Master Apprentice Archive Wise Men at Their End Quick search:

Wise Men at Their End

by MrsHamill (mrshamill@gmail.com)

Archive: MA and my site, Mom's Kitchen (www.hawksong.com/~momskitchen)
Category: Angst. Truckloads, boatloads; it's what's for dinner. Oh, and first-time too.
Pairing: Q/O
Summary: Death changes a person.
Disclaimer: What, you think I own these guys? Do I even look like George Lucas? If this is not what you expected, please alter your expectations. No such thing as random coincidence. No such thing as too much lubricant.
Warning: Never say 'bite me' to a cat.
Series: Better not be, she says darkly, but probably will be. Dammit.
Notes: Yeah, it's a 'fix-it', sorta, though I hope I've at least brought something different to the same old mix -- it took a left turn at Albuquerque and ended up, like Bugs Bunny, somewhere in Spain. I think it's too much like Seduction of Obi-Wan Kenobi, but have been told perhaps not. It may also have been influenced a bit by Revenge of the Sith, but again, maybe not. And it was far too difficult to write given the material. *sigh* Dedicated to Emu, for reasons that will become obvious in the story. The usual cast of characters to thank: Christi demanded sex until she got it, but really helped on the reassurance and beta front. Clara listened to me bitch and didn't laugh. Lisa reassured me it wasn't schmoopy or OTT, both of which are a constant fear of mine. Ghostwriter went through it painstakingly, trying to remove my commas; all's I can say is she's got the patience of a saint. Any mistakes left are, of course, mine alone.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

     -- Dylan Thomas

He did not know why he was still alive.

During the first few weeks of his long convalescence, he let that question chase itself around in his brain. He thought he remembered what had happened, though the memories of the fight itself were hazy. He did, however, distinctly recall the unbelievable pain of being run through the chest with a 'saber. The mere fact that his recovery was taking months instead of just a few days pointed to the severity of his wound.

Most definitely, he should have been dead. In fact, he had a vague memory of composing his mind and readying himself for death, for that ultimate marriage of corporeal with non-corporeal. The Light of the Force should have joined with him and made him a part of the whole. In fact, he would have preferred becoming one with the Force, if only to avoid all the pokes and prods and the big and little indecencies of medical treatment.

When he finally had improved to the point where the question could be stated, he asked the healer attending him, "Why?" It was pretty much all he could articulate, and even as it was, it was insufficient.

The healer smiled at him -- well, he believed the Mon Calamari smiled at him; it was difficult to say -- and said, "It's because you don't have proper control of your bladder yet, Master Jinn. I realize it's intrusive, but I'm sure it'll be gone soon. You're progressing very well."

And that wasn't the question he wanted answered at all. Though it did please him to hear that the catheter might be removed soon.

Sometimes it seemed that even though he merely closed his eyes for a moment, he found himself having moved through time. The lights would dim or brighten seemingly with random patterns. He thought there might be a window behind his bed, but he couldn't move sufficiently through the maze of tubing and machines hooked up to him to check. Occasionally, visitors would appear (seemingly out of nowhere) when his eyes opened. Yoda or Mace frequently took up a position in the chair next to his bed, looking grave and serious. Sometimes, Obi-Wan would be there. Curiously, no one else was ever apparent.

Obi-Wan. Yes, there was something he needed to talk to Obi-Wan about. But his padawan didn't even seem to be the same person as the one he remembered prior to Naboo. For one thing, the braid was gone, and that was passing strange. For another, his face was grimmer and lined, which was absurd, since Obi-Wan was still a young, handsome man. There was another person who should have been there too, with Obi-Wan, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the child's name.

Slowly, far too slowly for his comfort, the tubes and machines and wires were removed from him. Gradually, he grew stronger and more aware of his surroundings, though why he was still alive still eluded him. As his throat healed and he found he could swallow the spit that had been sadly lacking for some time, he was able to speak more clearly. "Why am I still here?" he asked that same Mon Calamari healer, who was checking his vitals this time.

"You still have a lot of healing to do, Master Jinn," she replied brightly. "You'll be here in the med ward for at least another two weeks. Maybe longer." She patted his arm. "I know how uncomfortable you must be. But be patient. Your discharge will come soon enough."

Qui-Gon sighed. Once again, the wrong question had been answered, and he found himself too tired to change her perspective.

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the light had changed and Obi-Wan was sitting in the chair next to his bed.

They just stared at each other for some time. Obi-Wan's face carried far more weight than it should have; it was lined and sagging with emotion that really shouldn't be there. Qui-Gon could see sorrow, pain, anger... and over it all, fear. What in the Force could Obi-Wan be afraid of?

Unable to discern the answer to that question, he set it aside and asked his own. "Why..." he cleared his throat and tried again. "Why am I still here?"

Unlike the healer, Obi-Wan seemed to understand him immediately. His face tightened even more before he spoke. "Because I would not let you leave."

Qui-Gon blinked. That was most unexpected. Jedi were trained, almost since birth, to understand death and death's place in the Force, in their lives. They were Jedi. Possibly dying on the job was part of the price they paid to help others.

So it made no sense to him that Obi-Wan would have kept him from joining the Force. He had been ready to die. He thought he had seen his death approaching as the Light, the Light of the Force. "Bu... why?"

"The very reason you have to ask that question should give you enough information to answer it yourself," Obi-Wan said coldly. With that, he stood and left the room.

His mouth dropping open in shock, Qui-Gon found himself speechless. What in the Force had he done to Obi-Wan to make him so angry?

For the next few weeks, Qui-Gon thought about that question, now that his other one had been answered. His mind grew clearer with each passing day, and soon he was remembering the whole sordid affair. He remembered Anakin, and trying to get the Council to agree to train him, and he remembered his harsh words with Obi-Wan on Coruscant and later, on Naboo. After demanding an answer from Yoda, he had been told that Anakin had indeed been taken as a padawan -- by Yoda, not by Obi-Wan. And Qui-Gon was quite sure he had asked Obi-Wan specifically to train the boy... at least, he hoped he had. The memories from just after he was skewered were still hazy, and the healers told him they might always be so. But Yoda would say no more, and Mace changed the subject. No one else, besides Obi-Wan, visited him, other than the three healers who were apparently charged with his well-being.

There seemed little doubt that the strange warrior who had almost killed him was a Sith. Rather than the tizzy he had expected, the reaction from the Council seemed more like guarded suspicion. It was ridiculous, and if he only had the lung power, he would have told them so. Every time he brought it up -- to Mace or to Yoda, but never to Obi-Wan, who had stopped visiting -- he was gently but firmly diverted onto another topic.

Finally, the day came when he'd felt nearly healed -- though his body seemed to disagree. It would still take him months to regain the strength he'd had, but he was breathing on his own with his new lung as well as eating and excreting without the help of tubes and such... master, once again, of his body. Within reason. The healers would not discharge him to live alone; he was told he had to have someone with him while he got himself back up to speed. To his chagrin, that someone turned out to be Obi-Wan.

His inquiries had confirmed what he had suspected all along -- Obi-Wan had been granted his knighthood on the basis of killing the Sith monster they had fought on Naboo. The braid Qui-Gon should have cut had been cut instead by Master Yoda in a ceremony that should have been public and celebratory, but was instead quiet and private. It wasn't fair to his padawan to treat him so, but Qui-Gon wasn't sure what to do about it. He hadn't seen Obi-Wan since they had briefly spoken, and that had been weeks earlier.

He would have liked to have kept the braid that he should have cut, actually. Asking for it now seemed... petty, somehow.

As Qui-Gon shuffled carefully out of his room and onto a waiting hoverchair, he found his former padawan waiting for him, a large duffle slung over one shoulder. Qui-Gon was terribly embarrassed at how much it cost him to be helped to walk ten feet -- his heart was hammering and he was panting. The healer in charge of Qui-Gon had a list of orders for Obi-Wan, instructions on what Qui-Gon could and couldn't do, how far he could be pushed, and what medicines he still needed to take. Obi-Wan accepted the datacube without batting an eye or even looking at Qui-Gon.

"Your reservations at the clinic have been confirmed, and the healers there have been alerted and are fully briefed of his condition. Should you need anything, they will be able to assist you."

Obi-Wan bowed and thanked the healer, his voice a murmur. Collecting Qui-Gon with his eyes, he turned and walked from the healer's wing. The chair followed him immediately, so he must have had a 'come-here' somewhere on him.

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon asked about their destination. "We're not going back to the apartment?"

"No." Obi-Wan's voice was as impassive as his face. "You've been discharged to the clinic for your rehabilitation."

"Oh." The clinic was on one of Coruscant's moons. Owned by the Jedi, it was a place where wounded Jedi could go to recoup and to die. Or rather, recoup or to die. Sometimes, he suspected, the former was the more correct statement. He had never thought he would end up there. No, he'd always known Master Jinn would go out in a blaze of glory, dying for all the good reasons.

Unless his contrary and stubborn padawan prevented it, apparently.

"And there is no more apartment. Your things are in storage. You do not have a padawan, and therefore are no longer entitled to a two bedroom apartment."

Well, that hardly seemed fair. Summarily dismissed out of his home? "Where will I live?"

"Anywhere you want, I suspect," Obi-Wan growled.

Before Qui-Gon could ask him what he meant, they were at the shuttle, and Obi-Wan was getting his chair secured and their baggage stowed. It was a very small shuttle -- it was only going to the moon, after all, and the healer's pad was not exactly built for large ships -- but Obi-Wan kept his back to Qui-Gon and resolutely refused to speak further, even after they landed.

They were met at the clinic's shuttle pad by two healers, one of whom took charge of Qui-Gon and the other, of Obi-Wan. The one who took Qui-Gon away was Iktochi, which suited Qui-Gon fine, since the Iktochi as a species are taciturn. He didn't feel like talking. What he felt like doing was walking, sparring, dancing and kicking his (former) padawan around the room. He was very much afraid that last was going to be impossible for quite a while, and he sighed in frustration.

Processing him into the clinic was quick, but not painless. He was shown to his quarters after being poked and prodded (always in the same damn places) and humiliated in various ways. The final indignity was being told his 'caregiver' -- Obi-Wan -- would be in charge of the day-to-day minutiae of his life, but that the healers were on call day and night should they be needed. Until he figured out what was wrong with Obi-Wan, he wasn't altogether sure he wanted the man in charge of him so... intimately.

