I set the night lamp in its place, and knelt beside him. 'I would follow you to the last shores of the world, if it were a thousand miles.' He said, 'Stay with me here instead.'
~Mary Renault, The Persian Boy

In the end there had been an assassination attempt on Nivalis Prime. The Royal Cohort had plotted against the Regent only to have their plan foiled by Jedi intervention. For in the end the two Jedi were revealed to be more than neutral observers of the king's appointing of his regent. And in the end, Qui-Gon Jinn found himself housed in a spartan military barracks, devoid of his cloak and miserably cold. He had been fighting a head cold for two days with some success, barely even perceiving the annoying itch between his ears and throat, the occasional sniffle or sneeze. But most of his energy had been expended in the skirmish with the assassins the evening before. The little scratchy feeling had gradually progressed to a full blown head cold, complete with runny nose, sinus headache, sore throat and the constant urge to sneeze or rub his nose in prevention thereof. As for his cloak, he had given it to Obi-Wan without a second thought after his padawan's own cloak and tunics were singed with blaster fire and destroyed.

As his thoughts wandered to his apprentice, Qui-Gon touched the young man's mind tentatively. Only shields received his touch once again as Obi-Wan carefully kept all his thoughts and emotions to himself. Obi-Wan had been withdrawn since the treason trials late last night; even as they lay together in bed for a few hours that morning something had separated them. Walking briskly along side the regent's aide-de-camp, Drios Ayers, he dismissed the worry temporarily from his mind and softly blew his nose, trying to listen to his partner.

"Communications, you will find, I'm sure, are very efficient here on Nivalis Prime, only the best in inter-galactic transmission technology is utilized. Our comm-tech engineers have an advanced - Master Jinn? Is something wrong?" The aide stopped when his boot heels were the only pair he heard echoing in the perma-steel corridor. Data-pad clutched to his chest he stared blankly as the Jedi waved for him to come no closer. In an attempt at being subtle, Qui-Gon turned his back to the aide and covered his nose with the omni-present handkerchief. His constant need to sniffle and clear his throat had been enough to earn him an annoyed glare from the aide, a sneezing fit was just about going to top that off. Letting the tickle build up quietly, he tensed his body slightly and held his breath for the second it took for the sneezes to come.

"Heh, hnnchhah! Incchahh! hmphuh! ahhh, hahh- ah, huhnshh!" The frequency and strength of his sneezes was getting greater as his cold developed. Stifling the sneezes made his body ache with tension and did nothing for the tickle in his nose, but at least a bit of his dignity was preserved. A little bit, he thought ruefully, as he mopped his nose and avoided the impatient aide-de-camp's eyes. Clearing his throat and choosing to ignore the exasperated sigh that followed, Qui-Gon turned to Ayers.

"Pardon me, please," stopping briefly to sniffle and rub his nose again, Qui-Gon indicated that the man continue their walk down the halls. Lifting the handkerchief to his face again he let the rest of the sneezes come as he stepped gingerly behind the younger man. It was easy enough to not pay attention to Ayers anyway.

"Inshaa! hehchmpff!" Breathing slowly and silently, Qui-Gon recovered from the sneeze attack and swallowed hard after clearing his throat. With a level voice and no hint of the weariness he was beginning to feel, the Jedi gave a simple directive to Drios Ayers.

"Just direct me to the main communications chamber, so I can make contact with Coruscant."

"Of course, Master Jinn." The aide responded tersely and led Qui-Gon to the communications room. However, Ayers chose to forego acknowledging the other man's obvious illness and after a brief pause took up his previous prattle about comm-tech study. Allowing the man the indulgence to listen to his own voice, Qui-Gon attended him in silence. Trying not to catalogue his growing list of cold symptoms, he concentrated on the brief messages he had to send to both the Senate and the Jedi Council. Once at the chamber he politely dismissed Drios Ayers and thanked him for his assistance.

As the heavy door thudded shut, Qui-Gon entered the room and nodded to the comm workers. Sitting at a comm-link console he sighed deeply. Exhausted both mentally and physically, this head cold was bound to get the better of him. A rather stunned and achy feeling had invaded his head, as if someone had socked him with a sack of wet sand at the base of his skull. Leaning his forehead on his hands Qui-Gon tried once again to get in touch with Obi-Wan. His young lover was still shielding carefully, not tightly, but enough to indicate a need for privacy.

Before even turning on the console, Qui-Gon took the time to put his appearance to rights and disguise his ailment. Pushing his hair off his shoulders he buried his nose in the handkerchief and blew copiously. After a quick, harsh cough rid some of the hoarseness from his throat, the Jedi keyed in the frequency for Chancellor Valorum's office on Coruscant and left a brief, comprehensive summary of the events. Fighting the urge to sniffle back the itchy feeling or massage the tip of his nose, he spoke as quickly as decorum allowed. A similar communique was sent to the Jedi Council, although a short message for Qui-Gon had been left by Master Yoda. Apparently a planet in the same system requested Jedi intervention in some affair of state; they would be sending transport in two days time for Jedi Knight Jinn and Padawan Kenobi.

Groaning, Qui-Gon flipped off the console. In the end he was stuck on a frozen, gray planet for two days with a heavy cold and a distant bondmate.

Two days between assignments are two days off, no matter how you look at it, thought Qui-Gon as he walked through the corridors of the barracks. Two days in this building, even with its harsh amenities, was better than two more days in the field trying to shake off a cold. The impersonal monochrome of the walls and the glaring lights made him think wistfully of the Temple, the simple, comfortable quarters he shared with Obi-Wan. This mission would have been draining without the addition of a head cold. They had spend three months off world before arriving on Nivalis Prime, worn out with diplomatic work and peacekeeping duties long before the attack on the regent occurred.

Casting his eyes up and down the hallway quickly, Qui-Gon ascertained that he was alone in the long bright corridor. His nose had been running as he walked down the halls, the constant sniffling had given him a case of the tickles as a result. Somehow the feeling managed to wriggle its way from the tip of his nose, where he was sniffling back the runniness, to the very back of his nose, where he could feel a sneezing fit start to gain intensity. Pinching his nose loosely, he prepared to stifle back as many of the sneezes as he could; alone or not, the idea of his sneezes echoing in the hallway did not appeal to him in the least.

"Huhh, ehh, huh-nchhuh! hunchhishhh! huh, ahhh, annchoo! ummppshh!! knschhhahh!" Shoulders shaking from the impact of the sneezes, Qui-Gon took a minute to steady himself. Giving his nose a good rub and sniffling strongly he took up his journey down the hallways again. Weary really wouldn't describe how he felt by now, run down was more like it. Add that to the worry that niggled in the pit of his stomach, the sense that something was wrong with his bondmate, and you had one Jedi master, rather worse for wear.

Those two days would be spent with Obi-Wan; he could not forget he'd have to try and figure out why the young man had shut him out. The two days would be dreary if he had to suffer through this and not be able to comfort or be comforted by Obi-Wan. Coughing into his sleeve he walked up to their room and paused before the doorway. His padawan was in the room, that much he could sense along their bond. Avoiding Obi-Wan was not an option, no matter how he looked at it. The room wasn't big enough, first of all, and besides, he missed his bondmate. Palming the door open, he entered the tiny bedchamber.

Obi-Wan sat on the hard sleep pallet, his master's robe wrapped around him like a blanket. The cold, blue gray light of evening painted the room with dull quietude. A tiny window broke the monotony of the wall and the swirl of snowflakes that danced on the other side of the plexi-glass panel held the attention of the young man, even as his master entered and sat down next to him. Obi-Wan turned to his master slowly, gazing at him flatly before Qui-Gon could speak. Silently Qui-Gon reached over a little and attempted to brush his hand across his padawan's jawline. A slight flinching stopped his hand mid-air and he drew back.

Obi-Wan's own features were pinched from the cold and lack of sleep, dull in the faded evening light. But it was his master's appearance that concerned young man, even though no words were uttered between them. Qui-Gon had settled on the hard mattress and crossed his arms over his chest for warmth when Obi-Wan drew back at his touch. Head leaning against the wall and eyes closed, Qui-Gon looked cold, tired and sick. The energy he had demonstrated in the past week was nowhere to be seen, no determined gaze, no firm set jaw. Just exhaustion. A soft sigh lingered as he opened his eyes and met the stare of the young man. Parting his lips and moistening them with the tip of his tongue, Qui-Gon looked up as if about to speak. Instead of talking, however, he gasped sharply and cupped his hands over his nose, as a half-expectant look hovered on his face, his eyes fluttering shut. Bending forward at the waist, he sneezed freely and with a sense of resignation, the cold had already overpowered him. At least here he didn't have to pretend otherwise, Obi-Wan knew he was ill, his padawan would understand.

