A Time to Remember

by Jenn

Rating:  PG/R

Disclaimer:  All George, no me.

**

You climb the dune…although the slipping sands impede your progress… to mount its crest and stare out at the sea. It is night. The ink and charcoal of the sky stretches so far overhead that it meshes with and mates with the rolling sea. It is the same sea that you have lived on for four years. The same rolling mass of waves…crest…salt and so beautiful. It has always filled your nights with the gentle lull of crashing waves and breeze in the rushes…it has always filled your home with the wonderful smells of life….but tonight...

It is still all those things…and yet it is completely different.

As everything seems to be….

Three years….three years of seeing…of being…yourself…finding yourself in the rubble of life. You have laughed, cried, smiled and lived life …for three years.

You fold your legs and collapse to sit on the dune, turning your face up to gaze at the stars overhead….to catch the faintest hint of the late summer breeze. Summer is Qui-Gon's season…sunshine, blue sky to match his eyes, ripening fruit…and abundant life. The aroma of life fills the air…swirls around you…and reminds you of his embrace, his kiss…everything about him.

Three years…you have only had five letters from him. Letters full of description of the places he sees, what he feels…remembers and wishes. Each letter reminds you of his love…his words convey what simple words can convey…striving and yet falling short of the complete embodiment of the emotion. Each letter brings to your mind's eye the wonder that exists on other planets…the danger that he faces….you can feel his exasperation, the elation…the wonder…

And you could feel it decrease, lessen with each note..you can almost feel the calm surrounding him…embracing him.

Another wisp of breeze wraps around you, picking up your hair, your dress and makes it rise like tendrils around you. Sand blows across your skin, harsh…easily felt through the thin cotton that you wear.

Will he have changed…in three years?

With a sigh, you toss your hair back and glance at the skies… searching…staring…wondering.

**

The transport settles, much like a bird alighting on a nest, and the ground seems to reach to embrace it. You stand to the side of the landing platform, separated from the actual landing pad by a metal bar. It stretches, silver against the pinking sky, for as far as you can see. Beyond that bar, you see rows and rows of old, new, white, silver and mottled colored ships. Noise is loud…clanging…rushing of engines. Gathering Qui-Gon from the Capital City is a new experience for you.

Three years…and he has a two week leave. Two weeks to do what he will…and he wills it to spend it with you. Two weeks to stay in your home, two weeks to enjoy the harvest festival. You stand on your toes, pressing down on the bar to lift yourself higher. Surely you would recognize him…only three years…he couldn't have changed much. The breeze blows your hair in front of your eyes, and with an irritated hand, you brush it back.

Half of you letters had been sent back to you when you had written to him in care of the Jedi Temple…they were unable to contact him. The other half…had taken as long as four months to find him. And his… just as long. You sway to one side and sigh. By the Gods…did you miss the correct transport? You push forward, moving around a mother and child and away from the gathered people…into fresher air.

Three years…

"Tira?"

You spin on your toes, swaying and almost collapsing as your head whirls. The voice…is deeper…so deep…with a timbre…a depth that makes your insides shiver.

"Tira, is that you?"

You stand on your toes and glance over the heads of several people to see him standing by the main entrance to the loading platform. His back is against the rapidly brightening sky and he appears…surrounded… in gods sent light. Was he always so tall? So broad? So…Gods…so…

"Qui-Gon?"

"Has it really been that long, Tira, that you don't remember me?"

Gods… you skirt around the woman and her child again. As you clear them, you see that he is clad in his pants and tunic…looking worn…and his beard…its so full…covering most of his face…and his eyes…you can see the spark…that nose…that brow…and his hair….its so long…and his boots…his boots are dirty.

You shake your head and walk forward, your step light. You open your mouth to say something to him, anything…to tell him that you have not forgotten him…but now you see the deep blue of his eyes…the blond, brown mixture of his hair hanging loose about his shoulders… shoulders that have broadened…

He sees your hesitation and stands still, opening his arms. And suddenly all you can think is…warmth…acceptance and his embrace…its all you want.

You step to his body, and find yourself wrapped and lifted off the ground. His arms…like the malleable iron that you have always thought them to be…bend to the contours of your body…around your shoulders and waist. He buries his face in your hair…hanging loose about your shoulders…your arms reach and clasp behind his neck…

Laughing, you are laughing…out loud and making your body shake with it…he sighs and tightens his arms before you feel him join you in the laughter. You press your lips against the side of his neck and you feel two tears forcing themselves out the of your eyes. All you can feel is strength…so powerfully honed…and the aura of life…the very smell of life…fresh leaves…grass…sun and sky emanates from him. "You seem very familiar to me, Jedi…like a knight that I knew once…"

"So he was a handsome devil, was he?" he asks, his face still buried in your hair.

"Oh…I suppose…" you breathe and move your head back to look at him. His eyes at this distance are lit with laughter. He eases his hand up from your shoulder to clasp at your head.

"You suppose?" he asks, putting his lips almost against yours. "Gods… Tira…"

"Kiss me, Qui-Gon…and we'll talk later…." You whisper against his lips and then the sun…light and his eyes are blotted out as your lids slide shut. And warmth…his lips…the gentle pull and take…the coursing of feeling to the tip of your toes…fingers…to your very nose. So…he tilts your head, sweeping his tongue in your mouth, against your teeth, along your tongue…making your toes curl…you slip your hands in to his mane…into the depths of his hair…

And around you…people mill and greet others…the noise is but background…and the ringing in your ears from his kiss is all that you hear.

