Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the places in this story belong to me; and I don't make any money with this.

A/N: Since this is my first Star Wars fanfic, feedback would be highly appreciated. This is set a long time before TPM, more precisely 8 years after Qui-Gon was knighted. It contains explicit slash, but it’s not a PWP.
Thanks to Ziggy for beta-reading this.

Worth The Wait

“Master Dooku.”

“Knight Jinn.”

The words were formally spoken, the voices neutral, but respectful. Both Jedi bowed, the younger one more deeply.

“It’s Master now, actually,” Qui-Gon corrected when he straightened, with as much humility in his voice and eyes as he could gather.

“Master? When did that happen, Padawan?” The emphasis on the last word sounded affectionate rather than condescending, and was accompanied by the hint of a smile. Most people who knew Dooku would have been surprised that the stern, uncompromising Jedi Master was capable of so much as smiling, and even Qui-Gon Jinn, who had spent most of his youth under Dooku’s tutelage, had hardly expected it now.

Ten years had passed since they had last exchanged more than polite phrases. Ten years since Dooku had left on a dangerous long-term mission, which he deemed too risky to have his padawan, no matter how close he was to knighthood, accompany him. Dooku had been - and still was - convinced that his decision had been right, but nevertheless he suspected that Qui-Gon had resented him for it. Dooku hadn’t even been present two years later when Qui-Gon, then under Master Yoda’s guidance, was knighted. When they had met again Dooku had been distanced, afraid to get close enough to Qui-Gon to feel his disappointment. Unknowingly he had only strengthened Qui-Gon’s conviction that he must have somehow displeased his demanding master. Although they had once been closer than any other master-padawan pair, their relationship had been unable to recover from this estrangement. Qui-Gon couldn’t remember the last time Dooku had said a complete sentence to him.

And now, suddenly, when he had already given up hope of seeing it ever again, that rare, secret, almost intimate smile lit up Dooku’s face. His master had aged quite a bit since the last time Qui-Gon had taken a closer look at him. In his mid-forties now, the first streaks of dark grey already appeared at his temples, amplifying the dignified appearance Dooku had already had as a young knight. The small wrinkles around his eyes had deepened when he had smiled, and yet they made him appear younger. fFor a moment he looked like the man Qui-Gon had once known as well as he knew himself.

“Probably while you were busy arguing with the Council,” Qui-Gon said, nodding towards the door of the Council chamber Dooku had just exited.

Dooku sighed in exasperation: another rare show of emotion that reminded Qui-Gon of a time when they hadn’t thought it necessary to hide their thoughts from each other, a time he had believed was irretrievably lost.

“Well, why are you here, Qui-Gon? Not getting in trouble, I hope?” Though the deep voice was as steady as usual, the attempt at light, nonchalant conversation sounded stiff. Yet it filled Qui-Gon with an almost dizzying joy that his master - former master, he corrected himself - bothered at all. Maybe, he dared to hope, maybe Dooku didn’t want to perpetuate the silence of the past ten years.

Qui-Gon shrugged and smiled slightly, glancing again at the door of the Council chamber.

“I hope not,” he said. “If I’m lucky, they won’t want to give me the same lecture they just gave you.”

“I am afraid the Council will never tire of lecturing those who dare to disagree with it,” Dooku replied with a frown.

“Nor is it likely that they’ll ever put common sense over regulations,” Qui-Gon said, unconsciously quoting something Dooku had told him countless times in the past, something he had realised too often in the Council briefings after his own missions.

The short smile they shared was quickly replaced by an uncomfortable silence when neither knew what to say, and for a moment Qui-Gon feared that this encounter would end as abruptly as earlier ones. A nod, a polite goodbye, and then no word for several years. It surprised him every time how painful it was to let his former master go, even a decade after their separation. It always felt like a part of himself was walking out of the door.

But the distanced calm he had come to expect didn’t return into Dooku’s brown eyes. The older Jedi just looked at Qui-Gon for a few seconds, apparently lost in his thoughts, before he seemed to reach a decision. Instead of wishing him good luck for his next mission and leaving, he said, “I would like to hear more about how you spent the past years, if you don’t mind. We could meet for dinner tonight, unless you have other plans.”

