Mists of Yesterday
A Short Story by LuvEwan
-This is dedicated to my faithful readers. Shiela, Cas, PK, Shaindl, Froggy, CYN, Wild Huntress, Phoenix_Reborn, rundownstars, dianethx, and everyone else, you know who you are. Thank you so much for your constant support of my little fics. It means the world to me. --
On the fateful journey of a Master and Apprentice, resolve must be shiftless and doubt nonexistent. But, as Anakin Skywalker watches his mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, deteriorate, he begins to lose faith in the Order that gave him a home.
And Obi-Wan begins to lose faith in everything.
I've never looked back
As a matter of fact.
-Shania Twain
Anakin lay in his bed, hands folded on his stomach, staring at the slick, steel ceiling. The surface was reflective, but the images mirrored were blurred and twisted.
He sighed, closing his weary eyes and turning onto his side. The room was swathed in the dark palate of midnight: black pooled in every nook, the moon's yellow glow glinting off the mechanical bits scattered across his room.
A shiver rushed through the Padawan suddenly.
How he hated the time when the sun disappeared behind an orange and saffron stained horizon, stretching shadow across the great city-planet. It took long for Coruscant to settle down to slumber…
But it always did, eventually. And then Anakin would still try to make the daytime linger, by tinkering with his various projects, even pulling out his texts to avoid the nightmares sleep brought. It was his Master who pulled the veil of night, who stood in the boy's doorway, a form bathed in soft light, a small smile touching his lips.
Obi-Wan was, to Anakin's chagrin, fully aware of the youth's dread. He would sit at the edge of the mattress, a warm wealth of understanding harbored in sea-washed eyes, and assure his apprentice that the phantoms that ghosted past his mind in dreams could never truly touch him.
Anakin would nod, though never entirely assuaged by the man's words, even after nearly a decade of these quiet talks. Over the years, as the student matured, they became short exchanges, less intimate. Sometimes, it was only a quick, supportive pulse through the Force…
Lately, it was nothing at all .
Obi-Wan Kenobi, as Skywalker had heard muttered by varying sorts in the spanning Temple, was an enigma. Wrapped in natural grace and enviable beauty, he was the epitome of a Jedi Knight. Strong, determined, fiercely intelligent, a man renowned for his precision and skill that defeated a Sith, in what was fast becoming a legendary battle. But Obi-Wan walked the Universe seemingly without notice of his astounding qualities. His grin was always a bit roguish---but sweet nevertheless. He could possess the stern temperament of a grizzled ship captain, if it was his wont---and crack a terribly tasteless joke in the same heartbeat.
Obi-Wan Kenobi held the power of a thousand warriors, yet could break down in miserable tears for those who suffered an incurable injustice.
It was the way of his Master, Anakin mused, pride stirring within him.
A coil roil overtook his belly. Until recently. He rested his head on the heel of his hand, looking to the fresh past with a troubled expression.
There was nothing extremely obvious that displayed the transformation in Obi-Wan, only subtle changes hinted that something was amiss.
A vacant gloss would coat his gaze and it would take a firm shake to rouse him from the faint daze. Breakfast would be nearly cooled by the time the Knight arrived at the meal table, his ginger hair mussed and dark smudges ringing his eyes, a stiffness to once-fluid movements.
The food would sit, untouched, save for the absent, uninterested poke of a fork.
Sparring wasn't helpful to Anakin, since his opponent was mostly detached, fumbling in moments of the fight's climax. The latest match ended with a nasty burn scorched into the older Jedi's side.
Insomnia draped over the apartment like a suffocating shroud after twilight. The Padawan could sense his Master's unrest, night after pitiful night. He wandered the space like a lost, bewildered spirit.
The odd behavior was starting to worry Anakin. In this huge place, where jealousy followed him like a murky cloud, Obi-Wan was the light, unconditional and eternally welcoming.
Except for these past few days. When the man glanced at him, he felt wisps of unfamiliar emotion. Sorrow, intense exhaustion…bright, searing pain. Then, Obi-Wan would catch notice of Anakin's attentions, and conceal it all under the sweep of red-gold lashes.
But he couldn't banish the memories from his protégé's mind.
