carryall while making a mental note to praise his Padawan's efficient packing skills more in the future, Qui-Gon gave the Sjardanian pilot his effusive thanks and descended the ramp. He toyed with the idea of comming Obi-wan, and as quickly dismissed the idea. It was best this way, he mused. He would go directly to his quarters, shower, then check in with Mace Windu before he met Obi-Wan in the dining hall for mid-meal. His agenda set mentally, Qui-Gon's long legs carried him rapidly towards his rooms.

It never ceased to amaze the Jedi Master how much a shower and clean clothes improved one's attitude to life. He was especially pleased to see that Obi-Wan had set out a fresh tunic, leggings and socks for him in anticipation of his homecoming. Having brushed the tangles from his long hair and rebraided the mane to keep it out of his eyes, Qui-Gon felt ready to face the world once more.

He went directly from his quarters to those of his old friend, Councilor Mace Windu. There was only a few seconds delay after he rang the buzzer before the door swooshed open and he stepped inside. He smiled broadly when he saw that Adi Gallia sat opposite Mace at the dining table. Now he would get all the news he was anxious to hear about his much-missed Padawan.

"It's bloody well about time you got here!" Qui-Gon's felt his smile fading ever so slightly as the tall black man rose to his feet, his face resembling a Tholassan thunderhead. Qui-Gon blinked, then stepped further into the room.

"Well, nice to see you, too, Mace. What's biting your ass this morning?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to Adi Gallia and bowed to the elegant woman. "A pleasure, Adi."

"Good to have you home, Qui. We've missed you." Adi's smile was warm and welcoming. She reached out and laid her arm on Qui-Gon's arm, squeezing gently. "We've discussed your mission reports in Council. You've had a tiring and--um, entertaining four months."

Qui-Gon sat in the chair next to Adi and let his gaze wander back and forth between his two friends. He felt a twitch of uneasiness. Mace still looked furious, and Adi seemed, well, uncharacteristically nervous.

"I am certainly glad to be home, and if I have to discuss my missions any more in the next tenday it will be too soon. I want to hear how my Padawan is doing. The only messages I received from you simply stated he was well and studying hard." Qui-Gon grinned. "I want details."

Mace opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was forestalled by Adi who waved in the direction of the small kitchen. "Mace, be a good Councilor and go finish making the tea. I haven't had my mid-morning cup, and I know Qui-Gon must be longing to have a decent brew."

For a moment it looked as though Mace was going to argue, until the water started to boil on the heating element, distracting him. Pursing his lips in a tight scowl, he rose and began taking mugs from the cupboard. Mystified, Qui-Gon watched him pour the water until Adi once more caught his attention by placing her fingers over his wrist.

"You'll be delighted with Obi-Wan's course marks, Qui. He's really starting to excel now he's had this uninterrupted length of time to devote to his studies. He's in the top grouping in both non-humanoid biology and Outer Rim trade statistics. In second level astrophysics he's untouchable, and he's even getting a fair passing grade in Delvian poetry." Adi's eyes danced with humour as she accepted the mug of tea from Mace. "He tells me he took that last course just so you two would have a subject of lively discussion when you returned."

Qui-Gon felt the last tendrils of concern fade as he listened to Adi's progress report on Obi-Wan's studies. He quickly shunted his own unhappiness at being deprived of his Padawan's companionship into the Force, where it belonged. It was clear that Obi-Wan had benefited greatly from the enforced separation.

"How about his training? You've had a chance to observe his sparring?"

Adi chuckled. "He's first to arrive at the training salles every afternoon. I try to spar with him two or three times a week, and he's gained enough proficiency to run me around the floor more than once this past tenday. You have every reason to be proud of him, Qui."

Qui-Gon sipped at the spiceberry tea Mace placed in front of him and smiled. Already the unpleasantness of his last three missions was fading in his memory. There was so much catching up he and Obi-wan had to do!

"How about his social life? I know Obi isn't the most outgoing Padawan in the Temple, but I hope he hasn't been spending all his days with his nose glued to his datapad."

Qui-Gon raised his mug for another drink of tea, when he became aware the atmosphere in the room had undergone a drastic change. He could have sworn the temperature dropped by several degrees. It now felt decidedly frosty. Lowering the mug slowly he glanced first at Mace, who was glowering again, and then to Adi, who once more looked uneasy, refusing to meet his gaze. He felt a quick surge of irritation.

"Will one of you please stop dragging your feet and tell me what is wrong?"

Mace moved his tea to one side with a sweep of his right arm, then folded his hands in front of him and stared across the table. "Why didn't you tell us before you left, Qui-Gon, that your Padawan was so damned promiscuous?"

"Prom--," Qui-Gon stuttered before he ground to a halt. He blinked at Mace. For a long moment he was certain he had to be mistaken and that his old friend must have said "promising", but after reviewing Mace's words over and over in his head, he realized that he had heard aright after all.

"Promiscuous? My Obi-Wan? This is some sort of joke, right? I'm warning you Mace, I don't find it at all funny." He glanced to his left for reassurance from Adi. The Councilor was intently studying the few tea leaves that floated in her mug, and Qui-Gon felt a shiver of apprehension trickle up his spine. He swung his head back to Mace in bewilderment as the dark man cleared his throat.

"It's no joke, Qui-Gon. Since you left Obi-Wan has been making his way through as many partners as he can in the shortest amount of time."

Qui-Gon knew he was gaping at his old friend, but he didn't seem to be able to gather enough of his wits together to close his mouth. Surely Mace couldn't be talking about his Obi-Wan? His sweet, shy, innocent Obi-Wan--

"I don't understand," he whispered, turning again to Adi. "You said he was training hard. You said he was doing so well in his studies. I just--don't understand."

"Qui." Adi's eyes held a world of sympathy. "Mace is making it sound worse than it really is." She ignored the snort from across the table and continued. "Obi-Wan is doing well in all his classes and he has never faltered in his training. Since you've been gone he has never missed a class; he hasn't even been late for one as far as I know. His instructors have only the highest praise for him. I have checked on him occasionally in the evenings, so I know he is keeping to his curfew. It's just, well, he has been involved in several relationships over the past few months."

"Several? Hah! That's like saying Yoda is green."

Qui-Gon took several deep breaths, attempting to centre himself.

"Adi, Obi-Wan is sixteen. I know he's never shown much interest in socializing beyond his close friends before, but he is beyond the age when most human padawans begin to initiate closer relationships." Qui-Gon thought back on one of the last conversations he had had with Obi-Wan, when the young man had professed a love for him. Ruefully he realized it had certainly been short-lived. At least he wouldn't have to worry anymore about his apprentice suffering from feelings of unrequited passion.

"Truth to tell, I'm rather glad that he's finally showing a serious interest in some of the other padawans. I was beginning to fear he was getting as reclusive as his Master." Qui-Gon smiled broadly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Other padawans, certainly. But if I were his Master, I would certainly consider seventeen much too young to fraternize with knights."

"Knight? Knight?" Qui-Gon's smile fled as his voice rose. "You're telling me my Obi-wan is having sex with a knight?"

"Knights. Plural. As in more than one."

"Mace!" The lash of anger in Adi's normally calm voice startled both men, and her glare froze Mace into silence before she turned her attention once more to Qui-Gon.

