Heroes of the Galaxy

by Emrin Alexander

PAIRING: Will(Qui)/Ian/(Obi)
UNIVERSE: The Amazing Mrs. Hamill's WHEEL OF IF
FOLLOWS: WHEEL, Episode 16
RATING: Definitely R, maybe a little NC-17
ARCHIVE: Yes to Master_Apprentice
SPOILERS: Not really - unless you haven't read WHEEL, Episode 16.
WARNINGS: None.
CATEGORY: Humor, Romance, A/U, First Time.
SUMMARY: What happened to Will Leeson and Ian McLawson, and their series,Heroes of the Galaxy, after our Obi-Wan blinked out to further travels in the Wheel.

THANK YOU'S: Its like the Oscars, gotta' do this! A hundred gazillion "THANK YOU'S" to Terri Hamill for graciously allowing me to take out her characters and play with them. As promised, Terri, I return them to your sandbox in working order.

WHEEL in all its elegant brilliance is entirely hers; this little corner of that Universe is my homage to Wheel. Terri - again, so many many thanks for letting me hang out with Will and Ian.

Annie Carr - partner mine, for beta above and beyond, my profound gratitude. My Annie not only beta'd this sucker, she did it while in bed with bronchitis and I'm sure she wished to be doing anything but taming my addiction to the dreaded ellipses.

NOTES: I don't think anybody could possibly mistake Mr. Leeson and Mr. McLawson for anyone other than their universe's Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, but just to be safe: Mr. Leeson and Mr. McLawson are their universe's Qui and Obi. They bear absolutely no resemblence to anyone else in thought, word, deed or appearance.

Think Jedi in tight jeans.

"He really was Obi-Wan." Will closed the door to their shared dressing room and leaned against it. "He WAS Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Ian, who was in the middle of a bending and stretching exercise, didn't stop what he was doing; he simply answered Will, head between his knees: "I know that. I was just reading about alternate dimensions the other day and remember that lecture I took you to at the University last year? Must be millions of possible realities. Not that I would actually want to be traveling in them."

"Ian - he disappeared. Right in front of me." Will moved slowly forward, trying - with no success - to ignore the perfect backside presented to his gaze.

Ian McLawson touched the top of his head to the dressing room floor a final time and resumed normal standing position. "Cool. Did he tell you anything else?"

Will shook his head. "Just that he hoped my contract would be all right. Which it probably won't." Just thinking about swapping dimensions made his head ache. "I still think Serge is going to pop several blood vessels, to say the least."

He pushed away from the door and sat down in the nearest chair. He couldn't get away from the imagined chill of travelling from dimension to dimension. "I hope he finds his Qui-Gon. I really do."

Ian smiled, his expression one of warm affection. "So do I. And for the thousandth time - stop worrying about your job."

"Serge fired Rebecca because you ran your hand over her ass. How do you think he's going to take Obi-Wan deep-throating Qui-Gon on live holocast? And what better excuse to send Qui into the sunset afterwards? While Obi-Wan - brave and resigned, newly knighted, goes on, his young apprentice in tow."

With exaggerated patience, Ian said, "Look, you've got a huge fan base, right? Just as large as mine. Maybe more - Serge is not stupid enough to toss that away for some brat whose voice hasn't even changed yet. And if he is - he can hardly do that if the ratings are through the roof."

"Has Rebecca found another job?"

"She's auditioning all over the place."

Will nodded, his expression grim. "My point exactly. Auditioning. Ian - I'm too old to start doing the rounds again." He studied his face in the mirror dispassionately. "She's what? 25? And I'm. . ."

"Just fine the way you are." Ian was firm. "And, besides, you always have m..." Whatever he was about to say was lost as there was a knock on the door.

Rina, Serge's Assistant, stuck her head into the room. "FYI, the live broadcast is put back until Friday."

"That's two more days, why?" Ian asked.

