Master Apprentice Archive Reunion Quick search:

Archive: MA, or ask me

Category: Q/O, AU, Angst

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None

Summary: Set between "Revenge of the Sith" and "A New Hope". Waiting on Tatooine.

Disclaimer: George's characters, not mine.

Feedback: Yes please

Note: Originally written for "Jedi Santa" on Live Journal as a gift for Glasshouses. Beta thanks and hugs to Bonny and Merry.

It felt like the Force was playing tricks on me. For the second time in my life, I was approaching Tatooine, urgently needing to land on that dustball planet for repairs to my damaged ship.

This time around, I didn't bother landing on the outskirts. I was unlikely to attract attention – in fact, I would blend in perfectly with the scum and villainy that inhabited the spaceport, and my ancient battered old transport would only raise eyebrows for the fact that it was still flying in its decrepit condition.

The landing required all of my concentration, and having secured the ship in its berth I set out to look for a supplier who would be willing to let me have the necessary parts in exchange for the few Imperial credits I had left. It wasn't until I was seated in a dirty, hot cantina that I allowed my mind to wander back to my last visit to this hell-hole.

How pivotal that unhappy landing had turned out to be.

It was hard to believe that it was twenty years ago. My master had picked up a slave boy who was to become his apprentice, a wedge driven between us, a wound that had never healed. I left immediately upon my premature knighting: years spent on solo missions for the Jedi Council seldom returning to the Temple, ending in the Purge. I had never worked with the clone army, even during the war, the Council having decided that my talents were more suited to clandestine operations. I had been out at the far edge of the galaxy at the time, or I would have been among the murdered Jedi.

I downed my drink – managing to suppress the cough at the pungent intoxicant – and waved for another.

They're all gone. In all the years since, doing my best to help the small pockets of resistance to the Empire, I had never come across another Jedi.

It was probably the drink, but I decided that I was getting maudlin. I rose to leave, tossing a credit to the bartender and stepping out into the tear-inducing glare. But it wasn't the drink that made me stagger against the doorpost, though that's what the cantina's inhabitants thought as they sniggered, watching me shake my head to clear it.

No, it was something much more intoxicating and addictive, that burst behind my eyes like a nova.

A presence. The knowledge that someone as familiar to me as my shadow, even after all these years, was close. While my rational mind told me it was a combination of the trip down memory lane and a few shots of gut-rot, the Force was telling me the truth. Qui-Gon Jinn was alive - and he was nearby.

The last time I'd seen him, my former master was about to be transported back to Coruscant in a medship. There was I, freshly knighted, feted by the grateful people of Naboo, ordered immediately to my first solo mission while Qui-Gon was accompanied by his new apprentice to the healers. I dutifully gave up the anger and jealousy to the Force, more than a little frightened by the strength of my feelings. Knighthood was what I had worked for all my life. And masters take on new apprentices when their old ones are knighted; it was the way of things. Qui-Gon's action in the Council chamber before we returned to Naboo – every word spoken is still in my memory – prematurely ended my apprenticeship, and effectively ended our friendship too.

Stepping out onto the sand of that cantina, my first thought was to run. I didn't want to meet him. But of course he would be as aware of me as I was of him; he was probably hurrying to meet me. I wondered if his padawan was with him – no, he should have been knighted years ago, probably fighting in the Clone War when the Purge came. I felt a twinge of sadness for the little boy we'd rescued from slavery only to die as a young man battling for freedom.

I walked towards the spaceport and the cluster of makeshift stores selling anything a traveller might need to escape from this place: parts, clothes, food, false identities… For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I would recognise Qui-Gon when I saw him, but the very idea that I might not was ludicrous. He could be changed beyond belief, disfigured, aged or disguised – and I would know him. No doubt he would know me too, though I look very different from the last time he saw me. The youthful padawan he threw away… I sighed as I walked: I still thought of myself in those terms after all this time.

The Force fore-warned me, and as I rounded a corner past a falling- down tent purporting to be a shop selling tools and hardware, there he was.

He was walking towards me, hurrying, face invisible under the hood of his robe. His old robe. That ancient piece of clothing. It was so tattered and patched. It brought back a storm of memories all at once: Qui-Gon; my teacher; my master; my home; remembrances of discomfort on a hundred planets – soaked to the skin, frozen stiff, then wrapped in my master's warm, worn robe. No matter the amount of pain or fear, there was always comfort and safety in that old robe.

Involuntarily, I cried out, "Master!" and I was running towards him; we were embracing, holding each other so close as if each of us was the last remnants of our former lives. Which of course we were.

