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Rating: R, for language and sexual situations

Summary: Perhaps, maybe, possibly.... Nothing had to happen, unless he wanted it to. But did he want it? Yes, he did. Or did he? After six months of resisting, Obi-Wan finally succumbs.

Category: Obi/Bail, first time, romance

Mush alert: still low. I hope this is the most unromantic romance you've ever read!

Warnings: The boyz really wrote this story themselves. It kept going in directions I wasn't expecting, and I was left having to try to string it together so it made sense. I'm not entirely sure I succeeded. There's also a bit of backstory for Bail that I ended up taking out of Maybe. Hope it doesn't seem like a red herring, but it sort of explains some of his hang-ups on love.

Spoilers: Obi-Wan has a brief vision of a certain cataclysmic event from ANH. But that's not really a spoiler, is it?

Timeline: approximately 5 years before TPM

Archive: M-A and http://www.wyomingnot.com/rita/rita.html

Feedback: most definitely

Obligatory groveling: Dear Master George, at this point I have already spent all my money on toys and cereal boxes. I don't even have enough money to buy a movie ticket, let alone have you sue me, but if you want, you can have the "Death of Darth Maul" art quilt I made. I was going to send it to you, but then liked it so much I kept it for myself. Anyway, everyone knows Star Wars belongs to you.

Author's note: There's another "courtship" story before this one, but I haven't written it yet, and I didn't want to make y'all wait, since I have a bunch of stories already completed. I figure you would rather get it out of order now, than have to wait. So while I would LOVE to torture you with more of the tease, I'll be nice.

Story order:
Perhaps
Maybe
Falling <--You are here
Back for Seconds - Obi-Wan and Bail
Bailing Bail
Padawan Games
Greener Pastures
Forgiven
Reality Check
Better Than Destiny
A Cross-Cultural Affair
Deconstruction
Reconstruction
Rewoven
Night Visitor
Father Figure
A Model Padawan
Not All Dreams Are Visions
You Don't Bring Me Flowers
Dangerous Fame
Labyrinth
Private Lessons (off-site link)
Owner's Mark
Epicenter
Duty
Penumbra
Nightfall
Batter My Heart

Six months of committee meetings. It had to be the worst, most tedious mission Obi-Wan had ever been assigned. True, he enjoyed ethics, but that did not mean he relished being on a committee to plan a summit on the ethics of cloning. The other committee members were egotistical, self-serving, obnoxious twits, and it took all of Obi-Wan's diplomatic skills to mask his disdain for them.

They were all twits, that is, except for one person: Bail Organa.

Obi-Wan had to admit that, boring as the assignment was, it had been worth it for the chance to get to know the Junior Senator from Alderaan. But this was the final committee meeting. The Summit was finally going to be held on Alderaan in a couple of weeks. By now Obi-Wan and Bail had settled into enough of a friendship that he doubted the Summit would be the last time he would ever see the Prince. But the committee had provided something of an anchor for their budding relationship, an excuse for them to get together on a regular basis. How would their relationship fare without the committee's incentive?

And why did he keep thinking of it as a relationship? Despite Bail's constant flirting, at Obi-Wan's insistence they were still just friends. Would the Prince ease up if they saw each other less? And was that what Obi-Wan really wanted?

These thoughts must have been on the Prince's mind as well, because when he approached Obi-Wan at the meeting's end, he did so without his usual exuberance. By now it had become their habit to go out to dinner after the meetings, though Bail was always excruciatingly polite about it, never assuming they would go, asking Obi-Wan each time. But today, he seemed almost apprehensive. He poked at a snag in the carpet with the toe of his boot, hands clasped behind his back as he glanced sideways up at Obi-Wan. "So. Kenobi," he said.

Bail never called him by his last name, opting instead for teasing, flamboyant titles like, "Esteemed Knight," and, "Noble Counselor." He had even dug up the ancient honorific, "Jedi Bendu." Obi-Wan wasn't sure why the Prince was suddenly addressing him so succinctly, and he had rarely ever known Bail to be anything less than completely self-confident. "So. Organa," he returned, matching the Prince's tone.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to come to Alderaan a little early to help me with final preparations for the Summit? It wouldn't be very much work, making sure we have sufficient translators, confirming meal arrangements, counting to see if we have enough chairs." He gave Obi-Wan a little grin, almost shy. "Not hard work at all, but I would appreciate the help."

What help? These were no tasks for a Jedi, nor for a Junior Senator. Surely he had a staff to take care of these things, and even if Bail was anxious enough about the Summit to want to personally take care of preparations, he hardly needed Obi-Wan's help. But that wasn't the point. He was making Obi-Wan an offer.

As if he had heard Obi-Wan's thoughts, Bail elucidated, "We would have lots of time left over. I would love to show you Alderaan. I know you've been there before, but not with a native. The places I would show you would definitely not be on the itinerary of a Jedi initiate field trip." Again the little smile, hesitant, unsure. "We would stay at my family's manor. My own apartment is too small to accommodate a guest."

It was a tacit hint that Bail wasn't necessarily expecting anything to happen, but surely he had hopes, or he wouldn't have extended the invitation.

"When would you want me to come?" Obi-Wan asked carefully.

"I'm going home on the 18th," was the elusive answer. In other words, anytime. That was six days before the Summit.

"I'll ask my Master. I can't make any promise right now."

"Of course not." Bail looked down again and sighed. When he looked up, he was his old self. "So, where shall we go for dinner?"

Obi-Wan didn't ask Qui-Gon that night. He needed some time to prepare himself. After all, regardless of what might or might not happen with Bail, the man Obi-Wan really loved was his Master, however unrequitedly. He was quite sure Qui-Gon would let him go, would probably even want him to. And surely his master would be aware of the ulterior motive behind Bail's invitation. Qui-Gon would never be so insensitive as to say, "I told you so," but Obi-Wan was nevertheless reluctant to have him know. Yet he still felt that strange obligation to his master, as if he couldn't just enter into an affair without Qui-Gon's consent. It wasn't exactly that he wanted permission, but somehow he needed it.

It wasn't until the following evening that he finally mustered up the courage. Obi-Wan took a seat on the couch next to Qui-Gon, who was reading a book.

"Master."

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

A steadying breath. "Senator Organa has asked me to come to Alderaan early to help him with final preparations for the Summit."

"I see."