**

"It has not changed…"

He stands on the porch of your home, his hands behind his back, his face closed for the reading. You glance out of the open door to see the play of late afternoon sunlight over his skin and the wisp of summer breeze dance in his hair. The bag that he carried remains on the porch as he walks to the railing and leans over to glance down alongside the house. "And the bush…the rose…"

"Has most definitely grown, Qui-Gon," you answer and wipe your hands on the skirt. The smell of fruit and hot bread rises from your hands to swim to your nose. He smiles and lifts his chin to motion to the beach beyond the dunes. You can hear the rush of the waves, but you can't see them crash to the sand. "The house, I think, is incapable of changing."

"Your house is an universal invariant, Tira…interesting concept. And the puddles you always have jumped in….where do you hide them, love?"

With a laugh and a lift of your chin, you smile. "A rather large puddle, Qui-Gon…crashes on the shore just over those dunes."

"Let's go jump in it, Tira…I have not seen sea in three years…Gods know, I've missed it almost as much as I have missed you."

"Are you suggesting…"

He smiles out of the side of his mouth and nods once, forcefully. With a grunt, he bends and picks up his bag and carries it in the door behind you. After a moment, he returns with a small loaf of bread, a small basket holding cheese and mead and his cloak. "I am, love….come on…show me this paradise you live in…and we will do some long overdue talking."

**

"You wouldn't….it's undignified."

"Then it fits us well."

"Put me down, Qui-Gon."

"We've been too serious, Tira."

"Throwing me in the sea will not make for a less serious discussion, Jedi. Besides you are dressed."

"I can remedy that situation very quickly and with little effort," he smiles and juggles his arms and you bounce on the strong bands of muscle. You press against his chest with very little pressure. His chest is bare, his tunic lying in a heap next to the blanket. His shoes lie, forgotten, next to the small basket that holds the cheese, bread, mead and fruit that constitutes your dinner. You can't see the ground from where he holds you…your skirt blows to obscure part of your vision and the angle that he holds you prevents you from seeing the rest. But you hear when his steps turn from pounding sand to splashing in the water, you know he has entered the sea.

"Qui-Gon Jinn…I'm warning you…."

"What will you do, love? Hmmm?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer. His body seems to fold in on itself and he pitches downward, with you following just as quickly. You are embraced, enfolded in cold water…it is not quite like ice, but like spring water. Your clothes are suddenly sodden, wet and clinging to your body. Your skirt hem floats dangerously close to your mouth and you splash and rise to the surface of the water, sputtering.

As you swipe your wet strands of hair away from your face and they leave the cool trails on your skin, you open your eyes and glare at the man. He kneels in the water, just feet from you, laughing… laughing as hard as loud as you have ever heard him laugh. His eyes reflect the warm blue waters of summer and his hair, once wetted, hangs well below his shoulder blades. Water beads and drips off of his beard and off of his proud nose. "Your puddle, love."

You open your mouth to argue and find yourself laughing. You wade through the little distance that separates the two of you and push hard on his shoulder. Whether it is the angle at which you push or the power that you put behind it, or simply that he allows it, he falls backward into the water and rippling waves. It is low-tide and the waves are very small, thankfully for you. With a grunt, he laughs. "Come on, Tira…you always loved playing in water."

You sputter another laugh and splash water at the prone Jedi. He looks at home and yet estranged from the water that flows around him. He laughs with you and the waves echo with the sound of your delighted interaction until suddenly, he stops. You raise your eyes from the waves, the twinkling blue-green-black water that swirls, rises and falls around you, to see his face. Surprised to see him close, very close to you, you gasp, but relax as his warm hand, wet, slick, cups your cheek and chin. "Gods, Tira."

You raise your hand to run down his cheek. "Saving clothes from ruin… where is the fun in that? The perfect negotiator, Jinn, make both sides equal through change in venue. "

His smile is so gentle you feel the pull of tears. He continues to stare at you, and you avoid the direct weight and pressure of the stare by running your eyes over his face. There is new depth in his eyes, less emotion and more…as you tilt your head to the side, you find that you can't describe what you see. His beard is like a cornerstone for a proud building now, necessary and not strange as it once was. His hair is dark now, and even in the moonlight you can see that the childhood blond is completely gone…all that remains is brown. It is full and silky. His body is leaner, more honed, his shoulders muscular, his waist narrow. The body completely fits the deep, toe-curling tone that his voice has always had. He is, without a doubt, a man. You lift your fingers to trace his lips, but he stops you, pulling your hand down to hold it against his chest.

"I had to break into the conversation, love, and the only way was to reduce us to it through removing our barriers. We have been dancing around the words and each other all day. Gods, we have barely touched let alone talked. There is quite a lot to discuss. Issues and situations have arisen…much has happened, Tira, three years…"

You snap your eyes back to his. His mouth is slightly slack, the beard doing little to hide the flaw. "You still wish to be here…" you ask, shaking your head slightly.

"I do. Never doubt that…but much, Tira-love, much has happened. It has changed me."

"And you want to forget it?" you ask, resting back on your knees. "Qui-Gon, to deny your past…"

"Is to deny the future and dismiss the present, I know," he chuckles quietly. "Tira, you stole that saying from me."

"Borrowed."

He smiles. "Mincing words, you have become a good philosopher." He traces his finger down the side of your cheek. "I'm not the same man that left here three years ago."

"And I am not the same woman that remained here three years ago."

"I've done things you would not approve of."

He stops speaking and squints his eyes for a moment. You can sense that Qui-Gon is trying to give you room to move away from him…to leave with a clear conscious. You are going to allow him the same.

"I've killed. I've fought, I've manipulated and I've…"

"…obviously not become any more straight-forward then I knew you to be," you comment. "Qui-Gon Jinn…are you trying to push me away?" Your knees touch Qui-Gon's. His hand remains on your face, touching your lips…spreading out over your cheek.

You sigh and feel tears welling up in your eyes. In spite of yourself, in spite of all that you know of yourself, you blurt out: "There is only one underlying question to the problem, Qui- Gon. Do you love me?"

