Grand Master

by Lilith Sedai

Balance the Force 5: Grand Master
by Lilith Sedai

Archive: Master/Apprentice (not transferrable)

Categories: Slash, angst, action/adventure, Qui/Obi, drama, AU

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Anticlimactic falling action, incidental adventure plot, lots of Djinn, and lots of kitties. You didn't think having one brief, if happy, interlude of buttsex would actually going to be enough for the boys to figure out whether Qui-Gon's OK after all he's been through, do you?

Spoilers: At this late date, if you get spoiled for canon, it's your own fault. ;-)

Summary: Qui-Gon must face a challenging task to prove he has recovered from his ordeal, if he wants to take his rightful place as Obi-Wan's lover and as Grand Master of the Gray Jedi.

Feedback: It's been a long time since I've written in this fandom; I wasn't prepared for the Jedi boys to show back up and take over my life again. But I'm very glad they have, and I hope you are, too. I enjoy feedback, either on-list or off, but please know up front that I'm not particularly good at responding to it, especially when I'm consumed by RL responsibilities. If you would be offended by not receiving an in-depth response, please use your discretion. Still, there aren't a lot of Q/O people out there anymore, which greatly increases your chances. ;-) So does basic politeness.

Intellectual property disclaimer: I grovel before the mouse. Please, don't sue. But really, Disney. You guys aren't even selling Qui or Obi merchandise anymore. Surely this little dabble in the waters, conducted purely for fun and not for profit, shouldn't constitute a significant threat to your Galactic Empire....

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Merry Amelie for beta comments and encouragement. Thanks to Michele Lyons for insightful and inspirational comments about the ruling practices of the Djinn-- if she keeps this up I'm going to have to give her a co-author credit!-- and invaluable, timely support with pretty much everything. Thanks to Rayphile for putting up with an unending influx of Jedi, and for insisting on a fifth installment of this fic. I'm not thanking Liam and Ewan any more. Instead, I'm putting out a contract on them for their having having tormented me through over a megabyte, in plain text format, of this series.

NOTES: I'm creating a glossary for this fic as I go; I'll include the latest version of it with the zero post for each section of the story or at the end of the story on the archive. The glossary may contain spoilers.

Dedication: I would like to dedicate this story to Michele, hsv, Merry Amelie, cwgirlup75, ob1mcgregor, Kalujinn, Travis, Diane, Chalsedony, OracleRose, Bant, Obi-Ki, Stellaetoil, Laura, Writestuff, Catnip/Greenie, and others whose expressions of kindness and support are largely responsible for my final decision to publish it. Thank you, ladies.

Part 1: Chandar

Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt on his bedroll, meditating. Tree-filtered sunlight dappled his face, and a faint scent of wood smoke teased his nostrils. He barely noticed, his mind far away, submersed in his memories of Geonosis, where there was no sunlight, and the smoke stank of burning plastic and hot metal.

In his mind, he replayed his part in taking down Master Dooku. He had contemplated this moment a dozen times, each time the same: Windu wounded and out of the battle, Yoda fighting hard and tiring, Obi-Wan slinking up behind the embattled master, unseen, and beheading him without warning, offering no quarter.

There had been little of the Dark Side in it. Obi-Wan had felt no anger or fear, no desire for revenge: merely a cool practicality. Dooku was a fearsome master of the blade, allied with the Sith, and the threat he represented justified the use of deadly action. One might even say it had been the will of the Force.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan regretted stabbing the man in the back without warning. It was not an act of honor or bravery ('a Jedi craves not these things,' his conscience chided him in Yoda's voice), nor was it particularly one of cowardice. Still, it troubled him sufficiently that he kept returning to it, working to convince himself that it held nothing of the dark.

He had not reached even for positive emotion to enhance his skills; he had not needed to. And yet, he knew now that he would have done whatever it took, if pressed. He had to face the darkness within himself, and learn to live with the knowledge that he would use the Dark Side, if he must. He knew the taste of rage, and the exultant power of it swelling inside him. He had experienced the heady thrill of giving in to his fury and his fear, and letting them use him to devour and destroy. He knew the lust inspired by their siren call, and the burning of his desire to listen.