"Qui, I will repeat, Obi has done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing to be censured for. Our concern lies in the fact that none of the relationships appear to be lasting for any amount of time. A few days to a few weeks at most. We find that a little troubling, Qui, especially when we have also observed that there appears to be no time for any reflection between his liaisons. At first his companions were among his agemates, then he began spending time with a few of the more senior padawans. And there have been two or three knights, all from off planet. He just seems to be drifting from partner to partner. But I'm going to say it again; his training is not suffering, and he appears to be perfectly happy and well-centred." Adi smiled slowly. "He has missed you though, Qui."

Qui-Gon arose clumsily, abandoning his tea on the table. His mind was still reeling, trying to assimilate all the improbable information that had been thrust upon him. "I...thank you both. Thank you for looking out to my Padawan. Now, if you will excuse me, I really do have to go and find him. His classes should be over. If I hurry, perhaps I can catch him before he reaches the dining hall." Backing away from the table and bowing his thanks to his two old friends, Qui-Gon fled the room.

Finding his Padawan's location was simply a matter of opening the training bond just a little and concentrating on the warm presence in his mind that was Obi-Wan. It was a homing beacon that drew him like a heat sensor. Long legs quickly covered the distance to the dining hall, and as he rounded a corner he spied his Padawan approaching from the opposite direction. The boy, no, a young man, Qui-Gon sharply reminded himself, was with a small group of padawans who were laughing at something Obi-Wan was saying. Qui-Gon recognized Bant, but the others were all strangers to him, especially the tall, dark-haired senior padawan who walked next to Obi-Wan, long arm draped casually and possessively about his waist. Qui-Gon felt a ripple of immediate dislike for the tall stranger.

At that moment Obi-Wan looked up and his eyes locked with Qui-Gon's. The small smile on his face broadened into a wide grin.

"Master!" Disengaging from the dark-haired padawan, Obi-Wan lengthened his stride and literally threw himself against Qui-Gon, hugging him tightly. "You're home! Oh, I've missed you!" A moment later he seemed to recollect himself and stepped back. Reluctantly Qui-Gon let him go. "Sorry, Master. I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just, well, I wasn't expecting you for another two days, and--"

Qui-Gon reached out and ruffled his Padawan's hair, acutely aware that the small group was standing waiting, watching the reunion. "There's nothing to apologize for, Obi-Wan. Would it be that all my greetings are so enthusiastic. And I missed you too, Padawan."

Obi-Wan beamed, then turned to his friends. "Please, Master. Let me introduce my friends. Well, not Bant of course."

Qui-Gon bowed and smiled warmly at Obi-Wan's oldest friend, trying to concentrate enough to remember other names. It was difficult, as his eye kept straying to the tall padawan who was introduced as Jert Larqa. The handsome young man returned his stare with one that was equally as cool.

"We're on our way to dinner, Master. Will you join us?"

Qui-Gon kicked himself mentally back to attention, realizing Obi-Wan was waiting for an answer. "No, my Padawan, I don't believe I will. I have an ocean of reports to wade through. I'll just make myself a quick snack in our quarters. However," he waved aside Obi-Wan's look of protest, "I will be expecting you in the training salles after lunch. I'm anxious to spar with you once more. Adi tells me your skills have improved tremendously, whereas mine have been deteriorating rapidly these last few months. Who knows, perhaps you might finally win a round against me."

Obi-Wan's impudent smile gave reassurance that his Padawan was still the same eager young man he had left four months ago. With a cheeky, "You can bet on it, Master," Obi-Wan returned to his group of friends and they continued into the dining hall. Qui-Gon watched them go; an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. His Obi-Wan was definitely growing up.

Qui-Gon powered his lightsabre down, practically capsizing on the nearest of the benches that lined the training room's perimeter. He raised his hand to catch the towel his Padawan threw to him, draping it about his neck as he shifted over to give Obi-Wan room beside him. As his heart rate returned to normal he mopped the trickles of sweat from his forehead and bare chest.

"Adi was right, Obi-Wan, you have improved. Much more and I'll be petitioning the Council to have you instruct at the senior level, then sign up for classes myself."

"Very funny, Master. You were at my mercy for all of two seconds at the beginning of the match, then you proceeded to wipe the floor with me. I've got the scorch marks to prove it." Obi-Wan glumly surveyed the light brown patches of discolouration on his training pants.

Qui-Gon laughed as he leaned back, enjoying the cool of the durasteel wall against his overheated back and shoulders. "It's good to be home, Obi-Wan." He closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the warm comfort proximity to his Padawan brought him. "Instead of the dining hall, will you join me for evening meal in our quarters? I'll do the cooking."

After a few minutes of uneasy silence Qui-Gon opened his eyes to gaze quizzically at the young man next to him. Obi-Wan was staring at the space on the floor between his feet, his hands restlessly passing his lightsabre back and forth. He looked very uncomfortable.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I'm sorry, Master. I made plans several days ago to meet some of my friends tonight. I just didn't expect you back today." Obi-Wan raised his head to meet his Master's eyes. "But I can call them and cancel. They'll certainly understand."

"Don't be silly, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon fought to flatten the quick flare of hurt in his chest. It was irrational, after all. "Of course you will keep your appointment. We'll have more than enough time together to catch up. The Council has promised we will have at least until you take your final exams for this semester before they assign us a new mission. Besides, I still have a message backlog that's obscene. I think I would welcome a quiet evening to myself. It's been a long time since I could put my feet up and not worry about political coups, or assassination attempts, or bickering wedding parties." He reached over and ruffled his Padawan's sweaty, tousled hair. "You go out with your friends and have a good time."

"It's good to have you home, Master," Obi-Wan replied softly.

Telling Obi-Wan he would enjoy a quiet evening at home alone and actually doing it proved to be two different things. After shooing his still hesitant Padawan out the door, Qui-Gon made a quick last meal of bread, cheese and fruit. With his tea in one hand and a miliberry tart in the other he sat down at his computer desk, prepared to answer the reams of correspondence accumulated in the last few months.

He had not exaggerated to Obi-Wan; there really was an impressive backlog of mail. Deleting the massages that needed an answer weeks ago reduced the queue by half. The ones that could be answered with a polite, quickly worded reply took him just over an hour. The remainder, those that needed thought and time, he mulled over carefully, pouring himself a glass of wine to aid his thinking processes. Finally, with a last letter to Obi-Wan's astrophysics instructor thanking him for the lavish praise of his Padawan, Qui-Gon pushed himself away from his desk with a great sigh of relief. Dealing with correspondence was not high on his list of pleasurable things to do.

Qui-Gon poured himself another glass of wine and went in search of the mystery novel he had been half way through when he left Coruscant four months before. After scouring the common room he finally found it laying on top of his bedside table, his page carefully marked. He smiled, realizing that Obi-Wan had been taking care of him even when he was away. With novel in one hand and wine in the other, he settled in his great armchair for an evening's enjoyable read.

It was a disaster from the start. Try as he might, he could not pick up the threads of the plot; after three aborted attempts he finally gave in and went back to the beginning of the novel. He was only a half dozen pages into it when he realized he was reading the same paragraphs over and over. Downing the last of the wine, he got up and went to make himself some tea. But even his favourite blend of miliberry spice and sagis herb failed to make the mystery novel more palatable. Finally he acknowledged defeat. Without his Padawan's warm and cheerful presence, their living quarters were simply too empty, too quiet, and far too lonely.