"I do."

"Then…"

"Then I ask the same thing of you, Tira. Do you love me?"

"That has never changed, Jedi."

"I have changed, Tira."

"You say that again, Qui-Gon, in a way that suggests I expect you to remain the same. But what remains the same in a universe of change?" you ask, releasing your hands from his to cup his cheek and to run your thumbs over his beard and lips. His eyes are dark blue now, filled with what you can only describe as pain. You want to reassure him. With a sigh, you climb on his knees and straddle them. Your hands drift to his hair and pushes through the strands. "What changes is but a shell, a layer of skin, that peels away. What remains the same, is you. I love what is you, not what is the shell. If I had loved the shell, I would have never gotten close to you all those years ago when we were children, love. I would have run with the rest. Your shell is being a Jedi."

His face splits in a smile and his hand slides up under your wet hair to hold your head. His lips land on yours, warming what is cold. Both of your faces are slick and your lips move easily, familiar. He moves both hands to hold you, his mouth becoming hot and wanton against yours. His tongue presses gently against the barrier of your lips and you open your mouth to let him in. It is harsh and calm, warm and hot and everything that exists in between. His heavy, wet, cold hair against your hands in direct contrast to the inferno that engulfs your mouth. Your tongue enters his mouth and they slide along each other. His breath, yours, the crash of waves against the shore away from you, and the calling of one sea bird creates the canvas of sound around you.

He removes his mouth from yours and pulls you, almost roughly into an embrace. Your chin and one arm end up over his shoulder. The warm, wet skin smells of salt and sand and man. His voice makes you swallow a lump that suddenly forms in your throat. "Gods, I missed you. I was unable to write. All I saw for a year was death, Tira. Thinking of coming back here, to you, to the sea, to Alderaan was all that kept me human, I think. When all I was surrounded with was death, and lies and dark and cold, all that flooded my mind was you… and standing here on this beach…in the rain…and never feeling warmer. And your body in the pool by the camp. And your laughter at the fireworks. Gods, love…anything about you…even the color of your eyes. Anything…anything that I could visualize…stabilized me."

You pull away to see his face as a figure borne of water and moonlight. Silver paints the world again…eternal silver…and it makes the water around him twinkle like diamonds hidden in black rippling silk. And his face, so serious now, so tight…almost weary with pain. There is an added depth to this man, an added dimension that fleshes him out into more than what he was. The moonlight touches, glances, glides over his features and hair, beads of water glisten, and catch, drifting down his nose and beard, falling restlessly to his chest to meander to their brothers and sisters of the sea.

With a gentle smile, you reach out a finger to touch and stop the fall of one of the drops to his chest. His muscles bunch under the caress. The movement causes ripples to form and extend out around you. "Qui-Gon…I have thought of you as well. Often. And I still do love you…"

"Give it time, Tira, that is all I am asking. Give us both time to see of each other what has become of ourselves. It is all we have to give and all I have to offer. As you say…I love you…deeply…and I don't know where we are heading…or how to rectify what I want or where we are going to…"

"…to our lives…yes, Qui-Gon. Gods, this would have been easier if we had been able to write."

"I agree, young philosopher." With a gleam in his eyes, he tilts his head forward and lifts your hand to his lips. After he kisses every knuckle, he sighs. "We have two weeks, love."

You tilt your head back to glance at the stars above. "Yes, two weeks…an eternity for us." With a sigh, to join his laugh, you fall forward into his arms and wrap yours around his neck. "But for the love of the Gods, Jedi, can we limit our discussions to dry ground?"

**

"Tira…"

"You know as well as I do…the rules of ethics dealing with interaction of sentient beings, Qui-Gon," you answer, leaning forward on the table. You are full from dinner, and feeling somewhat lethargic, but your mind is still active. And you have always loved verbally sparring with Qui-Gon.

He shakes his head and puts one arm down on the table. It is extended; his hand loose. The shirt that he wears: a loose cotton white shirt, hangs open almost to his waist, and is tucked securely into the brown leggings. His hair is loose except for a tightly bound ponytail holding some of the massive mane. What hangs free catches the golden light of the kitchen and shows a rainbow of browns and reds. "Aye, I know the rules, Tira. They are Alderaan's rules, and by default, are included in the galactic ethics law…"

"They are the only rules that make logical…ethical…sense."

"To you."

"Are you telling me that you don't agree that it is log-"

"It is. And no, I am not disagreeing with the rules…I just don't subscribe to them. Remember…your focus determines your point of view and your point of view determines your reality. I see things through the will and a…filter of the Force." He answers, sighing and sitting back against the wood of the chair back. "The ethics of one planet do not override the will of the Force."

"I am not a Jedi. The will of the Force…"

"Affects everyone, love, not just Force-sensitives."

You sigh and shake your head. The loose shirt and skirt that you wear feels a little too light for the coming night…the wind that sweeps in the door, swirls around your legs and feels…heavenly…but cool. "The difference here, is that I believe in predestination and you see it. And, of course, that you have completely avoided the original argument. Very well done."

"That was not the intention, but thank you for the complement," he says, smiling widely. With a sigh, he leans forward and picks up his mug. The tea inside still emits vapors and you watch as he lifts the vessel to look into it. "We will always disagree on the Jedi interpretation of peace and justice, Tira. We Jedi are…group interpreters and you are an individualist."

With a grin, you rise and pour more water from the tea pot to fill your mug. The citrus and herb smell of the tea is strong and makes you want to inhale and sigh. Warm and wonderful, its smell actually invokes the memory of summers past. "It sounds as though you have fully accepted your Jedi heritage, Qui-Gon."