It took all of Qui-Gon’s considerable self-control to rein in his emotions. This was more than he had ever dared to hope for. Maybe this would be an opportunity for them to renew the close bond they had once shared. Qui-Gon took a deep breath to steady himself. Live in the moment, he reminded himself of his own words. It probably meant nothing more than his former master being curious about what had become of the first padawan he had trained. Wondering what else the invitation could imply wouldn’t get him anywhere.f

“I would like that very much, Master,” Qui-Gon answered, offering a slight bow. “I could invite you to my new quarters.”

Dooku simply nodded, smiling in amusement at his former padawan's desire to show off his new master's quarters - while at the same time falling back into the old habit of calling Dooku by his title. Once the two Jedi had agreed when they would meet, Qui-Gon left for the Council chamber.

Feeling his former master’s eyes follow him Qui-Gon hesitated before opening the door and turned around, casting an almost shy glance at Dooku. He was hiding it quite well, but Dooku had raised Qui-Gon, and despite the beard and years of separation he could still read his apprentice’s face without any effort. Dooku simply knew that Qui-Gon’s heart had started beating faster when he looked back at him. It wasn’t surprising. It was, however, a bit more disconcerting that his own breath caught in his throat when their eyes met.

The intense feeling that had filled him since their meeting in the morning only strengthened over the rest of the day. Dooku had never been one of those Jedi who interpreted the Code in a way that forbade every emotion. Strong emotions were rare, precious, something to cherish without, of course, letting them interfere with his duties and his principles. He didn’t mind giving them a place in his life, theoretically. If he was seen throughout the Order as purely cold and calculating, it was only because he usually didn’t have any strong feelings he might give in to. He didn’t need to suppress his passions - he hadn’t had any in many years.

Yet the thought of seeing Qui-Gon again - and not just in a Temple hallway, but in a more private setting - reminded him that his feelings for the younger man had never disappeared. Of course he hadn’t spent ten years pining for him, and after the initial pain of losing Qui-Gon Dooku often hadn’t even thought of him for weeks … but somewhere, buried inside, disclosed only in the occasional meditation on emotions, his love for his impetuous, passionate padawan had lingered. And considering his excitement, that love hadn’t diminished a bit. It was quite a surprise for a man who had thought that emotions were no longer a part of his life.

None of these thoughts showed on Dooku’s face when he touched the pad next to Qui-Gon’s door to ring. He wore the usual serene expression, although his eyes were friendlier than usual. His thoughts were carefully shielded. It wouldn’t do to give himself away as long as he didn’t know what went on in Qui-Gon’s head. It wasn’t unlikely that Qui-Gon’s obvious enthusiasm in the morning was only caused by a young man’s desire to impress his former master.

The door slid open to reveal a smiling Qui-Gon, quite formally dressed, but without his robes. He bade his master into obviously still quite new quarters, hardly lived in and probably only tidy for that reason.

“I ordered something,” Qui-Gon said while he took his master’s robe and neatly hung it up. “I know that you don’t appreciate my cooking.”

They shared a knowing smile, both remembering all too well the occasions on which Qui-Gon, ever the eager padawan, had decided that cooking for his master was part of his duties. Anything more sophisticated than scrambled eggs had inevitably ended in a culinary catastrophe. The memories were still so vivid that Dooku found himself raising his hand as if to ruffle Qui-Gon’s hair before he even realised what he was doing. He halted and closed his eyes for a second to refocus himself. This wasn’t the fifteen-year-old boy he had first taken to his bed after Qui-Gon had begged him to do so for weeks. Neither was it his tall, lanky twenty-year-old padawan, confident in his feelings and his skills, but still his master’s obedient apprentice. Dooku faced a grown-up man, a Jedi Master in his own right, who had had ten years to let go of what, bluntly said, had been nothing more but the love of his teenage years. He couldn’t expect Qui-Gon to return his feelings.

Dooku ran his hand through his own hair to deflect from his initial gesture. If Qui-Gon had noticed anything, he had the decency to be silent about it. Without another word he motioned for Dooku to sit down while he went to the kitchen to fetch drinks.