We were probably drawing far too much attention to ourselves and Qui- Gon cleverly turned the embrace into a rough, drinking-pals hug, slapping my back heartily and laughing.

Of all the imagined meetings that I had gone through in my head and wondered at: the apologies, the recriminations, the disdain I intended to show him – none of them were like the reality. Trying to reassert some semblance of decorum, I stood back to look at him.

He lowered his hood and regarded me with equal curiosity. He had changed, obviously. His hair was longer than I remembered, rather unkempt, more grey than brown, tied back loosely. His face appeared to be deeply lined from years spent on a planet with two ferocious suns – and more. Anxiety, stress… fear?

Qui-Gon still stood straight and tall, however, and those eyes were still as I remembered: intense, seeing-right-through-me, blue.

What did he see as he looked at me? Was I being measured against the young man I had been? I had aged; sometimes I felt much older than my years. There were lines around my eyes, and grey in my hair too. I dressed to blend in, and on this seedy backwater world with my travel-worn and faded clothes, long hair and beard, I passed for an unremarkable, not-very-successful freebooter.

"Obi-Wan." His voice was soft, almost gentle, hiding his strength - just as I remembered. He smiled. "What brings you to Tatooine?"

I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the small talk. It seemed so inappropriate. We hadn't seen each other for years, a lifetime ago, a different world ago. There were so many things I wanted to say, wanted to ask, but my words were forestalled by the arrival of a group of stormtroopers who appeared around the corner. They were not marching in formation but were weapon-ready nevertheless.

Qui-Gon threw an arm around my shoulder casually and turned me to walk away with him. "How long are you staying?" he asked.

"That depends on how long it takes me to get replacement parts for my ship."

He laughed outright at that. "A familiar scenario!"

"Indeed, Master. I hope I don't have to make a bet to pay for these repairs." I looked him in the eye, keeping my face neutral.

We stopped walking for a moment as his eyes searched my face. Finally he spoke quietly. "It was a long time ago, Obi-Wan. I made… mistakes. I apologise."

I sighed. "Yes. A very long time ago. Everything is different now." Not exactly a gracious acceptance, but I had no intention of bringing all the details of that old conflict while we were walking down the middle of a dusty Mos Eisley street. "You live here?" I asked, rather obviously changing the subject.

"Yes. Well not exactly here," he swept an arm to encompass the spaceport. "In the desert. I like to stay out of the way."

"Very wise. But why? Why here? There are people… " I tilted my head towards the sky to indicate the stars and their worlds far away from this minor desert planet. "People who could use your help."

"I know there are. But I have to stay here." When I would have interrupted, he raised a hand. "I know what you are going to say. I have to stay here, on Tatooine. It's a long story, Obi-Wan." He looked terribly sad for a moment. Then the Imperials reappeared. We had been walking rather aimlessly around the buildings surrounding the spaceport, but now we continued rather purposefully on our way, anxious to avoid another encounter with the Imperials, until we rounded another corner. Qui-Gon turned to me again. "Come with me. Do you have time? Can you spare a few hours to visit an old friend?"

His smile seemed so warm and welcoming, but it didn't reach his eyes. Of course, I agreed. There was nothing pressing for me to return to. The Rebellion would continue without me for a while, making small inroads into Imperial domination, suffering horrific losses more often than not.

Qui-Gon owned an elderly bantha for transport but the poor beast would have been hard-pressed to carry us both, so after a short argument I walked alongside while it carried Qui-Gon across the desert. Again I brought up the subject of why he had made his home here, but was promised an explanation later. Even after all this time, I knew him so well. Whatever this "long story" was, it was causing him pain.

It was evening by the time we arrived, the second of the suns about to set and casting a lurid red glow over the desert. Once we entered the dwelling, Qui-Gon lit a couple of glowlamps and welcomed me inside, excusing himself to tend to the bantha.

His home was simple, as I had expected. Just as he had lived all his life: the basic necessities and little else. I made myself comfortable in on an old chair and leaned back to wait, wondering at the sense of humour of the Force to fetch us both up here after all this time.

Qui-Gon returned and shut the door behind him, sealing the entrance from sand and wind. And anyone else. "Tea?" he asked, and I nodded, smiling. I watched him while he made tea, the actions so familiar. It seemed like only yesterday that we had been together like this, so everyday that a pain squeezed my chest as I remembered our former selves: the young confident padawan, eager to please; the master I worshipped, so serene and strong; the Temple, our home, so… permanent.

