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Your Arms Were Here, Waiting

by Flamethrower

Title: Your Arms Were Here, Waiting

Author: Flamethrower (flamethrower@thedeadcat.net)

Archive: MA & the Flamethrower's Archive

Category: Q/O, AU, h/c, bit o' angst, smut

Spoilers: Only applies if you've skipped the previous 13 chapters.

Summary: Final story in the Lonely Place 'verse. Includes epilogue.

Series order: All parts to date can be found here as well as on the Archive or via my site.

Feedback: Treasured.

Thanks: to Merry Amelie, writestufflee, and mrs_stanley - I love my betas, folks. The stories wouldn't be the same without them.

Note: The first and final tale in this little corner of the Q/O universe owe their titles to Joy Division and their song, In a Lonely Place, one of the bleakest damn pieces of music in existence.

Standard Disclaimer: "Rob? That's a naughty word, we never rob! We just... sort of borrow."
"Borrow? Boy, are we in debt!"

It had been a long time since she wasn't cold. The snow always fell, dusting her cheeks with delicate, icy touches. She wanted to be warm, but warmth never came, and at some point she'd realized it would never come again.

Then, one day, the snow stopped falling.

She was sitting up in a bed that she did not know, leaning against pillows that had been stacked up to support her twisted back. She had no feelings of alarm, for she was warm and comfortable, and she had missed those sensations so very much. Her hands were bandaged and heavy, but she could wiggle her fingers. So strange, she thought, staring down at the soft white cloth that was wrapped around her skin. When had she damaged herself?

"Ah, you're awake. I thought it might be soon." She looked up at the sound of words falling into her empty space. A young man stood there, a beautiful young man, with shoulder-length hair and smiling, gentle blue eyes. No, not such a young man, she realized; there were lines of weariness at his eyes and around his mouth, but the kindness she could sense made the evidence of passing time inconsequential. There was a scrawl of glyph-like text running across his cheeks in thin black bands. She frowned for a moment, for there was a memory associated with those marks. "How are you feeling?" he asked her. "Are you well?"

"I..." she paused, startled. Her voice was rough, so much coarser than she remembered. "I believe so. Where am I?" What's happened to me? she thought, but did not voice the question.

"Nam Corvis. A long way from home to find yourself. Are you hungry?" he asked, sitting down on a chair near her bedside.

"No," she started to say, and then realized that she was ravenous. He smiled as if he understood, handing her what looked like a ration bar. There the resemblance ended, for it smelled wonderful and tasted like ambrosia, and she consumed it in what must have been seconds before looking at him in hopes of more.

"No, not yet," he said, shaking his head. "You've been on nutrient feeds for a few days, but if you eat much more solid food right now, you'll regret it. Give it time. Your body hasn't recovered as much as it feels like."

She looked at her hands again. Recovered? "What... what am I doing on Nam Corvis?" she asked, hesitant. She did not want the snow to begin falling once more. Oh, how she dreaded it, it always came when she thought it never would again, and she would wake up and find herself in some new place...

"I don't know," he told her. "I wasn't following you - in fact, we just about stumbled into each other. I didn't even know that you were alive."

She tested the motion of her fingers once more. She was thought dead. She had thought herself dead, or close enough for it not to matter. He surprised her, though, when he spoke again. "You were poisoned, insidiously so, and it may have caused you more problems than the ice you fear."

Her eyes snapped to his at that statement. The soothing serenity of a Jedi was in his gaze, and she relaxed. I know this boy, she thought, nonplussed at thinking of him as a youth. He was certainly no child. "Poisoned?"

"You were given a toxin by Dooku, before he left the Order. He gave it to Eeth Koth as well, but Master Koth died before the toxin could take effect. It's a horrid substance, one that clings to the cells and refuses to let go. It entered your system and lay dormant. The first time you felt anger, true anger... the toxin activated. You have not been yourself for quite some time." He leaned forward, resting his hand for a moment on her bandaged left arm. "I imagine that, aside from that cold you keep thinking about, that your memories have been unreliable."

"Yes." Unreliable, indeed. "I know you," she whispered, staring into his eyes, and saw echoes of the cold she feared there. He had fought against the snows as well. "You're the boy we sent away."

"Sort of," he replied, smiling.

"But... you're not him," she said, reaching up to touch the black scrawl on his face with the tips of her unbandaged fingers.

He caught her hand with his, shaking his head. "No."

She hadn't felt this clear-headed in a long time. It had been ages since she felt able to trust her own instincts, but she believed him. "The snow... will it come back?" she asked, her voice faint. If it came back...

He shook his head again. "It will not come back." He hesitated. "They're gone. All of them."

The choking fear and anger that had driven her into the snow surfaced for just a moment before swirling away. Freedom had taste and substance, and brought her the first joy she could remember in years.

He offered her another gentle smile. "We have a long road ahead of us, but we will take it one step at a time, and start simply. Can you tell me your name, Master Jedi?"

She smiled, radiant once more. "Yes."


**** **** **** ****


It had started out with Skywalker's grinning delivery of A'Sharad Hett to the Council. The unmasked Tusken Jedi had peered at each face, seeking out his Master among those seated, before practically running across the Council chamber to fling himself at Ki-Adi Mundi's feet. Ki-Adi had been surprised, but grateful, to have his first Padawan returned to him a great deal saner than he had been after parting ways with the Jedi during the war.

Then others had started to trickle in, under their own power, and it had stunned Mace Windu to realize how many of their number had almost lost their souls to the Dark because of the Sith's war. Jedi that had been consigned to the rosters of those killed or missing in action appeared in the Council's doorway, hesitant but hopeful.

Aayla Secura arrived a few weeks after Hett. She could only remember bits and pieces of her life, and her lekku had been stamped and patterned with the ownership marks of a brothel on the Outer Rim. Suffering a second mindwipe had been near-disastrous, considering the one she had been subjected to as a child, but she had regained enough of herself to make the journey back to Coruscant. The Healers were confident that with time and meditation, the Knight would be able to reclaim her status in the Order.

Next had been Aalto de'Ya, hauled in over the shoulder of Wookiee Knight Raallandirr. The two of them had been trapped behind enemy lines for so long that news of the war's ending had just reached them. Raallandirr had only commented that Knight de'Ya had been in no hurry to return to Coruscant, or stop fighting, and with help she had restrained the man long enough to board a transport back to the Inner Rim.

With help. That was the common theme - Aayla had been rescued from the brothel, while de'Ya had been clocked over the head with a lightsaber hilt when logic and reminders of who he was had failed to reach him. The same help had sent another handful of Jedi back to Coruscant in the months since de'Ya's return. What had once been the rarest of things - a Jedi fallen into Darkness, walking back into the Light once more - was getting to be almost commonplace. It was not easy for those who returned, or for the Jedi waiting to greet them, but time and distance brought healing... and, maybe, forgiveness.

Perhaps, Mace mused, resting his hand on the arm of his chair, the Jedi were able to learn new things, after all. Or re-learn old things, he thought, glancing over to find Yoda with his eyes half-closed, humming under his breath and looking far too pleased with himself. Usually that meant the troll was up to something, but the ancient Master was keeping his own counsel as to what that might be.

Mace put those thoughts aside and concentrated on the matter at hand, which revolved around the newfound Corporate Sector Authority's growing refusal to let the Republic Army patrol Corellian space. Time enough to pester Yoda later.



He stared at the closed doors so long that his companion reached over and nudged his arm. "I thought I would be handling this badly," she said, giving him a nervous smile.

He lifted his shoulders in the barest approximation of a shrug. "The last two times I walked through those doors, I thought I would never see this place again. I'm wondering if the third time is the charm."

She raised a gray-tinged brow at him. "Don't be daft, dear."

He nodded in response and motioned for the doors to open. Once again he was breaking protocol, but it wasn't his fault if Council Secretary Jaris was hiding underneath his desk, avoiding his duty.

Well, maybe he was a little bit to blame for that.

His companion stayed in place as he stepped forward, his cloak shielding his face from the sunlight that spilled forth from the room beyond. There was an immediate hush as he walked towards the center of the room, facing Master Windu, Master Mundi, Master Yoda, and...

Well. They'd taken his advice, after all. He smiled; Padmé Amidala-Skywalker looked like she was biting her tongue near in half to keep from grinning at him. "Masters," he greeted them, dropping into a soft bow. "Lady," he added for Padmé's benefit.

"Imp," Padmé retorted before anyone else could speak. "Why didn't you tell Anakin you were coming back to Coruscant?"

He smiled and pulled his hood back, letting the light and warmth of the room caress his skin at last. "He didn't ask."

"This wasn't on the schedule," Quinlan Vos drawled, crossing his arms and looking pleased to see him. The edginess he'd expected to find in the other Council members didn't seem to exist. As he glanced around, he found more genuine smiles than polite nods, and that warmed him even more than the sunlight.

"My guest, he is," Yoda spoke up, climbing down from his seat. The tiny Master made his way to where he stood with surprising speed, peering up at him with bright green eyes that shone with pleasure. "Surprise I wanted it to be, for a new Master joins us today."

