Archive: Yes
Archive Date: September 7, 2000
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm.
Feedback: is always appreciated
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: G - NC17
Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same universe, but they are not in any sort of order. Each piece stands alone (iow-there are no "cliffhangers"). The snapshots will run the gamut from G to NC17. Some may be several pages long, some only a couple of paragraphs; some will contain smut, many will not; they will be different styles with different voices.

April 01, 2000

The walk from the healers to our quarters seems to take forever. I can feel eyes on us, those we pass turning to stare curiously. I walk a bit slower than my normal gait, Obi-Wan a half step behind and to my right, his hand unobtrusively on my arm. The touch is loose, gentle, not clutching or anxious; his trust in me implicit, total. I can almost believe that everything is normal, except for the stares that remind me of the bandage that rings his head - a band of white across his eyes.

He cannot see.

I falter, a half step only, but Obi-Wan's hand tightens briefly on my arm and I feel a gentle rush of reassurance brush against me. Clearing my mind, I focus on our goal, ignoring the stares and whispers of those around us.

Arriving at our quarters, I gently palm open the door and guide my padawan into the common room. I remove his robe before leading him to the couch. Sitting next to him, I take his hand.

We're here, finally back in our quarters and I feel that he is safe for the first time since the jolt of pain he tried to shield from me. I find myself tongue-tied. I don't know what to say, how to make up to him what happened - what I let happen. What if his blindness remains permanent, despite what the healers say? How can I go on if I have let his sight be taken from him?

"What would you like, Padawan?"

"I'd like to learn our rooms so that I may navigate on my own and then I thought perhaps you would join me in a few simple katas. I've been doing no more than sitting and lying around for days now."

"I was thinking more along the lines of some cha and a sweet followed by a nap. Or if you cannot sleep, I could read to you."

"Master, you've managed not to coddle me throughout this - please don't start now."

"But-"

"Master." He interrupts me firmly, hand squeezing mine. "I'm fine. I've been cleared by the healers, haven't I?"

"But you still cannot see."

"A temporary state until my eyes are sufficiently healed to withstand the light and are producing lubrication on their own. In the meantime, I don't wish to be treated as an invalid on their death bed. Please, Master, be strong for me a little longer."

"Obi-Wan." I cannot speak for a moment, there is some blockage in my throat and my eyes are watering - I'm sure it in sympathy for his that cannot. "You are the strong one."

"Whatever strength I have, I take from you. I was terrified until you took my hand in that prison. I knew then that everything would be all right."

"Do not be so quick to discredit my padawan," I tell him, running my hand gently along the cloth over his eyes before stroking his cheek. "Very well. If you wish to learn how to navigate our apartment before you regain your sight, we'd better start now."

"Wait." His quiet request freezes me to the spot. "I'd like to 'see' you first, if that would be acceptable."

He has raised both hands, palms open towards me and I understand what it is he wishes to do. I nod and then tisk, remembering that he cannot see the movement of my head. "Yes, it would be acceptable," I tell him, my voice thick with emotion.

I take his wrists in my hands and bring them to my face, but then I don't know what to do with my own hands. I finally fold them across my lap and close my eyes, letting all my worry and concern go. Focussing on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, in our home - my padawan, safe - I let contentment fill me as his fingers trace the contours of my face.

He is using just the tips of his fingers to re-learn my features, to see them as he now must. He traces my hairline first, moving away from my face as it now is. My eyebrows are next, and then, soft, delicate, his fingertips move over my eyelids and a gentle stroke along my eyelashes before moving on to trace my nose. He lingers for a moment at the bump from when it was broken and I open my eyes to find a soft smile gracing his face.

I watch him as he continues, his face filling with satisfaction and a new calm as he ascertains for himself that I am unchanged, unharmed; though he cannot see them, my features are the same. His fingers tickle through my beard, following it down to my neck. His hands drop back into his lap.

"Thank you, Master," he says quietly, face raised as though looking at me, though the white cloth still hides his eyes. I raise my hand to once again stroke his cheek and thank the Force that he was not harmed more than this.

April 02, 2000

I suppose I should be flattered. He is, after all, patterning himself after me, but his still youthful follicles have produced a very poor showing. I have to hide my smile each morning as I discover him in the fresher, examining the latest day's growth.

He looks at it from various angles, working his jaw to and fro. He runs his fingers along it and even picks up his comb and runs the thin metal teeth through it.

"What do you think, Master?"

