Title: Waiting Away the Snow
Summary: Qui-Gon grieves for Xanatos, and Obi-Wan is there.
A/N: My first true Obi/Qui fic. ;) I hope you enjoy. Feedback is, as always, treasured. :)
*~*~*
It was snowing on Coruscant. It wasn't an event that happened often; strict weather controls made it rare. But weather has a mind of it's own, at times, even on a city-planet. It dipped below freezing that night, despite the sun-mirrors in orbit and the attempt by every technician to keep it warm and temperate. Nature would have its way, even if only sometimes.
The next morning, minutes after dawn, some snow was still falling. Little pieces of white fluff whirled in crazy patterns down the sky, smashing into the windows in towers, and a very few even making it down to what passed as Coruscant's surface.
Qui-Gon watched it all from the window. His silvering hair wasn't drawn back, as it usually was, but was simply thrown back over his broad shoulders. He rested his chin on his fist, elbow on the windowsill. His cloak was tucked snugly around his body, but he was barefoot. To all appearances, he was thoughtful, contemplative, and could have been meditating on the random nature of snowflakes, their short lives and the effect they had on the thing surrounding them, and comparing it to the Living Force.
Obi-Wan knew better. There was a faint tension around his dark blue eyes, his loose hand, lying on his thigh, was abnormally still, and most of all, his mind was quietly disturbed. Normally Obi-Wan 'heard' Qui-Gon through their bond – gaining more impressions than anything else, sometimes emotions. Qui-Gon could be intensely focused, of course, but most of the time he opened himself up Force, drifting within it, and his thoughts were as wild and unpredictable as the Living Force.
Qui-Gon had taken the lone chair in the small living room the two shared; Jedi living was indeed spartan. Obi-Wan walked away from the entrance to his bedroom, past the couch that he swore must have been set there a hundred years past and never moved, until he was beside Qui-Gon. His Master didn't react, letting Obi-Wan know that for now, he preferred silence.
And so Obi-Wan knelt on the floor, at his Master's feet, hands on thighs in a classic ready but meditative posture. He wore only loose sleep clothing, and was barefoot as well. He was fairly sure he was going to regret not putting on socks, for the floor was cold and hard, but he would live. He put away the chill of the air, the coldness of the floor, and instead focused on Qui-Gon.
His Master had relaxed slightly at Obi-Wan's presence. The tension around his eyes was a little less; his hand a little less purposely still. It was curious, but a relief to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had taken him back as his Padawan, but some nervousness and anxiety still remained in Obi-Wan's mind. He was fairly sure they would pass in time, and had chosen not to bother Qui-Gon with his insecurities. Qui-Gon was not, after all, the type of individual to be flighty in decisions. His choice was made, and he would stick by it.
Qui-Gon moved slightly, raising his chin briefly from his fist, and relaxing his hand so that his chin would rest in his open palm. The sun was still rising, and new blades of light hit his face, highlighting fresh gray hairs, and yet, at the same time softening the man's features, the sharp, intense planes of his face, passing over flaws. He was aging, and it was a strange thing for Obi-Wan to see. He was young, and he had seen himself grow; but this aging was a new thing. To see it in another was strange and novel.
Some time passed before Qui-Gon moved once again. The hand that had held his chin fell, and Qui-Gon turned to look at Obi-Wan. His dark eyes were sad, yet they possessed a certain fondness. He smiled slightly.
Obi-Wan smiled back.
"Hello, Padawan," Qui-Gon quietly greeted.
Obi-Wan dipped his head. "Master." He paused a moment, to see if Qui-Gon would ask anything of him, then said, "Are you well?" He felt strangely formal. Qui-Gon was his Master, yes, but also his friend. Yet now he felt the need to speak to Qui-Gon as befitting the man's rank.
Qui-Gon's smile reached his eyes with a twinkle, joining and then overtaking the fondness. "I am." He raised an eyebrow. "You, on the other hand, must be cold."
Obi-Wan smirked lightly. "Just practicing ignoring techniques."
"Focusing, Obi-Wan, not ignoring," Qui-Gon said with an amusedly admonishing tone.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Same thing," he said with a little grin.
Qui-Gon tilted his head, observing his apprentice for a moment, deliberately choosing not to react to his apprentice's faint teasing besides a brief ghost of a smile. "You are concerned?"
Obi-Wan exhaled. "I think I have reason to be," he stated softly, feeling a little daring, but sensing the need to continue on regardless.
