Yeah, I know I'm semi-retired, but Kielle's Back to Basics challenge just pulled me in. Besides, this is good medicine for my current writer's block. Damn Muse. *sighs* This story may not fit the perimeters of the challenge very well, since it uses Star Wars characters, but I just couldn't make myself write about comics-related fictives...

Rating: PG-13 for implied m/m. I write slash and I'm damn proud of it. Anyone who wants to make an issue out of that can take a number and stand in line to be mocked.

Warning: See above. Spoilers for "Star Wars: The Phantom Menace". Beware, for there is much sap ahead.

Disclaimers: See end of story.

Feedback: Yes, please, to the_jentayu@hotmail.com. As I'm currently down with carpal tunnel syndrome, response may be slow. Do know that I appreciate each and every one, though.

Dedication: To my Muse, the Captain; and to Rossi, whose answer to the challenge planted the seed for this story.

Obi-Wan Kenobi hesitated, one hand held up to push the door open. He looked up at the sign proudly proclaiming "Subreality Cafe", cheerful in its neon tackiness. He almost turned away then, but stopped as the memory of his Calamarian friend swam in his mind. Bant had recommended the place enthusiastically, showering praises on the quality of the drinks.

Unspoken but obvious in her tone was, "If you're going to drown your sorrows, you might just as well do it somewhere good -- and private."

"You going in or what?" the Bouncer rumbled. He was a dapper if imposing figure in a well-cut Armani suit, with inscrutable cynical eyes. His gaze, however, was kindly. He'd learned to recognize the bleak look in the young Jedi's eyes in his long years as the Cafe's bouncer. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan's voice broke, ever so slightly. "Yes, I am," he repeated in a stronger voice. "But thank you for asking."

"Anytime, bub. Enjoy yourself."

He nodded his thanks and stepped inside, blinking slightly at the warmth and lights. It was that narrow window in time when most fanfic writers were either asleep or going through the motions of daytime Real Life, and as a result the Cafe was almost empty. A few Muses huddled in a booth, trading anecdotes and laughing. One of them, a redhead in a flightsuit, glanced at him and smiled.

Somewhat disconcerted, he made his way to the bar. An unshaven Pete Wisdom was keeping company with Sara Pezzini and a pale-skinned Death. Ororo and a blind Scott danced slowly near the jukebox, where a woman's soft voice was raised in song. Their hands were entwined lovingly, their bodies making a space where the rest of the world couldn't have mattered less.

I want a friend that I can care for
And I wanna find a love that's not so painful
But I can't have anything I want
'Cause I can't have you
And I can't have anything I want
'Cause I only want you...

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away from the couple, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. Busying himself with the bowl of peanuts on the bartop, he ordered a lomin-ale from the Bartender. He was appreciative of the relative peace in the Cafe, and loved even more the fact that no one seemed inclined to converse with him. When the drink arrived his hand went automatically to his right shoulder, to flick away the braid that would have fallen into the ale.

He touched only empty air.

His fingers curled stiffly into a fist, trembling slightly as he rested it against the polished wood of the bar. Muscles flexed, and nails dug into callused flesh.

"There is no death, there is the Force," he mouthed silently, over and over. As he bitterly expected, he found no comfort in the litany. It was a hollow faith against the storm of his doubts, an ineffective balm that made his anger and grief seem even sharper.

Qui-Gon was dead. Dead and gone, never to be touched or kissed or loved again. No Jedi creed was ever going to change that.

He pushed his mug aside, staring at the various bottles lining the shelves of the bar. Obi-Wan recognized only a handful of the various liquor, and he was quite sure that half of them were outlawed on Coruscant. His misshapen reflections stared back at him balefully, joined by flickering mirrors of the people passing behind him. There was an older Superman, accompanied by Wonder Woman, and there--

The Jedi Knight froze.

No. No no no no no. It can't be.

He whirled around, joy throbbing painfully in his chest. His blue-green eyes sought the well- known visage, his mind reaching out eagerly through the Force to revel in the warmth of...

... no. It wasn't him.

"Excuse me," said Qui-Gon Jinn -- not his Qui-Gon, never him -- politely. "I hope you won't mind if I sit here." The Jedi Master smiled tiredly. "It's nice to see a familiar face."

His answer was automatic. "Of course not, Master." The other man's hair looked uncombed, and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin. A deep sorrow hid in the man's dark blue eyes, crying out a call of kinship to his own. He longed to smooth it away with a kiss, despite the faint feeling of betrayal at the thought.

Silence stretched and threatened to smother them, these two men who knew each other and not at all. "Have you been here before?" Obi-Wan asked, trying to fill the heavy emptiness.

"No. The Cafe was recommended by a friend, as a matter of fact." The Jedi Master looked around him, ignoring the drunken Urd staggering by. "And you?"

"This is my first time."

"Ah."

Silence fell again, awkward and full of shadows. Qui-Gon ordered a drink, Bakuran namana spice nectar. Both of them nursed their drinks, trying not to be too obvious about the glances directed at each other. Obi-Wan felt awkward, unsure, like a young boy falling in love for the first time.

"So," they started simultaneously.

Obi-Wan gave a small grin. "You first."

