Rating: R or above (if you ain't 18 or older, I better not catch you reading this) - Heavy sexual content and suggestion, violence and Goddess only knows what else

Notes, Addendums, Quid Pro Quos: "I can't make anyone fall in love with you. I can't bring people back from the dead...it's not a pretty picture...I don't like to do it!" Sorry, Aladdin moment.

Real Notes and Addendums (no quid pro quos though): I usually don't delve into high sexual content stories. I read them occassionally but have never written one. A friend challenged me, dared me actually, and told me to use Qui-Gon. Hmm, I thought, okay. So I grabbed The World Is Not Enough soundtrack with it's very seductive title song by Garbage (of all people) to use as a mood maker. So I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take the plunge. There is no slash...that's disgusting. Make do with what there is.

Disclaimer: I make no money off this. I re-stress, not a dang dime and don't plan on it with this story. I have other work I enjoyed doing better. *grin* Sorta. The zero Gs scene came from a friend's, um, idea from something else. (She knows who she is). Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Council, and Jabba the Hutt belong to LucasArts and I hope to the Goddess they DO NOT read this. Everyone else is mine...though I'm wondering if I should claim them *grin* And no the heroine of this piece does *not* resemble me or what I'd like me to be. And yes, I used Shania Twain's name because it's just a cool name! Sorry, Shania.

NOTE:Qui-Gon has been a knight about five years, right before his first padawan learner. He's still a young whipper-snapper.

Prologue

People like us
know how to survive
There's no point in living
if you can't feel alive
We know when to kiss
and we know when to kill
if we can't have it all
then nobody will.

"The World Is Not Enough" by Garbage from the Bond Sountrack

****

Trust you we do to accomplish this mission quickly. Qui-Gon wondered if three months was too long to be considered quick.

This drug could reorganize how the criminal underworld works, Qui-Gon. You are level-headed enough not to be distracted by this. You must get us the shipment date and other relevant information so that we can stop this drug from entering the Republic's borders. Qui-Gon had a distinct feeling the Council was going to be disappointed in his level-headedness.

This drug is powerful enough that it could destroy the very Republic's foundations. Qui-Gon couldn't remember who said that, but it was true enough.

The drug's street name was Siren's Song and it was appropriate. So far no species or gender had been immune to Siren's Song lull. The drug heightened the sexual senses and turned even the most level-headed individual into a sex-hungry madman.

Qui-Gon was ample proof of that, though the Force had helped him neutralize the drug to a minimal effect on his system. Still...he was only human.

The door to the chamber swung open and a figure entered, encased in all black from top to bottom. No distinguishable features could be seen, but the shape of the figure left no doubts in anyone's mind this person was a she.

Qui-Gon knew which 'she' she was without a thought. "Did you get it?" he asked lazily, stretching his long frame out underneath the flimsy sheet. The figure paused at the blatantly display and then continued past the bed and into the adjoining room opposite without a word.

Qui-Gon got up, wrapping the sheet around his waist. The drug was wearing out of his system so some of his natural modesty was returning. The drug also had the disturbing effect of washing away inhibitions. Qui-Gon knew he was attractive to the opposite sex but it had never mattered that much before.

It mattered with her.

He entered the room as the woman plopped her bag down on the dining table. The apartments the two were ensconsed in were elegant and lavish. The furnishings were equally elegant, somewhat expensive but very tasteful.

"What's in the bag?" he asked, standing behind her. He wanted to touch her, but she was "in mode", as she called it. He really didn't want to mend a broken wrist. Again. "Si'Haad, did you get it?" He didn't want to push but he had to know. It was his mission.

One nod and small black gloved hands jerked back the top of the bag. Inside were three small packets, plus various datapads and paper hardcopy files. Qui-Gon's muscles tensed then relaxed. Enough of the drug for lab samples and the paper work and information pads detailing shipment dates and locations.

"You're good," he noted, reaching toward the drug. The bag shut with a snap and was off the table in a heartbeat.

He looked at the slight female across the room. Her speed and agility was second to none, beyond the scope of a normal human. Qui-Gon wasn't sure she was all human, but she felt like it in his arms. "Just a little," he conjoled. The black material encased head shook 'no' once. He frowned. "You enjoyed the results, Shania, don't deny it. We both did."

Again the head shake. He leaped at her but she dodged and was in his previous spot before he even finished his action. "Give it to me!" he shouted.

"Do not raise your voice to me, Jedi. I have the information you want and you have to get the payment I want. Is the bargain ended because you've been sleeping in my bed?" The soft husky voice was mangled by a voice distorter to minimize any way that someone could identify her by her vocal sounds. Qui-Gon found the voice speaking to him cold and mechanical, just the effect she wanted he knew.

It was just one brick of many in her wall of defense. A wall that had kept her alive in a line of business in which the average lifespan was five years. As far as anyone knew Si'Haad, "the shadow stealer" in Hutteese, had been thieving for almost a decade now.

He stood there, watching her, as she did him. Finally, knowing he wouldn't win this battle he sat in a chair at the table and stared at his hands folded in front of him. "All right, the price we agreed upon was a full pardon and a new life, identity and physical reconstruction." He looked at her disturbed by the last. "Are you sure about that?"

"I'm identifiable to some by my looks alone. That is unacceptable. I intend to live out my natural lifespan without a knife sticking out of my back."

"You will always be looking over your shoulder though," he told her. "You will always wonder if the morning you wake up to will be the last morning of your life."

"Nothing I can't handle, Qui-Gon," the disembodied voice told him coldly. "I have been doing that since I was seven years old. I am resigned to that. Is the deal brokered?"

"It is," he sighed, rubbing his dark blue eyes. "Will you please remove the mask? It's disturbing."