"You have to understand, Master, it wouldn't be much. Counting chairs, that kind of thing. Not really typical Jedi work."

Blue eyes studied him with a hint of amusement. "Yet he asked you."

Abashed, Obi-Wan confessed, "I think he intends it as something of a vacation."

Qui-Gon said nothing, merely waited, and Obi-Wan gave him another opportunity. "If you don't want me wasting my time, you could prepare extra studies for me."

Qui-Gon closed his book, folding his hands over it. "Obi-Wan, do you wish to go?"

Here it was. Qui-Gon was not going to make the decision for him. He had to make it himself. He turned his face away, chewing his lower lip. At last he turned back, but his gaze rested on Qui-Gon's folded hands. "Yes," he said quietly, almost a whisper.

"And do you really wish for me to give you extra studies?"

Again Obi-Wan paused. It had been a long time since he had so seriously desired to lie to Qui-Gon. He finally rallied the courage to be honest. "No."

"Very well. There's nothing wrong with the occasional restful assignment, and the Summit itself will be very busy. When does he want you there?"

Obi-Wan had one more chance to have Qui-Gon take control. "He is returning on the 18th."

"Then I suggest you accompany him."

Obi-Wan released the breath he had been holding. "Yes, Master."

"And be sure to enjoy yourself, Padawan. I'm sure you'll find something to do to fill up the extra time."

It was as explicit an acknowledgement as he was going to get, more than he wanted, really. Qui-Gon had made it clear that this was Obi- Wan's decision, that he would not be allowed to enter into it unintentionally. He also made it clear that he did not object. Obi- Wan knew he wouldn't, but secretly he had hoped he would. But no, he had been released -- from a bond only he had ever acknowledged anyway. The illusion was over. Qui-Gon did not love him. Obi-Wan had always known this moment would come, thought he had been prepared for it, but he was still filled with sadness. It might be time to move on, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Thank you, Master." He stood and retreated to his bedroom, where he could lie on the bed, stare out the window into the Coruscant night traffic, and try very hard not to mourn for the end of something that had never been.

As the time grew closer for the trip to Alderaan, Obi-Wan's grief over Qui-Gon gave way to excitement about new possibilities. He had never taken a vacation apart from the Jedi in his life. For six days there would be no Master, no fellow Padawans, no one to remind him of his Jedi duties. That was not to say he wanted to escape his identity, but the awareness that he had six days in which he would be absent from the company of even a single Jedi, and that he would be largely free from any duties, filled him with a heady sense of freedom he had never known.

A Jedi Padawan, without a mission and without a chaperone.... Interesting things could happen.

That thought in turn made him nervous, especially when he thought about who those interesting things might happen with, and what those interesting things might be.

And those thoughts threw him into a paroxysm of confused emotions: anticipation, dread, arousal, denial, excitement, lust, grief. Freedom, Obi-Wan finally decided, could be highly overrated, especially since he wasn't at all certain what he wanted to do with it once he had it. He didn't really know what he wanted from the Prince. Or, well, a very particular, highly localized part of him knew exactly what he wanted. Despite Obi-Wan's ambivalent feelings toward the Prince, he had to admit that he was not entirely immune to the Prince's charms. Nevertheless he didn't entirely trust Bail's motives, and he questioned his own willingness to start up something (what? a relationship? an affair? a romp?) when he still loved someone else.

In the end he eased his uncertainty by not making a decision at all, at least for the time being. Nothing had to happen that he didn't want to have happen. Only, that didn't sound too good. It sounded like there might be something he did want to happen. He tried again: nothing had to happen. There, that was better. After all, Alderaan was an exciting world. They could find plenty of things to keep them entertained at all hours. By now Obi-Wan knew that, flirting aside, the Prince was enough of a gentleman not to press the point. They could just be two friends having a good time. Nothing needed to happen. Yes, that was it. And if something did happen, well, it would only be because he chose it.

But he didn't have to choose anything.

Not unless he wanted to.

The day for their departure at last arrived. Obi-Wan met the Prince on the landing pad of his personal shuttle, and as the trip to Alderaan was short, in less than two hours they were disembarking on the outskirts of the capital city under a crisp, brilliant blue sky. The late afternoon sun bathed Alderaan's trademark white buildings in a warm glow and glinted off the canals.

"We have to take a river taxi," Bail insisted, flagging one down. "It's the only way to approach the city."

"I've always taken the bus," Obi-Wan confessed.

"That's no good," Bail scoffed. "The buildings present their best faces to the canals. We won't bother with a real tour, now; we want to get home. But some time before you leave, I'll show you the whole city from the water."

Obi-Wan only nodded as they loaded up the taxi and sped off down the canal. They passed through the famous Sorenyi Daan neighborhood, its white-washed homes trimmed with sky blue paint; the merchant quarter, where the buildings were decorated with rainbows of stained glass; and river markets, where sellers peddled their wares in a log jam of gondolas. Obi-Wan had seen it all before, but not through the eyes of a native. Bail had already begun his tour, regaling Obi-Wan with the kind of history that seldom made it into tourist literature, peppered with anecdotes of his own experience.

They passed on into one of the older neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city. Here the homes were not built in the renowned white and blue style of the Sorenyi Daan district. They were boxier, solid, all stone and glass, with enormous windows fronting the river. "I'm not as fond of this architecture," Bail explained, "but what can you do? Our home has been in our family for generations. We can't exactly change it now, not when it's a museum in its own right."

"Believe me, I know what it's like to live in a museum," Obi-Wan quipped, and he and Bail exchanged knowing grins.

Suddenly Bail stood, pointing. "There it is! Home, sweet home!"

The building Bail indicated was hardly a home as Obi-Wan would describe it. Even the word "mansion" wasn't big enough. "Estate" might be a better word. Large, wrought iron gates at the private dock opened onto a walkway that led to the enormous, golden sandstone building surrounded by lush green gardens. The taxi had scarcely docked before Bail leaped out in excitement. He pushed a comm button on the gate, calling out, "We're here!" before helping to unload the taxi and pay the driver. Several servants appeared, whom Bail greeted with enthusiastic embraces before introducing to Obi-Wan. While the servants retrieved the luggage, Bail took Obi-Wan's arm and all but dashed up the steps to the house, where he threw himself into the arms of the older couple waiting just inside the entry way.

