Eighteen and Loving It
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I warned you, Qui-Gon. Six years ago, I warned you."

Qui-Gon didn't even want to think about how many times he had heard those words from Mace Windu in the past five weeks since Siona's eighteenth birthday. He tried to ignore his friend as they walked together through the streets of Couroscant, but Mace didn't intend to be ignored.

"Didn't I warn you?" Mace demanded again. He looked all to pleased with himself for Qui-Gon's peace of mind, but he had to admit that the man was right.

"Yes Mace, you warned me."

"What did I warn you about?" Mace said. It was obviously not a question Mace meant to have answered, since he didn't give Qui-Gon a chance to respond. "There's a reason that they recommend you take a Padawan of them same gender for your first one, Qui-Gon, especially if you take one right after you become a Knight."

"Yes, and I'm well aware of all of the reasons now," Qui-Gon snapped, starting losing his temper. "So could we drop it and just find my Padawan?"

"You know of course that the next thing will be her developing a crush on you," Mace continued blithely, ignoring the look of horror Qui-Gon cast at him. "She's eighteen, she's obviously discovering a /whole/ new world, if the amount of times you've had to go and fetch her is any indication . . ."

"You know, this wouldn't be such a big thing if it weren't for that thrice-damned Padawan of yours leading her astray," Qui-Gon retorted. The idea of Siona developing a crush on him was slightly startling, not in the least because she was developing into a startlingly attractive young woman.

"Now Shawn may be a little wild sometimes," Mace began, but cut off abruptly as his friend spun around and nailed him to the wall with his glare. "Fine, Qui-Gon! I admit it, Shawn probably is entirely responsible for corrupting your precious little Padawan."

Qui-Gon only snorted, convinced that Mace was proud of his Padawan's tendency to party hard and bring home the pick of the Temple's eligible young women. Mace had certainly been a popular young man in his day, and Qui-Gon was suspicious of just how much of Mace's "morning after" lectures to Shawn were lectures, and how many were praise and the retelling of stories from Mace's not so distant Padawan days.

"Come on, Qui-Gon. Let's go get little Siona before Shawn convinces her again that she's a dancing girl." At Qui-Gon's groan, Mace merely chuckled. "You've got to be proud of her, Qui-Gon. If nothing else, that girl can certainly kick up her heels!"

Qui-Gon had all he could do not to pull his fist back and punch his friend as they headed deeper into the city.

When the entered the bar where Shawn and Siona were holding forth, Qui-Gon groaned--although not appreciatively like the rest of the male patronage seemed to be doing. His Padawan--his very female and very attractive Padawan--was gracing the entire bar with a rather tantalizing show of her long legs as she perched up on the bar, singing a song in a language Qui-Gon didn't recognize. Her voice was amazingly good--but Qui-Gon had the feeling that it wasn't her voice that had the male patrons paying her such close attention. Shawn was sprawled on the bar next to her, affording him what must have been an amazing view up Siona's rather short dress. Every once in a while he'd join in singing, but his voice wasn't nearly as good as Siona's--and he had some rather obvious distractions getting in the way of his performance.

Qui-Gon groaned again, trying to decide what the best course of action was. He couldn't exactly pluck her off of the bar and carry her out under his arm, but he didn't really want to leave her up there for much longer either.

"Wow, she's got a set of legs on her," Mace murmured appreciatively, earning a dark look from his friend. "Sorry, Qui-Gon, but when you weren't looking Siona turned into a beauty."

"She's my Padawan," Qui-Gon rumbled grumpily. "And she's singing on a bar. And your Padawan is sprawled out drunk below her." Mace was still grinning, and Qui-Gon could almost hear the other Knight thinking, ::More power to him!::

"Mace, there's got to be someone in here who knows why they've got those braids behind their ears. This is hardly behavior appropriate to Jedi Apprentices."