Always the same question. I make a show of examining his face and nod. Luckily he has never asked for more, because while I could not lie to him, I have no desire to be the one to draw his attention to the fact that it is the same baby-soft, peach fuzz every day. He will no doubt come to that conclusion on his own soon enough and in the meantime, this first attempt at a beard is harming no one.

April 04, 2000

The Jedi Temple, Coruscant to the Jedi Retreat, Traxan Moon. A fairly short trip made long by the cargo of initiates that comes with what should be, and, with plenty of pain medication for my head is, easy money. I've done the run before - good service has earned me first refusal on this and I only refuse if I'm on another assignment.

The kids always come up to the cockpit, three and four at a time. They 'oh' and 'ah' over the instrument panel, the blur of stars that comes with hyperspace and the worn leather pilot and co-pilot chairs. They each take a turn sitting in the co-pilot's chair. For many of them it is the first time they can remember being on a starship and I have to admit that, despite my grumbling, I enjoy their naive enthusiasm and native wonder. My old bucket is more than serviceable, but she isn't particularly pretty, the gloss is long gone from her. But to hear these kids talk, you'd think she was a royal starship and they treat her with reverence and respect. I gotta admit I like having the little brats believing Starjumper to be nothing short of palatial.

They traipse in, they traipse out, we're usually done in under an hour and then the little green troll who always accompanies them climbs into the co-pilot's seat and I share the latest gossip with him. I make sure to dress it up a bit as the racier it is the more he seems to like it.

Today is different. A small boy from the last group still sits in the co-pilot's chair, his wide eyes moving from the blurred stars to the instruments and back again. I can practically hear the questions that he is holding back, his small body almost vibrating.

I hide my smile as his right hand twitches before he folds both hands together in his lap, fingers laced tightly . His body as the sound of shuffling feet and the tap of a stick comes near.

"Initiate Kenobi. Tour is over," the wizened old one tells the boy.

"Yes, Master," he answers, tone resigned. A three fingered claw taps the boy's knee gently, keeping him in place. "Asks not, knows not," says the troll.

I frown slightly, wondering what he means, but the boy seems to know 'cause he's sitting forward eagerly again, eyes alight.

"Excuse me, pilot, sir."

"What, boy?"

"Could I take the controls for a moment, sir?"

"You realise that the computer actually guides the ship during the hyperdrive jump?"

"Yes, sir, but I have only flown simulators and would like to know how the yoke feels in my hands, sir."

I quirk a surprised eyebrow at the boy. While most of the initiates enjoy looking at the instruments, none of them ever seemed particularly interested in what they actually did, let alone their names. I glance at the old master, and I can see approval and satisfaction in his eyes, so I figure what could it hurt. I wave the boy toward the yoke in front of him. He leans forward and draws it to himself and then holds the stick in both hands. His eyes are enormously large in his small, pale face.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Nine, sir."

"And you like piloting ships."

"I've never piloted a real ship, but I'd like to one day."

"So you want to be a pilot?"

"No, sir - a Jedi who can pilot his own craft." I laugh as he splits hairs, but the old troll seems pleased with the answer.

"Do you know what all the different instruments are for?" I ask, nodding toward the control panel.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me." And he does, naming each instrument and it's function and then proceeding to give me all the specs for Starjumper, even going over the differences between this model and the newer J-class ships.

Time passes quickly and before I know it we are ready to come out of hyperspace. The boy carefully returns his yoke to the front of the panel and watches avidly as I bring us out of hyperspace and into the atmosphere of the Traxan Moon. We land and the old troll sends the boy back to his group. He slides off the co-pilot's chair and gives me a quick bow.

"Thank you, sir-pilot." I grin and nod, watching as he turns to the old Jedi. "Thank you, Master!" And he is off. The troll follows more slowly, turning back to me as he reaches the hatch.

"Honour it is, young minds to mould." And then he too is gone, leaving me to ponder the wisdom of his words as I wait for my cargo to disembark.

April 06, 2000

He sleeps on his back, face turned to catch the first touch of sun as it creeps into the sky. The soft rays kiss his skin with orange and gold until he looks like a statue - still and resplendent. His braid falls out of the shadows of his hair, a dark line against the shining skin of his neck, his chest, the small, dark circle of his nipple. The light dusting of hair on his chest reflects the light like polished bronze.

I am torn between continuing to just look and reaching out with my hand. I would trace his profile with my finger: forehead, brow, nose, lips, chin. I would lean over and cover his mouth with my own, breathe my air into his lungs and then steal a kiss along with his breath. He would wake and we would make love: slow and sweet or fast and hot. The glide of my skin on his would warm him in a way the sun cannot.