She shrugged and Will absently noted that her purple fingernails exactly matched the shade of her short, spiky hair. "The As The Yardstick Turns' producers pitched a fit about our live broadcast on the same night as their big Bonding Ceremony ep. Serge owes their executive producers a favor. So, we're live on Friday. Downtime tomorrow, another walk through and blocking on Thursday, dress rehearsal Friday afternoon, live holocast 7 sharp."

"It's meant to be," Ian said as soon as Rina departed. "Has to be - why else would we get two more days to work out our ad lib and maybe practice?"

"Right." Will said. Inwardly, he was definitely not so sure.

"Ian," Rebecca watched him move his dinner from one side of the plate to the other for the fifth time in as many minutes, "when are you going to tell Will the truth?"

"About what?" Ian rearranged his pasta into a maze pattern. He didn't look up.

"About how you feel. About how you really want things to be. About the fact that you and I are just sharing this house until Jara finishes her post-doc work. Or how about the fact that you and I have always just been friends? Or that you want to spend your life with him? Or any of a 100 things we've talked about over the past couple of years."

The commitment band on her right hand sparkled silver in the warm lighting of Ian's kitchen. Ian stared at it with undisguised envy and then finally looked up and met her eyes.

Sighing loudly, he said, "Oh sure, Becca. I can see it now. I walk up to Will Leeson, my co-star and good friend and say: "Will, I think you should know that Rebecca is married to a woman named Jara who is going to be a big time virologist any day now. And we've always been like brother and sister. And by the way, I've wanted to ravish you ever since I walked in to do my first reading with you. The feelings haven't stopped, they've just gotten stronger over the years." Oh, absolutely. That would go ever so extremely well."

"Actually, I wasn't going to suggest you say any of that."

"Really?"

"Really." She smiled and moved his plate away before he could start venturing into food art again. "I was going to suggest you tell him something simple like "I love you."'

Ian opened his mouth to contradict her and couldn't. He sighed. "Lot of good it does me."

"You might be surprised. You never will know what might be, if you don't talk to Will."

"At least this way, we're friends." He got up and began putting their dishes into the washing unit. "If I lost that, I don't know what I would do. I need him, Becca."

"And if you gained something more?"

He pushed the machine's start button. "I'll think about it."

"Serge, I know what I am talking about."

"Sweetie, who is the producer?"

"I'd like to know that myself." Lucasta Zukas glared at her husband across the dinner table. Gods, he was so frustrating! "Serge, your viewer base is women. Aged 20 - 65. They love Ian. They adore Will. Don't mess with that. And another thing - they want the subtext between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan expanded upon."

"Sweetie, you know perfectly well the kids don't like romance."

"Serge - KIDS do not watch the show. They do not buy the advertisers' products, WOMEN watch the show, buy the stuff, and it is about time you figured that out."

When he smiled at her like that, his bearded, cheerful face gently condescending, Lucy wanted to throw bread at him. "Sweetie, you just spend the money. Let me make it."

Lucy sipped her tea and almost bit her tongue in two. Just wait. One opening. One chance to show you I'm right. Just one chance. Aloud she said: "And I told you before and I'm telling you again - you are wrong. You are SO wrong. And stop calling me 'Sweetie.' I hate that."

"Swee-Honeybear - chill out. I know my viewers. No romance. No subtext. The kids wouldn't buy it. They think all that emotional stuff is yukky." He drank some wine. "Is this a new recipe for the quava?"

Lucy gulped down the rest of her tea and thought: Just wait.

Will's car was an older model. It ran on a combination of solar battery power and recycled power packs - an innovation the Volvaran Motor Company had pioneered, which proved lastingly appealing to the economy minded citizens of Coruscant and Coruscant City. This vehicle was dependable, well-built and completely uninteresting. No flash whatsoever. Not unlike, Will thought on more than one occasion, himself. Millions of women might drool over "Heroes of the Galaxy", might daydream endlessly about being saved from the dripping fangs of a starving rancor by Qui-Gon Jinn, might line up in the rain for hours to get Will Leeson's autograph; he still looked in the mirror and saw a rather ordinary middle-aged man with nothing particular to recommend him.