"Lighten up, Qui-Gon. They're having a little fun. Just because you didn't do it when you were their age is no reason for them not to." Mace wiggled his eyebrows at his friend, giving Qui-Gon a lusty grin. "Though if I remember correctly, you did have /some/ fun. Weren't there a couple of women who decided a big strong man like you needed to be taught the ways of the world? And I remember you being all too willing to learn what they had to teach."

"Mace, that has nothing to do with this!" Qui-Gon exploded, trying without success to control a blush as he waved a hand to take in his drunk, half naked, singing Padawan. "I'm getting her out of here before she decides to do anything more than sing."

"Pity," Mace muttered, ducking as Qui-Gon turned with every intention of hitting his friend.

"Just get her down," Mace choked out, trying to control laughter at the expression on Qui-Gon's face.

It was a lot easier than Qui-Gon thought it would be to get Siona off of the bar. All he had to do was catch her attention, and the next thing he knew she had leapt off the bar and was half way across the room. A few moments later she had leapt nimbly into the air, wrapping arms and legs around Qui-Gon.

"Master," she said breathlessly. "Did you hear me sing?"

Qui-Gon was having a hard time figuring out what to do with his sudden armful of Padawan. He tried to detach her, but she had her legs locked around his waist and didn't seem to want to go anywhere. Aware of the amused look Mace was giving him, Qui-Gon sighed and did his best to respond patiently.

"Yes, Siona, I saw you singing." Qui-Gon started towards the door, ignoring the disappointed hollers and cries that followed him. Mace was a few steps behind, dragging his totally inebriated Padawan and laughing with him. ::That man has no respect for dignity,:: Qui-Gon thought, not for the first time.

Once they were out in the cool air Qui-Gon tried to detach Siona again, only to find that she was half-asleep, arms and legs still locked around him. Sighing like a man twice his age, Qui-Gon reached around his back with one arm and detached Siona's legs, shifting her around so that he was carrying her more comfortably--and a little more modestly--in his arms.

"A good days work, Shawn," Qui-Gon heard Mace say from behind him, and Qui-Gon groaned. It seemed to Qui-Gon sometimes that he was the only Jedi left with a shred of decency. Shifting his cloak so that it covered Siona's bare legs, Qui-Gon began the long walk back to the Temple.

Convincing Siona that it was time to go to bed proved to be a very difficult task. She was still drunk enough to be absurdly excited, but not quite drunk enough to be ready for sleep. Every time Qui-Gon thought that she was finally going to settle back into her bed she'd leap up again, convinced that there was something she just had to tell her Master, or some dance move that Qui-Gon simply had to try.

When she tried to pull up her dress and show him the place in the small of her back where she wanted to get a tattoo, Qui-Gon flung morals to the wind and sent her to sleep with a brief brush against her mind.

After he had her safely tucked into bed he returned to the main room and sent a message to Depa Bilaba, informing her that he was going to need to talk to her about Siona--again. Depa found Qui-Gon's struggles with Siona a source of amusement--but out of all of Qui-Gon's friend, she was the only one who hadn't told him he was making the wrong decision.

"You're a perfect match," she'd told him more than once. "Both of you are more connected to the living Force than any other person I've seen. But it's not going to be easy. Raising a girl only eighteen years your junior will probably be the most challenging thing you ever do."

Why hadn't she just told him it was going to drive him insane and spare him the trouble of finding out himself? He'd almost given up two years ago when Siona had developed a raging crush on Mace Windu, of all people. As first crushes go, it hadn't been a /bad/ choice exactly--but her tendency to think about him in rather sexual terms had flustered Qui-Gon to no end--especially since his bond to Siona was so deep that they couldn't block each other out without special effort.

Finally Depa had spoken with Siona, teaching her to keep such personal feelings locked away from her Master. Qui-Gon had been indebted to Depa since that day, and she had continued to help him over the years, offering advice and understanding--and occasionally someone to take out his frustrations on when Qui-Gon was so confused by Siona's actions that he was convinced that his Padawan was another species entirely.