When Obi-Wan showed up in the small apartment, he looked as though he felt the same. Qui-Gon sighed. The apartment at the clinic was much smaller than the apartment where he had raised Obi-Wan, and, in fact, they shared a bedroom (but not, thankfully, a bed). There was going to be nowhere to hide until he figured out why his former padawan seemed to hate him so.

For hate it appeared to be -- at the very least, a strong dislike. Obi-Wan would barely look at him straight on, and the set expression on his face never changed, even when speaking over Qui-Gon's head, which he proceeded to do the moment the healers left them alone. "Let's get you settled in bed and I'll find some food for us."

"I can manage," Qui-Gon said, trying and failing to get out of the hoverchair.

"No, you can't." That was delivered flatly with no room to argue, and Qui-Gon sighed again. Obi-Wan maneuvered them into the bedroom, which was really only an alcove in the apartment, and parked the hoverchair next to the adjustable bed that was to be Qui-Gon's prison. With no ceremony or even words, he all but picked up Qui-Gon and deposited him on the bed. "I'll be back with something to eat."

Qui-Gon didn't bother to say anything that wouldn't have been answered anyway. Instead, he settled back onto the bed with yet another sigh. It was going to be a long convalescence.

In less than two days, he would realize how much of an understatement that thought was.

Qui-Gon truly hadn't meant to be a terrible patient, but circumstances seemed to go against him. The small insults he suffered at the hands of the healers became huge indignities when performed by his former padawan... his sullen, uncommunicative and mysteriously angry former padawan. Qui-Gon was forced to rely on Obi-Wan for everything, even for emptying his bladder, as he wasn't quite strong enough to move to the 'fresher and do so by himself. Obi-Wan took excellent and empty care of him, attending to everything necessary and ignoring all comments by Qui-Gon save those addressing Qui-Gon's injuries or infirmities.

And it wasn't that Qui-Gon didn't try to speak to Obi-Wan. He did, on several occasions, only to be ignored or rebuffed with noncommittal grunts. After a while, it began to rankle -- he at least ought have an explanation of what he had done wrong! -- and that, combined with his slow recovery, made him feel petulant and frustrated. He knew he was acting like a child, but considering that Obi-Wan seemed to be treating him like one, he felt justified. At least somewhat justified.

Being able to take a proper piss was his first priority, no matter what the healers or Obi-Wan wanted. It shamed and humiliated him that Obi-Wan basically had to hold his cock while he voided, had to wash his body when he sweated, had to hook him up to the health monitors twice a day and prepare him soft, bland meals. He had never before felt so useless.

By their second full day they had settled into a routine, one that Qui-Gon hated. Obi-Wan would awaken with the moon's artificial dawn -- Qui-Gon would have already been awake (not up, of course, but awake), unable to move from his bed until Obi-Wan rose from his. The small amount of painkiller allotted to him would wear off long before morning, waking him with aches and pains that intensified the longer he thought about them. He tried to meditate, but it was nearly impossible -- both because of the very painkillers that he needed and his muffled, crippled Force sense. His healers had said it was a normal reaction to the level of hurt he'd experienced, but whatever it was, Qui-Gon felt blind, deaf and dumb without his connection to the Force. It made his healing so much more difficult.

So when Obi-Wan rose, he found Qui-Gon already awake. Without a sound, he hooked Qui-Gon up to the monitoring equipment behind his bed, then went to the 'fresher for his morning ablutions while the data on Qui-Gon's status downloaded to the healer's monitors. That would be finished by the time Obi-Wan returned with a portable urinal, ready to assist him with the morning's humiliations.

It would go downhill from there.

The only food Qui-Gon was allowed was a bland pap that was utterly tasteless and moderately disgusting. The first morning he ate it without comment, and ate it again twice more through the day without much more than a grimace of disgust. The second morning, he faced it with a rebellious stomach and a nose full of Obi-Wan's favorite breakfast. "Could I have some--"

"No. The healers said that is all you are to eat until they say differently."

"I'm sure I know my own body as well--"

"No."

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth and ate his pabulum for breakfast. For lunch, he thought about throwing the bowl across the room, but was concerned about injuring his still-painful shoulder. For dinner, however, he definitely thought his Force acuity was sufficient to levitate it with some force against the wall.

"I fail to see why I must be continually subjected to this terrible food. Can't the healers order something else? Something with taste, perhaps?"

"If you want to speak to the healers about it, go ahead. It's none of my concern."

What was left of his fraying temper snapped. "Obi-Wan, if you despise me so much, why are you here? I'm sure the Council would have plenty of missions for a new knight to undertake." He tried to keep his peevish temper out of his voice but knew he had not succeeded. It didn't help that his breath was still short from the re-grown lung.

Obi-Wan turned and gave him a level, frozen glare. "You think I asked for this assignment? You think I want to look after you, care for you, listen to your whiny, petty comments?" His voice began rising, but he controlled it -- barely. His hands turned to fists at his sides and Qui-Gon thought he could see him tremble. "I was ordered here, Master Jinn, and unlike some of us, I actually follow the commands of my superiors." He was definitely shaking by the end of his statement -- one that left Qui-Gon open-mouthed in astonishment -- but all he did was glare a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving the apartment, closing the door carefully behind him as he did so.

Well. That explained part of it.

Qui-Gon subsided back to his pillow and closed his mouth, once he realized it was still hanging open. It was a long-standing argument between them, how to react to the Council. Obi-Wan was always willing to follow orders, and wasn't always willing to question them even if he knew they might be incorrect. It was a fault of his that Qui-Gon had worked on for years... what to do when the Force is guiding you but your elders contradict that knowledge. The Council was not the Force.

Obi-Wan's argument had always been, yes, that's so, but the Council sees it from a different side, sees the political as well as the spiritual, which aren't always in agreement. There were times when one couldn't do what the Force dictated, for whatever reason, and often the Council was aware of that.

Of course, Qui-Gon always told him that was rubbish. The Force could not steer one wrong. Just look at Anakin, for instance.

Before he got much further with that thought, the door opened. He had expected to see Obi-Wan, but instead saw the same Iktochi healer he'd seen when he arrived, Healer Naas.

"Healer?"

"Obi-Wan informed us that he had some private meditation to do, Master Jinn. I'll stay with you until he returns."

Oh, how absurd. "I assure you, Healer, I am perfectly capable--"

"Orders from the Council and from the healers on Coruscant, Master Jinn. You are never to be left alone. That is why you were moved from the Temple to the Clinic; there is less possible access to you here."

That fact so boggled Qui-Gon that he nearly forgot to ask about a change in his food.

Obi-Wan returned well before midnight, looking and feeling much calmer. He had a murmured conversation with Healer Naas, probably about the change in Qui-Gon's diet, then saw the healer out. With a glance at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan moved into the 'fresher and, by the sound of it, went through his nightly ablutions. When he emerged, he was bearing the hated portable urinal.

"Healer Naas has informed me that I may leave the bed to urinate in the 'fresher, as long... as long as you're willing to help me."

There was no response and when Qui-Gon looked up at Obi-Wan's face, he found it carried absolutely no expression. I taught him that, Qui-Gon thought. How to keep his emotions off his face, out of his body language. I taught him that. He's learned it well.

"Is that what you wish now?"

"Yes... if it's not a burden."

Without replying, Obi-Wan pressed the switch that would lower the bed. Taking a deep breath -- well, as deep a breath as he was able -- Qui-Gon gingerly inched himself over so that he was sitting precariously on the edge of the bed, his feet just touching the cold floor. Obi-Wan took gentle care of him, supporting him as he shuffled painfully to the 'fresher.

This being a medical facility, the 'fresher was ringed with support bars and handles to make it easier on a convalescent to use the room. Qui-Gon had never been so pathetically glad of the assist, since it meant he could almost sit by himself.

Obi-Wan busied himself at the sink while Qui-Gon relaxed carefully enough to go. Healer Naas had conceded (partially) to his request -- it was not a demand; he was very quiet and logical -- for better food. It meant, however, that certain parts of him would begin to work again, things like intestines and bowels. Qui-Gon was absolutely adamant that he would not ask Obi-Wan to help him with that. He was a Jedi Master, he'd been injured before, he could manage.

"Finished?"

Obi-Wan helped him stand, helped him resettle his clothing, helped him shuffle back to his bed. Once in bed, he pulled the light blanket up and adjusted the bed until it was back to comfortable.

They looked at each other in the gloom of the room -- the only light came from the 'fresher. Qui-Gon was certain he saw something in Obi-Wan's eyes, but he could not interpret it. He wondered what his own eyes showed -- did they mirror the confusion, the pain, the guilt he felt? Guilt he did not want to feel, pain he did not expect to endure?

"It's late. Get some sleep." Obi-Wan's voice was soft and level, and the hiss of the hypospray against Qui-Gon's neck was cold.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sank into slumber.

Each day Qui-Gon improved. Five days after his arrival at the clinic he was cleared to begin physical therapy, and his sleepless nights dwindled. He was so exhausted by the time he walked more than ten steps that he slept through the night and then some. But each day was better than the last, and he knew he could go further, do more.

Since their blowup, Obi-Wan had been careful to meditate more, and seemed to be fine. He was scrupulously courteous toward Qui-Gon, who was the same in return. But as Qui-Gon's physical therapy progressed, Obi-Wan began spending longer and longer periods away from him, apparently away from the clinic altogether. He would return in the evening, late, relieve the healer who was holding Qui-Gon's leash, and go right to bed. He looked terrible, and Qui-Gon thought he wasn't sleeping well.

Qui-Gon wanted to ask him what he was doing that seemed to drain him so. He wanted to know why Obi-Wan was gone so much. He wanted to know why he was not allowed to be alone in his room in the clinic, even as he progressed to the point of walking -- well, all right, slowly walking -- by himself all through the apartment. He did not ask any of those things. And when he searched his feelings for the reason why, he realized he was afraid, which was patently ridiculous.

But there it was. Master Qui-Gon Jinn, afraid of his own (former) padawan.

Nearly a month of their careful, courteous detente flew by. Qui-Gon was up to doing the first-year forms and open-handed katas, slowly, but he felt his body was substantially healed. Everything was working, from his re-grown lung to his blasted bowels, and save for the weakness -- which he knew he would overcome, in time and with exercise -- he felt much as he had before all this happened. Before the fiasco at Naboo. But he was still not allowed to be alone in the apartment. More puzzling still, he was not allowed to use the dataset, and the healer would not tell him why. He hadn't been able to ask Obi-Wan, as his former padawan had been returning very late and had been collapsing on his bed.