Qui-Gon turned from filling the teapot and looked at me, eyes reflecting my pain. He crossed the room carrying a tray with the tea, spicy minaan rolls and cheese, and putting it down on the low table settled on the chair next to mine and reached to touch my face briefly. The action wasn't unexpected, and was appreciated. It had been many years since anyone had touched me in comfort. It was the same gesture he had used many times when we were… together.

Memories of my time as his apprentice came back: fraught missions, inhospitable worlds, the many beings who were intent on defeating us, if not outright killing us. I smiled, and Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I am just reminiscing, Master. We were a good team."

He smiled too, and nodded in agreement, his face suddenly seeming much younger, more like the man I remembered. "I missed you after you left," he said.

I had promised myself many times that I would tell him one day just what I thought of his sudden apprentice-changing antics, but that was before everything we stood for had been destroyed. I had thought him long-dead. So I said, "I missed you too, Master." For a long moment, neither of us moved. We were very close: I could feel his breath against my cheek.

Suddenly, Qui-Gon moved and broke the spell. He reached for the teapot and began pouring. "Eat," he said. "Help yourself. It may not be much, but you look like you haven't had a good meal in a long time."

"I have been busy…"

"I am not your master anymore, Obi-Wan," he interrupted before I got the title out.

I bowed my head slightly in acknowledgement. "You're managing to look after yourself, without a padawan to do the cooking?" It was meant lightly, but was a thoughtless thing to say and I instantly regretted it. His padawan was lost to him. Had he witnessed the murder, I wondered? "I am so sorry, Qui-Gon. We are both haunted by ghosts, I suppose."

So many friends, respected, loved, all lost. Qui-Gon looked shattered, near to breaking, and I was shocked. Although I had gone through a bad time in the months and years immediately following the Purge, he still carried that raw pain like a fresh wound.

I took a slab of bread and cheese, watching him while I ate, noticing the change in him. He was upset, obviously, but there was something new: he was uncertain. In all our years together I had never known Qui-Gon to be unsure of himself.

In a rather obvious attempt to change the subject, Qui-Gon asked what had been happening in the galaxy in the years since he began his exile. He had picked up occasional items of news in the spaceport but the planet was isolated.

"Tell me what you've been doing. Is the Resistance viable?"

I sighed and nodded. "Just about. We've suffered more defeats than victories, but there's still a hard core of beings who will never submit to the Empire."

"And what of you, Obi-Wan? Your actions must have brought you to the attention of the Imperials."

"Those who notice me tend not to stay alive for long." I expected a look of censure from my former master. I wasn't proud of what I'd become: a far cry from the Jedi ideal. It was a dirty war, and I'd been involved in a succession of guerrilla actions - what the Empire called terrorism. And occasional assassinations. Yes, I had murdered.

Instead of reproof, Qui-Gon looked saddened. "You do what you must. Do you know of any other surviving Jedi? Are there any more left?" His voice was very quiet.

"No. None. I've never contacted another survivor of the Purge."

Qui-Gon leaned forward and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and said nothing for a long moment. Looking at him, I couldn't believe that he would be hiding out on the rim alone because he was afraid. Not the master I knew. His reasons for secreting himself away must be good.

"We could use some help, Qui-Gon. You could make a big difference."

He looked up and met my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"But why not?" I stood and began pacing.

"I will tell you, I promise. Later…"

I stopped and looked at him. That would have to do.

I am not sure at what point I decided to stay the night – possibly as soon as I agreed to go with Qui-Gon to his home. After all, any other option would have meant travelling through the desert at night, not a prospect to be relished. I helped him clear away the remains of our meal and tidy up, and Qui-Gon went out to check that everything was quiet and as it should be outside, bantha locked in and anything else locked out.

I rose to my feet when he returned and he shook off his cloak and threw it over a chair. I smiled (more memories) and he caught my eye and looked a little sheepish. He crossed the room and took both my hands in his. "Stay with me, Obi-Wan."

I had to admit that the thought of sleeping with Qui-Gon had been a recurring desire while we'd been together. Never acted upon, and never acknowledged, of course, for a Jedi master and his padawan. But things had changed. The Order was no more, and the old canon had gone.

I moved closer. "I will."

But I had misunderstood. "Not just tonight. Stay… Live with me."

The idea hadn't occurred to me before that moment and it immediately took hold. But… "I can't. There are people who need me. I have too much to do."

Still, he looked hopeful. "The Rebellion would go on without you, would it not?"

"Well, yes, but I…"

"Then stay here. You've done enough. It's been seven years since the Republic fell."

"Stay here and do what, Qui-Gon?" I realised that could well be a double entendre, and reluctantly pulled my hands free and stepped back, hastily adding, "You haven't told me just why you're here. Are you hiding, because if you are, I don't believe it's because you're afraid."

