Apparent Mutations
By Loryn Wilde
Summary: Qui Gon struggles to help his padawan recover from the repercussions of a mission gone terribly wrong.
Feedback: A resounding yes! echoa@punks.org Please feel free to e-mail me about this—I've received such personal feedback a few times in the past and it's a pleasure. It also leaves more room for a good review and I can understand more fully how to better the story.
Rating: R for implied rape.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.
!WARNING!
This story is not graphic in any way, but it DOES deal with the ramifications of /rape/. I realize that rape is very serious and I am treating it as such. If this squicks you majorly and you find the subject distasteful to read about, then /PLEASE/ don't! I did not write this to get flamed. I expect feedback to be constructive criticism, not "Loryn sucks."
Note: I know this is getting really long and ridiculous, but I need to be clear to everyone that this is /not/ a slash story. Also, I've had this story lying around for a /REALLY/ long time but I've been unsure if I should post it because of the content. Once again, there is nothing graphic, it deals mostly with Obi-Wan trying to get through his terrible experience. I have most of the story fleshed out and it should be maybe five chapters at the most. Thanks for reading.
Apparent Mutations: Into the Void
Once in their apartment, Qui-Gon Jinn guided Obi-Wan to the couch. The young man sat without a word. He gave an almost imperceptible shiver and pulled his robe more tightly around him. Qui-Gon hovered over the youth, shifting quietly from one foot to another on the soft carpeting, unsure as to what he should do. Obi-Wan's dull gaze was steadily transfixed on the floor at his feet.
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"
There was a long pause before Obi-Wan gave a slight shake of his head.
Qui-Gon tried again. "Thirsty?"
Obi-Wan's eyes darted upwards a moment before they flitted back down to the floor.
"Yes," came the soft, nearly inaudible, reply.
Qui-Gon nodded. "All right. I'll make us some tea." He sighed heavily and touched Obi-Wan's shoulder, "Padawan—" He pulled his hand back quickly as the apprentice flinched sharply at the contact. Qui-Gon's heart constricted and he silently rebuked himself. He would have to remember to be more careful, no matter how much he wanted to touch the boy before him, ensure himself that this was not some terrible dream. "I'm sorry—Obi-Wan—"
The teen ducked his head and pulled his cloak even tighter, shaking from a chill in his soul that Qui-Gon knew he would never be familiar with.
Qui-Gon took a step back, utter helplessness washing over him. It made him feel awkwardly inadequate, a decidedly foreign concept to the normally collected Jedi.
"I'll make us some tea," he said again, flatly and suddenly, and spun on his heel, heading for the kitchen.
As Qui-Gon heated the water, gathered two mugs from the cupboard and found the spices he needed, he lost himself in the blessed familiarity of it all. The actions were automatic and he took a moment to appreciate that fact, as thinking was not something his still shocked mind could handle at the moment.
He kept bleak and tired eyes on the water in the pot and thought of his Padawan. The boy was definitely going to need time to recover. He doubted he would have to ask, but made note to approach the Council at some point the following day about getting some time off.
There had been no time during the trip home from Torlo IV to talk, and every attempt Qui-Gon made to discuss what had happened with Obi-Wan was intercepted by Lord Mergal, who insisted on being with the Jedi at all times. He was overly paranoid and Qui-Gon was glad to finally be rid of him.
Obi-Wan had spent the trip hidden away in the cabin they shared, scampering about the corridors with his head bowed only when his presence was absolutely necessary.
Mergal had been cold towards the Padawan, and kept a distance after he had learned of what happened.
Ungrateful was the word to describe him, Qui-Gon mused. Uncompassionate would certainly do. Maybe cruel.
After all, Obi-Wan had gone through what he had because of that man's stupidity and carelessness. Obi-Wan had suffered something so horrible that some never completely recovered from it. It ruined lives.
But Obi-Wan would survive, he thought fiercely, taking the water off the stove when it came to a boil and setting it firmly down on the counter. Obi- Wan was strong, stronger than most. He would bounce back.
He could not help remembering, though, the state he had found the boy in. Qui Gon knew what had happened, Benter had been quite forthcoming before the Jedi was forced to kill him. With a heart that felt weighted in lead, Qui-Gon had searched the emptied compound until he found his apprentice.
He remembered the way Obi-Wan had cried out when Qui-Gon touched him, shaking with a fear so deep that the older man could not even begin to understand.
He remembered the look of terrified confusion in Obi-Wan's glazed and dilated eyes, the color of Alderaan's oceans.
He remembered Obi-Wan's lips, quivering with incomprehension, swollen and bruised from unwanted advances.
He remembered the Force inhibiting collar clasped too tightly around the boy's neck, biting into the soft, pale skin of his throat. Qui-Gon had removed the thing and flung it away in disgust.
What he could recall most clearly, though, were the sticky bright red smears and egg white strands slicked across the youth's skin; evidence of his claiming.
Qui-Gon shook his head in sad frustration.
How was he to help Obi-Wan when even he had no idea how to cope?
