As long as she might live, Knight Joma Phrel would
always wonder what had inspired the Jedi Council
to assign her to this particular creche rotation.
She'd always liked the children, but as readily as
she had gotten along with them, she never felt
quite as at ease with their parents. She sighed.
Whatever it was she was feeling, she must be
exuding some sort of trust-and-comfort pheromone;
the parents were always very relaxed around her,
and the Porgatians were no different.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. They were
undeniably
different, the Porgatians. No more
different than a lot of other non-human species,
she supposed, but there was a lot of room for
difference. Their portion of their homeworld had
very little dry land, but was dense with
vegetation and liberally crossed with rivers. A
non-winged tree-dwelling people, they had
naturally selected for prehensile hands and feet
and webbed fingers, the better to hang from low
branches and fish in the water. They had blunt
little snoutlike noses, vestiges from their
insect-rooting ancestors, and large ears and eyes,
grown accustomed to the faraway sounds and
filtered light of the forest. Those who moved to
Coruscant, therefore, usually became effectively
nocturnal; moving about at night was far more
comfortable for their heightened senses.
But even less usual were their mating habits.
While most species existed in two sexes and
required one of each to procreate, some could
reproduce from same-sex couples and some did it on
their own, each individual carrying all the
genetic material necessary to regenerate. The
Porgatians, on the other hand, had three sexes --
called, in admittedly humano-centric terms, male,
female, and comale -- and could only breed in
groups of those three. So the child on the bench
at her side had a father, a mother, and a tether;
and, although she had been briefed and knew the
appropriate pronouns, Knight Phrel decided to
address each adult directly as much as possible
when they arrived.
"Joma! Hey, Joma!"
Phrel and the Porgatian child turned toward the
clear young voice, and after only a moment, a
red-haired child came barreling around a corner in
the garden path and flung herself into Joma's
arms. "Skies, Sion, what are you about today?"
Joma asked with a laugh.
Sionnach apVess-Norill squirmed from Joma's lap
and sat next to her. "I could tell you were here.
'Cause the matrons said I could play outside
'cause Ki --
Qui and
Obi are coming home today
and I get to go see them. 'Cause they've been
away a long time, on a mission, but now they're
back and I get to visit them for three days. Only
now they're still with the Council so I didn't see
them yet. And Ani's with them too. But Joma?"
Joma had a sudden and very vivid impression of how
her creche masters must have felt when she was a
child. "Yes, Sion?"
The girl lowered her voice to a confidential
whisper. "I don't think Ki --
Qui -- likes the
Council very much."
The Knight chuckled. "No, Sion, I expect Qui-Gon
doesn't like the Council at all. Obi-Wan either.
And you know something?" She leaned forward to
share her secret. "I don't like them myself."
"But I
like Master Adi," Sion protested. "And
Master Yoda and Master Mace --"
"Oh, we like all the Council
members,
sweetheart," Joma reassured her. "It's the bunch
of them
together we're not crazy about. I bet
they don't even like
being the Council."
Sionnach thought about this for a moment. "This
is one of those things I'm going to understand
when I'm bigger, isn't it?"
"If ever, Sion, yes." Joma ruffled the girl's
hair.
Sion seemed to process this, and quickly returned
to her previous topic. "But then when they're
done with the Council they'll come get me and I
get to go stay with them three whole days, 'cause
Obi always says they never know when's the next
time they might get called away, but I'm supposed
to play outside and practice moving stuff until
they get here. Will you play with me?"
"Oh, Sion, I'd love to," Joma said sincerely, "but
I'm waiting here to meet someone. Actually, if
you need something to do, and you want to tell
Master Gallia what a big help you were, you can
take care of Alydr for a bit while Master Jen'reth
and I speak with her parents. Can you do that for
me?"
Sion hopped off the bench and looked pleasantly at
the Porgatian toddler seated next to Joma. Alydr
was smaller than a human two-year-old, barely half
a meter high, with silvery-green skin and large,
startlingly alert eyes. "Sure. Come on, Alydr.
We have fish -- wanna see?"
"Careful, Sionnach," Joma called as the two
children scampered away. "You know you can't
breathe underwater, and neither can she."
"I know," Sionnach called back -- and they
disappeared from view.
