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Exiles

by Kass (kassxf@aol.com) & DBKate

Category: AU, Story, Angst

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: For all movies, including TPM, and the JA books.

Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em, we don't. Damn.

Feedback: We love to hear from you! Send to kassxf@aol.com

Summary: In an alternate universe, fifteen years after the events in The Phantom Menace, two Jedi live in hiding on the desert planet of Tatooine, awaiting a child's destiny. Will they survive to see a new hope come to fruition?

The sun rises like a flame on the horizon on Tatooine; too much like blood, spreading across the sky as day begins.

He's getting older; so, with the natural action of each passage of days, am I. We've been in hiding now for two years, here on the desert of Tatooine, and the dangers of the past sometimes seem like a fever dream, all delirium and no reality.

But they're all too real, the child being reared by my brother is Anakin's son.

He nearly died on Naboo, all those years ago, and his near passage from life left him warier of his own certainties; he was, nonetheless, right about Anakin.

We were blind to Palpatine, and all of this history is meaningless now, the Jedi order destroyed, the survivors scattered across the galaxy. To have him here with me is the only joy I know now; he looks far younger than his years, the only real sign of age the lines that grief and regret have etched around his eyes.

He looks up when I come in from fixing the irrigation, smiling at me as he slices vegetables for our dinner. I don't let him work outside when the heat is high; we came to an argument about it when we first arrived, but I pointed out that I was still the younger, and despite my own knighthood, still his padawan.

That was enough to make his anger dissolve into laughter; it was the first time we'd made love in what seemed forever, since the slaughter on Coruscant. Let no one say I never take advantage of him, I nearly knocked him down and stripped him naked on the floor, but he resisted until I had backed him into the bedroom.

It was a very satisfying afternoon, all told.

"Hedonist," he tells me, laughing a little, sensing the tenor of my thoughts. "Have mercy, I'm an old man."

"You'll never be an old man," I tell him and move to stand beside him at the sink, washing the sandy dirt from my hands and underneath my nails. He leaves the vegetables, finds a towel for me and leans in to kiss the back of my neck.

I'm past forty and his lips still have the power to stir me, I swear. I lean back into that kiss, lean back farther as he straightens, my head resting on his shoulder. The heat takes it out of me, I do admit, and I was born on a hotter world than he was; it does worse for him, which was the crux of our disagreement two years ago. "What's for supper?"

He chuckles and puts his arms around me. "The usual"

I let my head loll. "You?"

A nip to my ear lobe. "I am not on the menu." Severely.

"You're on mine," I retort, but straighten again and accept the towel again. "We need to go into Mos Eisley for more water tomorrow."

"Always a treat." He gently pinches my backside. "Go and rest, I'll bring you something cold to drink."

I turn to face him, lean up to kiss his mouth gently. "I am still your padawan."

His smile never fails to lift my heart. "Yes, but I get pleasure from indulging my willful padawan. Go, rest. Supper will be ready shortly."

I smile and shed my jallabeh, hang it up near the door; it's cool inside, the evaporation unit and the thick walls keep it so, and it's comfortable enough that after I've stretched out on the divan, I doze, the cool drink beside me on a small table.

I dream.

I dream of Anakin, led toward murder and treason; I dream of Qui-Gon's grief, of the final confrontation. Anakin would have killed Qui-Gon, but I fought and bested him, sending him into a pit of lava.

He survived, although he is greatly changed.

It seems fitting. He had been handsome and blond, Amidala's consort and father to her children; now he must hide his body and face. Just as we hid his wife until her time was come, until she bore two infants, one of which is toddling around the house across the ancient, cracked remains of what was once ocean.

The girl will be Amidala's heir, the Naboo government in exile.

We're all in exile.

"You should have let him kill me," Qui-Gon told me, that day more than two years past. "Better I had died."

I was cruel. "So that you didn't have to see what you had unleashed?" Brutally.

He went white, but it shook him free of the grief; it only added to mine, he thought that I blamed him, and understandably so. It took a long while before he accepted that I did not.

Let us place blame where it belongs. On Palpatine and Anakin; Anakin let Palpatine's poison drip into his ears, took it into his heart and soul. He had choices, and he made them.

Or place it on me; I felt a small resentment and a great deal of wariness for no little time after Qui-Gon began teaching him. Mostly wariness, the resentment passed once Qui and I formed our new relationship.

Once we became lovers and lifemates.