It is how I start each of my days since we have become lovers. Such weighty choices so early in the morning.

April 07, 2000

"Kenobi."

"Chun."

"I hate endweek. Do you suppose we'll be able to recognize our meal today?"

"I hope not. I wasn't very fond of any of it before it was relegated to endweek leftovers."

"At least they usually serve a nice sweet."

"True."

"Can I ask you something, Kenobi?"

"Always wise, he who questions is."

"It might be a bit personal."

"Oh, just ask, you know you're going to anyway."

"How long are you planning on keeping that crap on your face?"

"You mean my beard?"

"Is that what you're calling it? I have to tell you the Wookies nearly hurt themselves laughing every time you walk by them. They've taking to calling you baby's butt."

April 09, 2000

Stumbling, Obi-Wan lost his grasp on the Force, surrendering finally to the fatigue that pulled him into greedy arms. The ground accepted him, the hard earth knocking the breath from his lungs, dirt coating his lips, the taste of it filling his mouth.

His 'saber, now extinguished, remained in his grasp, hand curled tightly around silver hilt. He could feel exhaustion tugging at his mind and he slid slowly into it, resisting as he reached out blindly.

"Master."

"Shh, Obi-Wan. I am here."

A soft, familiar touch on his cheek and Obi-Wan let the darkness take him.

April 11, 2000

The moments before dawn on Coruscant are silent. It is the only time the transports still, the lights are all extinguished and a hush covers the temple. I am not often awake at this hour. My master has always woken me upon the dawn, to begin our day with meditation. But since we have become lovers, I often wake in the hush of the Coruscant pre-dawn.

I wake and turn blindly to my master. We find each other in the dark, for it is not often that he is not awake.

Everything is magnified in this quiet dark. His body seems bigger under my hands, his touch against my flesh hotter, more exciting. Our lips meet, mouths sealing, momentarily silencing even the susurrations of our breath.

Our mouths part with a loud gasp, the sound of covers and skin sliding one on the other the only other sound as we shift and move together. I lay atop his long body, between legs that spread open for me. Our erections meet, heat and silk sliding together. His arms come around me, holding me within his embrace as I arch against him. We move together, bodies gliding against each other and I can hear our gasps merge as our spirits become one.

The sweet wave of climax rolls through me, through him, through us both and I moan, arching as the first touches of the sun flares through the window, lighting up my master's face in an almost blinding burst of light. The few sounds we make are swallowed by the rush of blood through my veins and I watch as my master's face is illuminated by the first flush of dawn. His mouth is open in a silent scream as his body pulses beneath me.

The quiet has never spoken so loudly to me.

April 12, 2000

It is rare, time to ourselves like this. Waiting for a transport two days away. No wars to fight, no talks to negotiate. No one trying to kill us. Just a garden, a house and we two.

I lie on the grass, the Force singing around me, holding me in an embrace that has never been anything but loving. The sun shines on me - warm without being hot it is like the touch of my lover's hand on my cheek.

My lover. He stands on the balcony, in the shadows. Dark and light play across his features, his body draped in both the sun's bright rays and the rutta tree's dim shade. A soft wind plays with his hair until it seems to dance, fluttering in and out of the sun, the silver strands picking up and then losing brilliance.

Some see the silver and talk of age and wonder why I have chosen to be with him. I see it and know it speaks of experience, of life, of love, of the Force and there is no other reason that I have chosen to be with him than that I love him. And he me.

It is rare, time to ourselves like this. Just a garden, a house and we two. But the brilliant sparkle and refreshing umbra are with us always - for thus I carry him in my heart.

April 16, 2000

"Thank you, Master Jinn, for your service. Without your help I'm sure we would still be hashing out the seating arrangements." Though Prime Member Sedek addressed Qui-Gon, his relieved gaze encompassed them both.

Obi-Wan kept his face calm and managed a soft smile and slight bow of acknowledgement, but inside.... Inside he was jumpy and overtired. His muscles ached from lack of use. He felt stretched taut, like the wires of an olan, tuned and waiting to be played.

The negotiations had been hard - frustrating and circular - only his master's clear, logical thinking had brought them to an end before the dawn of a fourth day. While he admired and respected his master's abilities, there was only one area of Qui-Gon's prowess that currently interested him. Only one thing would loosen the knot of tension that had grown within him, only one thing would assuage his body and allow him to sleep. He was practically vibrating with the need for it.

His master spoke with the Prime Member for a moment before turning back, as if reading him clearly.