In any event, the car ran well, needed little in the way of maintenance and got him where he wanted to go. Which was all Will Leeson cared about. He left the sports models and racing bikes to his co-star.

He could have purchased something new and expensive and eye-catching, but new and expensive and eye-catching was simply not in his nature. Heroes might be a bona fide success/hit. For him, behind the present success lay over 20 years of slogging. Oh, he'd always worked - theater, commercials, guest shots on holovid series and what were termed "interesting" character parts in holofilms. Always working, never quite hitting that break-through part. Life had taught him to be careful. When the money began rolling in after (unbelievably to him) Heroes became a hit, he'd saved far more than he spent. He'd never even owned a car until Ian's constant teasing about his lack of wheels finally got to him. So, he'd gone shopping and acquired his present vehicle. Pre-owned, naturally. Ian had teased him about that too, and he smiled a little ruefully, remembering.

Ian. Now there was a thought to conjure with. Ian McLawson was beautiful - there was no other word for it. He shouldn't have been - but he was, and the beauty extended both inside and out. Some stars had "attitudes" and distanced themselves from their fans the second they made it. Will had seen Ian happily chatting and signing autographs for fans young and old until he must have wanted to fall over, but he was never anything other than friendly and gracious. Not that he, Will, would leave if there was still one person waiting for an autograph, but he had to force himself to make small talk. Ian chatted happily to everyone as though he was at a family reunion.

Surprising interests lay behind the tempting exterior - fans would have been surprised to see Ian - with the same endless patience used signing autographs - coaching a handicapped children's acting class in Lower Coruscant City. Or reading one of the volumes of obscure poetry he collected with obsessive delight. Or knowing that their studio dressing room and Ian's house overflowed with books on every conceivable subject, from physics to the theory and practice of martial meditation. A very interesting mind, had Ian, the breadth and depth of his interests quite astonishing.

Not that the physical left much to be desired either. Tall - though not as tall as Will (but not many men were), square jaw , with a cleft in the middle of his chin. Will had often wondered what Ian's smooth skin would taste like. His auburn hair was kept in the short spiky style Serge deemed a "Padawan cut." Ian often groused about the fact that his contract wouldn't let him change his hair, but somewhere during the second season the long Padawan braid, tucked behind and flowing down from his left ear, had become really his as well. Qui-Gon/Will often teased him by tugging on it. And then there was his most remarkable feature, his eyes. Changeable eyes that seemed blue one second, brown the next, and then green. Added to a lithe, well-muscled body, lush, very kissable lips and. . .

Will sighed. Very kissable and very off-limits. He ran a hand over his short beard, reminding himself firmly that he was too old, too tall, too plain and way too male, to appeal to Ian McLawson.

A horn blared and Will jumped. The traffic signal had turned to gold and he put his foot down on the power pad with rather more force than necessary. Much more of this and he would never get home in one piece. Better not to think about Ian at all while driving and most especially not when the man was more than half-way to having Will, most cautious of men, talked into doing what amounted to pure insanity. At least he had 12 hours or so to steel himself against the siren call of his co-star. Though Will knew, as inevitably as the sunrise, at some point on the morrow, Ian would either call him or show up expecting to "rehearse."

"What are you doing here?"

Ian shrugged. "Are you going to let me in?"

Will stared at the man on his doorstep for another long moment and then stood back, 'Um, sure. Come in." 12 hours? Not even 4 hours had passed since leaving the studio - not nearly enough time. All his stern intentions turned to mush when faced with the reality of Ian McLawson radiating sexual good cheer.

Ian glided past him, wearing the tight, faded denim leggings he favored when not working and a pale green t-shirt. Will caught a whiff of the spicy scent that was uniquely Ian and gulped.