"Oh, my darling, it's so good to have you home," Bail's mother beamed, as he lifted her off the ground in an enormous hug.

"We've missed you so much," his father added when it was his turn.

"You know, Coruscant isn't very far away," Bail pointed out. "You could always come and visit."

"There is no way I will ever set foot on such a ghastly planet," Bail's father shuddered. "Even in order to see you."

"You need to get over you prejudice, Papa," Bail advised. "Coruscant is no Alderaan, but it does have its appeal, a representative of which I have brought home with me." Bail composed himself, and addressing both his parents, said formally, "May I present to you Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi of Coruscant?" Then turning to Obi-Wan he introduced, "These are my parents, Lady Radha and Prince Vilnis Organa."

Obi-Wan bowed deeply, and the two returned his bow.

"Welcome, Jedi Kenobi," Radha Organa greeted him. "Please consider this your home while you are here. We're very happy to meet you at last. We have had heard so much about you." Her dark eyes sparkled with a mischievous light, prompting Bail to warn, "Mimi!"

"Jedi Kenobi, do they still teach Old High Galactic at the Temple?" Vilnis asked, speaking the ancient language.

Obi-Wan was caught off guard, but he answered smoothly in the same language, "Yes. All history classes are taught in it, as are a number of our philosophy and ethics classes."

Vilnis smiled in pleasure. "Your accent is impeccable. Sadly even my students only study the old languages for the purpose of research. Few of them are interested in learning to speak it correctly."

"Papa," Bail growled in mock irritation, "you know how I hate it when you speak dead languages."

Still addressing Obi-Wan, Vilnis switched to Alderaani. "You see? Even my own son can't be bothered."

"Yes, yes, yes," Bail continued, rolling his eyes. "I speak eleven living languages, but none of that matters. It's only the dead ones that count. No more linguistics, Papa, I'm taking Obi-Wan on the quick tour."

"Dinner is in an hour," Radha advised, "and we thought we'd put Jedi Kenobi in Veena's room."

"My eldest sister," Bail explained. "Don't worry, she doesn't live here anymore, but technically it's still her room."

"Veena speaks Old High Galactic quite well," Vilnis couldn't resist pointing out.

"Too bad all your other children are worthless illiterates."

"Yes, it seems all the smart genes were used up on my first child," Vilnis agreed, then reached out and ruffled Bail's hair. "Don't forget to show him grandmother's bathtub."

"Of course not." Bail turned to Obi-Wan. "It's one of the tour highlights. For some reason she decided to remodel her bathroom and built a tub large enough to hold her and twenty of her closest friends. I swear, you can swim laps in the thing." He took Obi- Wan's arm and began to drag him away from his parents. "We'll see you at dinner!" he called.

They started out on the main floor, with the conservatory, the grand dining hall, the library, and a ballroom, which Bail insisted Obi-Wan use as an exercise room. The halls of the main floor also displayed a series of formal paintings of Vilnis Organa and his family, including one of Bail in formal attire at the age of ten, and another in adulthood.

"Ugh. Horrid things. I hate them," Bail commented.

Obi-Wan disagreed. "They're quite striking, actually."

"Maybe to look at, but they are murder to sit for. However, my father insists. That one," Bail indicated the one of himself as an adult, "was done when I was twenty. He demands another one when I'm forty. Or when I marry, which will never happen, so I'm safe for another eighteen years. This is the floor that really exists for the tour groups. It's the most like a museum and least like a house. Except for the library, of course, and the conservatory, depending on the protégés."

"Protégés?"

"Yes. Ever since I went off to university, my mother insisted she was lonely without young people around, so she has taken to sponsoring protégés, artists or scholars, sometimes Alderaani, but more often inter-planetary exchange students. She nurtures them for a year or two while they work on their projects and become famous, or fashionably obscure. Right now she has three: a composer, some kind of academic, and a sculptor. Or is it a poet? I can't keep up with them."

Next came the second floor, residential, with one wing for the protégés and other important guests, and another wing for the family. Here Obi-Wan was introduced to the giant bathtub, whose size had not been exaggerated. But most interesting to Obi-Wan were the pictures.

The walls of the hallway were covered with 2D pictures of the entire extended Organa clan. Obi-Wan was overwhelmed. While most Jedi had at least some connection with their birth families, Obi-Wan knew no one for whom it was on such a grand scale. Here were not only parents and siblings, but cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and even bizarre permutations Obi-Wan didn't know existed: second cousins thrice removed, great-great aunts on the father's mother's mother's side. The pictures were arranged like a gigantic family tree, the branches clustered together, so that one could conduct an entire genealogical study of the House of Organa from these walls alone.

The immediate family of Vilnis Organa occupied the largest section. Here Obi-Wan made the acquaintance of Bail's three sisters, from infancy on to adulthood, the pictures cataloging marriages, divorces, and the advent of another generation of Organas. And here, Obi-Wan also encountered a young Bail, many young Bails: a fat baby being coddled by indulgent elder sisters; a toddler conquering the main staircase while a nervous nursemaid looked on; a scamp in his destroyed formal uniform digging on the river bank, no doubt the aftermath of the formal portrait Obi-Wan had seen downstairs; Bail swimming in the river, on a mountain top with his father, among friends and relatives.

"Is it my imagination," Obi-Wan asked, "or are there more pictures of you than anyone else?"

"Of course there are! I'm the baby. Babies are always spoiled."

Obi-Wan stopped in front of a picture of a pre-teen Bail mugging shamelessly for the camera. "It couldn't have anything to do with vanity, could it?"

Bail's smirked. "Whatever gives you that idea?" His eyes roamed over the photos, coming to rest on one of himself sitting on his father's lap. "I was a late blessing for my father. He always wanted a son, said there were too many women in his life. He felt outnumbered. So maybe he indulged me just a bit. I assure you, it didn't go to my head."

Obi-Wan answered with a half smile, but one of the pictures had caught his eye. As a formal sitting it was different from the others. A beautiful young woman in an elegant gown sat regally in a chair, and leaning on her knee, also dressed formally, was a young boy, six or seven years old. Despite her beauty there was a coldness in the woman's eyes, and her mouth was pressed into a haughty line. But it was the boy that captured Obi-Wan's attention. He had seldom seen such sadness in anyone so young. The child's posture radiated misery, and he looked at the camera as if begging to be taken anywhere, so long as it was far away from the woman on whose knee he leaned.