Sighing Qui-Gon settled back to sleep, knowing that the morning would bring the impossible task of trying to get past the awkwardness of the night. Siona would no doubt remember it all--and would try to avoid her Master for most of the morning.

Rolling over, Qui-Gon promised himself that any future Padawans he took would be boys. Preferably boys would were allergic to alcohol and had no sex-drive whatsoever.

The minute she woke up, Siona knew she was in for it. Her memories of the night before were hazy and indistinct--but she clearly remembered singing on the bar . . . and--

With a moan Siona let her head fall into her hands. She had jumped onto her Master--wrapped her legs around him and nuzzled her face into his chest. ::Well, if he hadn’t figured out by now that I’m starting to develop feelings for him, that probably took care of it.:: Siona wanted to cry, realizing that she had probably lost any chance of having Qui-Gon respect her now--and at the same time had given away the secret she hoped to hold closest in her heart.

Glancing over at the chrono on the wall, she found she still had a little while before her Master would be up. Determined to use it wisely, she flung herself from bed and headed directly to the shower, shedding clothing as she went and ignoring the vicious pounding in her skull.

She only allowed herself a few moments under the soothing warm water, determined to punish herself for disrespecting her Master. She ignored the pain killer Qui-Gon had set next to her bed in anticipation of her pain, content to let the throbbing in her head continue. It was no more than she deserved, acting like a fool.

Clad only in her pants and lose shirt, Siona padded out to the middle of their shared room and sank to the ground in a meditative pose, dropping into a light trance. She would think about all she had done wrong, think about how she could make it up to Qui-Gon.

And think about how she could hide her feelings from him.

Qui-Gon could tell his Padawan was meditating before he entered the room and saw her there. They had a tight bond--tighter than any other pair Qui-Gon had ever met--so Qui-Gon always knew what his Padawan was doing unless she made a special effort to shield it from him.

As he did about ten times a day, he spared a moment to thank Depa for teaching Siona the finer points of shielding. Qui-Gon had tried to do it, but there were some things he hadn’t thought to explain--which had led to a very awkward couple of hours for Qui-Gon after Siona had decided to explore the differences between boys and girls with Shawn. There had been embarrassment, awkwardness, and an abundance of tears after she realized what she had unwittingly put her Master through, and Qui-Gon had gratefully yielded to Depa’s offer to take her off his hands for a few days.

Her shielding was firm now, and although Qui-Gon knew he could break through it at a moments notice if necessary, he also knew that he would never do so unless Siona’s life was in danger. It had been hard to strike an even balance between the privacy necessary between a man and a woman, and the closeness needed between Master and Padawan. They had managed, however--and things were finally starting to look up.

Well, they had been until last night. Qui-Gon grimaced, his thoughts returning to his Padawan’s actions. He wasn’t that concerned that she had gotten drunk--it had been irresponsible and undignified, to say the least, but hardly something to punish her over. He was more worried about how he was going to convince her that he still respected and cared for her, even though she had gotten out of control.

As he always did when he thought about his Padawan’s rampaging insecurity, Qui-Gon cursed the cruelness of the children who had found it necessary to torture another child. Siona, although one of the brightest stars to proceed through the Temple, had a sense of self-worth only mildly more complimentary than a pile of refuse. Small for her age and wise for her years, she had suffered under the taunts of a pair of jealous students from the age of nine until chosen by Qui-Gon at twelve. She had never told anyone, never spoken of the pranks and tricks and cruel jokes--and she had always seemed so in control and sure of herself.

And then one day Qui-Gon had snapped at her for doing something foolish, and she had collapsed, sobbing and begging him not to send her away. Feeling guilty at once, Qui-Gon had soothed Siona until she told him that her darkest fear was that he would send her away like everyone said he should. When pressed as to who ‘everyone’ was, she had hesitantly told him of the two boys who had made her life miserable, swearing to her that Qui-Gon would send her away before a year was out.

