Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me, but to the Mighty George. I am making no money off using them in this work of fiction.

Feedback? YES. Bad or good, send it on. Criticism rules, and I eat it up.

Site Administrator's Warning: This fan fic is rated R for sexual situations. If you are not of the majority in your area, please press the back button on your browser now.

Obi-Wan stood in the doorway, gazing in silence at the small band of robe-shrouded Sand People surrounding his water condenser.

The twin suns of Tatooine beat down on the tired, dusty ground, baking the scene played out in stillness below them. Harsh light reflected off the raiders’ goggles, mirroring burning beams into Obi-Wan’s eyes, blinding him.

He tightened his grip on the lightsaber which hung at his side. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to kill anybody.

The five intruders didn’t take long to realize they outnumbered the lone man in the doorway. Wordlessly, four of them broke their statue-like poses and went back to dismantling the moisture equipment. They didn’t even bother to arm themselves with the rifles slung over their brown-wrapped shoulders.

The other ragged humanoid, the leader perhaps, began to stalk towards Obi-Wan, primitive gaderffii stick outthrust before him.

Obi-Wan hesitated, not sure what to do. He’d lived here nearly two years, and this was the closest he’d ever been to the Tusken Raiders. But there was little time to wonder about it. He raised his unarmed left hand slowly, palm outward, and broke the hot, dry silence.

"Please don’t come any closer," he said in a low voice, hoping they understood Basic. "And step away from my moisture equipment. I’ll need that."

His words had no impact. The four continued their work. The leader continued his advance. None of them made a sound.

Obi-Wan watched the point of the weapon come closer and closer. Primitive or not, the thing looked deadly. Its long wooden shaft was smooth with use, and thongs of hide reinforced the well-honed blades protruding from the business end.

Words were obviously not going to work in this situation. Sighing inwardly with regret, Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber and ignited the blue blade, filling the still afternoon with humming white noise.

The intruders’ reaction was swift. The leader issued a guttural howl and dashed at Obi-Wan, prepared to run the Jedi through. The others dropped their tools and reached for their guns.

Obi-Wan swung his blade straight up in a blur, slicing the oncoming axe in half and sending the wicked blade flying harmlessly over his head to clang against the stone doorway. His outstretched hand Force-pushed the charging Tusken, sending him flying backwards to land unconscious in a heap of tattered robes on top of Obi-Wan’s speeder bike several yards away.

A bare instant later, he arced his weapon-arm outwards to deflect a barrage of incoming bullets from the raider gang’s rifles. Unused to defending himself from projectile weapons, he slashed about wildly, the violent heat of his saber reducing the metal slugs into sprays of molten hot slag which pounded into the dust at his feet.

The Sand People kept firing, more out of surprise and anger than anything.

Obi-Wan wanted to end this quickly. Gathering the Force, he leapt straight up out of the hail of fire, landing atop the hard-packed dirt dome of his house.

He turned his attention to the waking Tusken sprawled on his bike. Like a puppeteer, he plucked on invisible Force-strings, yanking the being through the air and dropping him onto two of his shocked comrades. The three slammed to the ground, weapons flying.

At this show of supernatural force, the other raiders lost their nerve. They called to each other in a mad, gutteral language and scattered. The three on the ground untangled themselves in a near-blur and raced off, following the others through the canyon.

Obi-Wan debated whether or not to pursue, but decided it was useless. They were too far away. They’d moved with incredible speed once frightened. Plus he had no desire to face them in a narrow canyon, with several huge, smelly banthas for cover.

They probably wouldn’t be back, anyway. Probably.

He sighed and jumped down from the roof. He was getting too old for this sort of thing.

The unaccustomed excitement of the fight had interrupted the quiet, daily routine Obi-Wan had settled into on Tatooine.

He was still restless hours after the confrontation. He tried to meditate after dinner, but it was unproductive. After pacing about for a bit, he finally settled himself by a window to stare out into the desert night.

His duty to the children of Amidala had brought him to a desolate place, indeed, he thought as he surveyed the moonlit rocks outside.

Not to say that Tatooine was lifeless. Despite its forbidding climate, the planet’s barren, rocky mountains and parched sands harbored an amazing variety of life. Tonight, through the Force, Obi-Wan could sense the many small lives which hid in shaded nooks and crannies, venturing out rarely and only then in cautious search of food or a mate.

As if conjured by his wandering mind, a tiny, blue, eight-legged lizard scurried over the sill by his arm. Obi-Wan watched with interest as it leapt into the house and disappeared into the shadows. It was probably poisonous. He’d catch it later, he decided, and went back to his perusal of the world outside.

In addition to its generous share of venomous reptiles, Tatooine boasted several native species of sentients. The greedy but harmless Jawas, for example. And the Tusken Raiders.

Obi-Wan regretted the need to frighten them off. Today had marked his first meeting with his neighbors, and it hadn’t gone at all as he’d hoped or anticipated.

He’d always been curious about the Tuskens. He’d lived practically among them for two seasons, but had never seen them except at a distance.