It's well past sunset when I wake, there on the divan; Qui-Gon is sitting in the dark, his eyes closed. Meditating? Perhaps. But even those his meditations are designed to allow him to release guilt and grief, he still radiates sadness; I rise soundlessly and move to kneel beside his chair, not touching him until his eyes open, until his mouth curves.

"You caught me." A hint of laughter under the sadness.

"I always do." Raising my hand, I cup his face. No beard these days, he goes clean-shaven, less recognizable as the Jedi who came and won a slave boy's freedom. At first, it was disconcerting, but I like it; he turns his head and kisses my palm gently. "I love you," I tell him softly. "Would I lie to you? You are not to blame."

A long level look. "Perhaps I am not. Perhaps we are not." Amending it. "But it is sorrowful nonetheless."

"I know," I say and lean up; he leans in to meet me, and our mouths meet. Slow, luxurious, and he feels so good, tastes so good. I shiver, thinking how nearly he was lost to me, both to Anakin's lightsaber and to his own resistance; I nearly had to take him prisoner to get him off Coruscant safely. "I love you, never doubt it. Never leave me." Still the needy boy who became padawan to the willful and brilliant young Qui-Gon Jinn, I take more kisses, take his very breath.

His hands tug me upward, to his knees, and never mind I am past forty, I am still smaller, I still fit on those knees and put my arms around his neck laughing.

"I don't intend to." Softly. "Your supper--"

"Will wait." My skin is alive, I'm throbbing against the thin fabric of my leggings, a pleasant friction that increases when his palm presses against me. "I want you inside of me."

His eyes are hot on my skin, he takes in a ragged breath. "It gives me pleasure to indulge you," he tells me hoarsely and nips at my throat, at the bare skin of my chest, takes a nipple between his teeth delicately, sending a jolt of fire down to my groin.

If we have to do it on the floor, I want him inside me. We don't make love as often, we're both older, more easily tired, the blood doesn't run as hot all the time. But when it does, oh, when it does_

Somehow, he divines my need, my desire, my thought, and still manages to surprise me; the small bottle of oil appears in his hand like stage magic, he chuckles low at my instant of surprise, somehow we end up on the divan, both of us naked, oil spilled here and there in spots, oil spread on my skin, on my shaft and between my buttocks, fingers penetrating me and driving me mad with slow, teasing pleasure.

His other hand strokes me, sometimes gently, sometimes firmly, but he draws it out until I am begging wordlessly, little plaintive sounds that escape my throat.

Then and only then does he claim me, as he claimed me on Naboo, when I angrily told him that I had achieved my knighthood and that I would go away and leave him to his new padawan, the Chosen. He was just up from the medi-unit, still pale from his near death, but my bitterness galvanized him, he took hold of me and claimed first my mouth and then my body with the same power that had already claimed my heart and soul.

My legs are over his shoulders, just as they were that day, he moves carefully, slowly, and I buck up against him, not wanting the care, wanting only to be claimed, just as I did that day.

Sinking in deeply, he leans over me, fingers gripping me. "Like this?" Huskily.

"Yes!" I cry out in triumph, arch up again and feel his lips graze the inside of one knee.

Outside, the desert heat is dissipating; it is comfortable here inside where we are, hidden away like the small creatures of the desert during the worst heat of the day; going out at night, but always watchful of predators. It is easy to forget that we must practice the skills of the desert mouse and the q'ihalla; we were once Jedi, now we are just who we are, alone except for one another.

And for the child who is doubtless asleep in his crib, some furlongs away.

But for the moment, I'm not thinking about that, I rise and fall on his thrusts, feeling the gathering pressure against the base of my spine, feeling the pleasure spiral upward to ecstasy until my capacity for thought, for maturity, for reason itself, is ripped away and all I can do is call out his name again and again and again.

As I begin to descend again, I feel his climax, feel the pleasure and the heat and the wash of flame along our link, welcome it hungrily. Then, while we both catch our breath, we lie on the divan, my legs slipping from his shoulders to lock around his ass; I'm drowsy, comfortable, and his head is on my shoulder, his shaft is softening inside me. "You aren't an old man as long as we can still do that."

A low rumble of laughter. "And you are still an imp as long as you can lure me, never mind neither of us is getting younger."

"What a dreary thought. I don't feel any older. Well, except in the winter." My knees ache when the north winds sweep down across the desert and batter our sturdy walls.

He leans up, propping his head on his hand, elbow digging into the cushions. "You know, neither do I. Except in the winter." Faintest of smiles visible in the dimness of the room. "You keep me young, love."