When they were gone, Joma closed her eyes and
concentrated on the trio coming to meet her. They
had arrived at the temple in the middle of the
night, a tight, worried family group by the name
of Rhyi'nak, all three parents driven nearly to
distraction by what they described as "something
peculiar" about their daughter. She was unusually
strong for her age and size, they said, and
impossibly strong-willed -- not stubborn, like
other children, but somehow persuasive, though she
was barely two years old and spoke very little.
It hadn't occurred to them to bring the girl to
the Jedi until an acquaintance of theirs had
mentioned it -- none of the parents, as far as
they had ever known, had any family history of
Force-sensitivity. The group had been ushered
into a suite of rooms upon their arrival, and in
the morning Joma and Master Jen'reth had retrieved
Alydr for a day of observation. Joma had noticed
the child's presence the minute she was in the
room with her, but carried out the routine of
tests and demonstrations just the same. She had
concluded, and Master Jen'reth had concurred, that
the girl was remarkably sensitive to the Force --
which meant her parents had to be met for The
Talk.
She heard them coming, and rose. Around the
corner, hand in hand in hand, came Alydr's
parents, in animated conversation with Master
Jen'reth. Joma felt herself relax. The guests
were calm and unruffled. That had been the hope,
of course; she always worked with another Jedi,
one from the visiting family's own species, when
outsiders brought their children for testing, but
the success of this ingratiating maneuver varied.
On this group, though, it had worked splendidly.
Master Jen'reth, a male of early middle years --
his padawan had only recently been named a knight
-- smoothly directed the trio onto a bench facing
Joma, and took a seat next to her with a smile.
"Good afternoon," she said warmly, nodding and
touching her forehead in the Porgatian ritual
greeting. "I hope you have all had a pleasant
day, but I have no illusions about your wishing to
prolong the formalities. You want to talk about
your daughter." The parents looked at one another
with half-guilty smiles. "Let's begin by having
you tell us what you know about the Force."
Drlyan, the mother, cleared her throat. "Ah ...
well, it's a power, isn't it? Only Jedi have it."
"And it helps them -- you -- be wise and strong,"
added Thijrn, the father.
"But -- well, I'm not sure exactly what you're
asking us," said Drlyan. "It's a -- there's that
program on the holonet, Life Binders --"
"Light Minders," the third -- Hsad, the tether --
corrected her.
"-- where they say the vidcams follow the Jedi all
the time for however many rotations it is, but it
doesn't say too much about the Force."
"It's all fixed anyway," Hsad murmured.
"But is it in the air, and you can catch it, or in
your blood, and you can feel it?" asked Thijrn.
"All right, that's a good start," Joma grinned.
"To tell the truth, we Jedi often run into the
same sorts of problems when we try to nail down a
specific definition of the Force. As near as we
can tell, it's something like both those things
you mentioned, Thijrn; there's a gene that, when
it's active, makes an individual receptive to the
Force energy that's around all of us. It's around
you and between you now," she added, seeing the
three of them look, startled, over their shoulders
and above their heads, "but as none of you is
sensitive to it, you can't see it or feel it or
perceive it in any way. And that's fine," she
went on quickly. "In fact, you might say that's
normal. Non-sensitivity to the Force is
certainly the dominant variation, and the most
common. You of course know all this, given that
none of you has any Force-sensitivity anywhere in
your lineage, right?" All three nodded. "Well.
The miracles of statistics have collaborated to
give you a daughter who
is Force-sensitive.
That's what was causing those peculiarities you
noticed -- her perception of the Force is just
beginning to manifest, which is right on schedule,
given her age. A lot of parents bring us babies,
and ask us to test them, and we have to ask them
to return when the child is right around two
standard years old -- younger than that it's not
possible for us to determine.
"Anyway, though, you're right if you're thinking
that the odds of this happening in your family
were extremely long. But every so often it
happens -- a non-sensitive family has a
Force-sensitive child. Sometimes it even goes the
other way; non-sensitive children are born into
entirely Force-sensitive families. And those
parents are just as surprised as you are, believe
me," she said, smiling. "But the thing is this:
your daughter is not merely Force-sensitive.
She's what we call an Adept -- it's a special,
particularly intense sensitivity to the Force that
is very, very rare. I can only think of one
living Adept older than I am, and younger than
myself there's just one or two -- and there are
thousands and thousands of Jedi, as you know.