He wanted to learn more about them, to separate the truth of their nomadic desert existence from the lies and outrageous legends propagated throughout the myriad intoxicant-soaked Tatooine cantinas. Those stories, rather than making him cautious, had made him curious. Who were these people, that had carved out a timeless existence in the midst of such harshness?

Why did he care?

The desert night did not answer his silent question. Obi-Wan decided he was probably just plain lonely. He had never lived in solitude before, or for so long. And many empty years stretched out ahead of him in his self-imposed exile to the Jundland Wastes.

"Hiding under a rock, emerging only in search of food or when threatened," he mumbled to himself, as if reciting some long-forgotten guidebook. "We could be stuck here for a very long time, Master Lizard," he turned and added to the near-empty room, wondering if the solitude had addled his brain.

But who could he talk to, if not the reptiles? There really was nobody he could seek out for company. The scattered towns attracted drifters and criminals, few of whom would be friendly and some of whom might recognize him. Tatooine did not belong to the Empire, but Obi-Wan’s head commanded a high price on the galactic market these days.

And Owen, his own brother, had no desire to see him.

A deep despair settled over him at that thought. The Force was his ally. The Force penetrated him, surrounded him, directed the destiny of the universe as surely as it had directed him here, to Tatooine. But right now, the Force was no substitute for simple human contact, something Obi-Wan had been deprived of for too long.

Human contact came to Obi-Wan the very next afternoon.

He was meditating in the hallway—the darkest spot in his home during bright sunlight hours—when the Force alerted him that someone was coming. He stretched out his senses to see who it was. The calmness engendered by his restful meditation told him that it wasn't the Tusken Raiders, but two humans. Agitated humans.

Obi-Wan uncurled himself from his meditation pose and gave his limbs a good stretch. He figured he'd best see what they wanted.

He checked his reflection in the fresher room mirror as he passed, not out of vanity, but to assure himself that he looked nondescript. He wore, as was usual these days, a farmer’s simple tunic and pants. His long hair and beard were wonderfully unkempt. And, he noted with some satisfaction, the suns had lightened his shaggy mane to the point where he could hardly see the few white hairs insinuating themselves among the more sensible brown ones.

A buzz at his door announced the arrival of his two visitors. Obi-Wan popped the release and opened it to find two stooped, elderly men lurking a couple of yards away. His eyes took a moment to adjust from the darkness to the bright light which flooded his doorway, but he could make out two wrinkled, ancient faces under two wild, sun-whitened heads of hair.

An ancient speeder was parked near the canyon entrance to his property. The men wore dusty, serviceable clothes and blasters on their hips. They seemed curious about him, he noticed, but wary all the same.

"Heard there were Sand People making trouble around here," one of them said without preamble. "Seen any of 'em?"

"Sand People?" Obi-Wan was nonplussed. No colonists lived in this area of the Wastes but himself. Furthermore, he knew nobody and took care that nobody remembered him. How would they hear of such a thing? Perhaps there had been trouble elsewhere. He wanted to find out.

He stepped outside. "A few," he admitted, finally. "Five. Yesterday. Why?"

The two old fellows shared a significant look. The other one spoke. "I'm Plint. This here's Chuk. We come from around over Way Station Six."

Obi-Wan had been there. A desolate little town in the middle of nowhere. And rather far from here. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ben."

"Well, Ben, you're lucky to be alive. Where'd you see 'em?"

"Here. But they didn't cause any trouble. I…scared them off. With a…blaster," he lied, just a little.

"Hmph." Chuk wasn't impressed. "How long you been here? I ain't seen you."

"I've been around a while."

"Yeah? Well, Ben, I been here my whole life. And you ain’t been around the Wastes long enough to know nothin' from nothin'," Chuk said, rather rudely. "Raiders ain’t afraid of blasters. Under all them rags, they got armor that’ll deflect any shots."

"Oh, really?"

"Mmm hmm." Plint nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He took a moment to light it and inhale before continuing. "An’ if they think you’re on their territory, they’ll take you apart quicker n’ you could pull a blaster anyway."

Chuk had more information. "Thing is, their territory changes from day to day. Minute to minute. No reason. Just ‘cause they’re mean bastards as can’t make up their minds." His voice took on an ominous tone. "And they hate droids. All droids. You got any droids, Ben?"

Plint looked dumbfounded. "Hell no. Are you crazy? The Sand People around here are nasty. Nasty ‘n evil. They don’t negotiate." He eyed Obi-Wan significantly, blowing a cloud of tbac-scented fog into his face. "They eat human children. Jawas, too, when they can catch ‘em."

"That's why we're here. Seems they took out a tribe of Jawas over EsReel way, just a couple of days ago." Chuk interjected.

"Yup." Plint took another pull from his cigar. "Didn’t leave no bodies. Not a single one. O’course they ate ‘em."

Obi-Wan couldn’t let that bit of outrageousness get by. "That’s insane. They’re human, aren’t they? They wouldn’t eat other sentients."

