The Investment

by DBKate

Category: A/U, Story, Romance

Romance Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: For all movies, including TPM, and the JA books. (The other parts in the Exiles Universe can be found here:

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

Thanks: To Kass for the encouragement and Hutch for the spelling help!

Summary: In an alternate universe set fifteen years after the events in The Phantom Menace, two life-bonded 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?

Qui-Gon has many endearing qualities and his compassion certainly is one of them. He is kind and gallant to a fault, smuggling in little creatures on occasion and on those myriad occasions I pretend not to notice. He's practical enough to know we can't maintain any sort of menagerie or barnyard on this barren world, so our "guests''" stays are usually short-lived and I can spare myself the aggravation of arguing with him over the acquisition of yet another pathetic life form.

Unfortunately, his latest acquisition is impossible to ignore.

For today Qui-Gon has brought home an infant Rancor.

I have spent decades traveling across the galaxy. And after these travels I can honestly say I've yet to come across a creature one-tenth as ugly, as foul, or as painfully dumb as a Rancor.

Not only that, but they smell worse than a dead Jawa covered in Bantha padoo.

But Qui-Gon passes no such superficial judgements onto the creatures he helps and unwraps his latest find with a flourish, depositing it directly onto our dining table.

"Qui-Gon . . . " My head is pounding and my eyes feel as though there are two thumbs behind them, trying to push them out. "Why is there a hideous, foul-smelling reptile in our home?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I discovered him on my return from Mos Bespa. It appears he was abandoned by his owner and in dire need of help. Luckily our paths crossed and I was able to provide it."

Try as I might, I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "Oh, lucky indeed. Tell me, Qui. Did you at any time think there was a reason why his owner might have abandoned him?"

Qui-Gon shakes his head sadly. "I'd say it was most likely an act of pure malice to leave an injured, helpless animal in the middle of the Lower Wastes." He sighs. "There is much too much cruelty in this galaxy, my Obi-Wan. Especially during these dark days."

I pause and take a moment to rub my aching temples. "While that may be true," I say slowly. "Have you also considered that it may be the simple fact that Rancors are known to be vicious, carnivorous and possibly the dumbest of all living things?" I look at the one sitting on our table and grimace. "And to say they are ugly is a colossal understatement."

Qui-Gon looks at me for a moment. Smiles. "Have you started to judge creatures by their appearance, my dear one? If so, I think I'm in trouble."

"That is not funny, Qui-Gon," I growl. "While I appreciate your compassion, I cannot believe you've taken to bringing home disgusting, foul-smelling, snaggle toothed reptiles. The very thought of it is quite beyond me."

At the harsh sound of my voice the Rancor stares at me and then scoots into a fold of Qui-Gon's robe, its long tail quivering with fright.

Qui-Gon gives me an admonishing glance. "All life is valuable, my Obi- Wan. An investment in any life is an investment well made, not only for the creature we succor, but for ourselves as well. Remember our most basic teachings, love. We are bound to this creature, as we are bound to every living thing, as troublesome or as unattractive it may be on the outside. It is the life within that matters, for to save another is to save ourselves." He carefully lifts a corner of his robe and the tiny Rancor peers up at him with huge eyes. "And besides, Obi-Wan, for a Rancor, this little one isn't all -that- ugly."

"It's hideous beyond mortal comprehension," I snarl, as the Rancor squeaks and scurries back beneath the robe. Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow at me and I can feel my shoulders slowly sag in defeat. "However," I sigh, "I'll defer to you in this matter. If you wish to aid this . . . this . . . thing, that is your choice."

"Thank you, beloved," he says graciously with only the barest hint of a wry grin. "Don't worry. He will be kept outside and far out of your way."

"Good," I grumble. "The stench is nauseating."

He leans in toward me. Lowers his voice to a whisper. "Have you ever considered that to a Rancor, you might not smell so good yourself?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Until now Qui, I've never had the need to consider such a thing. I'll be sure to debate it tonight during evening meditations."

"An excellent idea," he agrees with a smile. "And after that . . . " The invitation in his voice and his eyes is unmistakable.

"Hmmph," I mutter. "I don't know, Qui-Gon. I might end up having a headache."

The only sound that follows is Qui-Gon's hearty laughter as he takes our latest "companion" outside to his new home.

In the end, there is only one problem with an infant Rancor.

It grows up to be an adult Rancor . . . fast.

And adult Rancors are infamous for their ferocious appetite which consists mainly of anything that moves -- including humans. Under Qui- Gon's care, our Rancor has flourished, growing to an alarming size in a very short period of time.

We cannot hold onto it much longer unless we are willing to take the risks inherent with the keeping of man-eating creatures -- such as being devoured in our sleep.

Qui-Gon is well aware of this, but that doesn't make it any easier to break the news to him. He's grown fond of the creature and caring for it has enlivened him considerably. Even I've lost much of my initial repulsion toward it, for as ugly as it is, it does have its amusing, almost endearing, moments.