But this night, he did not. He appeared as Qui-Gon and his healer -- or more precisely, his jailor -- were eating latemeal. Healer Naas looked up in surprise to see Obi-Wan come into the room, and Qui-Gon blinked in shock at how awful Obi-Wan looked. He was pale and there were dark bruises under his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd be back so early, Knight Kenobi; I would have made enough for three."

"No matter." Obi-Wan waved the healer back to his seat and moved into the tiny kitchen. "I'll find something to eat, don't bother yourself."

Qui-Gon kept shooting Obi-Wan small, concerned glances as he finished what was on his plate, and noticed Healer Naas doing the same. Obi-Wan ate something leaning on the counter, over the sink, drinking from the faucet. Even from a distance, Qui-Gon could see how distressed he was.

Healer Naas rose and took his empty plate to the kitchen. He touched Obi-Wan's shoulder and murmured something Qui-Gon couldn't quite catch, and Obi-Wan replied shortly, in the same way. Nodding, Naas put his plate in the cleaner and returned to the table.

"Good night, Master Jinn," he said, bowing briefly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning for your exercises in the pool."

"Thank you, good night to you," Qui-Gon replied, distracted. His attention was still on Obi-Wan, who was still leaning on the counter, his back to Qui-Gon.

Finishing his own meal, Qui-Gon rose carefully, pleased at how easily such movement came to him now. He walked hesitantly into the kitchen to put his plate in the cleaner. "Obi-Wan?"

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan turned abruptly and blinked, obviously returning from far away. "Sorry. Let me get out of your way."

"You're not in my way." Qui-Gon put his plate away and struggled to find the right thing to say. He finally settled for, "Are you all right?"

"I'm... hmm." Obi-Wan's mouth turned down in a sad frown. "I suppose it's not particularly appropriate to say I'm fine, when apparently I'm not... especially enough for you to notice."

Qui-Gon frowned; there was something odd about that statement. "You haven't been around that much for me to notice, but I have. You haven't been sleeping well either."

Obi-Wan gave him a look that somehow combined wariness and surprise. "Have I been keeping you up?" he asked with a frown.

"No... no, not really. But there are some nights when it's harder for me to sleep than others." He snorted. "It can be a toss-up which affects me more, the healing or the methods the healers use to do it." He stepped back and leaned against the counter, next to Obi-Wan. "I'm... I'm worried about you. In my heart, I suppose, you're still my padawan."

"I haven't been your padawan for quite some time, Qui-Gon."

The delivery was bland and quiet, but the words nonetheless cut Qui-Gon to the quick. "I realize that," he said, after a hard swallow. "I would have liked to have been the one to cut your braid for you, but I wasn't given much of a choice."

"I'm not referring to the moment I achieved knighthood." Obi-Wan's voice was still low and calm. "It goes back a bit further than that."

It took a few moments for those words to sink in, but when they did, they completely staggered Qui-Gon. He shakily moved out of the kitchen to one of the two comfortable chairs in the sitting area, where he collapsed. He wondered, briefly, if his face reflected his shock. He was certain it did.

He knew relations between himself and his padawan had been strained since the mission to Naboo started. He knew he had made some mistakes, but he had been following the will of the Force. Qui-Gon had done he had done without malice -- surely his padawan, his Obi-Wan, knew that? He loved Obi-Wan. But now... He buried his face in his hands, too hurt, too confused to release the emotions to the Force, not that he could have regardless.

He heard Obi-Wan move from the kitchen to the lounge area and then heard him sit, with a sigh. But Qui-Gon could not bring himself to look, could not even think about seeing Obi-Wan's professional, bland face. He kept hoping Obi-Wan would say something, anything, to retract that sentence, to clarify it. But Obi-Wan remained silent.

Finally realizing the onus was on him if he wanted to truly understand Obi-Wan's last sentence, he let his hands drop. He still could not bring himself to look up though, and consoled himself with looking at the floor between Obi-Wan's boots.

"I didn't realize how much you still hated me for what happened."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I don't hate you, Qui-Gon." He fell silent for a while before speaking again. "I was very upset at what you did, angry at the way you treated me and our relationship as master and padawan, but I didn't hate you. And I don't now."

"I suppose that's something." He hadn't realized there were other parts of him that needed healing. A sudden thought occurred... "Where have you been going these past few weeks, while I've been tortured?"

Obi-Wan was silent for so long Qui-Gon thought he would not get a reply at all. But finally, Obi-Wan spoke, his voice low and rough. "I've been meeting with a soul-healer."

Yes, now it made sense. "Ah."

"I... did not go willingly."

Surprised at that admission, Qui-Gon raised his head. Obi-Wan was also studying the floor.

After a few moments, Obi-Wan continued. "The Council instructed me to go. They were... concerned over something; I suspect it was my... feelings over being assigned as your caregiver."

"That was a burden you never should have had to assume." Qui-Gon was surprised at how bitter his words sounded.

"I disagree." Obi-Wan lifted his head and met Qui-Gon's gaze. "It has been a lesson to me, perhaps the last lesson you would teach me." He looked like he wanted to say more, but held himself back.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath. Obi-Wan had been honest with him; it was the least he could do to return the favor. "I was not aware that I had anything left in me to teach anyone. Least of all, you."

"You told me once, recently, I still had much to learn of the living Force."

"I was wrong." And not just about that, either, he thought with despair.

"That's entirely possible." Qui-Gon didn't think he meant that as sarcasm. "But there is a lesson you have taught me that I have learned very well. And that is simply that one never stops learning. Even Master Yoda agrees with that."

Those words should have comforted him; they did not. The despair in his breast grew stronger with every beat of his wounded heart. "It is a lesson I now see I have thrown away. The Jedi you saved, the man you would not let die... perhaps you should have."

Obi-Wan did not come to his rescue this time either. The silence grew between them until it was as dense as a wall made of plascrete, as dense as the scar tissue on Qui-Gon's chest. He began to fear nothing would penetrate it, and longed for the oblivion of the Force.

"It has always been your lot in life," Obi-Wan murmured into the bitter silence, "to second guess yourself. You would allow no one but yourself to be your critic. I've seen it in you before; it took my introspection into my confusion and pain to recognize it for what it is. You've told me several times it is easier to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission, and that has always been your way. I see now that it is a failing, rather than something to be admired."

Yes, he would rather be dead than face these painful truths, the gentle scalpel of his former padawan's insights into his character. Was this what a near-death experience brought? Introspection into faults that could not be cured? "You're right." His throat was tight, making it difficult to get the words out. "You should be gloating, vindicated."

"Why would I do that?"

The honest and gentle question undid Qui-Gon, utterly. Now he understood why Obi-Wan had hated him. The puzzle now was understanding why Obi-Wan did not hate him still. Qui-Gon could find no answer to the question, formulate no apology or witticism in the face of it. Shaking, he struggled to his feet and escaped to the 'fresher, intending to ready himself for a sleep he was certain would be long in coming. Obi-Wan did not follow, not until Qui-Gon was long abed.

They did not speak of their conversation the next day. Obi-Wan remained with him, went with him to the pool and did laps while Qui-Gon forced his body to move against the pressure of water. They ate all three meals together, and even exercised together, Obi-Wan following him on the beginning forms which were all he could do, still. They spoke no words other than those required to conduct one's day around another.

His only consolation was that Obi-Wan was still there with him. Whether he was being coerced into it or did it of his own free will, Qui-Gon would not ask. He was not yet quite brave enough to face that truth, if he ever would be.

They did the same for the next three days, maintaining a coexistence that was more like two strangers forced to share accommodations than two old friends who cared for each other. It was marginally better than arguing all the time, and he kept reminding himself that Obi-Wan had said he did not hate Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan would not lie. It was cold comfort, but it was all he had.

One morning, Healer Naas came to their quarters and Obi-Wan left without a word, but with a backwards glance that puzzled Qui-Gon. He wanted to ask the healer where Obi-Wan was going and how long he would be, but his own stubborn pride precluded him doing so. Naas did not volunteer anything either, not that he ever had.

To Qui-Gon's surprise (and delight -- something that astonished him), Obi-Wan was back at midday and shared a meal with the two of them. Then Healer Naas left and the two of them repaired to an empty gymnasium for the second part of Qui-Gon's physical therapy.

Obi-Wan followed him in the first few katas of the first form, then stepped away. "I feel the need to move with a little more vigor than those forms will give me. If you don't mind?"

"Of course not," Qui-Gon replied, moving away from the center of the room.

Apparently deeming himself sufficiently warmed up, Obi-Wan launched into the fifteenth form. Qui-Gon blinked -- a little more vigor? Obi-Wan spent only a few moments of the next half-hour on the floor, the rest of it was in the air, effortlessly tumbling like a raptor in a thermal.

Finishing the last kata in the first form, Qui-Gon leaned back against the wall and caught his breath as he watched his former padawan fly. He had always enjoyed watching Obi-Wan; the words 'poetry in motion' might have been written for him alone. The only thing marring his appreciation of Obi-Wan's movements was the idea that he should be proud of Obi-Wan. As he was coming to realize, any pride he took in the man and the Jedi that Obi-Wan Kenobi had become was completely, utterly misplaced.

Pride goes before a fall, he thought. He had fallen. He did not know if he could rise again, or even if he should.

Shoving those thoughts aside for later meditation (though a small part of him knew that meditation might never come), he tried to live in the moment again and simply appreciate the poetry. He managed to sink so far into the moment that when Obi-Wan finished, when he came to rest on his perfectly planted feet with a final twirl of his 'saber, Qui-Gon actually chuckled.

"What?" Obi-Wan was bathed in sweat, but his face was open and guileless.

"The Kenobi maneuver. Don't think I don't know where you got it."

Obi-Wan's stared at him in stunned surprise. "What are you talking about?" he asked, with a brief, incredulous laugh.

"I've called it that for years while I tried to train it out of you. You and your twirling." Qui-Gon shook his head, though he was smiling. "I've never agreed with Yoda teaching the younglings in first 'saber; he instills such bad habits."

Obi-Wan put his hands on his hips. He wasn't glaring, his voice was calm, but his eyes narrowed. "And you've called it..."

"The Kenobi maneuver." Belatedly realizing this might be a conversation that perhaps they shouldn't be having at this stage of their relationship, Qui-Gon tried to shrug it off with a wave of his hand.