I'm still enough of the boy that I used to be that I'm warmed by that, even though it's not totally true. Waiting for Luke to grow up keeps us young; I hope it can keep us both alive.

It would be a poor existence without him.

"Do we still have enough water for a decadent bath?" His voice is almost a whisper.

I wish I could give him everything he desires, even peace of mind. This, however, I can give him. "Yes."

It may be one of the few gifts I can still offer.

The moon rises like a gem on Tatooine, healing the desert sky. Perhaps we will go out to view her in all her beauty once we have bathed.

Perhaps.

He thinks that I don't know when he's been looking.

Looking into the small chest in which our lightsabers lay side by side. Where the last data disc copy of The Code sits hidden among the various other keepsakes and debris left over from our flight from Coruscant nearly two years before. All the other copies, along with the entire contents of the Temple library were publicly burnt in the courtyard before the building itself was destroyed by the Emperor ... and by his apprentice.

The boy we once called Anakin.

I supposed we all should mourn its loss, but in my heart I know that no one mourns as much as Qui-Gon. How strange it seems that a Jedi Master who'd spent most of his life defying The Code and the Council now holds it so dear and precious within his memory and that I, an apprentice and knight who lived and breathed its every word for years untold, couldn't care less for it now. The irony isn't lost on me and it grieves me that he thinks he must hide his sadness, his mourning, for a way of life that appears to be lost forever.

I wonder if the loss of our rank bothers him as well. As Jedi we were used to a certain amount of inherent respect, tinged with a bit of fear, but that has disappeared along with our traditions. Of course, we are still Jedi, we will always be so, but we are still exiles as well. Banished from the center of the galaxy by forces we were unable to stop and as the war unfolded it became more than clear that the only way to save our way of life was to save ourselves.

Besides, there is a price on our heads now, up to a million Republican credits each and it would do us no good to advertise our true identities. Unless, as Qui-Gon once joked, one of us needed the money in a particularly urgent way. Luckily, Republican credits are worthless on Tatooine; the only currency that means anything here is water, machine parts and vice.

So away went the sabers, gone are the traditional tunics and out came the ordinary everyday dress of two journeymen, jacks of all trades ... part hermits, part handymen who do things here and there for a small fee. We have a garden in the back and I'll admit I use Force to help it along, joking darkly with Qui-Gon that I finally did end up in an AgriCorp of sorts. He didn't laugh but embraced me instead, knowing that my late admittance into the ranks of padawans was still a sore spot with me even after all these decades.

Decades. I'd never thought of my life in terms of decades before we arrived on Tatooine. But we are growing older my lifemate and I, and my only regret is that my beloved will not know the honor and comfort that is due to him for the later years of his life. He deserves to be seated on the Council at the right hand of Master Yoda, traveling in dignity through the crowded byways of Coruscant and relaxing in a stately room in the best part of the main Temple instead of withering away here in hiding as some criminal might, always looking over his shoulder, just in case.

While spending sad moments peering into a chest filled with hopes gone by.

He suddenly feels my presence and shuts the chest, his cheeks reddening. "I was ... looking for a tool I thought we might have carried with us from the old ship."

"I doubt you'll find it in there," I reply gently. "What is it you need, beloved?"

A quick shake of his head. "Nothing. It is nothing. So, what are our duties for today, love? I'm always at a bit of loss with prioritizing our work these days. Are we due any large tasks?"

I send a reassuring touch along our link and see him visibly relax. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. I've done most of the irrigation for the day, our water supply is holding up well and we seem to be a bit ahead in the food department. I dare say we could relax for the entire day and not be worse off for it."

For some reason this thought seems to disturb him. "Relax?" A sardonic grin slowly emerges. "I'm not sure I know what that word means."

I walk over and embrace him tightly, my arms entwining around his waist, my head resting comfortably against his broad chest. Closing my eyes, I take a moment simply to listen, marveling at his heartbeat; a song so beautiful and sweet I know I could never tire of it. "It means living in the moment, Master. Being mindful of the future, mindful of the past, but living in the present. And, at the present moment, we really have nothing to do."

"Master, eh?" A deep chuckle against my hair. "It seems that the student has become the teacher after all these years."

"It is only because he has learned from the very best, my love." I tighten my hold around his waist and hear him sigh, feeling wistfulness, that vague air of sadness, travel over our bond. "Think no more of it," I whisper. "If only for today."

A pause. "If only for today," he agrees. Sorrow replaced by determination.