"Master?"

"Unhh?"

"Master, I think you fell asleep." Gentle hands touched his own. Slowly he opened his eyes. Light in the room was dim; he could just see his Padawan leaning over him and taking the almost empty mug of tea from his unresisting fingers. "I didn't want to startle you, Master, so I turned the lights down. Is there anything I can get you?"

Qui-Gon blinked, then yawned. He checked his chronometer in the faint light. It was still a half-hour before Obi-Wan's curfew. "You're home early, Padawan. Did you not have a good time?"

"I wanted a chance to brush up on my statistics course, Master. I have a test first thing tomorrow morning."

"Ah. And here I was thinking you had had enough of Padawan Jerk's company."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Qui-Gon wished he could call them back. He watched in regret as Obi-Wan's open, pleasant expression closed, shutting him out.

"His name is Jert, Master. And with all due respect, sir, you may not like or approve of some of my friends, but you have no right to insult them."

Qui-Gon felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. His Padawan was right, he had overstepped his bounds as Obi-Wan's Master. He rose slowly from the chair, bowing low to the young man.

"You are correct, Obi-Wan. I am not being fair to your friend. Please forgive me. It has been a long day and perhaps I am not myself. I have no other excuse for my behaviour."

Obi-Wan smiled and bowed to his Master, his expression anxious. "Please Master, I believe I am overreacting. Master Windu does not approve of some of my friends, so I think I am a little too quick to take offense. Can we not start afresh? I am so happy to have you home; please let's not argue."

"Anything my Padawan wishes." Qui-Gon grinned as he reached out and mussed Obi-Wan's short hair. He opened his arms and his apprentice stepped eagerly into his embrace, sighing with contentment. For a few moments they stood there, comfortable in each other's closeness. Then Qui-Gon's nose curled slightly as he detected an unexpected scent, one long since experienced but hardly to be forgotten. His Padawan smelled unmistakably of sex.

Quickly he withdrew from Obi-Wan's embrace, ignoring the puzzled look of hurt on his Padawan's face.

"I'll make some tea, Obi-Wan. You still have an hour of study time before you should be abed. I had a message from Master Lissujk saying how pleased she was with your progress. Well, I actually had messages from all your instructors saying the same thing, but you wouldn't want to disappoint her tomorrow, would you? You get settled and I'll bring you some tea."

Qui-Gon was aware he was babbling, but he didn't care as he fled to the small kitchen. Right now he just wanted to put any distance he could between himself and that gods be-damned smell his Padawan carried; definitely the scent of another male. Another male who was enjoying the favours of his loving and innocent Padawan. No. Not so innocent anymore, he reminded himself. Sighing, Qui-Gon turned up the heat under the kettle. It looked like times were going to get a lot more complicated in the near future.

So the weeks stretched into months into years. Their relationship as Master and Padawan was all Qui-Gon had ever hoped it would be. Obi-Wan matured and developed into a brilliant young man, strong in the Force. Applying himself equally to his physical training and his academics, Obi-Wan grew to be a fierce warrior, a shrewd and intelligent diplomat, and a loyal and caring friend. Qui-Gon could think of no one else he would rather have at his side, either on a mission or in the quiet solitude of their shared quarters.

If he disapproved of Obi-Wan's private life, he squashed those thoughts; the last thing he would ever want to do was let his Padawan think he found him lacking in any way. For Obi-Wan's lifestyle had not changed over the years. Oh, he never allowed his private life to conflict with his determination to be an exemplary Padawan. Curfews were always met, classes were never missed, training session were never compromised. But even though he never spoke of it, the uneasiness lingered in Qui-Gon's soul.

Obi-Wan's relationship with the senior Padawan Jert only lasted a couple of weeks after Qui-Gon returned from that unpleasant string of missions. He refrained from commenting on it. Within a couple of days Obi-Wan had struck up a friendship with a young, recently knighted Twilek who was new to Coruscant, arriving as a Senator's aide from a distant outer Rim planet. The association lasted only a month. After that, with Obi-Wan's classes successfully behind him, they were sent on a series of missions that kept them away from Coruscant for nearly a year.

It was during this lengthy time off planet that Qui-Gon began to notice Obi-Wan was now widening his circle of conquests to include partners on the worlds they visited, something he had never done before. The daughter of the king of Astur, the younger brother of the governor of Cassar IV, and most eye-opening of all, the offspring of the Supreme Being of Min'tol Minor - both sets of twins. All the relationships were brief, none interfered with their missions, and there were no recriminations or angry scenes when it came time for Master and Padawan to depart.

When they returned again to Coruscant Obi-Wan picked up right where he left off, beginning a relationship with an older and very handsome knight just arrived at the Temple from a long undercover mission on Corellia. This affair Qui-Gon followed with great, albeit covert interest, for the romance lasted almost two months, the longest ever by several weeks. Eventually, however, it went the way of all of Obi-Wan's relationships. Qui-Gon watched his Padawan carefully for any signs of depression or sadness, but as usual there were none.

Oddly enough, none of his Padawan's affairs seemed to end in hurt feelings or angry allegations. His partners appeared to accept his decision to end things (for Qui-Gon was certain it was always Obi-Wan who chose to finish a romance), and if he crossed paths with a previous lover at any time, they were invariably courteous, if not friendly towards each other.

Odd, too, was the fact that Obi-Wan never sought to ask for living quarters of his own, even after he passed his nineteenth Nameday. That was the age when many of the senior Padawans spread their wings, choosing to leave the sanctuary of their Masters' quarters and make their own space in the Temple. Qui-Gon had dreaded the day with a stomach-churning fear he couldn't even explain to himself. When the day came and went with no sign of his Padawan considering a move, Qui-Gon gathered his courage and asked if perhaps Obi-Wan didn't realize he was now entitled to an apartment of his own? His Padawan had looked up from his philosophy text, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I like it here," he had offered. No more was ever said on the subject.

So things progressed. Together they made one of the most efficient and respected teams in the Temple, and their quiet friendship was the envy of many. It might have continued thus until Obi-Wan's trials and knighting, if not for that one morning not long after his twentieth Nameday.

Qui-Gon sat back from the breakfast table and relaxed, his long legs stretched comfortably out before him and his second cup of spice tea in his hands. Gods, but he loved these rare occasions when he had absolutely nothing on his agenda for the rest of the day. Maybe answering a few letters in the morning, sparring with Obi-Wan in the afternoon, and a favourite novel or even a holovid before going to bed.

They were at the end of another semester where Obi-Wan had been rotated to the Temple to take more courses. This time Qui-Gon had been grounded as well, assigned to teaching several courses - advanced diplomacy, comparative philosophies, and his favourite, Delvian poetry. He had finished the last of his lectures yesterday, now only the final course exams needed to be written.

Taking a sip of his spice tea, Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawan who sat curled up on their well-worn sofa, advanced astrophysics datapad balanced in his lap. Obi-Wan wrote the final exam during the last class period before noon meal, and he wasn't going to miss a minute of study time.