They spent the next hours talking, not only like old companions, but more openly than they often had in the past. Dooku had always known that Qui-Gon would become a formidable Jedi, but to hear him talk about his missions, about his first disputes with the Council, about the training of a senior padawan he had finished after the former master’s death … it sent a shiver of pride down his spine.

Years ago he would have thought that nothing could be more enticing than Qui-Gon’s innocence, his blind trust in every word his master said, his unconditional devotion that persisted even as the boy grew into a man. Yet now he found himself as attracted to this independent, strong man as he had been to the boy he had raised.

Dooku had sometimes cursed the Force for separating him from his padawan so shortly before his knighthood, when they had been so close. Only now did he realise why it had been necessary. As much as Qui-Gon had learnt from Dooku it had taken a few years with another master and some time alone for him to become who he was truly meant to be: someone as headstrong and individualist as Dooku himself. Although he had loved teaching the boy, he enjoyed talking to the man he had become even more.

It was already late in the night when Dooku accidentally caught a glimpse at the digital clock nearby. More out of reflex than anything else he stood up and said, “I should retire. We both have duties to attend to in the morning.”

Qui-Gon grabbed his wrist, the movement so quick that it surprised himself.

“Don’t go.“ The words sounded more commanding than he had intended. For the first time in years Qui-Gon found himself blushing and immediately withdrew his hand. In a less serious voice he added, “I’m not a little padawan you have to send to bed, Master.”

Dooku hesitated, but then he sat back on the couch they had moved to after the meal. For once he found it difficult to read Qui-Gon, or maybe he just couldn’t believe that he really saw longing in those blue eyes. The sensation of strong fingers still burnt on his wrist, and the attraction he had reined in for the whole evening, fighting not to be lulled in by those eyes, by the gentle voice, by that still admiring and yet confident smile, suddenly hit him with all their strength.

Ignoring Qui-Gon’s attempt to lighten the conversation Dooku simply stated, “Yet you still call me master.”

“You will always be my master,” Qui-Gon said, his voice dropping low. In that moment Dooku understood that Qui-Gon might as well have said that he would always love him. He lifted his hands to caress Qui-Gon’s bearded cheek, drawing a hesitant smile from him.

“Do you mind the beard?” Qui-Gon asked so quietly that Dooku felt for a moment like he was again facing the innocent boy who hardly knew how to return his master’s kisses. The impression faded when he noticed the playful glimmer in Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“I don’t know yet,” Dooku replied with accentuated gravity. Long fingers continued their caress on Qui-Gon’s chin, then moved gently to lips that opened willingly, before they dropped to his throat. Qui-Gon closed his eyes when Dooku’s lips met his, as carefully as they had that first time, over fifteen years ago. Strong arms moved to embrace the other, lips and tongues exploring again what they had once known so intimately. Any worries or quips about something as trivial as his beard were forgotten when Qui-Gon opened his eyes to look at Dooku again. The brown eyes were not only filled with warmth, but with a heated passion that belied the more narrow-minded interpretations of the Jedi code. They had both never been more serene than when they were completely joined in body and mind.

And yet Dooku forced himself to be reasonable and pulled back, gently putting a finger on Qui-Gon’s lips when he moved to catch his mouth again.

“Are you sure about this, Qui-Gon? I know you want it, but -” He took a deep breath to steady himself, unwilling to say aloud what he had known all along. “We are not master and padawan anymore. We can’t stay together just because we want to. Our duties -”

“- are something we can think about tomorrow,” Qui-Gon interrupted him and placed a kiss on his finger. “You taught me not to waste the present for fear of the future.”

“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” Dooku sighed, already resigned. He knew it would hurt, if not tomorrow, then as soon as one of them had to leave on another mission. And yet -

“Do you want to?”

He didn’t. Qui-Gon was right. His whole being longed for this, and he felt like the Force itself was coaxing him into Qui-Gon’s arms. The only answer he gave was another kiss, and this time they knew it would not be broken by doubts.

