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Qui-Gon realizes he's dreaming; the odd pull at the back of his mind, the way the Force seems to visibly swirl around him. He's in a padawan suite that is his, but not. He recognizes many of the things scattered about the room, but some of the things are not his. He notices another boy close in age, with short red hair and a piercing gaze. He's not sure why he didn't notice the other boy at first, but this is a dream, and dreams do strange things.
The other boy seems somewhat perplexed when Qui-Gon introduces himself, and in turn names himself as Ben. It sounded like he came up with it on the spot, and Qui-Gon isn't sure why he doesn't want to give his real name. When he asks, the boy just shakes his head, saying he can't explain. It's strange to Qui-Gon, but this is just a dream, and dreams do strange things.
The boy, Ben, asks who Qui-Gon's master is. At his answer Ben seems a little thoughtful, a little confused, a little like some great mystery has just been explained to him. When Qui-Gon asks the same, Ben just shakes his head again. He can't tell, can't explain why. It's strange, but this is only a dream, and dreams do strange things.
Ben asks how old Qui-Gon is. Fifteen, he replies, asking the question in return. Fifteen, Ben echos. Both an answer, but at the same time as if Ben is marveling at Qui-Gon's age. Qui-Gon asks how long Ben has been a padawan. He's shocked to learn it's been just over two years. He almost aged out. Ben seems just as shocked to learn Qui-Gon has been a padawan for almost five. He states as much – that to him, ten is very young to be a padawan. It's all very strange. But this is really just a dream, and dreams do strange things.
The Force also does strange things, sometimes.
“Will I be able to see you again?” Qui-Gon asks suddenly, tell-tale signs of the dream drifting away startling him into action. “In the waking world, at least?”
Ben blinks at him for a moment, a flash of sorrow in his eye before he shakes his head. “Not in the waking world. I don't... I can't explain how I know that, but we can't.” He gives Qui-Gon a sad look of apology when his shoulders sag at the answer. “But if the Force wills it we may see each other in dreams again.”
It is little recompense.
Qui-Gon opens his mouth to reply, looking back up to... emptiness. The room is bare: of the other boy, of possessions, of furniture. And as he watches, the walls begin to fade as well. He sighs, closing his eyes. When he opens them again he's back in the room. His room. As cold and empty as it had been before he went to sleep.
He lies in bed a moment longer, mourning the loss of a potential friend. Even if it had been just a conjuring of his imagination, Ben had felt and seemed so real. He had friends, sure; other padawans that were off planet just as often as he was. It was rare he got to spend much time with anyone aside from his master, and he was often cold company.
A harsh rap at the door tells him it's time for his day to begin, and he lets the Force wash away his sadness, tucking away the remnants that refuse to leave behind his mental shielding. No use dwelling.
A few long days later and that odd feeling returns. Qui-Gon tries not to be hopeful, but lucidity during dreams is unusual, and his emotions get the better of him. It's not futile, thankfully. Moments later the red haired boy is smiling in front of him again. He can't help but smile back.
“See? It seems the Force would like us to meet again,” Ben says in greeting. They're standing in what looks to be an odd reconstruction of one of the Temple's many indoor gardens, grass under their bare feet and a stream trickling nearby. He can't see it, but the constant background noise is soothing.
“That or I'm so desperate for a friend I've conjured you up twice now.” That earns Qui-Gon a confused and pitying look from Ben.
“You don't have any friends?”
“Well,” Qui-Gon fidgets with his braid, “I do, but we're all always busy. Micha's off learning to be a Guardian, and he's rarely on planet; Tahl is in-Temple more than any of the padawans, but she's always working in the archives when she is here. And Master Dooku is always dragging me off to the edge of nowhere to play diplomat on unknown planets.” He lets out a forlorn sigh, sitting down and leaning back on his hands. “I'm not even good at it. I'm constantly stumbling over my words and saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I do good with people normally, but politicians and I don't really get along.”
Ben smiles, taking a seat next to him. “I get the feeling you'll turn out to be a wonderful diplomat. With a silver tongue to contest with Yoda himself.”
“Oh? And what gives you that feeling?” Qui-Gon grins at Ben, both lightly teasing and genuinely curious.
“Just a little whisper in the Force.” Qui-Gon just shakes his head in amusement when no more of an answer is forthcoming. “If it makes you feel any better my own master is trying to make me into a diplomat. It's... slow going at best,” Ben says with a stifled chuckle.