"You don't need to stay, Padawan. Return to our transport and wait for me there."

"Yes, my Master," Obi-Wan replied throatily, barely hiding his grin. He bowed again, first to the Prime Member and then to his master. Pulling his hood over his head and folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe, he slid silently from the room.

As he left the Council House and began to make his way through the cobblestone streets back to the landing pad, he kept having to remind himself to walk sedately, to ignore the way the blood rushing through his veins urged him to run. His silent figure was given a wide berth by the few beings he met, mostly servants and workers by the markings on their fur, but he could feel their stares long after he had passed them by. He felt strangely exposed, as if they could see through the thick linens of his robe and uniform and read all his secrets on his overheated skin.

The sun had still not risen by the time he reached the transport, though the sky had paled to a soft grey that promised the imminent arrival of dawn. He keyed open the door, re-setting the lock behind him. The air inside was more temperate, but it did nothing to soothe him. He wondered how he was possibly going to manage the wait until his master's return.

He made his way to the cockpit, resolutely tamping down his growing need, refusing to deal with the matter himself. It was his master's hands his body craved, not his own.

Stepping into the cockpit and taking the pilot's chair he began to ready the small ship for take-off. They would not be able to leave before mid-day; the new regulations they had helped to outline to cut down on pollution from the sprawling cities would see to that. But he hoped to be otherwise engaged in the hours leading to their departure.

He took his time making the ship pre-flight ready, double-checking that everything was done properly, that he didn't miss a switch in his eagerness. Task completed, he found himself pacing impatiently, unable any longer to control the twitches and shivers that passed through his frame. His blood began to rush in his head, whispering his master's name. Qui-Gon.

Finally he could feel his master's presence growing closer and he strode through the blue-tinged corridor to meet Qui-Gon as he entered the craft.

"Master." Bowing sedately he felt his control return with the presence of his mentor.

"Padawan." Face as serene as always, Obi-Wan wondered if he had imagined the thread of amusement that seemed wound around the word and the small twitch of his master's mouth.

"I have readied the ship for departure," he said as he walked at his master's side. Qui-Gon merely nodded, only his change of course toward their room indicating he had heard Obi-Wan's softly spoken words. Arriving at the small chamber they were using as quarters, Qui-Gon swept his arm toward the bed.

"I think perhaps you are too keyed up to find relief in sleep."

"Yes, my Master," replied Obi-Wan, body thrumming with eager anticipation. The confines of his leggings became tight as his penis, already firm, grew eagerly. He watched with some confusion as his master moved to the middle of the room, not even removing his robe as he knelt on the floor.

"Meditation." Qui-Gon's voice slid smoothly over his ears as his master motioned for Obi-Wan to join him.

"I don't know that I can properly find my centre, Master," Obi-Wan said forlornly as he knelt facing Qui-Gon, their knees just touching.

"Guided meditation, then." Qui-Gon's eyes closed as he spoke, his hands relaxing, palms up on his thighs. Obi-Wan watched him, nonplussed, for a moment before resigning himself. Relaxing his body as much as he could, he copied his master's pose and closed his eyes. Qui-Gon's low voice began immediately, guiding them.

"Close your eyes and breathe freely, deeply. Long, slow breaths. Inhale.... Exhale.... And again, inhale.... Exhale." The sound of his master's voice soothed him, his body automatically obeying the soft-voiced commands. His blood slowed slightly, his heart finding a calm, if still fast, rhythm. He could feel each beat of his pulse in his erection, strong and sure and even.

"Find your centre. Focus on it."

Obi-Wan managed not to laugh as he focussed on the solid beating in his penis. He could imagine the horror on the Council's faces were he to suggest it as a meditation aid, but he knew that his unorthodox master would no doubt be amused and he resolved to tell him when they had done. If they couldn't make love, at least he would be able to see genuine amusement beneath the weariness in his master's eyes.

He focussed on the rhythm at his groin, feeling each beat with his entire body until he began to drift within his body, riding the Force. His master's voice no longer consciously registered as words, just sounds - low and deep and soothing.

The change in Qui-Gon's voice was so subtle that Obi-Wan didn't really even notice it happening until he realised that his master was whispering seductively into his ear, warm hands sliding between the material of his tunics to touch his skin. Keeping his eyes closed he let his head fall back, his breath speeding as Qui-Gon's lips pressed wetly against his neck.

He gasped, his hard-won control abandoning him now that his body was finally receiving what it craved. His arms moved to encircle his lover.