Qui-Gon would never forget the way her tiny lip had quivered as she stared up at him with her large blue-violet eyes. “I know I’m only a scrawny girl,” she’d said, trying to seem calm and composed like a good Jedi should. “But I promise I’ll work hard. I’m not good enough now, but I can make myself good enough.”

Qui-Gon hadn’t known it at the time, but she’d stolen his heart right then and there.

Now looking down at his Padawan, sunk so deeply in meditation that she hadn’t even noticed him enter the room, Qui-Gon was forced to consider how far she’d really come from that day. She still didn’t believe in herself--that much was obvious to Qui-Gon. It wasn’t from lack of encouragement on his part, that was for sure. Qui-Gon danced around Siona’s feelings carefully, reinforcing the things she did right endlessly while being careful with his criticism--not that she really did anything to criticize most of the time.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Qui-Gon took a few minutes to study his Padawan. Mace had been right--she had turned into a beauty when Qui-Gon hadn’t been looking. Black hair capped her head and fell down to cover her forehead in soft waves, stopping just short of her eyes. And what eyes those were--although they were closed now, he had spent enough time in the past wondering at the twin pools of blue-violet fire that he could call them clearly to memory now. As a child they had seemed overly-large, dominating her small face and giving her an aura of being perpetually startled. Now, however, they were intoxicating--the kind of eyes that could draw a man in and . . .

Qui-Gon yanked himself firmly out of his fantasy, trying to suppress the twinge of guilt he felt at looking at his Padawan as he would any other woman. It didn’t matter that she had become beautiful--it was his job to protect and nurture her mind, not think lusty thoughts about her body. Never mind how nice a body it was . . .

“I’m ready for my punishment, Master.”

Qui-Gon started slightly, blinking when he realized that Siona had opened her eyes and was staring at him. Had she--

But no, there was no indication across their bond that she had heard his thoughts, which was fortunate. Qui-Gon had no right to bring those kind of emotions into their relationship, and he would have to be more careful in the future.

“Your punishment, my Padawan?” he questioned softly, trying to suppress a sigh. It was to be one of those mornings. It would take hours for him to convince Siona that he still respected her, still cared for her--and still wanted her as his Padawan.

“I was disrespectful, my Master. I have meditated on my errors, and am ready to accept the consequences.”

It was all Qui-Gon could do to suppress a groan. She was so self-abasing, so sure of her own inadequacies. Sometimes he despaired of instilling even the slightest bit of survival instinct in her.

So, how to head off a morning of unpleasantness? Qui-Gon had tried many approaches over the years--but no matter how he approached the subject she always found a way to put herself at fault.

Tired of thinking, Qui-Gon blurted out the first thing that came to his head. “I am disappointed, Padawan. You promised me a dance, and I never got it.”

“Master?” Siona’s face was a hysterical study in disbelief and confusion.

“Siona, you did nothing wrong. There is nothing to forgive, and if you feel the need for atonement, I insist you teach me to dance. I know very well that you are one of the Temple’s best dancers--and I’ve got two left feet. I think it’s time my education began.” A lie, really--Qui-Gon was actually quite a good dancer, but Siona had never seen him dance. Let her think he had learned quickly under her tutelage.

“If that is what you require, Master, I would be happy to oblige--”

“Siona.” Qui-Gon dropped to the floor so that he was across from his Padawan, catching her eyes an holding them. “You used to laugh around me, my Padawan. You have been too serious as of late.”

“Master, you know why that is.” Siona’s eyes were pleading, but she found no quarter from Qui-Gon.

“Yes, and I think I have been handling this wrong. I refuse to let you continue to behave as if you are a burden that I tolerate.” Lifting one hand to her face, Qui-Gon caressed her cheek gently. “My Padawan, my Siona--you are my light. I am here to serve you--to teach you and protect you so that you will be greater than I.”

“Master--” Siona looked like she was about to start crying. Determined to keep the mood light, Qui-Gon did the one thing he knew would distract her.

He pounced on her and started tickling her.