Looking up, I beam at him. He is still very beautiful, at least in the eyes of this jaded knight. Those dark blue eyes that never fail to stir me, the clean-shaven cheeks I enjoy, but still have to get completely used to, and perfect lips that always seem to be begging me for a kiss. I could spend the rest of my life indulging them, and, at that moment, I do.

He returns the kiss gratefully; it is slow and sweet and I rejoice to feel nothing but peace along our bond.

At least for the moment.

Their stalking wakes us up for the third night in a row.

Tusken Raiders. Sandpeople. Vaguely humanoid nomads, the deadliest of all the desert dwellers on Tatooine. They are scavengers, killing for amusement as well as profit, indiscriminately. Particularly fond of hitting outer settlements and skirting homesteads, I believe we may have something to worry about as far as they're concerned.

Qui-Gon agrees with me and we rise, gathering our cloaks and carefully make our way outside, toward the back outcrop. I bring the macro-lenses, adjust them for nighttime viewing and scan the horizon.

The Raiders are wily creatures, quick to move, nervous and easy to provoke. Their weapons are crude, but highly effective ... old fashioned laser rifles and tarn-bows, which they sharpen to points on both ends. I can sense them around us, a kilometer, perhaps further, away but they are wary ... scurrying to and fro, hiding themselves well in the desert that they've called home for millennia.

Silently, Qui-Gon and I debate what to do. Together we would be an even match for a small tribe of them, but only with our sabers and only at the cost of drawing serious attention to ourselves. It doesn't help matters that the Raiders are a vengeful sort of creature and more would be sure to follow in the first batch's wake, starting a war that the two of us can ill afford.

"Any ideas, love?" Qui-Gon's question is calmly put, but I know he's as worried as I. The Raiders are growing bolder, stealthily moving toward our home one step and duck at a time. It's possible they've been planning this raid for a while or they are just testing our limits. Either way, this sort of activity is unacceptable.

"I'm thinking." Actually, the only thought passing through my mind is how damned inconvenient all this is and how I wish we'd stranded ourselves somewhere a -little- more civilized. But since those thoughts are pointless, I bite my lip and try for something more useful.

Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind to meditate and almost magically, the solution comes to me in an inspired rush. A tidbit of legend, combined with a bit of child play from my creche days conspires to give me a hopeful idea.

Handing the lenses to Qui-Gon, I move the furthest part of the outcropping. I can feel his eyes on my back, hear the silent question over our bond, but there is trust there as well. Slowly, I bring down my shields, clear my mind, take a huge breath and call the Force to my aid.

The howl that emanates from me is huge, hideous and completely effective.

Even Qui-Gon starts at the sound; a preternatural combination of lung power, Force and a K'yatak dragon call that my dear old creche mate Bant taught me so many years before. The Raiders leap up as one body, giving away their hidden positions and nearly dive from the cliff side in their panic. I don't know if they've met a similar creature in their travels through the uncharted wastes, but that doesn't matter. What does is that I've scared them almost out of their wrappings and they are running for their collective lives.

I don't think they'll be back any time soon.

"Excellent work, love. Inspired." Qui-Gon's admiring tone is genuine and sounds more than a little impressed.

I hate to admit it, but the compliment rather pleases me. Creativity was never my strong point, but with some luck, perhaps there is room for this old Bantha to learn new tricks.

If not, it's obvious that I'd better make some.

We make our way back into the house and retire, hopefully for the rest of the night. I feel Qui-Gon curl up behind me, his strong arms around my waist and the warmth envelopes me, taking the nighttime chill out of my bones better than any cloak or covering ever could.

Finally all is calm within and without this little world we now call home and I allow sleep to take me toward the dawn.

The next morning after breakfast, I pull two blasters out from the back room supply box and place them on the table. I'd acquired them during a particularly nasty stretch on Odoona Five where I'd lost one of my sabers after a long retreat. Never used them since, but as they were small, I kept them on hand and somehow they'd survived my many moves and travels.

Blasters are not a Jedi weapon by any means; most of the knights I knew had never touched one. There's really no need to, for a saber's deflective properties can compensate more than adequately against any sort of blaster fire, turning an enemy's weapon back onto itself at twice the speed and power. The Order had always considered them a low sort of weapon and using them, even in dire circumstances, was believed to be far beneath our dignity.

But in our current situation, I believe that some prejudices are ripe to be overcome.

I'm not sure my lifemate agrees. Qui-Gon stares at them, grimacing, as if I'd placed a particularly nasty heap of Jawa excretes on our dining table. "What is this?"