"Stand," Qui-Gon requested gently, after a brief nod. "I want to look at you as an equal."
Obi-Wan did so awkwardly, his muscles stiff. A brief glint of confusion shadowed his eyes at Qui-Gon's comment, but he waited instead of questioning.
"Haven't been practicing muscle relaxing techniques, I see," Qui-Gon noted, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Obi-Wan shifted his weight, and gave an embarrassed smile.
"I do grieve for Xanatos," Qui-Gon admitted, his amusement fading to be replaced by seriousness. He was being bluntly honest, Obi-Wan saw, making the decision to treat Obi-Wan as an adult, rather than ordering him away, or assuming Obi-Wan would not understand. "I loved him very much. And his death is a life lost."
Obi-Wan nodded. "But he made his choice," he added, tone a little unsure. Not of his statement, but of how it would be received.
"He did," Qui-Gon said sadly. He blinked for a moment.
"I don't want you to be sad," Obi-Wan said uncomfortably. "I almost feel . . . it's wrong, that it's Xanatos' final revenge, to make you grieve."
"My grief is my choice," Qui-Gon said firmly.
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes.
Qui-Gon took him by his arms, gripping them. In his sitting position, and with Obi-Wan standing, he had to look up into Obi-Wan's eyes. "I must grieve for him, Obi-Wan. He meant a great deal to me, even after his fall. Such is the way of things. Love never passes away, and the emotions connected with it do not pass easily." Qui-Gon paused, looking away for a moment, the tension briefly returning in the form of troubled thought. "We are taught, Obi-Wan, to feel an emotion, and then release it. For emotion is natural. That . . . that is what I am attempting, my Padawan."
Understanding lit in Obi-Wan's eyes and mind. He felt grateful, too, that Qui-Gon would explain his reasoning, even in such a deeply personal thing as his reaction to Xanatos' suicide. "I understand," Obi-Wan said, and he meant it. He impulsively added, "Can I help?" He halted, momentarily, but determination overcame nervousness. "When I am struggling with something, you help me. You make me talk to you, and you help me see what I can not see. And . . . you're there," he finished simply.
Qui-Gon smiled, and it was a smile of heartbreak. "You already are," he whispered, and his eyes shone. He gently let go of Obi-Wan's arms. "My gift," he murmured.
Obi-Wan knelt before him again, in the position of a child waiting to have a story told. "Tell me, then," he suggested, undemanding and calm, voice as still and perfect as the snow.
Qui-Gon smiled once again, and spoke. He told of his first meeting with Xanatos. He told not only the story, but the emotions and motivations behind his actions, and at times, behind Xanatos', now that he saw them clearly. He told of the times Xanatos did wrong, and the times he did good. How he loved chocolate cake, and was ever in pursuit of getting Qui-Gon to try it. He told of Xanatos' spurts of anger and aggression. Qui-Gon told without hesitation of his own faults and flaws. It was, indeed, a grand story of much pain and joy, and one that ultimately, by one of the main players' choice, turned into a tragedy.
When he was done, he still took no notice of his tears, even as Obi-Wan had noted each and every one. Obi-Wan drew no attention to them – they were, he believed, a sort of cleansing, as he had sometimes wept over his choices, and the choices of others. Primary in his mind was Cerasi, and yet there were others, and he knew there would one day be more.
Silence fell, at last. Qui-Gon's eyes returned to the snow, to the clearing skies. "Stay," Qui-Gon said simply, and it was not a question, not really, for he knew what the answer would be. They knew each other well enough for that. It was more of a confirmation then a request.
This time, Obi-Wan rose to his feet on his own – having remembered, for once, to use relaxation techniques because of the hard and cold floor. Qui-Gon's eyes met his again, and without a word he opened his arms to his Padawan; for himself more than Obi-Wan, the Padawan believed. Obi-Wan had to stand on his knees for the position to work with Qui-Gon sitting, but he didn't even make a note of it, it was of so little importance. Qui-Gon's arm was firm around his shoulders.
Obi-Wan looked out the window. The skies were clearing. The little flurries of snowflakes were gone. The snow, too, was melting – Obi-Wan could see it in the inward curves of spires, in the dissipating of white strands across the edges of windows and rooftops.
His eyes returned to his Master's face. The tension around his eyes was gone; his free hand was not still; and in his mind, he felt his Master's peace.
[fin]