He poured the water into the two glasses and added the flavoring. He lingered there a moment, stirring the tea more than necessary, and wondered why he felt so hesitant to rejoin his Padawan. No matter how much he cared for—loved—his apprentice, there was nothing he could say to make this situation even marginally better. Obi-Wan was completely closed off to Qui- Gon; the boy had built up shields around his mind so tight that the teacher could hardly feel him. He recalled Yoda's words.
"An island, he is." The ancient Jedi had poked Qui-Gon's leg with one green claw. "Reach him, you can. Show him he is not alone."
And how was he to do that? Qui-Gon picked up both mugs by their handles and resolutely trampled down his doubts before they could worry him further.
He would reach Obi-Wan, as Yoda had said. It did not matter how. He would see to it that the youth would surpass this dark time in his life and become even stronger.
Obi-Wan was just in the next room, but felt a million light years away from anyone. He knew it was going to take some time, but Qui-Gon was determined to prove him wrong.
When Qui-Gon entered the den he stopped short, all previous thoughts of getting through to his Padawan forgotten.
The youth was still sitting on the couch, still tense and rigid, but his shoulders were hunched and his head bowed. One hand gripped his knee and the other was clenched tightly in the fabric of his robe.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured, moving closer. He put the cups down on the table and sat next to the youth, being sure to keep a few inches of space between them.
"Obi-Wan, what's the matter?"
His Padawan was trembling, and Qui-Gon cautiously placed his fingertips on the boy's back, ready to pull away if the touch was unwanted. But Obi-Wan did not react, so Qui-Gon pressed his palm flat between the young man's shoulder blades.
"Padawan?"
The youth shuddered. "This is—" He shook his head as if clearing his mind of muddled thoughts, but still did not look up. "More difficult than I thought it would be." And then his demeanor changed, his mental shields were reinforced, impossibly tightened, and the confession he had begun was abandoned.
Obi-Wan furiously wiped the backs of his hands over his eyes before finally raising his head. Instead of meeting Qui-Gon's eyes, however, he fixed his gaze on one of the Jedi's broad shoulders. Qui-Gon felt as though the dead eyes were gnawing a hole through tunic, skin, and bone.
Long, dark lashes softly brushed against the smooth and pallid skin of his cheeks like lace. "Yes, Master?" he responded dully, as if his previous admission had never been stated.
"Obi-Wan—" Qui-Gon stopped. He silently pleaded for the boy to lower his shields, to let him in.
/No./
He sighed heavily and picked one of the hot mugs up off the table. He pressed it into Obi-Wan's hands. "I made some tea."
Obi-Wan stared down at the cup and nodded.
By Loryn Wilde
Summary: Qui Gon struggles to help his padawan recover from the repercussions of a mission gone terribly wrong.
Feedback: A resounding yes! echoa@punks.org Please feel free to e-mail me about this—I've received such personal feedback a few times in the past and it's a pleasure. It also leaves more room for a good review and I can understand more fully how to better the story.
Rating: R for implied rape.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.
!WARNING!
This story is not graphic in any way, but it DOES deal with the ramifications of /rape/. I realize that rape is very serious and I am treating it as such. If this squicks you majorly and you find the subject distasteful to read about, then /PLEASE/ don't! I did not write this to get flamed. I expect feedback to be constructive criticism, not "Loryn sucks."
Note: I know this is getting really long and ridiculous, but I need to be clear to everyone that this is /not/ a slash story. Also, I've had this story lying around for a /REALLY/ long time but I've been unsure if I should post it because of the content. Once again, there is nothing graphic, it deals mostly with Obi-Wan trying to get through his terrible experience. I have most of the story fleshed out and it should be maybe five chapters at the most. Thanks for reading.
Apparent Mutations: Into the Void
Once in their apartment, Qui-Gon Jinn guided Obi-Wan to the couch. The young man sat without a word. He gave an almost imperceptible shiver and pulled his robe more tightly around him. Qui-Gon hovered over the youth, shifting quietly from one foot to another on the soft carpeting, unsure as to what he should do. Obi-Wan's dull gaze was steadily transfixed on the floor at his feet.
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"
There was a long pause before Obi-Wan gave a slight shake of his head.
Qui-Gon tried again. "Thirsty?"
Obi-Wan's eyes darted upwards a moment before they flitted back down to the floor.
"Yes," came the soft, nearly inaudible, reply.
Qui-Gon nodded. "All right. I'll make us some tea." He sighed heavily and touched Obi-Wan's shoulder, "Padawan—" He pulled his hand back quickly as the apprentice flinched sharply at the contact. Qui-Gon's heart constricted and he silently rebuked himself. He would have to remember to be more careful, no matter how much he wanted to touch the boy before him, ensure himself that this was not some terrible dream. "I'm sorry—Obi-Wan—"
The teen ducked his head and pulled his cloak even tighter, shaking from a chill in his soul that Qui-Gon knew he would never be familiar with.
Qui-Gon took a step back, utter helplessness washing over him. It made him feel awkwardly inadequate, a decidedly foreign concept to the normally collected Jedi.
"I'll make us some tea," he said again, flatly and suddenly, and spun on his heel, heading for the kitchen.