"So, what brings you here at this time of night?"

Ian flowed into Will's living room and flopped onto a sofa. "This time of night? Will, its not even midnight."

"I know that. Where's Rebecca?"

Ian shrugged. "Dance class. She's teaching at the Coruscant Academy this semester."

"I see. So," Will fought the urge to begin pacing and sat down instead, opposite his partner, "like I said - what brings you here?"

"Practice."

He ran a hand over his beard, a nervous gesture, and made a final attempt at reason. "Ian - I've been thinking and I'm sure this is not going to work."

"Of course it will work," one eyebrow went up, "unless you have some deep-seated revulsion towards me. Do you have a deep-seated revulsion towards me?

How to answer that one? What would Ian do if he answered with complete candor: 'Why not at all Ian. In fact, for starters, I'd like to fuck you into screaming, senseless ecstasy.' Will studied his hands as though he'd never seen them before, grateful that the past shoulder-length hair he kept for his role hid what might have been a telltale face. "That's not it, the problem is Serge."

"You don't have to kiss Serge. Frankly, I wonder just how Mrs. Serge stands kissing Serge."

"Ian!"

"That lady deserves a medal. I prefer men with hair." Ian was grinning now, and Will couldn't help laughing.

"Fine. Point taken."

"And I don't revolt you, right?"

Ian almost looked - anxious? But the expression flickered for just a moment on Ian's face and then was gone before he could identify it. "No, you don't revolt me. Of course not."

"Well, then?"

Will took a deep breath, opened his mouth to argue and heard himself say instead, "We should figure out where in the scene to do it."

Was it his overeager imagination, or did Ian visibly relax?

"How about from my line, you know, when Qui-Gon turns up a day after Obi-Wan has received the false report that Qui's been eaten by a Rancor, and I say 'Master, you're alive!' and you say 'As you see, Padawan.' I could kiss you then."

Will thought about it, mentally running through the scene in question. "That should work."

Ian nodded. "It fits, too, because I'm supposed to say 'I'm so glad you're alive, Master' and you reply "As am I, Obi-Wan." Which still fits, even after we kiss."

"And then we roll credits, so if Serge is still alive, he can kill us off camera."

"Absolutely."

Will stood up, mentally chanting "I am not nervous" as he did so. "Take it from the point where Qui-Gon enters the comm center?"

Ian rose to his feet "OK. Let's see," He walked over and stood next to a library table on the opposite side of the room. He paused, then went on talking, blocking the scene out loud: "Obi-Wan is looking over data readouts, expression nobly worried," he furrowed his brow to suitable effect, "and Qui-Gon quietly enters and watches him for a beat, then Obi turns around and looks shocked, then delighted." He turned around, gazed at Will for a heartbeat, while shock and then delighted amazement painted his face.

Will patiently waited for him to deliver the lines.

OBI-WAN: Master! You're alive!

QUI-GON: As you see, Padawan.

Ian nodded approval, then continued thinking aloud. "OK, now, normally, you would join me at the computer terminals and my line is 'I'm so glad you're alive' and you respond, 'As am I, Obi-Wan', but instead. . ."

Will couldn't have moved if his life depended on it, and was that really his heart pounding its way out of his chest? He gripped the back of the sofa for support, cleared his throat and prompted, "Instead?"

"What?" Ian shook his head as though to clear it. "Oh, instead I'm going to move over to you very swiftly - that commanding walk thing," Ian suited actions to words, "pull your head down and," his fingers tangled in the long silky strands of Will's hair. He looked into Will's eyes for a long moment, then whispered, "And kiss you."

It was the lightest of touches, just a ghosting of soft lips across his own, but it electrified Will, sending arcs of sensation straight south. Someone - he thought it might have been Ian - murmured something that sounded like "so soft" and then Ian was kissing him, really kissing him. Will froze when Ian's tongue licked gently at his own lips, asking entrance, then, as Ian began to pull away, his rational self shut down, and he acted on pure instinct, tightening his arms around Ian and parting his lips at the same moment. Fire raced along Will's nerve endings as Ian's tongue moved slickly to twine with his, and he moaned, low in his throat.