He turns in his chair to face you, his hands folding in his lap. His shoulders shrug as he answers you. "The confusion of direction and drive of my life is no more, if that is what you mean, Tira. I accept that I am a Jedi and that it is my purpose…I have never felt stronger conviction for anything than that…now…in my life. I might not agree with all the edicts of the Council…"

"If you did agree, you would not be you…"

"Impertinent."

"Stubborn."

You both laugh and you lean back against the counter as you hold your tea cup in front of your face. The contents of the mug warm your hands, almost unbearably. A gust of wind blows in the door, ruffling Qui-Gon's hair. The movement draws your eyes to the open door behind him. The sun has set and the night has fallen, like a blanket drawn over a sleeping baby. With difficulty, you draw your attention back to him. "I am glad, Qui-Gon."

"And you…you are secure in your direction?"

"As much as a 22 year old can be, Qui-Gon."

"Your answer shows your maturity." He comments, rising to pour more tea into his mug. "As for me the embracing of my direction and drive in life have helped me to hurtle into the calm that I have striven for in my life. Let's sit on the porch, Tira."

"That was a sudden change in conversation, Qui-Gon."

"What change? We have sat on the porch these last three nights. And tomorrow is the harvest festival…we will be unable to do so," he says, reaching to hold your hand. You lower it from your mug with ease to lay in his grasp. He turns and walks for the porch, sipping his tea and pulling you along with his other hand. You smile as he faces away from you. You know why Qui-Gon prefers the porch. The chill of the evenings makes sitting close together a necessity. And, truthfully, you do not mind it either.

The floorboards creak underfoot as you both walk out onto the aged wood. He sits on the top step and leads you by the hand to sit between his legs. The step creaks and the rough grain pushes up into your skin through your skirt. You rest back against the step behind you and Qui-Gon's torso as he leans forward to gently wrap his arm around you. His other hand holds his mug as it rests on the steps. "Look at that, Tira…"

You tilt you head back until it connects with his chest. The sky is full of stars, as far as the eye can see; free of clouds, free of anything that would mar the view. You sigh and nod, lifting your own mug to your mouth. "It is beautiful."

"It is more than beautiful, love…I used to look at the stars and think I was sitting next to you. It would remind me of the times I spent here…"

"The night reminds me of those times as well, Qui-Gon," you sigh and turn you cheek to rub his arm for a moment before relaxing fully into his body.

His mouth is warm as it lands on your brow. "It reminded me of more than that, love…" His hand is hot through your shirt; it makes you feel like incinerating where you sit.

"It is hard to remember something that never happened, Qui-Gon…need I refresh your memory…we didn't have…."

You can feel his smile against your skin before he interrupts you. "Not that I didn't try, love. It just seems that logic spoke louder than want…"

"And maybe it still should," you comment, sipping the tea loudly. "Ouch…"

"It's hot."

"That's gracious of you, Qui-Gon…warn me after…"

"What do you mean…maybe it still should…" he asks, ignoring your comment. His hand tightens, drawing you into his body tighter. You lay your mug on the wood in front of you and lay one hand over his against your torso and the other on his thigh as it stretches next to you.

"It's a matter of life, Qui-Gon," you answer, letting his hand rub at your ribs. His hand is so large that it spreads from your abdomen to just under your breasts. It is a touch that you have grown accustom to. And his lips…they have returned as a dear friend to your skin.

"Whose life? Mine?" he asks, holding you firmly in the muscles of his chest. After a moment, you hear the low ceramic clank of his mug against the porch and his body sliding down to sit behind you on the step. His movement allows you to turn slightly to glance at him. His sigh makes you smile. "Tira…"

"You have been very persistent these last few days, Jedi…do you deny it?"

"I don't," he grumbles. "I love you and I want to make love to you. I don't feel that there is a reason to hide that. And you have changed the topic, minutely, but you have evaded it, love."

You grin and nod, looking up at his face in the night. His face is tight, as if he is deep in thought. The bristles under his lower lip rise as he sucks the lip into his mouth. His eyes seem filled with silver steel and you are mesmerized with the slight squint that he uses as he mulls over what he has said. You reach up to gently pull his face to glance at you. The beard feels soft and tickles your palm. "I love you…"

He lifts an eyebrow and bends his neck to let his lips trail across yours. "Continue…"

"Sex would only complicate our relationship, Qui-Gon," you lift your hand to stop his protests. He kisses your fingertips and shakes his head.

"Or it would take it to its next level, love. A predestined level."

You lean into his chest and put your cheek against the firm muscles of his shoulder. You hand naturally falls to trace at the skin that is visible with his open shirt. The hairs on his chest tickle your palm much like his beard. Around you the aroma of spiced tea, ripened fruit and salt swirls and you wrinkle your nose. He traces his finger down the bridge of your nose and sighs. "Tira…can you honestly say…you don't want me?"

"And can you honestly say that you and I can go two to three years without seeing each other in between affairs?" you ask in return, slipping your other arm behind his back. "That there will be no regrets on either of our parts? And yes, I do want you."

He breathes deeply for a moment and then reaches his hand down to cup your chin. The warmth is almost burning in the cool night. "I know what you speak of, Tira. And yes, it would make the time apart from you less…bearable, but I would not regret it. Would you regret our lovemaking?"

You lever yourself away from his chest and shrug once, glancing off to the dunes that surround your house. "I would hope I would not. Regret would be what would change us…change the relationship that we have…not the lovemaking. But time…" The wind gently moves the leaves high overhead and the world is suddenly a bower of noise…rustling and whispers of a breeze lost in the heat of summer. "Time sometimes is not kind."

He nods; you can feel the movement behind you. The breeze moves his hair so that some strands brush your hand. With a grunt, he picks up his mug and hand you yours. The heat from the water has dissipated and only the spicy aroma and lukewarm brew remains. You nod as thanks and cup the mug in both hands, removing one from his body. You turn again, leaning back into his body. His arm returns around you to hold you.