He was tempted to roll his eyes. "Don't be daft, Master," he said. He was not Jedi Master material. The very thought was ridiculous.

Yoda swatted him with his gimer stick. "Manners you once had," Yoda grumbled, but spoiled the effect by smiling broadly. "To the Council, I say: Jedi Master Ben Lars, this is. Welcome home, young one."

Ben dropped to his knees and embraced Yoda, the Master he had known for almost all of his life, ignoring the excited murmur that rippled through the Council chamber. "Am not," he murmured, so only Yoda could hear.

"When Padawan you take, redundant your argument will be," Yoda replied, just as quiet, but his smile never wavered. "Stand up, you shall, or run me over, they will."

He stood up and was immediately captured in a bone-bruising embrace by Quinlan Vos. He let out a startled gasp and returned the hug as Quinlan pounded on his back. "You took your fucking time," his one-time lover scolded him. "I was starting to think I was going to have to go out and drag your ass back here."

"Like you would have found me," Ben challenged, giving Quin a mischievous smile. Then Padmé was there, pulling on the collar of his shirt to yank his face down. Satisfied by what she saw, she planted a firm, swift kiss on his lips, grinning at his bewildered expression.

"We missed you, you ninny," she informed him, before stepping back and giving Master Windu room to approach.

For a moment they stared at one another. The rest of the room paused in consideration of the air of tension between them. Ben well knew that Mace had been ready to destroy him, destroy Venge, once upon a time, but the older man had also been one of the few to champion Obi-Wan Kenobi's return to the Temple. He had no idea what to expect.

He was still harder on himself than others could ever be, he realized, as Mace shook his head and subjected Ben to the same fierce embrace that Quinlan had. "Welcome back," the Master said, and when he stepped back, there was a teasing light in his eyes. "Are you thinking of sticking around, this time?"

He grinned. "I was thinking about it, yes."

Mace nodded, crossing his arms. His visage was stern, but Ben knew better, now. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Ben thought about it for a moment. "Almost," he answered. "I think I'm in the right place for the last of it." He repressed another grin at the raised eyebrow that Mace gave him. "I have a guest of my own, Masters," he said, half-turning and looking back at the still-open doorway.

A woman stood there, waiting with the barest hint of a smile on her face. Her skin was paler than it used to be, and her once-luxurious black hair had turned the color of dull steel. She appeared much older than her true age, now, but her eyes were clear, and her hands held no trace of the trembling that had plagued her during her recovery on Nam Corvis.

"Depa," Mace breathed.

Ben watched as the Haruun Kal Master stepped forward, uncertain. Depa Billaba may have been ravaged by the Sith toxin that had driven her to madness, but her smile was brilliant when she saw her Master, and she raised her arms in acceptance of the embrace that he offered.


**** **** **** **** **** ****


Every time Qui-Gon Jinn cleared the landing platform, stepping through the force-field and onto the polished stone of the Temple, it felt like coming home. He drew in a deep breath, scents striking his nose that he had known for almost eight decades.

There was an anguish in his heart that never faded, but at least he was once more among friends. One of them was waiting to greet him, wearing the broad grin that had been Mace Windu's constant companion since Qui-Gon had witnessed his and Adi Gallia's bonding ceremony. "Welcome back, Qui-Gon. How was Neimoidia?"

"It was possibly the most boring visit to that planet I have ever had," Qui-Gon replied, hefting his pack back over his shoulder so that they could walk together. "It brought me a great deal of relief. Hello, Mace."

Mace nodded, falling into step with him. "I have to admit, it feels strange to wake up and realize that there is no longer a Trade Federation out there. The Techno Union is defunct now, too - Quinlan accepted the paperwork that dissolved their partnerships just this morning."

"Sith," Qui-Gon said, shaking his head in disbelief. He'd grown up to the squabbles of those lumbering corporate giants. Soon enough, someone else would slide into the space they'd vacated, but for now, he looked forward to quieter newsfeeds. It was strange to think that it had been over a year since the confrontation with Sidious on Byss. "So much has changed."

"And yet, so much of it remains the same," Mace replied, a rueful expression on his face. "We accepted the Skywalker twins into the creche this morning."

Qui-Gon felt a large grin stretch across his face. The twins' first birthday would have been yesterday, and he'd hated to miss it. This news, however, more than made up for it. "Is it official, then? Padmé Amidala Skywalker is sitting on the Council?"

"After much bitching and moaning from our dear friends Agen Kolar and Oppo Rancisis, yes. It's official; we have a non-Jedi on our Jedi Council. Agen was too professional to storm out, but Shaak Ti is sure she caught him muttering under his breath that it was the end of the world," Mace said.

"And what does Yoda think, now that the issue is settled?" Qui-Gon asked, curious. The ancient Master had long been silent on the matter of Padmé's candidacy for a Council seat.

Mace looked at Qui-Gon. "Yoda caught Lady Skywalker working one of the twins' Force puzzles."

"Did he, now," Qui-Gon said, resisting the urge to laugh at the put-upon expression on the other Master's face. "That's quite an accomplishment for someone so old, with no formal training to speak of."

"Mmm. We questioned Knight Skywalker about it. He looked baffled and swore up and down that he had no idea his wife had gained any such ability. Then Adi started making jokes in my head about roaming midichlorians and midichlorian injections-"

This time he did laugh, and he was surprised by the rusty quality of it. Had it been so long since he'd laughed? He thought about it, and realized that the last time he'd found true amusement was in watching Obi-Wan glare at Mace during that early morning comm call to Tatooine. The laughter faded.

Mace must have noticed Qui-Gon's change in mood, but he was kind enough not to comment on it. "Being bonded to that woman will take some getting used to."

"I've heard that's usually the case with bonded couples," he said, voice mild, but inside, some part of him that had been wishing for the same chance continued to crack along old fault lines, bringing more pain to his heart. He'd stopped asking Mace if he had heard from Obi-Wan every time he returned from a mission, but it was a hard habit to break. With Anakin he fared better; Anakin could at least reassure him that, wherever he was, Obi-Wan was all right. After the wedding of Anakin's step-brother, Obi-Wan had left Tatooine, dropping off the galactic radar. His whereabouts remained a mystery to Qui-Gon, and his family would not betray Obi-Wan's confidence unless the need was dire.

As the months had gone by, and no reply to his letter had been forthcoming, his hope had begun to wither. If Qui-Gon were to be honest with himself, he knew that he deserved no less.

Mace's comm chirped, and the senior Councilor looked like he wanted to throttle the device. "I have to go. We're reconvening an earlier session with all twelve chairs full for the first time in over a year. It's bound to be interesting."

Qui-Gon paused, touched. Mace had used one of the rare recesses the Council granted themselves to greet his transport. "Good luck, Mace," he said, managing a sincere smile.

Mace nodded in response and strode off, his face settling into the calm, studious mask he used during Council sessions. Qui-Gon watched him go, no longer in such a hurry to return to his empty quarters.

When he stepped off of the lift, forcing himself down the hall to his own door, he was surprised but pleased to see a familiar, green-haired figure waiting outside. "Padawan Vin," he called. She was one of the few orphaned Padawans who remained without a Master. He had considered taking her, despite once believing that Anakin would be his last apprentice, but the Force kept telling him not to. Instead they had become friends, spending time together between his missions and visits with the Council hierarchy.

She turned to see him, and her face lit up. "Master Jinn," she said, smiling. "It is a pleasure to see you returned from Neimoidia." She bowed, a correct and formal movement that he had despaired of ever seeing her master.

He lifted an eyebrow at her choice of words. The girl who had been Siri Tachi's Padawan had never before managed such politeness. "You have been practicing," he said, returning her bow of greeting. "When I left a month ago, I recall a far more foul-mouthed Jeila Vin seeing me off."

She grinned. "You haven't caught up on Temple gossip, which means I get to tell you myself. I'd hoped to be first," she said, and below the Padawan calm, he sensed that the girl was ready to vibrate her way through the floor.

He paused as he palmed his door open, taking a more careful inventory of Jeila's appearance. She was wearing new tunics of deep, dark, blue that emphasized her eyes and pale skin, and she'd pulled her normally unruly coils of hair back into a tail. His eyes lit upon the Padawan braid that hung behind her right ear. Fresh blue and white beads marked the braid, and there was a new lock of pale brown hair intertwined within the green. Qui-Gon smiled as he gestured for her to precede him into his quarters. The lights came up, revealing the familiar sights of home. His plants looked green and healthy, which meant Yoda had been sneaking in to water them. Thank the gods - if the task had fallen to Anakin, he would have discovered a room full of dead brown stems.

"Congratulations, Jeila," he said, and dropped his pack just in time to catch an armload of excited teenage girl. "Who is the lucky Master?" he asked, returning her enthusiastic hug.

Jeila stepped back, smoothing her tunics self-consciously back into place. "Master Lars," she replied, a wide, happy smile on her face. "I was starting to think I was going to be a solitary Padawan until I was Master Yoda's age, but then he came along, and it's wonderful."

