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Your Place In the Middle

by Sheri Dargin

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Rating: Starts out R-ish I think...I'm so corrupted now I can't tell but definitely ends with NC-17. I mean really!!!!!! NC-17. Kids with the faint of heart close your eyes get out of the story now. I warned you.

Story type: Drama, a tad bit of angst, ABH and third person. (You see fun for everyone.)

Spoilers: Are you kidding?

Disclaimers: George hold back your lawyers. Would you really want to claim this in public? It's not like I'm the 2 Live Crew (tm) who were trying to make money off your ideas. I'm just trying to make money being a secretary. You have nothing to fear by my and this story's existence.

Summary: The boys are being typical men and they hurt your feelings by doing so. No one wants to go to the party with you. Hell they just don't wanna do anything with you. But then again, they don't want anyone else doing anything with you EITHER!!

Author's notes: This is a just another excuse to write a sammich story…. With possessiveness thrown in there for good measure. Definitely pwp and a tried/true formula. Enjoy the cast of characters.

You stroll through the throngs of gathered dignitaries nursing a single glass of sparkling lotus nectar. Your head sits recessed in the hood of your ceremonial gown. The red, white and orange of the dress traces your body like rolling fire accentuating the gentle curves of your body and the coloring of your skin.

You barely recognize the diplomats that have gathered for yet another meaningless party. Or at least that's the way you see it. Yes, connections are made, secret deals are agreed to but all of this is just another reason to spend useless credits to fatten the bellies of beaurocrats.

//Why am I here? // You ask yourself staring at a Mon Calamari guzzle another glass of wine, laughing raucously. And then you remember. //I'm a translator//

You scan the room for your employer. Then you spot your her…. Jedi Healer and Scholar Misha-Al- Badai. She speaks jovially to other knights as well as the diplomats who have gathered around her. She is out on loan from the temple as a Lecturer-at-Large. Many of the diplomats her have asked her to lecture at their local universities on the virtues of life and the healing forces within it. Of course everyone wants her to write the texts of these talks in their native languages instead of Galactic Standard!!

Annoying, yet profitable. For you are paid by the parsel and there is so much work to do. So much.

//I hate these things.// You frown watching as Misha's spouse secretly caresses the small of her back. Her ebony braids fall gracefully behind her as the healer turns to give him a secret look. Unable to bear it any longer, you decide to head out onto the balcony to get some air.

Your footsteps soon leave the plush carpeting and echo off the stone floor of the balcony which over looked an enclosed garden. You sigh.

//Damn them. Making me go by myself.// You swig the last of your drink and place the glass on the ledge.

//What were their excuses?// You frown as you recall early this afternoon.

{ Obi-Wan strapped the last buckle of his freshly shined brown boots. He wore a simple sand colored tunic and trousers—they were the more casual attire for a Jedi. Way too casual for the up-coming Gala you note. "Obi-Wan," you say coming out of the refresher wrapped in a large cushiony robe. "are you wearing that to the gala tonight?"

"No." He answers simply tying a sash around his waist. He maneuvers around you and the giant bed.

"Then you must change. We haven't much time."

"This is fine for me to wear." He walks past you still getting ready. A spicey scent is left in his wake.

You know instantly that you two are not talking about the same thing. "We're not talking about the diplomatic gala—are we?"

"No apparently not. For that is not where I'm going."

"Wait. Wait there for a second." You step in his path. You're face comes to his chest. He steps back putting his hand on his hips. "The Gala is tonight. I told you two weeks in advance. I asked you again a week ago and--."

His cleft chin bobbed up and down as his face tightened. "And I recall each time telling you that I was uncertain of my attending. Now if you'll excuse me." He steps around you.

"Well—where are you going?" You follow him, "To that war meeting?!"

Obi-Wan steps into the front room and puts on a mahogany colored cloak, "It is a lecture on the ethical treatment of native inhabitants by Master Tanaka. And yes I am attending."

"But you said you didn't want to go." You step in front of him again, "And that since you're friend wasn't going, you'd go with me. You promised."

His blue eyes stare intently at you, "I never promised. I said I'd consider it." He steps aside and walks over to the dining room table. He retrieves his lightsaber and sheathes it in his utility belt.

Anger and sadness battle you for attention. You didn't know anyone at the Gala, save for a couple of people. You had to attend and you hoped you wouldn't have to go alone.

You step in front of him again as he neared the door.

He sighs heavily when you do. His face crinkles and he looks away. "Please stop doing this. It's very disturbing." "What am I suppose to do?" You fold your arms protectively.

"I am late. I really don't have time for this."

"You don't have time?" You fumed raising your voice, "This was suppose to be our time! You said--."

"I never said any such thing!" He snapped and closed his eyes. "Call one of your girlfriends to go with you."

"Not on such short notice."

"Go by yourself," He gestures indignantly, "It's perfectly legal."

"Nowadays I'm always doing things by myself." You snap

"There is virtue in solitude."

"I'm in solitary confinement. There is no virtue in that."