Chuk shook his head in disagreement. He narrowed his eyes under white brows and lowered his voice, as if imparting a secret. "No. They only look human. An’ they’re everywhere. Spying on us." He took a suspicious look around as if the Tusken Raiders might even now be watching. "Hmph. They're dangerous. Take anything they can get. They kill krayt dragons just so’s they can steal the pearls."

Obi-Wan had had enough. "Well. Thank you for the useful information. I'll certainly be more cautious from now on."

Obi-Wan was actually glad to have had the company, if only for a few minutes. He probably wouldn’t speak to the lizards for, oh, maybe another couple of months or so.

All that evening, he ruminated all over the strange interview he'd had with the two aged colonists. His mind sifted through the insane rumors about the Tuskens, trying to find the kernel of truth among all the chaff.

So their territory changed often. There was nothing shocking or strange about that. Anthropologists had studied many nomadic tribes throughout the galaxy who lived the same way.

And they didn’t like droids. That was no surprise either. Androids were a form of artificial intelligence. Many sentient species with certain religious or intellectual beliefs mistrusted droids.

The Sand People seemed to have no actual aversion to technology, judging by the way they’d attempted to steal Obi-Wan’s condenser. Which proved that they weren’t ignorant. The raiders he’d faced had known exactly what they were doing with his equipment.

What Obi-Wan couldn’t believe was that nobody had tried to negotiate or trade with them. Tatooine was a hard world to call home. Skirmishes with hostile natives could only make life harder.

He figured it was because Tatooine, situated as it was on the Outer Rim, had never been a Republic world. It had always been a rough place, one which had not seen a need for diplomacy and understanding.

Well, Obi-Wan was a Jedi, in hiding or not. He vowed that in future he would take every opportunity to smooth the path between colonists and Sand People. He would do what he was trained to do, which was help others.

It would give him something to look forward to in the long, lonely years ahead.

It was the most violent sandstorm Tatooine had seen in a hundred seasons. Outside it seemed as if a thousand dragons filled the skies, screaming in reptilian rage, beating their mighty wings to stir up the mountain-scouring sand.

The third night into the storm saw Obi-Wan in much the same position he’d been in two weeks before—sitting by the window, considering his place in the universe. But the window was sealed, and there would be no visitors tomorrow.

Three days, now, of being cooped up in his small dwelling, was taking its toll on his patience. Meditation didn't help—much—so he’d tried to keep busy.

He’d had to prepare for the storm, for one thing. He’d sensed it coming through the Force. Equipment had to be torn down and stored, the walls shored up and sealed, and food and water stockpiled.

His vow, however, the desire for diplomacy and understanding, was difficult to fulfill. The Tusken Raiders hadn’t come back for revenge. In fact, they appeared to have decided to avoid him altogether.

Obi-Wan had actually searched for them. He’d had taken several long trips through the desert, sometimes on foot, sometimes on the bike—sometimes even camping out overnight—without seeing hide, hair or gaderffii stick of the Sand People.

He’d sensed them, through the Force. But as he traveled, they stayed always far ahead or behind him. Never where he was, and they never stayed still. He finally gave up his search as useless.

They’d come to him once, and what had he, a Jedi, patron of galaxywide peace and justice, done? He’d frightened them off, perhaps even angered them irreparably.

Granted, they’d been trying to steal his moisture equipment. But in retrospect, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel he could have solved the situation in a more diplomatic manner. If he’d never ignited his lightsaber, maybe they never would have attacked. Perhaps he could have used the living Force, and not simple brute force, to reason with them.

But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. If they truly wanted to see him, they’d drop in when they wanted and no sooner.

Perhaps the Force was trying to tell him something—that it wasn’t his place or destiny to make contact with these people. But the thought made him feel useless. The galaxy would need him in the future—he knew that. But it didn’t seem to need him now.

Obi-Wan’s dark thoughts were interrupted by…a feeling. Something outside. Obi-Wan stretched out with his senses. The storm was lessening. Perhaps that was what he’d felt. After three days of ceaseless violence, it was no wonder that a break would make him sit up and take notice.

But no, there was something else…someone…alive. Barely. A glimmer of disgust, exhaustion tinged with despair. Then it was gone.

Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate. Friend or foe, neither deserved to be caught injured in such a maelstrom.

Outside, Obi-Wan was glad he’d dressed sturdily. He was also glad he’d picked up sand-goggles in Anchorhead. The storm had lessened but its power needed yet to be respected.

He trudged through sand-swirled night air in the direction of the spark of life. It was still there, but quiet, with none of the emotion he’d sensed earlier. Whoever it was, they were probably unconscious.

A quarter mile or so from his house, a narrow canyon mouth loomed a vertical black in the already-dark sky. Obi-Wan made his way into the crack and almost tripped over the still form curled on the rocky floor. He bent down to examine it. It was a Tusken Raider.