"Aye, sometimes time is not kind, love. But sometimes it is our best friend. Let's see what it brings us." His voice is almost as wispy as the breeze, but it rumbles out of his chest to vibrate your body. His lips are warm against the back of your neck and you put down you mug quickly, turning in his arms…almost surprising him. You remove his mug and cup his cheeks. The tone of his voice is so wishful that it pulls at your heart. Leaning in, you press your lips to his, letting the beard, the softness of his lips and the moist heat of his mouth brush and caress yours. Breathing deeply, you pull away to lean in again only to have him stop you.

"Tira…I won't force the issue on you…"

"I know you won't."

"If it happens…it will be because you want it. You already know my wishes, and my thoughts, and you know that I cannot give promises…"

"You have made it more than clear, Qui-Gon."

He pulls your palm into his mouth to kiss it. "Then let's enjoy the evening. I will wait for you."

You smile and lean in, breathing his breath for a moment…feeling his pulse in the movement of his hair, in the depth of his eyes and in the turn of his mouth. "Thank you…I just can't bear regretting anything I do with you."

You don't give him a chance to answer, pressing your lips against his again. And after several moments, you feel his arms wrap around you and you know that the discussion is at an end. There is only the sky, the trees, the sound of waves and the creaking step that you both sit upon, his lips, your lips and eternal time.

**

"He has not changed."

You lean back, holding on your knees, smiling at the heavens for a moment before you turn your head to meet your friend's eyes. "He has… just not on a level that…"

"You mean not on a level that I would notice. His dancing skills have improved, though." Kyn smiles and matches your stance almost perfectly. "I have missed you, Tira…I would not have come, though, if I knew that…."

"Don't say that!" You exclaim and release your knees to lean over and hug your friend. "It's been two years and I want to see you as much as I want to see him. And it's the harvest festival…it's the perfect time for the all of us to get together." You smile into her shoulder as you feel your best friend's arms wrap around you as well. The heat from the bonfire in front of you is as warm as a midday sun…its ashy, pure heat smell is almost overwhelming…but in its awesome strength lies familiarity and within the familiarity lies calm memories and warm comfort. To see your friend's warm golden hair alit with the background firelight is like a sweeping light from a beacon. The harvest festival has started…gathering friends and lovers from afar together….bringing Kyn back to her hometown…and you.

You have only spent an hour with her…on the dune…high up with the aroma of salt and fire. And you realize that your friendship with her has not waned.

"Qui-Gon is hopeful that I am not staying with you, Tira…the minute part of his gaze that did not smile when he saw me told me as much. I am staying with my parents…"

"You would be welcome with me…"

"He wants to be alone with you at night, Tira, dear friend…"

"Kyn…"

"As far as you go with your career, friend, you still lack in the men area….do you need me to be blunt?"

"You never change."

"Then your love, Qui-Gon, and I, have the same ability in life. He wants to have sex with you, Tira…and frankly, I think you would be a fool to turn him down. He has definitely grown into that body of his… and don't give me that look, Tira Kimdral…he is nothing like Thomas. He really does love you."

You snort and glance at the stars. "You never did like Thomas."

"He never treated you right."

You wiggle your buttocks into the grains of sand and re-wrap your arms around your legs. From your perch on the slight dune at the edge of the cleared area on beach, you can see the couples and people around the fire. The music is just beginning…the dancing has not yet started. Beside you, nestled on its side, is a small basket of starfruit…their ripe purple skins contrasted against the white grains of the sand. Its aroma lifts and surrounds you. You hear the flute trill and the drum beat…the musicians are warming up.

Kyn lifts her chin to motion to the man that walks toward you. Even in the fire-casted shadows, in the darkness that extends over his face, you know it is Qui-Gon. His pants are dark…his shirt is white… orange coated in the flames. He walks alongside your brother, towering over him as he did when they were younger. You sigh, watching Jinn's hair dance in the breeze.

"You love him too, Tira…remember that. It has to be love for you to have stayed by his side this long…as his friend…he is a Jedi after all."

You turn, glaring at your friend. "Kyn…you of all people…"

"Tira…I love Qui-Gon…he is a wonderful person…but he is a Jedi… nothing can change that. He has no ethics but those of his creed. He will always be out and about the galaxy. He will never be around Alderaan for long. That is the bane of being a Jedi. But he will never leave you, not completely. And there is no denying that you are in love and love him, or I would not encourage you…I couldn't as your friend. Don't make him wait too long. Have that special bond with him."

You smile gently and watch as Qui-Gon begins to climb the dune to join you. "Kyn…"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tira…and we will catch up. But, I think, your knight is wanting your attention. I love you, friend."

Before you can talk more, she rises to begin walking down the dune towards the fire. Her golden hair is longer, nearly sweeping her waist; her body is slimmer. So much has changed, but your friendship with her remains. The notes, the vidcalls have flown fast and furious between you these last two years, but it cannot replace seeing her in the flesh. A man waits for her at the bottom of the dune, holding out his hand, and you know that she wants to be with her lover as much as you want to be with yours. You watch as her and her lover's forms disappear into the sharp light of the flames, dissolving into just wisps of shadows…only the afterthought of her golden hair and her lover's midnight tresses…and then nothing.

Nothing except the sound of Qui-Gon's approaching footsteps and the roar of the fire. The roar of the beast that gives warmth that takes life…that gives life back again.

**

The high pitch of the flute makes you feel like spreading wings and taking to flight. It moves your feet, moves your heart, moves your body against Qui-Gon's. His hands hold your hips tightly against his, solidly against the heat that burns as steadily as the flame that leaps up just feet from you. Your hands latch onto his shoulders as he twirls you, fast, whipping you about his body. Your feet intersperse with his, your barefeet barely missing his own.