The blood-hot surge of shame from his admission shattered his peace, ending his meditation. The bitter adrenaline left his face red and his mouth tingling, with a metallic, electric taste upon his tongue.

Obi-Wan shivered despite the warm sun and humid air of the forest that surrounded him. He opened his eyes, blinking at the fire pit before his knees.

If his conscience tormented him over a few minutes' wrath, justly focused on eliminating the greater evil of Palpatine, how much worse did Qui-Gon fare? How much louder were the sirens that sang to him?

He rose, stretching his back and thighs methodically, and reached for the insulated handle of the kettle that steamed over the fire, pouring himself a mug of hot tea to savor before he sought his bedroll. The arranhar were nocturnal by nature, so he had adjusted his own schedule to coincide with Qui-Gon's. Every few days, Qui-Gon visited the camp, arriving at dawn, and curled up next to the fire, sleeping there until night fell, when he promptly returned to the woods. It didn't look like today would be one of those days.

Sipping his tea, he keyed the boarding ramp and went up into the ship, deciding to make a report to Yoda before he slept.

He was surprised to find a message from the Grand Master already awaiting him when he sat down at the comm console, and he started it, settling in to listen.

"Knight Kenobi." Yoda looked up at him from the small holopad. "On Coruscant am I, recording this between sittings of the Senate. Much controversy have we to manage. Chancellor Palpatine's death sends ripples through the galaxy. Laud him as a hero, some do. The great peacemaker of our time." Yoda's mouth pursed as if he had bitten something very sour. "This impression, the Senate wishes to foster. With reluctance, the Jedi will not contradict it."

Obi-Wan shook his head, a soft gasp of disgust escaping him.

"Little benefit would there be, and much conflict, in trying to expose the truth. He is gone. Senator Organa of Alderaan will run. A good choice, he would be. Perhaps he will be chosen." Yoda tapped thoughtfully at the floor with his stick. "Fortunate, it is, that Dooku did not survive; a faction exists that would have put him forward. Much support, I think, he would have found."

Obi-Wan scratched at his beard, grimacing. That would have been a disaster; perhaps it was time to give up his guilt over dispatching Dooku.

"Concern you excessively, these things should not. Your time, this is, for healing. For finding your center. Know something, I do, of the struggle you face." Yoda's expression softened. "Both yourself and Qui-Gon. Think not, Obi-Wan, that any Jedi can live for 800 years and never be tempted by the Dark Side." He tilted his head, his face sober. "Strong, you are, and strong you must be, to turn from it. As must I." He cleared his throat.

"Look forward to your reports, I will. May the Force be with you."

He vanished, and Obi-Wan smiled sadly at the space where his image had been. He prepared to record a message of his own, composing himself and considering his words, then pressed the button and began to speak.

"Master Yoda, your transmission is appreciated. Troublesome though some of your news is, I understand the reasons behind it. Also, much you say comforts me. I believe I have the strength you mention, and I will continue to work to center myself and find peace with what occurred on Geonosis."

He hesitated for a moment, preparing his words.

"I know you are concerned for Qui-Gon as well. Unfortunately, I have less progress to report there than you might wish. As I mentioned in my previous report, Qui-Gon maintains a place of equilibrium inside himself, one that is not of the dark, and he inhabits it. This encourages me.

"He still spends most of his time running with the arranhar. It's effective as a centering technique. I think it allows him to achieve emotional neutrality. Since we last communicated, I've pursued the pack on two occasions and observed their hunting from a distance. After the manner of beasts, the cats are aware of neither good nor evil even in moments of violence, killing to eat rather than for pleasure, pursuing all basic biological functions for survival, without the ulterior motives of a sentient species. They place no expectations on him. In their company, he can allow himself simply to be, to live in the moment, while experiencing no psychological or moral pressures.