But Obi-Wan wouldn't let it go. "The Kenobi maneuver? A bad habit?" He took a step closer to Qui-Gon. "How do you think that? I've always thought it was... finesse."

Words forced themselves past Qui-Gon's reluctant lips. Words he couldn't stop. Wild words. "It's hubris. It could get you killed one day."

"Hubris?" Obi-Wan took another step and Qui-Gon wanted to shrink back into the wall, to become one with the wall in this moment and all others to come. "Would that be anything like dropping into meditation in the middle of a battle?"

His new lung was spasming in his chest and his brain seemed to be on permanent hiatus. What was wrong with him that he couldn't stop speaking? "Y-yes. It could." So could preparing oneself for a death that might not come due to one's stubborn padawan...

They stood apart, separated by three feet of empty space and an entire galaxy of pain. "I don't know you anymore," Obi-Wan finally murmured. His face and eyes showed his confusion and hurt. "I don't have the least idea who you are."

Qui-Gon fought for breath. Now, when he needed to say something, anything, his brain left him bereft. He could not feel the Force, and he did not want to. He wanted to say, 'no one knows me better than you,' but since the words would not come out of his mouth, he said nothing.

"I thought I knew you; I thought the years we spent together gave me an insight into you, helped me love you more." He stopped and swallowed, though his gaze never left Qui-Gon's face, as if searching desperately for something and not finding it. "I fell in love with you, years ago. You didn't know that, did you?"

There was no longer any air left in the room, so Qui-Gon gave up trying to breathe and settled for desperately trying to move his gaze away from his gentle accuser.

"Most of my year-mates fell in love with their masters at one point or another, but I was the only one who never fell out of it. My intention was to wait until I was knighted before approaching you, before asking you to remain as my working partner; hopefully, eventually, as my lover too."

Obi-Wan's pain was a delicate thing that limped into Qui-Gon's aura like a crippled bird. His mouth opened and words came out, but he didn't hear them. He only understood them after they were spoken. "We... cannot... form... attachments..."

"No, you're wrong. We can." Qui-Gon had never before seen such wounding displayed on anyone's face, much less the face of someone he cared so much about. "We just have to be ready to give them up, to lose them, all of them, at any time. An easy thing to do, I thought." Obi-Wan's eyes were dry. "But when I saw you lying there, dying, I found I could not give up my attachment to you. I could not sacrifice the love I had for you -- not for the Force, not for anything. And so I made you stay. And so I failed."

Unable to bear it any longer, Qui-Gon finally managed to close his eyes as he slumped, sliding down the wall and coming to rest on his buttocks with a thump. His entire chest ached, only he didn't know from what -- his physical wounds or the emotional ones being given to him as a gift from his former padawan. "I didn't know..." he murmured again, clutching at his knees and folding in on himself.

"I know that now." He heard the rustle of fabric as Obi-Wan sank to his heels, but he would not look up. "I thought you did. I thought it was obvious. I think Master Yoda knows. And I think it would have made me fail my trials." He sighed. "I lied, in front of the Council when you thrust me aside in favor of Anakin. I said I was ready, but I wasn't. In my heart, I knew I wasn't. I knew I would fail. But by then, it didn't matter. By then, I knew. My love... was not reciprocated, and never would be."

Obi-Wan's earlier words came back to Qui-Gon, echoed in his skull. "I don't know who you are." He repeated them in a raw, thick voice that did not sound like his own. "I don't know who you are."

"I know."

By the time Qui-Gon managed to breathe again, to uncurl and force his body to once again obey his commands, Obi-Wan had left the room.

Qui-Gon expected Obi-Wan to be absent from his life after their agonizing confrontation in the gym. He was surprised, then, to find Obi-Wan waiting for him just outside the room. They walked together back to their tiny living quarters in silence. Once there, they retreated into impersonal communication again, all but ignoring each other. Qui-Gon was able to do everything he needed to do by himself, and Obi-Wan let him. They continued to act like the strangers he now knew them to be.

It had become his custom to take a very hot bath in the evening, to relax overtaxed muscles and to meditate -- sitting on his knees or most other positions was still too uncomfortable for him. But what they had said to each other earlier in the day made relaxing difficult. Without that relaxation, he could not even pretend to meditate, which was, in essence, what he had been doing for weeks.

Throughout his life he'd never felt far from the Force, no matter what he did. He'd always felt it inside him, around him, helping him to make the right decisions. But now, he felt like a Force-blind person because he didn't know how to reattach himself to the business of day-to-day living. The healers, Healer Naas, all said it was still normal, that his Force-sense would return, eventually. That he would have to just relearn the connection. Qui-Gon did not know how to do that.

The worst part of it was why the Force was eluding him. While he would like to think the Force had abandoned him, deep down he knew it wasn't true. But deep down was where he didn't want to go.

So he pretended to meditate, then rose from his bath and dressed himself for sleep. He went through the rest of his nightly routine and surrendered the 'fresher to Obi-Wan. Shortly, they were both in their beds, and the room was dark.

The clinic was mostly underground since the small moon had no atmosphere to speak of. Therefore, there were no windows, though each small apartment had one wall that could be set as a holographic 'window' onto any planet of choice. When it was dark, it was completely dark, only the tiny telltales denoting the exit to the room were visible, and those did not shed any light but their own small glow.

In the darkness, he found himself hyper-aware of Obi-Wan on the other bed. Every small rustle denoted something, a movement he could sometimes decipher and sometimes not. He found it easier to relax in the darkness than in the harsh glare of the overhead lights. It was familiar yet strange at the same time, freeing, in a small sense. They were both blind, and it made them equal. Made things easier.

"I broke my nose when I was fifteen," Qui-Gon said softly into the darkness, surprising himself again. He heard the rustle of bedclothes from Obi-Wan's bed. "I stepped into the middle of a pub brawl, thinking, in my vaunted Jediness, that I could mediate the sun together with the moon. There was adequate medical care on the planet -- we were there to witness a coronation -- but Master Dooku insisted it be left to heal naturally, not put back the way it had been. He said he wanted me to keep it as a reminder of my pride and where it got me."

He subsided back into silence, which spread over the room like a warm blanket. Several minutes later, as he was beginning to drift off, he heard Obi-Wan's soft, cultured voice.

"When I was still in the creche, I was afraid of being in the dark. My clan leader called it cowardly and 'un-Jedi', but the matron in charge of my clan gave me a small nightlight, to help me. Then Bruck Chun got hold of it and smashed it. I never gathered the courage to ask for another, even though I still felt the fear."

Qui-Gon remembered their time on Bandomeer and the absolute blackness in the mine's tunnels. And he remembered a pale yet determined face, ready to sacrifice all for the good of all, facing down more than a simple fear of death. And he remembered his padawan's room in their apartment in the Temple, and how the blinds were never pulled shut. He'd thought Obi-Wan liked watching the ships at night.

They truly did not know each other. If his heart had been whole, it would have broken.

Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny.

For the next few weeks, Qui-Gon found himself thinking of that phrase at the oddest of moments while he and his former padawan learned about themselves and each other. It was almost as if they were going back in time to their beginning, rebuilding their trust and knowledge of each other from the ground up. He found it was as painful to hear Obi-Wan's life secrets as it was to tell Obi-Wan of his own.

So much they had missed in each other. So much time they had to make up for.

They spoke only after the lights were off, when darkness made all things equal. Qui-Gon spoke in fits and starts about his apprenticeship with Dooku, his life as a gangly, too-tall adolescent in the creche, his pain when Xanatos had fallen, and his heartbreak over Tahl, the good friend he still missed.

Obi-Wan, in turn, spoke about his rough start with the Jedi in the creche. He spoke of his terror and despair over not being chosen to be a padawan, and of Bruck Chun and their rivalry. He spoke of Melida/Daan and his anguish that he could not help where he thought he was needed, and Qui-Gon finally learned of his padawan's motivations for almost leaving the Jedi. He hadn't wanted to hear, and so had never asked, had been afraid the answer would have been Obi-Wan found him wanting as a master. The truth was far more painful and noble, and once again Qui-Gon realized where he had failed as a master.

That Obi-Wan would even talk to him at all was a miracle, and he would treat it as such. Or at least try, Master Yoda's favorite admonition notwithstanding.

One night, Obi-Wan gifted him with a story that was to change Qui-Gon's life. "It was after we'd returned from that mission," he said, referring to their mission to Kegan. "I don't know if Master Gallia forced her to come or if she came of her own free will, but that evening... You were out, attending a Senate reception; you didn't return until nearly dawn, and Siri came to apologize. We hadn't gotten along very well at times during the mission, but we respected each other by the end of it. She came in; I made tea; we talked. Somehow, we ended up kissing. Somehow after that, we ended up on my bed, having sex."

Even though he had suspected where the story would end up, to hear it still shocked Qui-Gon. He'd never even had the faintest idea...

"She wasn't a virgin, as it turned out, so the evening wasn't a complete fiasco. She taught me what went where and didn't mind that I went off like a firecracker from just touching her breast. Even though it wasn't exactly a life-changing event, I have to thank her for that. It helped put sex in its proper perspective and made it easier to appreciate the entire event when it was with someone I truly cared for."

Whatever confession Qui-Gon had intended to make that night flew right out the non-existent window at Obi-Wan's revelation. His padawan had had sex with another padawan, and didn't seem to feel it was the least bit improper or forbidden. What did that say about his own level of non-experience?

The next day, they went about their routine as normal, though Qui-Gon frequently found himself lost in thought. He knew Obi-Wan had noticed it, for several times during the day he'd found Obi-Wan giving him little, puzzled glances. By the time evening rolled around, Qui-Gon was just as confused as he'd been the evening before.

To his surprise, Obi-Wan hesitantly brought the subject up as they were finishing latemeal. "I know we don't usually do this, or rather, we've been doing it in the dark, anonymously, as it were..." His voice was tentative, but his expression was earnest. "Something about what I said last night has bothered you. I can see it, I can feel it." He bit his lip. "Do you wish to talk about it? Have I said or done something that bothers you?"

Qui-Gon looked down into his mostly-empty teacup and thought hard. It was easier to make such suggestions in the dark, but they'd been talking for weeks. There had to be a time when they would be able to speak in the light.