Bail had moved to stand next to him, and he studied the image with eyes that mirrored the boy's. "I hate that picture," he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "I don't know why he keeps it."

Obi-Wan knew the boy must be Bail, but it seemed impossible that the vivacious man at his side could have ever once been such a forlorn creature. His eyes were drawn once more to the woman's face. It was so familiar. "Who is she?" he asked, even though he guessed the answer.

"Vilnis' second wife," came Bail's cool reply. "My actual mother. Technically speaking, Radha is my step. But I've always considered her my real mother."

"You look so sad."

"That picture was taken during the year after my parents' divorce, when my mother had custody of me. I think she only fought for me so she could wrangle more money out of my father. She couldn't stand having me around her. I reminded her that she wasn't young anymore. She would trot me out every once in a while, all dressed up, to show people how maternal she could be." Bail made a scornful sound low in his throat. "Mother's little accessory. But don't muss the hair, and keep your grubby fingers off the gown."

But the resentment in his tone had a studied quality to it, and Obi- Wan discerned deep wounds underlying Bail's bitterness. He kept his face turned toward the portrait, but his eyes sought out Bail's reflection in the glass.

"I think she had this picture taken as a kind of emotional blackmail against my father, but it backfired. He sued for full custody and won. I've never had to live with her since."

A cold suspicion gnawed its way into Obi-Wan's gut. "Were you abused?"

For a long time Bail did not answer, lost in the contemplation of the picture before him. He raised his hand and ran one finger over the boy's image, his face now as open and vulnerable as it was in the picture. Obi-Wan couldn't bear it. It seemed as if he'd never seen the Prince without a smile on his lips and laughter in his eyes. He always appeared to Obi-Wan as a man untouched by sorrow. He couldn't have been more mistaken, and the knowledge generated an unexpected surge of protectiveness in him.

With a little shake, Bail roused himself. "No, I was not abused," he answered. Then added softly, "She never so much as touched me." Another shake, and he was almost his regular self, his melancholy gone. He seized Obi-Wan's hand and dragged him down the hall. "Come on. There are other pictures where I'm far cuter! Don't dawdle over that old thing."

Very well, he wouldn't, but neither would he forget. "So your sisters are only your half-sisters," he mused, trying to keep the convoluted family relations straight.

"What do you mean 'only'?" Bail rebuked. "Believe me, there's nothing half-way about them."

"I just meant-"

"I know what you meant, but what does it matter whether or not we have the same mother? What does it matter that the woman who raised me is not actually related to me? It's not blood that defines a family, but the people who love you."

"True enough," Obi-Wan agreed, though it seemed like it ought to mean something. "I'm not exactly one to talk about families, anyway."

Bail hesitated, then asked, "Do you know your family?"

"Yes, of course," Obi-Wan informed him. "I have the standard two parents, and a brother."

Bail considered for a moment. "Older or younger?"

"I'm the younger brother."

"Do you see them often?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I visit them every year or two."

Bail's brow furrowed as he wrestled with a question that was probably not very polite. Curiosity won out over manners, though. "Do you love them?"

"Yes. But it's not like with your family." Contrary to what Bail had said before, Obi-Wan felt there was something unique about one's blood relatives. He definitely felt a bond with his, a unique sense of belonging, and yet as much as he loved his family, he didn't want to be with them. His place was with the Jedi. There was no question in his mind about that.

"I don't see how you can do it," Bail confessed. "If I had a child who was Force sensitive, I don't think I could bear to give them up."

"A lot of people feel that way, but I don't see it like that. I am a Jedi to the very core of my being. It's no hardship for me to have left my family behind to become part of the Order."

"But...," Bail hesitated, mustering up his courage. "But in the Temple, who loves you the way a family does?"

"The Jedi are my family," Obi-Wan asserted. "The other Padawans are my brothers and sisters, the Knights are my aunts and uncles, and Yoda is sort of my great-great-great-great-grandfather. How many people can say they know their four-greats grandfather?"

"So would that make Qui-Gon your father?" Bail asked skeptically, scrutinizing him.

Obi-Wan said nothing, feeling awkward. The family analogy didn't entirely work, not in one very important way.

Bail understood perfectly well, and he didn't press the point. "I always think of the Jedi as your coworkers."

"They are. But if a family is defined by the people who love you, then they are definitely my family."

"And they do love you?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered, almost defensively, but even as he said it, he realized that he was lacking something. Or perhaps not lacking, exactly, but that Bail was talking about something a little different. Obi-Wan knew beyond a doubt that Qui-Gon loved him without reservation, as did Yoda, and all the Masters, his friends, and even in a way every Knight in the Order. They were bound together irrevocably. Yet that love existed within an elaborate, millennia-old construct of rules, expectations, and codes of conduct. That love was not the less for it, but Bail was talking about love without conditions or rules, the kind of love Obi-Wan's family felt for him, the reason why he felt a bond with them despite barely knowing them, and it was also why he felt he ultimately didn't belong there. Obi-Wan wasn't sure he knew how to love someone without rules. The concept was vaguely frightening. Was that why Jedi seldom formed liaisons with outsiders?

A sudden flash of cold sweat shook Obi-Wan. What was he doing here? What did he really want from Bail, and what exactly was Bail offering? He abruptly felt homesick, a sentiment he rarely felt, yet now he was desperate to return to the Temple, where at least he knew his love for Qui-Gon was taboo. At least he knew what the rules were.

He slowly became aware that Bail was studying him closely. Force- blind creature that he was, what could he possibly know about Obi- Wan? How could he truly understand a Jedi's life? Bail suddenly seemed alien to Obi-Wan, and he didn't like being scrutinized by him, didn't like to have his life weighed and found wanting by someone who could never truly know him. Was Bail even aware of Obi-Wan's unease? The Prince wandered through Obi-Wan's senses like a bantha in a glass house, completely oblivious to the destruction his gracelessness could wreak.

"I'm glad that you're loved," Bail said, and for a moment Obi-Wan couldn't even remember what they had been talking about. He almost couldn't recognize what language Bail was speaking. "The Jedi really are sort of their own ethnicity, aren't they?"

Obi-Wan blinked, struggling to reorient himself. "Yes," he agreed succinctly, wondering if it was too late for him to say that this was all a mistake, too late for him to go home to the Temple, the only home he had, the only one he knew.