"I am very happy for you, Jeila," he said, trying to ignore his own sense of loss. He had so few friends in the Temple, now; death had claimed many of those he had known. With Jeila apprenticed once more, her time in the Temple would be short, just like his own was.

Jeila nodded, launching into the specifics of what her new Master had been teaching her. Diplomacy Qui-Gon had already noticed, as well as further lessons in expanding her vocabulary and language sets. Jeila did have the steel to be a fierce negotiator, and apparently this Master Lars had noticed, too. "I have never heard of a Jedi by that name," he said, when Jeila stopped for breath. He had once tried his best to keep track of every Master based in the Coruscant Temple. "Tell me about him."

The new Padawan paused, her gaze turning thoughtful. "Well, he's in his mid-thirties, and he's full human - not a blend like me," she grinned. "He had just returned from a... a posting in the Outer Rim, and he came and found me. Would you like to meet him, Master Jinn? I'm supposed to be joining him in one of the lower training salles in a few minutes."

He considered the matter as he shed his travel cloak, though his first inclination was to wait for a later opportunity to meet Jeila's new Master. He no doubt had enough work to catch up on that it would mean hours spent at his terminal... Qui-Gon changed his mind. Temple matters could wait another day. He'd resigned from the Council and still his workload felt just as heavy.

He glanced back at Jeila, and though the Padawan's expression was guileless, there was a suspicious glimmer in her indigo eyes. "Padawan Vin," he began, his tone stern, "are you trying to play matchmaker?"

Both of her eyebrows came up in a protracted expression of innocence. "I most certainly am not, Master Jinn. I never play at anything."

He sighed. This was the last thing he wanted, but he supposed Jeila Vin thought she was trying to be helpful. No one that young wanted to see misery in those they considered friends. Siri Tachi, you were a horrid, horrid influence on this child, he grumbled. "Lead the way, Jeila. I will meet your new Master, but try not to be too disappointed if your skills are rusty."

"Yes, Master Jinn," she grinned in response, not cowed in the slightest.



They walked together, and though he could tell that Jeila wanted to dance ahead, full of excitement, she did an admirable job of pacing him. Her smile was wide and engaging, and she was one of those intriguing individuals who wove a conversation with her hands as well as her voice. She was in the midst of explaining a horrible joke about a Bantha and a Naboo priest; to his delight, it was the crude version he'd grown up with, and not the watered down tale the other Padawans were sharing.

An animated cheer floated down the hall, interrupting the punch line of the joke. They were close enough to the salle to explain the noise; both doors were standing open. Another cheer rolled out into the hallway, followed by a quick burst of laughter. "It sounds as if your Master has company," Qui-Gon commented.

Jeila rolled her eyes. "It sounds like he and Knight Skywalker are showing off again," she said, with the air of the long-suffering.

He gave her a thoughtful look, and his heart started beating a touch faster. It couldn't be. Not after this long silence... but the recognition sang out in his thoughts. He knew an entire group of people named Lars, after all.

Except that the hair in Jeila's braid had been brown, not copper.

He followed Jeila into the salle, finding a place in the surrounding crowd of Padawans, young Knights, and a few of the older Masters. Adi was standing not far away, a near-feral grin on her face. She was watching the training arena with her arms crossed, occasionally offering murmured commentary to Knight Secura and Master Unduli.

Qui-Gon took note of the training arena below and fought a smile of his own. It was one of the obstacle courses, not meant for traditional katas. This was a landscape of challenges and shadows, and Anakin Skywalker was stalking through it with a thwarted look on his face. Qui-Gon had only seen a ghost of that expression after Anakin's Knighting, which meant the young man had been hunting his opponent for some time without success.

"You can't hide forever!" Anakin called out, holding his lightsaber up to illuminate the boxed ceiling of space above him. There was no answer to Anakin's challenge except for a ripple of amusement in the Force.

Qui-Gon could feel Anakin searching his surroundings for the elusive Master Lars, but the Force probes were being diverted. Given enough time, Anakin was going to pinpoint the source of those diversions, but he had to wonder if Lars would allow Anakin that time.

What interested Qui-Gon, gave him pause, was that he could observe all of the arena from his vantage point, and there was no other person in it. He glanced at Jeila, tempted to ask if her new Master was still playing the game, but Jeila was watching Anakin's progress with intent eyes.

Anakin turned around, heading back in the opposite direction. Qui-Gon managed to catch himself before he took a step; he still wanted to follow Anakin's progress, keep track of the emotions crossing Anakin's face. Sometimes it was hard to break the teaching habit, and Anakin had been a Knight for over two years.

His curiosity was made moot a moment later. Someone with the same pale-brown hair he'd seen in Jeila's braid rose up out of the shadowed floor behind Anakin, seeming to melt out of the ether and into existence. Qui-Gon saw that the man's dark robe was still partially merged with the shadows, and sucked in a startled breath. Another shadow-walker, he thought, stunned. I had no idea that Master Kuro had passed that talent along to anyone. Mundi sure as hell never managed it. The ability to phase through solid objects was among the rarest of talents, and in three generations of Jedi, only An'ya had ever mastered it. She always claimed that shadows were easier, and he'd always retorted that in terms of physics it made no blasted difference.

The man's hair was loose, just touching his shoulders, and it gleamed in the light as he stepped forward, pointing a pale blue blade at Anakin's back. Anakin froze. "That is cheating," Anakin said in obvious aggravation.

The moment Lars spoke, Qui-Gon didn't need to see the man's face to know him. He knew that voice, had dreamed of the time when he would hear it once more.

"I did not cheat. When Knight Skywalker set the rules, did any of you hear him say that I wasn't allowed to shadow-walk?" Obi-Wan Kenobi demanded of the watching crowd, a cheerful lilt in his voice.

"No, Master Lars!" the young Padawans called back, grinning and laughing at the pout that graced Anakin's lips when he turned around. There were a few more congratulating calls from the Padawans, and a spattering of applause from the other witnesses.

"You know, when you gave them that speech about being mindful of ways to utilize your environment, I don't think that's what most people have in mind," Anakin said, shutting down his lightsaber.

"Then they're not using their imaginations," Obi-Wan retorted. He turned his attention back to the crowd. "Our class seems to have multiplied greatly in the past half-hour, Anakin," he continued in an inscrutable voice.

"I don't think this course is big enough for everyone," Anakin replied, fighting a grin as he tried to match Obi-Wan's tone. Anakin was as horrible a diplomat as he was a dejarik player. No wonder the brat had forgone visual communication while Qui-Gon was on Neimoidia - he wouldn't have been able to keep this particular secret.

"All right! If you're here because you belong in my class, get down here. If you're not part of my class, get out! Unless you're my Padawan," he added, sparing Jeila a quick glance. Then his gaze drifted up.

Their eyes locked, and for a wonderful, heart-wrenching moment, Qui-Gon stopped breathing. The emptiness that had filled Obi-Wan's eyes after Byss was gone; they were blue and alert and lively. Yes, a trace of the old desolation lingered, but it wasn't the soul-wrenching horror Qui-Gon remembered.

Obi-Wan smiled at him, a wide, inviting movement of his lips that held Qui-Gon transfixed. He had always been able to convey so much in such simple gestures. Hello, he said now, and Qui-Gon found he could breathe again.

Hello, he echoed, too shell-shocked to think of anything more elegant than that.

Obi-Wan turned back to Jeila, who wore a poor attempt at an innocent smile. "You brought a guest, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master," she answered.

"You were late."

Jeila offered her Master a quick shrug. "It's not my fault Master Jinn walks slowly."

"You should always time your activities according to those you are pacing yourself against," he said, and quirked an eyebrow. "Introduce me to your guest, Jeila."

The Padawan needed no further encouragement. She grabbed Qui-Gon's hand and led him down the steps into the training arena, and as they approached he used the opportunity to take in Obi-Wan's altered appearance.

His eyebrows, even his eyelashes, matched his hair, and no trace of the old copper remained. This was no simple dye job, and he wondered at the change. Obi-Wan was no longer pale, but it was more than that - his skin was glowing with health in a way that Qui-Gon had not seen on his former Padawan in years. The narrow band of black glyphs still graced his cheeks, but the ones on his forehead were gone. Removed, perhaps, or hidden by Force Illusion as Obi-Wan had once hidden the other tattoos on his body. The glyphs that remained held no trace of the old malice. He'd ditched his tunics, as well, wearing dark pants that looked to be made of a thick, durable leather, topped by a black shirt. With the dark brown cloak in place, the effect was both simple and striking. He looked more like one of the Corellian rogues than a traditional Jedi, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was anything but traditional, anymore.

Obi-Wan's hand, held out to accept the one that Qui-Gon unthinkingly offered, was free of the scars that had crossed and re-crossed his skin. They touched, and Obi-Wan's palm was warm, and Qui-Gon gave up on solemnity as his thoughts started tumbling over each other in a merry jumble. The spark of familiarity that greeted him was enough for broken things to begin healing. More than enough.