"I've told you about my apprenticeship with Master Dooku," he began in a rusty voice. "He could be a harsh master. He was the one who taught me to listen to the Force, to obey it, even when it seems contradictory to what the best path might be. I have tried to live up to that standard, even though..." he trailed off and glanced at Obi-Wan, who was sitting across from him, listening intently. "Even though I have felt, at times, that it might not have been the right thing to do."

Lifting his cup, Qui-Gon swallowed the last of his lukewarm tea. "You know that Master Yoda trained Master Dooku. While neither of them have talked about it, I understood they had a falling out after Master Dooku was knighted. In some ways, I think it might have been Master Dooku's inflexible stance on the Force. For all that he's on the Council, Yoda seems to understand the spirit behind the letter of the Jedi Code while Master Dooku -- and, I now think, I too -- point to the letter and find fault." He sighed. "The only part of the Code that was hammered home to me as an apprentice was the 'no attachments' rule. Master Dooku agreed with that, wholeheartedly. Attachments were dangerous. Jedi could become compromised if they were attached, in any way at all."

Forcing himself to meet Obi-Wan's gaze, Qui-Gon firmed his backbone and continued. "I knew he had no real attachment to me; I was merely his apprentice. There was no love lost between us. I... loved, I think I loved Xanatos, and he betrayed me, which only proved Master Dooku right; attachments, especially those borne of love, were anathema to Jedi. And so I have never felt anything but compassion and carefully schooled myself away from love, before or since. I cared for Tahl and I miss her. I care for you," he swallowed. "I care for you, and I hurt you, without meaning to. That caring may be all I am capable of, you see. I have no experience in anything else."

Obi-Wan's face reflected his shock and confusion. "Master," he said, and with a start, Qui-Gon realized that Obi-Wan had not called him that, had not called him 'Master' in that gentle, loving, and almost humorous voice, since Qui-Gon had awakened after Naboo. With effort, he dragged his attention back to Obi-Wan's words. "...Are you saying that you're... that you are a virgin?" There was disbelief in that voice, but no condemnation, no derision.

Qui-Gon nodded shortly, wondering why he felt ashamed. "In all ways, yes. There are other ways to serve the Force. Master Dooku was explicit on how to release sexual tension into the Force so that it wouldn't be a path to attachments, a path to hurting and being hurt. I know I spoke to you about it, but apparently I didn't make myself as clear as Master Dooku did with me."

Sitting back in his chair, Obi-Wan blinked. His mouth was open in surprise; a few moments later, he closed it. "I don't think I've ever really understood the phrase 'paradigm shift' until now," he murmured, as if to himself.

"You can see now why your admission last night surprised me. I didn't even think to bring up sex with you, just as I never had with Xanatos. I taught you attachments were forbidden; I taught you how to release sexual tension into the Force; that's all I thought I needed to say on the matter." Qui-Gon sighed again, falling silent.

"I remember you talking about that, how to release sexual tension," Obi-Wan said, after a few moments of silence. "I remember I was about thirteen or maybe fourteen and I was afraid my penis was going to fall off if I pulled on it much more." He gave Qui-Gon a wry smile. "When you spoke about releasing that feeling, I assumed it was a way to keep from getting inappropriate erections. I know that's how I used it, especially in those times when we'd had to share a bed for whatever reason. Especially after I..." he trailed off and looked at his hands clasped on the table

Qui-Gon finished the thought for him. Especially after I fell in love with you. So many things made sense now.

"The thing is," Obi-Wan mused, seemingly unaware of Qui-Gon's sharp pain of realization, "I can't understand why you would deny your capacity for love. Compassion is almost central to you. You have never been able to turn away from any being, any creature, in need. Compassion, love -- there's nothing wrong with either of them. Neither need lead to attachments."

Such gentle questioning; it cut him to the bone. It was so difficult to speak, but Qui-Gon forced the words out. "Perhaps not for others. But for me, I knew, somehow..." Obi-Wan was nodding, his face awash in sad realization, so thankfully, gratefully, Qui-Gon fell silent.

"You'd have too much. You would love too much, wouldn't you. Too deeply. As you did with Xanatos."

Qui-Gon remembered that look on Obi-Wan's face; it was his 'working on something' face, the face he used to have when he was working out a knotty problem in astrophysics, or some ethical question asked by a tutor. "I think I understand now. I saw your careful compassion and mistook it for love. I thought you would understand how I felt, how I feel, but it's almost a foreign concept for you now, isn't it?"

How I feel. Qui-Gon latched onto that like a starving man to bread. How I feel. Why would it be so important to him how Obi-Wan felt? Well, there was a reason, but it was one that Qui-Gon didn't know how to contemplate.

Obi-Wan must have taken his non-answer as tacit agreement, for he sighed and nodded. "Thank you."

Confused, but unwilling to show it, Qui-Gon merely frowned slightly and looked away. "Perhaps it is I..."

"No, I don't think so. I don't, really. True honesty is difficult enough as it is without having to cut oneself wide open." Obi-Wan unknotted his fingers and rose, clearing the dishes and cutlery from the table.

Qui-Gon remained where he was, trying to stem the flood from his self-inflicted wound.

There were no new revelations that evening. Qui-Gon found he didn't miss them, however. It felt as though he had gone to a whole new level of intimacy with his former padawan, a knowledge of the man far beyond that which he had known with the child. Obi-Wan loved him. How extraordinary a concept. How terrifying.

It took Qui-Gon several days to realize the import of that thought. Before, they had been strangers. Their dynamic had changed, and while Obi-Wan seemed able to adjust immediately, Qui-Gon was older and more set in his ways. It was far more difficult for him to change, to accept change -- particularly when doing so meant a total reversal of the belief system which was all he had known his entire life. He might have a reputation for being a maverick before the Jedi Council, but where it counted, Qui-Gon Jinn was a traditionalist.

He was slowly coming to realize that other paths wer available to him. The Jedi spoke of one way, one unified way of thinking and doing, because that's what the Force seemed to be telling them. What if that interpretation was incorrect? What if there were indeed other paths available to the Jedi and the only reason they were not taken was convention? Could they really have descended to not doing something because it had never been done? He longed for Obi-Wan's simple acceptance, but realized that where Obi-Wan had had years to understand the nature of his feelings, Qui-Gon, even though he was older, was only just now examining his own. And beyond all his questions and worries was the promise in Obi-Wan's eyes. It did frighten him at times, and he wasn't certain why.

Fear leads to anger leads to...

The more he thought about it, however, the more he realized this new thing, this love, was meant to be. When he stopped fretting and listened to himself and the Force, it was as plain as the very generous nose on his face: being with Obi-Wan, loving Obi-Wan, was right. It resonated inside him. The change might have been painful at first, but it swiftly became normal and comfortable. They smiled at each other now when they woke. They were no longer two strangers occupying the same space-time, but friends, contentedly sharing all the little joys of living together.

Living together. No longer dying, but living. The thought of it made Qui-Gon almost giddy, dizzy, awash with possibilities. He no longer felt the staid and proper Jedi master, but almost felt like a padawan again. Anything could happen. He didn't find it at all unusual to be frightened of that thought, either.

Healer Naas had cleared him for some higher level forms, though he was still to monitor his body's reaction to them. He was also allowed to spar, as long as it was slow and formalized. Obi-Wan became his coach, slowing them down when he thought Qui-Gon was being a bit to enthusiastic. For the first time in weeks, Qui-Gon actually looked forward to healing.

He still didn't know why he was being held incommunicado. Every time he had asked, his questions were deflected, so he figured he would be told later, once he was released from care. He knew there had to be a reason for it, but he was so turned around with his newfound interest in living that he cheerfully let the whole matter slide.

One afternoon, he and Obi-Wan were in the gym warming up. hey had done several katas from various lower-level forms and Qui-Gon had asked for a bit of gentle sparring. They'd dialed down their 'sabers to training strength, and Qui-Gon took a ready stance.

He wasn't prepared for the huge smile that suddenly appeared on Obi-Wan's face. "What?"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "And you think my form is bad! Your ready looks like you're ready to play stickball, not sparring!"

"It does not!"

"Yes, it does! Look at your elbow. That's in the entirely wrong place."

Obi-Wan keyed his 'saber off and put his hand on Qui-Gon's elbow, pressing it down. They were both laughing, Qui-Gon's chuckling bordering on incredulous. "There's nothing wrong with the placement of my elbow," he protested.

"Not if you're playing stickball!"

Feigning exasperation, but actually delighted by his former padawan's teasing, Qui-Gon lowered his 'saber and turned to face Obi-Wan fully. "Just who is the master here, Obi-Wan?" he asked, not able to turn off his smile as he did his 'saber.

"I'm beginning to wonder!" Obi-Wan replied in the same vein, smiling just as broadly.

They stood still, Obi-Wan's hand warm on Qui-Gon's elbow, just staring at each other. They were basking in each other's presence, Qui-Gon supposed, wondering at the feeling. Obi-Wan's eyes were a beautiful shade of blue-gray, a color he'd never noticed before. His hair was still growing out from his padawan cut, and the loose ends kept flopping in his eyes. He was beginning to grow a beard. It would look good on him, even though it hid that delightfully cleft chin.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side and his brow furrowed. His smile receded to a small thing, merely playing with his mouth. Qui-Gon wanted to ask him what he was looking for, what he saw, but didn't want to break the moment. Live in the moment, he told himself quietly realizing for the first time the other meanings to that admonition.

Without fanfare or comment, Obi-Wan leaned up and kissed him.

Qui-Gon froze. He had no idea how to respond to such a thing, not for himself, at any rate. His experience with kissing came from watching others do it. While he might have felt anything was possible, his brain very carefully kept him from contemplating anything more than a platonic love for Obi-Wan. A physical relationship was so far out of his ken that he wasn't sure he even understood the concept. Physicality was for the young, not for old men who were too set in their thoughts and hopes. His lips tingled where Obi-Wan touched them and his body was awash in feelings for which he had no name.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan seemed not to need a response. He ended the kiss as gently as he had started it, moving away a half step, still close enough to feel. In his face, Qui-Gon saw tenderness and care and perhaps a slight hesitation, but nothing else. He didn't realize he was bringing his hand up until his fingers touched his lips, where Obi-Wan's lips had touched them.

They stared at each other for quite a long time, and Qui-Gon learned all the planes and valleys that made up his former padawan's face. "I don't know what I'm doing," he finally murmured, surprised to hear himself speak.

"I can teach you," Obi-Wan replied, just as quietly.

"Will you?"

"Yes. All you need do is ask."