At some point he was dimly aware that Ian had pulled him down until they were entwined on the sofa. His t-shirt had disappeared along the way, and the fastening to his jeans was wide open.

When Ian's long fingers began massaging Will's erection, his own hardness pressed firmly against Will's hip, however, some last vestige of sanity grabbed center stage. Gasping, Will pulled away from Ian, who looked up at him, flushed, dazed, lips swollen with their kisses.

"What?" Ian definitely sounded annoyed and reached out to pull Will back down into his arms. When Will resisted, he simply raised himself up, and talented lips and teeth latched firmly on to Will's left nipple, suckling with passionate care and intensity.

"Wait, Ian. . .oh, that feels so good. . ." Suction on his nipple increased, and Will wasn't having any luck with his breathing, the last thing he wanted was to stop and have a conversation, but this had to be said. "I'm not. . .this is heading for. . .Ian - what about Rebecca?"

"I'll leave her a voicemail." Ian managed to wriggle even closer and was nipping happily at Will's throat.

"IAN."

The earlier question and the desperation in Will's voice when he said his name, at last penetrated Ian's passion-fogged consciousness. Finally, his synapses connected with why Will was asking about Rebecca. "Will - Rebecca is married. Jara is taking a post-doctoral degree and she's been posted to the back of beyond doing virology studies for a year. When Serge fired Rebecca, well, letting her share the house was the least I could do, since it was my idea that cost her the job. We've been friends forever - since drama school. But that is all."

Will was smiling down at him and Ian caught his breath. "Oh. I just didn't want to, that is, you know."

"I know. Will - there isn't anybody else."

"In that case," Will paused.

"Yes?"

"Maybe we could move this off the sofa?"

Now, however, it seemed to be Ian who was having some qualms. "Are you sure about this Will? Because, you know, we can stop right now. I - We are not going to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"Ian."

"What?"

"Come to bed, please? I would very much like you to make love to me until I scream."

Ian ran gentle fingers down the side of Will's face. "There's nothing I want more, but are you absolutely certain?"

Will turned his head and nipped lightly at the long fingers. "I'm certain. I want you inside me."

Without regret, Ian let his qualms go. "Oh, yes."

Will lay flat on his back, a sleeping, sated Ian sprawled across him.

He was smiling. Content. Happy. Could never really remember being this happy before, actually. Which, naturally, made him worry, because it was one thing to be alone and not know what one was missing, and quite another to be alone and know what one was missing.

//Must you think so much?//

"I am not thinking too. . ." Will trailed off as he realized the question was in his head and the voice was not his own. "What?"

Ian still appeared to be asleep. His voice, in Will's head, was grumpy. //I'm happy, you are happy, why can't you just be happy?//

Carefully, Will said: "Ian, um, did you say something?"

Ian snorted, and pushed himself partially upright. He looked as though he'd been rode hard and put away wet, which was, in fact, the case. "I said," he began, then stopped as he realized his earlier comments had not been conventionally vocalized. "I didn't use my vocal chords!"

"That's what I was trying to tell you."

"You try it."

//Do you hear this?//

Ian laughed. "Yes! Wow, this is great! I wonder," He was sitting all the way up now, eyes green with possibilities, "how far away from each other we can be and still communicate?"

"Ian."

"I mean - think of the time it would save! And no teleunits! No possibility of some infotabloid picking up a conversation and splashing it over the net." His eyes narrowed, expression becoming positively wicked, "Just think, telesex without the hassles."

"Ian."

"I could be doing, say a film over on the other sideof the planet, and you could be here doing a play, and all we'd have to do is think at each other!"

"Ian," Will began, and then, as he realized what the conversation was actually about: "You're looking at long term?"