Qui-Gon realized he had a huge, delighted grin on his face and didn't care one bit.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn, this is Master Ben Lars," Jeila said with an impish smile.

He still hadn't let go of Obi-Wan's hand. "Ben?" he whispered, almost tasting the word.

"Well, it is my name," Obi-Wan replied, a hint of a wry smile on his face. "It's who I -- who I choose to be," he said, and Qui-Gon didn't miss the careful emphasis.

He nodded and felt a brief moment of mourning. His Padawan had given up his name, the one he had borne while earning his knighthood.

Perhaps that was all right, though. Obi-Wan Kenobi had given himself up to his cause and his duty, sacrificing his life and reputation for the greater good - the survival of the Jedi and the Republic. It seemed it had even been recognized; Jeila had introduced him not as her Master, but a Master.

Qui-Gon had a long list of people he needed to throttle for not telling him about this. Any of this.

Then he thought: He's here. Obi-Wan is here. He has a Padawan, and he's right here.

Qui-Gon's smile not dimming an iota, he bowed over their clasped hands. "It is one of the greatest pleasures of my life to greet you, Ben Lars."



He stayed to watch Obi-Wan's class, which Anakin was volunteering to help with for the day. Wild Banthas, the entire Council, and a fleet of ships couldn't have dragged Qui-Gon away, and part of his control must have cracked, because he couldn't stop smiling.

Obi-Wan and Anakin sniped at each other good-naturedly as they worked with the Padawans, teaching them how to duel with their lightsabers in an untrustworthy environment. The class was a brilliant choice for Obi-Wan's skill-set, and Qui-Gon could almost see Yoda's clawed hands behind the assignment. Jeila attended her Master, as well as helping the younger children with grip and footwork when she noticed problems. Now he realized what Jeila Vin had seen last year, when she'd confronted Obi-Wan in the commissary. The ease between herself and Obi-Wan was obvious, now that they shared a training bond, and the Force thrummed its contentment at the pairing.

When Qui-Gon wasn't taking note of what the class was being taught, he was staring at Obi-Wan. His body language was open, expressive, almost languid, and yet it spoke to Qui-Gon of a near-manic thought process. There was an intensity to the man's gaze now that drew him in, as if somehow Venge and Obi-Wan had combined to create a more primal being, one that was firmly entrenched in the Light, yet nonetheless fully aware of what went on in the Dark. His way of speaking, as Qui-Gon listened, was more blunt than it had been before, as if he no longer wished to waste time with words. His humor was sharp, but his voice was kind.

Qui-Gon thought of all the times that Venge had appeared and disappeared, and grinned. Shadow-walking. The sly, sneaky, little bastard.

Obi-Wan paused in what he was doing, looking up at where Qui-Gon sat cross-legged on the edge of the training arena. Then he grinned, bowing low to Qui-Gon and letting the Jedi Master know that his comment had been heard.

The class ended within an hour, with some Masters coming to collect their young charges. There was caution in their eyes, but none of the hostility that had once marked their regard for Obi-Wan. Time brings healing, even for us, Qui-Gon mused. The war would have destroyed the Jedi mindset, even if Palpatine had not. It was through the actions Venge had taken that the conflict had ended, opening the paths to peace that otherwise would have been nigh-impossible to find.

He wanted to stay. Gods, how he wanted to stay, but at the moment he was at a loss. After almost a year with no word, he was unsure of exactly how welcome his continued presence would be. Qui-Gon was just drawing his robe around himself, still undecided, when Anakin bounded up the steps to meet him. "And just where do you think you're going, Master?" he asked, grinning.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "I had thought to go home, Padawan. I'm sure that there is enough paperwork waiting for me to drown in." Of course, when he put it like that, he really didn't want to go.

"Paperwork can wait, as you taught me. Life comes first, bureaucracy after," Anakin said, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Come have dinner at Ben's place with the rest of us."

The man in question glanced over at them as he saw off the last Padawan. "The who and the what, now?" Obi-Wan asked, giving them both a baffled look.

"Dinner, Master," Jeila repeated, nudging her Master gently with her elbow. "Remember?"

There was a moment where Obi-Wan seemed to go inward, as if searching for something. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh! Right! Yes, that. Dinner. Birthdays. I'd forgotten." He paused. "And why are you inviting people to my home?"

"Because you didn't remember to, and Master Qui-Gon is one of the invitees, anyway," Anakin drawled, which elicited an eyeroll from Obi-Wan. "We put off the twins' birthday dinner by one day, since you wound up running late," Anakin explained, turning to Qui-Gon once more. "Padmé and I didn't want you to miss it. Still in the mood to go home?" he asked, smiling.

He looked at Jeila, who was nodding her head up and down in rapid succession. Encouragement aplenty, there. Obi-Wan just looked at him, his expression neutral... but there was no mistaking the quiet request in his eyes.

"The hell with the paperwork," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan rewarded him with a brilliant smile.



Dinner passed in a blur. Qui-Gon spent most of that time staring at Obi-Wan, though no one was cruel enough to comment that his attention was most certainly elsewhere. The twins, sensing his preoccupation, wasted no time in flinging cake at his face.

He tried to wipe it off, but by that point it was too late - once the children discovered that they could Force-toss their birthday treat, there was cake everywhere. They giggled like loons while the adults tried their best to contain the disaster. Padmé saved them all by procuring the cleansing wipes normally reserved for diaper changes, handing out fistfuls to everyone present.

His robe Qui-Gon gave up as a loss, knowing from past experience in the creche that it would need to be laundered. He wiped his face, his hair, and found himself using another handful of wipes to retrieve cake from inside the collar of Obi-Wan's shirt. Obi-Wan was half-bent over, laughing, as Qui-Gon swore and tried to rescue globs of cake before they could escape further down the man's back, and as he worked he realized three things. The first was that he couldn't stop grinning, as before, but at the moment he was hardly the only one. The second was that Obi-Wan's skin was warm and smooth, and Obi-Wan's hair kept brushing his hand, which meant that Qui-Gon's heart rate soared up into the triple digits and stayed there.

The third thing he realized, as he brushed the wipe over clean, lightly tanned skin, was that the black spirals that had once covered Obi-Wan's body were gone.

He tossed the used wipes into the disposal unit that R2-D2 pushed into place for easy reach, while C-3PO whimpered and carried on about sugar clogging his joints. Jeila gave Qui-Gon a very unsubtle look before turning to her Master and announcing that she was going to bed, since she had an early class. The droids were directed towards a lube bath in the maintenance wing, the twins were picked up by both parents and hauled off towards the 'fresher for an emergency bath, and he and Obi-Wan remained at the table, cleaning up the rest of splattered birthday cake. Their hands brushed together as they worked, so often that Qui-Gon was almost certain it was deliberate on Obi-Wan's part. Not that he objected. By the time the table, floor, and surrounding area was spotless, he was damned-near biting his tongue off he wanted to touch Obi-Wan so badly.

Gods. Had he been this easily keyed up the first time he'd been thirty?

Obi-Wan stood on tip-toe as he opened a cabinet, filching a bottle full of something pale from a shelf.

"That better not be my porvignon, Ben!" Anakin called from the 'fresher. "I brought it for everyone, not just you!"

"Wouldn't dream of drinking all of your porvignon!" Obi-Wan called back, giving Qui-Gon a shifty look; he nodded in approval.

"Whatever. There better still be at least half a bottle left!"

"Come on," Obi-Wan said, lifting a shoulder in invitation as he led the way out onto a precariously small balcony. "Bath time is loud time, and I'd like to preserve what hearing I've got left."

Qui-Gon smiled. Any time was loud time with the twins, it seemed. "Wise decision." He took a moment to snag their empty glasses from dinner, since Obi-Wan had neglected that step, and followed him outside. Of course, the way his body was reacting, Obi-Wan could ask him to do just about anything and Qui-Gon would agree. Steady.

Coruscant had been unseasonably warm when he'd departed for Malastare last month - now it was almost cold, and their breath left their lips in silvery gusts. He held up the glasses in invitation, and Obi-Wan looked sheepish. "Mmm, yes, thank you - I forgot. Not that I'm opposed to swilling directly from the bottle, but glasses are more civilized."

Qui-Gon frowned at that, thinking about the bafflement Obi-Wan had expressed earlier in the day. "Are you... having memory problems?" he asked, not certain he should.

The other man didn't mind. "Somewhat. I'm fine when I stay focused, but little day-to-day minutiae still seems to slip through the cracks. It's something that became more obvious as this past year progressed, but it doesn't appear to be getting any worse." Obi-Wan raised his glass. "First drink of the evening. Should we toast to anything?"

Qui-Gon hesitated. "To being home," he said, and his voice cracked on the last word.

Obi-Wan tilted his head but said nothing, only moving so that their glasses could clink together. Qui-Gon took an experimental sip (Anakin's taste in alcohol had improved due to his wife's influence) and watched in bemusement as Obi-Wan made his portion disappear in one swift movement. "I do believe this particular vintage was meant to be savored," he commented.