Not only that, but our pest control problems are now a definite thing of the past.

But the time has come for it to be freed and I take a moment to put my hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders and massage them gently. "Well, love, I have good news and bad news. The good news is we no longer have a womp rat problem. The bad news is, we now have a Rancor sitting in our yard looking larger and hungrier by the moment."

He looks a bit sad, but nods in agreement. My love is compassionate, yes. Suicidal, no. "Yes, I believe it is time to set our friend free to live out the remainder of his life as he will."

I press a kiss to the top of Qui-Gon's head. "He will be grateful, love. The desert will suit him well and who knows? Perhaps there are more of his kind living somewhere in the Wastes." Leaning down, I wrap my arms around his chest and embrace him. "Do not be sad, it is for the best."

He chuckles and clasps my hand. "You are a generous man, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You indulge this old man far too much."

"I don't indulge you nearly as much as I should." Another kiss and he smiles at me.

With a sigh, he trudges off to the yard and I watch curiously as he raises two fingers to touch the Rancor gently on its forehead. It is the Jedi gesture of farewell and I'm even more amazed when the creature closes its eyes and bows its head slightly beneath the touch. Qui-Gon opens the gate and nods toward the aperture.

The Rancor takes a few tentative steps outside the enclosure, glances back with what I could swear is a wistful expression and then bounds off with astonishing speed, soon disappearing over a far dune, leaving behind nothing but a trail of dust.

Qui-Gon peers after it for a moment and then heads back inside.

Chuckles wryly when I embrace him and lead him toward our sleeping quarters for a late morning "nap." "Come," I say. "I think we can find something to do that will distract us from our loss."

He laughs again, this time softly against my lips which have already reached up to capture his. A few moments later, the universe narrows down to the two of us and all is right again in our home.

At least for the time being.

A few months later and Qui-Gon has taken his usual morning stroll across the nearby dunes to check on our moisture generator to perform some routine maintenance on it.

It's a small task, but a necessary one and he insists on doing it, so I let him. It usually takes no more than a few minutes and since the early morning hours on Tatooine are relatively cool, I see no harm in it.

Fool that I am.

When he doesn't return after an hour, a nagging sense of worry begins to gnaw at me. I wait only a few moments longer before I lift my mental shields and send out a tentative signal over our bond, using the smallest bit of Force to find him.

What comes back over that bond fills me with terror.

Pain . . . agitation . . . misery . . . fear. I exit the house running, stumbling through the sand, cursing every step that slows me.

It is too late to realize I've left my saber behind.

I continue to run, calling his name out over the wind and receive no answer. Throw Force around me wildly, heedless of the danger and make my way to the top of the nearest dune, aching for breath. I'm older now, past my youthful prime and my farmer's life here as done nothing to keep me in the battle-ready shape I used to be in.

It also does nothing to prepare me for the sight spread out before my horrified eyes.

I see Qui-Gon, but he is not alone. Another man stands with him, wearing a uniform I immediately recognize.

It is the body armor of a Mandalorian bounty hunter. He looks up at me, and I know beneath that hateful mask he wears to cover his features, he is smiling a hateful death's head smile.

Qui-Gon is bleeding from a superficial wound to his arm and his face is drawn with pain. He has no doubt already tried to bargain with the hunter, even convince him that he dwells here alone, but the Mandalorians are smart, ruthless hunters, impervious to tricks, lies, negotiation or reason.

I slowly make my way toward them and the hunter nods in my direction.

"Shertoahs," he says in scornful greeting. Mandalorian is a guttural combination of Sith and Standard and the sound of it is nearly enough to drive me into a rage.

They were the ones who stood behind Palpatine and Vader on Coruscant during the last battles, killing civilians; old men, women and children as well as soldiers. It was they who were hired to exterminate the Jedi who hid off world and they did their work with single-minded, brutal, and bloody efficiency.

Doing it all in the unholy name of money.

Four lightsabers hang from this bounty hunter's belt, the weapons of Jedi who fell at his hands. He wears them as trophies and as a warning. To kill a single Jedi is no small feat; to kill four of them is what any criminal would consider a masterful accomplishment.

I swallow convulsively at the sight, forcing the bile down. If this is what he has done to four armed Jedi, two unarmed ones such as myself and Qui-Gon wouldn't stand a chance.

Qui-Gon closes his eyes and bows his head, whether in defeat or meditation, I can't tell. But I do know that this bounty hunter scum will either take me alone, or take both of us dead.

I will not have it any other way.

The bounty hunter's voice grates out again, this time in gravely Standard. "I am fortunate to have found you, Master Kenobi. Lord Vader has recently doubled the already exorbitant price on your head." He is still smirking beneath the mask, and how I itch to erase that evil smile from his features permanently.