"Well, of course, we should plan, I mean, I thought that. . ." His eyes were intensely green, which dimmed to gray as Will just studied him intently, and then he lowered his gaze to the sheets. A wash of red stained Ian's face as he mumbled, "Sorry. Didn't mean to jump to conclusions."

"Ian."

"I mean, of course, naturally, you probably have no wish to get into a relationship right now, especially since we work together every day, and I should not presume. It's just that I've wanted this for so long."

"Ian."

"Yes?"

Will grasped the other man's arms and gently pushed him flat on the bed, following him down, covering him with his own body. "A long-term relationship what I want too." He kissed Ian's nose and quite happily tossed a lifetime of being cautious out the window. "How about the next 100 years or so?"

"Oh," was all the reply he got, but the way Ian's eyes glowed luminescent green told him a great deal.

Will smiled at his lover's bemused face. "I'll take as long a time with you as I can get." He kissed Ian again, on the mouth this time, which turned out to be a lengthy business. //Besides - don't you feel this. . .connection between us? It's like - something is singing. Why else would we be able to communicate this way?//

//Some kind of bond thing? I read about soul bonds a few months ago. This does. . .this feels like that.//

//It feels wonderful.//

"So," Ian switched to regular speech, "um, I don't suppose you would want to move in with me? Not that I don't like your apartment, but it is kind of small for two people, isn't it? Rebecca is going to be gone in another month, and my house is pretty big for just one person. Of course - if you'd rather not, just say so."

"Ian."

"What?"

Will silenced him most effectively.

It was the evening of the live broadcast. Lights and corresponding filament boxes hovered everywhere. The set of the comm center looked amazingly real - but it had to. Live holocast transmissions were notoriously unforgiving about showing up fake terminals and less than state-of-the art set dressing. Serge Zukas was not one to stint on money if it made his production look better. So money had been spent, and the set looked like the real thing.

Will, in Qui-Gon costume, looked around him thoughtfully. After this evening he might never be here again, but the thought didn't bother him the way it would have even a few days ago. The reason for his present peace of mind looked up from studying the layout of the computer terminals and smiled across the set.

//Ready?"//

Will was rapidly becoming accustomed to the mental communication between them, but he still jumped in his skin and, hearing mental chuckling, grimaced. //I'll get used to this, and yes - I'm ready.//

//I just hope I hear Bianca yell "cut" when we go to roll credits.// Ian sounded serenely uncaring of whether he actually broke their on-camera kiss or not.

//You won't have to hear Bianca, Ian, that loud screaming coming from Serge will break the mood, I'm sure.//

Another shared grin, and then Ian's attention was claimed by the director. An assistant wardrobe person walked up and Will stood patiently while he was sprayed with some more dust. When he was dusted to the boy's satisfaction, he surveyed his costume with humor. Normally, Qui-Gon was the epitome of Jedi neatness and order, with nary a hair out of place. However, in this episode he'd narrowly escaped being a Rancor appetizer, then had to slog over the desert to reach the city where Obi-Wan and the rest of their party were ensconced in a fortuitous rebel base. Accordingly, he was artfully spattered with dirt, his tunics were ripped, and he'd lost his cloak in the escape from the Rancor. Nothing like going out in style.

"OK EVERYBODY HEADS UP! PLACES NOW!" The assistant director didn't have to bellow, but he enjoyed it. Hovercams slid into position and lighting filaments came up to full brightness.

On camera, Obi-Wan/Ian frowned studiously and earnestly surveyed the flickering computer terminals. Will made his way around to stand just off camera behind the "door" to the comm center.

"And we are live in 5, 4, 3, 2, ACTION."

Obi-Wan/Ian stared at the terminals, assessing data readouts, brow furrowed. If only Qui-Gon were here. . .

Bianca, the director, tapped Will on the shoulder. He nodded, head up, shoulders back and became Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon/Will entered the comm center and silently watched his worried Padawan.