There was something slightly awkward about their caresses: not the awkwardness of new lovers, but the awkwardness of those who were gradually remembering something that had once been so familiar. And while Qui-Gon's hands were unsurprised to discover, as they slipped under Dooku's tunic, that the elder man was unchanged save for a few new scars, Dooku noticed that Qui-Gon had truly grown up since they had last been together. The last lankiness of youth had disappeared, given way to a firm strength that matched, if not surpassed, Dooku’s own. He found muscles where he expected jutting ribs, thicker hair where he expected hardly more than fuzz. Yet despite his usual preference for boyish rather than distinctively masculine partners, the sensations filled him with dizzying arousal.

The reminder that his padawan had grown into a man didn’t change anything about his intention to be just as demanding as he had used to be. To his relief Qui-Gon didn’t protest when Dooku bit his bottom lip roughly, one hand firmly on his neck to keep him in place. The bite was followed by a passionate kiss, Qui-Gon willingly submitting to his master’s lead. The strong body was just as pliant in Dooku’s arms as the boyish one had been years ago. Dooku had to force himself to break their embrace and stand up.

“I refuse to celebrate our reunion on a sofa in the living room, Padawan,” he said dryly. His calm voice would easily have fitted into a philosophical discussion, but his eyes left no doubt about his intentions.

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon replied with an acquiescence that would have seemed all too familiar to Dooku, were it not for the confidence in his eyes. This wasn’t a padawan submitting to his master, never even considering that it might be any different, but an independent man freely submitting to an equal because he wanted to. Qui-Gon had chosen to belong to him as completely as he had in the past, if only for this night. Dooku wasn’t sure what overwhelmed him more - the almost frightening joy that filled his heart at that thought, or the physical arousal that made him tremble.

Qui-Gon only smiled at him, tenderly and even admiringly, before he got up and walked to the bedroom. He made a show of opening his tunic while he did so, looking back over his shoulder just to give his master a tiny glimpse at his now exposed chest.

Dooku shed his outer tunics, folded them neatly and hung them over the sofa before he followed him slowly, slightly surprised to find Qui-Gon already stripped of his boots and reclining on the bed.

It surprised him even more when Qui-Gon slid of the bed and onto his knees in front of him. Strong fingers ran over the smooth leather of Dooku’s boots before they took them off. There was something incredibly sensual in the movements of those big hands on his now bare feet, but no matter how enticing it was to have his padawan kneel for him, now wasn’t the right time for such games.

He grabbed Qui-Gon’s upper arms, guided him back onto the bed and immediately joined him there, slowly leaning over him. He halted just long enough to take in the sight of the muscular body that was stretched out beneath him, and he couldn’t help but smile back when he noticed the deep affection in his former padawan’s eyes.

With a careful movement Dooku removed Qui-Gon’s hair tie and ran his fingers through the long hair, then down to tweak dark nipples. His lips and teeth followed his hands, rough bites leaving marks on the pale skin. Qui-Gon’s helpless moan brought another smile to Dooku’s face. It had always amazed him how sensitive his padawan was to his touch.

He was reminded soon enough that the reverse was just as true. Qui-Gon allowed himself to enjoy his master’s exploring caresses passively for a few moments, but when his hands finally found their way from the blankets they had been grasping to Dooku’s body, their effect on the older man was quite devastating. The added experience of the past years combined with a clear memory of what his master liked soon made Dooku as impatient and aroused as Qui-Gon.

The younger Jedi carefully touched his master’s full hair, loving the feel of it but knowing that Dooku hated it when he grabbed it. He quickly found the sensitive spots behind Dooku’s ears that made him moan when he ran his fingernails over them. Alternately submitting to Dooku’s kisses and evading them he soon had both of them breathless and shivering. Their eyes met after an almost painful kiss, smiling in the shared knowledge that this was not only what they wanted right now, but what they had craved for years. Dooku rolled over onto his back almost in the same moment as Qui-Gon decided to push him over.

Hasty fingers, all nimbleness lost in a frantic need for more closeness, fumbled with the fastenings of their leggings and discarded the unneeded cloth. Dooku, who usually preferred to take his time, was carried along by Qui-Gon’s fervour, and yet when his padawan suddenly dove down between his legs, longing lips finding their goal before Dooku had completely registered the movement, he gathered what remained of his control and put a firm hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“Slowly, padawan,” he admonished, the strict tone softened by lust and affection, but nonetheless resolute. “We have waited for ten years, there is no need for haste now. We have the whole night.”

