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Joy Ride - an ABH

by Sherrie

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Disclaimers: Grand Master Lucas owns Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan lock, stock, and....ah...yeah, barrel. Damn. I guess I¹ll just have to put them back when I¹m done. I got no money-honey, so don¹t come looking to sue me for any.

Scenario: you¹re a long way from home on a dark road in the middle of nowhere.

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Part 3

The wind whips your hair as the Harley settles into a steady purr. With a bounce, the motorcycle hits the verge of the paved road and your rescuer accelerates down the road. You keep your arms wrapped around his warm waist and hold on tightly. The wind stings your eyes and you can't keep your hair from blowing in your face. You press your face against the rider's back, right between his shoulder blades. His scent is intoxicating and you sink further into the warmth of his jacket around your shoulders.

It seems forever before he finally turns down another paved road and eventually onto another gravel road. The gravel road twists and turns for a few miles and finally degrades into a plain dirt road. Finally you see the shadowed bulk of a cabin rise out of the darkness. A soft red glow emits from the windows of one room. You can see no evidence of electric lights though.

Your rescuer slows the Harley to a stop and you slide off gratefully. He props the bike on it's stand and turns back to you. You suddenly realize that your teeth are chattering and your legs start to give out. You feel cold, but you know that you¹re not really cold. Distantly, your mind tells you it's just shock.

Your knees finally give out and again the motorcyclist becomes your rescuer, catching your limp frame before it hits the ground. "Come, let's get you inside," he murmurs over the top of your head.

His large strides carry you quickly to the front door of the cabin. Shifting you ever so slightly, he frees up on hand to open the door. He kicks it open with one foot and sweeps you inside.

The cabin is warm inside. The only light seems to come from a fire burning in the hearth.

Your rescuer settles you down on the large, overstuffed chair in front of the fire before turning to the hearth to stoke the fire and settle more wood in the eager flames. The fire cracks and pops, sending sparks flying up the stone chimney.

Apparently satisfied, he turns, looks at you one more time, gets up, and walks out of the room. You can hear him clatter about with some pans and then the sound of water splashing into a pan. A stove door clanks and you hear the sound of more wood being loaded into another fire. A wooden stove, you think to yourself absentmindedly.

By the time he comes back, your teeth have stopped chattering and your knees are no longer rubbery. "Feeling better?" he asks.

"Yes...thank you," you tell him gratefully. He simply smiles in return.

In the firelight, you get yourself a better look at your rescuer. He's a tall man, probably a good chunk over six feet. His long hair is pulled back from his face and his mustache and beard look neatly trim. In the red light of the fire, you can't really tell what color his hair is, or his eyes for that matter, but his face is all gentility, grace, and calm.

Turning to the sofa, he pulls a blanket off it's back and shakes it out over you, settling it around your legs and shoulders.

"Thank you," you smile up at him.

"You're welcome," a warm smile animates his face. "Can I have my jacket back now? I'm verra partial to it," he asks.

"Oh...I'm sorry. Thank you for the use of it." You pull the large jacket off your shoulders and hand it to him.

"Now, do you prefer tea, coffee, or something else to drink perhaps?" he asks. His voice is deep, warm, and soothing, like dark tea sweetened with honey and made rich with cream.

"Tea will be fine," you manage to reply, "with milk and plenty of sugar."

Outside, you hear the rip of the other motorcyclist. It sputters to a stop outside the cabin, and a few moments later the smaller man steps through the door. He's carrying your satchel over his shoulder.

"How is she," he asks the larger man.

"Ask her yourself," the larger man replies, gesturing to where you sit in the chair.

The smaller man steps over to your chair and sinks to one knee. "Are you all right?" he asks, concern evident on his boyishly good looking face. His hair is short cropped with a short ponytail at the back of his head and a long braid hanging from the right side of his head. He is dressed in a fluorescent green T-shirt, leather biker's jacket, and snug black leather pants. Altogether he presents quite a sensual picture.

You smile back at him, "Yes I'm fine thanks to you two."

"I've brought you your things from your vehicle," he shows you your satchel and sets it aside next to your chair. "Unfortunately I do not think that the vehicle will be going anywhere anytime soon." His elegant voice sounds very apologetic.

"Oh, please, don't worry about that old hunk of junk," you deprecate. "I'm just glad you came along when you did." You catch an exchanged glance between the two men. "I'll be glad if I never have to go back down that road again." You suddenly remember the way his bike skidded along the gravel road and crashed into the bushes. "I hope you didn't damage your bike too much on my account," you fret.