A few minutes later, Obi-Wan dropped his load onto the long couch inside his front room, whooshing with relief. The being was not large—smaller and lighter than himself, in fact—but it was a dead weight and made the trek to the house difficult.

He kneeled and slipped off his goggles, a move that sent even more sand raining down on the already-encrusted figure. Could there be a person under all this grime, he wondered as he chipped caked dirt from the mouthpiece of the raider’s mask. The fellow had probably been asphyxiated by his own breather.

He lifted the head, searching for some kind of helmet release. Finding none, he began to unwrap strips of ragged, dusty cloth from around the raider’s neck. Finally he found the edge of the helmet. He hesitated only a moment before slipping fingers underneath to lift it off.

It was a girl.

Obi-Wan was shocked into immobility for a moment. What ever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this.

He buried his surprise and placed a hand over her mouth, to see if she was breathing. She was.

As he pulled on her arms and legs, checking for broken bones, he scrutinized her face. She appeared human, with olive-toned skin bearing darker circles around the eyes where goggle openings had tanned her. She had short, dark bristly hair on her crown, and small, regular features.

After further examination he corrected himself. She didn’t look completely human. There was something about her eyes, about the bones and shape that gave her an aura of exotic alienness. He couldn’t quite decide what it was. She wasn’t exactly pretty, just…different.

She did appear to be young. Of course he had no idea how her people aged. She could be twelve, she could be twenty-two. He had no way of knowing.

She seemed to be in one piece. He fetched fresh water that they both needed. He lifted her head and dribbled some over her parched lips. She swallowed some reflexively.

After he decided she’d drank enough to keep her alive for a few more minutes at least, he set about cleaning her up. Her rough outer robe and lacings had been blasted so thin by the sand he had to peel them from her in pieces.

When he reached her light, sleeveless undertunic and pants, he checked her for any wounds or bleeding. Divested of outer coverings, her form was slight, with slender arms and legs, and small breasts pressed against the thin material. He decided not to undress her further. He had no idea what the Tusken Raiders’ beliefs were concerning modesty, but he didn’t want to find out the hard way. And she appeared intact enough. He used the Force to heal her worn-out body as best he could. She'd have to sleep off the rest.

She never woke once during his ministrations. A few mumbles which might have been words escaped her lips as he ran a cold, wet cloth over her face, but she said nothing intelligible.

When he’d done all he could for her, he plopped down in a chair and leaned his head back with a heavy sigh. Now what to do? He’d wished for a meeting with the Tusken Raiders, but this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind. This situation was almost out of his control.

He had no idea how she’d react once she woke. Would she be grateful? Or angry?

Would others come for her, and what would they do to him? Obi-Wan was admittedly ignorant about her people’s culture, but the fact that she was a young girl, alone in his house, worried him. Would they trust him to take care of her?

Well, it was too late to worry about it now. He could only heal her until she had strength to leave on her own. He had to trust in his own ability to smooth things over and avoid repercussions later.

Obi-Wan felt her wake. It had been over eleven hours since he’d brought her home, and she’d barely stirred in that time. But now he could sense her consciousness returning. He was glad. It seemed she was to be all right.

He stepped away from his bed, where he’d moved her last night, and regarded her carefully from across the room.

Her eyes opened. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, looking neither right nor left.

Obi-Wan watched as she became aware of her surroundings. Her eyes, he saw, were a curious yellowish-tan, as if they’d been brown once but had faded in the harsh suns. The beautiful eyes of a desert-dweller.

She brought a slow, shaking hand to her face. She touched tentative fingertips to her forehead, then slid them down the curve of her nose and over her lips. Her eyes widened suddenly in shock.

Obi-Wan wondered what was wrong. It was as if her own face surprised her. "I Won’t Hurt You. Please understand me," he murmured, slowly, soothingly. "I Won’t Hurt You—"

A hoarse, furious scream erupted from her dry throat, drowning him out. She vaulted from the bed, arms outstretched, hands curled into claws, coming straight at Obi-Wan, for him, shrieking incoherently.

He couldn’t understand her words, but the intent in her frenzied eyes was clear. He threw up a hand to stop her, soothe her with the Force.

But she’d barely come three steps before she cried out and seemed to crumple. She fell sprawled on the floor, unconscious once more.

He rushed forward and knelt beside her, touching her face gingerly, cautious should she suddenly wake again. She didn’t. She was out cold. Her wild start had overtaxed her still-exhausted body.

He carried her back to the bed and laid her down, then stood gazing at her for a moment. She looked so fragile, so helpless. But barely a few instants before, she’d been ready to tear his throat out. He sighed and went to find some restraints.

Obi-Wan was on guard the next time she awoke, six hours later. He sat next to the bed, tense.

But it appeared she’d exhausted her fury with her earlier outburst. She opened her pale brown eyes and turned to face him, as if she’d known he’d be waiting. The look she wore was resigned. She didn’t even struggle against the ropes he’d used to tie her down.

"I’m Not Going To Hurt You," Obi-Wan said again, enunciating each word clearly, wondering if she understood Basic.