Siona’s squeal was high and delighted--and she responded as she had when she had been twelve--by squirming around to attack Qui-Gon’s sensitive feet.

Twenty minutes later they sprawled, breathless from laughter, in the middle of the room. Siona’s eyes were sparkling again, reminding him of the vibrant young woman she was when not bogged down by lofty illusions of universal-guilt.

“I haven’t been tickled in years,” she finally gasped out, turning her head to gaze at Qui-Gon with mirthful eyes. Qui-Gon fought hard to suppress the natural reaction--he had just spent a little more time than wise rolling around with her on the floor--and it had been brought rather forcefully to his attention that she was no longer the little girl who would crawl trustfully into his lap with utter faith that he could solve the worlds problems.

“So, are you taking me up on it?” Qui-Gon asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“Taking you up on what, Master?” Siona asked, confused.

“Teaching me to dance, of course.” Qui-Gon rolled over and sat up, needing to get himself away from the all to tempting sight of Siona sprawled trustingly in front of him.

Gathering herself, Siona sat up and smiled. “If you wish, Master.”

Qui-Gon put up a slight protest when Siona announced that Mace and Shawn would be accompanying them dancing, but Siona was insistent--and, as Qui-Gon reminded himself, the evening was about Siona, not him.

So Qui-Gon put on his most tolerant face when Mace and Shawn arrived, ignoring the knowing smirk that his friend threw him.

“Master Windu,” Siona greeted the older man gravely, bowing slightly before slipping by him to link arms with Shawn. Mace grinned widely at Qui-Gon.

“Got overruled about us coming along, eh my friend?” Mace asked as Qui-Gon snatched his robes up and practically stalked out the door.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Qui-Gon said rather testily, casting an annoyed look at Mace.

“Really Qui-Gon, she may be a knock-out, but you are the Master. You shouldn’t let her manipulate you like that.”

“Mace.”

“Yes, Qui-Gon?”

“Do you really want Shawn to witness his Master being thoroughly thrashed?”

Mace pretended to ponder Qui-Gon’s question, giving his friend an exaggerated once over. “Oh, I suppose not. I remember from practice duels that those clubs you call hands are way to strong for your own good.” Mace smiled good-naturedly, slapping Qui-Gon on the back. “Come, old friend. I’m joking.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon sighed, trying to slip back into a more pleasant mindset. “It’s been a long morning.”

“Have you ever seen Shawn and Siona dancing?” Mace asked pointedly. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at the apparent change of topic, and shook his head. “Well, my friend--it’s likely to be a long night as well. Those two could give a bar girl lessons in style, and a Jedi Master lessons in stamina.”

“She’s really that good?” Qui-Gon questioned. He had heard that his Padawan was skilled, but had never actually seen her dance himself.

“Qui-Gon, if you are prone to weak knees, I suggest sitting down before she steps onto the floor.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a groan and prepared himself for a long night.

The moment they walked into the bar, a path opened up in front of the Padawans, leading directly towards the rapidly clearing dance floor. “One dance!” someone cried out, a cry that was picked up as the Padawans were herded towards the floor. “Dance for us!”

“Them come here often?” Qui-Gon asked Mace.

“Often enough. They’re actually a rather popular act--the owner lets them drink for free when they dance, since they attract so many customers.” Mace smiled as one of the waitresses dropped her tray on the bar and started swaying purposefully across the room towards him, smiling seductively.

“You come here often too, I take it?” Qui-Gon’s voice could not have been more disapproving if he had tried.

“Hey, one of us has to watch out for the children. Go get a seat near the front--I’ve got some business to take care of.”

Mace didn’t give Qui-Gon a chance to answer, slipping away to meet the waitress half way. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and took his friends advice, using his size to nudge his way through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor.

Shawn was standing in the middle of the floor, his hands resting lightly on Siona’s hips. Qui-Gon blinked--he had never really realized how small his Padawan was. Everyone seemed small to Qui-Gon, but standing with her back to Shawn’s chest, the top of Siona’s head was just even with Shawn’s shoulder--and Shawn wasn’t exactly a large man.