"ahhushoooo! eh,heh-shooo! ahh, hahh-eshhSHOO!" Hesitating a moment before removing his hands, Qui-Gon sniffled wetly. One more sneeze, he could feel it coming on, tickling deep in his nasal passages, making his breath come in anticipatory pants.

"Ahhh, hhhuhh, hahhahAHSOOO!" Sneezing forcefully he pressed his nose into his hand, trying to eliminate the residual tickly feeling by rubbing his nostrils a little. The sneezes had made his nose start to run afresh and left him with an all over bleary feeling. Looking up over his fingertips he caught the slightly softer look on his padawan's face. Lowering his hands he excused himself quietly and tried to make due with an already very used handkerchief.

Part of Obi-Wan yearned to touch his master, to grasp him in a fierce embrace, but something inside put a tight clamp on that yearning. It felt like ten parsecs separated his eyes from those of his master, despite the fact he was looking right into them. Mumbling a quiet blessing and he firmed his face once more and said no more about his master's illness. Not able to bear the hurt in Qui-Gon's eyes any longer, Obi-Wan turned away and spoke without emotion.

"You've heard from Coruscant, Master."

"Yes. We are not to return yet." Qui-Gon measured his words carefully and watched his apprentice stiffen as he gave his answer. Unsure of what to say next he remained silent, awaiting some reaction from his padawan. Taking advantage of the pause, awkward as it was, he raised his handkerchief and coughed into it harshly. The sniffles had made his throat itchy, and the coughing made it even painful to talk. The ache in his throat was becoming more and more raw with every cough or word he uttered, so perhaps silence was best for a bit. If only Obi-Wan would let his shields down a little. Swallowing around the pain in his throat he waited again.

"When will the transport arrive then?" His padawan's voice didn't waver; indeed, it remained even and unexpressive. The line of tension, however, in Obi-Wan's back increased.

"In two days, but not to Coruscant. We are to first attend some business in the next sector of this system. Obi-Wan, please." Laying his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, Qui-Gon tried to get the young man to at least look at him again. The muscles under his hand were tensed, taut with stress and anxiety. Suddenly, Obi-wan snapped his head around and glared back at his master, blue-gray eyes glinting.

"Another mission? I ... but, you're.... Master, I don't even have a tunic to wear! You mean we are stuck on this ice rock for two. more. days." Obi-Wan stared at his master, shields held firmly in place, mouth set in a thin line.

"Obi, please -" Stroking the painfully tense body next to him, Qui-Gon was forced to yield to both his apprentice's outburst and a tickle in his throat, thus coughing while Obi-Wan continued his tirade.

"Two more days! My commlink is fried, I don't have a shirt to wear, so I either sit bundled in this voluminous cloak of yours while you walk around shivering or I sling my belt around my hips and saunter about topless like the Jedi pleasure boy? Another planet and I don't have a tunic to wear!" Tears glistened in the young man's eyes, replacing the harshness of a few minutes ago. His shoulders shook a little and he breathed in a ragged, choked manner.

"And you, you're so ill, and you couldn't even tell me! One little word! Do you think I wouldn't warm your hands with my touch? Do you think I wouldn't want to hold you a little closer at night? Is it so different here? I don't want it to be different, I'm still your bondmate away from the Temple." Obi-Wan inhaled sharply through his nose and rested his forehead in his hands. Qui-Gon was never distant or secretive with him, that wasn't the problem, but why did he have to hide his troubles from him? What Obi-Wan wouldn't give to kiss away the ache and discomfort he could feel radiating over their bond! Why didn't his master understand that?

"Instead, I have to wait until you're too tired to walk, let alone fight illness? I have to wake up and listen to you suffer through racking fits of coughing or see you have to stifle back bouts of sneezes until your eyes are streaming and oh, Force! I love you, don't you even care?"

Rising from the pallet, he walked shakily into the 'fresher cubicle. Clutching the robe around his bare chest, while the hem dragged on the floor, enveloped by the heavy brown material Obi-Wan appeared very young and very hurt. Beyond that, the whole situation had gotten rather confused to Qui-Gon. Obviously, he had done something to upset Obi-Wan, however, the fact that he was starting to sense everything as if through a layer of gauze sort of complicated things. Congestion was setting in, making it difficult to hear or breathe and he was already feeling groggy from his frequent sneezing and coughing.

Intending to follow Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon also rose from the sleep pallet. A rush of dizziness forced to sit down again, taking care not to increase the suddenly intense throbbing in his head. Pressing his hands to his temples he sought his center, using a small tendril of the Force to calm himself.

// Obi-Wan? Please come back, Aretos, I'm sorry. //

No response. Then a tiny Force push over their bond, something between annoyance and worry. And love.

// Aretos, what could you have done? It's a head cold. We can talk about it? //

Still no reply. Sighing, Qui-Gon let his apprentice take his time. Obi-Wan didn't usually get so upset; injury or illness was common on missions. Qui-Gon often kept what suffering he felt to himself, especially when duty came first. Groaning inwardly as another bout of sneezing threatened his nose, Qui-Gon raised the pitifully damp handkerchief to his face. The whole train of thought was starting to make his head spin again, and the sneezes weren't helping one single bit.

"ahhh, humpshoooo! ehahashooooo! Shooo, ahhhehisshoooo!!" The sneezes were deep and husky, a result of his irritated throat. Blowing his nose strongly into the handkerchief, he stood up to see if Obi-Wan would talk to him now. As he rose, however, his apprentice reappeared in the 'fresher doorway.

Obi-Wan walked into the room, treading softly. The cloak falling open at his chest and sleeves tumbling past his wrists, he placed a box of tissues and a glass of water on the floor by the pallet. Sitting down alongside his master he took a few sips from the glass then handed it to Qui-Gon, a peace offering of sorts. Closely watching as his master wiped his nose roughly on the edge of a tunic sleeve and then finished the glass of water, Obi-Wan's features became tender and sad. With deliberately gentle movements he placed the empty glass on the floor again and took away the damp handkerchief from his master's hands. Pressing a fresh, dry tissue to his master's nose, he delicately wiped it clean. As an arm wrapped around his waist Obi-Wan touched his lips to his master's cheek, kissing it lightly.

"Blessings. I just wish you told me, beloved." He sighed and looked away again, his eyes looking somewhere past the four walls around them. There was just so much more than missing tunics or ignored head colds that upset him.

" Oh, Master, I want to go home." Obi-Wan's voice was small and quiet, but the whole roomed felt as if it were filled with his emotion. Grasping his master's hand, he began to play with Qui-Gon's fingers, stroking and petting them one by one.

"Soon, padawan, soon. But tell me, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon moved closer to his bondmate, seeking the comfort of warmth by hugging Obi-Wan. He sniffled a little, his nose still running from the most recent fit of sneezes.

"What? Home? You know, tea in the morning with you, the way you read out loud in the study in your stocking feet, how I always have to fix the comm-link console and you growl 'padawan' and pull my braid when I fall asleep on the couch. You, trusting me to love you, all of you." The words grew more hushed and choked as Obi-Wan continued. Lifting the hand he held to his mouth he kissed the back and held it to his face.

Loosening his hand from Obi-Wan's grip, Qui-Gon laid it gently on his padawan's bare chest, over his heart. Rapid heartbeats pulsed under the skin, thrumming against the palm of his hand.

"This his home for me, Obi-Wan." Turning his head and coughing as lightly as he could manage, he hushed his padawan's protest that he not speak. "The light in your eyes, the warmth of your spirit, that is home enough for me. How foolish I was to never let you know that I came home the moment I looked into my bondmate's eyes. How foolish I was not to let you give me that sanctuary here and deny you what is home enough for the both of us." Qui-Gon spoke quietly, his voice rasping in his throat.