"My face is gone."

"What?" The accent was heavy but the words were clear, if confusing. Obi-Wan wondered if she was delirious. "No, It Isn’t. You’re Going To Be Fine," he replied, carefully.

He could swear she rolled those eyes at him. "I Know Your Words. I am Not Stupid," she rasped, mocking Obi-Wan’s slow, methodic tone. "My mask. You took."

"Oh." So she was a smartass. "I’m sorry. I had to take it off, to give you water."

She turned her gaze back up to the ceiling. "I know." The tone was acceding, but she still didn’t look very happy.

Obi-Wan wondered what the significance of the helmet was. "Why do you say your face is gone? Is there a taboo against removing your helmet?"

"No. I’m sorry. Here," he said, holding the cup near her lips and placing a gentle hand behind her head. When she didn’t resist, he lifted her slowly and tilted a few drops of water onto her lips. She was very thirsty. He repeated the motion until she leaned back into his hand. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion.

Obi-Wan broke the silence that had fallen. "I don’t want you to try and leave before you get your strength back. You understand, don’t you?"

He sighed. "Then we are at an impasse, because I won’t have your death on my hands. You’ll just have to stay until you are rested," he reasoned. "I only want to help. I’m Ben, by the way. Will you tell me your name?"

But she was already asleep.

Obi-Wan slept. He dreamed.

"All right," he answered her. He glanced out the window. It was dark already. Somewhat disoriented, he checked the chrono on his table as he stood to fetch the water. It was eight o'clock, seven hours since she’d last woken. He returned with a filled cup, and looked a question at her. "See how exhausted you were? And most likely still are."

She nodded.

"Well, I’m responsible for you whether you like it or not. So if I untie you now, and you leave and fall victim to dehydration, I’ll have to come after you again. Do you understand this?"

He watched her for a moment. Rivulets of water ran down her chin, spilling in crystal drops to wet the thin fabric at her chest. It rose and fell softly with every gulp she took.

He tore his eyes away. She was ill and he shouldn’t be gaping at her in any case. Had it been that long since…? Nah. "Do you want food?" he asked, to cover his distraction.

She shook her head. They sat in silence a while longer while she drank.

Obi-Wan finally asked her in a quiet voice, "Why did you say no one would come after you?" The thought made him sad, somehow. That such a young woman was all alone in the world, that no one might care for her. Would leave her to die in the desert.

She regarded him silently for a moment, then answered. "Widow. I have no bantha. I watch myself."

"I see," he replied. "I’m sorry. It must be difficult to be a widow so young."

"Ha!" She laughed out loud, obviously quite amused. "Not young. Older than you, I think."

The smile lit up her unusual face, Obi-Wan thought. It softened the harsh lines of her brows and cheeks. "Impossible. No one could be that old." He grinned at his weak joke, then turned serious. "I don’t know how your people age, but you certainly don’t appear to be more than a girl."

"I have a face. You do not."

"A face?" Suddenly, he understood. Her mask. If she rarely removed her helmet, then her skin was seldom exposed to the aging effects of dry wind and sand. "Do you ever take it off?" he asked, abruptly, somewhat surprised that he’d voiced the question out loud.

She stiffened. But her tawny eyes still smiled at him.. "Not often. Only with husband."

"Ah. Well." He decided not to pursue it. "May I ask your name? I’m Ben. Ben Kenobi."

"I know. You said."

"Well, I thought you might have been asleep," he retorted in exasperation. Somehow he couldn’t stay in control of the conversation. Inquisition. Whatever it was. "So you know my name. What is yours?"

"Oh. Merel." He was somewhat relieved to shorten it. "Well, can you also tell me why you were wandering through the desert in a sandstorm? Surely your people know better than that."

Now he was truly shocked. And a bit angry. Especially that she would admit it. "You’re not the first of your people to do so. I had a confrontation with five others, two weeks ago. They wanted my water condenser."

She’d turned the conversation again. "No. Well, not really. I wanted to see if I could talk to you. Your people," Obi-Wan said, feeling strangely stupid. He didn’t like the feeling. "Trade, perhaps."

In an instant, he went from indignation to guilt. He’d been grilling her, when he was supposed to be caring for her. He forced the questions away for later. A Jedi was nothing if not patient. "Very well. Sleep. If you leave, don’t take anything with you," he couldn’t resist adding.

There was no reply.

The next morning when she woke, Obi-Wan had food ready. He served her some hot soup he’d prepared earlier, along with some dry bread and yellow-green hubba gourds.

He ate with her, sitting in a chair across from where she perched on the edge of the bed. They breakfasted in silence. Obi-Wan watched her, noting how deliberately and expertly she split the tough outer hide of the gourd with her fingers, shunning the dull knife he’d allowed her. She sectioned the orange insides and popped the pieces into her mouth, licking her fingers. Behind her, the long-absent morning sunlight slanted through his bedroom window shutters, painting strips of orange light onto her neck and shoulders.