There was a crash outside his room, and Anakin was shoved abruptly from his deliberations, fear spiking in his veins.
Master.
Obi-Wan stared at his trembling hand, covered in dark burgundy, puzzled by the tawny shards imbedded in his skin.
He stood in the kitchen, clad in loose-fitting sleep pants. The delicate cup was in shatters, strewn around his feet. Droplets of hot tea dribbled down his bare chest. His eyes wandered to the ground.
Blood was dripping onto his toes.
The Knight's focus returned to his hand. The fingers looked as colorless as ivory beneath warm, flowing red, and suffered weak tremors.
"Master?" Anakin entered the main room at a jog.
Obi-Wan appeared oblivious to the fretful call.
Anakin saw the bloody mess and sprinted to his companion's side. "Master!" He gasped, taking in the broken dishware with wide, care-worn eyes.
Obi-Wan emerged somewhat from the hazed stupor, lifting his head, auburn mane clinging to it like a silken cap, save a single strand that dangled in his vision.
Anakin had never seen his eyes glazed in such utter confusion. He reached out and drew the short piece of hair behind his teacher's ear.
Obi-Wan's mouth quivered, as if on the brink of speaking, but then barely imperfect teeth captured his bottom lip, in a childish gesture.
It would have been endearing, had it not been in the midst of this jarring scene.
"Master…are you okay?" The apprentice asked tentatively.
Obi-Wan was peering into the distance, a far-away gleam in his gaze.
Icy anxiety seized Anakin's heart. He grasped Obi-Wan's upper arm. "Master? Master, answer me!"
Obi-Wan brought his hand higher, turning it to discover more tiny glass splinters piercing his flesh.
A sharp sound was freed from Anakin as he pulled the Master through the main room into the lavatory, panting out of shock rather than exertion. Obi-Wan followed dumbly, though his steps were slower and clumsy, like his mind had been stifled.
Anakin switched on the lighting, then took the hand in his with tender caution. Slivers poked into it everywhere, thin snakes of blood streaming from each wound.
There was a well-buried curse muttered under his breath.
Obi-Wan stood silently, wiping at the tea sprayed across his midsection, but succeeded in only spreading it further. The artificial illumination cascaded sickly down his body, causing pallor already wan to go a shade whiter. Luminous eyes looked painfully brilliant among the pale ambience of his face.
Anakin huffed. "There're so many. There have to be dozens." He said grimly, mostly to himself. He looked up at the older man. "We should go to the healers, Master."
Obi-Wan stared blankly ahead.
Anakin shook him. "Master?"
Abruptly, the Jedi shuddered, shoulders straightening. He craned his neck to gaze at his Padawan. "Anakin?" He asked, accent nearly lyrical in its softness. Then, the pain of the glass seemed to dawn on Obi-Wan, he gaped down at his bleeding hand, forehead crinkled. "What…?"
The young man swallowed hard. It had never been his place to explain things to his Master. There were never lapses in Obi-Wan's sense of responsibility. Fulfillment of duty was the virtue he seemed to value above all others. That Obi-Wan was standing in the lavatory in the middle of the night, watching his hand purged of blood, a baffled, tired air to his countenance…
Anakin just didn't understand. "Master, a teacup broke, broke into a million pieces all over the kitchen floor." He searched the familiar visage for realization, was startled when he found none. "Don't you remember?"
A moment of stillness passed, pregnant with trepidation that traveled through the Force in disturbing waves.
Finally, Obi-Wan smiled with a nod. "Of course, Padawan. I think I just…" He cleared his throat behind a fist. "I think my thoughts just fuddled for a bit." He squeezed Anakin's arm with the clean hand. "I'm fine."
Anakin managed a smile in return. "But you're---"
Irritation dimmed those jeweled eyes ever so slightly. "I'm fine, Padawan." He flexed his injured fingers to support the declaration.
Anakin quelled a wince, for surely the action had been agony to the countless lacerations. "Are you positive? The healers---"
"Are a group of maniacs, Ani." He chuckled, but the humor felt forced. "You go in to ask for a bandage, they sink their teeth into you and you end up undergoing a complete physical."
Anakin smirked despite his own agitation.