"When he returns to our camp, as he does infrequently but regularly, he speaks little, but he attends to me when I talk. I give him food and a bed and replace his clothing as needed. I appreciate your attention to my requests in that matter; please pass on my thanks to the quartermaster. The leathers the courier brought for him are ideal, and they've prevented him from sustaining a multitude of superficial scratches and injuries of the sort he was incurring daily before they arrived." Obi-Wan hesitated, wondering how much more detail was needed, and decided to press on.

"He's made no move to renew intimacy between us. I suspect he feels guilt over our last encounter, when Darth Mallaigh passed the taozin nodules to me. For my own part, I bear no resentment against him for that, and yet I'm content to wait until the time is right. Our previous experiences were prompted by necessity as much as by affection. I would prefer any future intimacy to be more personally satisfying." He let his mouth quirk upward in a wry smile.

"I'm afraid I can't project a timetable on Qui-Gon's recovery. I trust King Tiran is helping with the administration of the Xinune Compound, and I have faith that the senior knights and masters are equal to the task as well. Still, if you have news of their activities, please transmit it with your next contact. It might be beneficial to speak of it to Qui-Gon when he next visits my camp."

He bowed his head with respect for Yoda. "I'll report again in a tenday, or as soon as there is new information to pass along. Thank you for your indulgence in this matter, Master Yoda, and may the Force be with you."

Obi-Wan terminated the recording and transmitted it, then allowed himself to yawn. Scrubbing his palm through his hair, he rose and went down the ramp, re-sealing the ship. He peeled off his tunics and tossed them over a branch for morning.

Chattan was sitting on Qui-Gon's bedroll, staring out into the forest. The cat seemed at home on this world, foraging in the woods and catching and eating a variety of small game animals, primarily rodents. However, he showed no signs of abandoning the camp, and no fondness for the much larger feline arranhar, remaining with Obi-Wan while Qui-Gon ran with the hunt.

"I don't think he's coming to visit us today," Obi-Wan told him, receiving a flat green stare in return. He yawned and settled into his bedding, closing his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

When he swam back to consciousness, it was with a sense that he was being watched. He squinted against the sunlight; directly overhead, it dazzled his eyes.

He rolled to his side and blinked at Qui-Gon, who sat on his haunches across the fire pit, idly ruffling Chattan's fur and watching him sleep.

Obi-Wan sat up, trying to smile and yawn at the same time, and wound up feeling ridiculously childish. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and succumbed to the temptation to stretch the sleep out of his muscles.

"It's good to see you," he greeted casually, aware that his heart was speeding up under the intensity of Qui-Gon's regard. "You look well."

He did; the abundance of the Living Force on Chandar made the place an ideal environment for Qui-Gon Jinn. His aura, deep emerald green, fit in smoothly with the energy of the verdant wilderness around them, and his supple brown leathers showed no sign of soiling, but merged subtly with the dark tones of woodland and earth, as if he had arisen from the soil where he stood, part and parcel of the land.

Qui-Gon stood, an easy surge of muscles, and beckoned Obi-Wan to follow, departing without looking to see if his request would be obeyed.

Obi-Wan snatched for his tunics and fell in behind his old master quickly, shrugging into them on the move. This new development intrigued him. Qui-Gon hadn't previously shown any sign of wanting his company away from the camp. Always he had come to Obi-Wan on his own and departed similarly, sometimes with a flash of eyes that warned him not to pursue.

The man could move in the forest with absolute silence; his tousled hair, growing out of its short crop, and his tanned skin gave him a feral look in spite of the well-tailored leather he wore.

Obi-Wan kept up, guessing from the direction that they were going to join the cats. Qui-Gon's pack ranged a fairly wide territory that encompassed several favorite resting spots. The current favored one was only a couple of kilometers away, where a low mountain ridge terminated in an outcrop of dark granite boulders, ideal for basking. A cascading stream tumbled from the topmost stones and pooled at the foot of the outcrop. The water hole drew a variety of game, providing easy prey for the cats, as well as a convenient place to drink.

In the lee of the ridge, the forest melted into a wide grassland, where a flat granite sheet lay too close under the surface to allow trees to thrive. A variety of herd-beasts grazed there, the preferred prey of the arranhar, again conveniently adjacent to the watering hole. It could not be a more ideal situation for such a large pack; sixteen beasts required a great deal of hunting to sustain.