"Bondmate." Obi-Wan whispered, laying his hand over the one that covered his heart. Oh, he respected and cared deeply for his master; but he loved his bondmate. Opening his heart, he felt what Qui-Gon meant, more acutely than words could ever show. Bondmate, home, concepts they would both need to work on. The tears that pricked at his eyes and the sob that rose in his throat dissipated when Obi-Wan let the bond open anew. His issues could not be dealt with in one evening, especially this specific evening.

For the problem at hand was a rather sick Jedi master who demanded attention. Qui-Gon had removed his hand from his padawan's chest and had placed a finger under his nose, bending slightly at the waist as a tickle built up. His breath coming in uneven pants, he twisted his body away from Obi-Wan as much as he could, one arm still embracing the young man. Obi-Wan, on other hand, edged a little closer, offering warmth and comfort. Qui-Gon's eyes slid shut as he pressed his finger into his nose and the sneezes hit.

"AHHHuhishooooo! ehssshhooo! uhh, huhh, huh, uhchoo! huh-ehcchoo! ahhchoooo! huhhishooo!" Running his finger under his nose a few times, waiting to see if the tickles were all sneezed out, Qui-Gon sniffled strongly and turned to Obi-Wan again.

"Finished?" Obi-Wan raised his eyes and smiled as the sneezy look lingered on his master's face. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a second, shook his head, then moved his hand a little to cup it over his nose.

"Ah, ihhhischoo! Ahh-eshooo! Ahhhh, ohh, yes, there we go," sniffling again, he picked up the tissues that had been placed on the bed, "Finished."

"Bless you," Obi-Wan leaned over and kissed his master's shoulder and the silky hair that had spilled over it. Turning to face Qui-Gon as the man relinquished the hug in order to use both hands to blow his nose, Obi-Wan spoke to him over their bond. The mental voice was timid, as if asking to gain entrance after a too long absence.

// Will my bondmate let me take care of his not so very well disguised head cold, then? //

Obi-Wan removed his hand from his lap and turned to feather a touch across Qui-Gon's forehead. The tension in the Jedi master's body eased at the mental touch, the familiar voice in his mind once again.

// Oh, my own, my Aretos, I do hope you know, I didn't mean to upset you. //

Soft fingertips traced his eyebrows, the outline of his mouth, as Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sent a wave of love and regret over their bond. The touch moved to his cheek, stroked the short beard, petted the sensitive skin of his neck, pulled his head down into a gentle kiss.

// You have an indulgent bondmate, Qui-Gon, he needs to take care of you. And learned a lesson, we both have. //

Snuggling closer to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan leaned his head on the man's shoulder and slipped a hand inside his tunics. With closed eyes the padawan reached across their bond as Obi-Wan attempted to sense the illness his master had come down with. Satisfied with the general sense of 'bad cold' he could get, untrained as he was in healing, Obi-Wan looked up at his master. Qui-Gon looked a little pale, except for his nose, which was getting pink, and he had that weary, fuzzy look on his face. The sniffles had returned, and Qui-Gon averted his eyes from the direct gaze of his apprentice as he tried to get his nose to stop running.

// You should see a healer, my Master. But I'm loath to let you out of my sight for the time being. //

"Come, my Qui-Gon. First, you need to clear your nose again." Handing over a fresh handful tissues Obi-Wan waited until his master filled them all up and had gotten rid of the sniffles for the time being. He then patted Qui-Gon's leg as he sniffled with finality and gave his nose a few swipes with the last tissue.

"Feel better? No, hush." Placing his hand on Qui-Gon's cheek, he brushed a thumb across his mate's lower lip. The cloak slid off his shoulders aided by a languid shrugging motion and he drew Qui-Gon's head down onto his chest, sighing at the touch of the warm cheek and prickly beard against his skin. Sliding the hair band out and letting the long hair fall loosely; he began to massage his master's scalp, running the long hair through his fingers. As his free hand attempted to undo the belt around Qui-Gon's waist, he started to hum contentedly. He dropped the belt to the ground with a thud and laughed at the sound.

Reluctantly Qui-Gon lifted his head as the warm, half-clothed young body next to him slipped off the bed and began to remove his boots. Unbuckling and tugging them off, Obi-Wan placed them out of the way and began to rise. Suddenly the chirp of a comm-link split the air, rudely interrupting the drowsy, complacent ease of undressing that they had fallen into.

"NO! You will not answer that, Master." Obi-Wan deftly slapped his master's hand away and reached for the comm-link. Standing up he flicked it on and prepared to speak to whoever was looking for Master Jinn.

"Kenobi here. No, he's ill. NO! Hold on a moment." Stepping closer to the bed, he put his arm around his master's shoulders and held him close, stroking his back as a tickle in this throat made Qui-Gon cough.

"Yes, fine, fine. I'll tell him. Thank you, that's quite right. Yes, indeed. I shall. Kenobi out." Putting the comm-link down, he knelt in front of his master. Eyebrows knit in concern, a line of worry etched between said brows, Obi-Wan pressed his lips together and then spoke.

"Are you all right?" As Qui-Gon nodded and cleared his throat after a few wet snuffles, Obi-Wan rested his own head on his master's knees.

"That was your friend Drios Ayers. He told me to come to supply to get some new clothes. But I'll stay with you, love." Obi-Wan looked up as a hard carded through his short hair.

"Obi, I can manage. But could, you - holl-hold on I- ahhishchooo! oh, ashooo!" Quickly burying his face in both hands, not able to catch the first sneezes, he tried to cover up the rest. " ahhh, hishsoo! ahh, huuhhh, ahhishooo! eshooo! IshhAhhhh!!"

Shaking his hair off his face, Qui-Gon kept his hands over his face, slightly embarrassed by the suddenness and severity of his sneeze attack.

// Tissue, master? Here, don't worry, you didn't get much of that sneeze on me. //

Taking the offered tissue, Qui-Gon wiped his hands carefully and then set about blowing his nose again. No matter how many times he cleaned his nose out, he seemed to be getting more and more stuffed up. The sneezes made him sniffly, but weren't clearing his nasal passages any.

// Now, master, what? Could I what? Stop; don't be embarrassed in front of me. //

// Oh, a handkerchief? Bring me one please? //

// One? Right. Many is more like it, love. I'll bring you some tea, also. Not that I particularly want to leave. //

Shoving his arms into the large cloak once more, Obi-Wan prepared to take care of his few errands. Sighing as he wrapped the large garment around himself he stooped forward and felt his master's forehead.

"Do you need some medicine? I can stop at the med-bay, too. Change for sleep while I'm gone, I'll take care of you when I return. Just like home." Kissing the forehead, then nose of his master he sent tiny waves of affection over their bond. Warmly embracing Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon reassured his padawan that he'd be fine for the few minutes.

// You're fussing. //

// No, I'm not. You're sick! You just sneezed all over me, don't argue with me. //

// Fine, love. And Aretos? //

// Yes? // Obi-Wan turned around as he opened the door to the chambers.

// Keep that cloak shut. Pleasure boy, indeed. Hurry back, love. //

As Obi-Wan left the room, the Jedi master stood in order to finish undressing. The congestion in his head had been building steadily and his nose started to run as soon as he rose and began moving about. His sleeve was already on the damp side from past sniffles, but it was closer than the tissues. Rubbing his nose into the material he managed to halt the runniness for a bit. The sash was unwound from his waist, the tabard quickly lifted off his shoulders and his outer tunic shucked off. Tying his hair into a tail in the back of his head and grabbing the tissues, he headed for the 'fresher cubicle.

Standing in front of the sink in undertunic and leggings, he leaned over to wash his face. The cold had not only made him feel stuffed up and disoriented, but his eyes were starting to feel gritty and sting a little. Finally opting to just pull off the undertunic, as opposed to pushing the sleeves up, he stood, bare chested, and splashed warm water on his face. The thought of Obi-Wan walking through the halls in his robe made him smile; his padawan did have a wanton look about him, wearing only that robe and a pair of leggings. Patting his face dry, he leaned his back against the sink. Groaning, he put the towel down and grabbed a handful of tissues, his nose was starting to act up again.

"Ahhh, heh, heh heh----ASHOO! ishoooo! aheshshoooo! ishhhahhhshh!" Wiping his nose once, he crumpled the tissues he had already managed to soak. Pressing a few more to his nose he blew strongly and loudly and found some relief. As the passing dizziness faded, he walked back into the bedchamber and threw his undertunic on the pile of clothes by the bed. The hard, uncomfortable bed was starting to look like paradise, for his head and back were achy. Stripping down to undershorts and untying his hair, he slid in between the blankets, too sick to remember he had sleep pants to change into. Closing his eyes, he waited for Obi-Wan to return.