As Qui-Gon heated the water, gathered two mugs from the cupboard and found the spices he needed, he lost himself in the blessed familiarity of it all. The actions were automatic and he took a moment to appreciate that fact, as thinking was not something his still shocked mind could handle at the moment.
He kept bleak and tired eyes on the water in the pot and thought of his Padawan. The boy was definitely going to need time to recover. He doubted he would have to ask, but made note to approach the Council at some point the following day about getting some time off.
There had been no time during the trip home from Torlo IV to talk, and every attempt Qui-Gon made to discuss what had happened with Obi-Wan was intercepted by Lord Mergal, who insisted on being with the Jedi at all times. He was overly paranoid and Qui-Gon was glad to finally be rid of him.
Obi-Wan had spent the trip hidden away in the cabin they shared, scampering about the corridors with his head bowed only when his presence was absolutely necessary.
Mergal had been cold towards the Padawan, and kept a distance after he had learned of what happened.
Ungrateful was the word to describe him, Qui-Gon mused. Uncompassionate would certainly do. Maybe cruel.
After all, Obi-Wan had gone through what he had because of that man's stupidity and carelessness. Obi-Wan had suffered something so horrible that some never completely recovered from it. It ruined lives.
But Obi-Wan would survive, he thought fiercely, taking the water off the stove when it came to a boil and setting it firmly down on the counter. Obi- Wan was strong, stronger than most. He would bounce back.
He could not help remembering, though, the state he had found the boy in. Qui Gon knew what had happened, Benter had been quite forthcoming before the Jedi was forced to kill him. With a heart that felt weighted in lead, Qui-Gon had searched the emptied compound until he found his apprentice.
He remembered the way Obi-Wan had cried out when Qui-Gon touched him, shaking with a fear so deep that the older man could not even begin to understand.
He remembered the look of terrified confusion in Obi-Wan's glazed and dilated eyes, the color of Alderaan's oceans.
He remembered Obi-Wan's lips, quivering with incomprehension, swollen and bruised from unwanted advances.
He remembered the Force inhibiting collar clasped too tightly around the boy's neck, biting into the soft, pale skin of his throat. Qui-Gon had removed the thing and flung it away in disgust.
What he could recall most clearly, though, were the sticky bright red smears and egg white strands slicked across the youth's skin; evidence of his claiming.
Qui-Gon shook his head in sad frustration.
How was he to help Obi-Wan when even he had no idea how to cope?
He poured the water into the two glasses and added the flavoring. He lingered there a moment, stirring the tea more than necessary, and wondered why he felt so hesitant to rejoin his Padawan. No matter how much he cared for—loved—his apprentice, there was nothing he could say to make this situation even marginally better. Obi-Wan was completely closed off to Qui- Gon; the boy had built up shields around his mind so tight that the teacher could hardly feel him. He recalled Yoda's words.
"An island, he is." The ancient Jedi had poked Qui-Gon's leg with one green claw. "Reach him, you can. Show him he is not alone."
And how was he to do that? Qui-Gon picked up both mugs by their handles and resolutely trampled down his doubts before they could worry him further.
He would reach Obi-Wan, as Yoda had said. It did not matter how. He would see to it that the youth would surpass this dark time in his life and become even stronger.
Obi-Wan was just in the next room, but felt a million light years away from anyone. He knew it was going to take some time, but Qui-Gon was determined to prove him wrong.
When Qui-Gon entered the den he stopped short, all previous thoughts of getting through to his Padawan forgotten.
The youth was still sitting on the couch, still tense and rigid, but his shoulders were hunched and his head bowed. One hand gripped his knee and the other was clenched tightly in the fabric of his robe.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured, moving closer. He put the cups down on the table and sat next to the youth, being sure to keep a few inches of space between them.
"Obi-Wan, what's the matter?"
His Padawan was trembling, and Qui-Gon cautiously placed his fingertips on the boy's back, ready to pull away if the touch was unwanted. But Obi-Wan did not react, so Qui-Gon pressed his palm flat between the young man's shoulder blades.
"Padawan?"
The youth shuddered. "This is—" He shook his head as if clearing his mind of muddled thoughts, but still did not look up. "More difficult than I thought it would be." And then his demeanor changed, his mental shields were reinforced, impossibly tightened, and the confession he had begun was abandoned.
Obi-Wan furiously wiped the backs of his hands over his eyes before finally raising his head. Instead of meeting Qui-Gon's eyes, however, he fixed his gaze on one of the Jedi's broad shoulders. Qui-Gon felt as though the dead eyes were gnawing a hole through tunic, skin, and bone.
Long, dark lashes softly brushed against the smooth and pallid skin of his cheeks like lace. "Yes, Master?" he responded dully, as if his previous admission had never been stated.
"Obi-Wan—" Qui-Gon stopped. He silently pleaded for the boy to lower his shields, to let him in.
/No./
He sighed heavily and picked one of the hot mugs up off the table. He pressed it into Obi-Wan's hands. "I made some tea."
Obi-Wan stared down at the cup and nodded.