Qui-Gon led him through the forest, leaping over the stream and then following it to the base of the outcrop. Obi-Wan looked up cautiously, counting the cats and finding all sixteen. Good. They might be dormant in the heat of the afternoon, but he wouldn't like to let one of them slip up behind him unnoticed, not even with Qui-Gon close at hand.

Other than a few twitching ears and noses, the cats ignored Obi-Wan and simply slept on, lying stretched out in the sun, their claws retracted into their paws.

Qui-Gon glanced aside at Obi-Wan, a smile stretching his lips, and Obi-Wan returned it. His old master tilted his head, another invitation to follow, then scrambled up to join the cats. As Obi-Wan followed, Qui-Gon slid out of his clothing and stretched his long, lean body along the smooth surface of a water-worn boulder, his back shining in the sun. He closed his eyes, settling in to rest.

Obi-Wan blinked, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Qui-Gon's entire body was sun-dark, his golden skin shining with perspiration from the tight leathers. The water sang softly, cascading into the pool below, murmuring and pattering as it rippled over the rocks on its way down. An insect hummed past Obi-Wan's head, wings making a drowsy drone in the hot air. His clothing felt unpleasantly heavy, hot and sticky against his skin.

He peeled off his tunics slowly, pondering the significance of the invitation-- Qui-Gon showed no further inclination to communicate or socialize; he merely wanted Obi-Wan's company, it seemed, as he and the cats slept.

Obi-Wan hesitated, hands at the waist of his leggings, then removed them as well in deference to Qui-Gon's own nudity. A sluggish breeze stirred against his skin, and he thought wistfully of the pool, but decided not to climb back down to bathe. Instead, he stretched out at Qui-Gon's side. The stone was hot under his belly, baking warmth into him, making him sweat. The breeze slowly evaporated it, cooling his back even as the sun baked into it, keeping him from overheating.

He would have to retreat into the shade before long if he didn't want to burn his skin; he was as pale as Qui-Gon was dark. But the sun was moving, and the shade from an outcrop drifted slowly toward him; it would cover him soon enough.

He put his head down on the cradle of his arms, sighing, and relaxed, enjoying Qui-Gon's quiet presence next to him. He seemed calm and relaxed, his eyes and aura each their proper color-- a distinct improvement from their time aboard the ship, when Qui-Gon's Force presence had been a mess, his normal vibrant green aura twisted with sickly yellow and dull red, his emotions given over to long intervals of despair and flares of sudden, inexplicable rage.

He shifted slightly, and glanced aside, finding that Qui-Gon's blue eyes were open, fixed on him.

"This is nice," he murmured. "Thanks for asking me to come out."

"You're welcome." Slow and deep, the lazy rumble of Qui-Gon's voice made Obi-Wan smile. He rolled himself to his back, throwing one arm over his face.

Qui-Gon rolled over as well, then sat up; Obi-Wan remained supine, letting him look his fill.

He sensed Qui-Gon extending his hand before it settled on his belly, and did not flinch when it did, sighing softly with pleasure. The hand moved, resting on his skin very lightly, an almost-timid caress that slid along his stomach, then up the center of his chest. Qui-Gon's hand moved along his arm, caressing more with palm than fingertips, as if looking to confirm the solidity of him rather than seeking the texture of his skin.

"Mmmm," he purred softly, letting the man know the touch was welcome, shifting to ease his position on the hard stone and edging subtly closer to Qui-Gon in the process.

Qui-Gon lifted his hand and studied it, thumb settling into his palm and moving lightly there, tracing the hollow of his hand.

"The dreams are the worst," he said abruptly, his low voice husky. "In them, I'm back with the Sith, doing as he says. Feeling what he wants me to feel."

Obi-Wan lifted his arm from his face, checking Qui-Gon's expression, which was sober but remained open.

"Sometimes I dream he makes me seek you out and kill you." Qui-Gon's fingertips trailed across the tendons in the back of Obi-Wan's hand, then along his smallest finger, curling it down toward the palm and extending it again, testing the way it moved in response to pressure.