"Sh. Don't move." His master's husky admonishment made him moan, but he straightened, resumed his position, again finding the thrumming beat of his heart that pulsed deeply at his groin.

He managed not to react physically this time as Qui-Gon's hands returned to his body. Heart speeding, Obi-Wan remained immobile as those hands undid his belt and sash, sliding them slowly from around his waist. He heard the thump as his utility belt hit the ground, his 'saber making a ringing noise against the metal plate of the flooring.

Warm fingers brushed against his skin as his tunics were pulled apart. Qui-Gon's large hands stroked his collarbones and cupped his shoulders as they pushed the tunics up and back, taking his robe with them. Still obeying his master's earlier edict, Obi-Wan did not move and the tunics and robe were caught on his upper arms, their combined weight heavy across his shoulder blades. The caress of air across his exposed skin made him shiver, but didn't cool his ardour. Qui-Gon's lips and fingers followed the air currents, making him shiver all the more, but the tiny tremors were his only movement as he worked to keep himself still.

His master began to speak again; low, sensuous words that flowed through him without meaning, seducing him with the promise inherent in the throaty murmur.

Qui-Gon nuzzled his belly, tongue dipping into his navel before moving down. Obi-Wan's erection was mouthed through his leggings, his entire being refocused on the beat at his groin. Solid, fast, unending, it pulsed. Pulling to it his shivers, his arousal, the slide of his master's words, until, as Qui-Gon's fingers untied the laces of his leggings and freed his erection, his entire being was reduced to that single organ. Everything that he was, all that he knew, became the burning column that was taken into Qui-Gon's mouth.

It was too much; the galaxies were too big to fit for long inside that single length of flesh and it exploded, sending him spattered across the universe in tiny little bits.

He floated like that for a moment - seeing everything, a part of everything. Touching, for an instant that felt like an eternity, all of the Force before coalescing back into himself, his mind twining briefly with his master's. The softly spoken words "here ends our meditation" brought him completely back to himself.

He opened his eyes, looking about with startlement. He sat upon his heels, knees touching his master's as they mirrored each other, hands, palms up and open, on their thighs. He touched the belt at his waist, the tunics across his chest and the robe at his shoulders, as if needing the feel of cloth beneath his fingertips to believe what his eyes were reporting. Both he and his master were fully dressed, matching wetness seeping through their leggings to darken the bottom of their tunics. Qui-Gon's face managed to look both sated and smug and Obi-Wan couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his own features.

"It seems that I still know what you need." Qui-Gon's voice was soft and warm.

"Indeed, Master." Obi-Wan agreed readily, his joy bubbling up as gentle laughter as he went into his master's arms, intending to repeat with their bodies what they had already done with their minds.

April 17, 2000

I had gotten through it by not really dealing with it. At first, there was the need to shield the pain from my master and I had no time to panic. Then I had to cope while we effected our escape and returned to Coruscant. The days in the bacta are but a blur to me, though my master's presence never faded and I can only assume he stayed close by through it all.

Now, as I walk at his side through the familiar and yet strangely alien halls of the temple I have long called home, I am scared. I heard what the healer told my master - I am expected to make a full recovery; my youth and previous good health almost assure it. The bandages are merely to protect my eyes as they heal.

But now that we are safe, that we are returning to the rooms that we share together while at the temple, now it is safe to say what if. Here I can say it and remain standing. Here I can contemplate that possibility we have danced around - what if I remain permanently blind? The very thought is so big that I don't know how to approach it.

He falters for a moment, the hesitation barely perceptible, but my awareness of him has heightened in the time I have been without sight and I notice. I don't know if my own fears have triggered his, or if he is haunted by his own demons, but in the face of his need I can be strong. Suddenly I realise that I will get through the next few days the same way I have made it through this past week - I will be what my master needs me to be.

I squeeze his arm very gently and send a wave of reassurance to him. I am well, my master, I tell him silently. With some surprise I realise that it is true.

April 18, 2000

"Tell us a story, tell us a story!"

"Another story?"

"Yes, Opala, please. About the olden days."

"Very well. Has everyone got a seat? Good. Now what story would you like to hear?"

"The one about the time the warrior monks saved the village."

"Yeah, that's my favourite!"

"Mine too!."

"Well, I don't know..."

"Please, Opala, please tell us again about how they saved you and your Malama."

"Okay, okay. Lets see.... It all happened a very very long time ago."

"When you were just little like us, right Opala?"

"Yes, my precious, I was about your age and my Opala was the leader of the village. We were at war with pirates from the skies, it was very scary. Lots of people had been killed, including my Dalada and there wasn't enough to eat. Every day the pirates came and soon we wouldn't be able to fight them off anymore.