Then the music started--and Qui-Gon found himself searching desperately for a chair. His first thought--Where in the name of the Force did she learn to do that? --was quickly washed away in the knowledge that if he didn’t sit down soon, he was going to disgrace his Jedi training and collapse to the floor in shock.

A nearby woman, apparently guessing the wrong--Right?--reason for Qui-Gon’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes, laughingly stood up and pushed the Jedi Knight inelegantly into her chair.

“You’re going to need this,” she whispered in his ear, her breath tickling his neck. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

So it proved. Shawn and Siona moved together like nothing Qui-Gon had ever seen--using their connection through the Force to weld their movements into one smooth unending pattern, two bodies moving as one.

“You know her?” the woman who had given up her chair asked, still watching Qui-Gon closely. Blinking Qui-Gon turned from the pair on the dance floor, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music.

“She’s my apprentice,” he responded.

“Did you teach her how to do that?” The woman’s eyes took on a feral gleam as her eyes took Qui-Gon in from head to boot, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t staring.

“No--” Qui-Gon started, only to find himself with a sudden lapfull of very friendly woman.

“That’s okay, honey,” the woman whispered, squirming in Qui-Gon’s lap and giving a low laugh when she felt Qui-Gon’s body react. “You’re pretty enough that I’ll get over it.” And with that, his new found friend leaned over to plant a wet insistent kiss square on Qui-Gon’s mouth.

Of course, that was the moment Siona chose to look over at her Master, her eyes violet eyes turning flinty as she saw her Master kissing some pathetic barfly. Shawn groaned, spinning Siona back into the dance before she had a chance to do what it looked like she wanted to do--which was to stalk over and claim her property.

“Dance and smile, Si,” Shawn hissed in her ear, lifting her slightly in preparation for one of the more complicated toss moves. “Don’t you dare start getting mushy over your Master.”

Siona glowered as she was tossed into the air, landing in Shawn’s arms and piercing him with her glare as they both sank to the ground in the end move, Siona bent back over Shawn’s knee with her hands arched up over her head, and Shawn hovering slightly over her in what Siona liked to call the ‘I’m going to ravish you’ pose.

“I’m not at all mushy over him,” Siona responded, her eyes changing from hard to soft so quickly that alarms went off in the back of Shawn’s head.

“Oh really?” he questioned softly, continuing to hold the pose as the applause continued.

“Really,” Siona responded, reaching up to clasp Shawn’s head in her hands. Before he had any idea what she was planning, she had dragged his mouth down to hers for a fiery and very skilled kiss.

Which was the exact moment Qui-Gon managed to detach his ardent admirer from his face and glance back to his Padawan.

The sight of her arched over Shawn’s leg, hands tangled in his short hair and mouth fair bidding to devour him was disturbing enough to Qui-Gon that he decided to get drunk. Quickly.

By the time the three encore dances were completed and Siona had finally managed to detach herself from a hoard of men who were desperate for private dance lessons, Qui-Gon was as drunk as she had been the night before.

“Siona, it’s time to teach me to dance,” Qui-Gon declared when he saw Siona approaching, standing up and toppling a strange woman from his lap. The busty blonde shot Siona a look poisonous enough to kill, but obediently left Qui-Gon alone as the large man strode across the intervening space.

“Are you sure you want to deprive these women of your company, Master?” Siona asked levely, trying to keep her voice calm.

“A promise is a promise, Padawan. You won’t get out of teaching me that easily.”

“Of course not,” Siona said quickly, a glint forming in her eye. “Follow me, Master.”

Qui-Gon was drunk, but not drunk enough to miss the unmistakable gleam in Siona’s eye as she made her way to the dance floor, tipsy Master in tow. She’s up to something, Qui-Gon thought warily, but he was too drunk to be cautious.

Besides, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He was a very good dancer after all, something that Siona didn’t know.

