My sincere apologies to my readers. This has been completed for months, but for some reason, I forgot to post this last bit on this site. Sorry again for the mistake, and thank you so much for reading.

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Warmth touched his cheek, seeping through his eyelids and Qui-Gon sat up. It was well into the night, but the lamp had been forgotten in their exhaustion and now glared at the Master from its place above him.

Qui-Gon began to turn his hand languidly in the offender's direction, but then he felt a shifting against his opposite arm, where Obi-Wan was deeply asleep.

Qui-Gon smiled, drawing a few hairs out of the young face with long, careful fingers. He lowered the sleeping form to the pillow, then stood, replacing the legs where they had been, and draped him in both the sheet and duvet.

A shaft of luminescence hovered around Obi-Wan's visage and Qui-Gon was still, studying the miraculous changes that his one-time apprentice had undergone in such a short while.

It was breathtaking to look down at him, and see a mostly healthy figure where a mere few days ago had been a shaky, wan shell, too drained to walk, too haunted to sleep in peace.

Had it only been a few days since Mace brought Obi-Wan there, in his paper-thin hospital gown, since Qui-Gon took the battered body in his arms and laid him on that self-same couch, keeping close to stave off the endless nightmares?

Obi-Wan Kenobi had truly come full circle during his recovery, beginning and ending the journey on the couch he proudly broke in, waxen face to flushed, frightened tears to those of relief…and joy.

And while he wasn't finished with his ultimate recuperation, the largest bounds had already been made.

Qui-Gon bent down and settled the blankets around Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Sea-sprayed eyes flickered open. "Mmph…Thank you." He whispered, smiling faintly, barely awake.

Qui-Gon waited for them to close again before waving the lights off. He returned to the armchair and tipped his head against the backing, slipping to sleep and to contentment.

---

Obi-Wan took a shallow drink from his tumbler, then pursed his lips, setting it aside. The remnants of the breakfast scattered the kitchen table, half-full serving plates, crumpled napkins.

And small, bittersweet, knowing smiles.

Qui-Gon had brought him a brand new set of tunics and leggings, handing them to Obi-Wan, explaining that the Knight would raise quite a few eyebrows if he walked out of the apartment in a hospice robe that didn't tie very satisfactorily in the back.

Now he sat in the crisp uniform, smoothing his hands over the fabric, hardly able to recall the last time he was dressed in the traditional Jedi garb. It felt clean, like wrapping himself in a fresh day, in the manifestation of a forgiving sunrise.

Qui-Gon looked at him from across the table. "I see your appetite's improved since only yesterday." He surveyed with an approving, proud nod. "Pretty soon, you'll be back to your usual Bantha-sized intake of food."

Obi-Wan laughed lightly. "You're one to talk."

Qui-Gon pulled back from the table and folded his arms. "I'll choose to ignore that comment."

"Smart man." Obi-Wan grinned. "And, I'll have you know, I need to work up my strength. The troll will most likely be sending me on some mission to a far-flung planet a second after I have my medical release."

It was meant in mirth, but the Master could sense the underlying tinges of sadness, the acknowledgment of a lifetime of upheaval and sacrifice.

But he couldn't blame Obi-Wan for his methods--the entire morning, they skirted the issue of his departure with puns and sarcasm. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to handle things, but it had been in Obi-Wan's nature all his life…

And if it relieved even the tiniest portion of their sorrow, Qui-Gon was more than willing to go along with it.

Yet their private little hourglass was running low, the final precious grains sifting out, adding to the desolate mound rising that would outweigh their desire to remain in a simple, familial existence. He could turn it over, to reverse the process, but it wouldn't stay, for the sand would always be there, that taunting pile, in their minds.

He glanced at Obi-Wan in the silence, and his theory was solidified. The blue-gray eyes were dry, but with the hint of a distant mist in their depths.

"Remember what I told you, Padawan." He said, standing. "We don't have to be strangers."

Obi-Wan rose and slid on his cloak that had been thrown over the couch arm. Over the pristine clothes, it was well-worn and softened by years, the evening and night to their sunrise.

Stopping at the front door, he felt complete, looking at the apartment, then at Qui-Gon. "We could never be strangers." Obi-Wan murmured. "It's just not possible, my Master."

Qui-Gon traced the healed jaw with a finger, seeing a child with a short, ginger braid, a teenager with longer plaits, a man. "I suppose it's not, is it?"

But it didn't prevent the aching swell in his heart as Obi-Wan embraced him, his head tucked under Qui-Gon's chin. "I love you, you know."

Obi-Wan drew away, and felt the exultation of certainty. "I know."

---

Qui-Gon caught sight of his apprentice and smiled.

Anakin waved, carrying his travel pack and a grin. He crossed the gleaming hangar floor and met his waiting Master.

---

Obi-Wan sunk into his chair in his apartment, letting out a weary breath. The walls were untouched, the carpeting was relatively new.

But it didn't matter.

He possessed the warmth, the familiarity.

And it could spread to anywhere he needed.

THE END.