"So. What you need to decide is whether or not
you wish to leave Alydr here with us, to let us
raise her and train her. I don't know how much
Master Jen'reth explained to you of our education
and training system, but briefly, children between
the ages of two and about thirteen live here at
the main temple in the creche, all together. They
take their elementary and intermediate training
together, and -- right, then, you've covered
this," she said when the Rhyi'naks nodded. "Then,
when a child reaches adolescence, he apprentices
himself to a master in one of the specific
disciplines -- negotiations, healing, agriculture,
aviation, and so on -- depending on his interests,
his skills, and his rapport with the masters. All
Jedi have some training in all areas," she
clarified, "but usually specialize in just one.
"Now, this is very important," Joma went on
carefully. "Children in the creche are considered
to be children of the temple. We, the residents
of the main temple, become those children's
family. Their parents and siblings are permitted
occasional visits -- and actually, in that respect
you're much more fortunate than a family from,
say, any Rim world, being that the creche only
exists here at the main temple and you live here
on-planet -- but even children whose parents are
themselves Jedi don't see them more than a couple
of times in any given year. Proximity to the
creche has nothing to do with frequency of
visits." She paused to gauge their reaction to
this policy. "Is that clear?" she asked
cautiously.
All three parents nodded again. "Good. Now, your
other option is to take Alydr home with you, and
raise her yourself and pretend today never
happened. And we won't try to talk you out of
doing that, but there are some things it's only
right to tell you, that we as Force users know and
you as non-users have no reason to know yet." She
took a breath; getting through this next bit --
without subliminally broadcasting her deep-seated
belief that the temple was where such children
belonged -- was always difficult. "Your child is,
in a fundamental and unalterable way, not like
other children. This has been known to cause
problems when children interact and socialize.
Furthermore, your child is not like you. Raising
her will be, for all three of you, an
unprecedented challenge; almost nothing your own
parents did with you will be useful with her. For
the next several years, her strength in the Force
will grow faster than she will, and for even
longer than that, she'll have little, if any,
control over her abilities." Joma paused to let
all this sink in. "Without trying to persuade you
to leave Alydr here with us, folks, there's a
reason such a high proportion of parents of
Force-using children elect to have us raise them.
Simply stated, we're equipped to handle them in
ways that few normal families are." Hsad and
Thijrn looked conflicted and distressed. Drlyan
seemed just to be processing all the information
for later consideration. "And finally, Republic
law mandates that I inform you that the Jedi are
not the only organized group of Force users in the
galaxy. We are the only group officially
recognized by the government, however -- and I'm
sure some of these other unregulated groups are
fine, but many of them are manipulative and very
dangerous, so if you choose to keep Alydr with
you, it will be very important that you never
speak of her Force sensitivity to anyone,
including to her. For that reason, we administer
a suggestion that -- no, Thijrn, don't worry, it's
painless -- that very gently nudges the memories
of these few days to the very back of your mind
where they won't get out and hurt anyone."
Joma smiled engagingly. The Rhyi'naks made
credible attempts to smile back. "Bet you're
wishing it'd just been something she ate, eh?" she
said sympathetically. "We get families in here
all the time who think their kids must be
Force-sensitive and they turn out to be just plain
hyperactive. Nothing we can do for them except
recommend some behavioral specialists and a couple
of drugs, and they're always so disappointed. But
they're not faced with the kind of choice you
are."
"Can we -- I mean -- when do we decide? Now?"
Thijrn choked.
"No, no," said Master Jen'reth, speaking for the
first time. "Alydr should be nearby, with one of
the children from the creche, I believe. You
collect her and have a pleasant evening, all of
you together in your rooms, and tomorrow around
noonmeal you let us know what you've decided. The
last thing we want is for you to hurry with this
-- Knight Phrel didn't mention it, but because of
the nature of the creche and the training process,
decisions really need to be final. So we want you
to be sure." He stood, and the Rhyi'nak family
shakily got to its feet. "Why don't we find your
girl," he said kindly, "and I'll come back with
you if you have any more questions." That was
what they needed. The Rhyi'naks were handling the
entire affair with a calmness Joma could tell they
did not feel. Everything about the Jedi was new
and strange to them. But Master Jen'reth was
their people, a link to the reality they knew; as
long as they stayed with him, things didn't seem
too surreal. She'd seen it a hundred times
before.