"But on the morning of this particular day, my Opala told us that things would be different, for this day the central government were sending us protectors from far away. We were very happy and everybody cheered and made a lot of noise. But by the time the sun was beginning to set, our protectors still had not arrived.

"The sky pirates had been more awful than usual and my own dear Opala was dead. My Malama and I were hiding behind his body. I can remember the smell of burning salwood and the feel of blood as it dripped onto me from my Opala's body."

"Dalada!"

"What could I do, Kiria, they begged me to tell them."

"Must you include all the gory details? You'll give them nightmares."

"We won't get nightscares, we promise. Please Malama?"

"This was always your favourite story when you were their age and when ever I tried to skip the details you got mad at me."

"Fine, but if they need to sleep with anyone tonight it will have to be you."

"Yes, dear. Now where was I?"

"You'd just gotten to the good bit, Pala, after you were hiding."

"We had just been discovered by one of the sky pirates. He was big and ugly and very strong. He roared like a draigon and caught me by the arm, pulling me up. I was kicking and squirming and yelling, trying to get away."

"Did you hurt him, Opala?"

"I kicked him in the leg and punched him in the middle and he cried out. But he didn't let go and he caught hold of Malama too and dragged us both into the street. I thought we were dead for sure."

"What happened next?"

"You know this story as well as I do, maybe you should tell me what happens next."

"No, you have to tell us."

"I do?"

"That's the way it works."

"Okay. So there we are in the middle of the street, in the clutches of a very nasty sky-pirate, when out of nowhere comes a voice. 'Let them go,' said the voice. It wasn't very loud, but there was a command in that voice and we all turned toward the sound.

"Their backs were to the setting sun, so we couldn't see their faces, just their outlines. There were two of them and they were large - larger than the pirate who had us, but we could tell little else by their shape. The pirate did unhand us, but it was only to grab his blaster from it's holster and fire at our would be saviours. The two of them pulled out these swords made from energy beams and they wielded them, moving quicker than the eye could see. The pirate's blaster was knocked from his hands as the bolts were returned by the beams."

"Oh!"

"The pirate screeched - I'll never forget the cowardly sound he made before turning and running off. Our rescuers came to check that we were okay. One was tall like the tranti trees, sturdy like one too and he had hair on the top of his head and on his face."

"Wow..."

"He had on simple clothes, like a peasant, and wore a dark cloak like the priests at T'nak do. The other one only had hair on his head and he was smaller. His clothes were similar and he called the taller one 'master'. I think he was much younger too.

"All around us was the sound of blaster fire and proximity mines going off, but they acted as if they didn't even hear them, concentrating instead on me and Malama. They spoke our language, but with odd inflections, like they had never heard it spoken out loud before. They seemed like gods come down from the mountains to save us...

"I can remember Malama's face growing sad again when they told us there was only the two of them to protect the entire village, but I knew somehow that they could protect us and I told her so. I didn't believe that gods needed large numbers to defeat the cowardly sky pirates.

And I was right. They fought as if they were an army and before long the pirates had fled back into their ships and disappeared. To this day, they have never returned."

"What about the monks?"

"They have never returned either, but I believe that they are still out there, fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves. I believe that they were as invincible as they seemed to me when I was a little boy.

April 19, 2000

Master Jinn is pacing. Back and forth across the small expanse of floor behind the pilot and co-pilot's chairs. Our pilot has just informed us that we will not arrive at the village until almost sunset and that it has been confirmed that a raid began shortly before noon. I know he chafes at our inactivity, but there is little he can do to change things.

I sit in the co-pilot's seat, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. I know he is not mad at me, but my suggestion that his pacing was perhaps less productive than meditation was not well received.

"This is only your fourth mission, Padawan. I suggest that you stick to giving advice in those subjects with which you are familiar."

"But, Master, the Code-"

"Is for Jedi. You think the Birasi follow the Code as they attack the hinterland villages? They are destroying crops, homes - they are killing people. They will not stop until they have obliterated everyone in this village and then, if the central government remains stubborn, they will move on to the next. What does the Code say about that?"

I said nothing.

Rumours abound in the temple claiming that Master Jinn is cold, closed off, especially since the defection of his second padawan. Though I have only been his apprentice for a short time, I have come to realise that the cool exterior and serene face he presents to the universe at large is a mask that hides a heart that cares perhaps too much.

