CHAPTER 12

Dexter Jettster finished whisking up a batch of Noraskian omelets for the noisy group of students at Table Nine and handed them to one of his droid waitresses.

The door opened and he wiped his hands on his apron before going to greet his customers. He grinned widely as he saw his favorite girl walk in, hand linked with that of Master Jinn. "Sweetness!" he bellowed. "Your shift doesn't start for five hours – why are you here?"

Kila laughed merrily and laid her free hand gently on Dex's arm. "Can we go out back?" she asked. "There's something I need to tell you."

"All right," Dex said, seeing Neela, one of his Togruta waitresses, sidle closer to Master Jinn, her lekku twitching with her sexual interest. Kila glared at Neela and put her arm around Jinn's waist in a proprietary gesture that startled Dex in its boldness.

Kila had come a long way since she'd shown up at his diner five years ago, starved, beaten and terrified, but Dex had never seen her evince any interest in taking a mate until Jinn. Well, good for her, he mused fondly.

Jinn didn't seem to notice the death glare coming from Kila's eyes – he merely hugged Kila then sat down in an unoccupied booth, closed his eyes and was lost to the world. But Dex was familiar enough with the Jedi disciplines to know that Jinn remained aware of everything going on around him.

"Well … what's the matter?" Dex asked gently. He'd never thought of himself as an affectionate person, but Kila brought out feelings in him that were paternal in so many ways.

Kila sighed and tugged at her neckline. "Kriff, this is difficult," she said. "I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. I love you, my friend – I hope you know that."

Dex hadn't seen her so nervous in a long time. "I know that," he said, patting her tiny hand with one of his huge ones.

"I've been identified as having … Jedi abilities," Kila shocked Dex by telling him. "I'm too old to do the whole Padawan-Master thing, but I've been offered the chance to train as a Healer."

A Healer – that would suit her, Dex decided. She was gentle, thoughtful, giving. And then he realized what this meant for him. "I'll miss you, Sweetness," he said.

"I'll still be around," Kila argued.

"But it won't be the same," Dex said, cringing inwardly at the sentimentality of his words.

"No," Kila agreed, "but change doesn't have to be bad." She put her hands on his shoulders and raised herself up to kiss his cheek. "You've been my friend, my employer, my father all rolled into one – that won't change no matter where my life takes me."

She sounded different already, Dex noted – more mature and confident. He studied her carefully downward from the curly hair, shining eyes and sweet face, and saw that the woman had finally taken the place of the frightened child he'd taken in so many years ago. "You did good, Sweetness," he told her. "I hope you'll be happy – you deserve it."

Kila grinned and kissed his cheek again before stepping back. "You old softy," she teased impishly. "I'll be moving in to the Temple tomorrow, so I'll pack my things now, and then come back for my shift later."

That was his Kila – sweet and selfless. It was a wonder that she hadn't been taken advantage of but, Dex supposed, between him and Obi-Wan – and now Master Jinn – no-one would dare try anything. "All right," he said and delivered a light swat to her rear end. "Get going, girl!"

Kila giggled and headed out of the kitchen, making her way back to the Jedi Master. Dex watched as she quite happily made herself comfortable in Jinn's lap and the two began talking in low intimate tones. He raised his half-full mug of Pyralian ale to her. "That's my girl," he said.

FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE

Qui-Gon pulled himself out of his light trance when a warm weight settled in his lap and arms twined around his neck. He opened his eyes and peered into Kila's enticing violet orbs. "How did it go?" he asked.

Kila smiled a touch sadly. "Fine," she said. "I'll miss him, but it's not like I'll never see him again." She sighed and fiddled with his hair. "He's been like a father to me the last few years."

Qui-Gon looked over at the huge humanoid, who was now chivvying one of the waitresses. Besalisk were notoriously hard to read, their brains being four-lobed instead of the two more common in humans and like species, but the feelings he could sense from Dex weren't exactly paternal. Yes; there was caring and tenderness but deep underneath was also a sexual awareness – so deep it was likely Dex himself didn't realize it.

He brushed a gentle kiss over Kila's lips. "Would you like some help in packing up?"

Kila traced his ear with her index finger then smiled at him. "I don't have much to pack, but I'd love to spend the day with you. I have the feeling that once my training begins I won't see very much of you." She chuckled low in her throat. "Yoda strikes me as being something of a hard taskmaster."

"He is, but you'll learn so much from him," Qui-Gon replied. "And you will get free time – you're not being sold into slavery."

Kila flinched then smiled. "True, O Wise Jedi Master," she said, her eyes darkening with remembered pain.

"Of course," Qui-Gon returned, realizing he'd touched a nerve with the 'slavery' comment. He'd forgotten that she'd endured slavery for much of her life – her reaction to his thoughtless comment pained him. He joggled his knees to lighten the moment. "Well, as much as I'm enjoying having you snuggled up to me like a baby Ewok, this isn't getting your apartment packed up."