The Rhyi'naks nodded. Master Jen'reth nodded to
Joma in turn, and both inhaled deeply and closed
their eyes. Rather than seeking Alydr, Joma
reached out for Sionnach, whose presence was
clearer and much more familiar; the children were
just where Sion had said they'd be, on a
footbridge over the shallow pond. The five adults
found both of them lying on their bellies, chins
resting on their folded hands, looking intently at
several fat orange fish that hovered just below
the surface of the water and seemed to be staring
right back. "See," Sion was saying, "now pretend
you have a third arm, and reach really slowly and
just ... tickle his chin like that." There was a
pause while neither child moved; then one of the
fish seemed, if possible, to smile. It rolled
over twice and swam back to grin at Alydr. "Good!
See how easy?" She looked up when she sensed the
adult presences behind her. "Joma! Look how
many!" She pointed to the fish.
"I see. Well done. Sion, you know Master
Jen'reth, right?"
"Yes." The girl scrambled to her feet and bowed
hastily. "I am happy to see you again, Master
Jen'reth."
The Porgatian master winked as he solemnly
returned the bow. "And I you, Sionnach. Did
Anakin teach you that?"
Sionnach beamed and nodded. "He says it makes me
seem more grown up."
"That it does," Master Jen'reth laughed. "Hsad,
Thijrn, Drlyan, this is Sionnach apVess-Norill,
one of our elementary trainees. Sionnach, these
are your friend Alydr's tether, father and mother,
Hsad, Thijrn, and Drlyan Rhyi'nak."
"I am glad to meet you," Sionnach said with a much
calmer bow.
Hsad crouched down to speak to her. "You live
here in the temple, Sionnach?"
"Yes --" the child paused for a moment, glanced to
Joma, seemed to panic. Joma bit her tongue. The
one to speak to Sionnach would have to be the
comale, whose honorific she had never needed to
know before. But then, smoothly, Sion recovered,
pretended just to have been surprised by the
question, and went on, "Yes, I've lived here all
my life. I'm seven," she clarified, as if the
lack of this information would be a serious
detriment to the Rhyi'naks.
"All your life?" Thijrn asked. "You were born
here?"
"Um," Sionnach said, screwing up her face and
trying to remember what she had been taught.
Joma stepped to her side and laid a hand on her
shoulder. "Sionnach's parents were Jedi who were
negotiating in a war zone when she was born, and
did not survive," she explained. "Her godfather
brought her back; there was never any question of
her living anywhere else."
"I see. So you like it here?" The father was
unhappy, Joma could tell; it seemed he was not
convinced that life among the Jedi was the best
choice -- or even a good choice -- for his
daughter. Her instinct was to reach out and try
to set his mind at ease; she resolutely suppressed
it.
Sionnach shrugged good-naturedly. "Sure. It's my
home."
Thijrn's jaw had tightened to the point that he
could barely speak. "Come, Alydr," he said
slowly, taking his daughter by the hand and
pulling her towards the family.
"Well," said Master Jen'reth. "It must be time
for latemeal by now. We can talk when we get to
your rooms." Hsad smiled at Sionnach and bowed to
her, then stepped back to join the family. "Thank
you, Trainee apVess-Norill, and thank you, Knight
Phrel. No doubt we'll see you tomorrow for
noonmeal." The master bowed and the party
meandered away, Alydr waving to Sionnach from her
tether's arms.
Joma ruffled the little girl's hair when the
visitors had gone. "Well done, Sionnach," she
said. "Remind me to tell your masters how well
you handled that."
"I didn't know what to say!" Sion exclaimed,
wide-eyed. "I should have said yes sir."
"No," Joma assured her, "what you did was just
right. I didn't get to tell you before. Comale
Porgatians are called 'torr' to be polite. But
you didn't know that. You did exactly the right
thing."
"And it was okay that I taught Alydr to tickle the
fish?"
"It was probably a lot of fun. Did you figure out
how to do that yourself?" They turned and walked
slowly in the direction of the temple.
"Uh-uh. Morgesh taught me, a long time ago. He
knows lots of stuff 'cause he's eleven," she said
earnestly. "He has his own master now, so he
doesn't live with us any more, but he's still my
friend. Oooh, Joma! Can we go to the rec garden
instead of back inside? I'm supposed to play
outside and practice moving stuff until Ki gets
back, remember?"
"Um ... sure, sure," Joma said, suddenly distracted
by a thought that she hadn't managed to process
before it got away. Something was odd about
something around her, something Sion had said ...
but it didn't feel dangerous, and she was sure it
would strike her again, if it was important.