Dumping his pile of supplies on the floor, Obi-Wan placed the carafe of tea and tea cups next to the bed. Settling himself on the bed, he played with a strand of his master's hair. Qui-Gon had dozed off while he was gone and Obi-Wan was relishing the few moments before he awoke to just look at his master. Leaning forward he rested his cheek on the man's forehead, listened to the congested sound of his breathing.

"Bondmate. Master. Qui-Gon." Feeling eyelashes flutter against his skin, he raised his head and greeted his master.

"You have the sleepies, Master. Only undershorts?" Obi-Wan laughed as his master struggled to sit up and encountered the blanket Obi-Wan attempted to cover him with. Planting a quick, wet kiss on his padawan's neck he settled in the bundle of blankets and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"More sneezes? Oh, Master, here, love-" Obi-Wan pressed a handkerchief to his master's nose, ignoring the hand that grabbed his wrist to prevent him, and held it firmly.

"Ahhhishooo! Uhhchoo! Ahishishoooo! Ashooo!" At Obi-Wan's command, he blew softly into the handkerchief, enough to satisfy his padawan. Taking up the handkerchief himself, he finished the job as Obi-Wan watched. Shivering, Qui-Gon sniffed and burrowed into the blankets.

"It looks like I'll have to keep you warm if you insist on a lack of sleep clothes. You were just jealous of my previous state of undress. They gave me something to wear, though." Pointing to the pile of random stuff on the floor Obi-Wan stood and pulled off his own boots and clothing and lay his saber next to his master's, by the bed. Frowning, he pulled on his own sleep pants.

"Let's not tempt fate tonight, you need rest. Handkerchief, tea, and I got you a decongestant. Sit up, I'll rub your back." Handing his master the handkerchief and a cup of tea, Obi-Wan positioned himself on the bed behind Qui-Gon. Sweeping the long hair away, he began to sooth the muscles with a warm, easy pressure. They sat in comfortable silence and when Obi-Wan felt the shoulder's tense and breath come more quickly for his master, he moved back a little and let the sneezes come.

"uh, huhhh, huheshoooo! ahesschooo! ahh, ahh, ah-CHOOO!" Immediately clamping the handkerchief on his nose, Qui-Gon blew wetly and harshly, coughing from the effort. As soon as he finished, a few little sniffles allowed the tickle to build up again. Turning his head to the side, he sneezed helplessly into the handkerchief.

"Ah, eshoo! aheshoo! ishhhahh! unshhoooahh! Hah,hishhoo!" His nose now streaming into the handkerchief and his eyes watering, he started to blow again. Obi-Wan stretched over and pulled up a clean handkerchief, reaching around to his master's hand and pressing it thence. Crooning, he whispered into his master's ear while rubbing circles on his back.

"Blessings, blessings. Hush, its ok, you have a bad case of the sneezes. Shhh, love, relax." When he heard a long sigh and the last of the sniffles, he pulled Qui-Gon towards him again. Laying his palms on the newly tensed shoulders, he massaged until he heard another sigh, one of ease and release.

Giving the broad shoulders one last squeeze, he kissed his master between the shoulder blades. An affectionate nuzzle to the warm skin with his cheek and then his nose led to a line of kisses across both shoulders and then the back of his master's head. Wrapping both his arms around Qui-Gon's chest, he pulled his lover back into a full embrace.

"My Obi-Wan, are you comfortable?" Qui-Gon asked, worry tingeing his words, as he settled down against his padawan's chest.

"Oh, Master, I'm fine, I've never been more content." Proving the truth of his words, he broadcasted the satisfaction he felt holding his bondmate in his arms. He began to slowly stroke the firm muscles in his master's chest, only resting when Qui-Gon laid his hands on his padawan's and held them.

"My dear one, I've never felt more at home." Yawning and sniffling, Qui-Gon nestled his head on his lover's shoulder. Fondness and affection glowed in the room and in his eyes.

"I've been pondering what you said, Qui-Gon. Shh, oh, you weren't supposed to talk! But I've been thinking..." Obi-Wan's words trailed off for a few seconds; as he mused he sent an emotion that meant 'home' to Qui-Gon. Thinking of Qui-Gon, their Temple chambers, he spoke again softly, repeating words he heard Qui-Gon utter once, long before they were bonded or even fell in love.

"I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleeper's Den?
'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee."

Running his fingers down the smooth muscle of his master's chest he paused. A sharp intake of breath, the hand atop his was lifted and the handkerchief was put to use once more as Qui-Gon struggled to coax a tickle out of his nose. Small, urgent pants soon gave way to another sneezing fit.

"Ishooo! Ah, huh, ushooo! ehshoo! Ahhh, huhishhh! achoo! schoo!" Burying his nose deeper in the handkerchief and clearing it, Qui-Gon coughed weakly and dropped his head against Obi-Wan. "Excuse me, so sorry, love, please continue, your voice, so beautiful."

"Oh, Force, blessings Master!" Obi-Wan murmured into the soft hair, surprised by the unnecessary apology and unexpected compliment. Tilting his head to one side, he picked up the poem where he left off, his voice deep with emotion, only loud enough for the one he held to hear.

"And now, good morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new world's have gone,
Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die."

A hushed silence filled the room. The night had fallen, curtaining the room in sliver and blue. Sitting up, Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan.

"Let me look at you, beloved." Slipping their bodies apart, Obi-Wan lay down on the bed, pulling his master next to him.

"When," pausing, clearing his throat, then coughing softly, Qui-Gon excused himself and touched Obi-Wan's cheek.

// When did you learn that, Aretos? //

// I don't remember not knowing it, I heard you read it when I was young and I shivered to hear your voice say those words. I learned it; I kept the words in my heart; I only fully understood them today. //

Leaning over the young man, Qui-Gon let his hair fall over Obi-Wan's shoulders and his mouth cover his lover's. A tangle lips and tongues spelled out the passion aroused by the sentiment behind the words and meter. Pushing his hands through Qui-Gon's hair, the younger man parted their mouths so that only a hair's breadth separated their lips. Whisper light words caressed their mouths and breath mingled lover's spirit with beloved's, and thus Obi-wan spoke.

"Tonight, we rest. Come, sleep in my arms tonight, and home enough we both shall find."

A dim gray light was the harbinger of morning the next day as the ever-present swirl of snowflakes continued outside the small window of the bedchamber. Obi-Wan woke up first, his head pillowed on Qui-Gon's chest and one arm thrown protectively over his master. He had fallen asleep with both arms wrapped around Qui-Gon, comforting him in his illness. But as the night progressed Obi-Wan had curled himself around his lover, entangling their limbs. Savoring the cozy, sleepy warmth that enfolded the two of them Obi-Wan yawned deeply and snuggled closer to his master. Qui-Gon was his resting-place and light, but he still missed the Temple. Soon they would finish up on Nivalis, take care of whatever business was needed afterwards and then finally go back to Coruscant.

Smiling, Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up off Qui-Gon's chest. His master had slept well enough, worn out by the past weeks' strain and drained by a head cold. As Obi-Wan separated from his master, Qui-Gon grunted in his sleep, aware that the body heat of his apprentice no longer warmed him as intimately. Quickly relenting his decision Obi-Wan dipped his head forward and brushed his lips against his master's. He kissed him again, a little more firmly, and then kissed the upper and lower lip tenderly.

"Love you, Master." Obi-Wan whispered, stroking the hair off his master's forehead. Propped up on one elbow he waited, happily watching until Qui-Gon woke up. Soon enough, his master stirred, blinking at the light with a confused and bleary look on his face. Clumsily raising a fist to his mouth, Qui-Gon coughed softly, his throat dry from having spent the night not able to breath through his nose. Unable to stop the coughing, he turned away from Obi-Wan and gave himself over to the irritation.

Cool fingers eased behind his neck, pushing his head up gently, while a second hand carefully moved his fist and pressed the edge of a cup to his lips. Between gasps, Qui-Gon was able to drink down a few sips of what turned out to be last night's tea, cool from the night air. The cold liquid slid down his throat, easing the tickle and some of the pain. When the empty cup was removed, Obi-Wan exhorted his master to sit up and arranged the pillows so Qui-Gon could lean against them comfortably.