It was moments like these that Qui-Gon held close, quiet moments when he could observe his Padawan to his heart's content. Obi-Wan's hair was still a little damp from his shower, the braid lying dark against his bare chest. He wore only his oldest, thinnest pair of training pants, so worn there were holes in both knees. Beside him on the sofa was a plate containing a half slice of toasted nerris bread, the other half slice was held forgotten in his right hand, one bite taken from the centre. The fingers of Obi-Wan's left hand idly stroked his bare toes. Shifting slightly, he scrolled his text, then picked up the end of his braid in his left hand. His brows furrowed. Intent on the datapad, he unconsciously tapped the unbound end of his braid against his chin. Sighing heavily, he scrolled once more, then drew the feathery hair back and forth over his lips.

The sun rose higher, streaming through the common room window and flooding his Padawan in a warm, golden glow. Qui-Gon swallowed hard, his mug of spice tea clutched forgotten in his hands. Gods, but his Padawan was lovely!

For the first time Qui-Gon allowed long hidden feelings of desire to surface, the tendrils of pleasure creeping up to fill his heart. He watched Obi-Wan's long fingers play with his braid and wished it was his own hair his Padawan was fondling. He itched to touch the smooth back and muscular arms, to run his hands over his Padawan's chest and flat belly. He pictured the lean thighs and curve of buttock under the worn sleep pants, and his arousal grew unchecked.

Obi-Wan chose that exact moment to look up. His green eyes widened and the astrophysics question slowly died on his lips.

Qui-Gon sat there transfixed as Obi-Wan's expression changed from innocent confusion through quiet understanding to expectant anticipation. Without taking his eyes from his Master he placed the nerris bread on the plate and slid the datapad from his lap to the sofa. He didn't just stand up, he uncoiled. His sleep pants dangling precariously from one hip, he slowly closed the distance between the sofa and the dining table.

Qui-Gon swallowed again, the feral look in his Padawan's smouldering green eyes keeping him rooted to the spot. When he remembered to breathe, he pulled the air into his lungs with a ragged gasp. As Obi-Wan drew closer his gaze was drawn upwards, for he found he was powerless to look away from the knowing stare. Then Obi-Wan was standing directly in front of him, separated only by what either of them might desire.

"Master, you look a little disconcerted." Knowing eyes slowly traced a path down his chest to rest in his lap. Qui-Gon cursed silently, as under Obi-Wan's calm scrutiny his traitorous flesh gave another quiver of betrayal. He saw the corner of his Padawan's mouth twitch. "Perhaps I can help you with that, Master."

Even as he raised his eyes to bore once more into Qui-Gon's, Obi-Wan was dropping to his knees in one graceful motion. His hands reached out and rested possessively on his Master's thighs as he manoeuvered between Qui-Gon's open legs. Qui-Gon felt his heart rate elevate as Obi-Wan inched closer. Gods, but his Padawan smelled so warm!

Obi-Wan was smiling impudently now, and Qui-Gon could not look away from that gaze even as he was aware of his Padawan's hands running lightly up the inside of both thighs. He felt his tunic being moved aside, and nimble fingers unlacing his leggings. Warm, gentle hands slipped inside the fabric and cradled him almost reverently, stroking delicately with skillful fingertips. Qui-Gon shuddered at the touch. It had been so long since he had allowed sexual familiarity of any kind, and to have his cherished Obi-Wan caressing him so intimately rendered him speechless.

Eye contact was broken as Obi-Wan lowered his gaze and leaned down, allowing his tongue to barely touch the tip of his Master's erection. Qui-Gon gasped at the jolt of pleasure assaulting his nerve endings, and his hands leapt forward of their own accord to rest lightly on either side of his Padawan's face. Obi-Wan ignored him, choosing instead to rain little kisses down one side of the long shaft, then gently nibble his way back up to the quivering tip. He swiped his tongue languidly several times around the head, and Qui-Gon moaned and closed his eyes in bliss. With no more preliminaries Obi-Wan slowly swallowed his Master completely.

Qui-Gon cried out and attempted to thrust his lower body forward out of the chair in an uncontrolled reaction. Obi-Wan was clearly ready for the response as he gripped his Master's hips tightly, holding him in place and controlling his movement. Qui-Gon let his head roll back, every muscle in his straining body pleading for release. Obi-Wan seemed not to hear but instead set his own pace, alternately releasing his Master's erection until he only held the tip in his mouth, then applying gentle suction as he slowly swallowed again.

Qui-Gon tightened his hold on Obi-Wan's head, fruitlessly trying to get a grip in his Padawan's short hair. He couldn't control his desperate attempts to thrust against Obi-Wan's restraining hands any more than he could stop his whimpered, "Please, please, please--"

After a few minutes of pure torture Obi-Wan slackened his hold slightly, permitting Qui-Gon at least the illusion of movement. He shook his head from side to side as the pleasure mounted, his long hair flailing as it hung over the back of the chair. At last he felt the tell-tale tightening of his testicles, and he tried to grunt his Padawan a warning, a harsh, "Obi, please, I can't--," but the words were barely a whisper, and then Obi-Wan was increasing the pressure until the Master simply exploded in his Padawan's throat.

The first thing penetrating Qui-Gon's awareness, once his brain cells began to function again, was that he still held his Padawan's head firmly in his large hands. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Obi-Wan letting his now flaccid member slip from his lips. Green eyes filled with amusement raised to gaze at him. Qui-Gon hesitantly released his grip on Obi-Wan's hair, balling his hands into fists in his lap to stop them from trembling.

"Good." Obi-Wan slowly smiled, a cheeky smile as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. His hands lay warm on Qui-Gon's thighs. He made no effort to move, and for the first time in his life Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master, winner of a thousand battles, accomplished diplomat and supreme negotiator, couldn't think of a single word to say in response.

Pushing only slightly against his Master's thigh's Obi-Wan rose in a single fluid effort. Qui-Gon felt a flush of embarrassed warmth in his face. He was acutely aware of the picture he must be presenting, with his hair in wild disarray, his tunic rumpled and his damned cock still hanging out for the world to see. He lowered his gaze from his Padawan and awkwardly reached for his sex to thrust it back inside his breeches, but his hand was stayed as Obi-Wan gently covered it with his own. Callused fingers caressed the back of his hand before entwining with his own and tugging lightly.

Qui-Gon looked up once more to see open encouragement in his Padawan's eyes; smiling, Obi-Wan pulled on his hand a little more firmly. Taking a deep breath and releasing all his embarrassment and fear into the Force, Qui-Gon allowed himself to be drawn to his feet.

Obi-Wan's smile widened as he unerringly backed across the common room floor, pulling Qui-Gon with him. Without looking he guided them effortlessly about the furnishings, snagging his utility belt from the back of a chair with his other hand. Qui-Gon slowed his steps as he saw where his Padawan was leading him, but Obi-Wan would have none of it. One glance down at the evident bulge tenting the front of his Padawan's sleep pants and Qui-Gon knew where this scenario was leading. He felt a quick flutter of fear in his stomach, yet he allowed Obi-Wan to guide him inexorably through the doorway to his bedroom. Once there Obi-Wan turned him slightly, then gently but insistently pushed him backwards until his lower thighs touched the edge of his bed. Another push and Qui-Gon sat, Obi-Wan still holding his hand.

"Obi-Wan, I--" Speech was silenced as his Padawan pressed the fingers of his other hand to his lips.

"Shushh, Master. No words. Just let me touch. Please."

