Summary: An AU of Obi-Wan Kenobi's thoughts on the day that his master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was murdered by the Sith. That night, Obi-Wan, the steady, the apathetic, the firm, and, now, the lonesome one, gets a late night visitor that helps him speak his unspoken words.

Author's Note: All characters belong to George Lucas. The theme in this story was probably already written, but I guess I'll be writing it again. I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of disappointment when Qui-Gon Jinn had died. His last words were 'Train the boy.' Do you ever wonder how Obi-Wan had felt about it? Did he feel obligated to take the boy on as his padawan because of his master's last request? That's what I thought . . . Please, review. ^^; It makes me a happy moose. – Andrea

- - -

" Steady "

- - A Story of Obi-Wan Kenobi

- - -

"Master," the padawan whispered to his master, holding the older man's head in his arms.

"Promise me you'll train the boy, Obi-Wan. He is the chosen one."

"Yes, master . . ." With that, Qui-Gon Jinn stroked his boy's lips and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan felt the very life of his master drift off into the Force. Pressing his forehead against the other's, Obi-Wan Kenobi cried softly, with his master's limp body dangling from his arms.

Train the boy. The words lingered in his mind. He didn't know how long he sobbed. Was it seconds, minutes, hours, days? He did not know. He did not care. He felt no strength comfort him—the strength his master used to give with just a simple hand against his padawan's shoulder. Did his master know how much he meant to the boy?

Yes, the padawan hoped he did.

The only sound he heard was the pulse of the laser walls—the walls that held him back from saving his master's life. And he watched helplessly as his master had been stabbed in the chest, right through his body, then crumpled onto the floor. He couldn't help but let out another soft sob, holding his master closer. He leaned his face into his master's hair, letting his beard brush against his soft cheek.

But the last words he heard . . .

Train the boy. Obi-Wan could pour out his heart to his master right at that moment, and yet, it wouldn't matter. Maybe it did to himself, but not his master. His master—the one always thought of his job as a Jedi. He was disappointed. He wished, somehow, he could hear three simple words released from between his master's lips before he died. Just three words he, himself, should have said . . . It would have brought peace to his mind.

I love you.

But he couldn't say it, for it was too late. But even if he were to say it, right then, as he held his master's dead body in his grasp, would it matter? Would his master's spirit hear his confession? It was not a confession. His master knew he had loved him, didn't he? Of course, he did.

He would train the boy. He would follow orders. He would let go of petty, trivial feelings that didn't matter—like love. If his master hadn't said it, then why should he? But, still, he could feel his master's fingers against his lips. What was his master thinking about when he stared into Obi-Wan's eyes? Did he look right through the mirrors of his padawan's eyes only to find himself in the boy's eyes . . . or did he see Anakin Skywalker—the boy who he wished Obi-Wan to be? He doubted he saw the tears welling up in the eyes of his young padawan—eyes not ready to be a Jedi Knight.

No! What was he thinking?!

Qui-Gon loved his padawan. And, after all, he admitted Obi-Wan was ready to take the trials. But was it just . . . was it just an easier way to rid the boy as his padawan and take on this new apprentice—this boy stronger than his old padawan: his solemn apprentice, his steady apprentice, his Obi-Wan Kenobi?

His master did love him . . . And Obi-Wan did not need his words to know it. No, he did realize it. He just wanted to feel the tips of his master's fingers against his lips—just one more time . . .

Taking his master's hand in his, he brought the fingertips to his soft lips. He kissed them lightly and then, finally, stood up.

He would be strong. He would follow his master's wishes, even if that meant giving up on his own.

He held his master in his arms, then began to walk shakily away. Qui-Gon wouldn't want him to feel this way—grieving his master's death. And he would listen to Qui-Gon.

He would always obey Qui-Gon.

Stumbling to the side, the laser wall lit up, blocking his path. He stood, leaning against the wall, his master, idle in his padawan's arms. Involuntary, Obi-Wan's eyes gazed down at his master. He felt disappointment rise up in his throat. His mouth opened, to say something, but he could not find his voice. He let out a choked gasp, and buried his face in his master's tunic.

Leaning against the wall, his back slid down, and he lay sprawled out on the floor, hugging the dead body tightly.

Obi-Wan heard rushed footsteps coming near. They were on the ramp. They were a few feet—a few people. He heard their voices now. But he tried to block them out. He heard a familiar voice. It was that wretched little boy babbling about his, Anakin's, master. Qui-Gon was Obi-Wan's master! Not his!