His chuckle is loud as you lose your footing and you pitch to the side, held only by his molded, hard hands, his hot pelvis and your hands on his body. He slips his arm completely around your waist, supporting your weight. "Did I sweep you off your feet, Tira?"

You gargle a laugh and slip your hands to his neck. "What feet?"

"Then you are walking on air, love?" he asks, as his hand reaches down to cup your buttocks. "I didn't think I had that affect on you."

With a sigh, you twirl your fingers in his hair. The heavy silk makes you want to grab it, to tilt his head back. "You are having an incredible affect on me, tonight, now…."

The music suddenly stops and you are held, gently, almost reverently against his heaving chest…your breaths are heightened to match his. You gasp for air and put your cheek against his warmed, moist chest. The heat affects him as well. As the silence descends, you are able to talk lower. Tilting your head back, you glance up at him and his sparkling blue, deep eyes. The fire paints his skin bronze and his hair almost auburn.

He slips one large warm hand up to cup your head under your hair. You can feel the roughened tips of his fingers, honed and marked by years of saber practice, touch the back of your neck. Your skull feels cradled, cared for, held in a loving palm. Through the tendrils of swirling smoke, ash, flames and embers, amid the embracing citrus, sand and summer smells, you meet his gaze and you feel a heat that gathers in your stomach and reaches out to the tips of your fingers. "Could you?" You breathe.

"Could I what, love?" he asks in return. Another hand brushes your hip and the fingers press into the raised flesh above your buttocks. A trill sounds the beginning of the next dance…a slower one…one with a powerful, rhythmic beat…a sad yet poignant flute harmony. His right leg eases forward to insinuate itself between your thighs, your calves…you feel the hard ridge of his pelvis press into you. You raise both hands to loop and lay against his neck.

Memories encroach on your mind as the music lulls you, the fire heats you and his arms support you:

Sunshine, a dusty path and a errant Jedi…his smile at your jokes, your arguments…his clean shaven young face split in a welcome smile….his promise to write….warm arms and golden voice in your ear… fireworks exploding overhead…his arms in a meadow…his arms in ice…his eyes blue and warm…his lips on yours…a hard yet soft bike seat under you…a planted rose bush…laughter…friendship…a cloak thrown over the both of you on a desert beach….and letters…

Letters.

Letters….your soul written down…everything your mind and soul thinks… everything that you can and can never say…and the giddy, blessed feeling of knowing that you are talking…writing to your soul mate…

With a sigh and a sad shake of your head, you step and sway with him. His arms, hands, keep you firmly….protectively and….Gods from heaven…erotically against his body. What parts of you are not warmed by the fire are heated to a roaring fire by the press of him. "Kyn is right…"

"That remains to be seen, love…about what?" he asks, gently…almost sweetly.

"She right about what she didn't say as much as what she did say."

He smiles and lays his arm against your spine to keep you against the contours of his body. "Cryptic at best…you would make a good Jedi, love."

You turn your cheek on his chest so that you can hear his heart beating. Kyn knows. She knows that you are running from yourself… from Qui-Gon…in your mind…withholding the only part of you that you have not shared with him…because you are scared of yourself. Of what he will mean to you. And in running…which you realize only started when he returned…you have missed the very clear fact…that he has become everything to you: friend, soulmate, lover. Lover in mind, and soul, absent only in body. Sex will not change anything. You love him and the pain will be the same when he leaves.

You begin quietly, rubbing your cheek into the material on his chest: "We talk about predestination…me in my belief in the Gods, you in the ordains of the Force. We are soulmates, Qui-Gon. We always have been since the first day we met…we just didn't know."

"I knew, Tira."

"And that leads me to the question: Could you…"

He rubs his hand into the side of your hip, against your waist. You feel the contours of his chest muscles, his hard thighs and the bulge of his hot cock against your lower abdomen. His steps lead you to the edge of the fire ring where he releases your body and catches your hand. His body peels away from yours and he leads you to the dunes that surround the fire. You sweep around couples as they hold and dance, twirl, laugh and love around you. Friends brush your arms as you walk with the Jedi, but you see nothing but his wide strong shoulders and well-formed buttocks in front of you. You feel nothing but the iron tendons in his hand holding yours. A large dune appears in front of you and he leads you around its base to a quiet private site.

He makes no move to sit, only to turn and gather you in his arms. His hand tilts your head back and his lips descend before you can say anything else. You groan at the pressure…the roughness with which his tongue begs for entrance. Hot…his mouth opens to engulf yours… covering your lips effortlessly. You lean into him…almost boneless. The roar of the fire falls away…the grainy feeling of sand between your toes like a cool, rough wave…the feeling of breeze blowing in your hair…replaced by rough…harsh…all encompassing…you feel your hands go numb…and your stomach erupts in butterflies.

His touch leaves, but your eyes remained shut. Before you can open your eyes…he speaks. "Love, I can do whatever it is you are asking."

You laugh and open your eyes to see his glittering in the night. "Typical over-confidence, Qui-Gon…"

"I know my abilities, Tira, dear," he says, smiling…waiting. "What is it that you wish from me?"

You reach up and touch his whiskered cheek. "I have been running from you…let me finish…Qui-Gon…don't…"

"You don't appear to be moving very fast, Tira…I think you don't want to get away."

"Very funny, Jedi…I have given you everything that I have….my friendship…my caring…my thoughts….and I thought that if I gave you any more…I would be left…with nothing that is my own…but you are right…I don't want to run…I don't…"

His hands brush back and hold your hair…against your cheek…against your ears. "I know what you speak of and I understand. You have been holding back in a small way…evading me. And I have been evading the issue by not pressing the issue. This is unlike us." The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Fear is a powerful ally, love…but only when it exists and overwhelms your enemies. It does not belong in a relationship like ours…it does not belong with love."