"It's about time for dinner," Bail observed, slipping his arm into Obi-Wan's. "Shall we go down?"

Obi-Wan nodded, to all outward appearances completely composed. They went downstairs to Bail's parents, where they were also joined by two of the Organa protégés, and Obi-Wan found himself back in familiar territory. Dinner would be just like any other diplomatic function he'd ever been to: he could make conversation, answer questions from those curious to know about the Jedi, and handle the meal with impeccable manners.

But this was not quite like a diplomatic function. For one thing, Obi-Wan had never met anyone outside the Temple who spoke Old High Galactic as Vilnis continued to do. Radha argued about pending senate legislation with her son -- step-son, Obi-Wan reminded himself, even as he realized what a pointless distinction it was. The composer questioned Obi-Wan about his taste in music, and the scholar scarcely looked up from her datapad, blindly shoveling her food into her mouth. For his part, Bail managed to keep five conversations going at once, even prodding the occasional word out of the scholar. It was a boisterous, lively meal, and Obi-Wan's earlier sense of dislocation gradually eased as he began to enjoy himself.

After dinner, they returned to the living room, where the composer sat at the piano working on his tunes, Radha picked up a newspaper, and Bail and Vilnis taught Obi-Wan a favorite Alderaani card game. As they played, Bail reviewed their schedule for the coming day. "First thing in the morning we'll go to the conference center and meet with the director to review the preparations. We should be done by lunchtime. Then I thought I'd take you to the University district. I'm sure you've been there before, but I'll take you to see the real sights, like the laundromat where all the law students wash their clothes. The walls are covered with a century's worth of graffiti arguing the legality of the defacement of public property."

Radha looked up from her paper to say, "You'll show him my contribution to the debate, I hope? I found a very interesting legal precedent on free speech in the factory workers rebellion of '263."

"Of course, Mimi, how could I not?"

"And you must stop by my office after my afternoon class," Vilnis added. "I want to show Obi-Wan that codex we were talking about at dinner."

Bail made a show of rolling his eyes. "He doesn't want to see some dusty old codex, Papa."

"On the contrary, I'd love to," Obi-Wan offered.

"There, you see, Bo? Some people appreciate the value of history."

"He's a Jedi, Papa, he's just being polite. What possible use could anyone have for a dead language?"

"I can see it's been far too long since I made you recite 'the Epic of Camion' in the original Old High Galactic."

Bail shot Obi-Wan an impish look. "Normal children got spankings; I got epic poetry. Anyway, there's lots I want to show you. Did you know there's even a Jedi-themed pub?"

"The Padawan Place, yes, I've been there," Obi-Wan said, making a face. "It's crawling with Jedi groupies."

"Maybe will skip that, then. For some reason I've never been able to fathom, it's a favorite hangout of business majors."

"And where did the poli-sci majors hang out?"

"A wonderful place where the walls are lined with coasters from pubs throughout the galaxy. I myself contributed three to the collection. Then in the evening there's a street fair that's always fun."

Bail chatted on about all the places he wanted to show off, and the last of Obi-Wan's earlier malaise evaporated under his enthusiasm. He began to look forward once more to his stay.

One by one the others bid them good night, until only Bail and Obi- Wan were left. They talked long into the night. Conversation had always come easily for them, despite Obi-Wan's internal reservations about the Prince. Somehow they always ended up chatting with the kind of familiarity he only shared with his crèche mates. As the night wore on, Obi-Wan began to wonder if Bail was going to make a pass at him, but he never did. Eventually Bail declared himself ready to turn in. He escorted Obi-Wan back to his room and said good night, without so much as a kiss, leaving Obi-Wan just a little disappointed and anxious. What if Bail wasn't going to make any move at all? What if he was waiting for Obi-Wan to make the first move? He wasn't sure he was really up to that.

It wasn't that Obi-Wan was a virgin. He had some experience at least, but it mainly consisted of experimentation with friends, all of whom had been Jedi, all of whom Obi-Wan had known since childhood. None of them had really been lovers, per se. Obi-Wan certainly did not have experience in conducting affairs with non- Jedi, nor for that matter initiating sex with anyone he didn't already know well. Once again he was at a loss without rules to follow. So he retreated to the assurance of his original mantra: "Nothing had to happen." Only then could he relax enough to enjoy himself.

So two days went by without Obi-Wan moving on to the addendum to his mantra: "Unless I want it to." Bail took him on a frenzied tour of all his favorite haunts, filling their free hours with activity, and Obi-Wan began to see a different side of the Senator. On Coruscant Bail always took him to trendy hot spots, dodging the ever-present paparazzi. But Alderaan was Bail's home. While Bail was hardly anonymous, people respected his privacy, and they were never hassled by Organa groupies. Rather than trendy hangouts, Bail took him to places he enjoyed in his youth, places that meant something to him: an open-air market, the botanical gardens, a favorite hole-in-the- wall bookstore. They sat for hours at sidewalk cafes, bought sticky pastries from street vendors, climbed public sculptures, and took river taxis along the canals.

And throughout it all, Bail never made any advances, never even suggested that he might have had such a motive in inviting Obi-Wan to Alderaan. Every once in a while he took Obi-Wan's hand or put his arm around his waist, but such gestures were common enough for the openly affectionate Alderaani, where even business associates kissed each other in greeting. Yet as innocent as these gestures of Bail's were, they administered a shock to Obi-Wan, and each time that shock increased in voltage. He began to linger with his hand in Bail's, to sit with their knees touching, to drape his arm around Bail's shoulder as they laughed together, slowly increasing their familiarity until there was hardly a time when they were not touching.

And still Bail did nothing.

And nothing was going to happen.

Unless Obi-Wan wanted it to.

The morning of the third day dawned gray and brisk. They spent several hours at the conference center, reviewing menus, and checking translating equipment, then enjoyed lunch at a cafe that had become a favorite of Obi-Wan's. Afterward to Obi-Wan's surprise, they headed back to the Organa manor.

"I thought you could use a break from the tours," Bail explained. "There's only so much the brain can take in before turning to mush."

"Actually, I've been enjoying them. You give a very unique tour."

"Very polite of you to say so, but I know you're a man of action, and I think action should be the order of the day."

Obi-Wan had no idea what Bail meant by that, but he felt a shiver of anticipation at what it might mean.

