Title: Not So Out of Reach
Author: Blue Lightnin'
Rating: G
Archive: If you want it.
Feedback: Would it kill you to give me some? Come on.
Disclaimer: The Star Wars Galaxy and everything in it belongs to George Lucas. Waves hand You have no need to sue me. Move along.
Thank you: To padawan_jinx for the support and nagging! I know this isn't the story you're waiting for, but it's something to proove I'm not lazy. Thanks also to Sicily for the same reasons!
Summary: Young Qui-Gon makes progress.
Non-Dedication: This story is not dedicated to the people in the American Big Brother house, especially not George.
Not So Out of Reach
The child stood, feet planted firmly on the ground, but head tilted toward the impossibly high bookshelf upon which the book sat. He wanted it.
"Book," he said to himself, quietly.
He looked around and saw the adult watching the other children at the other end of the room. He toddled over, and waited until she looked at him to speak.
"Book," he said, pointing a chubby finger to the bookshelf behind him.
Yes, that's a book, Qui-Gon," she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
"Book, please," he insisted, walking back towards the shelf. He continued to point, hoping she would get the idea. The woman raised herself off the floor and followed him, her brown robe flowing as she walked.
"Want the book, do you? Well, why don't you get it down, then?"
He looked at her, not comprehending, and lowered his hand.
She nudged his mind gently with her soft power, dark eyes smiling. "Use the Force, little one."
The child blinked, and looked at the shelf, the object of his desire so far above him. He raised his short little arms. Perhaps he *could* reach, he just wasn't trying hard enough.
The woman grinned. "You'll never do it like that. Look here, Qui-Gon" She raised a slender finger towards the book. The little boy watched it, and felt a strong and beautiful sensation as it gracefully floated down towards him. He lifted up his arms to take it, but it was still out of reach. As smoothly as it had come down, the book floated back up and nudged between the others like it, as if it had never been disturbed.
"Book!" the child whimpered, frustrated. He turned to the woman, his sad blue eyes accusing. She was tempted for a moment to get the book down and give it to him, but if she did that how would he learn?
"Get it down yourself," she suggested.
He stared at her for a moment, sucking a finger thoughtfully. Maybe if she could do it, so could he. She'd made it float. He could make it float.
He pulled his finger out of his mouth, pointing at the book as the woman had done, and conjured up the strong, beautiful power in him and outside of him that he felt always. He made it stronger. The little boy gazed at the book on the shelf, feeling it with his mind, willing it to move through the air, though the power he'd made to grow. It began shaking, wobbling off the shelf in kind of a strange little dance, and into empty space. Brow furrowing, the child struggled to keep it up. He wouldn't let his power disappear; he wouldn't let the book fall.
Jerkily, the object twirled through the air toward the boy's outstretched hands. He jumped, grabbing it as it was about to fall. "Book," he laughed merrily, holding up his prize for his caretaker to see.
"Very good," she praised. "You'll make a fine Jedi, little Qui-Gon."
He sat down on the floor, still beaming from his success. She sat down beside him, and he put the book into her hands as he crawled into her lap. She called the few other children around her and began to read.