She didn't move. "Contact your Jedi Council. You are no longer my prisoner. Tell them the deal has been made and you are in possession of the asked for merchandise. I wish to hear your Council agree to verify what you say is true."

Qui-Gon flinched. "You don't trust me? After everything, you still don't trust me?"

The eye slits of the mask stared at unblnkingly, white and sightless-looking, but Qui-Gon knew better. Installed in those eyeslits were state-of-the-art vision goggles, small enough to wear without impediment. They allowed her to see in all conditions of weather, smoke, infrared, ultraviolet and other difficult visual conditions.

"I trust no one until the merchandise is exchanged for my payment. Even if you are Jedi, you can still betray me."

He slammed his hand down and stood up, knocking the chair over in his burst of anger. "I love you!" he shouted loud enough for half the astroid to hear him.

"No," she countered, even the mechanical vocalization softening, "the drug loves me. You are a Jedi. Jedi do not love intergalaxy thieves. Go."

Qui-Gon marched from the dining room to another adjoining room, her communications room/study. In it were computer consoles, a full Republic map and information center and a communications buoy that she personally had set up that bounced off different lines and therefore was untracable.

Almost. He had found her, after all.

He dialed the code that would reach the Jedi Council chambers. It was mid-morning on Coruscant, they would be in session, he knew. He was correct. Yoda, the oldest Council member, and those members in periphial of Yoda appeared on the screen. Qui-Gon bowed, knowing he looked like hell, but not caring. The sheet was just going to have to throw them for a loop.

"Masters."

"Qui-Gon!" Mace Windu leaned forward, eyeing his old friend warily. "Where the devil have you been? We've been looking for you." Mace was a new member to the Council and a good friend of Qui-Gon's.

"I'm fine, I'm safe and I have what we need." Qui-Gon looked steadily at his friend. "The price is high though, but it's worth it. Is the Supreme Chancellor willing to pay?"

"He is," said Yoda to Windu's right and Qui-Gon's left. "As are we."

"I found the thief, Si'Haad." This caused some stirrings off-screen but neither Yoda nor Mace seemed surprised. Qui-Gon's resourcefulness in these matters was why he got the assignment in the first place. "Si'Haad has all that we need, but the price is a full pardon, new identity and," he took a breath and grimaced, "a full physical make-over, so that she can't be recognized ever again."

"She?" asked Mace, now looking at his friend's disheveled appearance more closely. Yoda didn't even blink at the revelation.

"Tell her deal is brokered, Jedi word of honor. When you return?" Yoda watched the expressions that washed over Qui-Gon's strong features. That there was more to this than met the eye, Yoda thought was obvious. He was determined to find out what it was later. Something within the Jedi knight had changed, drastically.

"Soon," was all Qui-Gon would say.

"Tell her we thank her, though she's doing this for profit. She may have saved the Republic." Mace gave Qui-Gon a smile. "Come home, my friend, you look like hell."

Qui-Gon bowed. "Thanks for the friendly advice," he said as he gave a rakish grin. Mace laughed and the communication transmission ended.

He turned to her, knowing she'd been standing beyond the holo's view during his discussion with the Council. "Happy?" he drawled sarcastically. "Your heart's desire, all rolled into one sweet deal."

A black gloved hand lifted and pulled the mask off, revealing a face he knew oh so well: eyes a bright green, hair dark as space, skin like porcelin and a naturally pouty look to her full lips. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of that face pressed to his chest in sleep only a few hours before.

Her eyes glinted softly in the soft lighting of her study. "Happy? Yes, I suppose. I've never been happy before, Qui-Gon, but I'm sure this is close. Is it my heart's desire?" She gave him a wry smile. "Hardly."

He strode to her. The mask was off, Si'Haad was banished, replaced by Shania once again. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, head descending down to hers, his lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss. Their emotions exploded within them, as it had done since that first kiss some two months earlier. His hand slipped down her waist to her bottom and he pulled her to him more fully. One leg wrapped around his waist and then the other. Soon he was holding her up as the kiss deepened even more into a erotic dance of tongues, thrusting, sucking, parrying, caressing.

This time, Qui-Gon didn't need the drug. In truth he hadn't ever needed Siren's Song for anything but convincing him being with her was right.

Shania was right. Shania would always be right.

"Oh, how I love you," he murmured as they broke for air. He felt her stiffen in his arms and she struggled from his embrace. "No," he said firmly, strengthening his grip on her. "You won't run away from this. No excuses."

Nails raked across his bare chest and he flinched but didn't let her go. The acid on her nails burned. Another defense, another wall to shield her from pain. He had no idea when she had removed the gloves. The heat of passion blocked a lot of thoughts, he knew from experience.

"Do not," she hissed, green eyes blazing, "presume to tell me what to do, Jedi." Before he could stop her, she shoved her hand into his chin, forcing his chin back with a snap. He released her involuntarily and she was out the door of the study in a flash.

He followed her just as quickly, rubbing his chin and snatching up the sheet that had been dropped when they had begun kissing. The ice was melting. He could sense the fire burning beneath it. "You at least care for me too, Shania," he told the woman facing him, standing next to the bag that held their lives. She was rubbing a cleaning solvent on her fingers, no doubt cleansing the acid away. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be trying this hard to make me go away. If I was that unimportant to you, you wouldn't acknowledge my kisses, my advances."

She hissed at him. He merely smiled, crooking a finger in her direction. "You've always been in control, haven't you?" His voice turned soft, seductive. "Always have had the upper hand so that you are ready for anything. You weren't ready for me, were you?" She glared at him. "I didn't think so. That makes us even, Shania, because I wasn't ready for you either."