The saw-toothed mountains seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun, their snow-capped peaks brilliant and stark against the azure sky and deep green of the forest bearding the valley below. The warmth of mid-day had just begun to cool and the drowse of sleep beckoned to Qui-Gon as he sat beneath the whispering trees. It had been a good day. The crops were coming along nicely, Anakin was off busily deconstructing his latest find and, for once, former Master Qui-Gon Jinn could merely lean back against the rough bark, taking in the scent of warm soil, crushed greenery and perfume of trumpet blossoms. The hum of the lacewings was loud in the quiet air.

As he looked through the rustling leaves, seeing the dance and shimmer of living light in the jade and emerald of the tree's finery, he thought about his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker. The boy was a wonder, taking to mechanicals as if born to it. He had thought to return the child back to his mother on Tatooine after that contemptible rejection on Coruscant but, after much discussion, they had both agreed to wait until the time was right to free her and bring her back to Naboo.

And Anakin was a great help here on the farm. Repairing castoff droids with little more than spit and good wishes, he had singlehandedly fixed more than twenty. They had made the difference between success and failure for Qui-Gon and his farm. Nodding, he smiled briefly. The profits from this year would be enough, more than enough, to repair the house and free one very happy mother.

But Anakin had helped in other ways as well. His was a blindingly bright presence in the Force and it was a joy to teach him how to use his gifts for the Light. It frustrated and pained Qui-Gon to realize that the child would never be a Jedi but the Temple had made that abundantly clear. The child was too old and the Order had their own problems. That humiliation at the entrance to the Temple was forever burned into his memory.

Frustrating, too, was his continuing inability to contact his old Padawan. He had tried again and again, leaving messages with various contacts, struggling to reach him through the Temple's oppressive answering system but there was never any reply. Perhaps Obi-Wan had accepted that it might not be wise to contact his Master, that it might damage his standing in the Order, that they might actually punish him in some way for trying. No, for whatever reason, Obi-Wan was a Jedi Knight now, he had his own life and, although it pained him to think about it, one in which Qui-Gon Jinn had no part. He could only hope that, wherever his Padawan was at the moment, he was well and happy. But that would not stop Qui-Gon from trying again. Perhaps some day soon, he would see Obi-Wan once more and what a joyous reunion that would be.

A quiet snap of broken twigs interrupted his nostalgic melancholy. A muted Force signature behind him alerted Qui-Gon to the intruder - not a sensitive in the streams and eddies of the Force but still familiar. Turning around, looking past the leafy barrier, he could see Le'orath Antilles approaching.

She was dressed for work, emerald leggings and green lightweight tunic, half-boots now splattered with soil and debris, her fiery hair escaping the gold netting that had tried and failed to encase the mass. She looked warm, small beads of sweat and hair clinging to her face and the tunic was partially opened and smeared at the hem with dirt and burrs. Her hands were free and relatively clean but one thumb was bandaged. She seemed annoyed.

Qui-Gon rose to his feet, quickly putting on his indigo vest and then began to fasten his lightly woven shirt. It had remained open in the warmth of the day but, now with company approaching, he thought to regain his dignity. Besides, this young woman certainly would not want to see an old man half-dressed. That thought was ludicrous.

Noting the movement, she started to walk towards him, spying him through the foliage. His struggle to finish dressing had not gone unnoticed and a quick smile flitted across her face before she schooled it back to a bland expression. A flash of something remained in the jade-green depths of her eyes...amusement, concern, desire perhaps, but she seemed to hide the emotions well.

She called out, mirth bubbling beneath the surface, "Qui-Gon, there you are. I've been looking for you."

"Hello, Mistress Antilles. I didn't know that you would be returning so soon." He was still fighting the fastenings.

"My name is Le'orath, remember. You promised last time we met that you would use it."

He nodded, "So I did." Letting out a low growl, he gave up the skirmish, the shirt still half open. Crossing his arms, trying to look dignified, he stood there, straight and tall, and waited.

She leaned up against the tree he had abandoned, one hand lightly following the curve and swirl of the rough bark, the faint scent of Qui-Gon lingering, teasing her. "I've just brought those biologicals you ordered. Would you like to take a look?" Gazing at him, she nodded towards the speeder, her free hand gesturing in the same direction.

"Of course. Why don't you lead the way?" He came up beside her, all business, distant and calm.

Smiling slightly, she began to move back towards the house, Qui-Gon's steps mirroring hers. Le'orath's eyes flicked from his impassive face to the V of his shirt's opening for just a moment. His motion had inadvertently opened the garment wider, showing off a good deal of smooth chest, the faint tracings of old scars marring the landscape. There was a history written on his skin, she suddenly realized. Swallowing hard, she deliberately looked away, knowing that he would be uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny. But her heart began to race as she considered the possibilities.