What am I thinking? Obi-Wan thought as he sobbed lightly against his master. The boy . . . he does not mean any harm. I . . . will train him. Just like you wanted, Master. I will train him to be a great Jedi—a Jedi that you wanted me to be. Oh, Master. I'm not ready to become a knight! I want you here with me!

The laser walls shuddered, then turned off. He could hear their voices closer now. Right in front of him. He felt someone touch his shoulder. He flinched away, but looked up. His eyes were blinded by tears . . . tears he didn't know he was crying.

"Obi-Wan, we are truly sorry," she said quietly, putting her hand out.

The negotiations were over so quickly? Or did she just ditch the trade negotiation knowing something was wrong? No. He had probably been here for hours.

"We didn't know where you were, Jedi. It took us a while to find you. Have you been here—"

The laser walls went up again. Obi-Wan blinked his eyes, letting his tears roll down his cheeks. He knew it was embarrassing. But he didn't care. His beloved Master—friend—Father—had just died. No, he had not just died. He had been murdered. Looking away from the three whom loomed over him; he stared down at the dead body.

"Have you been here since," began the other man, who Obi-Wan did not know, "the fight with the Sith? That was hours earlier, young Jedi . . ."

"I'm sorry," the young soon-to-be Jedi knight whispered. "I-I lost track of the time." Obi-Wan felt his master's body get lifted from his hands. "No . . . Don't leave me, Master. Qui-Gon . . .!" he whispered hoarsely, his head jerking upwards to see who had taken the body away.

He saw no one but Anakin directly in front of him.

"You . . ."

"Obi-Wan," the boy said, tears welling in his eyes. "I . . ."

"Let's go, young one." Obi-Wan, suddenly, felt old calling his soon-to-be padawan 'young one.' It made him feel terrible for a moment. But as he turned to Qui-Gon, whom was in the arms of one of Padmè's soldiers, he watched as his old master was covered with his cloak. Instead of Obi-Wan's own padawan cloak, he was handed Qui-Gon's. Not informing Padmè of the mix-up of clothing—also since it was trivial—he slowly slipped on his master's cloak. He never took his eyes off of Qui-Gon as he pulled his master's hood over his head.

He let out a shaky sigh and turned to the boy who stood beside him.

- - -

Obi-Wan stood above his master. He stroked his hair longingly. Master, he called through his bond, but knowing no one would answer, why do you . . . ask me to take this boy? When I am not worthy of being a knight? I can't . . . I feel so . . . jealous. Master, I can't do this. You must help me. It's not right to feel like this. You loved me, didn't you?

But he did not get an answer from the corpse.

He could feel the eyes of the others behind him, watching him. Their gazes bled into his back through his master's cloak he was wearing. He took a step back, letting his arm dangle to the side. The fire lit up. There was a long silence between everyone. It was complete and utter silence. The only sound that didn't come from any creatures was the crackling of the fire that was swallowing his master whole.

The fire that Qui-Gon had succumbed to.

"What will happen to me now?" Anakin Skywalker said quietly.

Obi-Wan paused. This boy—this boy could only think of himself at a time like this?!

But, wait. Obi-Wan was the one thinking of only himself. He was not thinking of the boy. Sighing at his stupidity, he turned to the boy.

"You are my padawan. I shall teach you."

Long after everyone had left, there were only three remaining. Anakin lay huddled beside his new master, sleeping soundlessly. Jar-Jar Binks approached his friend and put a slimy hand, or fin, on his shoulder.

"Misa understanda. He was-a good man. Misa muy muy love him. But misa know, you love him most. Misa also know he loved yousa muy muy, too."

Obi-Wan forced a smile on his poised, apathetic face as he turned to the Gungan.

"Thank you, Jar-Jar."

Jar-Jar smiled confusingly and then walked away, taking a last glance at his old friend's ashes, and then at Obi-Wan knowingly. Sitting down finally, after the last few hours of standing, he looked down at the boy beside him. At last, Obi-Wan surrendered to his exhaustion. The fight with the Sith had gotten to him. Lying next to the boy, he closed his eyes. He lolled himself to sleep that night—and he figured he would the next night . . . and the night after that . . . and the night after that . . . and for the rest of his life . . .

Later that night, or earlier that morning, Obi-Wan couldn't tell, his eyes snapped open, feeling another presence. Quickly, as if on instinct, he sat up. He noticed Anakin was not by his side on the marble benches of the room.

"Anak—"

But Obi-Wan stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes darting to the side. He saw Anakin, leaning slightly over the railing and staring down at the crystal-blue water underneath the bridge he was on. Obi-Wan was glad that the dome they were in had no walls—only pillars.

Letting his eyes drift halfway shut, he leaned rolled over on the bench and stared at the ceiling. Why did he awaken so abruptly? It must have been Anakin's presence leaving.

