So Tumblr occasionally posts some truly heartrending GIFs, often accompanied by bits of novelizations of the Revenge of the Sith movie or just a particularly well-placed analagous comparison between characters or something. This story - my birthday gift to everyone else? Something like that, anyways - was inspired by a gut-wrenching combination GIF of Obi-Wan learning that he can talk to Qui-Gon anew, underscored by their final moments together. (Another one that kills me every time people reblog it is a bit from Stover's Episode III novelization wherein Obi-Wan feels his heart hurt when he thinks about how similar Qui-Gon and Anakin are ... punctuated by pictures of Knight Anakin and Qui-Gon from Episode I, and yeah, go fuck yourself, Tumblr, seriously.) But anyways, here you go.
Summary: Obi-Wan communes with Qui-Gon for the first time on Tatooine. Takes place shortly after the events of Revenge of the Sith. Title comes from the Amanda Palmer version of "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," aptly suggested by patientalien.
And the Soles of Your Shoes Are All Worn Down
Tatooine as a system in general is harsh and unforgiving, but Obi-Wan Kenobi - Ben, now, he has trained himself only to answer to and think of himself as Ben - makes it more difficult on himself than, some might say, he needs to, straying from respites from heat, and only ever hitting a local-ish (if one could call something several miles south of the tiny hovel in which he has made his home, isolated and bare, "local-ish") cantina when he's sure he will be able to blend into the background. Even so, the main bartender, a graying woman who tells wonderfully dirty stories, quickly learns his drink and his habits, and though he always leaves her a nice tip, he worries that this association, too, will end in tears.
Leaving Coruscant, possibly for good, was - perhaps unexpectedly, given the Jedi's nomadic leanings - difficult; the idea that he couldn't go back, nay, that there was nothing to go back to, reminded him with a mournful pitted feeling in his stomach of all of the ways that the Jedi Temple had been home. In his heart, Obi-Wan knew he could have found happiness in settling down, on Mandalore or some other place where he might build a life for himself, with someone who would be all too relieved for him to cut the ties binding him to his ascetic existence, driven by duty, attached to no one. Even here and now, Bail Organa had all but begged him to come with him to Alderaan; "we can keep Luke safe there, too, together," he'd pleaded, and Obi-Wan, battered and exhausted and utterly, painstakingly heartbroken, had very nearly agreed, had wanted to melt into his dear friend's comforting embrace. Alderaan would be a beautiful place for Leia to grow up, albeit right under the Empire's nose, and in truth, he had very nearly given in. Still, allowing Palpatine to observe the twins as they become almost certainly more and more alike, at least appearance-wise, was essentially an extended suicide mission. In addition, there was something about him that was drawn to Tatooine, some innate need to, he supposed, try and understand everything he could about what had made Anakin the way he was. He had not brought his former apprentice's infant son here simply to keep him safe from Palpatine's wide scope; he had come seeking answers.
In any case, it is easy to start feeling maudlin when the bulk of his interactions with other sentient beings involved making soft clucking sounds at the eopie he had purchased some time ago from some traveling Jawas for the sake of his own ability to get around, and then the even rarer back-and-forth with a bar patron or his favorite cantina employee. Obi-Wan is terribly lonely, and so once he gets settled in and realized he can no longer put off the inevitable, he hunkers down one afternoon in his makeshift home, cross-legged in the middle of the cracked dirt floor, closes his eyes, and communes with the Force.
It takes a while; for a moment, he's sure he hasn't done it right, even considers the possibility that Master Yoda has intentionally gotten his hopes up over nothing, though in truth, he cannot quite parse out the latter into making absolute sense. Still, when Qui-Gon Jinn first appears to him, a shimmering, effervescent image in a pale shade of blue, it takes everything he has not to collapse from the onslaught of relief-hope-love.
"Master," he says reverently, and bows his head, even though Qui-Gon's holograph-esque image already towers over him. It occurs to him, then, that it is entirely possible the older man does not wish to commune with him; that his failure has left Qui-Gon cold towards Obi-Wan, always the most mundane of his collection of apprentices and pet projects to begin with. When Qui-Gon does not immediate speak or smile, he feels his heart settle in his throat, waiting for the other shoe to drop, even for Qui-Gon to condemn him outright, to rant and rave, to disappear entirely, never to return, but it comes to naught.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmurs, and it's his voice, HIS voice. The last time Obi-Wan heard it was on Mortis, for but a few short bursts of dialogue, and even then, he'd never been quite sure whether it was really HIM, or just a manipulation; before that, it had been several years since his Master's soft, deep utterances had graced his ears. This realization alone is enough to further make him want to weep, but once more, he holds off.