Trying desperately to refrain from licking the fingers that lay against his lips, Qui-Gon simply looked into his Padawan's stormy green eyes and nodded. Obi-Wan smiled, a smile that promised much.

Qui-Gon trembled a little as Obi-Wan leaned down and replaced his fingers with his own lips. A first touch, ever so tentative, just a faint brushing more than a coming together. When Obi-Wan began to withdraw after no more Qui-Gon surprised himself by following, reluctant to give up that tantalizing first meeting. Obliging, Obi-Wan returned the pressure, then turned a little so the contact was greater. With Obi-Wan's lips soft and moist and mobile under his own, Qui-Gon felt his arousal surging once more. When those lips parted slightly in silent invitation Qui-Gon accepted with only the slightest hesitation. Slipping his tongue into his Padawan's warm mouth, he could not suppress a soft moan when Obi-Wan greeted him by capturing and then sucking on it very gently.

When they finally parted, Qui-Gon was too dazed to object as Obi-Wan reached for the sash at his waist, deftly unfastening and unwinding the material. He laid it at the foot of the bed, then slipped his hands inside the loosened tunics, placing his palms on his Master's chest. Qui-Gon shivered in spite of the warmth in those hands, but he did not object when Obi-Wan ran them lightly upwards, pushing his tunics from his shoulders. Leaning down, Obi-Wan pressed his lips to the point of one shoulder. Soft kisses followed, dotted all the way up to the join of neck and shoulder, and beyond to the tender skin just below his ear. He was aware his breathing was loud and rapid in the quiet room, a match to the thudding gallop of his heart.

Leaving his neck with a quick nip to the throat, Obi-Wan glided kisses over his collarbones, slowly trailing further down his chest. Moving to the left his Padawan captured a nipple delicately with his teeth, alternating between tiny, barely-there bites and soothing licks. Qui-Gon began to shiver, and when Obi-Wan grasped his shoulders and pushed he fell back to the bed without protest, his tunics spread wide on either side. Looking up, he shivered once more at the hooded, primal hunger in his Padawan's eyes.

Obi-Wan went to his knees. Qui-Gon heard the clasps of his boots opening, felt them being pulled off, followed by his socks. Standing again and looming over him, Obi-Wan reached for the waistband of his leggings. Qui-Gon hesitated only a moment, then lifted his hips so Obi-Wan could pull them down unimpeded. He closed his eyes against the rush of excitement as he was laid bare to his Padawan's sight.

"Master." Qui-Gon opened his eyes at the sound of the husky whisper and lay transfixed as Obi-Wan stood before him, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his sleep pants. As he watched, his Padawan slowly drew the pants down, exposing his engorged sex. The pants slipped to the floor and Obi-Wan stepped out of them, then raised one leg to rest on the bed, the warm flesh of his inner thigh brushing lightly against his Master's hip. The touch sparked shivers of pleasure, finally galvanizing Qui-Gon into movement. He reached out, wrapping long arms about Obi-Wan, pulling his Padawan down until the younger man straddled him on his knees and elbows.

Now the spell was broken Qui-Gon couldn't keep his hands still. They roved over Obi-Wan's back, his shoulders, his hips; all of a sudden the Master had to touch his Padawan everywhere at once. Warm, naked skin sang so sweetly under his big hands.

With a smile Obi-Wan eased onto his right side and tugged his Master with him. Side by side they pulled each other close, Qui-Gon slipping an arm under his Padawan. With both of his large, calloused hands clasped to the firm muscles of Obi-Wan's buttocks, he pulled the smaller man against his groin. Obi-Wan assisted by throwing his left leg over his Master's hip. When the heat of their erections slid together both men groaned and shuddered.

Kisses. Now Qui-Gon wanted kisses. Holding Obi-Wan close with one hand still tight on his firm ass, Qui-Gon slipped the fingers of his other hand through the soft hair on the back of Obi-Wan's head and gently pulled his Padawan's mouth against his own. Obi-Wan murmured his delight before boldly thrusting his tongue between his Master's lips. With a sigh of pleasure Qui-Gon welcomed the thorough exploration of his mouth before sucking suggestively on the warm invader. Obi-Wan's hips were now pushing against him in a lazy rhythm, and Qui-Gon could feel his Padawan's erection rubbing his belly, spreading the damp of pre-ejaculate in small circles. His excitement escalating rapidly, Qui-Gon covered his Padawan's face in quick kisses, his forehead, his chin, his cheek and the sensitive point of his jaw.

Obi-Wan returned the kisses for several long minutes, then placed his hands against his Master's shoulders and firmly pressed him onto his back. Qui-Gon growled his annoyance before looking at his Padawan in puzzled frustration. Obi-Wan did not reply but instead reached for the two large pillows at the head of the bed. He placed them one atop the other in the centre of the bed and looked at his Master expectantly.

There was no mistaking Obi-Wan's intent, and for the first time Qui-Gon experienced a flicker of panic. Not so much the fear of pain, for although it had been a very long time he trusted his Padawan implicitly, knowing Obi-Wan would never hurt him. But to lie so openly exposed seemed almost to be inviting intrusion into his soul as well as his body, and Qui-Gon wasn't certain he could handle that.

Obi-Wan sat beside him placidly, yet though the soft look in his green eyes was undemanding, Qui-Gon knew if he walked away from this moment the opportunity for such intimacy with his Padawan would never come again. It was enough to make up his mind. Without a word he got on his knees, then turned to lie lengthways on the bed, his belly cushioned by the two large pillows.

He sensed more than heard the faint sigh from his Padawan, and judged there was more than a little relief in it. Then Obi-Wan stroked one buttock with his fingertips and Qui-Gon simply ceased to think. A dip in the bed as Obi-Wan bent to the floor followed by the quiet snap as he opened his utility belt. Qui-Gon rested his cheek on his folded arms and faced away from his Padawan. He really didn't need to see this preparation.

But Obi-Wan surprised him. A quick movement and the younger man straddled his waist. Warm, smooth hands slippery with oil lay on his shoulders and began to move in circles, soothing and pleasant. They grasped and kneaded, massaging away the tension stored in tight shoulder muscles. Obi-Wan worked his way slowly down his Master's body, and Qui-Gon could not help but relax into his Padawan's gentle care. Yet still he was aware of Obi-Wan's erection, lying heavy and hot against the small of his back.

Eventually Obi-Wan knelt between his thighs, his hands caressing his Master's buttocks as though trying to calm a skittish animal. He nudged with one knee, encouraging Qui-Gon to part his legs wider. After a moment's hesitation he shifted his knees to accommodate his Padawan. Another handful of oil patiently warmed, and Obi-Wan ran one finger slowly down the crease of his Master's ass, probing gently.

Qui-Gon stiffened, then breathed in twice before centering himself. His arousal had disappeared during the message, but the feel of his Padawan slowing insinuating one finger into his body brought about an encouraging twitch. And Obi-Wan was thorough. Over and over he stroked with an oil slick finger until Qui-Gon found himself rocking gently with the motion. He barely felt the change when Obi-Wan replaced one finger with two, and he couldn't stop the moan of protest when his Padawan finally withdrew three from him. He wriggled his ass in hopeful invitation, but Obi-Wan knelt still behind him, his hands resting lightly on the firm buttocks.