"Yes, Sion, let's go to the rec garden. I've been
inside too much lately, too."
"And Felad and Syanna and Mik are there, now,
too," Sion said happily, skipping ahead of Joma on
the path. "Yay!"
Joma followed her, still trying to think what it
was she had heard that seemed so wrong.
Qui-Gon Jinn closed his eyes and rolled his head
around to stretch his neck. Nothing completed a
long assignment like debriefing the Council
immediately, without the chance to unpack or eat
or even bathe. Ah, fortunately, though, this time
the report had been straightforward and the
Council easy to please, and while Obi-Wan and
Anakin had gone home directly after the meeting,
Qui-Gon had won the toss, so he took a detour to
retrieve Sionnach. Homecoming was always a
relief, but Qui-Gon had been looking forward to
this one particularly as a sort of reward; it had
been close to a year since they'd had any contact
with Sionnach beyond just passing in the halls,
and the prospect of having her home for three
solid days lightened his step as he sought and
found her presence and turned toward the
recreational garden.
The air in the rec garden was filtered against the
fumes of the city-planet, but it was
well-circulated through the forest and lake
gardens, so the breeze was always fresh and
pleasant, never stale. Qui-Gon inhaled deeply
when he stepped outside, and, after letting his
eyes adjust to the bright light, spotted Sionnach
seated on the lawn with three other children
younger than herself, concentrating intently on
something he could not see. Obi-Wan's old friend
Joma was on a bench nearby, watching the children
with a sort of sternly confused knit in her brow.
Qui-Gon waved to her; she smiled and waved back,
but immediately turned her attention back to the
trainees. Qui-Gon took a seat next to her and
tried to see what she was looking at. "Look at
the wind," she said, sensing his puzzlement.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, concentrated on the
breeze ruffling his hair and nudging his robes,
and opened them again, looking back at the
children. He could feel his eyes widen in
astonishment; hovering between them, invisible to
the eye but clearly apparent when the wind flowed
around it, was a large model of a molecule, built
from air. As he watched, the two youngest
children, in turn, without physically moving a
hair, shaped two more atoms and placed them
carefully; Sionnach and the fourth child slowly
rotated the model so they could build on another
branch. Qui-Gon turned to look at Joma.
"Sion found them here an hour ago," she said, "and
they've just been building different shapes out of
the air ever since." She quirked a wry smile.
"The matrons told her to practice moving stuff."
"But ... are they ..."
"Adepts. All of them. That little one isn't even
three." Joma made a face. "The only Adept I know
of older than myself is whatshername, that Master,
and she's, what, past fifty?"
"At least. And you ..."
"I'm thirty-four. Anakin is sixteen. Morgesh
Kwahl is eleven. Sionnach is seven. Felad here
is five, Syanna is just gone four, and Mik is
almost three. There are two more Adepts in the
creche besides them, little ones, and while I've
been on this assignment two families have brought
us Adepts but then taken them home again, and
another family is here now with a two-year-old.
They'll let us know their decision tomorrow."
Qui-Gon could think of nothing to say. He let
this news bounce around in his mind for a bit.
"That's a lot of Adepts," he finally said with a
slight yawn and a shiver.
"Yes it is," said Joma after a moment, still
looking -- but somehow distantly -- at the
children in front of her.
There was another moment of silence.
"Coincidence?"
Joma looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "I
don't think either of us thinks that, Master
Jinn," she said.
Qui-Gon absently raised a hand and scratched the
scar on his breastbone through his tunics.
"Anyone else aware of this?"
Joma had a length of her hair twirled around one
finger. "Doubt it. I just noticed it myself,
because they were all together."
"We should let someone know. Any idea what it
means?"
"Several. None of them pleasant."
"I imagine." Qui-Gon watched the children for
another moment before speaking again. "Perhaps
you'd like to join us for dinner tomorrow evening,
Knight Phrel," he said, pretending to sound
casual. "We'll have Yoda and Adi to join us as
well. Celebrate our homecoming with a few
friends."
Joma raised both eyebrows before nodding with a
grim smile. "That sounds delightful, Master
Jinn," she said, emphasizing 'delightful' with a
topspin that made it clear she was not looking
forward to discussing the implications of this
phenomenon.