"This is how we are going to defend ourselves from now on," I reply crisply.

His eyes narrow and my stubborn teacher emerges from my lifemate's far more indulgent demeanor. "We have no need for ... " He hesitates, as if searching for the proper derogatory term. "... these -things-"

I force patience into my voice. "I believe that the last few days have proved to us the necessity of carrying some sort of weapon on a regular basis. And since our sabers are out of the question..."

His tone turns stubborn. "These are not the weapons of a Jedi. If we cannot use our sabers, then we must make do without."

"That's ridiculous, Qui-Gon." Fighting to keep the frustration at bay. "We must adapt to our conditions. This..." I sweep my hand around me. "This isn't some mission, upon which we must uphold our values and the Code until its conclusion. This is our -life- now. Our only concern is keeping ourselves alive. And that must be done by any means necessary."

His dark eyes peer into mine, fathomless and deep. "Obi-Wan, you cannot ask me to forsake a lifetime of beliefs simply to stay alive. I am too old for that."

"I am not asking you to forsake. I am asking you to adapt." Honestly frustrated now and unable to hide it. "I am also asking you to remember the promises we've made. To Yoda, to Amidala ... and to each other. Mustn't a Jedi keep his Word? Is it too much to ask that we bend ourselves to suit our conditions? Mustn't a Jedi be resourceful as well as mindful?"

An impatient tone to match my own ."So in one breath you ask me to abandon long-held principles and in the next you exhort me to remember the Code. Come now Obi-Wan, even you can see the contradictions here."

"I am simply trying to make my argument. To persuade you."

Tired voice. "By any means necessary."

I nod firmly. "Yes, Qui-Gon. By any means necessary."

"Then I'm afraid you've failed, my love. I can no more take up one of these guns than I can change into a Hutt. You must follow your own feelings, but please don't insist that I go along as well. If you reflect for a short time on this matter, I know you will eventually understand." His tone gentles and I feel his hand cup my cheek.

But there is little comfort in the touch as the exasperation is still coursing through blood that is tired and hot and not a little out of sorts. "Fine."

My reply is sharper than I'd wish it to be and even though I see the flicker of sadness pass through Qui-Gon's eyes, I can't help myself. A quick wave of my hand and the blasters disappear back into their cupboard. "We will do without weapons then. Hopefully the next tribe of creatures that come to kill us will sympathize with our unique situation. And if not..." An exaggerated shrug. "...we will pray that our principles can save us."

Qui-Gon's shoulders sag and the guilt immediately pierces me. But he straightens up quickly and rises, gathering up his cloak and money purse. I feel a light kiss against my forehead before he heads to the door. "I'm going into Mos Eisley to see about procuring some water for the upcoming summer irrigation, love." Tone still gentle and I fairly writhe with shame. And annoyance. "I will return before midday."

"Qui-Gon," I begin, but it is too late. The engine of our ancient speeder is already humming to life and a moment later the sound of it fades across the steaming sands.

With a sigh, I take that moment and reflect upon our principles. Upon the Code, the Way and the rest of our lives here in this wilderness. We, the last of our kind, except for Yoda and Vader and possibly, just possibly, a tiny lad named Luke Skywalker, a child to whose safe keeping we are devoting our final years. Not yet knowing if our hopes have any foundation in reality or if we are just being wishful for a Golden Age brutally destroyed.

I suddenly realize that in many ways I am as guilty as Qui-Gon of stubbornly holding onto our past. But unlike him, I disguise my tendencies beneath a cloak of adaptation and careless flexibility. Paying lip service to change, insisting on its necessity when it is very possible that the only way to ensure our success is to never give into the temptation of that change ... to remain as we are, as we will always be.

Jedi. Nothing more and nothing less.

Ah, my Master, my love. Ever honest ... ever wise.

Closing my eyes, I try to meditate and fail. Guilt is never conducive to peaceful contemplation, so I abandon the idea and gather up my tools and jallabeh to do some work instead.

And mentally prepare my best apology for when Qui-Gon comes home.

Late afternoon and there is still no sign of Qui-Gon. I don't like to use the word "worry" since it is, after all, a Jedi Master I speak of but I can't help it. If there is a civilized spaceport in the galaxy, then Mos Eisley is the farthest point from it. "Ne'er a more wretched hive of scum and villainy," has certainly become a favorite saying of mine in recent months.

Of course, Qui-Gon just chuckles each time I mutter it.