But I leash the anger and breathe deeply instead. "You are mistaken, my friend," I say quietly, stalling. "My name is Lars. Benjamin Lars and my friend and I here are but simple tradesmen. I think you have confused us with someone else."

He laughs and it is a cold, cruel sound. "There is no mistaking a Jedi, especially you Master Kenobi. As you can see . . . " He displays the lightsabers dangling from his belt. "I am well acquainted with your kind."

A tendril of panic winds its way up my spine as I watch the blood continue to drip from Qui-Gon's fingertips. He is turning pale, sagging almost and I move slowly besides him, holding him up as best I can using Force. His eyes are still tightly shut and it takes all the Jedi control within me not to hurl myself at the hunter in one last ditch effort to save our lives. Or at least Qui-Gon's.

The Mandalorian raises his k'rifle and motions me aside. His ship stands waiting less than one hundred meters away. "You would be more valuable alive, but I am willing to sacrifice gain for convenience. Therefore, I'm going to end this simply. Make your peace, Jedi."

"Again, I say you are making a mistake. We are not these Jedi you seek." I keep my voice level and wonder if I still have the skills needed to at least go down with a decent fight. If I could just get my hands on one of those sabers . . .

But all those thoughts are interrupted when a series of tiny earthquakes rumble through the dunes. It is an odd sensation, as if some angry deity is walking toward us, each step marking its way across the shifting ground. A rank smell fills the air and the tremors continue to snake their way through the normally stable sands.

There is a strange moment of silence . . . only to be followed by a huge, deafening roar.

For the life of me I cannot fathom what sort of a creature could possibly make such a horrific entrance at such an opportune moment, but my question is quickly answered when a giant, hideously ugly reptilian head rises, way up, over the high dune to our left.

It is a Rancor.

-Our- Rancor to be precise and I goggle at the sight of him. He's grown to epic proportions since I'd last seen him, and I must say, I've never been more grateful for the spectacle he creates.

For the appearance of the giant reptile distracts the bounty hunter for less than a split second, but that is long enough for me to use the Force and call one of the dangling sabers into my hand. A shower of sparks is quickly followed by the soft thud of an armored body hitting the sand -- split in half from shoulder to groin.

In less time than it takes to tell, it is over.

I sink down into the sand and lay there, trying to catch my breath. Finally open my eyes to see our old friend the Rancor take a piece of the bounty hunter between his powerful jaws and then spit him out with what could only be called a grimace of distaste.

As I said, the creature always did have his endearing moments.

He peers at me with eyes that have grown much larger than the last time I saw them, turns away with a bored expression, then catches sight of Qui-Gon and bounds over. Bends his massive head toward him and closes his eyes.

He is rewarded with another small touch to his forehead, and slowly straightens up, all four hundred spear-length teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Takes another sniff at the dead bounty hunter, and then, finally, lumbers off toward the open wastes without a backward glance.

Painfully, I rise from the sand and limp over to Qui-Gon. Tear off a piece of my tunic and wrap it around his wounded arm. Squeeze gently to staunch the bleeding, shaking my head all the while. "Did I just dream that?" I gasp with a wheeze.

Qui-Gon chuckles weakly. "No love. What you just saw is the proof of my lifelong investment theory."

I put my arm around his waist, and together we slowly make our way back to the house. "Investment theory?"

"If you invest in a single life beloved, there is a good chance that you will someday reap the rewards to your own benefit." He leans against me and then, embraces me tightly. "It's nice to be right once in a while."

I return the embrace and nod against his shoulder. "You are right more often than not, love."

Without another word, we make our way home, as the twin suns of Tatooine rise up, leaving the endless furious wastes far behind us.

The next morning I am dismantling the last of the bounty hunter's ship and disposing of any items that might trace his disappearance back to us. It is a laborious process, but not without its rewards as the parts will be put to good use, and whatever we don't use, I plan on selling.

It's distasteful, but fair, and I have no intention of being noble about anything except the lightsabers of my fallen comrades. They will be burnt tonight in a special pyre, their energy hopefully returned to the spirits of their rightful owners.

The last of the ship's remains is loaded onto our speeder and I'm just about to squeeze myself between them when by chance I look down and see a small sand'aroo, trying its hardest to limp away from me, hobbled by what appears to be a broken hind leg.

I watch as the pitiful creature pants for air and takes yet another painful hop, no doubt trying to find a bit of shade to die in.

Bending down, I look at it closely and it meets my gaze with frank terror. Unable to escape, it simply shuts its eyes tightly and lies down in the broiling sands.

I hesitate for a moment, and then, I pick up the small creature, tucking it carefully into a fold of my robe. Using a dab of Force, I bid it to sleep and make my way back to the speeder, conscious of the small life I now hold in my arms . . .

And the investment I think I'm about to make.

fini

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