Obi-Wan set his glass upside down on a small table that sat by the door. "I'm not much for patience anymore, I guess," he said, and turned back to Qui-Gon, meeting his eyes.

Qui-Gon's breath caught - Obi-Wan's eyes were blue, vivid blue tinged with green. He'd seen that color once before, years ago. Only once.

Obi-Wan walked towards him, one careful step at a time, as if he worried that Qui-Gon would flee. When he was close enough that Qui-Gon could feel body heat, Obi-Wan raised his arms and embraced Qui-Gon, pressing himself against Qui-Gon's chest, his head tucked into place below Qui-Gon's chin.

"Force," Qui-Gon whispered, stunned, as he wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan. He couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. All he was processing was the warmth of Obi-Wan, the scent of his hair, and the hands caressing his back in slow, gentle circles.

Obi-Wan tightened his grip. "I missed you," he whispered into Qui-Gon's tunics, his voice thick. "Gods, how I missed you, I thought I would never have this again-"

"Anytime, anywhere. Ask and it's yours," Qui-Gon murmured back, and now he could feel the echoes of that old desperation, both his and Obi-Wan's. He wrapped it in the Force, held it as much as he was holding Obi-Wan, seeking to warm what had been cold for far too long.

Obi-Wan sighed in his arms, pulling himself closer, and Qui-Gon was happily astonished at the feel of warm hardness that pressed against him. It was a fair match for his own, and there was a deep, pleased chuckle from the man he was holding. "Oh, don't I have ideas for that," Obi-Wan said.

Someone's commlink warbled for attention, and Qui-Gon started swearing as they both fumbled for their own devices. The culprit turned out to be Obi-Wan's.

They stared at each other as the commlink sounded again, determined to be answered. "I'll give you every credit I have not to answer that fucking thing," Qui-Gon said.

"Language, Master Jinn. We have time," Obi-Wan replied, his eyes dancing. "Lars," he said, engaging the comm before it could signal again.

"Sorry to bother you, Ben. I know you have guests this evening." It was Mace. Qui-Gon thought of the many dire ways he was going to inform the man of his very bad timing.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, swearing under his breath. "It's Bail, isn't it?"

"Yes. The Chancellor wishes to speak with you immediately." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the emphasis. "There is a group from the Outer Rim with the Advisory Council right now. They need information about some of the things they've discovered while cleaning up battle debris, and you're one of the only people that can give them those answers. How soon can you get there?" Mace asked.

"I'll leave now. Pass on the message that we'll arrive as soon as traffic allows," Obi-Wan said, shutting down the comm.

"We?" Qui-Gon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I saw that look you were giving me," Obi-Wan replied, a quirk of a smile on his face. "Though, I'm sure you still have that paperwork waiting for you."

"No, thank you," Qui-Gon shook his head. "It will keep." Then he smiled, sheepish. "I daresay you could tie a cord to me and lead me around and I'd happily follow you anywhere."

The blue-green flare of Obi-Wan's eyes intensified. "We'll have to try that later."

Qui-Gon did not whimper. Any strange noises he attributed to distant traffic.



He'd wondered on the trip over if the presence of two Jedi, when one had been expected, would have ruffled any feathers. Hell, he'd wondered what kind of reception Obi-Wan was going to get. To his surprise, and bafflement, Obi-Wan's presence seemed to soothe the planetary contingent, and Qui-Gon spent several hours listening and sometimes commenting on the information that Obi-Wan gave to them. They'd come across one of Dooku's abandoned works, it seemed, and it was a nasty piece of technology, requiring special care before it could be disposed of safely. Obi-Wan ran them through the process twice, made sure that there were recordings and written transcriptions of what he'd given to them before seeing the contingent off with polite words and well-wishes. The moment that Bail Organa took over, escorting them and the rest of the Advisory Council away, Obi-Wan went down, collapsing into Bail's chair. His forehead impacted the surface of Bail's desk with a muted thud.

Alarmed, Qui-Gon walked over, resting his hand on Obi-Wan's back. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," was the immediate response, though Obi-Wan's voice sounded thick again. The tension Qui-Gon could feel beneath his hands confirmed that. "Sometimes I just wish it was over," Obi-Wan continued. "But it's not going to end. I'll be cleaning up this mess for the rest of my life."

Qui-Gon had no idea what to say to that, not without broaching topics that they might not be ready to discuss. "Let's go home," he suggested quietly. Obi-Wan didn't reply, but he did stand, both of them escaping the Chancellor's offices before the Advisory Council could involve them in some new problem or dispute. On the ride back they didn't speak, but Obi-Wan relaxed against Qui-Gon's side. With the man's warm weight on his arm and the scent of Obi-Wan's hair teasing his nose, Qui-Gon didn't notice the lack of conversation.

They walked back to Obi-Wan's quarters, passing the occasional Jedi and Senate page, and at some point Obi-Wan's hand found its way into Qui-Gon's and stayed there. An echo of the earlier grin touched his lips, and at his side Obi-Wan made an amused sound.

Stopping in front of the closed door to Obi-Wan's quarters, Qui-Gon found that he didn't want to go, but knew he should. Whatever lay between them should not be rushed, he believed, even if they had started walking side by side as if they had never stopped. Except they had never walked in such a manner before, for there had been no time for each other after Obi-Wan's Knighting. This was new. This was... this was different.

Without thought he reached out and brushed his fingers along the black glyphs that still decorated Obi-Wan's cheeks. Then, for the very first time, he noticed something that should have been obvious from the start. "These glyphs aren't from the Sith alphabet, are they?"

Obi-Wan met his eyes, and Qui-Gon stared into clear gray depths. "No."

"But... you didn't alter them," he said, thinking of the missing spirals. His fingers traced the lines that made up the glyphs, stunned. War with the Sith had forced him to become more familiar with the Sith alphabet, and now that he was looking, really looking, he could see subtle differences. "How did he not notice?" Qui-Gon asked, and after he voiced the question he was no longer certain who he was speaking of - Palpatine, or himself.

Obi-Wan lifted his shoulders in the barest approximation of a shrug. "People see what they want to see," he said. "They always have."

Qui-Gon nodded his agreement. Even he, for all his talk and insistence that Obi-Wan could be saved, had been willing to see the worst from the very beginning. It had been a hard lesson to learn, one that had left a bitter taste in his mouth and heart. "What is it, then?"

With an impish smile, Obi-Wan shook his head. "You'll have to find that out for yourself."

Qui-Gon stared at him, and all of a sudden it was like a switch was thrown. He opened his mind, his heart, and allowed himself to truly see the man who stood before him. "Ben," he whispered. Jedi Master Ben Lars - stronger in soul than Qui-Gon could ever comprehend being.

"Yes?" Ben looked at him in bemusement.

"Rest well, Ben," Qui-Gon murmured, bending just enough to plant a soft kiss on Ben's lips, receiving a muffled, surprised, indignant squeak in response.

Then Ben grabbed the collar of his tunic before Qui-Gon could back away, something between a growl and a purr in his voice when he spoke. "If you're going to leave me aching for the night, the least you could do is offer me a real kiss."

A hot rush left Qui-Gon's limbs tingling, and he took a deep breath before answering. "If I give you that, then I won't leave, and I think I should. For now," he continued, before Ben could speak, noticing the temperamental spark in those blue-green eyes. "We have time."

Ben sighed, a ghost of the old sardonic smile gracing his lips before he stepped back. "You always did have this annoying habit of being right. I will see you tomorrow, Qui-Gon Jinn. And if I discover that you've accepted some mission or hitched a transport, I will track you down and tie you up and do whatever I want with you."

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath. "Ben, that isn't a very good way of convincing me not to go and do just that."

Ben tilted his head to one side consideringly, offering Qui-Gon a surprised, then sly, smile. "Hmm. Suppose not. But please, try to stay on Coruscant? I am supposed to be proving that I'm responsible, and dragging my Padawan to remote locations on whims is not the best way to do that."

"Right. Until tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Ben repeated, and slipped into his quarters, the door closing with a soft hiss of air behind him.

It took several minutes and a few focusing exercises before Qui-Gon could force himself to return to his own quarters. I am so, so screwed, he thought.

A moment later he realized he was grinning like a madman.



His own quarters were dark, and felt dreary and empty after the evening he'd had. Qui-Gon withstood the urge to sigh, flinging his robe over the couch as he skipped the lights and went straight to the bedroom, knowing that he wouldn't be sleeping for a long time. Worse, he had a raging hard-on, the sort that strikes a man rarely and won't be tamed by anything but another body or the passage of time. If cocks had the means to communicate, he knew full well that his would be swearing at him for passing up the first option.

He stripped and slipped between sheets that were deliciously cool. He rolled over, hissing when the cloth raked too-sensitive skin, and lay so that he could face the window. The traffic was distant, but the patterns were soothing. He let himself drift, trying not to think, focusing only on the memory of blue-green eyes.

At some point he must have dozed off, because when he awoke Ben was there, kneeling next to his bed and looking at Qui-Gon with a curious expression. "Don't you remember how to knock?" Qui-Gon asked, unsurprised to discover the man in his bedroom.