Kila giggled and got up. "A baby what?" she asked, extending her hand to pull him up.

Qui-Gon took the proffered hand – not that he needed help getting up – and linked his fingers with hers as they made their way up to the small apartment a couple floors above the diner. "A sentient creature from the Endor system," he told her. "They're small and chubby, look very cute and cuddly, but are actually quite adept warriors."

Kila chuckled, whacking him gently on the bicep. "Should I be flattered or offended?"

Qui-Gon remained silent and received another – slightly less gentle – whack. "Horrible man – I can't think why I love you so much," Kila added as she opened the door to her apartment. "Just for that, you can make me a pot of kevas."

Qui-Gon swept a deep bow. "Yes, Milady," he intoned mournfully, causing Kila to laugh again.

"Ah, that's why," Kila said, lifting up on her toes and kissing the flattened bridge of his nose – it had been broken so many times that it defied bacta treatments. "You're funny, you're handsome, you're like no-one I've ever met."

"And is that a good thing?" Qui-Gon repeated the question he'd posed early in their acquaintance.

This time Kila answered – but not in words. Instead she twined her arms around his neck and offered up her lips.

Qui-Gon accepted, reflecting on how confident she'd become in such a short time. One would think that someone still inexperienced near his or her mid-30s would be cold, unable to respond. And while Qui-Gon believed that some people didn't have passion in them, he'd never thought that about Kila. Something in her soul had called out to his soul.

Then one of her hands slipped up under the back of his tunic to explore his skin and he forgot about philosophizing. Smiling against her lips, he tugged her closer to him as their tongues parried and her small hands stroked his skin.

One of her hands reached the middle of his back and stroked over the round scar left by the Sith he'd dueled on Naboo. How he'd survived being impaled by the dark being's saber was beyond most people's understanding. However, Qui-Gon had been grieving still for young Anakin and Shmi, and had channeled that grief into the fight. No-one would ever know how close he had come that day to the Dark Side. Fortunately, his Padawan and his former Master had pulled him back from the brink, but that close call had made him realize that he should pay a little more heed to the Unifying Force.

"What happened?" the young woman murmured against his lips, both hands now stroking the vicious scar.

Lost in the sensuous stroking, Qui-Gon took a couple of seconds to formulate an intelligent response. "Saber injury," he told her, toying with the hem of her own tunic.

She didn't flinch, didn't pull away, so Qui-Gon slipped his hands under the garment, encountering soft skin and round curves.

Kila shuddered against him and he halted his exploration. "Gods, that must have hurt," she said, fingers still stroking the large round scar.

"I don't dwell on it," Qui-Gon said gently. It was said that humans remembered being in pain, but not the pain itself. Not so for Qui-Gon. He remembered the crunch as the saber made contact, the burning as it tore through his skin, the nauseating sensation of the weapon exiting through his back, and then the blessed relief as the nerve endings were seared.

"Denial isn't healthy," Kila said, slipping her hands down to his waist and squeezing. "Trust me on that. I spent too long denying the things that have happened to me and it left me a mess." She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and kissed the skin. "Learn from my mistakes."

Qui-Gon smiled down at her curly head. Force; he loved this woman! "I don't deny what happened to me – I just don't allow it to dominate my life. To do so could lead to the Dark Side."

Kila shook her head, the soft strands tickling his skin. "You know, if I wasn't acquainted with your mischievous side and your evil, evil, sense of humor, I'd think you were too good to be true."

Qui-Gon wasn't at all surprised that she'd made a joke – she feared much serious conversation, preferring to exchange witty barbs. Whilst he appreciated a good battle of wits as much as anyone, he didn't rely on clever banter to disguise his deeper emotions.

Many of Kila's fears had been smoothed away over their courtship period – time, trust and love would achieve the rest.

FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE-FORCE

Kila delivered another kiss to his neck, nipping gently at the tempting skin, and then slipped her hands out from under his shirt with a sigh. As much as she could have spent the entire day exploring his strong lean torso, she had an apartment to pack up.

Unable to resist, she captured his lips briefly, tugging at the bottom one with her teeth, and then forced herself to step back while she was still in possession of her faculties. What this man could do to her!

She ushered Qui-Gon into the kitchen with a cheeky pat to his rear end, and then headed into her bedroom. Thankfully, she'd not accumulated much during her time here – mainly clothes and a few small nameday gifts from Dex and Obi-Wan; a vase, a holopic of the hills of Naboo, a bright bedcover.

She pulled out several large boxes and began yanking items out of the closet, literally throwing them into the box. As a waitress and someone who didn't lead a glamorous life, most of Kila's clothing was hard-wearing, unfashionable and easy to maintain. The only exception was the dress she had worn to Padmé's last night.

She'd borrowed some clothing from Padmé today in lieu of the borrowed sleep shirt – she and Padmé were of a similar small stature although Kila was rather more curvy than Padmé's slender delicacy. Kila blushed, recalling the amount of teasing she'd endured when she'd shown up at Padmé's earlier that day wearing Qui-Gon's clothing.