"Master, I'm going to take you now."

Qui-Gon trembled, and the quiet implacability in his Padawan's voice prompted an overwhelming surge of arousal. Not trusting himself to speak he simply nodded. In response Obi-Wan took a firmer grip on his ass, pressing thumbs gently into the flesh to widen and ease his passage. Qui-Gon willed himself to relax, to accept the intrusion, and as Obi-Wan began the long, slow glide into his body the older man could not stifle a groan. Obi-Wan stopped immediately, starting to withdraw, and Qui-Gon could sense the concern leaking through his Padawan's shields.

"No. Please don't stop. I want this--want you."

For a moment there was silence. A long pause, then slowly Obi-Wan continued the invasion of his Master's body, this time not pausing until Qui-Gon felt the warmth of his Padawan's belly against the cheeks of his ass. They stayed that way, motionless for many heartbeats, until Qui-Gon eased forward, gliding on the younger man's rigid length, then pushing back to take him within once more. He heard Obi-Wan sigh once, then take a firmer grip as he began the slow steady rhythm that would drive them both to the culmination of their pleasure.

As Obi-Wan's rhythm increased in tempo he changed the angle of his thrust, and Qui-Gon gasped as the heat flared inside. He scrabbled frantically to grip the bedsheets. Again and again Obi-Wan drove into him, pushing him forward, and he thrust against the sheets in a desperate desire to increase the friction against his own erection. Then Obi-Wan's hand was fumbling beneath him, seeking and finding his hard length. Wimpering in relief, Qui-Gon arched his back and lunged into that coaxing, knowing grip. Higher and higher the pleasure spiraled until, with a wail of unfettered passion, Qui-Gon spurted his release into his Padawan's waiting hand. Scant seconds later he felt the short, rapid strokes within that signaled Obi-Wan's own climax. Utterly drained, the Master slowly collapsed onto the sweat-soaked sheets, oblivious to the weight covering his broad back.

Qui-Gon blinked, drowsily moving his head. He reached out for warmth, but the space beside him was empty. Puzzled, he raised himself on one elbow. His Padawan popped into view as he surfaced at the foot of the bed.

"Sorry Master, can't stop. Got my astrophysics final in fifteen minutes." Obi-Wan flashed him an apologetic smile as he disappeared from sight once more, and Qui-Gon heard him fastening his other boot. The disembodied voice rose from the level of the floor. "I forgot to tell you, I'll have to forego our sparring this afternoon as well. Garen thinks he's coming down with the Delvian 'flu, and I promised I'd take his sabre class with the 12 year-olds."

Obi-Wan strode fully dressed to the door, then paused with one hand on the doorframe. "Oh, I also will probably be quite late tonight. I'm meeting a few friends for supper and drinks to celebrate the end of term. I really can't say what time I'll be back as the Force only knows where we'll end up. I just-- well, please don't wait up for me."

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip, and Qui-Gon was aware of his Padawan's gaze slowly raking him up and down as he lay sprawled and disheveled on the bed. Then Obi-Wan was gone.

It was long after the time for noonmeal before Qui-Gon rose from his bed. He made his way sluggishly to the 'fresher, standing for almost half an hour under water as scalding as his flesh would bear. It did nothing to penetrate the feeling of numbness that was creeping through his bones. Now he had time to reflect on the morning's happenings, he had to admit to himself that the overwhelming emotion he felt in his heart was confusion. Finally the spray that pummeled him began to cool.

Reluctantly he left the 'fresher, wrapped only in a towel and dripping water all the way back to his bedroom. He didn't remember putting his clothes back on. It was a task done many thousands of times; he had no need to think about it.

He sat before the small mirror on his dresser top, studying his own features as he slowly worked the knots from his long hair. Not a particularly appealing face, and certainly never one to be thought handsome. His forehead too high and sloping, his upper lip too narrow and his nose-- well, the least said about his nose the better. If he had one redeeming feature it might be his eyes. The wife of the ruler of Santas Prime had once told him that if the summer night on their planet could weep, its tears would be exactly the colour of his eyes. Of course Her Majesty had already consumed four flagons of Corellian brandy at that point in the evening, so Qui-Gon had excused her declaration as fanciful twaddle. So what was it that Obi-Wan had seen in him?

The answer was not likely to be found in the mirror, so as he had done so often before when confronted with impossible questions, Qui-Gon rose and went to the kitchen to make tea. Twenty minutes later, as he sat at the table slowly eating fried wheatcakes with stewed miliberries and sipping his tea, he felt no closer to any answers.

His Padawan had fucked him. Of that much he was certain. To be sure, the entire incident had such a surreal aspect that he supposed he might have imagined it all, until he shifted his weight on the hard kitchen chair. Then, he admitted ruefully, the lingering soreness in his ass left no doubt to the reality; he had been well and truly fucked.

Qui-Gon smiled, a little twitch of his upper lip that he simply could not contain. Oh, the times that he had thought long and hard about what sex would be like with his Padawan! It had been difficult not to let his mind linger over such imaginings. Obi-Wan had developed into such a beautiful and gracious young man, who could not think thus? But in his wildest dreams Qui-Gon could have never prepared himself for the heart-shattering actuality that coupling with his Padawan had been. In no fantasy had his Obi-Wan ever taken control, and he certainly had never envisaged himself meekly kneeling in acceptance as his Padawan mounted and then rode him to one of the most mind-bending orgasms his body had ever experienced. Just the memory was enough to stimulate his flesh to rear its head once more in hopeful anticipation.

Laughing at his own foolishness, Qui-Gon shook off the mood and rose from the chair. He was long past the age of indulging in such foolish flights of fancy, and it was about time he regained his Masterly serenity and accomplished something this day.

Sitting at his work desk, he scrolled though the usual endless list of messages that required his attention. As he buried himself in his correspondence, he found he could push the memories of the morning's passion into a distant compartment of his mind and firmly lock them away.

Of course, they came rushing back to the surface as soon as his mind was no longer challenged with problems to solve. As he sauteed diced mangra tubers for his supper he could picture Obi-Wan's smile and smouldering green eyes in the frying pan. While he sat playing with his food at the table he took pleasure in shifting his weight in the chair. If he concentrated hard enough he could recollect every nuance of his Padawan's slow penetration. And as he sat on the sofa late into the evening trying to immerse himself in his novel, the cursive script slowly morphed into little naked Obi-Wan's dancing across the page.

Finally giving up on ever making sense of the convoluted plot, Qui-Gon shut the book with an audible snap and tossed it to the other end of the sofa. Try as he would to ignore it, a tiny little anxiety was beginning to niggle at his thoughts. What if the entire encounter had meant nothing at all to his Padawan?

Qui-Gon checked the chronometer on the wall for the tenth time in half an hour. It was now past Obi-Wan's curfew by fifteen minutes. Obi-Wan was never late. Although he had warned he would likely be late this evening. But who was he spending his time with tonight? Just last week he had seen his Padawan in the dining hall with Jert, recently knighted and back in Temple after the successful completion of his first mission. Surely that relationship was long since past!

As he made ready to retire for the evening, Qui-Gon found it impossible to blunt the barb of jealousy that was working its way into his heart. Reason told him it was ridiculous. Obi-Wan was a warm and loving young man who would not think of abusing the relationship they enjoyed. Yet it was there in the back of his mind, that insidious little voice that kept telling him he was nothing but another score added to his Padawan's impressive list of conquests.