"Oh," the younger man soothes, "don't worry about that. It's a little scraped up, but no worse for the wear. I'd be more upset if you had come to harm." His smile is wide and generous, eliciting complete trust from you.

"Yes, well, I think it's quite obvious you'll be staying here for the remainder of the night," the older man finally speaks again. "Tomorrow we'll get you to a place where you can get transportation home."

"Thank you....ah.....I'm sorry, I don't know your names." You introduce yourself and wait expectantly to learn theirs.

The older man speaks first, "I am called Qui-Gon Jinn. This," he gestures to the younger man, "is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

You stifle a giggle at the funny names. "You must not be from this side of the Atlantic," you muse.

"Ah, well....yes, you could say that," the younger man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, demurs.

"Actually, we're here on vacation," Qui-Gon Jinn finally states. "We only just arrived this afternoon, so unfortunately, we don't have many provisions laid in yet." He turns to the younger man, "Obi-Wan, we won't have enough food for breakfast for our guest. Why don't you see if you can find additional provisions from town."

"Yes, Master," he replies, smoothly rising to his feet. "Well, I'm glad you're all right. You'll be safe here with us for the night, I promise you that." The serious look on his face belies the boyish good looks. Plus, the way he fought four men, okay so they were drunk, but still four men, was impressive enough to convince you.

"Thank you," you say again, feeling a bit like a broken record. But Obi-Wan's smile eases your mind.

"Go on, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon urges again.

Obi-Wan looks back at the older man again, and quickly walks out the door. Outside, the motorcycle purrs to life and roars off into the distance.

A rattle in the kitchen alerts Qui-Gon that his pot of water is starting to boil. With a brief apology, he steps out of the room, returning a few minutes later with two mugs in hand.

"Here you are, I do believe you ordered dark tea sweetened with honey and made rich with cream." You start at his choice of words, you hadn't mentioned honey to him at all! "Unfortunately, we have no honey, so I had to use sugar instead. I hope it is to your liking," a slight smile curves his lips as he hands you the mug.

You take the warm mug from him gratefully, wrapping your fingers around it. The aroma is rich and dark, just the way you like it. You take a tentative taste....hot, but not too hot. Rich and creamy and sweet....just what your frazzled nerves need. You also taste a strong but heavenly overtone in the tea. You're not sure what it is though.

"We don't have any milk, so I took the liberty of using a few spoonfuls of Bailey's Irish Cream instead. You did say cream, didn't you?" His eyes seem to laugh at you of their own accord.

"Um....yeah....this'll do...this is fine," you mutter.

Satisfied with your answer, he sits down on the edge of the sofa across the room from you and sips at his mug of tea.

You sit there in silence, absorbed by the flickering flames and the spreading warmth in your belly from the tea. Questions keep plaguing your thoughts, but you're not sure if you want to ask them of this Good Samaritan. Why were they out there tonight? How did they know where to find you? Or did they truly just stumble on the scene? Are they really as 'safe' as they say? Qui-Gon just looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to ask your questions.

He finally breaks the silence. "What happened out there tonight?" he prods gently.

Your chain of thought broken, you turn your mind back to the events earlier in the evening. You find yourself telling him everything...about almost running out of gas, of the men at the gas station, of the attempts to run you off the road..... His eyes grow dark and dangerous as you retell your tale.

"And then they started dragging me around on the ground....and...." you stop, your throat choked and your vision gone blurry with tears. You start to sob as the terror of the night finally sinks through the shock.

In the briefest of flashes, Qui-Gon is kneeling in front of you, wrapping his huge self around you. "You're safe....you're safe...no one will harm you....hush...." he murmurs into your ear. The sobs rack your body and your tears soak into the cloth of his shirt. He strokes your hair and continues to murmur into your ears, his voice soft and gentle.

Long minutes later, the last of the sobs drains from you. You lift your head from his shoulder and laugh vainly at the wet spot you've left on his shirt. Gently he wipes the tears from your eyes with a tender thumb. His eyes bore into yours, echoing your pain.

"I'm sorry...." you wipe the back of one hand across your eyes. "You've been so kind to me, coming to my rescue and all...."

"Hush," he commands, placing a finger across your lips. "Don't apologize for something that isn't your fault. Here, come sit on the floor in front of the fire with me."

Before you can resist, Qui-Gon pulls you off the chair and sets you down on the floor in front of him and pulls you back against his chest. Gratefully, you sink down into his embrace and rest your head against his chest. His steady heartbeat echoes in your ears, lulling you into peaceful relaxation.

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TBC