Qui-Gon's face is passive, even kindly. "How are you?" he asks, and it's such a commonplace, and yet, such a loaded question at the same time that Obi-Wan very nearly laughs; his mental breakdown, when it happens, will be swift and merciless, he thinks ruefully. "What I mean," Qui-Gon adds a moment later when his third apprentice is yet unable to formulate a response besides a contemplative facial expression, "is that your energy in the Force is different. Something within you has been deeply wounded, my friend. It has bruised your very soul."
Obi-Wan gulps, closes his eyes, opens them again, but looks away. What, even, is there to say to that, besides denying it altogether, or saying nothing at all? "It's ... been a very long time since I've been availed to your wisdom, Master," he manages at last. His breath starts to come more quickly, but he yet tamps it down. "I tried my best to do right by you, with Anakin ..." Here, he pauses, because it hurts to say his name, hurts to think of what he was and what he became, to know that he's not going to saunter back into Obi-Wan's eyesight in the next minute or so carrying a sackful of bugs or something inane like that and wearing a cheeky grin. This isn't an Outer Rim mission where the camaraderie between the two of them can supersede pretty much anything else the galaxy sees fit to throw at them. Rather, this is Obi-Wan's penance, because Anakin isn't here anymore, and he probably won't ever stop feeling as though he could have done more to prevent that.
"I tried my best," he repeats softly, and his eyesight very nearly blurs, but angrily, he shoves the tears down and swallows hard to accommodate getting his words out: "I tried, but I failed, Master, and I'm s-sorry. So very sorry."
Of all the things he expects - chilly silence, an angry assertion of all that he has caused to be broken now - he doesn't expect what happens next: "It was the will of the Force, Obi-Wan." He blinks mutinously, but Qui-Gon makes to speak further, and he lets him. "You were chosen to play a role in the course of events that occurred, the same as Anakin did. And you will be called upon again to ensure that Luke - and Leia, to an extent - is able to fulfill his own destiny within his lifetime."
Obi-Wan looks away again. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to be called upon for this task. We both know how it turned out the last time." His eyes sting. "I don't think I can do it again, Master."
"Obi-Wan, of course you can -"
"NO." His voice is quiet, but steely, and his Master seems stunned into momentary silence. "No, I mean, I just can't do it again," he squirms, and his breath hitches. "I've already ... so many people I love are dead. I could never get rid of my feelings of attachment for you, or for my Padawan, or even his Padawan, or Padme, or Senator Organa, and now they're all dead or in hiding and it's my fault, and I can't go through it again!" He's crying legitimately now, tears streaming down his cheeks, his jaw trembling. "I'm already in so much pain. It's too much. Please, Master!" he says, begging now, glancing up at Qui-Gon's shimmering visage, and it's like he's a little boy all over again and Qui-Gon once again holds the cards of Obi-Wan's fate in his hands. "Please take me as your Padawan, Master Jinn" had been the line back then, but now, his mewling and scraping are even more pathetic, because he doesn't even have his innocent naivet to fall back on. Now, he's just as much of a disappointment to Qui-Gon as Xanatos ever was, worse, really, and maybe the heartache is all part of being a monster, but oh, how it hurts. "Please, don't make me do this again," he finishes, choking on the last word.
Qui-Gon regards him silently, watches the way he cowers, holding himself miserably, arms wrapped tightly, miserably around his person. "I can't, Master, please, please," he's saying now, and Qui-Gon at last seems to have enough: "Obi-Wan," he says firmly, and his former Padawan's gaze is raised. "Hush." Obi-Wan does, audibly sucking down another onslaught of tears and complaints. "I would not ask this of you if I did not think you could handle it."
"But Mas-" Obi-Wan begins, but Qui-Gon holds up a hand, cutting him off swiftly.
"But nothing. Your failure - such that it was - does not make you irascible. It's quite the opposite, actually - through your past mistakes, you can help to carve out a brighter future for the galaxy at large. But ..." He trails off, sensing that Obi-Wan's mind is drifting to all that has been lost once more, and needing to reel him back in, "you must not continue to mire yourself in the details of Anakin's final days; nor must you recount every folly, small or large, as contributing to his demise. You loved him, and he loved you; and I would be remiss to say that I did not feel precisely the same way about my own Padawans. All of them," Qui-Gon intones firmly, and Obi-Wan blinks, and then nods shakily.
"I still miss you - every day," Obi-Wan frowns, his eyes red-rimmed, now. "I can't help but think that if you had lived - if you had been able to train him, like you were supposed to all along - then maybe we wouldn't be here right now. Maybe we'd both still be at the Temple, watching the sun rise, taking an early breakfast in the east gardens." Maybe he wouldn't feel so utterly alone, he thinks, and though Qui-Gon's face is placid as he listens to Obi-Wan's wistful tone, he does not retract his earlier statement, or back down, or avoid saying what he has come here today to say.