"You're free of him now," Obi-Wan said softly. "He'll never hurt anyone again."

Qui-Gon smiled, his eyes shadowed with remembered pain, and Obi-Wan closed his fingers around Qui-Gon's thumb, squeezing gently.

"I felt what you and Yoda did." Qui-Gon's hand freed itself, then resumed its slow transit along Obi-Wan's arm. "I don't think we could have defeated him without it. Are you all right now?"

"As all right as I suspect I can be." Obi-Wan met his eyes quietly. "My teacher told me to let the Dark Side go when its usefulness was ended. He was right."

Qui-Gon smiled very faintly. "If it will let you go, yes."

Together, his words were more than all the others he had spoken in days. When he subsided, Obi-Wan let him, merely sliding along the rock to lie closer to Qui-Gon's flank. Qui-Gon continued to stroke his skin gently, the motion of his fingers sensual, but without erotic intent.

"I used the taozin nodule to catch Dooku from behind, unawares," Obi-Wan murmured at length. "He put Windu out of commission, and he was wearing Yoda down. I... it was clean and fast. Sai cha."

Qui-Gon nodded, not meeting his gaze, watching the tip of his forefinger as it circled the knob of bone in Obi-Wan's wrist. "He would have had my place, if I hadn't beaten him to it."

The sun flooded down as they sat in silence, until Obi-Wan could feel his exposed skin starting to burn where it was most tender. He rose, stretching, and climbed down to the pool, stepping under the cascade and letting it pour over his head and shoulders. He stayed there until he felt clean and fresh, his body cool.

Qui-Gon watched him, unmoving, as he shook his hair, slinging water everywhere. One of the cats opened an eye and glared at him in disgust, then lazily padded out of range before flopping down again.

Obi-Wan returned to Qui-Gon's side, sitting in the shade with his back against a smooth stone, folding his legs into the lotus. His Force sense had begun to tingle at him, so he reached for his center and listened to its soft prompting. His intuition clarified slowly: the Unifying Force stirred, warning him through a vague feeling of unease, of something somewhere that was not right.

Qui-Gon followed suit, his brow wrinkled, and Obi-Wan realized he felt it too-- more strongly, with his greater attunement to the Living Force energies.

His eyes flew open and he surged to his feet.

"Get under cover," he shouted hoarsely, and Obi-Wan felt him reach out to the cats, compelling them to obey. They arose, sleek bodies thumping down along the tiered shelf of stones, and milled under the ridge, crowding beneath an overhang, green eyes fixed on Qui-Gon, who glared up into the sky, bare as the day he was born, his lightsaber flying into his hand.

By then, Obi-Wan could feel it himself-- a ship, piercing the atmosphere and powering toward them. The presences on the ship had a mercenary flavor, merciless and greedy.

"Poachers. They're after the cats," Qui-Gon snarled, and Obi-Wan was alarmed to note that his eyes had taken a greenish cast, staring fiercely into the sky. "They have a sensor lock on the pack."

Obi-Wan snatched his clothes and struggled back into them, leggings clinging to his wet skin, then took up the guard position as Qui-Gon reluctantly donned his own clothing.

He could see the freighter in his mind now, a bulky Corellian ship with its cargo bays converted to heavy cages. The whistle of its passage through the atmosphere became audible.

Qui-Gon began to climb, targeting the very top of the rise, and Obi-Wan followed him. The pulsing red was back in Qui-Gon's aura, muddying and dirtying it, and that concerned him more than a few poachers ever could.

"They won't be difficult to handle," he tried to inject some perspective, but Qui-Gon ignored him, his long, powerful arms and legs letting him climb much faster than Obi-Wan could.

Obi-Wan scrambled up a few minutes behind Qui-Gon and went to his side, splitting his attention between the descending ship and Qui-Gon's scowl as he watched it settle into the woods not far away.

Qui-Gon turned abruptly, descending the ridge even faster than he had climbed, leaping lightly from boulder to boulder. Obi-Wan set his jaw and followed again.

