Their faces were still swimming through my mind. Composed in sleep, tight with passion, smiling brightly, speaking soberly -- all the expressions I'd seen in their eyes in the last few days flowed over me as I walked down the hallway to what once had been their rooms.

This -- what I was doing -- was secret. Though not expressly forbidden, still I glanced around half-covertly as I walked, wondering if I'd be caught.

It was the night of the day they'd -- how shall I say it? -- sacrificed themselves. Doubtless their ashes were still cooling in the Pyre room, doubtless they were by now in the bliss of oneness with the Force, wrapped in each other's arms.

I did not begrudge them their joy; it was well earned. But I mourned and mourned deeply, our loss, our blindness, our Darkness that drove the Council to kill them. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could no longer play a part in the events of this universe, and for that, I grieved.

Approaching what had until this morning been their rooms, I laid a hand on the lock. Recognizing me, as a former occupant, the door slid open.

It all *looked* so normal.

Dishes lay on the table. There had been a lapse, then, in Obi-Wan's customary neatness. I smiled; such things as dishes must have felt inconsequential compared to what they were about to face.

The bed in one corner was made rather sloppily. The other gave no evidence of having been used in days.

Two cloaks lay over the back of one chair. I picked them up, thinking to put them away, but laid them back down. They were practically useless to anyone else, both were worn thin, and hardly a used-clothes buyer would pay more than a credit or two for them. I would take them away with me as mementos.

Emotions swirled in the room, pale, but beautiful. Helplessly drawn to their bed, where their deepest feelings were concentrated, I sat down, and gently probed the mental depth of what had been felt here last night.

Joy washed over me, such a different emotion than what I'd been expecting. Obi-Wan's delight, Qui-Gon's trust. Love. Silvery ribbons twining about one another. Arousal. Echoes of whispered words, holy endearments.

I sank back onto the bed, losing myself in the bliss of what was here.

Peace. Trust. Hope. Beautiful bodies lying together in the moonlight. Patience. A little laughter. A braid caught between fingers and held like a leash. Qui-Gon's hair tumbling down over shoulders. A sliding against silken sheets. Sinuous  movements, made to seduce. A warm, deep kiss. Another. Still another. Visions of flame soaring -- and laughter at that.

More whispered words.

"We can't die, love, no one can kill us, no one ever..."

Ahhh, Obi-Wan. Kill your body, perhaps, but never your heart, never your pure soul.

My eyes slid shut. I was adrift on the sea of sensation, peace washing over me.

I awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in the window, feeling perfectly refreshed.

They are not dead. There are some things even the Council cannot do away with. This I believe. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi, though killed in that fire, live on.

I had no need of mourning.

END