"Listen to me, Padawan." There's an earnestness in Qui-Gon's tone now, and Obi-Wan shifts so that he appears more ready to let whatever his Master has to say sink in. "There are dark times ahead; not just for you, and nothing I can tell you specifically -" At this, Obi-Wan sighs audibly, and it's almost enough to make him smile - "but know this: You are here for a purpose. A good purpose. You are yet a positive force in the galaxy, and the role you play from here on in will determine the fates of a great many others. It is a lot of responsibility to heap upon the shoulders of one man ... but," he says, and this time, he does smile outright, "I believe you can handle it. You have not failed me yet."
He can finally speak without his throat feeling like a steel trap. "Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan murmurs; and then, as if determined to ruin this newfound spate of peace within him, "and will I also have you here on occasion to guide me?" When Qui-Gon does not answer right away, he 'tsks' at himself: "Or should I just wait until we're both dead to hope to see you again?"
"Well, that would be the case, wouldn't it." Qui-Gon still has a rather dickish sense of humor, all things considered; still, he is relatively quick to throw Obi-Wan a bone this time: "You shall see me from time-to-time, now that you understand how to commune properly with the Force. More to the point, however, you should be able to feel my presence, even if I am not always here to dole out advice. I believe you will be able to cobble together enough of your own, anyhow." He seems ready to leave, and then reconsiders momentarily: "By the way, I believe you are possibly fretting too much about how much water your eopie drinks, or doesn't," he proffers, and Obi-Wan stares at him, feeling rather ludicrous at having been sobbing over this man's tragic death one for one moment, and then receiving pet care advice from him the next. "Greta was born to live in this climate, but you were meant for cities and water worlds, my apprentice. It is you who must adapt, not her. Keep that in mind."
Obi-Wan stares dubiously at Qui-Gon. "Yes, Master," he says, eyebrow raised. As soon as he can cross his arms saltily over his chest anew, Qui-Gon knows that all of his advice, on eopie maintenance and otherwise, will be heeded. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi," he asserts, and disappears with a subtle bow into the beyond. Obi-Wan stares at the spot which he occupied (or didn't) for a moment, and then moves to the far corner of the room, to a makeshift chest which he has built with his own hands. Inside are several things, too precious to leave behind, even for a Jedi: Some maps, flimsi copies of old pictures (one of him as a fifteen-year-old or so Padawan, lanky, braid trailing down his chest, standing, dwarfed, next to Qui-Gon, the older man having wrapped an arm briefly around his small-ish shoulders; another of him and Anakin, perhaps at seventeen years of age, roughly the same height [though Anakin was just about to surpass him at that point], both smiling widely, having just returned from the quartermaster's shop, Anakin in a darker shade of tunic than Obi-Wan himself preferred, but it had looked quite good on his apprentice [and Anakin knew it]); and of course, Anakin's lightsaber. It's innocuous, nothing that happened on Mustafar seems to be reflected in the broad hilt, but every time Obi-Wan picks it up, hefts it in his palm, studies the markings Anakin himself made when he was but a Padawan, it sends a pang through his chest.
Still, he must heed Qui-Gon Jinn's advice, both so his Master will deign to let Obi-Wan see him again, and also since, in truth, he has no choice. He can wallow here if he wants, but it will bring him no closer to peace, nor will he be completing the task that he has been, for whatever reason, entrusted with. And yet, he cannot resist curling his fingers around Anakin's 'saber, remembering the pride he had felt when Anakin activated it for him for the first time and it was the same electric blue of his own, how Anakin's small face had beamed when Obi-Wan told him sincerely that he had done a good job, how the boy had veritably eaten his weight in sliders that night at Dex's, his promised reward for successfully completing one of the most difficult tasks of a Padawan's early career. Such memories infuse the weapon with Light, and help to counter the sense of Darkness that often cloaks it when Obi-Wan goes through this ritual. It's a necessary combination, he knows, and, placing the tool back in the box, and then covering it with the maps and an old poncho (Qui-Gon's) that has yet found another use in another place, he prepares himself to make the trek across the Dune Sea to the Lars homestead, to see how Anakin's son is faring, and to imbue himself with the strength he needs to prepare the boy for his own difficult future, which he nonetheless hopes will also have opportunities to be filled with love and laughter and the Force's forgiving Light.
"Come, Greta," he calls to the eopie softly, once he has left (frighteningly) the isolation (and yet, loneliness) of his tiny one-man cave. The creature's large eyes stare wetly at him, and he nuzzles its long snout, before hitching himself atop her back. "Let's go visit a friend," he murmurs, and the eopie takes off at a brisk clip across the endless expanse of scorching desert, Tatooine's twin suns like pair of bright, otherworldly eyes watching him and showing him the way.