"What do you mean to do?" he inquired, not at all lightly, when they reached the flat.

"They'll be coming with stun guns and repulsorlifts," Qui-Gon spat. "I'm going to stop them."

"Stop them, or kill them?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone much lighter than his heart, and Qui-Gon shot a scowl at him from under heavy brows. "Maybe I should go instead." He did not back down, meeting Qui-Gon's stare easily.

Qui-Gon broke first, jerking his head away, fists clenching in frustration. "Maybe you should," he gritted out, and strode away, his spine painfully straight. He whistled to the cats, and they melted into the grasslands together, so fast it seemed impossible they were ever there.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, tempted to curse the poachers and his own ill-luck, and set out toward the landing site. The sooner he could get rid of the interlopers, the better.

He slid through the forest silently, not quite as easily as Qui-Gon, but the Force guided him forward nonetheless. Within a few minutes he had penetrated nearly to the ship. He leaped easily, catching the low-hanging branch of a tall tree, and climbed upward until he had a good vantage point of the clearing where the poachers had landed. His heart sank; the fuselage sported a Dramacore logo. Just what Qui-Gon didn't need.

Obi-Wan leaned against the broad bole of the tree, alert to the noises from within the freighter. Before long, servomotors whined and its loading ramp descended, disgorging a handful of tall, burly men.

Obi-Wan blinked, his heart sinking further as the leader lifted his head to survey the forest, long blond hair swinging about his shoulders: unmistakably, the man was Majnun Djinn.

Best to take the bantha by the horns.

He hopped down out of the tree and stepped to the verge of the clearing, standing still, waiting to be noticed.

It didn't take long before a shout went up, and he found himself facing a small thicket of blasters. Majnun stepped forward, scowling at him, and Obi-Wan spoke just before his mouth opened.

"This planet is under Jedi protection. You will leave now." He moved his hand slightly, pushing Force at the Djinn, suspecting it was useless.

Majnun's brow furrowed into a scowl, his dark blue eyes glaring at Obi-Wan. "Mind tricks don't work on me, Jedi. And the Republic has no authority on this world, so don't give me that Jedi protection cac capaill."

"The world is under my protection. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It's your choice." Obi-Wan did not back down, calmly surveying the cold metal barrels that targeted him, listening for the whisper in the Force that would warn him before anyone fired. He felt the Dark Force stir, not far away at all, whispering its seductive siren call, and he pushed it aside with determination.

Majnun looked at him hard, eyes calculating. "Listen, Jedi. I don't have a choice, but I do have a ship full of loyal men. I'd be willing to bet that the twelve of us can take you down, but I'd rather not lose half of us trying. Now why don't you tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what I want, and we'll make a deal."

"I want you to leave here without the arranhar you plan on poaching." Obi-Wan spoke levelly, watching Majnun's eyes flare with surprise.

"That point isn't negotiable." He folded his arms.

"Nor is mine." Obi-Wan curled his hand slowly around the hilt of his saber, watching one of the Djinn, whose trigger finger seemed rather more twitchy than the others'.

The finger closed and the blaster fired. In less than an instant Obi-Wan lit his blade and blocked, directing the bolt back against the ship. A low sizzle and flare of electric arc revealed that he'd caught them offguard; the ship was unshielded.

"Ciach ort, Jedi!" Majnun snapped, flinging a hand out in front of his men. "And you, hold your fire until I say!" His eyes narrowed. "What interest does a Jedi have in a few mangy cats?"

"My interest is in preserving your lives," Obi-Wan explained smoothly. "You see, I'm not alone in my concern, and my companions are much less forgiving than I. Move against the cats, and I won't be held responsible for what happens to you."

Majnun stared at him slowly, and began to laugh, a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. "Typical Jedi doubletalk."

"It isn't doubletalk at all, mo dhearthàir." Qui-Gon's voice was low with menace, emanating from the air that surrounded them, impossible to locate.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth with frustration as Majnun's eyes went wide, then narrowed again, burning at him. "You," he said slowly. "You were the Jedi prisoner." He lifted his head, eyes darting futilely in search of Qui-Gon.