// Good morning, my Master. How do you feel? You need more rest, I can tell. //

Reaching over, Obi-Wan draped a blanket over his master's bare shoulders and quickly gave him a tight hug. Qui-Gon had the tired look that only the ill exhibit, slackness of features, a grayness about the eyelids and the sleepy, confused look that demonstrates the difficulty of perceiving the world through congestion. Upon waking his nose had the tender, itchy feeling that accompanied every cold he seemed to come down with and that was enhanced by the deep congestion he faced in the morning when ill. After a few minutes of sitting upright and battling the morning sniffles, the tingling seized his nose, the buildup slow enough for Obi-Wan to hand him a handkerchief. Cautiously holding the handkerchief before his nose, he endured the slow, tortuous build-up of the first sneezes of the day.

"Ahhh, huhh-huhh, huh, hahishooo! ehishsooo! ACHOO! ehshhhooo! ishhahhshoo, ishoo! nuhhh, uh, huuhhh, ohh, ahheh, ishh---ah, ehhuh, huhIshhoooo!" The last sneeze felt as if it had come from his very heels, the intensity sending a dull ache through his sinuses and throat. A soft pat on his arm and a series of little kisses on his shoulder told him that Obi-Wan had been watching the whole display with concern. Allowing the congestion to break up for a few seconds before he cleared his nose, he kept the handkerchief pressed to his nose until the process of sneezing and nose blowing was finished. Turning to Obi-Wan with a congested, sniffly noise he dropped his hands into his lap.

// Blessings, Master! Not quite the reply I had in mind, hmm? Your sneezes are not sounding any better. Let's try that again, ok? Good morning, love. //

Rubbing Qui-Gon's arm through the blanket leaned over and offered a kiss to his master, drinking his mouth and taste even in illness. Accepting a kiss on each cheek in addition, Obi-Wan remained close to Qui-Gon.

// My Aretos, good morning. I feel very, well, stuffed up. //

// And? // Obi-Wan looked up expectantly as he traced circles on his master's leg, his fingertips wandering up and down the blanket. // And, yes, my throat hurts a bit. //

The simple single response caused Obi-Wan to stop his play and sit up straight. The apprentice shot a glare right at his master and he sighed with exasperation. Taking the handkerchief away from Qui-Gon he began to wipe his master's nose, which had started running anew.

// And? Fine, now blow, no don't turn away. Oh, Master! You've already been coughing and sneezing; you look like you could use a few hours in bed and a good dose of medicine. It all shows, don't even bother denying it. //

Laying the handkerchief down, Obi-Wan started fixing his master's hair, unable to stay truly upset with the man while he looked so unkempt and sick. Swatting his apprentice's hands away and calling him fussy, Qui-Gon suddenly sneezed before he could respond.

"Ishooo! ISHhhh! ahh, ahhishhhoo! oh, gods," Fumbling for the handkerchief, Qui-Gon sniffled desperately, trying to hold back the rest of sneezes until he could catch them.

"Ahhh, hehishoo! Unshoo! Ahh, hahhih, ehheshhhh!" Wiping his nose and excusing himself, Qui-Gon rearranged the blanket he had let fall while he sneezed.

// Blessings Master, gods is right, blessings! Bed, you need to stay in bed. //

// I cannot spend all day in bed, even though, yes, I feel as you say, Padawan. But I shall feel better once you let me out of bed for a while and I start moving about a bit. //

Shifting to sit up better, Qui-Gon encountered a sharp jab in his chest, his padawan's index finger urging him back toward the pillows. Once he was nestled among the cushions again, Obi-Wan edged his hand under the blanket and splayed it across Qui-Gon's chest. The feel of skin against skin immediately relaxed the both of them, and Qui-Gon soon placed a hand over Obi-Wan's, stroking the soft skin and downy hair on the back. Squirming even nearer to his Master, Obi-Wan leaned his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder and pulled the blankets up higher over the two of them.

// Master, bed rest for you today, I insist. Aren't you sleepy? And your body must ache, if not from the cold, at least from all you've put yourself though these past few days? You keep me in bed for days when I'm ill, although I doubt how you put up with my bad humor. //
//Obi-Wan, you only get a little cranky, you spend most of the time cat-napping or curled up on the couch begging to be hugged, something I do not have the tolerance to do. //

//Even if I stay here with you? You ARE sick, love. We could cuddle? Sneeze? //

Qui-Gon nodded at Obi-Wan's inquiry as he turned his head from his apprentice, lifting his hand from his padawan's and letting his index finger hover before his nose. His head minutely bobbed forward, as if trying to push the sneezes out. With a hitching breath and his eyes squeezing shut, the sneezes finally rushed out.

"Hushhoo! Ishooo! ahh, huhh, eh, eh, ahhhuchoo! Ishhhhhooo!!" Rubbing the back of his hand against his nose, he realized he had sprayed his hand in the process and groped for the handkerchief with his clean hand. Discreetly wiping his hand and clearing away the sniffles, he coughed, and huffed his breath out as some of the pressure in his nasal passages eased up.

Rubbing his cheek against the shoulder he leaned on, Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around Qui-Gon and ran one foot over his master's leg. It just felt so good, too good he thought, and he moved off a little before he went too far. Qui-Gon smiled and brushed his lips over Obi-Wan's hair, the lightest of kisses telling the padawan that his attentions were more than wanted.

//Obi-Wan ...As lovable as you are, and as inviting as hours in bed sounds, some work must needs be done. Do not pout at me, Aretos. Come here; let me hold you some before our day begins. //

Drawing his padawan into his arms he offered a warm hug, something to comfort the both of them. Indulging Obi-Wan was too easy at times, this being one of them, especially after their disagreement. Qui-Gon allowed the young man to stoke his hair and beard, the slim fingers etching love and concern over their bond with subtle movement.

// Impossible, you are. Whack you I would, if my padawan you were. You are coming right back for a rest after a couple of hours, Qui-Gon, sooner if I find out you feel worse than you bothered to tell me. //

// My master did not 'whack' me when I was ill. Oh, my Aretos, I'm sorry for yesterday, I never knew ... //

// No, Master, we'll not talk about it. Just don't forget, ok? Love you too much. //

// Never too much love, Aretos. //

Strolling to the mess hall, Obi-Wan made sure he walked next to his master instead of his customary two steps behind. Qui-Gon looked unsteady and weakened, and no matter what he claimed Obi-Wan was certain the man belonged in bed. His master, however, insisted they get something for Obi-Wan to eat and then make their way over to the comm-chamber for further information. Dressed in Nivalian standard military issue dark blue tunic and cloak Obi-Wan walked with a sense of discomfort. The tunics were tighter than his Jedi ones, and even the glance of approval he earned from his master didn't get rid of the nagging feeling that he looked odd.

As they entered the mess hall, Qui-Gon stopped to cough into his handkerchief. Placing a firm hand on his back Obi-Wan waited until the bout passed. Massaging his master's lower back in a circular pattern as they walked, Obi-Wan scanned the room for a suitable table.

"Master? Do they know we are pairbonded? Here, sit, relax." Guiding his master to a place that looked relatively quiet and out of the draft, Obi-Wan pulled out a chair for Qui-Gon. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder after he sat, Obi-Wan leaned forward to talk to his master. As Qui-Gon, about to sneeze, waved him away, he sat down himself. Patient, Obi-Wan laid his hand on his master's thigh.

"Ahh, hun-unnch! Hincishhh! Umpffchah! Hunchhhahh! chssshhh! unchh! hnchhh! huhh, ahhh, ahh." Panting lightly after holding back the sneezes, Qui-Gon pinched the tip of his nose, preventing the sneeze attack from recurring for a while. Wiping his nose and watery eyes, he leaned back into the chair.

"Blessings, Master, wish you wouldn't do that, makes you sneeze more. Do we seem bonded to them, you think?" Obi-Wan squeezed his master's knee before he stood again.

"They didn't ask," pausing to clear the congestion, Qui-Gon coughed again and cleared his throat. "So, I said nothing. Not that I don't think they haven't figured it out yet."

"Shhh, you're so congested and hoarse, it makes my head hurt listening to you. Don't talk if you don't have to, beloved. Now, what shall I bring you? Tea? Fruit?"