Qui-Gon sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

"Will you tell me, Master? Is it so terrible?" He didn't seem to notice my use of the old honorific.

"Terrible? Ah, but it is."

I sat down too and took his hands in mine again. I waited. He needed time. Eventually, he spoke again. "Yes, you need to know the truth." Visibly making an effort to collect himself, he said with false brightness, "I had thought that I would come to terms with it. With myself. But…" He shook his head and he looked so terribly sad. "Anakin." His voice broke on the name and he drew in a shuddering breath. His padawan. The boy I hadn't seen since Naboo. Had his death caused such trauma?

Perplexed, I waited. The Force was telling me that this was more than the loss of a beloved apprentice. I let myself feel the jealousy which stabbed at that thought before I let it go. Then when it seemed like Qui-Gon would tell me no more, I prompted gently, "Were you with him when he died?"

He shook his head. "Not dead. He didn't die. He should have…" A deep breath. "He turned."

"What?" It was hard to believe. But then, I never knew the man. I remembered the promising boy, the hoped-for Chosen One. I felt for Qui-Gon, but I had to know more. "During the War?" Had he been captured? Tortured? I still couldn't imagine any Jedi giving in… Turning.

The little hovel suddenly felt cold. Qui-Gon was shaking his head. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. "No. At the end of the War." His face was expressionless but his clasped hands were trembling. "He turned, and he killed…" He swallowed hard. "In the Temple. He killed the Jedi in the Temple."

"But that was Darth Vader!" I exclaimed. Everyone knew of the Emperor's henchman: a feared thug, a mass murderer, more machine than man. I had heard accounts of how Vader had led troops into the temple. The story had gone around, no doubt embellished on the way, of the terrible things that had happened to the "rebellious" Jedi that day. All murdered. Even the children.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and shook his head again. "It was Anakin. He… became Vader."

"Oh Force, Qui-Gon." I wanted to question him, to deny that such a thing was possible, but I reached forward and held him and he clung to me.

Eventually, he pulled away and said, "You should have trained him, Obi-Wan. I was the wrong master for him. I was too… rebellious. Too defiant. He needed stability. Someone who would have grounded him. Taught him to respect the Council. I always overlooked his faults."

"Me!" I could have laughed. "I wasn't old enough to take a padawan. I wouldn't have been able to train him." The idea was ludicrous. The Council would never have allowed an unproven knight to take an apprentice. And I had asked myself several times since then why I hadn't chosen an apprentice of my own. On my infrequent visits to the Temple, the right padawan had never appeared.

But Qui-Gon wasn't listening to me. "After Xanatos, I should have known. I shouldn't have attempted to train the Chosen One."

"You didn't do too badly with me, Master," I interrupted, and he did smile a little.

"I'm afraid pride is one of the many emotions that I've had to purge whenever I think of you, Obi-Wan."

While I contemplated those emotions, he took my hands again. I had to know how the Jedi Anakin had become the monster Vader. "What happened?"

"We fought." The words cost him a lot. I knew he had never spoken of this to anyone else. "He tried to kill me, and… He lost. He should have died."

His face was full of the horror of that time, but it still didn't satisfy me. "But why haven't you been fighting them? Why are you hiding? Leave with me and help the Rebellion." I squeezed his hands encouragingly.

"I must stay here," he said.

There was more to this than a grieving master, a fugitive Jedi. "What haven't you told me?"

"Remember the last time we were on Tatooine?" he asked and I thought he was changing the subject.

"Of course." Every detail.

"It was here that Anakin met Padme. They were children then, but there was something between them, right from the start."

"She became a senator," I said, trying to remember what happened in those dark times when the War ended and the Emperor rose to power. "She died, I think."

"That's right. She died."

I waited. The unfortunate young senator from Naboo seemed to have something to do with my former master's exile.

"Anakin and Padme Amidala were married in secret."

"What?" I interrupted. A forbidden love affair? Not enough to turn a Jedi to the Dark, I thought, but… She died.

Qui-Gon continued, "Before she died, she gave birth to twins. A boy and a girl. The girl was adopted by Senator Organa on Alderaan."

I smiled at the mention of my old friend's name. I hadn't seen him for years.

"The boy is here, on Tatooine. With his family."

"Ah." The credit dropped: two children, strong in the Force – very strong, if they were anything like their father. They would be obvious targets for Vader - to destroy or to turn. If they survived, they could become powerful enemies of the Empire. And Qui- Gon was watching over one of them.

Qui-Gon raised his eyes to look into mine. Beyond the sorrow and guilt, I recognised hope. "Will you stay?"