"No," Ben replied. "Besides, you never changed my old security code for the door. I didn't need to knock."

"I never changed it?" Funny; he'd thought he had, especially after the war began.

"Nope. I've been in and out of this place for years. I always thought you'd change the code one day, but that day never came."

Qui-Gon sat up, resting his weight on his elbow. "Wait a minute. You were just... waltzing into my quarters whenever you felt like it?" He should have been outraged. Instead he just felt a very strange sense of relief that he wasn't sure he understood... or maybe he did. Qui-Gon had been Obi-Wan's anchor, the thing that had kept Venge in check. He saw the reminder of that fact every time he glanced in a mirror.

"Well, we've already established that I have no sense of boundaries," Ben said with a faint smile, though the expression quickly faded back to that curious gaze. "Tonight was... Are we -- are we really all right? Just like that?"

He swallowed, nodding. "I think so. It seems like there should have been something more, doesn't it? A bit more drama, perhaps?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't know about you, Qui-Gon, but I've had enough fucking drama to last me the next six lifetimes. I'm happy to skip that part of the relationship and move right on to the fantastic sex."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Pushy, pushy."

"Yes," Ben agreed, leaning over to rest his head on the bed next to Qui-Gon's chest. Qui-Gon felt his breath catch at the inherent trust in the gesture. He lifted his hand, hesitated, and placed it on Ben's head. The hair beneath his touch was like warm silk, and as he ran his fingers through it, Ben released a deep sigh. It was all the encouragement that he needed to continue the caress.

"I noticed that you seem to be missing a few tattoos," he ventured, recalling the tantalizing glimpse of bare skin he'd seen.

Ben chuckled. "Mmm. It was a great deal harder to get them off than it was to have them put on. Figured I might as well lose a few dozen scars in the process."

That explained that, then. "How did you do it?" he asked, curious.

"Well," Ben said, sitting up enough to prop his chin on his hand, his elbow resting on the bed. He gazed at Qui-Gon as he spoke. "The scars weren't that hard, but the glyphs? It took me some time and a lot of digging to find someone who was willing to remove tattoos inked into all five layers of my skin. The process does require that you grow new skin to replace what gets sliced off."

Qui-Gon made a sympathetic, horrified sound, but Ben shook his head. "I wanted them gone, Qui-Gon - I needed them gone. There are some things I don't want the reminders of. I spent four months out of contact because I was going through that process of removal and regrowth. A lot of that time, I was wondering what I could ever say to you when I saw you again." He smiled. "I read your letter so often I was seeing it in my sleep."

Qui-Gon reached up, tracing the path of Ben's nose with one finger, then caressing his cheek with his palm. "And the hair?"

Ben closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, but when he spoke again his voice was a cracked whisper. "He loved my hair. I couldn't look into a mirror without...without..." He shuddered, and Qui-Gon sat up and pulled Ben into his arms, holding him in a tight embrace.

"Shhh. I don't care about the hair. You could be bald and I would still love you," Qui-Gon said, and Ben shook for a moment - this time with laughter. He looked up, and Qui-Gon placed his hands on Ben's face, staring into those eyes - green-tinged blue, something he now understood was just for him and no one else. "There are some things I don't need reminders of, either," Qui-Gon said, and kissed him.

The kiss they'd shared once before, years ago, had felt innocent; there was none of that innocence in this one. Ben opened up to him with a groan that drove every thought out of his head. He pushed his tongue past responsive lips and found moist, solid heat that was agile and teasing. The contact was so intense that he lost his breath and pulled back, resting his forehead against Ben's.

Ben didn't seem to mind, and he could hear amusement when the other man spoke. "I thought we were waiting until tomorrow."

"Is it after midnight?" Qui-Gon asked, running his hands through Ben's hair, addicted to the sensation and to the purring sighs that Ben released when he did so.

"Mm-hmm," Ben said.

"Then it's tomorrow," Qui-Gon said, and kissed him again.

Ben laughed against his lips, warm breath and tongues intermingling. Ben wrapped his hands around the back of Qui-Gon's neck, grazing bare skin with gentle nails. Qui-Gon found his eyes rolling back, and Ben wasted no time in climbing up onto the bed, settling onto Qui-Gon's lap without breaking the kiss.

Qui-Gon did that himself, gasping in reaction as that welcome heat touched him, and he thrust up against it just once before Ben gripped his shoulders and whispered, "Not yet."

He nodded shakily, drawing in a deep breath. "Sorry - it's just--"

"Intense, like the back of your head's ready to come off?" Ben whispered next to his ear, and Qui-Gon shuddered when Ben's tongue traced the curve of his ear with a feather-light touch.

"Yes."

"I think eight years of pent-up lust will do that to you," Ben said, and Qui-Gon paused in the midst of reaching for the hem of Ben's shirt.

Has it really been...?

Yes. There was a flash of muted sadness in Ben's eyes, but he lifted his arms in invitation. Qui-Gon swallowed and pulled the material up and over, tossing the shirt aside. He ran his hands up Ben's ribs, brushing his shoulders, letting his fingers ghost up Ben's neck. His skin was smooth, unbroken by the myriad scars that had once painted his lean frame.

"You are as beautiful now as you were then," he whispered, and latched onto the side of Ben's neck, nibbling with gentle pressure. The scent in his nose -- a touch of spice, the suggestion of rich tea leaves, the barest hint of sweat -- was too much to resist, and he tasted skin and found it delightful.

Ben let loose a startled, pleased whimper, his hands finding Qui-Gon's hair while grinding his hips down. Qui-Gon purred out a deep, bass rumble, feeling fire light in his veins. Ben mumbled something under his breath and the grip on his hair tightened. Qui-Gon made his way back up to trace Ben's jawline, enjoying the sensation of just-emerging bristle against his lips.

"Wait," Ben said, taking a deep breath and putting his hands on Qui-Gon's shoulders. "Wait wait wait."

Qui-Gon paused in what he was doing, and for a moment he felt a flash of horror. He'd read the reports that Healer al Lien had composed, knew what Ben had once gone through, and was wondering if he'd pushed too far, too fast. "What is it?"

"Got to get rid of these pants or I'm going to injure myself," Ben muttered, struggling with the button on his trousers with trembling fingers. "And get those thoughts out of your head before you kill a perfectly good erection. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."

He let out a relieved breath and leaned forward, taking soft, reddened lips in his own for just a moment before speaking. "Let me," he said, and with sure hands unhooked each button in turn, releasing Ben's heavy, leaking erection into his waiting palm.

Ben hissed in reaction, and Qui-Gon squeezed with gentle fingers. The hiss became a breathless stutter as Ben arched up in response, shoving himself further into Qui-Gon's grip.

"Not yet," he whispered, repeating Ben's earlier words, and Ben swore at him, visibly trembling in effort to still himself. "Roll over," Qui-Gon instructed, trying to obey his own counsel and not drive Ben to immediate distraction. "Pants need to go, or I'm going to go find scissors and remove them."

Ben paused. "That... could be fun," he said, his voice like smoke over water. Qui-Gon bit his lip in reaction, thinking of golden skin revealed inch by slow inch...

"I win," said Ben, happily rolling over to lie on his back, still half-dressed. "Come take these off and tell me what I've won."

Qui-Gon growled and walked on hands and knees to Ben's feet, the sheet that had covered him sliding off and falling away as he went. Ben made a delighted sound low in his throat while Qui-Gon grabbed the cuffs of the resistant leather pants and pulled them off with one quick motion, revealing more of the skin he was craving.

He nosed his way back up, nuzzling the pale brown hair that dusted Ben's legs, taking a moment to taste the skin at the back of his knees and eliciting a surprised laugh from him. Qui-Gon used his hand to nudge Ben's legs apart, and smiled at the image of Ben, his Ben, lying pliant and sultry-eyed.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "See something you like?"

In answer, Qui-Gon dipped his head, brushing his lips against the heavy sac just below Ben's weeping erection. Pleased when he found soft skin, he lipped, then licked, and smiled when Ben uttered a soft whimper. "I do," he murmured. "Do you remember what you said I tasted like?" he asked, looking up at Ben.

Ben stared back at him, his lips half-parted and glistening, and his breath hitched in his chest as he answered. "Yes."

"You never gave me the chance to find out if the same was true of you," Qui-Gon said, and licked at the clear line of fluid that had leaked out to pool at the base of the glans. Musk that was thick with the scent of tea leaves and spice greeted him, a bittersweet taste that left him wanting more. The answer was most certainly yes.

Ben shouted at the contact, lifting up off the bed, and Qui-Gon chuckled and grabbed Ben's hips, pushing him back down. He used his tongue to clean up every trace, for fluid smiling when Ben started gripping the sheet in clenched, white-knuckled fists. Qui-Gon paused, running his tongue over his lips, and thought: I want... want...

"Please," Ben whispered, and it was all the encouragement he needed to take that thick, hot length into his mouth.