Qui-Gon entered her bedroom at that point, bearing a large pot of kevas and two cups on a serving platter. "Your kevas, milady," he intoned once more in that mournful manner.

He put the platter on a shelf then peered into the half-full box. "I never knew till now that you were such an untidy creature," he commented with a smile.

Kila shrugged. "It doesn't wrinkle and I'll be unpacking it all again in a few hours. So what's the point in getting obsessive about it?"

Qui-Gon made a small grimace then held out the brown dress she'd worn yesterday. "I think I'd better pack this," he said. "I'd like to see you in it again, and it won't look half so lovely if you pack it."

Kila blushed a little at the simple compliment, but was no longer in the habit of disbelieving his compliments. "Thank you," she replied just as simply, patting his cheek and stroking the whiskers. "Would you shave off your beard?" she asked a propos of nothing.

Qui-Gon fingered his beard. "I've had this since my Knighting ceremony," he hedged.

"Not permanently," Kila said. "I like your beard – it suits you. I'm just curious."

"I don't know …"

Kila then did something she never would have dreamed of only a month earlier. She widened her eyes, pouted slightly and slipped her arms around his neck, gazing up at him beseechingly. "Please?"

Qui-Gon fidgeted then sighed. "All right, then," he acquiesced. "Just for you I'll do it."

Kila giggled with sheer glee. Who would have thought this wise powerful Jedi was such a pushover for big eyes and a pout? "Oh, good," she chuckled then took his hand and led him to the fresher. "I have shaving equipment here," she said. "No time like the present."

"Have you always been this bossy or is this a charming new development?" Qui-Gon inquired mildly, staring at the shave cream with distaste.

Kila slapped his broad shoulder. "Just get on with it!" she ordered.

Qui-Gon sighed then, much to Kila's pleasure, pulled off his tunic, leaving his torso bare for her to study and enjoy. He put a small towel around his neck and then lathered up his face. With careful strokes he first removed the mustache then attacked the beard with evident reluctance. After several minutes of hard work he dabbed off the remaining cream, and then turned to face Kila. "Is your curiosity assuaged?" he asked.

Kila stared. She'd always thought him handsome, but now … He looked easily ten years younger and had an oddly adorable chin. She stroked that smooth chin. "Why would you ever want to cover up this handsome face?" she asked.

"Ahh …," Qui-Gon replied, shifting a little uneasily.

Not surprising, really, Kila realized. He was knighted at only 20 – meaning that he had had the beard for over fifty years. And that was probably why he'd grown it – to avoid looking like a Padawan still. "I like it," she told him, kissing him on his now smooth cheek. "But I know you don't so grow it back."

Qui-Gon moved his fingers over his chin. "It feels … strange," he said pensively. "I've had that beard two thirds of my life – I didn't think I'd ever shave it off."

Kila chuckled. "That says a lot for the power of the pout."

Qui-Gon scowled playfully at her. "Well, don't think I'll fall for that too often, you little brat."

"Probably not," Kila agreed cheerfully. "So I'll save it for important things."

"Like convincing old Jedi Masters to shave," Qui-Gon deadpanned.

"Precisely," Kila shot back. "I should get Padmé to work on Obi-Wan."

"Ah … no," Qui-Gon said. "He tried it about three years ago – half the people kept asking him where his Master was; the other half wanted to …"

Kila put her hand over Qui-Gon's mouth. "Yes well … that's an image I don't need – he's the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother." She remembered that day well – Obi-Wan had taken refuge at Dex's for several hours and she'd gotten to know him a bit better.

"Fair enough." Qui-Gon's eyes gleamed with mischief. "You told me once that my beard tickles – would you like to test the difference?"

Kila laughed, wondering if the younglings and Padawans that held him in such awe had ever seen this mischievous, irreverent side. She suspected not, but loved that she could bring it out in him so readily. She would bet anything that he'd been a terror for mischief growing up. She'd have to ask Yoda sometime.

Suddenly she felt his strong arms pick her up and pull her tightly against him, and his lips sought hers. She let out a small squeak of surprise at his bold move, and then allowed herself to enjoy his lips, his tongue, his taste.

Seconds … minutes … who knew? … later, Qui-Gon set her back on her now wobbly legs and ran a finger over her kiss-swollen lips with an expression of undeniable male satisfaction. "Well, I take it you like me beardless also," he remarked.

Kila rolled her eyes. Smug son-of-a-Sith. But she could hardly hide it from him. Whilst she wasn't usually fond of people trying to control her, she had enjoyed the way he'd taken charge of that moment. "Yes, I do," she sighed then slapped his rear end sharply, causing him to start and yelp. "But I need to pack, not spend the next few hours kissing you witless."

At the dumbfounded expression on Qui-Gon's face, Kila swallowed her chuckle and mentally patted her own back. And there's one for YOU, Kila!, she gloated.