As the music started, Qui-Gon drew his startled Padawan into the first move of one of the more complicated dances she and Shawn had performed that evening. Bemused but willing to play along, Siona gave Qui-Gon a little condescending smile that said clearer than words that she didn’t think he could perform the dance.

The smile slipped away however as Siona was pulled firmly against a rock hard chest, the movements of the familiar dance seeming suddenly foreign. She was used to dancing with Shawn, whose body she knew intimately. Qui-Gon was a great deal larger, and stronger, than Shawn--and the particular dance he had chosen was a dance that involved a great deal of close physical contact--a dance she had never performed with anyone but Shawn.

Siona spared a glance for her fellow Padawan, and found him watching her with a look of unconcealed glee. His smirk was so obnoxious that Siona longed to stalk over to him and smack it off of his face--but she doubted that she would be able to escape the steely circle of her Master’s arms.

Having a little too much fun, aren’t you Siona? Shawn sent to her, his smile growing even wider as Siona’s cheeks flushed.

I can’t help it, Shawn. I’m a woman, and he’s a mountain of muscle. Some things are just biological. Just biological. If she kept saying it to herself, it almost sounded true.

Are you going to take advantage of your drunk Master? Shawn’s mental voice was positively naughty, and Siona sent Shawn a purposefully heated memory from a few days back when the two Padawans had taken advantage of a little free time.

No, but I will take out the affects of this on you, she responded. Siona had the momentary satisfaction of seeing the blood rush to Shawn’s face across the room, and then her world was tilted upside down as she was swept up and spun, Qui-Gon’s movements only a tiny bit off despite his obvious intoxication.

You were saying? Shawn’s mental voice carried the smirk he had somehow managed to keep off of his face.

Siona didn’t bother to respond--she barely even heard the comment as Qui-Gon lowered them both to the floor, kneeling face to face in the final movements of the dance. His face was inches above hers, his rapid breaths hitting her face and making her entire body ache.

Siona didn’t know how long they sat there, face to face, staring at one another. For a few moments she was convinced that Qui-Gon was going to lean closer to kiss her--but the Knight shook himself suddenly and stood in one smooth movement, shaking his head and beating a hasty retreat from the dance floor.

“Damn.”

The voice was Shawn’s, and Siona let him drag her to her feet and lead her off of the floor. “You okay, Siona?”

“Yes.” Saying more than that simple word would be impossible.

“That is the least convincing ‘yes’ I’ve ever heard.” Shawn declared, wrapping his arms around his friend. “We’re going to discuss this tonight.”

“I thought we were going to chase each other around the bedroom tonight,” Siona responded lightly, her thoughts still obviously elsewhere.

“Only if you promise not to start yelling his name at the height of passion.” Shawn’s voice was teasing, but his eyes were dead serious as he spun his friend to face him. “We are going to discuss this tonight,” he repeated in his don’t-mess-with-me voice.

“Yes, Master,” Siona responded solemnly. “Let’s go find our Masters and get out of here. I’ve had enough dancing for the night.”

“I’d say you have,” Shawn responded, ducking as Siona tried to hit him.

Mace was entertaining several women with a lewd song, sung at the top of his voice. Qui-Gon was passed out quietly beside him, his blonde friend from earlier in the evening pouting and tugging on his robe in a futile attempt to get him to move.

Shawn took one look at the scene and buried his head in his hands. “Do we always look this absurd when they come to get us?” he asked plaintively.

“If we do, I think that’s incentive enough not to drink ever again,” Siona responded, sending her Master a mental nudge to wake him. “Come on, Shawn. Let’s get these louts home. I suppose we owe them one.”

“We owe them more than one,” Shawn responded gaily. “But since they’re so much heavier than us, and therefore that much harder to drag home, it should even out.”

Siona only groaned, vowing not to drink for a year.

Well, a few months at least.

Okay, maybe a week.

Sith--the Force knew she needed a drink after that dance. Maybe just one.