"You saw what he did on Lisyl." Obi-Wan spoke quietly. "Go, or it might happen to you."

Majnun jerked his head at his men, directing them back toward the ship.

"This isn't over," he said, raising his voice. "Do you hear me, Ki-Gu"n?" He backed away nonetheless. "I need those cats to feed my people. You can't guard an entire planet. Not two of you."

He slapped the control panel for the ramp, and vanished into the ship, which powered up and took off.

"He's right, you know." Obi-Wan sighed. "They'll be back."

Qui-Gon dropped to the ground next to him, all but soundless, his eyes green as a cat's. "No, they won't." He turned away, not toward the plains, but toward Tiran's ship. "Come on. We're going to address the source of the problem."

"You mean..."

"We're going to Abhaile." The green slowly ebbed from Qui-Gon's eyes, but the tension didn't leave his muscles. "My homeworld." He set out toward the ship at a fast trot.

When they arrived, Qui-Gon went straight aboard. He vanished into the ship and fired up the engines, barely giving Obi-Wan time to gather up their bedrolls and kick apart the fire-pit. By the time he boarded, the ship was already vibrating with the force of the thrusters, and clouds of dirt and leaf were blowing everywhere. Chattan sat at the top of the ramp, sneezing, and gave him a baleful stare, rising and stalking away toward the crew quarters.

Obi-Wan raked grit out of his hair, tossing the bedding aside, and went up to the cockpit, where Qui-Gon was already maneuvering them up through the canopy.

"How will you ensure Majnun doesn't take the cats while we're on Abhaile?" Obi-Wan seated himself in the co-pilot's chair.

Qui-Gon paused in tapping at the comm panel. "I'll call for a gathering of the clans. He's a chieftain; he's honor-bound to come."

"You can do that?"

"As the last full-blooded male descendent of the leaders of my clan, yes." Qui-Gon looked up, his jaw set tight. "I can."

But they aren't going to like it, Obi-Wan guessed, seeing the hardness in his eyes.

Qui-Gon lingered to send his message before pushing them into hyperspace; when he had, he sat back in the pilot's chair. The energy that had animated him faded even as Obi-Wan watched; for the space of a few heartbeats, Obi-Wan could see the man's doubts chasing themselves across his mind.

He gathered himself after a moment, putting on a semblance of his customary serenity, but Obi-Wan understood the thinness of the veneer. He rose and set his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, silently offering his support, hoping not to shame the man unduly.

Qui-Gon let his eyes close and sighed, but did not relax. "The Djinn aren't going to welcome us with open arms. Particularly not you." His hands moved restlessly on his thighs, palms moving along the smooth leather. "Offworlders aren't usually allowed on Abhaile at all."

"How much do you know about the culture?"

"A handful. Enough to get myself in trouble."

Obi-Wan chuckled at that. Qui-Gon's shoulders felt good, the leather he wore sleek and body-hot-- he realized belatedly that one hand had become two, and that he was caressing the hard muscles underneath the thin sheath of clothing. Qui-Gon's eyes slid closed, and his hands stopped moving on his thighs, clenching there, very still.

Obi-Wan paused, torn between apology and escalation, then chose neither. He squeezed softly, leaning in and brushing the lightest ghost of a kiss against Qui-Gon's temple, and departed to gather up the abandoned bedding. He folded the blankets methodically, then stowed them in their places. All the while, he half-expected Qui-Gon to come seek him out-- but he didn't.

Instead, Qui-Gon retreated to his bunk-- and stayed there for the majority of the trip. Obi-Wan was left to his own devices, so he spent the time as profitably as he could. He cooked and ate, exercised, meditated, read, or played solitary games of dejarik. He greeted Qui-Gon cordially when the man emerged to get food from the galley. His friendliness was not rebuffed, but Qui-Gon did not cultivate interaction, either, and Obi-Wan respected his desire for solitude. After all, his healing time had been forcibly cut short, and he still had to come to terms with what he'd done as Darth Mallaigh.

PART II - Abhaile