The morning work is done, the house is pins and needles straight and I'm reduced to pacing. We've closed down our bond to make sure that no Force-sensitive beings might pick up its traces, so contacting him via those means is out of the question.

Finally, as the twin suns are just beginning to set, I hear a speeder approach. I leap up and fairly hit the sands running, then slow when I notice the jagged lines it is making toward the house. Qui-Gon isn't the greatest driver in the galaxy, but he is certainly better than that.

More than a few terrible thoughts run through my mind, but I force them back. Instead, I steel myself and prepare calmly for anything that might conspire. Armed with nothing more than my wits, which I pray will be enough.

Squinting through the haze, I'm relived to see Qui-Gon's familiar outline behind the controls. My relief is short lived as what I see next doesn't sit half as well with my tangled nerves.

Blood. Streaming from Qui-Gon's brow and staining his cheeks and cloak a bright red. I meet the speeder before it grinds to a stop a good few meters past our home, almost yanking the door off in my haste to get to him. He is conscious, but that's where all good things end.

"'m fine." Muttered and not at all reassuring.

"What happened?" Lifting him easily and helping him inside. Wincing when I see him limp painfully at my side. "Shhh. Forget that I asked." I help him inside and sit him down at the table. I tear quickly through the house, gathering clean cloths, water and a medi-kit as I go.

"It was only a slight ..." Faltering, then a pause for breath.

"Hush for now, love. You can tell me later." Cringing at the sight of a long laceration at his hairline, coupled with bruises underneath both eyes, I wipe off the blood as best I can and set to treating him with small touches of Force -- enough to heal, but not enough to be felt outside of the four walls that surround us.

His voice grows stronger as the healing Force flows over him. "It is nothing life-threatening or out of the ordinary, Obi-Wan. Please be assured of that."

I nod, but at the moment the only thing I'm assured of is that I'm going to take a stroll through Mos Eisley and kill something. But I control the urge and silently continue to heal instead, making sure the wounds close fully and the bruises fade as much as possible.

He shakes his head. Catches my hand in mid-wipe and squeezes it. "I swear, it was nothing, beloved. Just another gambler trying his luck at relieving me of our poor vehicle. He must have lost more at the pod races than was wise."

An oath starts at the back of my throat, but I bite it down. "Yes, I'd say he was quite unwise. I'm sure you returned this in equal measure."

He looks down. Reddens, then shrugs. "Let's just say we still have our vehicle."

I look at him for a long moment and without warning, my heart simply sinks. My beautiful and noble and wise love being prayed on by ignorant hoodlums on a rim world so remote from any sense of society or propriety it was almost a joke to call it civilized. For a second, I am sorely tempted to gather our possessions, hurl them into the speeder and throw the galaxy's Fate to the winds, come what may.

Saying to hells with Vader, to hells with the Chosen Ones, to hells with it all.

But the look in Qui-Gon's eyes stops me. His large hand cups my cheek and I close my eyes against the warmth, so real, so alive and so unchanged. "We have come so very far, love. Too far to either abandon our ways or give up our oaths completely. We knew that this was a hard life, but there are rewards, aren't there? I consider you my reward, my only one, and how many in this universe can claim something half as wondrous?"

My lips quirk into a smile, in spite of it all. "You are kind, love, but I'm not feeling very wondrous at the moment." I turn to kiss his palm. Reverently ... gratefully. "Forgive me for this morning, you were right. As always."

His eyes twinkle. "Not always, love, it just seems that way. An ancient Jedi mind-trick I learned along the way." A wink. "I still have one or two left up my sleeve."

"So it seems," I reply wryly. Rising, I hold my hand out to him. "Come, you need rest. I'll bring you some cold tea and later, we'll share a tray of supper."

He agrees without argument. "That would be a kindness."

I help him to the divan and he sinks onto it gratefully. A few moments later he is dozing peacefully and I can't help but look at him, the water pricking at my eyes. I love him as much, if not more, than the day I took his hand in mine and quietly repeated the ancient vows of the bonded, then listening and trying not to weep when he recited them to me. I leave him with a soft kiss, taking care not to wake him.

Slowly, I make my way to the doorway and take a moment to watch the final setting of the twin suns. This world is at its most beautiful at sunset, the reds and golds combining to set the sky and sands ablaze with glory, shattering the air itself with color.

Soon the moon will once again rise like a gem on Tatooine, healing the desert sky. Then perhaps, just perhaps, my love and I will go out to view her in all her beauty once we have eaten.

Learning to enjoy this desert world that we will now call home.

fini

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