The pilot points out the viewscreen in front of us and I follow his direction. Two Birasi ships hover above a cluster of houses, many of which are burning. The smoke climbs into the sky as another ship arrives and the Birasi drop from it like teaglets leaving their nest. I can see the flashes that mark blaster fire and, though it is impossible from this distance, I imagine that I can hear the screams and cries of the unarmed villagers.

I grip the sides of my seat. We are still at least five minutes away and I am suddenly infected with my master's urgency.

April 20, 2000

The transport finally touches down just outside the village. Though my eyes are trained upon the scene revealed by the opening hatch, I reach out and place my hand on my padawan's shoulder.

"Stay close and follow my lead."

"Yes, Master."

Day is rapidly coming to a close as the sun begins to set. The village looks worse than I had hoped, but not as bad as I had feared. There is smoke and occasional blaster fire, but there are no screams and I can only hope that the majority of the village's inhabitants have found safe hiding places.

I pull the hood of my robe over my head and stride toward the village, the boy at my side. I can feel his nervousness and his determination; he will follow me and defend me until he draws his last breath. It makes me sad.

I silently curse the Birasi, the Council, myself and the Force. That he is to be Jedi is clear, one only has to look at his aura to see how strong in the Force he is. That the Jedi are needed is also clear, one only has to look to this unarmed people being attacked to know this. Indeed, I have chosen him as my padawan, knowing what kind of assignments I am given.

Perhaps it is my own innocence that I mourn when I wish he could keep his a little longer.

April 21, 2000

I dropped them off at sunset and picked them back up shortly after dawn. Funny how I'd imagined it would take them longer than an evening to deter the Birasi, they were only two and one of them still a boy. But the rumours from the capital are that a treaty has been signed and the outlying villages are now safe.

They kneel in the only space large enough to do so, directly behind me. They are side by side, eyes closed. Meditating I'd guess, from what I've heard of the Jedi. Austere, monkish, simple, chaste and grave - all words used to describe these mysterious guardians of the peace.

I'll have my own impressions to add now. Impressions of how they sat quiet and sombre in the midst of a joyous celebration. The village of Etlamon is safe because of these two and a party was thrown in their honour as they were dubbed heroes.

Funny how up close heroes never seem all that heroic, or special, or even so very different from you and I.

April 22, 2000

Two weeks.

Recovery leave.

Time to heal.

I hear again the healer's words as I trace the white scars along my master's back.

Symbols of his mortality.

We have been in life and death situations before, more than once I have believed myself breathing my last, but this was different. Bad enough that my master was hurt while I was not, but that he could not bounce back from the injury, that he needed to come to this quiet beach to recover - this is what haunts me.

My Master has very suddenly become also just a man. A man who can be hurt, who can die, whose time with me is now finite. No longer on his pedestal where I can worship him, the one I had not even known I had placed him on, now I can love him. And I do. It is a revelation and yet I feel as if I have always known it.

We walk along the sands, the waves a constant whisper as a light breeze makes the heat of the day bearable. The sun has bronzed our skin and my fingers once again reach out to trace the scars that stand out strongly on my master's sun-coloured skin.

Symbols of change. I will never again be able to see them without thinking of the love I have for the man who is also my master.

April 23, 2000

Obi-Wan shrugged out of his robe and flung it across the room. It hit the wall and slid into a forgotten heap on the floor. Eyes locked onto his master's, he made quick work of his belt, sash and tunics, letting them fall where he stood. Hands moving to his leggings, he began to undo the fastenings.

Qui-Gon had removed his own robe as he'd entered, neatly folding it over the back of a chair. "The table," his master said softly as Obi-Wan slid his leggings down his thighs. He stepped out of them and backed his way up to the oval table. It was empty save a few datapads and Obi-Wan swept them off with a careless hand. He sat on the edge of the table, legs spread wide as he leaned back to support himself with his hands.

Qui-Gon began to undress, slowly removing each item and carefully folding it and placing it on the same chair that held his robe. Whimpering, Obi-Wan let his head fall back and his body arch upward.

"Master." The throaty whisper was a plea doubling as a protest at Qui-Gon's slow pace.

Finally his master was naked and stalking toward him, proprietary gleam in his eyes. He came to stand at the table's edge, between Obi-Wan's legs. One hand grabbed his braid, the other wrapped around his erection. Obi-Wan hissed and arched further, opening himself to his master's gaze and, he hoped, more.

Qui-Gon's lips descended upon his own and their mouths fused as they unleashed the power of their need. No tender kisses and gentle touches - disrobing had been all the foreplay they indulged in. No preparation - their need, bank for the 12 days of mourning the Findcek adhered to, was too great for that careful custom.