And hopefully many more, he thought, but he didn’t say it. This moment was too precious to destroy it with futile concerns about the future.

Qui-Gon looked up at him and nodded. A suggestive smile crept onto his lips, promising that he took this as a permission to tease him as much as he wanted. Dooku gently caressed the bearded cheek, his eyes conveying the emotions that were filling him, not bothering to hide them anymore. It was quite obvious that they were mutual. But there would be time for sentimentality later, he decided as his hand moved to grab Qui-Gon’s long hair. In a strangely rational way he realised that it definitely had some advantages over the short padawan haircut.

Qui-Gon obeyed and bent his head again, his earlier haste now replaced by a mixture of pleasuring and teasing, fervent sucking and probing licks, quickly remembering what his master liked and curiously testing how he reacted to the rasp of a beard on his thighs and even more sensitive parts.

Dooku lay back and relaxed, unmoving except for the convulsive clenching of his hand in Qui-Gon’s hair. He wanted to look at him, but his eyelids fluttered shut as pleasure overtook him. It was as perfect as he had remembered, but it was too early to let go. Qui-Gon understood immediately when Dooku again grasped his shoulder, too softly to push him away, but the gesture alone was enough to make him obey.

Qui-Gon sat up, licking his lips before he bent down to kiss his master. No words needed to be spoken now; they never had to. Even without the training bond that had once linked their minds, they simply felt what the other wanted. At least in these moments, their old familiarity was completely restored.

They parted when Qui-Gon leant to the nightstand and fetched a small bottle of oil. Dooku had to suppress a sudden stab of jealousy but contented himself, for the moment, with the explanation that Qui-Gon used it to pleasure himself, not on any other partners. His worries were easily pushed aside when Qui-Gon positioned himself comfortably on hands and knees. There wasn’t even the slightest tension in his body, and the look he gave his master was one of complete trust. While Dooku was a demanding, dominant lover who could be quite brutal if he chose to, he would never hurt Qui-Gon without consent. And as much as they had used to enjoy such games, this wasn’t the right moment for them. Moments like these were made for that almost startling, no less passionate gentleness that most people would think Dooku incapable of.

Fighting down his mere physical needs Dooku took his time to explore what was offered to him. His fingers drew soft lines on the muscular back, every now and then accentuated by a fleeting kiss, inexorably but so slowly moving further down. Qui-Gon was already shivering before Dooku’s mouth reached its destination. When it did he took again his time, his tongue tracing the path he could hardly wait to enter. Any protests about this teasing were answered with more licks and kisses that cut the words off with moans. By the time Dooku turned him on his back and reached for the oil, Qui-Gon was moaning in frustrated anticipation.

At that point Dooku apparently decided that he had waited long enough. He knew from experience that long preparations would be unnecessary, especially when Qui-Gon felt so perfectly relaxed underneath him. There was still a breathless gasp, a faint trace of discomfort, when Dooku entered him, but it was immediately drawn out into an almost grateful sounding moan.

Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Dooku and pulled him closer, pleased that his master had decided to do this face-to-face. He loved to see him when they were joined, to see how all reserves and concerns disappeared from the strong face, leaving it with nothing but that intimate expression that only Qui-Gon was allowed to witness. It was in these rare moments that Qui-Gon’s eyes could see the man he loved, with all his most secret feelings and thoughts, with everything that was usually hidden under the traits of the Jedi Master, of the Count of Serenno. None of these public traits were a mere façade, but they still formed the face Dooku decided to show to the rest of the galaxy. This was what he would reveal to no one but Qui-Gon.

“Master,” Qui-Gon sighed, a single word thick with not only lust, but love. Dooku halted and looked at him, the sweat on the usually so untouchable brow somehow enhancing the emotions in his eyes. For a moment neither stirred, each of them taking in the offered sight as if they could hardly believe what they had regained, until Dooku suddenly moved deeper into him, urged on by desires that demanded to be finally satisfied, and by a partner who had become quite impatient himself.