She looked even younger than before, he amazed. Was it so with all her people? Underneath their heavy robes and nightmare masks, did her brothers and sisters conceal the faces of youths?

He was also surprised she’d chosen to remain helmetless in his presence. He certainly hoped it didn’t mean she’d have to try and kill him later because he’d seen her face.

Despite the strangeness and danger of their situation, he was beginning to enjoy it. If he found her candour odd, then he also found it amusing. He liked her company—it was considerably preferable to that of lizards and suspicious old men. And, he admitted to himself, he enjoyed feeling useful. Having someone to take care of.

She leaned back against the propped-up pillows of his bed and gazed at him with amusement. "More questions?"

He laughed out loud. "Very perceptive of you. I have many questions. But you mustn’t feel you have to answer, of course. You don’t owe me anything."

"Very well." It was nearly the truth. This land had belonged to her people long before colonization, after all. "Then where is your village, your city?"

"Fascinating." But he wouldn’t pry further. He understood if she didn’t want to divulge the location of her home. "I’d like to know a little more about your people, your ways. Have they lived in this area long?"

"No." She stared at Obi-Wan for a long moment, as if searching him for something. Finally she appeared to reach a decision based on what she saw. "Not all like me, either. I have human blood. Half."

"What?" Obi-Wan was shocked, partly at the revelation, and partly that she’d made it to him. But he couldn’t ignore the implications it presented. "That’s incredible! So there have been relations between your people and the settlers." Intermarriage, even. Unless… "Where was your mother from?"

"I know," he said. "I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry you thought so." He ran a hand through his hair like he always did when agitated. "I’m sorry," he repeated.

She crossed her arms and pouted in a purely feminine gesture. "All right. I forgive."

Obi-Wan said nothing.

She stared at the ceiling for a bit. "Tribe found my father. A boy," she finally offered. "Took in. Dead now."

"Oh. I'm sorry. But thank you for telling me," he replied. He decided he'd grilled her enough. It was time to be generous. "Are there any questions you'd like to ask me?"

Her eyes sparkled with interest at that. She leaned in and uncrossed her arms, reaching out to caress his bearded chin. "Yes. Why so much hair?"

Obi-Wan was surprised by the strange question, but he didn't pull away. The skin on her slim fingers was rough, but her touch was gentle. "Why? Don't any of the men or women in your tribe grow facial hair?" he teased.

She tugged on it a little. "No. Will not grow. Not practical." She raised her eyes to her own short, dark hair. "Cut mine."

Ah. A bit of micro-evolution? "Does it bother you?"

She smiled and leaned back, pulling her hand away with reluctance. "No. I like it."

Was she flirting with him? He gave her wry grin in return. "I wasn't allowed to have a beard when I was young. I swore when I became a—well, when I got older, I'd grow one. And never cut it."

"I can tell. You grew all over."

"What?" He stretched out an arm in mock horror. He pulled up his sleeve and pretended to examine his tanned and lightly-haired arm. "No. You must mean my head, of course." He reached up to run a hand through his mussed, shoulder-length hair. He caught it in a tangle. "Ouch."

She laughed out loud at that. "You need to bathe." She looked down at herself in disgust. "I need to."

Obi-Wan immediately turned solicitous. "I have plenty of water. I'll bring you some. Then you can be alone for a while. I need to go outside and do some things anyway."

She gave him a look that was almost coy. "You can stay."

She was flirting with him. Obi-Wan almost didn't know what to say. He hadn’t enjoyed the attentions of a woman since…Could it have been that long? Nah. And the attention from her particularly surprised him.

He came to a sudden realization. She probably felt beholden to him. The thought sobered him at once, and he stood. "No, thank you," he mumbled. "I'll be right back with water. And then I'll leave."

"Your choice," she muttered at his retreating back, her raspy voice sounding almost disappointed.

Obi-Wan looked up from his plate of vegetables to find her eyes focused upon him intently. They looked almost black in the low evening light of his living area. He wondered how long she'd been staring at him without eating.

Now that was a loaded question if Obi-Wan had ever heard one. How much could he tell her? He didn't want to lie to her. She had relieved the tedium of his lonely existence with her presence. He liked her.

That thought surprised him. He realized he did like her. She was diverting. She was attractive.

She impressed him. She was an outsider, somewhat mistrusted by her own people because of her ancestry, but she'd managed to find a life among them in one of the harshest environments in the galaxy. And she'd even managed to marry and outlive a husband.

Perhaps that was it, why she was so perceptive. She was somewhat alone as well, in her way. Perhaps her own situation had given her some intuition, some empathy, that allowed her to sense the same in another person. Even an outsider.

"You're right, Merel. I wasn't always simple." He debated for a moment what to say. What to reveal. She'd been very forthcoming with him. Had her people heard of the Jedi? He hoped not. He didn't want to bring them up in any case. "I used to be a sort of…diplomat. An ambassador."