He snorts, "This coming from a woman who lives with two men." You arch your neck, "Perhaps I should downsize." You threaten.

Obi-Wan grins, "You know I wouldn't allow it." He kisses your forehead.

You step away from him, "Obi-Wan, I'm serious."

"So am I." "Who am I suppose to take?" You feel your eyes glaze as a lump forms in your throat.

He walks around you. "Ask Qui-Gon. Perhaps he'll accompany you." His words hung in the air as the door closed behind him.

"Right." You groan. "That's like asking Master Yoda to grow six inches. It ain't gonna happen. He hates these things."

You go back to your shared bedroom and continue to prepare hoping Qui-Gon would reconsider.

As you slip into your shoes, your hear a clanging out in the dining room. Sensing Qui-Gon's presence, you walk slowly into the hallway just seeing him collapse onto the sofa. His long legs lay stretched out before him. His eyes were closed and he sighed a cleansing breath.

The Master's demeanor alone gave you no hope of respite. He hadn't even bothered to take off his poncho.

"Long day?" You ask knowing he's been gone all of two hours.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Tired?" You walk slowly towards him. His eyes were closed.

"Not really."

Your face lights up. "Frustrated then."

"Mostly."

"I know what can take your mind off of it." You begin with a grin.

"What?" He asks slowly.

"You want to come to the Gala with me?"

Qui-Gon opens his eyes and faces you, "Love, my answer is the same as it was when you asked me the first time. No."

"A girl can dream you know." You say feeling dejected. You gather your purse off the table in front of the sofa.

He takes off his poncho, tossing it off to the side. "Did you ask Obi-Wan?"

You step over it. "Yes." Trying to hold back your tears, you swallow and blink hard. It took you twenty-minutes to get your eye-make up right.

"And?" Qui-Gon sighed with irritation. He hates it when you cry.

"He made other plans." You step over to the mirror and adjust your hair as you place your hood over your head. You hear two giant thonks as Qui-Gon makes himself comfortable by availing himself of his boots. "I remember a time when we actually did things together." "Don't start this again." He sighs behind you.

"Right." You hold up your hand, "Don't wanna be a nag."

"Why don't you do things by yourself?"

You fume hearing that comment once again. That was the problem, you were always doing things by yourself.

//Fine, if that's what they want. Then that's what they shall get.// Your back is to Qui-Gon. You close your eyes and focus your will power on cutting off the shared link between you three.

"Don't wait up for me, I'll be home late." You say accomplishing your goal with a triumphant grin.

"Why? These things never last more than a couple of hours."

You turn to see him stretched out on the sofa. "I'm not coming straight home." Anger has welled up deep within you. You know he knows it and he doesn't seem to care.

"Where will you be?" He asks scanning a datapad that was laying on the table.

You turn to leave. "I'LL BE WHERE I'M AT!" //Screw these damn men!!!// you project loudly.}

"Excuse me. Excuse me, miss?" A man's voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Uh—yeah." You turn and see a beautiful man of 5'10. His short cropped hair is as black as a Sith Lord's cape. His eyes shone green like Yoda's skin. He wore a deep brown robe, v-shaped tunic and calf-high boots.

"Um your glass just fell off the ledge."

You frown, "Oh no." Oh yes, it was gone. You glance over just in time to see it shatter against a statue of a jedi knight of old. How fitting. "Oops."

He smirks at your comment. "I am Mich'ael." He reaches out a hand. As he does so, his robes open exposing a sheathed lightsaber.

"You're a knight?" You ask reaching out to shake his hand.

"Uh…yes I am. And you are?"

You blush, "Sorry." You tell him of your ancient home name. A name, which you almost never go by now, a name no one really knows.

"That's beautiful. Are you from the outer rim?" He asks with an intriguing accent not native to the Core planets.

"Actually closer to Wild Space."

He frowns, "You're kidding."

"No, I'm afraid not. I am lucky that my family was never involved with slavers but father managed to get us out there by the time I reached ten standard years." The comlink in your purse beeps. You reach in and turn it off. Your almost certain of the caller.

"Such a precarious existence. It forces one to appreciate the uniqueness of life."

"It does." You smile feeling instantly at ease with him. You stop and throw up your emotional shields , realizing you had let them slip. These Jedi automatically take up residence in a person's psyche. They can't help doing it and not only that the Master could be listening.

Michael smiles when you do so. "Did you think I was intruding?"

"No." You grin back, "It's so you won't."

Obviously amused, he nods. "Would you like something else to drink?"

"Uh-huh."

He motions to a droid. "Two." He mouths.

"Hey aren't you on duty?" You ask incredulously.

"My dear, I'm a Jedi not Coruscant security," He flashes a devious smile while taking the drinks from the droid. "I can handle drink."

He hands you a glass, "I'm come from a long line of professional drinkers. It's in my genes. And unlike my ancestors, I know when to stop." He holds out his glass for a toast. "To wild space—"

"--And drunken Jedi." You add.

"May they remain in our distant past." Mich'ael clinks his glass with yours.

TBC