Obi-Wan grinned. "Now, it's quite late, and I'm in no mood to have Bant prod me with every cold instrument she can find." He cracked his wrist, the discomfort seeping momentarily through his cheery mask. "Besides, you need your sleep. Tomorrow is another day, and there'll be plenty to be done."
The apprentice nodded, sandy hair darker in the bright room. "You'll tell me if you need help?" He asked.
Obi-Wan smiled again, very fine lines streaking from his eyes, lines etched by happier times, times of laughter. "You can count on it."
Hesitantly, taking a last glance at the bleeding hand and tea-splashed chest, Anakin returned to his room.
As he walked, he felt his Master give a discreet tightening to his mental shields.
Obi-Wan looked down at his cut palms.
He didn't remember padding into the kitchen, or even the burst of glass. It was disorienting, coming into awareness in the lavatory, his Padawan hovering over him, feeling so closed in…
Fighting a sudden wave of dizziness, Obi-Wan made his way to the couch, sealing his eyes against the glare of light as he passed the artificial strip mounted to the ceiling.
He sunk gratefully to the cushions, resting his head.
Obi-Wan wished the spinning would stop, would allow him a moment's respite. It was difficult to maintain such complete, flawless armor around his thoughts. Anakin was more powerful than respectful. He wouldn't leave his Master to his privacy.
Anakin had to know everything. The Padawan could have his secrets, but Obi-Wan was expected to share every shred of his soul, or suffer the hurt expression that transformed the boy's strangely mature features.
That sent a dark shaft across Anakin's face, as the Force roiled in reaction to his frustration.
It pained Obi-Wan to endure the sight. Yet, after years of schooling himself, he had learned to look upon his apprentice's upset face with stern resolve.
He was a young Master, yes. But he was a Master.
Even when the voices whispered to him that he wasn't.
Obi-Wan sighed, sealing weary cerulean eyes, and laying his damaged hand gingerly against his chest.
The voices were growing louder, crowding his thoughts, dark wisps that flitted across his mind's vast planes. They spoke words of discouragement, of sorrow…of hate.
He had been in his quarters, reveling in a rare, shallow slumber, when their sour litany began again.
And when their taunts took hold, Obi-Wan could think of nothing else.
He must have journeyed to the kitchen in some sort of befuddled sleep walk, unaware that his body was traveling, as he fought the floating curses and sharp, cruel messages.
Anakin could always awaken him, eventually.
But voices echoed. Long after they were silenced.
And they were never silenced forever.
Obi-Wan gripped the pillow suddenly, as he remembered the latest slurries.
No good you're no good not for anybody you might as well slit your sorry wrists you no good---
Then came the truly disturbing insult, grinding in his mind, agony blossoming throughout him.
It's a damn shame
It's a damn shame your master's around to see this to see what a nothing you are to see how no good you are
No wonder he hides from you.
Anakin slipped under the covers, weariness clouding in his head.
But the mattress seemed unyielding as stone now. His young back began to ache against it, and the apprentice rolled to his side, forcing his eyes to close.
Anger spiked like smoldering fire inside him. His fingers curled to taut fists. He won't tell me what's wrong. He doesn't think I'm worthy of helping him.
He inhaled sharply. Like always.
Anakin's thoughts began to wander back to those first, early days. When he was a child, witnessing the historic events of the Battle of Naboo with Qui-Gon's hand resting on his small shoulder. Anakin could remember smiling at the towering Master's affection gesture, only to catch Obi-Wan's disapproving (disgusted?) look.
And then, on the landing pad, clutching to Artoo, listening as Qui-Gon's Padawan whispered vehemently of the Jedi Council's doubts concerning a mere slave boy.
The pain and utter heartbreak beating in sea-painted eyes, the glare of the funeral pyre casting shadow on Obi-Wan's face. "You will be a Jedi. I promise."
His dulcet voice had been bare and small and solemn, as if the new Knight had been drained of his strength…
As if, Anakin thought, he had been robbed of his dreams.
After all, Obi-Wan was but a Padawan himself when he accepted the burden of an untrained, apparently hazardous apprentice. The oath had not been borne of a care for Anakin.
Obi-Wan Kenobi loved his Master dearly, would have sacrificed his very life if it would have spared Qui-Gon from the cruel, untimely demise he suffered.