When they arrived home, they did not go inside. Instead, Bail led Obi-Wan to the garage. Obi-Wan had already discovered that the Organas owned far more transportation vehicles than made any sense for one family, but then some of them, while immaculately well kept, appeared to have been in the family long enough to become antiques: elegant skyhoppers, souped up landspeeders, showy luxury vehicles. But Bail led him past all these to a dark corner where a number of smaller vehicles rested hidden beneath protective tarps.

Bail pulled the tarp off one to reveal a classic Firebolt speeder bike. Any pretense of Jedi detachment evaporated as Obi-Wan gaped in astonishment. Most of the time now, he could manage to forget just how rich the Organa family was, but the bike standing before him was a definite reminder. Disapproval of the extravagance vied with an envy for the bike that could only be described as lust.

Bail's eyes shone with a glee more appropriate for an adolescent hoodlum than an adult senator. "Do you like it?"

Obi-Wan could not tear his eyes away from the bike. "Are you insane? A Firebolt?!"

"I knew you would like it!" Bail laughed. He retrieved two crash helmets from a shelf on the garage wall and tossed one to Obi-Wan, who was still so stunned by the sight of the bike that he almost failed to catch the helmet. "Get on," Bail instructed. "You're driving."

"You've got to be kidding!" Obi-Wan protested in disbelief.

"Why would I be kidding?"

"You're going to let me drive it?"

"You're a Jedi, aren't you? You ought to be capable of it."

"It's not a question of my being capable. It's a question of why anyone who owns such a bike would ever let anyone else drive it."

Bail laughed, tossing his hair back out of his eyes as he strapped on his helmet. "If it makes you feel any better, you're the first person I have ever granted the privilege." He climbed onto the bike, then patted the seat in front of him. "Come on, don't keep me waiting, or I'll rescind the offer."

Obi-Wan needed no further encouragement. He strapped his helmet on, then threw a leg over the seat in front of Bail. He felt the Prince's arms twine around his waist, his chin resting briefly on Obi- Wan's shoulder. "Try to control yourself while on the roads," he cautioned in a wry tone. "I'll direct you to a park outside the city where we can see if this baby's engine is still in top form."

Obi-Wan nodded and flipped the ignition switch. The bike purred to life beneath him, and he knew he was hopelessly in love. He eased the bike out of the garage and onto the street. Even at low speed, the bike was a pure physical pleasure to drive, engine singing melodically, the controls responding smoothly to the lightest touch. Obi-Wan couldn't resist going a little over the speed limit, as he effortlessly wove through traffic. They drew many admiring stares, both for the beautiful bike and for the pilot who handled it so well, and Obi-Wan permitted himself a flush of unJedi-like pride to be the object of everyone's envy.

Bail directed him out of the city, and soon they were flying on the open road, nowhere near top speed but nevertheless a thrilling ride. The sun was hidden by cloud cover, giving a slight chill to the wind stinging their faces, but Obi-Wan didn't mind. The cold made it seem as if they were going faster.

At last the Prince tapped his shoulder and gestured to a path off the road. Obi-Wan leaned the bike in the indicated direction, over a low hill to a wide-open expanse. He slowed the bike down as they headed across the meadow.

"This is the park," Bail's voice buzzed in his ear. "Really sort of a nature preserve. No traffic laws here, just watch out for the occasional joyrider or other fauna."

"Right," Obi-Wan returned. "So just how fast does this thing go?"

"It's so much more fun if you find out for yourself!"

Obi-Wan grinned in delight. "In that case, hang on!"

Bail's arms tightened around him, and he opened up the throttle. The bike leaped into high gear, and they were flying faster than Obi-Wan had ever gone in an open cockpit vehicle. The ground sped by beneath them in a blur. They had to be going at least 250 kph, and Obi-Wan knew the bike wasn't at its top speed yet. Nor did he particularly care to push it to the limit. After all, he had a passenger, and while Obi-Wan trusted his own piloting abilities, he was neither cocky nor reckless enough to think accidents never happened. It was more than enough for him to pilot such a dream of a bike, to feel the wind on his face and Bail's arms around his waist.

Obi-Wan banked in among the trees, dodging between trunks, pushing the limits of his skills as much as the bike's abilities, but still not too dangerous, ever mindful of the Prince. But Bail seemed not to share Obi-Wan's concern for safety. He whooped and shouted his joy, reveling in their speed and urging Obi-Wan to go faster.

They chased birds, flushed small mammals out of hiding, dodged in and out of trees and bushes. At last Obi-Wan took them out to an open field and pushed the bike as fast as it would go. The bike hummed beneath them, all but drowned out by the wind in their ears. Obi-Wan floated in the sensation of pure speed, heart pounding, blood singing in his veins. He felt like light as the world dropped away and time stood still. Nothing existed but the bike, and him and Bail, and the wind. It was like falling, like flying, like standing still. It was the serenity of meditation, it was the freshness of waking up in the morning.

It was the electric thrill of a first kiss.

...a kiss...

Slowly Obi-Wan eased back on the throttle, bringing the bike to a gradual stop. He could feel Bail's heart pounding against his back. The Prince let out a lusty whoop of pure exhilaration, then crushed Obi-Wan's ribs in a tight hug, pressing a kiss firmly to the back of his neck.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself!" Bail said in jubilant apology, releasing Obi-Wan.

His skin tingling were Bail's lips had touched him, Obi-Wan mumbled, "It's all right," but the Prince had already leaped off the bike, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure he had heard him

Laughing and gasping for breath, Bail yanked off his helmet and collapsed onto his back in the grass. "That was fabulous!" he gushed. "Stars above, I should do that more often. Damn stuffy old Coruscant and all its traffic! You can't race bikes there."

"Not legally, anyway," Obi-Wan agreed, dismounting the bike and standing over the Prince. He looked debauched, cheeks flushed, panting, his curls spread out on the grass. He looked beautiful. Obi-Wan felt a surge of adrenaline that had nothing to do with racing.

Bail raised his arm, reaching out to him, and Obi-Wan took his hand, fingers lacing through the Prince's. Bail gave a sharp tug, and Obi- Wan fell to his knees next to him. They dropped their grip, and Obi- Wan rolled onto his back, his head near Bail's.