Dooku was usually a rather quiet lover, especially compared to his much more vocal padawan, but even he moaned loudly when he found satisfaction, his rapid breathing mingling with Qui-Gon’s gasps when they kissed. Qui-Gon’s eyes were closed, his whole body shivering in pleasure and completion. No less exhausted, Dooku sank into his arms, burying his face against the sweaty neck and the tousled hair. It smelt different than he remembered, but underneath the soap he still recognised Qui-Gon’s scent, his taste when he licked the exposed throat.

Dooku complied lazily and unwillingly when Qui-Gon shifted underneath him. As soon as he had slipped out of his former padawan he moved closer again, held by arms that were just as determined not to let go of him. For minutes they just lay there, listening to each other’s ragged breathing, all of their senses revelling in feelings they had missed for too long, the Force gently weaving a connection between them: not quite a bond, more like a heightened sense of intimacy, of mutual awareness.

Unsurprisingly, it was Qui-Gon who eventually broke the silence.

“I missed you, Master,” he whispered, his voice husky and still weak. He didn’t care if the words sounded superficial or sentimental, knowing that his master would understand what he felt.

Dooku smiled at him, then settled more comfortably on his back. He pulled his unresisting padawan into his arms, feeling quite satisfied when Qui-Gon nuzzled against him, his head resting on his former master’s chest. Tentatively Dooku tested the connection he had felt between them, tried to send his affection the way he had used to over the training bond. He knew it was only a temporary link, much like the one that formed when two Jedi meditated together, but it seemed quite strong for the moment. Qui-Gon felt it well enough, just like Dooku could feel the answering joy and love.

They rested silently, Dooku’s fingers absently combing through Qui-Gon’s tangled hair, Qui-Gon lazily caressing his master’s flank. Neither could remember the last time they had felt so at peace, with themselves and with the Force. For this stolen moment, in their enclosed world, everything was simple, uncomplicated, untouched by duties, disagreements, and misunderstandings. Things were as they should be, not as they really were once perfection was tainted by reality.

Dooku seemed to understand this all too well. When Qui-Gon looked up after what might have been minutes or just as well hours, opening his mouth to speak, Dooku gently put his fingers on glistening lips.

“Hush, Padawan,” he whispered, his deep voice sounding unreal in the silence of the quarters. “Not tonight, my own.”

Qui-Gon frowned, but then he nodded in understanding. He already felt their mind link fade, and any doubts about their future would probably cut it completely. He kissed Dooku’s finger, like he had done earlier, and settled against his chest again.

Unwilling to disturb their comfortable position, Dooku used a flicker of the Force to pull the blanket over them. Even as he felt Qui-Gon doze off, he tried to stay awake, mesmerised by the look of trust and happiness on his face. Deep down he knew that perfection like this could not last, but right now that didn’t matter. Soon enough the wave of sleepy affection flowing from Qui-Gon enveloped him, washing away his concerns and easing him into sleep.

Qui-Gon woke up alone. That in itself wasn’t surprising - Dooku was an incredibly early riser, and he had always preferred to let his padawan get some more sleep if possible. It was no more surprising - although considerably more painful - that their unstable mental connection had crumbled during the night. What did worry him was that he couldn’t feel his master’s presence anywhere in his quarters. He felt confusion, even fear rise up in him, deeply distressed by the idea that Dooku had not only left, but had not even said goodbye. He got up and hastily pulled his trousers on before he rushed into the living room, looking around as if he expected, miraculously, to find him there. Predictably, the room was empty.

Qui-Gon couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Apparently his master had discarded him again, as impossible as that seemed after the unmistakable love and devotion he had shown last night. Stifling the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, but still feeling confused and, worse, betrayed, he slumped down on the floor.

He wasn’t sure how long he just sat there, staring at the empty tea cups on the table as if the leftovers from last night could bring Dooku back. He tried to meditate and centre himself, but it only made him feel numb, not composed. While he knew that it didn’t make any sense that Dooku would leave him, his mind refused to come up with any other possible explanation.

The insistent sound of the doorbell broke his brooding. He stumbled on his feet and to the door, torn between hope and fear.