Maybe Master thinks he HAS given away his life.
Moisture started in sealed eyes, and Anakin scrubbed them away feverishly. He flopped onto his stomach.
The vision of Obi-Wan, standing on the cold tile, blood dripping from his hand, stabbed through Anakin. The boy sighed with a half-hearted sniffle. But I love him.
Other memories began to flood his consciousness. His Master smoothing a bandage gently over a scrape marring Anakin's tiny knee, then pressing a feather-light kiss to the wound, earning a smile from the tearful boy. His Master patiently waiting for Anakin to complete the intricate nineteenth kata, Anakin actually able to feel the excitement and pride pulsing in the young teacher. His Master, cheeks flushed bright red, as he tried to pile frosting over the charred birthday cake while Anakin fell to the floor in hysterical laughter.
Obi-Wan sitting behind a closed bedroom door, crying silently, certain his Padawan could not hear his misery.
But Anakin was gifted, as the Council often said. Warned.
He heard ever repressed sob, heard it tearing his ears, heard it throbbing in his mind, even when his Master secured his thick walls around his pain.
A pang went to Anakin's chest. Too many times he listened to his Master's agony.
For all their quarrels and polar differences, Anakin still hated to witness Obi-Wan in his private anguish, refusing to allow anyone to relieve it.
He needs me…In some ways, I know much more than he does.
Anakin slipped slowly to sleep.
He needs me more than I need him.
Morning bled through the apartment drapes, spilling liquid warmth on his cheek.
Anakin came awake at once. He never liked to linger in grogginess. His slumber wasn't so comforting that he wanted to grasp to its dying fringes.
He stood, wrapping himself in his dark robe, and padded down the hallway.
When he was at the edge, he looked into the living area, and shook his head, sad worry nearly overwhelming him.
"Master." He said softly, going to Obi-Wan's side.
The man was curled tightly in on himself, his cut hand cradled to his naked chest, where blood was drying in little patches.
Anakin moved with quiet swiftness to the fresher. He collected a washcloth, tweezers, and small bowl of lukewarm water.
Then he pulled a wooden chair to the couch.
Gingerly, he took the hand in his.
Obi-Wan's breath came in hitches.
Anakin despaired. He was whimpering like an injured child. "It's alright, Master." He soothed, momentarily stroking damp hair of ginger, the Force tingling in his fingertips. "Just rest. Let me help you."
The older Jedi calmed instantly, though thin streams of tears ran down his cheeks.
Anakin watched them glisten a moment. He realized something was seriously wrong with his mentor.
Obi-Wan was crying in front of him.
Nerves rattled, he brushed the moisture away. "Don't do that, Master." Anakin urged. You're scaring me.
He took the tweezers in his grip, galvanizing hands that were too shaky to perform such precise and delicate work.
Taking a mouthful of air, Anakin began to pick the tiny shards from Obi-Wan's soft flesh.
When the last bloodied splinter was plucked, he bathed the red hand, massaging the fingers and palm tenderly, sending mild healing waves.
But Obi-Wan's tears only fell faster.
Afternoon edged toward Coruscant, warm orange light spilling on the countless buildings, reflecting off the shining finishes of cloud cars.
Anakin felt the heat on his exposed neck and sat up, rubbing his eyes. His muscles were cramped, aching at the base of his arms especially.
He looked down at his Master, still asleep, head nestled in the corner of the couch. A few hours had passed, he wagered…
And I fell asleep. What a great Padawan.
The boy stood. Bones popped at the action, and he thought maybe more time had passed than he first assumed.
His Master enjoyed rest, always combating the dark circles that ringed his eyes, the black smudges Anakin saw as he studied the man.
"Master." He said again, in the same worried tone he'd adopted as of late. Somehow, lying on the worn cushions, sweat glistening on his forehead, Obi-Wan appeared very young and pathetic.
No---Not pathetic.
He corrected himself hastily, heart beating a bit faster. I don't think that about him. He just looks sick. Anakin bit down on his lip. That's what I meant.He glanced around the apartment, dead in the prime of day, and felt a shiver creep up his spine.
"Master?" Anakin said, voice as near to timid as he could muster. He touched a cool, pale arm. "Master, wake up now. It's late."