"I like to lie on my back and look out into the sky," Bail said, "into all the universe, and pretend I'm not lying on top of the ground, but that I'm under it -- that Alderaan is above me and the universe is below me, and I have to hang onto the grass or I'll fall away." His arms outspread, he dug into the grass with his fists, and Obi-Wan did the same, letting Bail's voice guide him. "Sometimes I swear I can feel gravity shifting beneath me, and I get dizzy. Can you feel it?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered. His stomach lurching, he could almost feel himself roll over, the earth pressing heavily on his back, the sky opening beneath him.

"We have to hang on, or we'll fall, down through the clouds and out into the sun shining below us. Then on through the atmosphere until we tumble out into the stars, falling farther and farther away until we're lost among them, like two raindrops falling into the ocean."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, vertigo crawling through his skull as he thought of all that emptiness beneath him. He clutched at the grass, digging in with his heels, willing himself not to fall.

A warm hand closed over his fist, and he consciously let go, turning his palm up until his hand locked with Bail's, squeezing tightly. "Hang on," Bail whispered.

They hung there, suspended between the earth at their backs and the empty universe before them, one hand clinging to the other's, their free hands digging into the grass, the only thing keeping them from falling away into the bottomless void. Obi-Wan could feel Alderaan slowly spinning beneath him, rotating on its axis. Eyes closed, he could see the stars before him, an invisible network of worlds and shipping lanes and hyperspace routes. There was so much life out there, millions of worlds, billions and trillions of heartbeats pulsing through the Force, but if they fell they would slip through the holes of that network like minnows through a fishnet. With nothing to catch them, they would float free together, their hands joined, hearts blazing like twin suns, their own binary system.

Obi-Wan heard a faint rustle of movement beside him. His center of gravity shifted again, orienting toward the body next to his. He turned his head as the universe spun and rotated around him, and opened his eyes. Bail was staring up into the sky, his face in profile, and Obi-Wan drank in the sight of him, the curls tumbling back from his forehead, the delicate shell of his ear, the line of his jaw, the heartbeat pulsing at his throat. Obi-Wan felt a pounding in his own head to match that rhythm. He could hear the air as it was drawn into Bail's lungs, could feel the moist breath of each exhalation, could smell the heat of Bail's body as the chill air drew it from his pores. And he wanted to taste that skin, to smell that hair, to feel....

He let go of Bail's hand and reached out to brush his fingers through the thick curls at Bail's temple. The Prince closed his eyes, his breath quickening as Obi-Wan stroked his hair, traced the outline of his ear with one finger, grazed the soft skin behind his earlobe.

Bail turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow to stare intently at Obi-Wan, pinning him in place with his gaze. Then the Prince leaned forward, rising over him. Obi-Wan did not move, could not move, frozen with anticipation. Bail lingered over him, careful not to touch him, and Obi-Wan felt hot breath on his neck, behind his ear, like a premonition, then warm, soft lips searing his skin. Only those lips touched him, sending a current of raw desire shooting through his entire body, zinging out through his toes. The lips released him, then landed again a centimeter or two forward, at the soft spot where his jaw joined his neck. They skimmed slowly along his jaw, and Obi-Wan turned his head until his mouth was beneath Bail's. Bail hovered over him, his breath mingling with Obi-Wan's. He looked up, Bail's face blocking out the universe, becoming his universe. The face shifted, and Bail's mouth pressed down onto his, sinking into him with all the weight of the universe, and Obi-Wan felt himself stretched, pulled, swallowed up as if he had fallen into the event horizon of a black hole, time spinning away from him like thread as he collapsed into Bail, who pressed him back into the earth.

This was it. This was the moment he'd come here to discover. It wasn't love. Bail wasn't Qui-Gon, with all the comfort and completeness of home. There was no sense of belonging, of being exactly where the Force meant for him to be, like two halves joined together to make a whole. Bail was division, shattering Obi-Wan's calm center into a jumble of emotions, setting his mind and body, if not at war, then at least at odds. Bail was undiscovered country, a new world waiting to be explored. He was excitement and anticipation, but also risk, uncertainty, even outright terror. Bail went against everything Obi-Wan had ever been taught as a Jedi. But he finally understood that this wasn't the Dark Side. The Jedi had their rules, their discipline, their philosophy, but they lived and worked in a galaxy of diverse viewpoints. For the Jedi to remain detached from others solely because they saw the universe differently would be to betray the very purpose of the Order itself. By his very existence, Bail challenged everything Obi-Wan thought and felt and believed, but that was good. He should question his assumptions, and if Bail terrified him, then Obi-Wan wanted to be terrified, wanted to be shaken, wanted to have his world turned upside down, wanted to fall into the universe of Bail's arms and be swallowed up into the unknown.

His hands slid up Bail's shoulders, and Obi-Wan rolled over until he was on top of the Prince, their mouths never breaking contact. Hands slid eagerly over each other's bodies, tearing at their shirts until they lay with their chests pressed together. The sensation of skin against skin sent electric waves of pleasure through Obi-Wan. Bail's hands ran up under his shirt along his spine, their mouths locked together, tongues exploring. So fast. It was too fast. They were out in the open under a cold sky. However Obi-Wan had imagined their first time it wasn't like this. There was no seduction or sensuality or even eroticism, just a lust that consumed them. This wasn't how he wanted it, but he didn't care. /Live in the moment,/ Qui-Gon was always telling him. He could do that. Indeed, he could do nothing else. He was losing control, but he did so deliberately, by choice. Yes, he was choosing it, and it was all right. It was somehow right. He was falling, but Bail would be there to catch him.

He ground his aching groin against Bail's, rubbing their erections together through their clothing. Bail shuddered violently and moaned, breaking away from their kiss, "No, I'm too close --." But Obi-Wan reclaimed his mouth, thrusting harder against him, Bail's legs wrapping around him, and within moments they both came, clinging together, gasping for breath.

Obi-Wan slid off Bail, squirming down until he could rest his head on Bail's chest, his arm around his waist. He listened to Bail's heart pounding wildly against his ear and smiled, feeling inordinately pleased with himself, and only slightly embarrassed by the mess he had made in his pants.

Bail stroked Obi-Wan's hair with trembling fingers. "Fuck," he sighed, staring up at the cloudy sky. "I wasn't expecting that to happen."

"I know," Obi-Wan breathed against the Prince's chest.

"I mean, I was hoping it would, but not like that."