“I don't believe that. Even I can tell you'll be a magnificent speaker.”
“Oh, it's not lack of skill. Or practice. It's just that the missions we go on tend to... go a little off course. My master has to be one of the best diplomats in the Order, one of our finest Peace Keepers and constantly asked to help mediate political disputes.” Ben gets a far-off look in his eyes, a smile creeping onto his lips as he gazes off into the distance as he recalls fond memories.
A sudden chuckle brings Ben back to the present, glancing at Qui-Gon with a dazzling grin. “He's also one of the worst mavericks in the Order. Our missions tend to end peacefully, but they never go as planned. He says at this rate I'll have more practice quick-talking us out of situations than lightsaber training by the time I'm knighted.”
Qui-Gon shakes his head in near-disbelief. “The Council must hate him. Why do people keep asking for him if things always go wrong?”
“Oh, they like him as a person, they just don't like his antics. And things don't always go according to plan, but I'm absolutely sure that things end up better for everyone because things never go as planned,” Ben answers with a decisive nod. “I think if we followed the plans, whatever peace we left behind would just be fragile and temporary. But we tend to leave things much more stable and much less corrupt.”
Qui-Gon leans back on his elbows, contemplating Ben's story. “I wonder what his master was like,” he muses almost to himself.
“From what I've heard,” Ben interjects, “He's a little distant, a little cold, and very strict.”
Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow at Ben. “Stars, he sounds like Master Dooku.” Ben chuckles in response.
They sit in easy silence for a while longer, each content to merely be in the company in the other without filling the quiet with words. It's peaceful, in a way Qui-Gon hasn't felt in some time. “Qui-Gon,” Ben says softly, almost as if he doesn't want to disturb the calm, “I'm glad to have met you.”
Qui-Gon looks over at Ben, who's absently fidgeting with the grass next to his leg. He glances up, blue eye meeting gray, and Qui-Gon smiles. “I'm glad to have met you, too, Ben.” He leans over enough to nudge the other's shoulder. “Even if you are just a figment of my imagination.”
One last laugh from Ben echos through Qui-Gon's mind as he slips from the dream and returns to the waking world, a smile still etched across his lips.
They share a dream again, several nights later, much to Qui-Gon's joy and excitement. The next isn't for a few months, and then only a day. It goes like this for years, no consistent pattern in when they meet in their dreams. But it's much like seeing his friends during the off chance they're in Temple together, and Qui-Gon finds he doesn't mind having to wait.
They speak of their friends in the waking world, recall their recent missions and adventures, and lament their masters together – much to Ben's amusement, although he won't explain why he finds it so.
On occasion they share tips on lightsaber use, sparring together when they find themselves in a training salle. During a particularly bad growth-spurt that has Qui-Gon tripping over his own feet while standing still, Ben suggests he see Yoda about learning Ataru, arguing that learning the acrobatic form would help Qui-Gon re-attune himself to his body and gain back his grace and balance. To Qui-Gon's surprise it works, and he finds he quite likes the form, and quite likes seeing Ben perform it as well.
“You know,” Qui-Gon begins, looking down at the other young man, “you talk a lot about how you're constantly getting injured, but I don't think it's ever translated into our dreams before.” He swallows down the distress building up in his chest, trying not to show how much the sight before him has thrown him off kilter.
Ben is lying propped up in a hospital bed, wrapped in bacta patches and bandages, some still freshly bloody. Where there aren't bandages, there are bruises blooming purple and yellow and blue. Needles and tubes are sticking out of his arm and hand, connected to various drips and pieces of equipment. The only relief is that Ben's eyes are open and aware.
“It's not as bad as it looks, I swear,” he replies, slowly turning his head to look back at Qui-Gon. It's obviously uncomfortable and a bit of an effort to do so. “And I could say the same to you. What happened to your nose?”
Qui-Gon guffaws. “You're the one bandaged up and lying in the Healer's Wing, and you're worried about my nose? I think I deserve an answer first, Ben. Why are you like this even in your dream?” Ben is silent for a long moment, long enough for Qui-Gon to pull over a chair to the bedside. He leans back, getting himself comfortable to wait Ben out. The battle of wills doesn't last long.
“I suppose... it's probably because it hurts? A lot. Enough I can still feel it in my sleep, so I'm dreaming that I'm like this. That's the best I can come up with.” He tries to shrug, wincing and aborting partway through the motion. “Now what happened to you?”