Qui-Gon nodded, just a slight incline of his head. That broke the moment though, and they moved away, re-igniting their 'sabers. Qui-Gon took a ready stance, with his elbow down, this time, and let himself become pure movement.

They didn't dance for long; Qui-Gon's wind hadn't completely returned. But when they stopped, by some unspoken agreement, Qui-Gon was surprised to find himself full of the Force, alight with the Light. It was the first time he'd truly felt the Force since... since nearly dying. And to his further surprise, he felt the calm stillness that had been eluding him for the past several months as well.

They cooled off in companionable silence while Qui-Gon thought. Something was there, right on the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't quite reach it. Couldn't quite put a name to it. Later that evening as he took his nightly bath, the feeling returned as he tried, with better success than he'd had his whole convalescence, to mediate. It was as if something inside him had relaxed or was relaxing, something hard and inflexible, something he hadn't even known was there.

His hospital-like monitoring bed was long gone, as the healers only needed to check his progress every other day. It had felt like a victory to have the bed replaced with a standard size regular bed (finally long enough to fit his whole body), though it had taken him a while to once again become used to a bed that was flat instead of adjustable. It had also made their sleeping nook more crowded, since Obi-Wan was still staying with him. Another mystery to be solved... why wasn't the Council sending Knight Kenobi out on missions? Did Qui-Gon Jinn really need this level of babysitting?

Qui-Gon didn't lie down when he returned to his bed; rather, he sat in the middle of it, further relaxing heat-softened muscles and breathing. He still had a hitch in his new lung when he breathed deeply, and he was, at healer orders, attempting to exercise it away by breathing a little deeper every day. When Obi-Wan left the 'fresher, ready for bed, Qui-Gon stopped his rhythmic breathing. He opened his eyes and smiled.

They smiled at each other for a long moment before Qui-Gon spoke. "Would you teach me, Knight Kenobi, in what you have offered? I would have you as my master in this, if you would have me as your padawan." Formal request, couched formally; the only way he knew.

Obi-Wan's face was a study of contrasts. Qui-Gon could see hesitation and eagerness, joy and pain, fright and elation, all mixed up with something else that might have been love.

"I don't want to hurt you," Qui-Gon blurted, afraid of ending all their hard work at relearning each other.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice dry. But he walked around his bed and moved to Qui-Gon's, sitting on the end of it, facing Qui-Gon. He looked very earnest, and had a sadness that Qui-Gon could feel. "I don't fear for your heart, Master, nor should you. I pledge to you that I will take the best possible care of it."

"But you fear for your own," Qui-Gon said with a sigh. "And you have every right to. I'm... I'm not sure I am capable of being what you need, Obi-Wan."

"I know you are," Obi-Wan contradicted him gently. "I know you can be. We simply have to teach your heart to find what it has been missing."

"Ah. Is that all?" They chuckled, and the momentary tension eased. "Healer Naas even asked me about this -- sexual functionality -- in the roundabout way all healers do." Qui-Gon swallowed. "I said what I always say when they ask -- that it wasn't a problem. It never has been, before."

Obi-Wan took his hand and looked earnestly into his face. "It was, Qui-Gon. Ask the Force."

Qui-Gon nodded shortly and looked away, careful to not say how weak his connection to the Force had been since he hadn't died. Until earlier that evening, he had been too afraid that the only part of him that had died was his connection to the Force.

"Let us start here, perhaps." Obi-Wan stood and indicated Qui-Gon should as well. Then he slid under the covers of Qui-Gon's bed and held the sheet up in invitation. "Come lie with me."

The bed was wide enough for two, barely; that meant they had to nestle closely together, but that appeared to be Obi-Wan's intent. Once Obi-Wan had them arranged to his satisfaction, he leaned over and kissed Qui-Gon again, just as gently as he had in the gym.

"I've wanted to kiss you for years," he murmured.

Qui-Gon looked up into Obi-Wan's face, hovering above his own. Reaching up, he brushed the unruly lock of hair from Obi-Wan's forehead, tucking it away; it refused to stay and flopped back down immediately. "I've never contemplated how... comforting a kiss could be," he said.

Rather than replying, Obi-Wan just smiled and leaned down for another.

They kissed for what felt like hours. Long, slow, unhurried kisses, a sweet caress of their lips clinging to each other. Sometimes, Obi-Wan would move from Qui-Gon's mouth and press tiny pecks all over Qui-Gon's face -- his eyebrows, his cheek, his nose. Qui-Gon accepted them all, reveling in the feeling of warmth that suffused him. It was having an obvious effect on Obi-Wan too; a hot ridge was pressed against his side and it took Qui-Gon a few moments to realize that Obi-Wan was hard. Obi-Wan had an erection. From kissing Qui-Gon.

The realization stunned him. He knew that one of the main goals of kissing was sexual excitement, but to feel it in his partner, to know Obi-Wan was feeling that which Qui-Gon did not... His own penis was flaccid. He felt warm and loved, but not sexually excited.

Obi-Wan must have sensed something, for he pulled back. Qui-Gon feared he would see disgust or impatience reflected on Obi-Wan's expression, but there was only love and acceptance.

"It's not a race," Obi-Wan murmured. He skimmed one warm hand down Qui-Gon's flank and brushed the front of the thin shorts Qui-Gon wore. "How long has it been since you've had an orgasm, Master?"

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, searching his memory. "I... I honestly don't know." He hadn't thought about such things since he was a boy, and while normally it wouldn't have bothered him, now he realized just how wrong it was.

"You've had such iron control of your body for so long, it doesn't know how to react naturally." Qui-Gon felt the rightness of Obi-Wan's words even as he heard them. Obi-Wan chuckled. "We just have to teach your body how to respond properly. Give it time."

"What if I..."

"You will. There's nothing you can't do once your mind is set upon it -- my wise master taught me that. We'll fix it." Obi-Wan smiled again, this time with a trace of sadness. "My duty and my honor to teach you in this. I will do the best I can as your master, my padawan."

Qui-Gon reached up and brushed that unruly lock of hair away again. "Thank you."

Obi-Wan caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the center of the palm, then leaned down to kiss him again. They fell asleep in the midst of kissing, and when he awoke the next morning, Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan nestled up against his side, his head on the unmarred half of Qui-Gon's chest.

And so the next phase of Qui-Gon's healing began, repairing something that he hadn't even known was broken. He became the padawan to his former padawan, and bathed in the attention lovingly given.

Learning to respond, learning how to listen to his heart -- he was so tentative at first, so cautious. Every step he took, Obi-Wan was there to help him, a willing shoulder to lean on. And the Force was there as well, humming quietly in the back of his mind where it had always been until he had nearly died. He had missed it.

At Qui-Gon's checkup, Healer Naas actually smiled at him, seemingly pleased with his progress. Qui-Gon's checkups were moved from every other day to every third day, one of the last steps toward being discharged from the healers altogether. He still had to take it easy, still had to practice breathing so that his new lung would continue to improve, but that was simple. Since every breath he took in was laced with Obi-Wan's essence, he didn't mind at all. Naas gave him a strange look as he finished with the checkup, and Qui-Gon's first thought was that it was because his connection to the Force was back, stronger than ever.

He also continued to spar with Obi-Wan, their workout sessions becoming increasingly vigorous. Sometimes it almost felt as though their auras were joining, melding into one blue-green glow; the connection they had was far beyond what they'd had before, when they were master and padawan. He felt it even more at night, when they spent the time before they slept kissing.

For several nights, that's all they did -- kiss and sleep together. Obi-Wan became aroused each time. Qui-Gon, while feeling something, perhaps love, did not. When he tried to apologize, Obi-Wan merely chuckled. "I'm not going to die from it, Qui-Gon," he said. "There's no hurry. You need to go at your own pace."

When had his padawan grown into this wise man? Surely he wasn't capable of training such a man.

One night, as the heat between them grew, Obi-Wan used his tongue to tease Qui-Gon's lips. Surprised, Qui-Gon opened his mouth and accepted the deeper kiss. The feel of Obi-Wan's tongue electrified him, caused sensation to tingle throughout his body, made his breath catch. Obi-Wan was always careful of him, never putting too much weight on him or letting him become uncomfortable, but Qui-Gon found he wanted that, wanted more of Obi-Wan on him, around him. In him.

Their eyes were closed, the better to feel. Qui-Gon never knew what to do with his hands, though Obi-Wan seemed to appreciate it wherever he was touched and encouraged Qui-Gon to touch anywhere, calling his hands one of the best things about him. Qui-Gon wasn't too sure of that; he was often embarrassed by his big, meaty paws, so different from Obi-Wan's lean, elegant hands. When Qui-Gon caressed Obi-Wan's naked back, the feel of the silky skin under his hand made him shiver.

Apparently done mapping Qui-Gon's mouth, Obi-Wan slowly drew his tongue back, inviting Qui-Gon to follow. Hesitantly, Qui-Gon did so, marveling in the feel and the taste. It felt forbidden, exciting, new and strange. When Obi-Wan met his tongue and twined it with his, Qui-Gon shuddered, hard.

Obi-Wan's hand had been caressing his chest and flank, but Qui-Gon suddenly realized it was now directly over his penis, massaging gently, teasingly. And Qui-Gon was responding, his member stretching lazily under the thin shorts he wore. He felt as though he had just taken a step off a high cliff before realizing he had forgotten how to fly. His breath hitched in his throat as his unexpected arousal flowed throughout his body.

"Am I hurting you?" Obi-Wan's question was breathless and his face, when Qui-Gon opened his eyes to look, was flushed. Aroused. Beautiful.

"No, no..." How could he explain the combination of terror and hope he felt? How could he explain with words how wonderful it felt to have the Force within him again, all because of Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan's love? He wanted to hide, he wanted to dance, he wanted this one perfect moment never to end.

Keeping his gaze locked on Qui-Gon's eyes, Obi-Wan began moving his hand with deliberate sexual intent. Qui-Gon's trembling increased as his arousal, so long forbidden to him, began to grow along with his penis. Obi-Wan kept the pressure and movement steady, gently encouraging Qui-Gon's body to respond. After a few moments though, it became clear that the beginnings of arousal, the start of an erection, was as far as Qui-Gon could go. With a final stroke, Obi-Wan stilled his hand and gave Qui-Gon one last kiss.

"You see?" he said, the smile in his eyes a promise and a victory. "I told you we could do it. How does it feel?"

There were no words, none at all. But his astonishment must have shown, for Obi-Wan asked no further.