And what if he was? What if Obi-Wan simply viewed him as another triumph in his bed? It wouldn't change their relationship in any way, not as Master and Padawan. After all, he had no claim on his apprentice beyond the responsibility of training him to be the best Jedi he could be. And Obi-Wan would never be anything but the dutiful, perfect Padawan by the cold light of day. All his reason told him that. But reason could never brush aside the realization that if it were so, if Obi-Wan simply viewed him as another sexual prize, then he was going to be very, very hurt.

Sighing heavily, Qui-Gon knelt on the soft rush mat positioned in front of his bedroom window. The endless stream of life on Coruscant flowed outside, but it rapidly faded for the Jedi Master as he sank into his meditations. Much later, with at least a veneer of his serene composure regained, he rose and climbed thankfully between the cool sheets, falling quickly into restless slumber.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon awoke, all his senses instantly alert. His mind knew at once there was no danger, only the familiar presence of his Padawan with him in the room. He heard the rustle of sheets and felt the dip as another weight settled beside him. All his nerves began dancing at once as he realized his Obi-Wan had joined him in his bed. He thought his heart would forget to beat when his Padawan curled up against him, completely naked and very, very warm.

"I didn't mean to wake you, Master." The soft, husky whisper sent little sparks of desire zinging up his spine. "We all wound up at The Galaxy Grid. Bant drank far too much and decided that Imarian zuupi fish were distant kin and should never be consumed. She nearly caused a riot when she decided to free the entire holding tank of them they keep on the mezzanine floor. It took us a couple of hours to persuade Coruscant security not to lock us up for the night. Doubtless the Council will be calling you about it tomorrow. I'm really sorry, Master."

Qui-Gon barely registered what his Padawan was saying. All he knew was that his Obi-Wan was back in his bed, warm in his arms. He buried his face in his Padawan's spiky hair and inhaled deeply. He could smell the smoke of a half dozen different stimulants combined with the rich aroma of expensive alcohol. More important, however, was the scent that wasn't there. Try as he might, Qui-Gon could not detect the distinctive smell of sex. His heart soared.

Obi-Wan giggled and squirmed in his arms. Once they were lying side by side he thrust forward with his hips, and Qui-Gon felt the tip of his Padawan's erection tapping inquisitively against his belly. Reaching between them he trapped the rigid length in one of his big hands, gently rubbing a calloused thumb over the head. He smiled. So very hard yet silky soft-- truly a wondrous paradox. Obi-Wan wriggled in delight.

"Ooooh, Master. I have this serious problem, but I see you've already got it well in hand." When his Master didn't reply but continued to caress the head, spreading the gathering fluid, Obi-Wan moaned his pleasure. "Master-- pleeeease."

As much as he was enjoying listening to his apprentice plead, Qui-Gon was too anxious for more to wait any longer. Keeping a firm hand on Obi-Wan's erection, he slipped under the covers and settled at his Padawan's groin. The musky aroma of the younger man's arousal was sharper here, intensified by the cocooning blankets. It was Obi-Wan's distinctive scent, and Qui-Gon committed it forever to memory. Shifting his grip, he licked the moist head of the shaft firmly. The faintly bitter tang exploded on his tongue; Obi-Wan's taste now catalogued and never to be forgotten. With a soft sigh, Qui-Gon began to gently nibble, lick and suck his Padawan.

Qui-Gon knew that, compared to Obi-Wan, his skill at giving pleasure this way was minimal. In spite of his superior age his Padawan had more sexual experience, and for once the Master felt clumsy in his attempts to please.

His lack didn't seem to be bothering Obi-Wan much, Qui-Gon mused, as his Padawan wriggled and whimpered under his ministrations, lacing his fingers in his Master's long hair and bucking his hips with impatience. Qui-Gon ignored the impatience. His Padawan was, after all, a feast to be consumed slowly with relish, not gulped in greedy abandon.

"Master, please. No more." Qui-Gon hesitated, aware that Obi-Wan's pleas had changed in tone and the long fingers in his hair were tugging him away instead of offering encouragement. Reluctantly he released the now quivering erection, unable to resist a last, languid lick about the head before he surfaced from under the blankets.

Obi-Wan was panting softly, and as Qui-Gon nuzzled his Padawan's cheek before slipping in for a sweet kiss, the younger man placed his hands on his Master's shoulders and pushed him gently face down on the bed. His left hand rested on the small of his Master's back, the unvoiced question loud in the silent room.

Qui-Gon drew a quick breath, but he didn't have to debate the answer very long. Slowly he raised his upper body, then drew his knees underneath him. He felt so very vulnerable, but the excitement was coursing through his veins already in anticipation.

In the faint moonlight filtering through the window blind, he watched Obi-Wan reach for the bottle of oil that still sat on his night table. Moments later his Padawan was touching him once more so intimately and he growled his encouragement. From nervous novice to eager slut in less than a day he thought ruefully, then Obi-Wan was entering him, joining them together, and he had no more use for thoughts.

After, in the stillness that followed, Qui-Gon lay on his back with his Obi-Wan cuddled close in the shelter of his arm, one of his Padawan's hands resting lightly on his belly. Obi-Wan was snoring softly, and the steady rhythmic breathing eventually lulled the Jedi Master to sleep.

And so it began, the ultimate partnership that Qui-Gon had long fantasized about. He was enjoying a physical relationship with his Padawan. But as the days stretched into weeks and his pleasure in their joining grew, so did his fears. He couldn't stop them; they were insidious, creeping in like groundwater through the cracks in a foundation.

Outwardly Qui-Gon remained the ultimate Jedi Master; so serene and self contained that he seemed impervious to disturbance or agitation. Inside he was a turmoil of knotted anxiety that threatened his sanity at times. In the forefront of his concerns was the question, "How long?" How long before his Padawan grew tired of him and found someone new, someone younger, more handsome or more exciting?

After a month of keeping his dread caged inside, he voiced his fears to his two closest friends over a quiet drink and a game of sabbacc one evening. Both Adi Gallia and Mace Windu had simply stared at him as he haltingly confessed his relationship with and feelings for his Padawan.

Adi had recovered her composure first, gazing at him with lovely eyes that reflected great compassion. She had laid her long fingers over his as she murmured hesitantly, "Isn't he just a little young for you, Qui-Gon?"

Mace, on the other hand, had simply snorted dismissively, "You damned fool Jinn, you're far too old for the boy!" In retrospect Qui-Gon wasn't sure which reaction had been the more hurtful.

In reality, it was an odd sort of relationship. By day they were the perfect Master and Padawan. Whether they were on missions or at home in the Temple they stuck to a strict training regimen coupled with an intensification of Obi-Wan's studies. Qui-Gon would have no one accuse him of neglecting his duties as a Master.

They were no more or less familiar with each other than they had been before, with Obi-Wan making no effort to take advantage of their heightened relationship. His Padawan still spent the same amount of time with his friends, eating meals with them, meeting in groups for study sessions, and frequenting his regular haunts in the evening for drinks and dancing.

Only at night did the pretension peel away. Once they slipped between the sheets, Qui-Gon would reach tentatively for his Padawan, and as soon as Obi-Wan touched him in eager response the wave of relief that would flood his heart threatened to drown him. But he hid his reactions behind powerful shields and found joy in his Padawan's pleasure, telling himself again and again that it was enough.