"I am not afraid of the relationship, Qui-Gon, or the love…just the feeling in me when you have to go."

"I feel the same. But I have overcome that which I cannot control…in order to love you, I will feel the pain. THAT is the lesson that I had to learn. It is not the strength of my love that my Master feared. Love is of the light. It was the pain, the possible jealousy, the sadness that comes when lovers part that is of the dark. When I accept it…I can dispel it…it is a worthy sacrifice. Love can be our strength, Tira, not our weakness."

"Well spoken. And…it is noted. I want to bond with you…"

His laugh warms you like no herbal tea ever could. "I do not think you are talking about hand-fasting, dear. Just tell me that you wish to make love and we can avoid a mincing of words and return to the dancing…"

You open your mouth and tilt your head back to laugh…only to have a big, wet drop splash on your nose…and it is soon followed by its kin… hitting your body and rolling down your face. Rain.

**

The sound of falling rain is loud…loud as it crashes through the leaves overhead. The drops are diverted, manhandled and allowed to roll to the ground…but they are not deterred. Everything suddenly is covered, drenched…you included. Your hair is plastered to your head and your clothes to your body. The ground under your bare feet gives more…moving as if liquid as it is as soaked as you are…pooling as mud. The splash of your steps is almost as loud as the falling rain… as your laughter.

Qui-Gon still holds your hand. He runs ahead of you, pulling you gently…leading you through the orchard which has suddenly become as dark as night. The smell of fire, salt and citrus is replaced with ozone and the heavenly smell of summer rain.

"Incredible…"

Others run behind you…you can hear the laughter and groans, the multitude of pounding wet steps.

"This is beautiful!" you yell to Qui-Gon above the ambient sound.

"This is rather wet, Tira!" he yells back, his hand tightening on yours. "And no, we are not going to the beach…"

You tilt your head back to feel the cool drops on your face. You feel Qui-Gon take a sharp right towards the thickest part of the orchard. "Qui-Gon…that will…"

"Will keep us somewhat dry and take us in the general direction of you house, love!" you hear called back.

"Will take us through a part of the orchard that…will…"

"I know we will come into contact with the fruit and the leaves, Tira… but it is the best way to your house…trust me…"

"Do I have a choice?" you yell back, running slightly faster to draw closer to his back. "You always were a little reckless…"

He laughs loudly and pulls with his arm to bring you against his back as you enter the thick part of the orchard. You can feel the cool embrace of wet leaves against your bare skin at your arms and legs…as they brush past him to slap you. The sound of rain is drowned by the ruckus that Qui-Gon makes as he barrels through the branches. You tuck your face into the warm wetness of his back…the white cotton shirt that he wears is almost transparent….almost useless.

Qui-Gon keeps talking as thunder rumbles close by and the night is split by a bolt from heaven. He knows how you hate lightning. "Reckless, Tira…a strong word…"

"A correct word…" you answer as Qui-Gon slows to make his way through the now close and numerous branches. Your wet shirt presses into your skin as you lean into Qui-Gon's back. The sudden appearance of his warmth against your chilled skin makes your nipples tighten and rise. You gasp at the suddenness of it. "If you would rather, heedless, unconcerned…"

"I really would rather not…" he chuckles as you feel his muscles tighten to move another branch out of his way. You hear a dull thud and a sigh that shakes his body. He is right about your placement… there is less rain falling on you…only drizzles and single drops as opposed to a deluge. Water falls from your hair, running across your nose and cheeks. "But your vocabulary is impressive…"

"I have quiet a few words that I have been saving since my brothers taught them to me…" your cheeky comment is cut off as a bolt of lightning lights the sky and thunder follows quickly behind…like a dog following its owner. You press into Qui-Gon and swallow, opting not to finish your sentence over the vestigial rumbling.

He doesn't answer you or laugh; he just squeezes your hand. The trees thin out, easing in intensity within minutes and you see that you are indeed close to your house. You see the edge of the orchard and the path just beyond that gently turns away from town towards your little cove. The large pine tree that hangs over the path sways in the wind…whipping overhead.

Qui-Gon eases you around his bulk, steadying you with his arms and then clears the branches finally. His arm falls to your shoulder, brushing down your arm to catch your hand again. The way that his hand gently sweeps across is absent of friction…sweet and slick. You can only see him as various shades of black…and he seems taller, stronger…wider and more of a presence. "Come on, Tira…love, your house is right around the bend…I think."

"It is…very good sense of direction…"

"That is not what Master Yoda tells me…come on…" he yells as another roar of thunder and the brightness of lightning splits the sky. "It's going to pour…"

You laugh loudly and pull your hand from his to throw your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling yourself off the ground to kiss his slick, wet lips. You taste the freshness of summer rain and hot solid man/ torrid kiss. You put your forehead against his as his arms wrap around your hips and waist to keep you against him. "And this is a drizzle I suppose," you comment.

"A tad more than that, love," he says and you feel rather than see his wide smile. "But it will give you your puddles…"

You smile and kiss his nose and lips again. The rain only serves to wet your face, to increase the taste of the kiss…the drops splash against your body…but your clothes cannot wet any further. He tastes you thoroughly, allowing his rough hot tongue to enter your mouth and plunder it. Deep…splitting you open with his mouth…laying your mind and soul bare…your bare toes curl into his legs…the material cold and wet against the skin….your already sensitized nipples ache…spreading out from your chest to your fingers…you can feel it tingle…

And you pull away gasping. He lowers you away from him…lowering you to the ground. His heat leaves you to be replaced with the fresh rain…and you blink as the drops run down your face and land in your eyes. His legs…his cock…hard and burning through the thinned wet material…are all you feel as your body is lowered from him…as your feet alight on the ground. You can barely feel the ground beneath you…your head is in the clouds…which cry on you now.