Contentedly nuzzling against Bail's warm skin, Obi-Wan repeated, "I know. Me, too."

"You know; you, too," Bail scoffed playfully, ruffling Obi-Wan's hair. "If you knew, then why didn't you pick a more opportune time and place?"

"It's not like I planned this."

"Hmph. Well, I hope you realize you've ruined my pants. These are real nerf-hide leather."

"Then maybe you should have worn something else."

There was a pause, then, "I see your point."

Obi-Wan smiled again, caught up in the unexpectedness of it all. He hadn't thought about them talking afterwards, though he should have, given Bail's garrulousness. Was this banter normal for lovers? He didn't have enough experience to know. Weren't they supposed to moan in ecstasy or murmur sweet nothings to each other? But none of that happened. Instead they lay in the grass, cuddled together, now silent, each of them lost in his own thoughts. Obi-Wan was certainly lost. His thoughts were confused, half-formed, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to crowd into his mind, but he paid them no attention, let them careen around in his skull without interference. He was too happy with what had happened, too eager to find out what would happen next.

Bail shivered beneath him and pulled his shirt closed. "It's a little too chilly out here to stay like this. Are you ready to go?"

Obi-Wan raised his head to look at Bail, nodding. Bail met his gaze, and Obi-Wan searched him, wondering what was going on behind those dark eyes. Not being Force-sensitive, Bail was a blank to him. Obi- Wan knew how to interpret the facial expressions of hate, distrust, suspicion -- of negotiations, diplomacy, and strategy -- but not love, or whatever it was they now shared. Obi-Wan leaned forward to kiss Bail again, but at the last minute the Prince evaded him, cocking his eyebrows and quirking a mischievous smile at him. "I'll drive this time," he announced, giving Obi-Wan a gentle shove and climbing to his feet. "There's something I want to show you before we go back."

They retrieved their helmets and climbed onto the bike, Obi-Wan shifting uncomfortably from the dampness in his pants. As Bail started up the engine, Obi-Wan molded his body to the Prince's, his legs pressing along the length of Bail's, melting against the Prince's back, his arms twining around Bail's chest in an embrace, his chin tucked into Bail's shoulder. The bike leaped into motion, and Obi-Wan was acutely aware of the engine vibrating beneath them, attuned to the slightest movement of Bail's body.

His own wantonness surprised him. Obi-Wan had never been demonstrative with his lovers, had been rather passive. Perhaps even then he felt his affairs were a betrayal of Qui-Gon. But he was here by choice. He was old enough now that what was going on with Bail could not be fully attributed to hormones. He wanted to touch, to feel, to absorb. Even the Prince's vast experience failed to intimidate him. He was eager to learn, as if he were being taught a new kata.

He paid little attention to where they were going, focusing solely on the physical sensation of Bail's body. Eventually they slowed to a stop, and he looked up from the Prince's neck to see they were in a canyon sculpted by centuries of wind and water. Bizarre towers of rocks stood above them, perched so precariously they seemed to have surely been carved by a sentient hand, and not by the impersonal forces of nature. It was like some fairy garden, and he and Bail were sprites, dwarfed by powerful stone creatures.

"I love this place," Bail said quietly. "I first came here on a class outing in school when we were studying geology. I couldn't believe such a magical place existed so near to where I lived."

"It's beautiful."

"We're lucky it's a cold day. Usually there are at least some people out here, but we seem to have the place to ourselves."

At that, Obi-Wan unconsciously began to caress Bail's chest. The Prince chuckled, catching Obi-Wan's hands. "Not yet. It's too cold out here for me. We'll go home in a minute. I just want you to see this place." He hesitated, and when he spoke again, Obi-Wan thought he could hear a trace of uncertainty in his voice. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much," he whispered. It pleased him that Bail wanted to show him a place that meant so much to him. "I'd like to come back sometime."

Bail said nothing, but settled back into his embrace, his arms laced with Obi-Wan's. Gradually, Obi-Wan's attention turned away from Bail, drawn to the beauty of the formations around them. There was not a sound in the canyon, and Obi-Wan stilled his breathing until he could feel the silence pressing in on him. He couldn't recall the last time he had heard perfect silence, and he marveled at its weight and texture. He felt small and insignificant next to the silence and grandeur of the place. These rocks were carved long before the Jedi were born. He was used to thinking of Yoda as old, but the venerable master was a newborn compared to this canyon. These stones would still be here long after he and his kind were all gone.

Suddenly an invisible light exploded before his eyes, and pain lanced through his entire body, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, but leaving him shaken. He must have jumped or cried out loud, because Bail twisted around to look at him, concern etching his brow. "Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how to answer. He felt sick and afraid, but he didn't know what he'd seen or what it meant. He felt Bail's cool fingers brush his cheek, and he closed his eyes, taking steadying breaths. Whatever it was, it was gone, and it meant nothing to him. What mattered was that he was here now, with Bail solid and real leaning against him. Inexplicably, the realization filled him with sadness, as if Bail might vanish without a trace. That couldn't happen, not yet. They had only just begun.

He wrapped his arms around Bail, pulling him tightly back against his chest, burying his face in the Prince's neck.

"What happened?" Bail asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Sometimes I see things. I seldom know what they mean."

"What did you see?"

"I don't know. It's gone now."

For a while Bail was silent, his thumbs rubbing circles on the back of Obi-Wan's hands, waiting for Obi-Wan to catch his breath. When the Jedi seemed to have calmed down, he asked again, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." But the unease remained. He wanted Bail to touch him, to kiss him. He wanted to do it right this time, to take it slow, to explore Bail's body and discover his own body through a new lover's hands. He wanted to teach and to learn, to be lost and found again, because suddenly he feared they wouldn't have much time. Life was so fragile, the entire universe balanced so precariously it would take only the slightest nudge to send it all collapsing into atoms. /Live in the moment./ Again that thought, Qui-Gon's beloved voice echoing silently in his head. The moment found him in another's arms, but it was all right. More than that, it was good.

"Let's go home," he whispered into Bail's ear.

Obi-Wan couldn't see it, but Bail smiled. "Your wish is my command, my Bendu."

That name, an old title for the Jedi, meaning "honored." It also meant "beloved." Obi-Wan didn't know how Bail intended it, but he thrilled at the possibilities of both.

Bail fired up the engine, and the bike rose, carrying them off into the cold afternoon sky.