"Excellent. Then," he said, standing and moving
towards the group of children, "I think I'll be
off home." He sneaked up behind Sionnach; one of
the younger children noticed him there, but obeyed
his gestured instruction to keep still. "But not
before I pick up my firefly!" With this, he
scooped up his godchild, laughing at her shriek of
surprise, and tickled her until she regained
control of her reactions and threw her arms around
his neck. "There, Sha," he murmured, holding the
little girl close. "I'm glad to see you, too, my
lovely."
"Obi and Ani came too, right?" she said into his
shoulder.
"Obi and Ani are home already, getting the place
prepared for your visit," Qui-Gon answered,
setting her down and tapping her nose. "Shall we
go meet them?" Sionnach nodded vigorously, seized
Qui-Gon's hand, and set to pulling him with all
her childish strength toward the temple. "See you
tomorrow, then, Joma," Qui-Gon called over his
shoulder with a grin. "Eighth hour. Sion, love,
we needn't hurry. Obi-Wan and Anakin aren't going
anywhere. Suppose you walk normally and tell me
what you've been up to lately in your classes?"
Sionnach had talked about her classes, her
friends, and the Porgatian candidate Alydr
throughout the walk home and all through dinner.
Her entire adoptive family had put her to bed,
Obi-Wan and Anakin being as delighted to have her
home as Qui-Gon. Anakin had gone out to meet some
friends soon after, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan
alone in the apartment. Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan
could perceive the tension he was feeling, but
hesitated to explain its basis. He felt a little
foolish, being so unsettled by a
larger-than-average population of Adepts at the
temple. What if there were a high proportion of
red-haired children? He wouldn't be worried for
Sionnach in that situation.
They washed the dinner dishes in silence; Obi-Wan
reached out to comfort Qui-Gon, carefully subduing
his curiosity, and Qui-Gon realized for the
hundredth time that day how fortunate he and
Obi-Wan were to have found each other. They did
not speak as they washed and changed for bed, and
Qui-Gon silently thanked the Force that his
bondmate had recognized the need to let him come
to the issue in his own time. "I've invited Joma
and some other people for dinner tomorrow,"
Qui-Gon called from the 'fresher as he braided his
hair for the night.
"Oh? That should be pleasant," Obi-Wan said,
sounding a bit guarded. Qui-Gon stuck his head
out the door. The other man sat, cross-legged and
bare-chested, in the center of the bed. He would
only lie down to sleep when Qui-Gon was at his
side -- a habit that had carried over from
high-risk missions in the field, where it was only
safe to go to sleep once you knew your partner
could see you. In home life, it was less cautious
than endearing.
"I hope so," Qui-Gon said earnestly. "There's a
bit of a situation we'll have to discuss, but I
hope it will turn out to be nothing so we may all
just enjoy one another's company." He tied off
the plait and flicked off the 'fresher light.
Obi-Wan scooted over as Qui-Gon came into the
bedroom. "It seems that the number of Adepts in
the order has been growing disproportionately for
several years, without our knowing it. So of
course --"
"Qui!" Obi-Wan interrupted. "What in the worlds
have you
done?"
Obi-Wan's gaze was fixed on Qui-Gon's scar. In
the seven years since Naboo, it had faded to a
mere pale disc, barely noticeable to the eye --
but now, as Qui-Gon strained to look at it, it was
pink and swollen at the edges, the skin around it
an angry, streaky red. "Force," Qui-Gon muttered.
"I must not have noticed how much I was scratching
it. It's been itching all day, now that I think
of it -- must have been bothering me more than I
thought."
"It looks horrible," Obi-Wan whispered. "Should
we call someone? Do you feel pain? Is it
possible --"
"I'm sure it's nothing," Qui-Gon said softly,
tipping Obi-Wan's chin up to look at him. "Just
some minor irritant. There's nothing wrong, it's
not infected, I've just been scratching at it a
bit."
"I want it not to look like that," Obi-Wan said,
sleepily unconvinced, as he snuggled close to
Qui-Gon and laid his head over the scar, over
Qui-Gon's heart. "Want you well."
"I am well, my Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured. He
dropped a kiss on the top of Obi-Wan's head. "I
am well." Obi-Wan's presence had already begun to
drift across the bond and soothe the discomfort in
his chest, around his scar. Qui-Gon sighed and
wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him
close and settling back to sleep. That was it.
Nothing to worry about. It had just been bothering
him more than he'd thought.
Comments always
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