Obi-Wan felt his master's hardness slide into his body, taking him and filling him with awesome heat.

His skin became hyper-receptive to each sensation it picked up, adding to the building wave of pleasure. The table was cold and smooth against his back and his master's body was like a brand against and within him. The air, a temperature somewhere in between, caressed him with millions of molecules that all danced against his flesh.

Qui-Gon thrust into his body, once, twice and a third time. Obi-Wan screamed into his master's mouth as his body stretched tight with orgasm, his own come emptying from his body as Qui-Gon's filled him.

April 24, 2000

It is my job to place fresh flowers in His Lordship's guestrooms every day. I have done this since I was a little girl and I am good at this task, remaining as invisible to the honoured company as the air. On the third day that the Jedi were visitors in His Lordship's manor I placed mauve and yellow triibeey in the slender vase on the dresser. A piece of cream paper lay by the base of the glass vessel.

After reading it, I slipped it into the pocket of my uniform and have it still. Every now and then I take it out to look at, to rub the soft, worn paper between my fingers and to read it.

Written in the language of my people, the letters somewhat mangled as a schoolchild might write them, were two simple words. Thank you.

April 25, 2000

I lie back in my bed, closing my eyes. My hands lie at my side, loose, relaxed. I don't touch myself yet. Instead, I picture my padawan, grown from boy to man, under my care, under my supervision, before my very eyes.

I picture him as he looked this morning after a couple of hours in the training salle. The light linen of his training uniform was damp with sweat and clinging to his body along chest, stomach and thighs. His skin was rosy-hued, covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, his breathing slightly strained. He looked as though he had been working hard...or making love.

I imagine him on his knees between my legs, hands reaching out to touch me. I bring my own hands up, gasping as I touch my face with my fingertips; anticipation and the touch of my phantom lover igniting sparks along my nerves. My hands follow a familiar path over my skin and in my mind it is my Obi-Wan who knows my body so intimately that each touch brings such pleasure with it.

I take my time, savouring the game I play with my mind and body, letting the sensations build upon each other until I can hold back no longer. The touch of hands along my hardness makes me gasp, arch and the carefully constructed fantasy falls apart and scatters in the wake of my orgasm as broken glass is swept away by a broom.

Relaxing, letting my hands fall quiescent once more at my sides, I wish that my padawan lay next to me, sated and snuggled against me. Perhaps one day he will grow to love and desire his master as I love and desire him.

April 26, 2000

"Padawan, bring me that blanket."

"Here, Master."

"Now come here and stand by me. You don't want to miss this."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Just a little closer, it's almost time."

"Padawan?"

"How could you make me watch that?"

"It's the Force's greatest miracle, Padawan. One that we participate in fully."

"I don't care - it's disgusting."

"That's not a very mature attitude, Obi-Wan."

"But, Master, there's blood and stuff and everything was all stretched and that...that thing came out of there. No! No! Don't give it to me."

"It is a baby, Padawan. We all started out this way and this particular baby is the next ruler of Ylasia."

"I don't care if it's the miracle child of Master Windu and Master Yoda...which, actually, now that I mention it seems to bear a remarkable resemblance to-"

"Padawan! I have taught you to have more respect for your elders than that."

"Yes, Master, my apologies."

"Here, you take the baby. Perhaps you will learn something from her."

"Isn't there some other task you could assign me? Something less pathetic and...cuddly?"

"Certainly. You can deliver the afterbirth."

"Just give me the baby, Master."

April 27, 2000

Just one kiss and with it he stole my breath away, turned me upside down and inside out. Our first and so far only kiss laid to waste any control I had - a child in the creche could have shielded better, could have accessed the Force with more acuity than I did on the walk back to our quarters.

But I could still feel the Force singing around me, sweetly assuring me of the rightness of this moment. It was like riding on a wave of joy and happiness and love and desire. I wanted to run - to dance with it.

I saw the smiles on the faces of those we passed. They knew - how could they not - the Force was brilliant around my master and I. I cannot even imagine what it will be like once we have consummated our love.

April 29, 2000

Making love in the middle of the night is like magic. It is like stealing a piece of time from sleep and dark and making it our very own.

Half asleep fumblings that grow into erotic caresses. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that touch soul-deep. Bodies, sliding one into the other. Pleasure rapidly filling every cell and exploding from hard, velvet heat.

So good.

So good.

In the darkness we make such light.

On to May 2000's Snapshots

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