“No.” Qui-Gon raises a brow, settling back in the chair some more. “Stop evading and answer me. What happened?”
Ben sighs in resignation, turning his attention to the ceiling instead. “We needed a distraction. I figured an explosion or an accident would probably be the best.”
“And you got caught in it?”
“Well... sort of?” Ben grimaces.
“Sort of? You didn't even try to get out of the blast zone did you?”
“The easiest distraction was to crash a fighter. I... happened to be flying one when I came up with the idea...” Qui-Gon sighs, loudly, reaching a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose only to wince the moment his fingers brush skin.
“Ok, I'm done explaining. Your turn!” Ben exclaims, seemingly in a rush to get the attention off himself. Qui-Gon waves his hand at him to quiet him down, waiting for the pain to abate before explaining his own injury.
“Nothing as... glorious or heroic as your story, I assure you,” Qui-Gon begins, earning a snort from Ben. “My master and I were caught off guard, and he shoved me out of the way of some blaster fire.”
Ben looks at him incredulously. “What did he do, shove you away by the face? Palm to the nose?” The thought elicits a chuckle from Qui-Gon, who gently shakes his head in response.
“No, no. He grabbed me by the shoulder. He just pushed me a little harder than intended and sent me face-first into a wall. We aren't really anywhere near a medical station, and he's not really good at healing. It will probably be crooked the rest of my life.”
Ben grins at him, earning a quizzical look in return. “That's much less heroic than I had thought.”
“Well we can't all throw ourselves at the ground in fighters, now can we? We'd run out of jets.” He smiles as Ben laughs, although the smile is quick to vanish when the laughter sharply cuts off, Ben's hand quickly going to his abdomen. “Sorry...”
“You're fine. But I guess I won't even be laughing in dreams for a while, huh?” Ben flashes another smile at him, Qui-Gon returning it with a halfhearted grin of his own. “Hey, what's wrong?”
“I...” He sighs, leaning forward and scrubbing at his face. “You're hurt enough it's showing in your dreams. I can't even visit you, check up on you. We have no control over when we visit each other. It could be months before I see you again.” The feeling of a hand on his knee brings him back to the present, looking up at Ben lying on the bed.
“Qui-Gon, I promise I'll be alright.” He squeezes Qui-Gon's leg in reassurance, waiting for him to respond. Qui-Gon searches Ben's face, finding nothing but confidence and assurance, and he finally nods an affirmation. “Even if you can't be there in body, I know you'll be there in thought and spirit. I know you'll be by my side the whole time.” He smiles again, gentle and understanding as Qui-Gon lays his own hand on top of his.
“It's still saddening that I can't be there when someone I care about is hurting,” Qui-Gon whispers, his thumb rubbing over Ben's knuckles. His eyes search Ben's again, and in a surge of impulsiveness he leans forward.
Ben's lips are soft and warm against his. There's a startled gasp, a moment of still silence; Qui-Gon is about to pull away, apologize, when he feels Ben press in and return the affection. He does pull away then, but with a smile instead of an awkward apology. Ben is blushing and smiling as well, maneuvering his hand so it's holding Qui-Gon's own. “I've been hoping you would do that for years.”
There's a small shuffle of movement, and Qui-Gon's attention shoots to the padawan in the bed beside him. Obi-Wan's eyes are slowly opening, red rimmed and blinking in the light filtering in from the window blinds. He looks around in a daze before his eyes fall on Qui-Gon. The edges of his lips twitching up in an attempt at a smile. His hand slowly moves from his side, reaching toward Qui-Gon. He quickly understands the unspoken request and takes it, bringing it back to rest on the bed.
“See, I knew you would be able to be here,” Obi-Wan mumbles, voice harsh from disuse, gently squeezing Qui-Gon's hand.
“Of course I would be, padawan. I'm your master, why wouldn't I be allowed to see you?” Qui-Gon asks, confused and mildly amused. His only response is a chuckle from the drugged up Padawan.
“You know, I always thought it would be a much more noble and dramatic story. Something like, you were wrestling with a slaver and got punched, or you were saving someone from a crumbling building and barely got out in time.” Qui-Gon's confusion only grows as Obi-Wan continues babbling, barely noticing the younger man wriggling his hand out from his grasp. “But no, you were just pushed into a wall because you weren't paying attention,” he continues, taking his now free hand to gently stroke a finger over the bridge of Qui-Gon's nose.