Dooku gave him a rather surprised look when he entered, the perfect image of a reserved Jedi Master facing a still half-naked and clearly distressed Qui-Gon.

“You look awful, Padawan,” he observed calmly, but his eyes betrayed his concern. Gentle fingers caressed Qui-Gon’s cheek and brushed his hair aside.

“I thought you had left,” Qui-Gon replied quietly, suddenly feeling guilty for even suspecting Dooku of such a cowardly act. Ignorant of the strange sight he made next to the fully dressed Master, he wrapped his arms around Dooku, clinging to him like a lost child to his father.

“I received a summoning from the Council early this morning,” Dooku said while he stroked Qui-Gon‘s back reassuringly. He knew he should be insulted by Qui-Gon’s lack of trust, but the depth of emotion implied by such agitation made it impossible for him to feel offended. He hugged the younger man closer, knowing that his presence never failed to soothe Qui-Gon. “I expected to be back before you would wake, so I let you sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Qui-Gon whispered, but his voice was already beginning to sound steadier. He scolded himself for being so unreasonable, for panicking like a child when he should have known that there was a perfectly sound reason for his master’s absence. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was out of my mind when I woke up and you were gone.”

Dooku accepted the apology with a nod, his face growing serious again.

“We do need to talk, though. You should get dressed.”

Years ago Qui-Gon would have blushed; now he almost laughed. He wondered if there were any situation in which Dooku’s obsessive-compulsive nature wouldn’t show. Dooku wasn’t quite sure what was so funny about his words, but he was glad when the unsettled, guilty look slowly faded from Qui-Gon’s eyes. He sat down on the sofa, rejoined only a minute later by a hastily dressed Qui-Gon.

“I am to leave on a mission in two days,” Dooku started without further preliminaries. The questioning, hurt expression on Qui-Gon’s face reassured and pained him at the same time. “Originally I was supposed to supervise the signing of a commercial treaty in a month, but since the negotiations turned out to be more complicated than expected they asked for a Jedi’s assistance earlier. The Council would have liked me to leave immediately, but I insisted that I needed at least a short reprieve after my last mission if I were to be of any use.”

Qui-Gon was at a loss for words. He should have been prepared for this, but while he had known that this would happen, he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Somehow he had hoped that he would have more time to convince Dooku to continue their relationship, but what if his master decided now that it would be better for both of them not to?

“What will happen now?” Qui-Gon asked more firmly than he felt. His carefully sustained composure didn‘t fool Dooku, who took his hand and ran his thumb gently over Qui-Gon’s palm.

“Our duties may never suffer from this,” he started, then took a deep breath finally to voice the feeling he had believed lost for ten years, “but I do love you, Qui-Gon. I do not want this to end, no matter how difficult it may be.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened in surprise, then gleamed with relief. Dooku had never been overly generous with these words, and Qui-Gon realised that his fears were unjustified if his reserved master cared enough about him to admit his feelings. Encouraged and reassured Qui-Gon moved closer to Dooku until their lips almost brushed, but the elder Jedi evaded the kiss.

“I will be gone for weeks, and you will probably be away upon my return,” Dooku continued as steadily as if he hadn‘t been interrupted. “We both spend more time in the field than in the Temple. We might not see each other for months. I want you to understand what we are getting ourselves into.”

“This is worth the wait, Master,” Qui-Gon said with renewed confidence and kissed him passionately. Realising that no objection would change the fact that they both wanted this more than anything else Dooku returned the kiss. When they parted, breathless, Qui-Gon ran his fingertips over Dooku’s cheek. “And you have two days to give me some memories to tide me over.”

“I have every intention of doing so,” Dooku promised and put his arms around Qui-Gon. He wasn’t used to feeling so … happy, especially not when he knew that he had to leave Qui-Gon in only two days. But the time without him would be filled with the memories of what they shared as well as with the anticipation of returning to him, and that might just make their separation bearable.

Looking into Qui-Gon’s blue eyes, filled with a love even deeper than that of the padawan years ago, he smiled. He had waited for Qui-Gon for ten years; he would live through a few months. As was so often the case, his impetuous padawan was right.

Living these moments to the fullest was worth the wait.