The bearded face remained unaffected. Lips were parted, eyelids hiding jeweled brilliance. His ginger hair was wilted, framing his slumbering countenance.
"It's really late." Anakin persisted, and moved his hand to squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder lightly.
Nothing.
The Padawan wanted to scream in frustration, his fingers began to curl. He's only tired from his hand. He lost a lot of blood. He reasoned, forcing himself to calm.
I'm just gonna go on like everything's normal.
Because everything IS normal.
"I'm getting a shower, Master." He said.
And looked away from the still figure, with dried tracks of tears on his cheeks, and tiny wounds littering his hand.
Anakin stepped under the steaming spray of the showerhead and felt himself relax a bit.
He dipped his head back. The water soaked his hair and ran down the curve of his back. He began to unravel his braid habitually…
And had to swallow hard.
Sometimes, it was difficult to see this ritual through. All too often he tired of re-plaiting the long, sandy strands. Once in a while, Anakin thought of the Padawan symbol as shackles, binding him to a life he was outgrowing.
I could be a Knight already.
It wasn't a new revelation. He'd been aware of it for some time now. He would watch the Knights spar, their bodies twisting in graceful kata, and feel a burn of envy.
I should be promoted. I've surpassed most Jedi anyway.
But then came the bitter taste in his throat. Too bad Master doesn't think so.
He took the soap in his hands, working up a lather and tried to forget these frequent musings.
He'll see it soon.
Someone like him probably wants to be alone.
Anakin sensed Obi-Wan's weariness, his flash of a frown, a well-repressed sigh of disapproval. Every day.
It'd be so much easier for him to be alone.
Then maybe he wouldn't get like this again.
"Oh Sith." He muttered. Just don't think about it, Ani.
He came to consciousness gradually, his eyelids so heavy they seemed to burn the red-threaded irises beneath.
Obi-Wan shifted.
The small of his back ached, but the weakness in his body prevented him from turning onto his stomach. So he lay there, the pain beating…everywhere.
He opened his eyes to the bright apartment and had to close them at once, a whimper suppressed behind sealed lips. The light felt like an orange inferno, blinding him and blazing his damp skin.
He began to burrow down into the comfort of oblivion once more.
Here.
A foreign voice fluttered through his groggy mind, strangely soothing, pulling him in…
He's here.
And then Obi-Wan was compelled to open his eyes again.
There, on the once-vacant chair beside the couch, sat his Master.
Qui-Gon Jinn was staring at him, midnight blue eyes striking, albeit faded. A stalwart figure of dignity, broad shouldered and undeniably powerful. He wore the soft, threadbare tunics of a Jedi. Long hair both chestnut and slate draped down to brush against his chest.
Obi-Wan sat up, blinking away tears. The man's midsection was solid…no gaping, charred hole, no ash.
"M-Master." He gasped, scarcely believing, but at the same time, beyond doubt. His heart swelled. "Y-Y-You're here."
Qui-Gon just looked at his former apprentice.
Moisture rolled down unshaven cheeks. "You're here." He grinned, and reached for his beloved teacher, forgetting his weariness, letting the bliss of this impossible reunion fill him.
But his arms met air, as the form of his dearest friend dissipated, shimmering for an instant before melding with the atmosphere.
He was gone.
Obi-Wan sat on his knees, thoughts as paralyzed as his body. He was panting, eyes searching the room frantically, a half-smile lingering on his face, as though oblivious to the cruel disappearance.
He became aware of the faint din of running water in the background. He flinched, straining to hear his mentor's footsteps.
Maybe he's hiding.
Obi-Wan rationalized, rising to his feet, not registering the quivering of his knees. Playing a game with me…He edged slowly into the hallway. Can't let Master hear me. Capturing impulsive laughter with clenched teeth, Obi-Wan padded through the door to his own room-where Qui-Gon once lived.
The quarters were still, the sun glowing through the plain curtains, casting a soft incandescence on his face. He stood in the center, controlling his breathing, peering into every corner.
After a few minutes, he grew impatient. "Maaaaaster." He called in a sing-song voice. "You can't hide forever."
No response came, not a single minute rustle.
Obi-Wan frowned. He didn't feel the fresh tears stinging his eyes. "Master, where ARE you?"