Ben moaned, a long, desperate sound, and Qui-Gon could feel the man's body trembling beneath his hands. He laved his tongue across the head and sucked, and received a startling, erotic verbal assault - please, please keep doing that I want to come from the feel of you doing that-

He paused in what he was doing, getting a faint echo of that plea out loud in response. There was near-desperation in Ben, something that went beyond the intensity they were feeling together. This? he asked, and wrapped his hand around the base of the shaft, squeezing as he teased with his tongue.

Ben's body arched, and it took a surprising amount of strength to hold him down. Yes, that, please waited so fucking long to feel this with you don't make me wait I can't - I can't, please-

I will, but you have to do something for me, Qui-Gon said, and lifted his head, finding Ben's eyes locked onto his.

Anything, I'd do anything, please...

He took a deep breath, shaken by the promise in Ben's words. "I want you to ride me like you did before," he whispered. "But this time, I get to touch you."

Ben sucked in a deep breath, and in his hand Ben's cock leapt, twitching in response. Taking that for agreement, Qui-Gon lowered his head, inch by inch, knowing that Ben was watching. He blew a gentle breath across the head of Ben's cock, and the man whimpered and growled out something impatient. Qui-Gon smiled, had mercy, and swallowed him to the root.

Ben's growl shorted out, replaced by a shocked, startled curse that quickly became a long hiss of pleasure as Qui-Gon sucked hard, rubbing his tongue up and down slick skin...

Ben fought his grip, fought to thrust up into the intense heat and pressure that Qui-Gon offered. Godsgodsgods -- Qui-Gon, and he knew Ben was close, so close. He swallowed around Ben's cock. Ben shouted and let loose a low, keening wail as he came, sending his seed straight down the welcoming channel of Qui-Gon's throat.

Qui-Gon let the softening cock slip from his mouth, taking a moment to nuzzle the inside of Ben's thigh, amused by the man's muttered swearing. Ben was trembling under his hands, so Qui-Gon crawled up and lay over him, resting his chin on Ben's chest. He felt far too damn smug, and keyed up beyond belief, but observing Ben, limp-limbed and bleary-eyed, was too good an opportunity to waste. "I don't think I need to ask if you enjoyed that," he rumbled, grinning.

Ben shook his head, smiling; his dark lips, flushed cheeks, and shining eyes sent another slow, burning wave of lust through Qui-Gon. The first beads of sweat were forming on Ben's skin, and the scents that intermingled were intoxicating. Ben held up his left hand with all five fingers splayed, then held up his right hand with only one finger raised. "What's that?" Qui-Gon asked, curious.

"That," Ben said huskily, "is the number of times I've been with someone and actually enjoyed coming. Want to make it seven?"

For a moment Qui-Gon's heart fluttered in his chest, and then he shoved the feeling aside. Not the right time for that. "I want to make it as many as we are physically capable of managing," he purred instead, and Ben dropped his hands and laughed. "There's a bottle in the drawer, over there." He pointed at the short table next to the bed.

Ben raised an eyebrow and rummaged through the drawer with the Force before pulling out the bottle of oil. Qui-Gon snatched it out of the air, shaking his head. "Didn't I teach you not to use the Force for frivolous things?"

Ben grinned at him. "One could argue that telepathy during sex counts as frivolous."

"Details," Qui-Gon retorted, much to Ben's amusement. He removed the stopper from the bottle, breathing in the scent inside. He'd searched for this particular blend for quite some time after his introduction to it.

"You are a very strange man, Qui-Gon Jinn," Ben said, recognizing the oil's scent as the heady mix filtered into the air. "I love you for that."

Qui-Gon paused, and his heart was stuttering in his chest for a very different reason, now. "Oh?" he managed, wedging the bottle into an upright position against the mussed sheets so it wouldn't spill. "Is that the only reason, then?"

"Of course not-- aaahhhh!" Ben arched up off the bed when Qui-Gon grabbed his cock with both of his oil-coated hands.

"Too sensitive?" he asked, keeping his touch light.

"Oh, fuck no," Ben said, trying to relax back down into the touch. "Not. At. All. I just... you haven't..."

"Not much point if I don't make sure that you enjoy it with me." Qui-Gon made his touch firmer, stroking Ben's cock back to full hardness with each pass of his hands. "Besides," he said, leaning down to whisper next to Ben's ear. "The only place I want to come tonight is inside you."

Ben whimpered, his eyes widening, and in Qui-Gon's hands he felt several answering spasms. "Force, what have I gotten myself into?"

"Hopefully me, tomorrow," Qui-Gon deadpanned, and Ben laughed again. Then he squeezed with both hands, and the laugh became an indrawn hiss of pleasure.

"You're... stoppit and let me talk, dammit!" Ben sputtered, when Qui-Gon squeezed and stroked again. He had mercy and stilled his hands, though he was hard-pressed to keep them that way. Teasing Ben was far too much fun. Making Ben flushed and dark-eyed, making him gasp for breath - that was even more fun.

"I haven't... I haven't done this in awhile. If you want my participation... if you don't want to have to wait..." Ben's eyes rolled up in his head as one of Qui-Gon's fingers stroked lower.

Qui-Gon plunged an oiled finger into that tight crevice, pleased when Ben responded by writhing closer. "Not... bloody fragile," he gasped out. "More, dammit!" Qui-Gon complied, sliding two fingers in and out once before adding more oil and doing it again. Ben pushed himself down, forcing Qui-Gon's fingers beyond each ring of muscle when he would have hesitated. Each push was accompanied by a soft gasp that made the blood roar in Qui-Gon's ears. "Enough, enough," Ben whispered, his eyes half-closed, mouth parted. He grabbed the base of his cock, and his entire body was thrumming beneath Qui-Gon's hands. "I don't think I could manage... to come three times in one night. Not that young anymore."

"Are you going to lie there and complain to me about old age?" Qui-Gon grinned.

Ben scowled at him. "I'm older than you are, now, and I'll force-feed you the entire damned lecture if you don't get down here and kiss me, you bastard."

That was a brilliant idea. He met Ben's lips with his own, tasting salt and that pervading hint of tea, and pushed his tongue inside. Ben drew in a shared breath and thrust up against him, and Qui-Gon groaned and ducked aside, biting hard on Ben's shoulder in the effort not to explode right then and there.

"Having problems?" Ben murmured, smug. "I thought you were going to fuck me."

Qui-Gon growled, wrapped his arms around Ben, and rolled them over so that Ben was on top of him. "Better?"

"Much," said Ben, sitting up to straddle him, grabbing Qui-Gon's cock. He squeezed it, intense pressure just shy of pain. "You may touch," Ben said, his instructions a soft whisper. "But you asked for me to ride you, which means I control this. Not you. If you try to take over, I'll stop." He gave Qui-Gon an impudent smile, one eyebrow raised. "Think you can handle that?"

"Anything," Qui-Gon promised, skimming his hands down Ben's sides, coming to rest on the slight curve of Ben's hips. "Anything."

"Then watch," Ben said, and lifted himself up, pausing before lowering himself down.

The moment the head of his cock encountered oiled, hot flesh, he had to clamp his hands down on Ben's hips to keep from thrusting up. Ben hissed between clenched teeth, grabbing Qui-Gon's hands and signaling his encouragement of the fierce grip. And then Qui-Gon was enveloped, surrounded by slick fire; oh, he'd missed this, this was bliss. "Move, please move," he said, holding onto his self-control with everything that he had.

"Are you begging me, Master Jinn?" Ben asked, a faint hint of the old sardonic smile on his face.

"Yes, dammit!" Qui-Gon shouted, squeezing his eyes shut against the visual assault on his senses. "Please!"

Brief flash of amusement, and then, gods, there was movement, sweet friction travelling up and down and sending waves of heat through his body. Sweat broke out all over his skin as the fire passed through, leaving nothing untouched, nothing that didn't burn for the man who was riding him.

"Qui-Gon," Ben hissed out his name, and Qui-Gon opened his eyes. "Better," Ben said, with a short, sharp smile. "Want you... to watch."

He watched, and the sight of Ben moving up and down on him, his skin shining with sweat, hair plastered in thin strands to his forehead, mouth parted... Everything in his body seemed to draw inward, coiling closer and closer... "Close," he managed, his throat just as tight as the rest of him.

"Then touch me, touch me, please, don't leave me behind-" Ben pleaded in a ragged whisper.

He grabbed Ben's cock, still slick with oil, and the moment his palm contacted skin he could feel Ben's pleasure, the sharp echo of his own impending release. That undid every last shred of control he still had, and he started chanting, "Ben, please, please."

"Yes!" Ben cried in answer, and Qui-Gon met his thrusts, their pace becoming frantic. He felt himself start to slide off the edge, stroking Ben's cock.

Ben's mouth fell open, a near-silent whisper of air as his eyes shut. Warmth spilled over Qui-Gon's fingers, and that intense slick-hot pressure clamped down. He shut his eyes and saw white, gasping out wordless nonsense as he came.

He was shaking, shuddering, the release had been so intense, when he realized he was still lying on the bed and Ben had collapsed in a heap on top of him. He carefully extricated himself from under the man's deadweight, wrapping his arms around the hot, inflamed skin of Ben's back. "Ben?"