"Not, tuh, uh too, hun- Hunch! ah, ah, choo! hnchishh! oh, sweet Force," sniffling and sounding more stuffed up, Qui-Gon rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Blessings, hush, its fine, nevermind, I'll find you something." Touching his mate's shoulder and depositing an extra handkerchief on the table, Obi-Wan made his way over to the line for food. Bins of various food products presented themselves to Obi-Wan, nothing looking either bad or good. A motley selection, all crammed together, appeared to be striving to prevent the diners from developing too great an appetite.

A slim, tall, light-haired young man stood in line before him, placing three cups of tea on his tray. Turning, he smiled at Obi-Wan and bade him good morning. Nodding, Obi-Wan remarked on the tea, vaguely baffled.

"Oh, well, yes," the young man laughed and put honey in two of the cups, "My bondmate gets bad headaches in the mornings, the tea seems to help a bit. Otherwise he snaps at me. You're one of the Jedi aren't you?"

"Yes. Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi." Obi-Wan chatted as he deposited food for himself as he was hungry and some toast for his master on the tray.

"Lieutenant Race-Ayers. Ahh, well, you won't be here much longer then. Gods keep you, good morning." The young man bowed his head and walked away, joining a slightly older man, who raised his eyes and smiled warmly as the tray was placed down and an arm surrounded his shoulders. Nearly spilling the beverage he was pouring, Obi-Wan forced himself to turn away. He never imagined that the aide-de-camp would smile like that for anyone.

Plunking the tray down on the table he kissed Qui-Gon on the forehead. Pushing a cup of steaming beverage toward his master, Obi-Wan started to eat the pile of fruit, cheese and bread on his own plate.

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked warily, sniffling and peering into the cup.

"Mmmm? Weren't you not supposed to speak aloud? Cheese?" Obi-Wan speared a piece of cheese on a fork and pointed it at Qui-Gon.

"No." Stopping short at the warning glare Obi-Wan gave him, he wiped his nose on the handkerchief and sighed. Stopping to blow his nose before another sneezing fit came on, he looked at the cup and then his apprentice.

// Padawan, what did you bring me? //

Qui-Gon lifted the cup to his lips and let his tongue dart in. Oh, gods, it was sweet, like, Alderaanean chocolates?

// Force, Obi-Wan, how can you drink this first thing in the morning? //

"It's good for your cold, trust me. Sweet schoko'lad. If you eat your toast I'll bring you some tea." Eyes sparkling, Obi-Wan reached over the table and linked his fingers with Qui-Gon's.

The rest of the meal was passed in companionable silence, long looks and lingering touches making up for the lack of words. Although he harbored no desire to make a public display of their relationship, Obi-Wan had the strong need to maintain physical contact with his master. It was almost as if a brush against Qui-Gon's wrist with his hand would keep the man warmer and help him feel better. After they finished, Obi-Wan pushed the tray and used cups away and reached over the table. Clasping Qui-Gon's hands in his own, he stroked the knuckles of the larger, gentle hands with the pads of his thumbs.

// Your hands are cold, Master. Rest, right after the comm-room business, Qui-Gon. //

// And yours are very warm, my Aretos, so very warm and beautiful. I suppose rest would not be all that bad an idea. // Raising one hand, he touched the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, pushing the growing tickle back a little. Rubbing his nose, he looked down, held his breath for a second, then gave up on trying to fight it off. The tingling made his nose feel warm and desperate to get the sneezes out. Scrabbling for the handkerchief with half shut eyes, he kept one hand cupped over his nose and mouth.

"Ahh, hunnn, unshhah! hmmnnchh! Hmmpff! ahh, huuhhhh," waiting for the sneeze to build up, Qui-Gon pressed the handkerchief to his nose, after letting it waver before his face for a second or two. Muffling the rest of the fit, he sneezed into the handkerchief with a force that made tears run down his face.

"Ahh, humpchoo! hinchh! schuh! hunnch-ischoo, hnchhah! huhh, choo! ahhuchoo! ishhooo! " Not able to hold back the last ones, he sneezed quietly into the handkerchief, groaning at the number and force of his sneezes. Blowing his nose a little, he stopped when the congestion prevented him from further clearing out his nasal passages.

// Blessings, Qui-Gon. I told you how stifling your sneezes made you miserable. You look so worn out. //

// Thank you, love, I'll be fine, really. Just give me a few minutes. //

Sighing, Qui-Gon ran the handkerchief under his nostrils and sniffled a few times. He then lay his hands back down on the table, shaking his head a bit to get rid of the blurry feeling.

"Master, are you all right? We could go back, now, I'll take care of my comm-link..."

Obi-Wan looked up sharply at the tired sound of his master's sigh, and met eyes that shone with illness, but still lit up with muted desire and affection. Grasping Qui-Gon's hands he got ready to head back to their chamber.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," squeezing the hands that gripped his own, Qui-Gon smiled and started to rise from his chair, "Let's take care of what business awaits us. I've caught cold, not come down with some dreaded illness."

Abashed, Obi-Wan rose and took the tray to the front of the dining hall and disposed of their trash. Taking a moment to think, he placed the tray down. Was he nagging his master? But Qui-Gon did look awful, well, except for that smile. That smile ensured more than hands would be kept warm when they returned to their room, thought Obi-Wan. Shaking his head at the thought, he took a deep breath and returned to where Qui-Gon stood. Ducking his head, he took his place next to his master and fell in step with him.

// Still pouting, love? Come here, bondmate. //

Grasping Obi-Wan's hand, Qui-Gon pulled the young man closer and walked with him down the hallway. Feeling his gesture of affection returned, Qui-Gon stopped, leaned over and kissed the back of Obi-Wan's neck.

// Master, I'm sorry, I was ... //

// Absolutely correct. My head is killing me and you are never a nag. Rest with me when we get back, Aretos? //

// Qui-Gon! Of course, my love, of course. //

They approached the comm-chamber together, Obi-Wan getting ready to enter after his master. Qui-Gon motioned for him to stop, and prepared to blow his nose. Easing part of the congestion and rubbing the bleariness from his eyes, Qui-Gon walked into the comm-chamber. The room was humming with activity as comm-tech engineers relayed news and information to the planet or worked on design and manufacture of equipment. Qui-Gon headed for the console where Drios Ayers stood while Obi-Wan went to get a temporary comm-link to replace the one he lost the other day. Looking long and hard at Qui-Gon, the young man only left when he was satisfied that his master could spare him a few minutes time. Watching Obi-Wan speak with animation to the engineer, Qui-Gon smiled and turned to the aide-de-camp.

"Good morning, Commander Ayers. Have you heard any news from Coruscant? Have Padawan Kenobi and I received any information about out upcoming mission?" Clearing his throat and swallowing back the pain the Jedi master did his best to sound presentable. Qui-Gon looked away from the glaring screen of the comm-link console, his eyes watering painfully from the sharp brightness. His nose began to run in sympathy with his eyes, forcing him to unfurl a clean handkerchief and quietly wipe his nose.

"Master Jinn, it is excellent that you have come the comm-room now. I have just heard from both the Regent and the Jedi Council. It has been requested that you act as special Senate Envoy for Nivalis Prime and leave tonight for Coruscant. Your padawan, however, cannot accompany you, but will travel alone and continue the mission to Opus Durum on his own. Perhaps you would like to see the messages yourself?" Before Qui-Gon could answer in the affirmative or negative, Ayers flipped on the comm-link console and brought up the message from Master Windu.

Before he could view the message, the Jedi master sat gracefully in the chair and pressed his hand to his forehead for a few seconds. The tingling pain in the corners of his eyes made the light unbearable for a few seconds. The constant prickling in his eyes made the sniffles worse, and soon the light inhalation of breath encouraged the sneezes to come on again. Nose running, he held up his handkerchief to prepare for another sneezing fit.

"Pardon ... me, ahh," he spoke softly, between panting breaths, making his excuses to Ayers, "Ahh, hunchshh! huhhnnch! ummch-choo! ahh,hunnchhahh! hehh, hehishhh!"

Turning aside, Obi-Wan's eyes fell on the figure of his master. Shoulders hunched from the force of his sneezes, both hands cupped over his nose, hair falling forward as he leant into the stifling of his sneezes, Qui-Gon appeared to be in the throes of a major sneezing fit. Hastily pushing back the urge to run over, Obi-Wan chose the simplest comm-link and put in an order. Attempting to look casual, he walked briskly to his master's side, laying a firm hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder once he arrived there. Looking down he bit his lip, surely some show of concern wouldn't be against decorum? As the sneezes continued, he shook his head and led his arm around his master's both shoulders, sending a wave of warmth over their bond.