The first time cracks began to appear in the veneer of Qui-Gon's serenity occurred as they were about to pass the two-month anniversary of their initial time together as lovers. During the preceding week, Qui-Gon's inner fears were multiplying like Zaraxian wood mice. Two months was the longest time Obi-Wan had ever devoted to a former lover, and as the day approached Qui-Gon began looking forward to it as a man might his execution.

That afternoon he and his Padawan spent two hours in a training salle intent on working their way though an upper level kata. Obi-Wan was having persistent problems with both timing and balance. With infinite patience Qui-Gon went through each individual move with him, correcting and placing his Padawan's limbs until he was satisfied, then slowly repeating the movements from the beginning. By the time they were content with the result, they were both aching from exertion and wet with sweat.

"Well done, Obi-Wan. Another couple of hours on the opening and closing sections and you'll have it down to perfection. I'm very proud of you." Qui-Gon placed an arm across his Padawan's bare shoulders and hugged him tightly, opening the bond enough to let his pleasure in his achievement flow to his apprentice.

"It's a good thing then that I finally understood what I was doing wrong in the fifth movement. Any more practice today and the maintenance droids would have had to sweep me up in little puddles when they cleaned tonight." Obi-Wan slipped his arm about his Master's waist, looking up at the bigger man with a delighted smile on his face, flushed from the older man's unexpected praise. His unabashed joy and the heat radiating from his half-naked body touched a chord in his Master.

Keeping his arm about his Padawan's back, Qui-Gon slipped his other arm around Obi-Wan's slim waist, pulling the young man firmly against his own overheated body. As Obi-Wan gasped in surprise Qui-Gon took quick advantage, covering the parted lips with his own and sliding his tongue within. The speed of his arousal in response to the smell and touch of his Padawan's warm body astonished him.

For long moments they both stood still, locked in that fierce embrace. Then a violent, Force-assisted shove sent Qui-Gon stumbling backwards. Only a swift touching of the Force kept the Master from falling on his behind in an undignified heap.

"Don't do that!"

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan in total confusion. The young man was standing still, his fists clenched rigidly at his sides. He looked frightened as much as angry.

"You said once that you would never compromise my training in any way. Please don't change anything now, Master." His voice was husky and he backed away from the bigger man a few more steps, then picked up a towel from a bench and fled towards the showers.

Qui-Gon remained rooted to the spot. His arousal vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. The sinking feeling that clutched his stomach with icy fingers made his legs tremble with the fierceness of its grip. He had ruined everything! The voice screamed in his head. He was the elder, the Master; it was his duty, his responsibility to see that his relationship with Obi-Wan didn't overstep any bounds of propriety. Gods, but Mace was right, he was a thrice-damned fool! Now it only remained to be seen if he could salvage his Padawan's affection.

With pounding heart Qui-Gon ventured into the changing room, seeking tentatively with the Force for his Padawan's presence. There was nothing. His own outer tunics lay folded neatly on the bench; there was no sign of his apprentice's gear. Obi-Wan must have exited the room without bothering to take a shower, leaving by the door that opened directly to the corridor. Crossing the changing room in three long strides, Qui-Gon checked the passageway outside, but there was no one at all in the corridor.

He sat heavily on the bench. Long, slow breaths slowed his racing heartbeat, and reason finally returned. It had simply been a brief weakness in his control, that was all. It meant nothing, would change nothing. And if he told himself that often enough he might come to believe it.

Eventually he had to move. The sweat had dried on his upper body and he was beginning to shiver in the cool air of the changing room. He also realized Master Kechown's class of junior padawans would soon be gathering for a sabre lesson. It would not do for the boisterous young teenagers to find him sitting solitary and half-naked, contemplating his own stupidity.

With a weary sigh he rose from the bench and entered the long row of showers. The hot water, usually a certainty to ease his mind as well as aching muscles, simply pounded his flesh today with no soothing touch whatsoever.

Ruefully he dried himself and then dressed, managing to present his usual serene expression to the world when the rambunctious group of teenagers poured into the changing room. The young padawans were startled into embarrassed politeness after they almost bowled him over. Bowing sedately, he passed through the door into the corridor, smiling slightly at the outbreak of nervous whispers and giggles as the door swung to behind him. His determination solidified. He would find Obi-Wan and beg his forgiveness.

That decision proved to be easier to do in thought than in action. His Padawan was not to be found in their rooms, and a thorough, surreptitious study of the dining hall over his evening meal failed to locate any sign of his apprentice. Qui-Gon picked at the unappetizing fare only long enough to ascertain that Obi-Wan was not in the vast hall, then he deposited his tray in the receptacle for returns. As he made his way to the exit he caught sight of a table full of his Padawan's close friends, and paused.

This was something he had sworn he would never do, yet tendrils of panic were beginning to settle in his stomach and he found he could no longer contain his anxiety. Schooling his features into his usual calm mask, he slowly approached the table of chattering padawans.

"Please excuse me for disturbing your meal, but I was wondering if any of you have seen my Padawan? I appear to have lost him." Qui-Gon forced himself to smile cheerfully, turning the request into a shared jest.

The chatter at the table subsided as the young people politely greeted the Master, but all denied knowledge of his Padawan's whereabouts. Only Bant looked decidedly uneasy. Qui-Gon swallowed his fears.

"Padawan Eerin, has Obi-Wan spoken to you?"

"Well--" Bant hesitated, so Qui-Gon smiled encouragingly at the young Calamarian until she continued. "He said something earlier today about having problems in his advanced topology course. Er--, Knight Larqa will be teaching a seminar in the subject next semester, and I think Obi-Wan was going to meet with him for last meal to get some help."

Qui-Gon felt the bottom of his heart drop into his stomach. Damn Jert for a Sith! Only years of practice enabled him to keep the calm expression on his face as he thanked Bant and left the dining hall. He forced himself to take normal steps until he was halfway home, then found he could contain his pain no longer and quickened his pace.

The familiarity of his rooms brought no cessation of the ache in his chest. He paced the floor restlessly, almost overwhelmed by raging feelings of anger and jealousy. Finally he stopped in the centre of the living area and rubbed his finger and thumb hard against the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the pain throbbing behind his eyes. This was getting him nowhere.

With a heavy sigh he turned towards his bedroom, sinking to his knees on the meditation mat at the foot of his bed. A dozen deep, slow breaths and his mind began to clear. He channeled his anger outward, releasing the dark emotion quickly into the Force. His jealousy was harder to liberate; clearly that dangerous emotion had a much more tenacious grip on his soul. Sinking deeper into his meditation, he desperately searched for an anchor, some secure support he could cling to for comfort.

There arose in his mind a memory of his Padawan as he had been earlier that morning, before their breakfast. While Qui-Gon had been busy preparing their first meal, Obi-Wan had been sitting on the sofa darning his Master's socks, laughingly teasing the older man for being the only Jedi in the Temple who required more socks per year than Master Ji'tikki, an arachnid species from the Minotan Cluster. The bright memory of his Padawan's laugh slowly pushed the dark emotions away, and soon Qui-Gon found himself easily slipping into a deeper, more restful meditation.

Continued in part 2