Disclaimer: Same as always: George owns it, not I. I wish it were me :)

Obi-Wan scrambled into the ship after the Jedi, as the blaster shots rang around his head. Years ago, he would have wished for his lightsaber to deflect them. That was practically ancient history, though. He probably wouldn't even know how to use the thing any more. No, he had learned to handle life without the Jedi weapon, just like the most of the Galaxy did.

He saw his former Master lying on the floor, panting – this was the first time he had seen Qui-Gon pant, he thought briefly, but pushed the thought aside. This wasn't the time. There wasn't any time.

If I stop to think, I'm lost

The ship was small, barely large enough to accommodate two people. Therefore - it was perfect for maneuvers he'd probably need. He stepped over Qui-Gon, averting his eyes, and entered the cockpit.

No thoughts. No emotions. He embraced the Force (thankfully, it was there this time) and found the semblance of calm as his hands flew over the commands. The ship rose and Obi-Wan steered it through the cannon fire and upwards, almost forgetting where he was, and with whom. This was familiar ground. This he knew how to handle.

"Hold on," he said, although he wasn't at all sure Qui-Gon could hear him. "Getting into hyperspace." It surprised him how cold and factual his voice sounded.

After programming the course and rechecking the system, he finally took a deep breath. He didn't have to turn around to know Qui-Gon was standing in the entrance to the cockpit, watching him. He turned, though.

The Jedi looked old – much older than his…what, forty years? Meager, starved, barely able to stand, probably beaten, with hollow eyes and… No! No emotions, not yet.

"You are about to collapse," Obi-Wan stated, and stood up decisively. He stepped on his left foot and cringed. It seemed he was worse contused than he had thought. That jump probably hadn't been a good idea, with his insecure connection to the Force and all… It had been the only possibility, though. And his own wounds could wait.

Qui-Gon just watched him, though, his expression blank. One would thought he would be… well, not glad to see me, perhaps, but… At least… grateful?

There wasn't time for petty thoughts, though. He swooped the Jedi in his arms just before the man actually collapsed, cringed again (That thrice-damned left shoulder!), and carried him to the cabin.

"Obi-Wan…" the Jedi began, as Obi-Wan lowered him onto the narrow bed.

"Later," Obi-Wan cut him off. "You need medical care."

He opened the compartment, took out a med kit, and took off Qui-Gon's battered clothing, surprised to realize he was talking all the time.

"I have some bacta here," he was saying. "I'm not very skilled at this – it's always someone else that does the medicking – but I have the basic training. But you know that, of course. You trained me yourself. Well, than you know I've never been any good at this. Bacta should do its job, though, bacta always… Oh, shit!"

Qui-Gon's body was completely covered in bruises and scars – some older, some quite new, but Obi-Wan suppressed his horror and went about his work efficiently – as much as he was able. The older man was so meager, so spent. And so may burns.

"Oh, shit!" he repeated, because he didn't know what else to say. Better than to babble endlessly, anyway. The weariness was getting the better of him. How much had he slept during the last month? He couldn't remember. It wasn't important, though.

…And what of internal wounds?

He prodded at Qui-Gon's ribcage, and the Jedi grunted.

"I wish I had paid better attention in anatomy classes," Obi-Wan muttered, wondering what to do, and then slapped himself on the forehead. Of course. He reached for the Force, failed, reached again. It was so difficult. He had to close his eyes, relax, let go… Then he finally felt it and successfully scanned Qui-Gon's living Force.

Qui-Gon was so used to pain by now that he barely paid attention to his body. He watched Obi-Wan, the man his former Padawan had become. Tall and strong and efficient… But he had always been efficient, hadn't he? His eyes were hard, decisive, not letting anything out. Qui-Gon was surprised at the gentleness and carefulness of his hands that didn't mach his voice at all.

"No internal bleeding I can detect," Obi-Wan stated. He was silent as he applied the bacta and the bandages and Qui-Gon relaxed, let go, and fell in some kind of haze, only half aware of Obi-Wan's actions.

"Qui-Gon? Qui-Gon, open your eyes, damn it."

Qui-Gon made himself do it.

"You'll eat now."

The Jedi just shook his head. The thought of food made his stomach turn.

"Don't be difficult. I'm not going to sit here and watch you die of starvation after all I've been through." His voice was hard again, yet strained somehow, Qui-Gon noticed vaguely. "I'm not going to poison you or anything, you know."

"No," Qui-Gon managed, as Obi-Wan raised him into a half-sitting position. He had meant to say No, I don't think you are going to poison me, but it didn't come out right, obviously.

"Oh, you are going to eat, you know." Irritation rang clear in Obi-Wan's voice now, and Qui-Gon shrugged mentally as the man fed him some food he didn't even recognize.