Two beats, and then Obi-Wan/Ian glanced up and saw him. Shock, followed by incredulous joy broke across his face. Then he was up, striding across the room to Qui-Gon. "Master! You're alive!"

"As you see, Padawan." Qui-Gon's words were formal, but his expression was tender and his tone anything but stilted.

Outside the studio, 20 million viewers (95% of them women between the ages of 20 and 65, who made the purchasing decisions in their families) sat up, held their breaths, and Took Notice. Several million picked up teleunits and called their friends. Several more million punched into the infonet and began sending frantic messages.

Inside the studio, Serge turned to his Director and said "Bianca! What is this? He was supposed to stay at the terminal."

Bianca didn't take her bemused gaze from the actors. "Shut up, Serge."

On camera, Obi-Wan reached up, tangled his hands in Qui-Gon's hair, pulled the tie-back out, impatiently flung it any which way, then brought his Master's mouth down to his. Lips met lips in a searing, open-mouthed kiss, just glimpsed in full, before Qui-Gon's unbound hair swung forward to curtain the view.

Outside the studio, and audience now totaling 25 million viewers (95% of them women who made the purchasing decisions for their families) fell over. Those who didn't melt, cheered.

Inside the studio, Serge Zukas, bald head glistening beneath the hot lights, was gibbering, "What! WHAT! Stop the transmission!"

Bianca ignored him. "For the love of Jom, shut up, Serge!"

On camera, The Kiss had reached its conclusion, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon parting lips with a reluctance that was obvious even to an apoplectic Serge.

Smiling up at his beloved, Obi-Wan said "I'm so glad you're alive, Master."

One large hand tenderly cupping his equally beloved's face, Qui-Gon dropped a kiss on his Obi-Wan's nose and answered "As am I, my Obi-Wan."

Though their attention was solely on each other, both Obi/Ian and Qui/Will were later to say that they distinctly heard the sound of Serge's blood vessels popping, one by one.

"That was fantastic!" Bianca was beside herself. "I've been telling him for two years this is what the show needed. You guys were marvelous!" She hugged them both, and then ran off, perpetually in motion the way most TV directors were.

Serge loomed up in front of them. Despite the dark hue of his skin, they could see he was purple with rage. "My office. Morning. First thing," was all he managed to say before lurching off, followed by Rina, who paused only to grin back at them and give them a vigorous thumbs up sign.

"I do believe he was frothing." Will remarked.

"Absolutely purple in the face." Ian agreed. "Shall we change back into our street clothes?"

"Absolutely. And then go home and take them off."

"Right."

"After all," Will said virtuously, "practice makes perfect. If we're going to keep this added dimension to the series and all."

"What if, he doesn't reconsider?" Ian sighed, "Hell, what am I saying? Face it. We're unemployed."

Will shook his head, expression as serene as any Qui-Gon Jinn had ever sported. "Me. If anyone goes, it will be me."

Visibly distressed, Ian put a hand out, which Will grasped firmly. "I'm so sorry, Will, I know you just wanted to keep the job, but. . ."

Will pulled Ian into his arms. //I love you. I should have mentioned that before.//

"You do?"

Will nodded, waiting.

Ian's mental voice was a caress. //Oh, that is good. Because I've loved you for years. I wanted you from the first time we read together.//

//Let's go home and make up for lost time.//

They were in the car, Will driving, before he answered Ian's comment about being sorry if Will got fired. "The job doesn't matter you know - before, I only had the show." In spite of everything, Will's cheeks turned red, but he went on doggedly, determined to be honest, "I hated the thought of getting canned because it meant losing you, but now -"

"You are stuck with me." Ian snuggled down next to him, glad that the Volvaran did not possess sport seats, but a nice sofa-like front seat that allowed him as much body contact with Will as he could take. "So, that's all right then." He bent his head, pushed Will's t-shirt aside, and began nuzzling his stomach.