"inshhah! tssshhhch! hunn-chahh! huhh, ahhh, hmmpch! hunnchahh! ahh, huhchoo!"

The sneezes left Qui-Gon with a pounding in his sinuses, the congestion made heavier by his holding in the sneezes. As he relaxed and sheepishly wiped his nose, he looked up to apologize for his display. Before he could remember to speak, he noticed the weight of an arm around his shoulders. Glancing up with tired eyes, he sighed and gratefully smiled at Obi-Wan.

"Blessings, Master. Your cold does not seem to be improving."

// Qui-Gon? Are you all right? That was a rather bad case of the sneezes, please love. Let me take you back, Master, it's getting to be too much for you. Bless you, bless you. //

"I'm managing, Padawan, thank you for your concern. Excuse me, please." Lifting the handkerchief to his face, Qui-Gon quietly blew his nose.

// Aretos, much thanks, that was just on the overwhelming side. Stay by me. I need you here. //

"Padawan, stay to watch the transmission from Coruscant. It concerns you directly."

The two Jedi watched the transmission together, easily understanding what had to be done. Even Obi-Wan's instinctive "No!" was cut off by the ever-present injunction "We are Jedi first." Leave his master he must, but be happy about it, well, that he could not force himself to do, Jedi or not. Quickly coordinating things with the staff on Nivalis Prime and Opus Durum, Qui-Gon sent a short message to the Jedi Council. They then bid farewell to Ayers and left to take care of their own business.

Standing outside the comm-room, Obi-Wan reached up and stroked his master's face. They would be apart for a few days at best, a month or so at worst. But something about this separation felt more difficult than the other ones they had endured in the past. Maybe he couldn't bear to leave his master while Qui-Gon was sick, maybe separation on the heels of homecoming was too much to handle.

"Valediction." The one word passed from his lips unconsciously, as his hands dropped from Qui-Gon's face. Their breath hung in the air, no other sound permeating the silence of the corridors. His own light breathing, his master's more labored, from the congestion. Looking up seeing Qui-Gon's lips form the same word, his breath caught. A bittersweet wave of emotion pulsed across their bond as fingers laced together and eyes met.

"Walk with me, Obi-Wan." Turning toward the direction of their bedchamber, Qui-Gon held his padawan's hand fast. " We will not utter our farewells before others."

A faint, heady buzzing filled Obi-Wan's senses, the single point of physical contact suddenly having a strong affect on him. An influx of emotions poured out from both sides of the bond, the pain and the pleasure of love. Breathing deeply and seeking a center, Obi-Wan crushed his master's hand with his own. Qui-Gon was his center; distance could not change that, not ever.

"We will not utter a single word more, Qui-Gon, just grant me that tonight? I may be getting maudlin; I just can't do it, Master. A poem, then, for your favor?"

"Poetry? I thought I was the one who loved old lyrics?" Qui-Gon walked briskly, ignoring the illness that threatened to plunge him into a bout of coughing if he continued to hurry thus.

"For whom did I learn it, do you think? Indeed, from whom, before that? Now, please, I love you, I know you love me. Hush." Obi-Wan stopped as his master paused to regain his breath after a series of light coughs and congested sniffles.

// Will you love me, then, Aretos, before we part tonight? //

// Are you certain, Qui-Gon? So sick, my love, I couldn't ... //

// Aretos, please, keep me warm, take care of me one last time until I see you again. //

// Yes, my love, of course, anything you need, love you too much. //

// Never, Aretos, my hoped for love. //

The walk through the sterile quarters continued as Obi-Wan slowly cleared his mind, focused himself on their bond. He walked slowly, mindful of his master's head cold, allowing Qui-Gon to stop and wipe his nose as needed. Obi-Wan knew what poems his lover cared for most; he had learned the ones he himself seemed drawn to. His mental voice was rich in Qui-Gon's mind, making words written long ago seem fresh and full of both the love and passion the original speaker must have felt.

// As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"The breath goes now," and some say, "No," //

The single touch between the two men was still joined hands, half hidden by the sleeve of Qui-Gon's robe. A person passing would have not seen the tight clasping, the pure desire and love that bubbled up from that entwining of fingers. Indeed, any person they encountered received a curt nod and greeting, intent as they were on reaching their quarters, they would not reveal their need to others. Obi-Wan quietly dismissed anyone with a reference to his master's health, and there was no lie in that, desire did not diminish his concern. Yet, somehow, the farewell had become almost sacred.

// So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity of our love. //

Stopping in front of the door to their bedchamber, Obi-Wan slid his hand from Qui-Gon's and bowed to his master, allowing the elder man entrance to the room. Observing proper form, Obi-Wan deferred, as was his role as padawan, only the darkness flashing in his eyes revealed the emotion he felt. When Qui-Gon passed, his robe brushing Obi-Wan's thigh, a soft moan, half bitten back, escaped the padawan's lips, too quiet for even his master to hear. Swallowing, he followed Qui-Gon into the bedchamber.

// Moving of the earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent. //

Without a single word, they came together, their love expressed more eloquently by gentle embraces and kisses. Obi-Wan drew his master's head down, pressing lips to lips. This was for his master's pleasure, comfort to last the two of them for however many nights they would spend alone in the time to come. Shrugging off his own cloak, Obi-Wan slid his hands up through his master's, massaging the chest and shoulders before he pushed the heavy cloak from Qui-Gon's body. They stood in the puddle of clothing, hands rubbing backs through layers of tunics, mouths meeting in the dance of desire. Pulling away a fraction, Obi-Wan eyes met his master's, love and concern asking the question he needed no voice to express. When Qui-Gon nodded, Obi-Wan simply drew him into a safe, protective embrace. Lifting his hands, he carefully traced the features of his master's face, made sensitive by the cold he suffered from. Delicately he skimmed over Qui-Gon's eyelids, nose and lips. Although dark and flashing with love, Qui-Gon's eyes were rimmed with redness, a testament to both the constant sneezing and the lack of enough sleep. His nose was becoming pink and irritated, tiny sniffles making the tip quiver ever so slightly. A sudden wave of love choked Obi-Wan; he took his index finger and pressed it to his own lips, kissed it, then touched it to Qui-Gon's again, where it was enveloped in the warm wet heat of his master's mouth. When his master shivered, he drew him closer and whilst trailing hot, open-mouth kisses over Qui-Gon's neck Obi-Wan drowned himself in the moment.

// Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it. //

A caress to his mind alerted Obi-Wan more intimately to the desire that was throbbing between them. A joining of life-forces, a strengthening of the pair-bond, an act that lovemaking merely enhanced. Minds and souls open, the two lovers moved slowly to the bed, Obi-Wan guiding his Qui-Gon. Sitting, Obi-Wan carefully paid tender attention to his master. A case of sniffles merited the pressing of a handkerchief to his nose, as Obi-Wan hugged him loosely. Kissing his master's temple, he sent soft force tendrils to ease the headache there. Moving his lips slowly across the warm skin, he kissed eyelids and eyebrows. Taking his master's face in his hands, he affectionately let their lips brush together. When their noses bumped, he drew his face forward and rubbed noses with his Master, laughing when he received a mental retort that called him 'cute'. Plunging his tongue into Qui-Gon's mouth, he felt his master place a hand at the back of his skull, carding the longer hair there, pushing their mouths closer and closer. But the kiss remained soft in its deepness. Pulling apart, he sucked his master's lips, kissed them until they were wet and swollen. Running his tongue over those lips, he then rested, laying his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, basking in the electricity of the open bond. Lazily he handed his master the handkerchief, aware by the subtle change in breath that the man was about to start sneezing. Snuggling closer Obi-Wan simply waited, for it was all an act of love when he was with his bondmate.

"Ahh, huhishooo! Ahishoooo! huhh, huh, ehhh, hashooo! ishhhooooo! achooo!" Covering his nose with the handkerchief, Qui-Gon softly rubbed his nostrils, his nose streaming but sensitive to the touch of the material. Bowing his head a bit, he paused, let the rest of the itching in his nose build up, as a warm hand protectively laid itself on his chest.