His hand, thumb, rub against your cheek just under your right eye. Then that hand reaches for yours and you and he race down the path, jumping the puddles…laughing…it is all freedom…all loveliness…all beauty…this summer unexpected rain. Soon you see your house, nestled in the bosom of the dunes…the rain falls harder as you and he run out from under the cover of the trees for a short distance to the porch. You hear the creaking of the wood as you run to the door, fishing out your key. Soon the door swings open, and after you enter, it swings shut.

Over your gasping and laughing, you hear the silence…the dull pounding of the rain on the roof. Qui-Gon leans forward, a shadow in the kitchen, to lay his hands on his knees and to breathe. "Tira…"

"Never a dull moment, is there?"

"No, never, love…Gods…"

You laugh and reach behind you to activate the lighting features in the kitchen. The warm golden light of your lamp floods the room. The first thing you see is Qui-Gon.

And you groan.

"Qui-Gon…you are…"

He lifts his hands away from his body to glance at his clothing. He is covered in purple starfruit juice on his chest and arms. His legs are coated with mud. His bare feet are caked mud and leaves. Although you expected the mud and leaves, the starfruit is a bright, and unexpected, addition. "Filthy.."

"So it appears, love," he answers.

"You look like you did that day in the tree…do you remember?" you ask, smiling and leaning back against the counter.

"As though I would forget…" he sighs. He stands and lets his eyes wash over your body….from your wet, dirty feet to your skirt which clings to your legs to your shirt…white and soaked, holding, cupping your enflamed breasts…to your long hair plastered to your head…and finally they pin your eyes. The gaze is hot…and untamed. It seems as you though you look at blue flames…akin to the embers from the bonfire. "…that was the day that I knew…without a doubt…that you were a friend."

Your breasts press against your shirt…you know your nipples are clear to view…and somehow you don't feel unsure…you almost want him to look… and to warm you again. He has touched your naked body…but always in the dark of night or the dark of water…never…for clear viewing. Your eyes fall from his down his purple stained chest to the juncture of his thighs. His cock is very prominent, hard and massive against the tight, wet material of his black pants.

"Gods…I love you, Tira…you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…"

Your eyes whip back up to his. "I'm a drowned rat…"

"You are a beautiful drowned rat and you are my drowned rat, love… that added to your personality, mind, soul and that incredible body that the rain has seen fit to reveal…" he shakes his head….his eyes never leaving your body. "…the additive effect, love…is quite addictive."

Flames…the heat spreads throughout your body…up to your chest…your neck. The solid structure of the counter and sink seems to fall away. You feel like you are floating. Before you can answer, before you can speak, he raises his hand and cleared his throats. "I need to clean up, love, before we continue this…"

You smile and lower your head. "Purple does not become you…"

"Thank you…" he answers, laughing.

"The bathtub is yours, Qui-Gon…" you turn to walk towards the hallway. "Let me change…"

You wash the dirt from your feet and arms and bend over the sink. The bathroom light is broken and you have lit several candles to help Qui-Gon see what he is doing. Your hair is up on your head. The flames from the candles flicker as a breeze enters through the open window, a memory of the storm that blew threw earlier and of storms that approach….but right now…the world is peaceful. The blue rose bush hangs in the window, its bloom heavy with dew glistens in the light against the filmy curtains that you hung…happily…just the week before.

With a sigh, you turn and walk out into the hallway and are greeted with Qui-Gon. His shirt hangs, drying on his frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His legs are crossed…the material of the pants pulled tight on the hard muscles beneath their surface. He holds a towel in his hand and has a half-smile on his face. His blue eyes are still alit with humor…and with lust….love. "Love?"

"The bathroom is yours…I'll bring you in some starfruit wine to help warm you…" you say, lifting your hand to touch at his drying hair. "And then I'll let you relax…we can talk later…"

"You could join me…"

"I could…and my life would never be the same, Qui-Gon…"

"You are right, it wouldn't be the same, love…and neither would mine… but I welcome the change."

You smile and nod, turning toward the kitchen. At the last minute, you turn back and laugh quietly. Qui-Gon is slowly unbuttoning his shirt, letting the bronze skin underneath loose. His hair is dark, long and wet brushes his shoulders.

"I welcome it too, Qui-Gon…Jedi. But I will wait until you are done in the bath…"

"Philosopher…" he does a mock bow, pulling the last of the shirt loose from his pants. "Very well…bring the wine…I'll take a bath and then we can talk."

You nod and walk into the kitchen to gather the wine. You can hear the water start in the tub…the sound loud in the tiled bathroom. The wine pitcher and the crystal glass that you gather are solid, hard in your hands….grounding you. He is still in his pants as you walk into the bathroom and place the articles on a low box next to the tub. You can feel his eyes on you as you leave the room again, closing the door most of the way. Let him bathe…in peace…let him relax and then you can find out whether you and he will make equally good lovers as you are friends.

But…

As you hear him lower his body into the water that you know is hot, you feel a pull to look into the room. To watch his beautiful body… that matches his beautiful mind…his purist soul…to see those long legs…powerful muscular chest…strong arms and massive shoulders covered in glistening water.

You think for only a moment. You wait for only a moment. And then you realize…this moment…this rainy, fresh evening in the harvest…this one moment was predestined. You were his before you met him. That you were his from that fateful moment on a dusty path that he bumped into your body. Like a pebble that disturbs the surface of a lake…a momentary occurrence that causes a continual change in the entire lake. That meeting has changed your life from that moment as it has changed his.

And both of you are the better for it…and both of you are honed, molded for only each other.

You face the door through which the flickering candle flames can be seen. Through which the fresh, rain driven breeze blows. And where you hear the gentle waves against the porcelain of the tub. And with a smile, you move to the door…to glance in upon your friend, your love, your Jedi.