//And besides - you can support me.//

Will yelped as Ian stopped gently nuzzling his stomach and bit down not so lightly.

Rina greeted them the next morning. "Uh, Mrs. Serge is ready to see you."

She watched them exchange puzzled glances and elaborated a little. "Very recent management change. And - guys - that was great. Oh - by the way," she plopped back down at her desk, picked up a gold-wrapped package and handed it to Ian. "Congratulations."

"What is this?" Will asked curiously. Ian was turning the box around, as though he could see the contents.

"A present - from me. You're a couple now, right?"

"Uh," Will began, then thought: The heck with it. "Yes, we are."

Ian's eyes were a very deep green. "Thank you, Rina." He patted the present, "I'm sure we'll love chocolate body paints."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know? Oh, never mind - I thought you'd get a chuckle out of them. You're just so cute together! Go on in."

"Morning," Mrs. Serge was seated behind Serge's massive desk, teleunit attached to one ear, "I'll be right with you boys."

She listened to the teleunit for a moment, then said "No, listen to me, Sweetie, I own 55% of the production company, and our discussion ended at 4 this morning. Yes. . .I've just sent Marcus over with some vidgame ideas for you to develop, the kids will love them. . .right. . .I'll be home late, Sweetie, don't wait dinner for me." She snapped the tiny unit off and smiled at them across the expanse of desk.

Ian just had to ask: "What DID happen to Serge?"

"When I got him calmed down, he and I had a long discussion, and we mutually agreed it would be better - at least for now - if I took over Heroes of the Galaxy and he devoted his energies to the vidgames end of the business." She shrugged, "I've always owned the rancor's share of the stock, so he really couldn't argue."

Will nodded, "I know the show was your idea, Lucy. It's about time."

"Thanks, Will. Now - I understand couple congratulations are in order? Well, I can't give you as much time off as I'd like, but we are going to shut down production for about a week while I drive myself into a wall doing new scripts to finish out this season. Be back here ready to work in 10 days. Your new scripts will be delivered as soon as I get them done. Oh, and these," she passed over palm data pads, "contain the details of your new contracts. Originals have already been forwarded to your agents. What do you think?"

Dazed, Will reviewed his. "But, Lucy - this gives me a 10% share in the actual series, as well as vesting immediately, and extending my contract to play Qui-Gon for three years."

Ian nodded, "Mine is ditto that. Why?"

"You two ARE the series. Last night you went out on a limb for us - and it worked, and then some. At the start of the broadcast we had 20 million viewers, testing just before the kiss showed viewership had grown by 5 million and by the time credits rolled we were up to 35 million. That means Heroes is the TOP rated show in holocast history. And not only that, we're inundated with infonet messages telling us GOOD JOB and WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? and KEEP IT UP OR ELSE."

Ian flushed as he caught Will's nonverbal //Oh, keeping it up won't be a problem at all. Now, keeping it down, that's another story.//

Externally, Ian and Will were grinning. "Great."

Lucy nodded. "So, you will sign?"

//Well, what do you think?// Ian asked.

//I'm happy as long as you are.//

Out loud, Ian said "We're in.

EPILOGUE

"Will,"

Will stopped contemplating the star holos on Ian's ceiling, stretched, decided they needed a bigger bed as soon as possible, and tightened his hold around Ian's waist, "Hmm?"

Ian turned over, slid his leg between Will's, bringing them into closer body contact, and rested his head on Will's chest. "Do you suppose that other me, the real Obi-Wan, ever found his Qui-Gon?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Its just - if what I've read about alternate realities is true, then he really IS me, and his Qui-Gon really IS you, and if that's the case I'd like them to be happy. As happy as we are. So, I just thought - do you think they ever found each other?"

Will considered the question, seeing their visitor in his mind's eye. A feeling of peace, not connected entirely to the man in his arms, washed through him. "If it hasn't already happened, I think he will, Ian, I really do."

fin