They settled down on the bed, Obi-Wan in his favorite position (with his head on Qui-Gon's right shoulder) once again. His erection was hot and hard against Qui-Gon's hip. With his renewed connection to the Force, Qui-Gon could tell Obi-Wan was centering and releasing his arousal, and suddenly Qui-Gon didn't want him to do that. He wanted it to come to a more natural conclusion... but how to ask?

"Don't," he finally whispered, as Obi-Wan's erection began to fade. "You... you deserve more..."

Obi-Wan lifted himself up on his elbow so he could look into Qui-Gon's eyes in the dim light that spilled from the 'fresher. "What?" he asked, puzzled.

"You always will it away," Qui-Gon said, still in a whisper. "You don't have to."

"I know I don't," Obi-Wan replied with a frown. "But I don't want to..."

"It's not fair to you. And I want... I want to help you as you've been helping me. Show me; show me what to do."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise, and his erection returned almost instantly. "It's not... you don't have to..."

"I know. I want to." Qui-Gon was mildly surprised to realize he did; he wanted to see Obi-Wan's face, wanted to know he was the one causing Obi-Wan such joy.

With a deep breath, Obi-Wan pushed both the sheet and his shorts down. Qui-Gon rolled carefully to his side, propping his head on one hand while the other caressed the soft skin of Obi-Wan's chest. It was Obi-Wan's turn to breathe heavily. His eyes were wide and dark, and his whole body was flushed with the arousal that made him so very hard, satin over steel. He caught Qui-Gon's hand in his, gently encouraging it lower, until Qui-Gon touched his erection.

It had been years since Qui-Gon had masturbated, perhaps close to the number of years Obi-Wan had in his life. But he remembered, or rather, his body remembered, what to do. Obi-Wan's hand on his encouraged a tightness, a firm stroke, a rhythmical pattern of back and forth, squeeze and release, slight twist on the up-stroke. Qui-Gon must have been doing it well, as, with a gasp, Obi-Wan's hand left his and clutched the bedclothes beneath him. His eyes were tightly closed and his breath came in gasps of half-heard words that might have been blessings or even curses.

Qui-Gon was enchanted, fascinated, and, he realized, at least as flooded with desire as he had been earlier. Obi-Wan's beautiful body was writhing and arching, and suddenly, he climaxed, with a strangled sound that seemed almost painful. Ribbons of semen leapt up his abdomen, painting the muscles of his stomach with ropy pearlescence. It was beautiful.

While Obi-Wan came down from his orgasmic high, Qui-Gon brought his semen-covered fingers to his mouth. The bitter taste and strange texture made him frown -- not wonderful, but not truly awful either. It was another part of his Obi-Wan, and he found he needed to know everything of the young man who had gifted him with his love.

"Sorry... didn't take... long... too much, too fast."

Qui-Gon smiled at Obi-Wan. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

Obi-Wan's smile was abashed as he cleaned himself off with a corner of the sheet, then resettled them to sleep.

It was if he had turned a corner and a brand new sense opened for him.

Everything was sharper, brighter, clearer, and carried more feeling than ever before. Even his sense of the Force seemed to be changed -- it was calmer, somehow, less like a tool to be used and more like a wise old friend ready to dispense help. The idea bothered him on many levels; could it be that he really had treated the Force solely as a tool? How is it he'd never noticed before?

He could meditate again, commune with the Force freely. When he sparred with Obi-Wan, it was almost as though he were completely healed, the power of the Force flowing though him like a river, washing all his injuries away. The healing he had done so far seemed superficial; now that the Force answered his call, he began making real progress. His scar even began to fade, to his surprise.

Everything was so different yet the same, all at once. It was as if his blinders had finally been removed and he could now see, all the way around, and the view was wonderful.

That evening, they went to bed together, as usual, and began kissing and caressing eagerly, keen to find new places to thrill and excite. The tight place inside Qui-Gon continued to unravel, making him more aware of his own body in ways he'd never dreamed possible. It almost frightened him, the exhilaration he felt when he was touching, loving Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan must have felt it too, for he was hard before they even touched. When Obi-Wan came to bed naked, rather than wearing the light shorts they both preferred, Qui-Gon did the same, sure his grin matched Obi-Wan's. He was half-hard, as he had been for some time, and almost felt embarrassed by it. But the heat in Obi-Wan's eyes as he looked at Qui-Gon took the awkwardness away and replaced it with desire.

They got themselves comfortable on the bed and began kissing, touching, tasting and everything related to that, the friction from their hands adding to the heat of their need. Qui-Gon could barely keep from chortling, from giggling even, at the feelings coursing through him. The Force intensified everything; he felt almost as if his blood were carbonated and little bubbles were seeping through every pore, tickling him and adding to his giddiness. This was the feeling he'd denied himself for all those years? How could this possibly be wrong?

Obi-Wan seemed to be reacting the same way. He rubbed his whole body against Qui-Gon's, and must have had far more than just two hands judging by how he was touching Qui-Gon. The problem was that it wasn't working. Qui-Gon remained half-hard, felt suffused with quiet passion, but something was preventing more. That tight spot inside him simply wouldn't let go, no matter how hard he tried to push it. He was certain the fault lay within himself, and the guilt and sorrow he felt just made the situation worse.

"You need to stop," Obi-Wan whispered. Qui-Gon opened eyes he didn't remember closing to find his lover hovering above him, a gentle smile on his face. "You're the one always telling me, feel, don't think. Feel, Qui-Gon. Feel."

He could do that. Qui-Gon felt a smile spread across his face as he got lost in Obi-Wan's smoky gaze.

Obi-Wan kissed him again, then began sliding down his body, dropping little kisses along the way, until he came to rest with his face at Qui-Gon's groin. With a wicked smile, Obi-Wan slowly licked up along Qui-Gon's shaft, making him almost arch off the bed and gasp.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice husky. "And I think I know how to make it feel even better."

Tingling, panting, trembling, Qui-Gon couldn't speak, but tried to convey his willingness to do anything Obi-Wan wanted. "Close your eyes," Obi-Wan said, apparently understanding his unspoken assent.

Qui-Gon felt the quick spike in the Force that meant Obi-Wan was calling something to his hand. "Raise your knees, Qui-Gon," he murmured, his hands lifting and supporting and guiding, soothing and exciting. It was almost embarrassing, for Qui-Gon felt he must have been spread out, his legs wide and his semi-hard penis on display. When Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's fingers caress and press against the little patch of skin behind his testicles, he whimpered very slightly. "Tell me if I hurt you," Obi-Wan whispered. Then he pressed one slick finger inside Qui-Gon.

There were no words. It hurt, just a bit; the area was more accustomed to ejecting than allowing ingress. But the slight discomfort was easily ignored, and Obi-Wan was being so very careful, using some sort of oil to ease the passage of his finger. Qui-Gon centered his awareness on the place where he was being penetrated, and before long there was no pain at all, just pleasure.

Then Obi-Wan's finger brushed over something inside Qui-Gon that set every last one of his nerves on fire.

"There we go," Obi-Wan murmured, twisting his finger just so. "Feels good?"

Beyond words, Qui-Gon could only whimper. Obi-Wan continued to massage that spot, wringing more and more sensation from it. He removed his finger and inserted two, once again pressing on the spot. A tiny, rational bit of Qui-Gon's mind understood what was happening, but rationality was soon overwhelmed by a crashing wave of indescribable excitement.

When Obi-Wan inserted three careful, oily fingers, he spoke again. "Look, Master. Look at yourself."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his own penis, rock-hard and quivering with a drop of liquid easing out of the slit. Obi-Wan was smiling up at him from his perch between Qui-Gon's trembling legs, one warm hand on Qui-Gon's hip, the other beneath, penetrating and massaging.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said. His unexpected use of the vulgarity merely increased Qui-Gon's arousal. "Breathe deeply."

The removal of Obi-Wan's fingers left Qui-Gon feeling bereft, but only for a moment. Before long, Obi-Wan was buried inside Qui-Gon, holding himself as still as he could. Qui-Gon was bent nearly double, but Obi-Wan made sure to support him, made sure he was comfortable even as his own body made demands upon him. When Obi-Wan began to thrust, slowly and gently, Qui-Gon knew then that it was the most perfect moment his body had ever known.

Not knowing what else to do, Qui-Gon simply let himself go limp, let himself become a vessel of sensation. The Force buoyed them both, tied them together so that he could feel Obi-Wan's pleasure and could even feel why Obi-Wan was holding himself back. He didn't want Obi-Wan to hold back. He wanted all of Obi-Wan, all of everything. The last bit of tightness within him finally, suddenly gave way and swamped him and Obi-Wan and the Force with the pent-up feelings of more than twenty years of denial and control.

Above him, Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide and surprised, and he began to thrust in earnest, even as he put one of his warm and oily hands on Qui-Gon's rigid erection. Between that, the stimulation inside him and the reflection of his feelings in Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon arched up and, in a blaze of Light, climaxed, hearing and feeling Obi-Wan do the same.

That was the last thing he remembered for quite some time.

They woke twined around each other on the bed. Qui-Gon felt sore in unaccustomed places, and when he tried to smile, he realized he already was -- a smile from the genuine pleasure of being alive. Why had he denied himself for so long? It made no sense. The Force was humming happily in the back of his brain, and the rich feeling of contentment made it plain that this was real, this was how life should be.

Contentment. He'd never felt it before. But now that he had, he would not give it up, not without a fight, anyway.

His sudden resolve gave him pause. He was Jedi; he served the Force first and the Republic second. His own wants and desires were not even on the same map. With a sinking feeling, he realized this was why the Jedi had a no attachments rule; no attachments meant no heartache. Obi-Wan had been right; his attachment to Qui-Gon, his refusal to give up, was a failing. His failing. His failure. And now, it was Qui-Gon's failure as well.

He studied the shadowy ceiling above him. He knew it was morning by the large numbers of the clock between the two beds and by his own, innate time-sense. He should get up, start his day. There were things to do, exercises to perform, examinations to endure. What he and Obi-Wan had done the night before had broken something wrong inside him, had carried it away, and now he felt very close to one hundred percent -- even better than he had felt before he was wounded. The healers would want to discharge him soon, he knew. And then what?

And then what?

He would find out why he'd been sequestered. Obi-Wan would no longer be needed as his help-meet and would, undoubtedly, be assigned a mission by the Council.

And then what?