"No -- you. I insist." Qui-Gon smiled in response.

The Jedi Knight lowered his gaze to the nearly empty mug, trying to compose an acceptable approach. Finally, he asked, gently, "Forgive my curiousity, Master, but you seem... unhappy."

Qui-Gon could only stare at him, the sea-like depths of his eyes flickering with something he could not bear to say. "I was mourning for you," he answered hoarsely, looking away. With a terrible calmness he added, "My lover."

"Funny." Hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat, but he forced it down. "I was just thinking the same thing -- only about you."

His hand, clenched into a fist again, relaxed as Qui-Gon laid his larger hand on top of it. "I should have been the one who died," said the Jedi Master, staring into the grief-stricken eyes of his Padawan's counterpart. "Not Obi- Wan."

"Can you honestly say loneliness is better than death?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon's jaw was set, his eyes burning with conviction and what might have been tears. "Loneliness can be conquered, and grief fades as life marches. Death? It destroyed any future Obi-Wan might have had." His voice softened. "He would have been a great Jedi Knight, and perhaps... perhaps a good father. Without me."

Obi-Wan laced his fingers through the older man's, sending a wave of assurances and sympathy -- only to pull away first, feeling that comfortable-uncomfortable bond that lay between friendship and acquaintance. The man beside him was so similar to the one he loved, and different in ways he could not quite pin down. Either was reason enough to make him wary of initiating something he knew he could not help but follow through.

Still...

There was something.

Some thing.

A question danced at the tip of his tongue, and with a faint smile he let it free. "So... do you hog the blankets in your universe too?"

"I most assuredly do not!" Qui-Gon protested. "In my universe, you were the one who usually ended up with most of the bed."

"Of course. I'd bet my lightsaber you snore like a bantha, too."

"And I would wager, Obi-Wan, that you are every inch the mischievious imp who poured dye into Master Yoda's laundry."

"That's slander!"

"Is it?"

"Well, Master, in my universe you were the one forever reprimanded by the Council."

"I am heartened to hear that your Qui-Gon has some of my virtues."

Obi-Wan's delighted laugh rang through the Cafe, blue-green eyes sparkling as he regarded the Jedi Master. "You were always the maverick one," he teased.

"But you were always wiser than I was at your age," Qui-Gon grinned.

Something thrummed through the bond, warm and fleeting like a bird. Under its spell Obi-Wan allowed himself to while away the hours with his unexpected companion. He even tolerated the rapidly-growing crowd, leaning to catch the words from the din around them.

He discovered that Qui-Gon had exactly 729 "pets" (most of them rescued and given shelter for "a few days") in his lifetime so far, and disagreed vociferously with the Jedi Master's contention that the creatures were mostly harmless. To this the older man retorted that all living beings were precious, causing him to roll his eyes in affectionate exasperation.

Qui-Gon found that Obi-Wan disliked bed rest, often hobbling out of the healer's care with the most ridiculous of excuses. He laughed at the Knight's tale of being confined to bed for a week, only to grow bored by the second week and tried to fill him time with lightsaber practice. Unfortunately, he'd chosen a time when Adi Gallia and Yoda stopped by to visit him -- and his practice ended with a lecture from the two singed Jedi.

They did not remember who reached out first, only the sensation skin against skin and the warmth of two bodies pressed together, barred by the deceptively simple clothing that was also a symbol of the calling they had chosen to bear.

It seemed too good to be true.

It was.

Even in Subreality, where dreams are as real as the dreamer.

"No!"

In the middle of a conversation they suddenly jerked away from each other, gasping. The signal that shrieked through their minds was something every fictive instinctively knew -- and sometimes dreaded.

"My Writer calls for me," Obi-Wan growled, rubbing his temples and cursing silently.

"Mine as well," Qui-Gon sighed, getting to his feet slowly as if about to walk to his death. "Let us go, then."

They walked together to the door, the very picture of Jedi propriety. The cool night air washed over them as they left the Cafe, and the two paused, gazing at each other. Questions and dreams they dared not say flitted in the look, understood despite its wordless frames.

Qui-Gon smiled sadly at Obi-Wan, stroking his cheek lightly. "Will I see you again?" the Jedi Master asked softly.

He placed his hands on either side of Qui-Gon's face, pulling it down to pressed his lips to the older man's forehead. "Do you believe in me?"

Midnight blue eyes studied him without judgement, warm and hopeful. "Always," he answered. To Obi-Wan's surprise, the strong fingers tilted his chin up, and Qui-Gon's lips brushed against his. "This is Subreality. We can wait another thousand generations to find each other again."

THE END

Yes, I know it's sappy. But it was cathartic.

Disclaimers: The concept of Subreality Cafe belongs to Kielle. I don't remember who created the Bouncer and the Bartender, but as far as I know they're public domain. The song excerpt is from "I Want" by Dayna Manning. Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Bant, and all Star Wars- related stuff belong to George Lucas, though the versions presented here are my interpretation of them. They're not from any particular fanfic though. The various comics and manga/anime characters belong to their respective copyright holders. All the fictives, except for two, are from certain stories, but I won't tell you which ones. :) The red-haired Muse is mine, though she'd argue that it's actually the other way around.