"You've been bloody starved. Some light food it is, then. In small doses. Fine. You sleep now. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours for the next meal. No, don't shake your head, I'll shove it down your throat if I have to…"

The next twelve hours were a hell for Obi-Wan – a hazy, unclear hell, but a hell nevertheless. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he made himself steer the ship, feed Qui-Gon on regular basis (which wasn't an easy task), study the maps… Finally he landed on a small, rural planet – the thing closest to a decent civilization he could find at such a short notice - got out, somehow located a village, a healer, led her to the ship… and collapsed himself, not to wake for hours.

He opened his eyes, reached for his blaster, then remembered where he was. Where he supposed he was. The ceiling was made out of wood, as, he noticed, were the walls. A very rural planet, it seemed. He contracted his muscles, decided his left side still hurt, but not too badly, and got up. Qui-Gon lay in a bed on the opposite side of the room, obviously asleep. Breathing evenly. Fine.

"I heard some noise. I hadn't expected you up so soon."

The woman that stood in the doorway, and was now talking to him, was short and stocky, with wrinkled brown-gray skin and brown eyes. She inclined her head and watched him.

"You seem alive and well, but you need more rest."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she never gave him the chance.

"I suppose, however, that you are going to refuse to go back to bed, so we'd better move on. After you've eaten – some real food, mind, not that space-travel muck – I want your story. Nice, exciting story. I haven't heard a good one in some time. But first – food!"

Obi-Wan felt a slow grin spreading over his face, and he seemed unable to stop it. The care, the warmness, the motherly cackling – it somehow felt like… home. And what home would that be? He suppressed the bitter thought and gave himself into the care of the healer. And he ate and ate and ate…

Her name was Roan, he found out as he ate, and the planet was called Brilki (he remembered he'd heard a mention of it somewhere, but nothing else). No, not the whole planet was rural, but this part certainly was; Roan didn't want any of that big-city muck in her neighborhood; and yes, this was definitely the best place to land, and Roan was the best person to turn to. Miraculously she had been at home, she usually isn't – too much work, you know…

Miraculously, he thought. Or because of the Force. Maybe it hadn't abandoned me, after all.

Qui-Gon was horribly exhausted, starved, and very very weak, but he was going to live all right, he found out. He was much stronger than it seemed. Much, much stronger…

"Whatever happened to you and your friend, anyway?" she asked, as Obi-Wan stuffed the last piece of bread and honey (cut into soldiers, just as he liked!) into his mouth. He hadn't felt this alive in…years. Her wording made him flinch, though. She noticed, of course.

"If he is not your friend, what is he?" Roan asked sharply. "I've always flattered myself I could read people quite well, and I'd say you are not capable of doing that to anyone."

Obi-Wan shot her an outraged look, and she smiled. "Of course not, young man. You wouldn't rush in like that and drag me to him, had it been you who did it, would you now? But what is he if he is not your friend?

"An… acquaintance?" Obi-Wan tried. He felt as if he were 9 again. The worst thing was, it wasn't a bad feeling at all.

Roan just rolled her eyes. "As you wish. The story, now. Tell it all, with all the gory details. C'mon, spit-spot!"

So he did, although he left out as much of the gritty details as he could. He didn't want to explain that Qui-Gon was a Jedi, or in what way the two of them were related at all, or anything about his past; but he filled her in about hacking into databases, downloading area maps, spiking alarm systems, blowing up the doors… It would have sounded adventury and exciting, had it not happened to him. She stared at him with wide eyes, flinched in the right places, and oohed and aahed when needed. He left off with the landing and coming to her house.

"And… the rest you know, of course," he finished.

"Of course."

She smiled knowingly, then. "I won't ask about the parts you left out. I won't press you. It is, after all, your business… I can see you are a fine young man, and I trust you are telling the truth."

He smiled. Again. He couldn't stop smiling. It was such an immense relief to be at a place like this. After… after all that had happened. What would happen next? He had no idea. He couldn't think about it either.

There seemed to be an awful lot of things he didn't dare think about, lately.

"I wonder about one thing only," Roan said and arched an eyebrow. "To go through all that mucking hell for an… 'acquaintance'?"

Obi-Wan close his eyes briefly. He couldn't snap at her. She had helped him so much. Besides, he felt it wasn't particularly advisable to snap at someone like Roan.

"I suppose…" he began, aware how strained his voice had suddenly become. "I suppose we used to be friends… long time ago."

Then he jumped up and offered to wash the dishes or clean the house or help her tend the animals or whatever she needed. All at once if possible. It was… well, it was a better alternative than talking. Or thinking.

A/N: I get the feeling that the sentence 'If I look back, I'm lost' is from somewhere – somewhere very well-known, I'm afraid. Can't remember from where, though :)

So? What did you think? I'm not a native English speaker, so I appologize for any possible mistakes in my grammar/vocabulary/syntax/whatever :)

The next chapter… In which the two finally talk. Or try to :)

Expect it shortly :)