"You should be almost ready to harvest your first crop soon. Have you had any problems?" Matching stride for stride was not easy but she struggled to keep up. She did not object to the rapid pace; the scramble kept her thoughts from straying into territory where she might be unwelcome.

"Not yet. But I'm sure that something will go wrong. Inexperience can be a cruel taskmaster." It was said with little emotion but Le'orath could sense that there was something behind his statement, something that remained unspoken, some painful remembrance.

Hoping to lighten his mood, she replied, "If you do, please let me know. I am experienced and am willing to give free advice just this once." She grinned, softening the statement. He could be incredibly stubborn, foolishly so at times but any success in farming would need the support of his neighbors and friends. And she did want him to succeed. Perhaps then he would stay on Naboo...would stay here.

He glanced at her, frowning briefly, considering the task at hand, before a smile began to creep in. "I may just take you up on that. I could certainly use the advice, especially if it is free."

They reached her speeder, the back piled high with plants and tools. Without a word, Qui-gon began to unload the vehicle, heaving the awkward flats onto the porch. As he worked, Le'orath stood to one side, watching him move effortlessly. She glimpsed tantalizing vistas of muscle and sinew stretch and tighten as he lifted each flat, the bunch and tug of woven cloth clinging to his lean body. His hair seemed to flow like water about his shoulders; as she watched, fascinated by the swirl, one strand clung tenaciously to his flushed cheek.

His half-opened shirt dipped free as he leaned over to pick up another flat; she moved forward a bit to survey taut skin and one small rivulet of sweat traveling the hills and valleys of his flesh. She drew in a sharp breath at the thought of following that bead of moisture and shook her head. Now was not the time. But he moved with such ease that it tightened her throat for just a moment. He seemed to be dancing in the light.

At last, the final array of plants rested in the lee of the stone porch. Qui-Gon leaned down to adjust the flowers, setting one upright and then stood, looking at Le'orath. The tools he had ordered were in her arms, the long sharp implements awkward and slipping rapidly, and the frown on her face told its own tale of annoyance and foolish pride. At last, she lost her grip and twisted quickly backwards, trying desperately to avoid the fall of tools as they clattered to the ground. She would have been successful but for one long pole. The yelp as the handle struck her bandaged thumb was loud and strident. She stood there for a second, shaking her hand, holding back sudden tears.

He strode quickly to her side and grabbed her throbbing hand. "Let me ease the pain." She nodded wordlessly and he began to stroke her palm, a gentle warmth spreading through her fingertips as the torment began to ebb. He continued to touch her skin, making small circles in her flesh, her heart racing as the ache died away.

She gazed at him as he leaned over her fingertips, his blue eyes closed in firm concentration. He was so breathtakingly beautiful. The greying hair, shoulder-length and soft, was tangled, little pieces of grass and leaves hiding here and there. She wanted to touch it, drag her fingers through the knots and smooth the strands into order, any excuse to feel the silk of his hair under her eager hands.

A few lines of hair had escaped, clinging to his neck and joining the one strand still plastered on his cheek. Overheated with the late afternoon sun and his own exertions, Qui-Gon's face was beaded with sweat. Staring at him, swallowing hard, her breath caught as she watched another small trickle of liquid moved down his temple to stop at the bearded jaw line. She longed to join it there, to feel the soft texture of his beard, to learn if his skin was supple at brow and cheek.

Growing bolder as he continued his gentle healing touch, she leaned forward for just a moment. Her eyes followed the paths of beard and hair downward to the tantalizing hollow of his throat. Moisture glistened there and his labors had opened his shirt further, allowing clear sight into the smooth muscles and soft skin of his large chest. The scars, too, continued downward, joining others in a graphic road map of his rough life. She swallowed hard at that, wondered if it would hurt him to touch the white lines of past pain or if a gentle caress would ease the harsh memories. She hungered to find out but she dare not.

With that, Le'orath tried to rein in her thoughts. She knew that he would not welcome them. He was a quiet, reserved man, strong in his own way but still filled with sorrow and so very alone. And Jedi did not allow attachments of any kind.

She had to stop this before it got too complicated. Pulling her still-aching hand out of his grasp, she whispered, "Thank you. It's better now."

"Are you sure? I hadn't finished with the healing. That cut was fairly deep." He tried to capture her fingers once more but she pulled back.

"It's fine." Fighting the sudden longing, fiercely ignoring the instinct to pull him close, realizing that this intimate encounter was a very bad idea, her response was harsher than she had intended.

He frowned at that, seeming to sense her anger. "Have I offended you? If so, I am very sorry."

Le'orath hurried to reassure him. "No, it's fine. Truly." Almost of their own volition, her hand moved to caress his cheek. "Thank you."

He leaned into the touch for the briefest of moments, then stepped back. "Any time." Straightening, he gestured towards the house. "Would you like some juice? I have some chilling in the cooler unit."