"Murgle," said Ben.

"Is that a word?"

"Mmph," Ben said, and nuzzled Qui-Gon's chest. "Is now."

They lay together quietly, neither of them in any great hurry to move. "Thought you were into whiny instability after sex," Ben murmured after a time.

He grinned, feeling relaxed and pleased and ridiculously in love. "Not with you."

"Qui-Gon?"

"Mmm?" he replied, sensing a sudden shift in Ben's mood. Nothing dire, he felt, but enough to catch his attention.

"The glyphs." Ben lifted his head, looking Qui-Gon in the eye. "Do you still want to know?"

He stared into depths that were still that shining blue-green, if marked by hesitation. "Yes."

Ben swallowed heavily before speaking. "My path is dark, but I remember light."

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Ben, pulling him close, burying his nose in Ben's silken hair. Gods. He had expected many things, but not that. "My feet are heavy, but my heart still beats," he rumbled, speaking the next line.

Ben made a choked sound. "My life may be forfeit, but the sacrifice worthy."

"We walk together, or not at all." Qui-Gon realized there were tears streaming from his eyes, but he didn't care. Volth. At last, he could remember the planet's name, where he and Obi-Wan had once shared a spectacular sunset, standing under the blood-red and gold leaves of a t'chahc tree. "I can't believe you remembered that silly bit of nonsense."

"It wasn't silly," Ben murmured, his arms tightening around Qui-Gon. "I have ever kept your words close to my heart. You gave faith to one tired, sore, mud-covered Padawan that we had done the right thing. Standing on that hill, far from every sign of the war we had averted... It was the first peace I'd known in days, and you had given me that peace. In defiance of the Sith I wrote your words on my skin, using the glyphs of a dead race."

For a moment Qui-Gon forgot to breathe, and his heart swelled in his chest. "I have never been more honored," he said softly, planting a kiss in Ben's sweat-touched hair. "I love you."

"And I love you," Ben said, looking up at him once more. There were tear-tracks on his skin, and Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed them away before returning his attention to Ben's lips.

"You know something?" Qui-Gon asked, with one last teasing nip to Ben's lower lip.

"What?" Ben asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Qui-Gon rolled them over in the bed again, grinning up at Ben. "I have this strange inclination to try for number eight," he announced, and Ben let loose a peal of delighted laughter.



Someone's commlink was calling for attention. Damn all comm-links, anyway. Qui-Gon was just starting to contemplate going for his, though he really didn't want to move out of this comfortable, tangled pile of legs and arms he was a part of. Ben beat him to it. He reached across their bodies, snagging the comm that was lying on the bedside table and flicking it on. "What is it, Padawan?"

"Master, are you planning to be home at all today? I'm only asking because it's morning and I need to go to class," the Padawan in question responded.

Ben, who had yet to open his eyes, finally cracked them open. "It's morning?"

"It is?" Qui-Gon repeated, trying to call forth the energy to turn his head and find a chrono. Oh. Right. It was on the floor, along with just about everything else that had been on his bedside table. He decided to trust Jeila, who seemed to have her sense of time well in hand. He glanced to his right to find light streaming in around the shade over the window. It was certainly bright enough to be morning.

"Yes, Master, it's morning," the girl confirmed, sounding amused. "Good morning, Master Qui-Gon," she added.

"Good morning, Jeila," he rumbled.

"Master, I need you to at least look over my calculations for the flight paths I was supposed to put together, and tell me if I'll be responsible for our deaths should the nav computer die," Jeila continued.

Ben looked amused instead of alarmed. "Well, since we can't have that, I'll be back around noon. That should give us plenty of time to review your work, since the class meets two hours later."

"Yes, Master. Have a good morning, Master," Jeila Vin said, sounding far too pleased with herself before she terminated the call.

Qui-Gon groped around on the floor with his hand and finally located the errant chrono, holding it up. "It's only seventh hour. That gives us a bit more time to sleep, if we want." Qui-Gon knew that he had nothing pressing to attend to, and he would have been disinclined to find interest in it right then, anyway.

"Sleep's boring," Ben said, knocking the chrono out of Qui-Gon's hand and back onto the floor. "There are plenty of other good uses we can put this bed to in the meantime."


Epilogue:


"I seem to recall saying 'no'."

"I'm asking for your blessing, not your permission, Master."

"I remember when you understood Basic standard, Padawan. You're sixteen years old - you have no idea what you're getting into."

"Master, you are being overprotective again," Leia said, but there was no requisite teenage sigh following her words. That meant she was serious. This needed more attention than he had previously thought.

Ben paused in the midst of his hike up the hillside, turning to give Leia Skywalker a piercing look. She stared back, her eyes like steel. Oh, yes; he knew that look. "I am not," he said, giving her long Padawan braid a quick yank.

"You are!" she cried, and now he heard the last vestiges of the 'You don't understand me!' adolescent bent. "You don't know anything about Han-"

"Correction, dear one. I knew his father, and hence, I know the Solo clan. They're quite a bunch of charmers."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, Master. But perhaps it's the charm I'm interested in? Force knows you don't have any."

He raised an eyebrow. "I do too have charm."

"Master, your version of charm is usually accompanied with a lightsaber," she said, grinning.

He drew himself up indignantly. "I'll have you know that very nice things have been said about that."

They halted their steps as they encountered the third member of their party, who had been watching them approach. "Nice things have been said about what?" Qui-Gon asked, giving Leia a hand-up onto the observation platform he'd appropriated.

Ben hopped up to stand beside Leia. "My lightsaber," he said, doing his best to look innocent.

After sixteen years together, Qui-Gon knew better, but chose to play along anyway. "Indeed," he said, his lips quirking in a smile. "Many nice things have been said about your talents with your lightsaber."

Leia put her hands over her ears and gave them both an exasperated look. "Every word you add means more therapy later," she reminded them.

"Right," Ben said, mindful of the fact that his Padawan could be damned-near prudish at times. It more than made up for her brother's tendencies; Luke Skywalker was in the midst of avidly courting one of the Temple pilots and Quinlan Vos's red-headed Padawan.

Then again, if she kept pursuing Lieutenant Han Solo of the Corellian Corporate Sector, she wasn't going to be able to protest her own innocent ears much longer.

"What've we got?" he asked, and Qui-Gon handed him a pair of macrobinoculars without another word. Despite the dim light, he could see lines of tension on his mate's face. Damn.

He peered through the lenses, hit the max distance they could magnify, and enhanced his eyesight with the Force. The first thing he noticed was the steam rising from several open pits in the ground as the warmer air from below struck cool air above. The second thing he saw was the chain-gang - a group of teenagers of mixed backgrounds and species, linked together with energy cuffs, being forced to work the mines that the Dolsh Conglomerate had ripped into Korashi's soil. "Double damn," he muttered under his breath.

"They're not the only ones I've seen, but they're the youngest," Qui-Gon murmured. There were bitter threads in his Force-sense, and a great deal of anger. Ben couldn't blame him. Slavery. By all the Sith hells, there had been no mention of that in their mission briefing.

"So we rescue the slaves and then blow the place back to hell," he said, passing the macrobinoculars on to Leia, who peered through them and shook her head.

"We can't do that. Evidence, Master. Remember?"

"Right. Evidence." Ben sighed. "Got any other ideas?"

If Qui-Gon had them, he wasn't given the chance to elaborate. Leia's comm-link chirped for attention, and from the excited light in her eyes, Ben could guess who the caller was.

"Hey, sweetheart," the Lieutenant said, and Ben repressed a growl. "Are you guys seeing what Knight Vin and me are seeing?"

"If you mean slaves, then yes, we see them too, Han," Leia replied. "Any thoughts?"

"Yeah," the Corellian replied. "We rescue the slaves and blow this place sky high. The locals will thank us."

"We're not blowing it up, as much as I appreciate the sentiment. Give us a moment - we'll think of something," Ben said, stepping close enough to be overheard. The moment Leia terminated the connection, he gave her an innocuous look. "You have my blessing, Padawan."

"I spend weeks formulating logical arguments to sway you, and Han offering to blow the place up is what changes your mind?" Leia sighed, rolled her eyes, and shoved her commlink back into her belt. "You're impossible, Master."

He grinned. "Padawan, you have no idea."

Qui-Gon took his hand, threading their fingers together in a long-familiar gesture. "Let's put an end to this. I may have some thoughts on how we can stop the Conglomerate without losing our evidence."

Ben smiled up at Qui-Gon, who had long ago proven himself to be Ben's better, logical, steadfast other half. "I still think explosives would be more fun."

Qui-Gon smiled at him, the faint lines that had started to form again around his eyes becoming more pronounced. "I know." I love you.

Love you, too.

Leia sighed. "Less mawkishness, more battle plans, please?"

They exchanged amused glances before Ben had pity on her. "Lead on, Padawan. I think we have some slaves to rescue."


-End
In a Lonely Place, begun December 2nd, 2008, and finished December 28th, 2009.