"ahhh, huhhh, ohh, ahhhishooo! ishooahh! ahishoo, achoo, choo, eshuhhh!" Body shaken by the onslaught of tickles and sneezes, Qui-Gon panted lightly before clearing his nose. Blowing and wiping his nose, he calmed down and looked over at the blue-gray eyes that gazed at him, love and concern blending in them. Obi-Wan blessed him with a kiss, not allowing the apologetic look to linger on his master's face for longer than a second.

// But we, by a love so much refined
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less eyes, lips, and hands to miss. //

Locking eyes with his master, Obi-Wan stood and began to undress. Stooping, he removed his boots and stockings and then slid his belt off, carefully placing his saber by the bed. Moving gracefully and quickly, his own arousal growing, he unwound the sash and slithered out of the trim military tunic. Stepping forward, he entered the proffered embrace of his master. Warm hands slid around his waist and pushed down his clothing as soft lips and rough beard tickled the responsive skin of his belly. Slow kisses were pressed to his stomach and rib cage, creating a fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. When the hands moved down to grasp his buttocks and a wet, passionate kiss thrust Qui-Gon's tongue into his navel, the fluttering grew to coiling warmth, which undulated from his groin to his fingertips. Turning his head, Qui-Gon coughed softly, his breath puffing against Obi-Wan's thigh. Rubbing his cheek on the soft, velvety skin of the young man's thigh, he tickled the sensitive juncture of leg and groin with his beard. Sniffling, he pushed the tip of his nose against the warm area, nuzzling gently, then nipping at the delicate smoothness with his teeth. Hands tangled in his master's hair and a soft whimper growing in his throat, Obi-Wan felt his leggings and undershorts slide off, large hands stroking his flanks.

// Out two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.//

Nude, he knelt before Qui-Gon and with tacit adoration removed boots and stockings for his lover. Parting the legs before him, Obi-Wan moved forward and encircled his master's waist with his arms. Belt and sash were quickly disposed with. Tunics just as easily were removed and Obi-Wan closed the space between them to sit in his master's lap. Erections bumped together as Obi-Wan straddled his lovers' thighs, burying his head in Qui-Gon's neck. Kissing and moaning, he reached up and let Qui-Gon's hair free, let it fall over the both of them. Lips, tongue and teeth mercilessly marked his skin as Obi-Wan wriggled closer to his master, encouraged by the hand pressing into the small of his back. A frustrated grunt caused Obi-Wan to look up and notice that his master's eyes had lost focus, his right hand hovering before his face. Hushing his master's quietly, Obi-Wan moved back just a fraction, slipping his hands around his lover's waist. Qui-Gon turned his head, sneezing freely and urgently.

"AHHishhhaoooo! aschoooo! ahishhoo! ishhhhahh!" Sniffling wetly, he pressed his index finger to his nose, half expecting to sneeze again. When the tickle faded and he turned to retrieve the handkerchief, Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then his cheek in blessing. As he cleared his nose, Obi-Wan continued to kiss what skin his lips could come into contact with, murmuring wordless expressions of comfort, lips stumbling across cheek, chin or neck.

The weight of Obi-Wan's body left his lap and Qui-Gon lay down at his apprentice's silent injunction to do so. The bed dipped as Obi-Wan joined his master, again between his legs. Lifting his hips, Qui-Gon watched as the young man slipped off the remaining clothing. For one frozen moment, naked and apart they remained on the bed. Master and bondmate, strength and vulnerability, both the one who was his center and the one for whom he must care for, Obi-Wan licked his lips as he stared at his Qui-Gon. Hesitating because of his master's illness, Obi-Wan reached forward and began to stroke one thigh. When a wave of love and reassurance met his wave of concern, he knew that his loving was not only wanted, but also needed. Covering his master's body with his own, he lay down and filled his senses with all that was Qui-Gon to him.

// If they be two, they are two so
As twin stiff compasses are two:
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do; //

Licking the delicate hollow of his master's collarbone, he tasted the warmth of his master's skin. Appetite whetted, he trailed a kiss dampened path to the tender area behind Qui-Gon's ears, the smell of the light cologne his master wore wafting to his nose. Groaning with desire, his senses assailed, he continued his loving. Obi-Wan flicked the tip of his tongue over the taut nipples, his own erection pressing insistently into Qui-Gon's belly, his master's just as hot against his thigh. A surge of desire made Qui-Gon buck up against him, his hips seeking satisfaction for his need. Laying his head over his master's heart, he listened to the heartbeat that he often fell asleep to. He could hear and feel the inhale and exhale of his master's congested breathing, the soft hitching coughs and heavy sniffles. Reaching over he pulled one wrist up to his mouth and let that same pulsing be felt against his lips. Qui-Gon's other hand traced a teasing path down his spine, stopping at the base, tickling the soft hair. Insistently nudging his own hard member against his master, he suckled the nipple closest to him, enjoying the mutual gasps of desire. Lifting his chest, he kissed his way down the center of his love's torso, pausing right below the navel.

// And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and harkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home. //

Nuzzling the wiry hair at the base of his love's erection, be breathed in the warm musk of passion. Pressing a kiss to the underside of Qui-Gon's penis, he ran his tongue up the length and then kissed the tip quietly. Lovingly, he took Qui-Gon into his mouth and brought him tenderly to climax. As the waves of orgasm washed over his master, Obi-Wan leaned forward again and kissed him, sharing the taste of his seed with Qui-Gon, sharing the pleasure of loving with him. Breathless with kisses, Obi-Wan lay beside his master, pressing his own erection again into Qui-Gon's thigh, then lying on his back, stroking himself. After his master's hand slid over his hand and firm penis, he dropped his own hand away, surrendering himself to the administrations of his lover. He came easily, jerking up into Qui-Gon's hand, spilling white heat over his belly. Blunt fingertips swirled the stickiness over his belly as Qui-Gon dipped eager digits in the seed on Obi-Wan's front. Lifting fingers to mouth, he happily licked them and then bent forward to clean his lover. When his breathing slowed, Obi-Wan turned to gaze into the sleepy eyes of his master, bleary with illness and satiated with loving. A sudden pang of guilt stabbed him, and he quickly drew up the blankets and showered kisses on Qui-Gon's face. To warm and comfort the body next to him, he curled up around his master. Wrapping arms and legs around his love, he kissed the shoulder before him fast and hard. Moving his head a bit, he let his lips and breath caress the skin of his master's ear. Whispering, he recited the last stanza of the poem, the only good-bye he would allow himself to mouth until they stood at the transport hangar.

"Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like the other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun."

Standing next to his padawan, Qui-Gon prepared to board the transport that would take him back to Coruscant that evening. Obi-Wan stood close to him, stroking his arm as he spoke with the pilot. Obi-Wan wanted to grab the innocent pilot, shake him, make him promise to keep his master's quarters warm, make sure that Qui-Gon slept and ate and took the sithly decongestant Obi-Wan himself packed. But in the end he settled for a polite bow and a thank you. As Qui-Gon bowed, he led his master off a few steps, so they could have the last few minutes to themselves.

// Now, Qui-Gon, please take care of yourself, don't let them run you ragged, you're sick, and you're just coming into the worst of it, oh, my love, please, promise me? //

Obi-Wan played with the hem of his master's tunic, then stopped when strong hands gripped his shoulders. Feeling himself pulled into the embrace of his master, he tipped his head up for a kiss, warm, slow and sweet. A tug on his braid and he opened his eyes once again.

// Do not worry, my Aretos, my padawan, all will be well. I hold you in my heart, Obi- Wan, always with you, always at home in our love. //

// Until Coruscant, Master? //

Looking up through damp eyelashes, Obi-Wan held his master's hands tightly. Raising their hands to his lips, Qui-Gon kissed each of his lover's knuckles.

// Until Coruscant, Padawan. //

"May the Force be with you, Master Qui-Gon."

// Love you master. //

"Thank you, may the Force be with you, my padawan."

// As I love you, Aretos. //

Smiling, he turned and boarded the ship. Obi-Wan walked quickly away, claiming he still had to pack for his trip. Sitting in the lonely, gray room he gazed out at the snowflakes again, the blank look of yesterday replaced by a small smile. His breath created a light fog on the pane of plexi-glass. Taking his fingertip and pressing it to the window, soon the snowflake ballet was visible in the thin ring of a circle.