"Yes." She leaned back in her chair and uncrossed her arms, appearing somewhat more satisfied now that he'd answered her question. "A kind man. Man of peace. But you fight," she added.

She cut him off. The arms crossed again. "Yes. Liar. I know. I lose husband, I lose bantha, I must prove myself," she informed him with a touch of anger. "You, too. I can tell."

He was tired of being defensive. "Were you trying to prove yourself by coming here in the middle of a sandstorm?"

"Yes. Why you think I did that? For fun? No," she looked away. "It was needed."

He was beginning to finally understand the whole. "You needed to come here, and steal something from the "powerful" stranger," he emphasized, "to prove your worth to your people?"

"Yes," she mumbled. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He felt like he'd gained control of the conversation at last. But now he wanted to lighten the tension that had insinuated itself between them like a physical wall. He wanted her to trust him.

Perhaps the Force had led her to him, for a purpose. He spoke carefully. "I…suppose I have things I could still accomplish, as well. And you could…help me."

"Well, perhaps they wouldn't if they knew them better." His intent blue gaze was pleading. "You and I have dealt together peacefully. Your own father was human," he added for emphasis. "So your people must know that not all outsiders are troublesome."

"Why not try it, just once? This could be an opportunity for you to prove yourself, as well. Please…"

"No!" She flew from her chair in a sudden movement and stalked to the window. "I do not owe you this."

Obi-Wan felt as though he’d been slapped. Did she think he was trying to exact some sort of payment from her? The thought that she might be doing exactly that hurt him. Once again, he realized the true width of the gulf between her people and himself. "No, you don’t. I'm sorry," he replied softly.

She stood in the window, her slender form silhouetted black by the blue-tinged moonlight. She spoke in a quiet voice without turning once to look at him. "I am healed. Thank you. I will leave."

Obi-Wan felt terrible for driving her away with his uncaring words. He'd miscalculated again, even worse than he had before with the others. Could he salvage the situation? He didn't know if that were possible at this point.

But he couldn’t just let her leave. The desert at night was dangerous. He didn't want her wandering alone because of him. "Will you at least stay until morning? Please?" he asked.

Obi-Wan slept. He dreamed.

"Are you sure you are well enough to travel?"

"Yes." Merel stood and regarded him silently from across the table, an unfathomable look in her tanned eyes.

Obi-Wan had known the answer to that question but felt compelled to ask it anyway.

They had eaten a silent breakfast. She wore clothing he'd convinced her to accept, a sand-colored shirt and loose grey pants which hung from her slender hips.

He stared at her, standing there, with remorse in his gaze. He didn't want to part under such strained circumstances, but didn't know what else to say. "I can't force you to stay."

"No." She looked no happier than he.

"Well then." Obi-Wan arose and crossed wearily to the door. "Let me get you a cloak. Yours was destroyed."

He was surprised when she followed him. They trailed to the bedroom without speaking, the air thick with unhappy tension.

They reached his closet and Obi-Wan pulled a long, heavy woven robe from its depths. He swiveled to find her hovering mere inches from him, looking at him.

Obi-Wan was captivated by her gentle tone. He could only obey. He brought his free hand up between them, and slid tentative fingers over the underside of her jaw. He skated them over her smooth lips, then up, over the line of her nose, to caress her brow. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, turning them into his soft palm, adding its heat to her cheek.

They stood like that for moments, or an eternity, Obi-Wan did not know which.

She moved first. Her free hand sought out his and wrested the cloak from his fingers, dropping it to the floor. She pulled his palm up to lay it against her other cheek. She entwined her other hand in the strands of his hair behind his head and tugged herself toward him, resting her weight the gentle hands cradling her head.

Obi-Wan’s mind cleared of questions. He could only feel the Force of the silent moment, sinuous between them. He leaned into her grasp until he could taste the heat of her breath. He touched soft lips to hers.

She stiffened for an instant, as if unused to the sensation. But only for an instant. She soon relaxed under his light kiss, sliding her lips against the wet warmth of his mouth.

They stayed like that for another eternity, fingers lightly tracing cheeks and brows while their breaths mingled. She never opened her eyes.

Her moist lips were tinged with the tartness of the fruit she’d eaten. They tasted of other things as well. They tasted of wind. They tasted of desert sunlight. Obi-Wan wanted more. He tightened his grip on her face and yanked her to him, pushing her mouth open with his, deepening the kiss.

She melted into him. Her slick tongue pushed inward past his lips and teeth. She sucked at him, drinking him.

She freed her hands to slide down his back as she kissed him, stroking the taut muscles tensed beneath the thin material. Her groping fingers moved up inside his shirt, massaging warm, smooth skin, pulling his body ever tighter against hers.

Her burning caress was a shock to his system, each desperate grasp sending lightning coursing through his veins to coalesce into a tight, hot ball in his belly. When her fingers reached down in one quick movement and gripped his hardening length, enveloping him in heat, he nearly disintegrated.

Obi-Wan wrenched his mouth from hers and grabbed her hand, yanking it away as if he’d been burned. He gazed at her in alarm as they stood inches apart, both of them breathing heavy, faces flushed.