Qui-Gon leans back, taking Obi-Wan's hand in his again, while his charge proceeds to burst into a fit of giggles. He can feel a thought, a memory, pushing at the edges of his mind. Obi-Wan looks at him again, giving one of his familiar dazzling smiles, and it all clicks into place.
“Ben?”
The giggling slowly subsides, Obi-Wan -Ben- nodding in affirmation. “I suppose this all happened years ago for you, didn't it?” he asks, lightly tugging on Qui-Gon's hand. “To think; you kissed your own future padawan!”
The force of that memory, that realization, has Qui-Gon almost reeling. He lets go of Obi-Wan's hand, his mind racing as his stomach drops. In his shock he barely hears Obi-Wan still babbling, a comment about kissing and beards nearly going unnoticed until Obi-Wan is reaching up with his hand, resting it on Qui-Gon's cheek-
Qui-Gon grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away as he stands and moves out of reach. “Master?”
“Obi-Wan... You-... we-.” He sighs, rubbing his eyes as a headache begins to make itself known. “No. You're drugged, you're... you're not in your right mind and-”
“Qui-Gon, I'm aware enough of what I'm doing and thinking. I'm a consenting adult, there's nothing wrong with... this,” Obi-Wan counters, scowling at Qui-Gon as he begins to pace the room.
“It's not a matter of age or consent. You're my padawan. You can tell me how much you want to be with me every waking moment; there's still a power imbalance that's not of our own choice.” He sighs again, taking a moment to stop and breath, trying to get the thoughts rushing around to calm. Obi-Wan seems to understand, keeping silent as well until Qui-Gon returns to the seat beside him. They sit there for a moment in quiet deliberation, before Obi-Wan speaks again.
“If it's only because I'm your padawan... If you still feel the way you did about Ben, if you feel that way about me... When I'm Knighted-”
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon softly interrupts, “this is a lot to take in. My entire understand of you, my memories of Ben... it's all changed in mere moments. It's not that simple, you must understand that.”
Obi-Wan looks away, fiddling with the IV line at his wrist before quietly speaking again. “Did you ever dream of me again?” There was a long moment of silence, Qui-Gon feeling old, long-forgotten despair and resignation settle itself in his chest. The lack of response has Obi-Wan turning to look at him again, eyebrow creased as he searches Qui-Gon's face for the answer he's not sure he wants to hear.
“I never did. The last thing I ever saw of Ben was him- you, lying in a hospital bed covered in bandages.” Obi-Wan swallows and looks down at his hands again. “I thought the worst. But,” Qui-Gon reaches out, putting his hand over Obi-Wan's, to reassure him and to stop him from accidentally pulling out the IV, “knowing that you and he are the same, and that I can be here when a younger me thought I couldn't. Knowing that you are as safe and as well as you can be and that you're not in danger... I think that part of my heart can finally be at peace.”
Obi-Wan stares at their hands a moment longer, shifting his to give Qui-Gon's a light squeeze. “I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to scare you like that.”
“I understand, Padawan. You'll probably never dream of a younger me again, if we were having our dreams in the same order.” He slips his hand out from Obi-Wan's after giving his own soft squeeze, settling back into the chair again, feeling his agitation and surprise finally calm and slip away.
“Do you think it's because of our conversation now, because I told you?”
“Only the Force knows the answer to that. Now rest, you have much healing to do.”
Two weeks later a disgruntled Padawan is finally released from the Healer's Wing. The pair slowly make their way back into their quarters, Obi-Wan leaning heavily on Qui-Gon as his legs protest suddenly being used again. Furniture is moved for easier paths around the room, Qui-Gon helps Obi-Wan take a real shower for the first time in quite a while, and a simple dinner is prepared and eaten on the comfort of their couch.
By the end of the night, Qui-Gon's nearly asleep before his head even touches the pillow. A familiar feeling washes over him as his body relaxes, one he thought he'd never feel again. He almost fights it, knowing what he knows now, but doesn't. He feels his mind being pulled away from himself, his consciousness being brought into what feels like a different universe entirely.
When he opens it's eyes, it's not to a familiar place in the Temple as it always had been before. It's a small room, sparsely furnished and brightly lit with natural sunlight. In front of him is a man, his back turned to Qui-Gon. He wears the traditional outer robes of a Jedi, but the ends are frayed and the fabric is worn and fading. The man's hair is a mix of silver and sun-bleached strawberry blonde, with a well groomed silver beard to match.