He suddenly felt very cold. He didn't like the feeling at all. Putting his hands in his sleeves gently, he closed his eyes, trying to regain the feeling he had when he was sleeping—peace. But, now, all he felt was ice. He unconsciously felt a silent tear stream down his face. He looked to the floor, letting his master's hood shield his face from Anakin who may walk in. He didn't want the boy to see him like this again.

"My young padawan," a voice hushed.

"Oh, Master, why did you have to go?" he asked involuntarily.

But, then, he paused. He choked on his own breath. He snapped his head forward to stare in front of him but he saw nothing. He must have been hearing things—no. There was someone else here.

"Master?" he called out quietly, so quietly that Anakin could not hear from outside.

"Ah, I correct myself. My young knight. And you are not mine anymore, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan quickly looked to his side to see a ghostly figure sitting beside him. Could it be . . . of course it could! His master and he had always shared that bond—and it even worked during death, didn't it? No. But, still, at least Qui-Gon could contact him . . .

"Master . . ." He put out his hand to touch the blue figure, but his fingers just grazed air and nothing more. He still felt tears run down his cheeks. "Master, I'm sorry. I can't—"

Qui-Gon smiled gently at his old padawan.

"Obi-Wan, there is no reason to cry over this."

"But, Master. I can't do this. I can't train this boy—I just can't."

"And why is that?"

Obi-Wan paused for a moment. Then looked away. "Fine, Master. I will do it. I'll make train him to be a great Jedi. It's what you wanted, after all . . ."

Both were quiet for a moment before Qui-Gon spoke, "But, Obi-Wan, is it what you want?"

"Yes, Master—Qui-Gon," he corrected himself quickly.

The two again did not speak. Obi-Wan still felt cold. Maybe it was just his master's physical presence he needed—not this spirit. He never realized how dependable he was on Qui-Gon. He swallowed up his tears and wiped them away carefully, knowing Qui-Gon wouldn't do it himself.

"It is time for me to leave. I will not contact you anymore, my old padawan. You are wise, and you can do this on your own. You do not need my help."

Obi-Wan quickly turned to his old master and blinked. Small tears trickled down his cheeks. "But, Master. Do you . . . have to leave? I need—want your help! And I want you to stay here with me!" he whispered quietly, his eyes dancing in frantic.

"I have never heard you stutter before. Are you that unsure of yourself, Obi-Wan? Do not depend on me—I'm gone, remember?"

"Master, remember when you said I was ready to take the trials? You said it in front of the council? Master, you did not mean it . . . You just wanted me off your back so you could make room for the boy. You even said yourself, I need to get in touch with the living force. I . . ."

"Jealous? Obi-Wan, is that why you cannot take care of this boy?"

That was it. He was envious of this boy called Anakin Skywalker. Jealousy was forbidden—especially in his code. He sighed, clearing his mind of everything. His face went steady, unemotional. Qui-Gon had given him that look a million times. It was time to do it himself. "No. Master, I do not. I will take care of this boy. I . . . am ready."

"Good. I will leave you. But, I will keep in touch with your padawan."

Obi-Wan swayed for a moment in his seat as Qui-Gon stood. His blue spirit flickered for a second, but did not disappear. He stood, smiling down at Obi-Wan. They both stared at each other for a long moment.

"Good bye, Master," he said quietly. His eyes began to shimmer slightly. Qui-Gon could see in the dim light of the torches on the walls.

"For me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, being a Jedi always comes first before my feelings. That is why I had told you to take care of the boy before I left. If I had the time, if I had known . . . I would have told you that you were a great padawan. I love you. You were as close to a son as I could get."

Obi-Wan saw his master reach down to touch his lips with his fingertips, just like he had done before he died. But Obi-Wan felt nothing but air stroke against his lips.

"I will miss you, Jedi Knight."

"I love you, Master. I will always keep your light saber with me."

The young Jedi Knight smiled faintly.

And with that, the fingertips on Obi-Wan's lips disappeared. Closing his eyes, he stood there, wanting to feel his master's fingers on his lips just one more time. But instead, he felt a small hand grasp his own. Opening his eyes gently, he looked down to see Anakin smiling up at him.

"You look tired, Obi-Wa—master."

"I am tired, my young padawan."

Well, Obi-Wan, he thought to himself as he stared down at the boy before him, It's time to grow up. I will keep my name. Obi-Wan Kenobi: the steady, the apathetic, the firm, and, now and forever, the lonesome one.

Standing up, he let the young Anakin Skywalker escort him out of the dome and out into the breezy night air.

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The End.

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