He tore his mind free from the haze of desire. What were they doing? What was she doing? She’d been angry, ready to leave, only minutes ago. And he—he was surely past this sort of thing, wasn’t he?

"Why are you doing this?" Obi-Wan finally found the voice to ask her. He was half-afraid of the answer.

She didn’t reply, but only gazed at him through glazed, heavy-lidded eyes, her shoulders rising and falling with her shortened breath.

Merel launched herself against his muscled chest, knocking him backwards onto the bed. The two of tangled in a flurry of hungry wet kisses and hastily-abandoned clothing.

Obi-Wan got to kiss the breasts he’d admired earlier, small and firm but soft under his questing hands and lips. He blazed a trail down her torso with the gentle roughness of his tongue, from her nipples to her belly and back again, drinking in the salty desert taste of her skin.

She moaned, twining her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back up to hers for another ravenous embrace. He stretched himself over her from head to toe as she devoured him, his warm weight pressing her into the mattress.

Every inch of her felt incredible. Obi-Wan wanted her. Some part of his mind was surprised at how much, and how fast it had happened.

But his senses would not allow him conscious thought. Even now, her taut body strained beneath his, slim thighs encircled his waist, pressing her belly up against his hardness, torturing him with every movement. He propped his arms beneath her shoulders as he kissed her, straining with need but hesitant to take the last step.

Suddenly, she tore her mouth from his and dug the heels of her hands into his shoulders, pushing him up, away from her. Her sweaty body wriggled out from beneath as she rolled him to his side.

Obi-Wan was nonplussed. "What's—"

"Wait," she whispered. "This way." She rolled over until she was face down beneath him, her back pressed against his chest. One hand snaked out to clasp his, bringing it to her lips. She pressed his palm to her cheek and pulled his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it. She arched up to her knees, never releasing his warm, calloused fingers.

He understood. He hadn't quite… but he ached to be inside her—even now, she brushed her moist heat against his hard length sinuously, silently pleading.

"I want to see you," he whispered.

"See me with your hands," she rasped, and nibbled the inside of his wrist.

Obi-Wan was lost. He clasped her face, pulling her head back even as he pushed himself inside her.

She cried out against his palm, a cry of pleasure. "Please," she whispered.

She was so slick, she felt so incredible, and it had been so long…Obi-Wan moaned and propped himself against the bed with his free hand, grasping at the covers, and began to move inside her, rocking against her.

Sweat ran between them as they swayed together, but whether it was his or hers, Obi-Wan didn't know and didn't care.

For intense minutes there was no sound but their breathing, and that of their skin sliding together, meeting with every thrust. Nothing but their two bodies and the lonely expanse of desert outside. Obi-Wan felt a fiery tightness begin to build within, engulfing his limbs in a furious languor.

Soon her movements became more frantic, more desperate. She cried something aloud in a tongue Obi-Wan did not know, a hoarse wail pulled from within. She bit down on his finger, hard, then fell forward, trembling.

Obi-Wan had to slide his hand from her face to clutch her chest, hold her against him. Lightning struck at the base of his spine, and he shuddered, spilling himself inside her.

He collapsed, gasping, on top of her. They lay entwined for several minutes while they remembered how to breathe.

She was so quiet that after a while, Obi-Wan began to fear he was crushing her. He rolled on his side and reached for her, gathering her into his arms. She opened sandy eyes to look at him, and he was filled with emotion at the happy pleasure he saw in their depths.

"That was nice," he whispered to her, an outrageous understatement. "This is nice."

"Yes," she whispered back. "It was." Her eyes, gazing into his blue ones, suddenly filled with an incomprehensible fear.

She rolled out of his embrace and off the side of the bed. She stood, naked and glistening with sweat, and stared at him for a moment with an unfathomable look in her eyes. Then she crossed the room and began to pluck clothing from the floor.

But she was changed. Somehow, her face, her whole demeanor had changed, in an instant. What was wrong? Obi-Wan couldn't conceive what he'd done to make her look at him that way.

But she thrust out a hand to stay him from across the room. Already clothed, she strode to where her breathing mask lay on a chair, forgotten for days. She hefted it in her hands and gazed at it for a moment, as if searching the eyes of a disembodied head. Then she turned to Obi-Wan. "Goodbye, Ben."

"Goodbye?" His voice was upset. "Goodbye? What do you mean by that? What's wrong?" he finally asked her. "Will you come back?"

"No." Her voice held a note of finality as she stepped from the room, his cloak draped across her shoulders.

But somehow he'd already known the answer, before she even gave it to him. He stared at the empty door for a moment. His soul was in turmoil. There were a thousand things he wanted to do at that moment—run after her, yell at her, forget her—but in the end, he did nothing but stand in place and listen to the front door slide shut behind her.

After all, he’d already learned what he needed to know about the Sand People. They weren't savages. They hid their numbers. And they took what they could get.

The End.