He turns then, familiar eyes locking with Qui-Gon's. There's shock there, and after a moment a barely suppressed joy. “Qui-Gon...” he murmurs, his voiced filled with so much hope and sorrow Qui-Gon feels his heart break in response. He knows it's Obi-Wan, he knows it's his Ben, but the man looks so world-weary. There are marks under his eyes and creases on his face that speak of a hard life, and the way he looks at Qui-Gon, he's been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for an eternity.
“Oh, Obi-Wan... what happened?” he quietly asks, taking a hesitant step forward.
“A lot,” Ben replies, his almost-smile fading as he appears to be overwhelmed with old grief. He closes the gap between them, and in a motion his younger counterpart rarely ever did, engulfs Qui-Gon in a warm embrace. Qui-Gon wraps his arms around him, feeling him tremble as he fights back the emotions warring within him.
After a long moment, when the trembling stops and Ben seems to have himself under control again, he steps back and looks up at Qui-Gon. Their hands remain resting on each other, neither seeming willing to break the contact quite yet. “You said you'd never dreamed of me again, after seeing me in the hospital.” One of his hands reaches up to stroke at Qui-Gon's cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind his ear.
Qui-Gon shakes his head, gently leaning into the touch. “That was only two weeks ago for me. This is the first time in decades I've shared a dream with you.” Ben smiles at him, gentle and sorrowful, and so full of love and a newly found hope that Qui-Gon can't help but smile back.
“Well, I'm hardly a padawan anymore. Could-” Ben cuts himself off, eyebrows furrowing and hand playing with a strand of Qui-Gon's hair as he contemplates what he wants to say. “May I kiss you?”
Qui-Gon's hands move up to cup Ben's face, fingers brushing through his hair as his thumbs caress bearded cheeks. Between heartbeats he moves closer, lips touching in a long wanted kiss. It's a simple thing, chaste, but both pour as much of themselves into it as they can. Something about it feels very final to Qui-Gon, and his heart breaks anew as they part.
They rest their foreheads together, breathing together. Qui-Gon knows, deep down, that Ben needed comfort more than anything in that moment. And he was willing to be there, help relieve as much of the burden of the world as Ben would let him. What had his padawan, his beloved Obi-Wan been through to cause so much lingering grief in the man before him?
“Qui-Gon?” Ben whispers, as if afraid of shattering the dream if he spoke too loudly.
“What is it, Obi-Wan?”
“There's something I'd like to ask of you, once you wake up.” Qui-Gon nearly agrees without a second though, but when he looks in Ben's eyes, his words catch in his throat. The intensity in his gaze, the set of his jaw; Ben wasn't about to make a simple request. The sense of finality settled heavier over him.
The implication of their shared dreams, while it had been in the back of his mind since discovering who Ben was, suddenly made itself very known. In these dreams he was seeing Obi-Wan's future self, while his present was Ben's past. If Ben asked him to do something, to in some way irrevocably change his past, it would change the very course of time for them. This -whatever it was they had shared between them for years- would cease to exist. There would be a rift between the Qui-Gon of now and the Ben of the future.
It was obvious that it had been a very long time since Ben -since Obi-Wan- had seen Qui-Gon in the waking world. What he was asking would mean giving up what he had just been given back; a chance at seeing Qui-Gon in his dreams again. But it's important enough to him to give this up. Although, Obi-Wan had always been good at putting duty first.
If there's something he could do to keep this sadness and weariness out of Obi-Wan's eyes...
“What would you ask of me?”
The room is very dark after his sunlit dream.
Qui-Gon lies in bed for a few moments longer, letting everything sink in, sorting through the information he'd been given and the task set before him. His mind races as he pulls himself out of bed, putting on clothes and gathering up a few things by the dim morning light coming through the window.
He eventually makes his way to Obi-Wan's room, the young man up and slowly getting ready for the day himself. His movements are still stiff, and he looks sore, but there's a sense of urgency pushing Qui-Gon. He motions for Obi-Wan to sit on his bed, pulling the chair from the desk over.
“I shared a dream with you again,” he confesses as soon as both of them are settled. Obi-Wan's eyebrows raise, but he keeps quiet as he waits for Qui-Gon to continue. “There's something that we need to do, as quickly as possible. I'm going to go speak with Mace and Yoda. I would like you to pack up some travel supplies for us, and arrange for a ship. We'll need enough food for another to return with us.”
“Where is it we're going, Master?”
“Tatooine.”