Disclaimer: I don't own Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon or anything recignizable here. You know the procedure :)
A/N: This is not my first fic, but it is the first one set in the JA universe. I've written this instead of studying for the exams at the uni, so go figure :)
Obi-Wan moved the guard's limp body aside – his carefulness surprised even himself, but the fact was that he hadn't intended to hurt the man that badly – and than he sighed, rising his blaster again and scanning the corridor. The door to his left side was thick and should be blown up in order to open them – only, Obi-Wan didn't know how big the cell on the other side of the door was. Not very big as cells go, in all probability. He didn't want something to happen to the Jedi inside the cell in the wretched explosion – well, nothing more than what had already happened to him. Vaguely, he wondered in which state he would find Qui-Gon Jinn, but pushed the thought aside. That, at least, he was practiced at.
Although he was sure he hadn't broken any ribs in the fall, his whole left side still hurt. He reached out to the Force (he could still remember the days when it was easy), steadied himself, accepted the pain. The skill was, in any case, useful. Yet, he wasn't sure he would be able to carry Qui-Gon, if the Jedi wasn't able of walking himself. He shrugged, and cringed in pain.
On the wall there was a communication button – the one the guards used when contacting the prisoner without having to open the door, obviously. He pressed it.
"Stand back," he said. "As far from the door as you can. I repeat: stand back. I'm blasting the door. Do you copy?"
He waited a moment, but no response came. Was the Jedi conscious? Was this the right cell? The plan of the dungeons was still clear in his mind. It had to be the cell.
Then he thought he felt rather than heard a couple of steps retreating from the door.
"Crouch down, cover your head with your hands. Cover your eyes. I'm blasting the door. I repeat: I'm blasting the door."
The sentences were formulaic to him, so many times had he uttered them – ant it brought him some comfort, although this was by no means a routine action. He installed the smallest mine he had on his belt, stepped aside, and activated it. The blast echoed through the deserted corridors, but Obi-Wan's ear-protectors did their job well.
He forced himself to wait until the smoke cleared up at least a bit, then stepped back to the cleared entrance. Smoke still hung heavily in the air, but over the rubble and through the smoke he was able to see the interior of the cell: narrow durasteel walls, a shit-pit, a poor excuse for a bad – and, a nanosecond later, a silhouette crouching behind the bed. Smart, he thought rationally, and tried to ignore the emotions that screamed at him.
The voice that came through the comm sounded mechanic, automatic, as they always did – but this time Qui-Gon was able to sense some urgency coming through. At first he didn't respond, but the voice was brusque, business-like, and it didn't have the Atarian tilt characteristical for the guards. He crossed the floor in three long steps, crouched behind the bed, and reached for the Force. Whatever happened, he would be ready.
The explosion was loud, but the thin prison blanket protected his ears somewhat. The smoke started clearing almost at once – probably because of the draft in the corridor outside, he realized. His muscles were tense, ready to spring at the intruder, but his instincts stopped him. For whatever reason. But he trusted his instincts; without them he would have been dead long ago.
A tall, wiry figure came into his view, and he felt a flicker of the Force, as if the figure tried to reach for it, but it escaped them.
"Are you all right?" the man asked.
The coldness in his voice didn't speak of concern.
"Yes."
"Can you stand? Walk?"
It sounded more like the man was checking if the computer was operational than checking up on a living being.
Qui-Gon nodded, and the figure extended a hand in his direction. As if to help him up? The light was feeble, and some smoke still hovered in the air. He couldn't see the man's face, although something in his movements seemed hauntingly familiar. As did the voice. That voice… But it wasn't, of course, possible. He dismissed the thought.
Ignoring the extended hand, Qui-Gon rose to his feet. They were shaky from the hunger and exhaustion, but he was steady. The Force helped him be steady.
"Are you going to get out or do I have to carry you?"
Dry and brusque. The man had a blaster. For now, Qui-Gon decided to comply.
The light in the corridor was better, and once the man turned to face him, Qui-Gon could see a tired, angular face smudged with soot and dirt, framed with reddish hair. He could have passed that face on the street. But the eyes that looked at him – cool, measuring eyes now – those were the eyes from his past. He would know them anywhere. A sense of dread threatened to fill him, and he felt the ground shift under his feet.
"Obi-Wan?" he croaked. Those were the first words he had uttered in weeks, and his voice sounded alien even to him.
The man nodded, once.
"Have you… come to kill me?"
The force around the boy – no, the man – fluttered, but Qui-Gon didn't sense any darkness. Yet, it wasn't in balance. By no means was it in balance. No muscle on Obi-Wan's face moved, though.
"Cut out the crap," he said harshly. "We have precious little time."
Qui-Gon could only stare at him. One thing was sure: this man here wasn't the boy he had known long ago.
"But…"
"No time for that," Obi-Wan interrupted. "The way is clear, but won't stay so for long. Go."
He turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, the Force still swirling around him. Is it possible he has come to rescue me? But he wouldn't be acting this way, surely…
Some yards down the corridor, Obi-Wan turned back to look at him.
"Can you walk or not?"
Qui-Gon nodded and hurried to catch up with him. It seemed like the only alternative at the moment. His knees were shaky, and he had to summon all the physical strength he had.
Obi Wan bent down in passing and picked up a blaster from a fallen guard. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon noticed as he went, was limping somewhat. Not that it was particularly relevant at the moment. Qui-Gon held on to the Force, hoping for guidance, and – followed.
"The emergency exit is not far, but we have to reach it quickly," Obi-Wan spoke brusquely as they walked. "I spiked the alarm system, but it's the only a question of time before they notice. My ship is waiting at the exit. I hope nothing else is. It should be well-concealed. If everything goes according to the plan, we go out, take off, and that's it. If it doesn't – can you use the blaster?"
Of course he could. Every Jedi could. Obi-Wan should know that. But, of course, he's asking if I'm in any condition to shoot. His mind wasn't working as it should, Qui-Gon noticed. The hunger, the strain…
Not waiting for the answer, Obi-Wan shoved his spare blaster in Qui-Gon's general direction. He never stopped to look at the Jedi.
"You are going to entrust me with a blaster?"
"What does it look like?" Obi-Wan retorted dryly.
Qui-Gon felt very much like a prisoner, and yet one didn't usually treat prisoners this way. One didn't offer them weapons, for one. Although… He may yet need help if we run into fighting… I may not know him any more, but he knows me well enough. He knows I won't shoot him in the back.
An explosion rang somewhere above them, but it didn't seem to startle Obi-Wan. Nothing at all seemed to startle the man.
"They've broken the door on the ground level," he said. There was urgency in his voice, but no trail of fear or indecision. "I didn't have the time to destroy the turbo-lift. They'll be down any minute. We'll have to run."
He paused for a moment then.
"You first."
Of course, so that they shoot me first if we run into them, Qui-Gon thought. Other things may not have been clear, but this certainly was.
"Now, Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon ran. Minutes later, he realized the heavy footsteps of the soldiers were coming from behind them, not the front. Something inside him wrenched, but he let the Force calm him down. And he ran. It was the only thing he could do.