Such a temptation.

I leaned forward and kissed him. It was an impulsive action intended to soothe the hurt, but Qui-Gon responded, kissing me almost desperately. I slid from my chair to kneel between his legs, and felt those long arms around me just as I had dreamt but never admitted to myself. He tasted of tea and the spice of the rolls, and of Qui-Gon. I could have kissed him forever, but he stood, pulling me to my feet. There was still strength in those arms.

"Bedroom," he said and I nodded.

I found that although Qui-Gon's home was simple to the point of austerity, he had indulged himself with one luxury in his exile: a huge bed. I found myself on my back on that bed with my former master on top of me, kissing me with a hunger that shocked.

It had been a long time since I had been intimate with anyone and I certainly was hotly aroused, but his need for me felt like a fire that had been banked too long finally allowed to burn. His tongue thrust into my mouth and he ground himself against me, hands pulling the fastenings of my shirt open, touching bare skin. Blunt fingers brushed my chest, down to the ties on the leather pants which had become uncomfortably tight against my swelling erection.

I was finding it difficult to get into his clothes too. He still wore the many layers of a Jedi and although I had fantasised about such a moment before, I had to say, "Wait a minute!"

He raised his head to look at me in surprise, and the passion in his eyes was breathtaking.

"We need to get out of these clothes," I said, although I was loath to break the contact between us.

Qui-Gon's lips curled into a smile and he rolled off me. "Good idea." He reached for the remaining fastenings on my shirt and undid them one by one, pulling the shirt open and off. He gasped when he saw the numerous scars on my body. "Obi-Wan," he breathed.

"There aren't always healers around when you need them." I tried to make light of my cicatrices but Qui-Gon leaned and kissed a particular jagged line under my ribs, a memento of my time in the slave pits of Pentak. I reached to tug at my pants and with his help I was soon relieved of the constricting leather, and everything else.

He was about to kiss me again but I stopped him. "My turn." The layers were removed, revealing the toned body and long lean limbs which belied his age. I licked my lips at the sight and found myself tangled in those limbs and pressed down again by that body and we resumed our kissing with renewed enthusiasm. Force, it felt good.

Our cocks rubbed against one another as we undulated together and I was very near to coming too soon.

Then Qui-Gon surprised me – he pushed himself up with his arms and rose to a squatting position over me, hands resting on my belly. He was positioning himself, about to push down on to my hard cock.

"Wait! We need… Have you got anything?"

But he smiled again, a very wicked smile, and said, "Use the Force, Padawan," and I felt it flowing around us, concentrating in my groin, caressing me and opening him and easing his way as he lowered himself.

The Force, the heat, the tightness and then his sliding up and down, taking his weight on one hand at my shoulder, eyes closed in concentration and I was soon pumping up into him and making the most animalistic noises I have ever made. He had his other hand wrapped around his own erection and when he bent again to kiss me our teeth bumped together and I pushed my tongue into his mouth in time to my penetration of his body, and my orgasm hit me. It felt like I was coming forever.

I arched up into him before collapsing back bonelessly, feeling his seed hit my chest and my face.

He got off me and we lay together panting, wrapped in each other.

I didn't want to move out of those arms, ever. After years of sleeping alone, I finally felt at home.

I woke early in the cool dark before the suns had risen. Tatooine's star-filled night sky provided a soft glow through the small bedroom window. We were both sprawled on his big bed, legs entangled with Qui-Gon's arm across my chest. I turned my head to look at him and the small movement awoke him and his eyes opened, instantly alert.

"I can't stay, Qui-Gon," I whispered.

"I know. I didn't really expect you to." The hand on my chest caressed softly. I leaned closer and we kissed, slowly and deeply, the passion mounting again. When the kiss ended, I said, "I need to go back to the spaceport this morning. My ship should be…" Another kiss stopped me, a soft brush of lips for a brief moment.

"Don't," he said and for a moment I thought he was going to try to talk me out of going. "Don't speak. I know you'll leave, but just for once, live in the moment."

"Oh, Qui-Gon."

We made love again and afterwards held each other tight as the room got lighter and warmer and the day began.

I have plotted my course into the navcomputer and am about to make the jump to hyperspace, putting Tatooine behind me again. I won't return. It would put at risk what Qui-Gon is trying to protect. He doesn't know where I am going. It is safer that way.

The knowledge that I exist and that I forgive him and love him is the small comfort I leave behind me. Knowing that he is maintaining vigil over the hope of the future is the comfort that I have gained from this fortuitous meeting. And in the galaxy of the Empire, those thoughts are all we have to hold on to.