Qui-Gon would most probably be assigned a separate mission by the Council, once they knew he was better. He thought of Anakin and of Yoda -- the boy would not do well at all with Yoda. Yoda was too inflexible in the wrong ways, and could not provide the nurture the boy would need. Yes, he would ask to train Anakin once he was cleared for duty.

And then what?

There was a great deal of turmoil in the galaxy; the Sith apparently were back, and the Trade Federation had to have some sort of connection, some sort of complicity with that. There was much more going on than could meet the eye, he suspected. The problems were far more convoluted and it might require a great many Jedi to discover them, much less solve them. He would be at the forefront, he knew, as would Obi-Wan. But they would not be together fighting the evil in the galaxy. He and Obi-Wan had touched the Sith, seen and felt the Dark. They would be split up, sent to different sides of the galaxy in the hunt for the Sith because they were only two men and would be needed everywhere.

And then what?

And then, Qui-Gon thought with heart-stopping clarity, they would not be together. He was a Jedi, just as Obi-Wan was. They served the Force first and the Republic second... "No."

He didn't even realize he'd spoken that denial out loud until Obi-Wan started and opened his eyes. Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's lover. He was the lover of Obi-Wan. And they would no longer be together, perhaps forever.

Obi-Wan was smiling and warm and beautiful as he stretched himself awake in Qui-Gon's arms. This was home; he would not, could not give up his home or his heart, and his heart was owned by Obi-Wan, now. Obi-Wan, who was slowly wakening, whose joy was so deep and honest that Qui-Gon wanted to do nothing more than live within it for the rest of his days...

"I can't do this," Qui-Gon said. The pain in his chest was worse than being run through with a red 'saber. "I can't," he repeated, his voice filled with the anguish he felt.

Obi-Wan was frowning now, looking at him with puzzlement. "What?"

"You were right; not giving me up was a failure, a failure to the Jedi." The pain made him gasp. "The Jedi demand no attachments. You were attached; you failed... by saving me, you were right..."

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said with some alarm.

"No, wait, you must see..." Qui-Gon was desperate to get his words out. "It was a failure, a failure to the Jedi. Not to the Force, Obi-Wan, not to the Force! And now I am failing the same way, because once having found you, found us, I can no more give that up than I can give up breathing. And that means I fail the Jedi, it means I... I cannot..."

The uneasiness in Obi-Wan's eyes began to fade and was replaced by sorrow. "Qui-Gon," he began again, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around Obi-Wan, not wanting to hear, not wanting to lose this perfect moment. "Oh, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan murmured, his arms wrapped just as tightly around his lover.

"It's all I've ever known," Qui-Gon whispered into Obi-Wan's hair. "And it was all a lie."

"No." The denial was quick and firm. Obi-Wan pulled back just far enough so they could look each other in the eye. "Not a lie. Just not the whole truth." He touched Qui-Gon's cheek, caressing and wiping away the odd moisture there. "It took me as many months to heal as it took you, because I persisted in my attachment to you. I was fussed over, condemned, censured... but I would not give it up. And I will not give it up now, either."

Utterly confused, Qui-Gon sat them up on the bed, the better to listen to what Obi-Wan was saying. Their bodies were crusted with dried sweat and semen, and instead of finding it mildly disgusting, Qui-Gon discovered it was a fine aphrodisiac. He was, he suddenly realized, on the way to another impressive erection. Obi-Wan claimed his attention though, and he turned his thoughts back.

"They wanted me to purge myself of you, don't you see? But I couldn't. And I won't, Qui-Gon. I won't. Being a Jedi, it's all I've ever known too, all I've ever wanted to be, but that was before." Obi-Wan reached out and framed Qui-Gon's face in his hands. "This, between us -- this is more than the Jedi. This is love, and the Force agrees, love is the most important thing."

Searching the beloved face before him, Qui-Gon tried to understand what Obi-Wan and the Force were trying to tell him. "We've stagnated," he murmured, and Obi-Wan rewarded him with a sad smile of agreement. "All of us. We've stagnated, refused to change. We've stopped listening for the Force and instead have listened to what we felt was more important."

"It hurts," Obi-Wan said, and his eyes reflected that pain. "I thought I understood my place in the universe, but I did not. The Jedi..."

"The Jedi will never be able to defeat the Sith."

"No. Not the way the Jedi are now. It won't work. It can't."

Qui-Gon knew what his next words should be, but there was a horrible pain in his chest preventing words from emerging. He reached up and took one of Obi-Wan's hands in one of his own, lacing their fingers together tightly. Obi-Wan looked just as distressed as Qui-Gon felt, and they held on to each other like drowning men to a passing spar.

"Meditate with me?" Obi-Wan murmured, and Qui-Gon nodded. He wasn't sure whether he could actually do it, but Obi-Wan was right. They needed to try.

Facing each other on the messy bed, still nude, still touching, they gazed into each other's eyes and regulated their breathing. It took some time, but finally the Force caught them and spread balm over the rents in their psyches. It was all there, and when they surfaced less than an hour later, they were able to face their path calmly, though still with a sadness borne of loss.

"I can no longer be a Jedi," Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan's hands tightened around his own. "I knew you would eventually see it," he said, with equal softness. "It's why I told them not to tell you."

Once the words sank in, Qui-Gon blinked. "Tell me what?"

"You're dead." Obi-Wan's face was loving and sad. "I had to watch an effigy of you burn on Naboo. As far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, there no longer is a Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Only a few Council members, some healers sworn to secrecy and..."

"And you."

Nodding, Obi-Wan continued. "And me. To everyone else, you're dead."

He should have been shocked at the revelation, shocked and angered that the Council would treat him so, would summarily dismiss him from the Jedi without his knowledge or agreement. But he found he was not. Instead, Qui-Gon felt a curious lightness and freedom. "That's why... why I couldn't call anyone or be left alone... no one else could know I was alive. They want me to be unencumbered, a... a rogue no one expects, one who can infiltrate."

"Yes." Obi-Wan brought one of their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed it. "They wanted me to be your contact, to remain in the Jedi but only on the periphery, to help you and to courier information back and forth."

Qui-Gon tested the plan from several angles and saw both flaws and benefits. "And you told them no, didn't you?" he asked, already certain of the answer.

"Not yet, but I intend to. I didn't want to say anything until you were told of the situation, until you could make up your own mind."

After another moment's thought, Qui-Gon said, "I'm not sure that's the right move."

"What?" Obi-Wan was confused. "I won't be a party to their machinations anymore, Qui-Gon," he warned.

"We need to work on this, away from the Council--"

"The Council can go hang," Obi-Wan said with some asperity, and Qui-Gon had to chuckle. "What?"

"You used to get so angry with me when I said things like that," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan was obviously trying to frown, but it insisted on emerging as a wry smile. "You've rubbed off on me, I suppose."

"You've rubbed off on me more, I think," he said, and they both chuckled. "We need to set our plan, Obi-Wan. We need to determine our path to find and neutralize the Sith, and for that we need to consult no one save ourselves and the Force."

"We still serve the Light," Obi-Wan said after a moment, nodding. "Even though we may no longer directly serve the Jedi."

"Yes." He knew Obi-Wan would understand. The Force hummed between them, a counterpoint to their feelings for each other.

"How odd," Obi-Wan murmured. "I've been feeling such pain and confusion trying to figure out what I should do. But now that I'm here..." he shook his head, took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "It wasn't so hard at all."

"We still have far to go," Qui-Gon warned, but he knew exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking, feeling, because it mirrored what was in him as well. "And there are many details to work out -- among them, Anakin Skywalker. We must make certain he is brought up firmly in the Light, because..."

"He would make a formidable weapon for the Sith," Obi-Wan finished for him, nodding. "Do you understand now why I said the boy was dangerous?"

"All too well," Qui-Gon said with a sigh. "I'm so sorry I allowed him to come between us, Obi-Wan. It was not my intent; please believe me."

"We've both made mistakes, Qui-Gon."

"Not any longer. We cannot afford to. From now on, we are partners. Equal partners, in everything." They smiled at each other, and Qui-Gon leaned forward far enough to meet Obi-Wan's lips in a sweet kiss. "Forever," he whispered.

"We have a lot of planning to do, don't we?" They were both smiling, almost giddy with the possibilities. "But first things first." Almost bouncing, Obi-Wan scrambled off the bed. Standing next to it, he smiled broadly and reached for Qui-Gon. "Come... take a bath with me."

A vision of warm, naked, wet, slippery Obi-Wan suddenly filled Qui-Gon's senses and made him reel. He leapt off the bed so fast he almost broke a toe. Laughing, they headed for the 'fresher.

EPILOGUE

A beardless Qui-Gon was one who looked much younger than he had any right to be. But the look was good on Kellin Quenn, the man once known as Qui-Gon Jinn reflected. The long hair, currently existing in a braided tail down his back, was also interesting and never would have suited Qui-Gon. Nor would his current costume, which was mostly black and brown leather seeded with weapons and one lightsaber, the only legacy of Qui-Gon Jinn to remain.

Well, one of the last legacies. From the other room, Kellin Quenn heard his partner, Ben Kenbar, finish packing for both of them. His beard and longish, messy hair suited Ben quite well and completed the illusion that they were no longer Jedi, no longer part of the Order that was too inflexible to accept them as they were. Well, most of the order wouldn't accept them. There were a few Council members who were quite happy to allow them to go hunting for Sith, waiting for them to prove themselves better than traditional Jedi or die in the attempt. With a last grin at his reflection, Kellin left the 'fresher for the main room.

"All done?" Ben asked him, mirroring his smile.

"Almost." He walked to the kitchenette and retrieved a small box that had been placed far back on a top shelf of a cabinet. "Here." Healer Naas had fetched the gift for him over a month ago, in the midst of their negotiations with the Jedi Council. Unexpectedly, Naas had turned out to be on their side. Who would have thought that such a dour Iktochi could be a closet romantic?

"What's this?"

"A gift. From one new man to another."

Ben looked surprised and puzzled, but gamely snapped the fastenings on the small box and opened it. What he found inside made him catch his breath.

"It's self-contained; the power source should last half a millennia," Kellin said softly, hoping he had not made a mistake.

The man once known as Obi-Wan Kenobi lifted the small, multicolored night-light out of its box and cradled it in his hand. When he managed to look up again, his eyes were bright with tears. "It's perfect."

"I love you," Kellin Quenn whispered to his life-mate.

"I love you too," Ben Kenbar whispered back.

end