"No, I had better be going. Another shipment is coming in an hour or so and I need to be there for pick-up." But, instead of turning towards the speeder, she moved up onto the top porch step, brushing past the trumpet flowers, and gestured towards the biologicals. "Qui-Gon, these will need to be watered once today and then planting tomorrow. Don't forget."

He nodded, moving to the bottom step and gazing levelly at her. "I won't. And, again, I will welcome any advice or help you are willing to give." Smiling, she moved to go but a sudden sharp tug of hair froze her in place. Chuckling gently, Qui-Gon reached past her and pulled out one fragrant blossom and its leafy tendril. "You are caught in my snare."

Le'orath stared at Qui-Gon Jinn, hardly breathing, her heart racing madly. "So I am." Leaning forward, gazing into his startled azure eyes for a moment, she brought one trembling hand up, feeling the rough silk of his bearded cheek. "So I am." And with that, her mouth was on his, whisper-soft, light and tentative at first and then she dove into him, savoring the smell and taste of Qui-Gon Jinn. It was intoxicating.

He tried to pull away but she had him caught fast, both hands cradling his face, fingertips mapping the edge of beard, her thumb following the line of cheek to his mouth even now beginning to protest. The kiss roughened as she pulled him tightly toward her, trying to drive herself deeper into his embrace. Making soft noises in her throat, one small hand explored the column of his throat, to the collarbone and then to the first of the soft scars.

 With a quiet grunt deep in his chest, the rumble of protest died and he began to kiss her back, his body molding hard against hers. His mouth exploring hers, he began to pull on her lower lip, nipping just a bit then teasing her with more kisses. He tasted wonderful, of summer rains and the sweet fruit that he so loved.

After an eternity of sensation, Qui-Gon jerked back. "No, I can't do this." Leaving her swaying on the porch, he moved onto the gravel path, out of reach, and shook his head in sorrow, his eyes forlorn and dejected. "I cannot give you what you want, what you deserve."

Le'orath blinked rapidly, her trembling body protesting the sudden loss of warmth and passion. "Qui-Gon, I don't understand you." Trying desperately to clear her head, she looked him, frowning. "What do I deserve that you cannot give?"

"Commitment, attachment. I cannot give you what you want."

"Qui-Gon, I didn't ask, did I?" At the slight plaintive shake of his head, she continued, "I know that Jedi cannot form attachments. I accept this."

He looked away, his eyes hooded and bleak. His mouth was flat with protest. She could see the confusion in his eyes - him caught between the possibilities of desire and a lifetime of Jedi training.

Le'orath moved slowly, gently toward him, almost as if she were approaching a frightened bird or wounded animal. Finally, within arms reach, she said quietly, "Qui-Gon, it was just a kiss, nothing more. And...even if there had been more, I have no expectations. I know that there can be no commitment." She sighed, heavily. "But don't deny yourself happiness because of past pain. Try to live in the moment. You might enjoy it."

He said nothing, only continued to stare at the mountains, now beginning to redden with the approaching evening.

"I hope that we can still be friends." He nodded slowly at that, still not looking in her direction. A brief frown skidded across her face. She had hoped that he would at least acknowledge the connection between them but she could see that he was not ready yet, might well never be ready to open his heart to her.

"Well, I have to go. Business waits and I have schedules to meet." She said softly, "I will be by next week with your second shipment. Hopefully, I can take you up on that drink then. If it's still offered?" Another small nod. She rolled her eyes at that and gave a heavy sigh. He could be so obstinate.

"Well, goodbye. See you soon." And with that, annoyed with her boldness and disheartening that she may have ruined their fragile relationship with her own selfish needs, Le'orath got into her speeder and started off. Looking back, she could see him in the rear reflector, still standing there so alone, watching her drive away.

The man was sheer stubbornness personified; she would give him that. Perhaps, there would be other times and, maybe, just maybe, he might come to realize that he wasn't bound by the Jedi Code any longer. Qui-Gon Jinn would be worth the wait. Until then, she would just have to be patient.

Qui-Gon Jinn tried to calm his body, still his racing heart as Le'orath vanished into the distance. He had felt her desire, matched it with his own, but thought it was merely a momentary thing. Surely, she could not be attracted to such an old, worn-out fool. It was just not possible. And yet she had been bold enough to pierce his barriers and that kiss has awakened feelings he had thought long dead. That caress, her fervent mouth on his, the feel of it still lingered. His fingertips skimmed across his lips in soft remembrance.

The stunning warmth of her embrace had promised him many things, things he had not considered as a Jedi. He crushed the thought quickly. He was a Jedi no longer; they had thrown him away and now new avenues were possible, even commitment to another.

She had said, "Live in the moment." Good advice and one he had often given his old Padawan. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps when next they met, he might just do that. Perhaps...