Apparent Mutations: The Frail
It were the normal activities, simple, domestic pursuits such as eating dinner or spending an evening at home that Qui-Gon found to be the most difficult, the most strained, in the days following the pair's return from Torlo IV. But, no matter how daunting these seemingly mundane tasks could appear he faced them with quiet determination.
Obi-Wan sat across from him at the kitchen table staring blankly down at his bowl of stew. Qui-Gon noted that the boy had yet to taste it.
"Aren't you hungry, Obi-Wan?" he asked, shattering the silence. His voice sounded intrusive and foreign to him in the quiet.
Sad, blue-green eyes traveled upwards until they locked on the Master. Obi- Wan shook his head.
"You haven't eaten all day," Qui-Gon responded, then paused, waiting for a reply.
The eyes flickered guiltily down to the stew and Obi-Wan picked up his spoon. He quickly glanced back up at the older man, sorrow permanently etched into his smooth features.
"It's not going to poison you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said in a strained sort of humor, unable to completely mask the grief he felt at seeing his once sure and able apprentice looking so lost.
"I know," Obi-Wan said, somewhat impertinently and in a hushed tone. He tugged at the edges of his robe, which he now rarely took off. He seemed to sink deeper within the brown cloth. Qui-Gon had chosen not to question its presence, as the youth seemed to find solace in its warm, concealing folds.
"I'm not forcing you," Qui-Gon explained.
"I know," said the Padawan again quickly.
An awkward pause stretched between them and Qui-Gon leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.
"Try to eat at least some of it," he reasoned gently. "Half."
Obi-Wan looked down at the spoon in his hand and nodded numbly. He scooped up some broth and vegetable and forced it into his mouth. Mechanically, he chewed, swallowed, and repeated the action.
He could feel Qui-Gon's eyes on him, watching him eat.
"There's some bread there," the older man suggested, but Obi-Wan shook his head. Qui-Gon fell silent.
A scarlet flush rushed up Obi-Wan's neck and colored his cheeks. Why was this so hard? What was he doing wrong? He could easily sense his Master's worry and felt guilty that he was the cause of it. He wished to be normal again, if only for a few moments, to allay Qui-Gon's concern. The unhidden sympathy in the older Jedi's eyes was too much to bear; a painfully clear reminder of what had been done to the Padawan. It reminded him of the way someone looked at a being who had lost a limb. It made him feel even more as though he had lost something that could never be returned to him.
No—not lost. It had been taken, whatever it was. Ripped from him in a violent and brutal way—
The memories came to him, then, suddenly and unbidden, and he was horrified to find that his hand was shaking in response. He glanced up to see if his Master had noticed, and saw the man looking at him with open compassion.
The door chime was impossibly loud in his ears and Obi-Wan started violently. His spoon clattered to the floor, brown liquid splattered across it. Qui-Gon was at his side instantly.
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan sputtered, furious and sick when he felt tears splash down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I don't—I can't—" He broke off with an ardent shake of his head.
"Obi-Wan, sh. It doesn't matter." Qui-Gon picked the spoon up and placed it back on the table. "It doesn't matter. Everything is fine." He studied the Padawan worriedly. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. You don't have to eat if you're not hungry…" He moved to touch the teenager's tense shoulder, to soothe him, but when Obi-Wan shied away he gripped the back of the chair instead.
Obi-Wan had hunched over in his robe, holding it tightly around him. His gaze was locked onto the table edge.
"Don't be embarrassed, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, desperation coloring his words only just. He was running out of things to say. "Please," he begged quietly, forcing himself not to grab the youth by the shoulders and shake whatever oddment was left in him from the trauma. "Obi-Wan, please. Say something."
The Padawan shook his head miserably, shuddering as he forced his body to release some of the unwanted tension.
"There's someone at the door," was all he could say.
* * *
Saber practice.
Normally, Obi Wan loved it, but his apathetic reaction when Qui-Gon suggested it irked the older man. Qui-Gon had set up time in the gym when they were sure to be alone, believing that they should go on as close to normal as possible until Obi-Wan was prepared to come out of his haze.
The boy followed silently at Qui-Gon's heels, hands clasped behind him, head down, and back slightly slouched.
The usual posture, as of late.
When they began the drill, Obi-Wan was sluggish, hesitant, but Qui-Gon did not ease up on him. He was dead set upon finding the Obi-Wan he knew; the master was certain that Benter had not taken all of his Padawan.
Obi-Wan's eyes were wide as Qui-Gon backed him into a wall, and his parries were nearly late, brought up just in time to block his Master's blows.
"You can do better, Padawan," Qui-Gon urged, "Fight me!" He was determined to get past the hushed, servile nature that had settled over his student. He did back away, then, to give his apprentice the chance to get on the offensive.
"Fight me!" he growled again, and something changed in Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon purposely left himself wide open for an attack, but was surprised anyway at the viciousness with which Obi-Wan swiped at his belly. He jumped back; the tip of the blue blade narrowly missed singing his tunic. He began to move back even further as his student advanced upon him, but planted his feet firmly on the ground. If Obi-Wan wanted him to move, he would have to make him.
Obi-Wan felt a strange energy fill him, made him feel bigger than he was, as if his body had ballooned to great size and was waiting impatiently for him to use its new power. He felt restless and slow, so he quickened his blows, needing the feel of the two crackling sabers smashing together. He grit his teeth together so tightly it hurt and squeezed the handle of his weapon until his knuckles were white and straining against the taut skin of his hands.
The energy continued to fill him so that he thought he might go mad. It was an itch on his mind. It made him angry. It made him want to break something.
He lashed out at his Master ferociously and a wicked grin graced his darkened features when he saw the man falter.
It made him want to shatter and destroy something so utterly that it would never be right again.
Like he had been.
His vision blurred and went red with rage. He visualized the creature that had broken him. He was going to kill that monster.
Kill him.
Obi-Wan had never wanted something more.
* * *
Qui-Gon saw the darkened, hooded eyes of his apprentice and felt a sharp stab of apprehension.
"Obi-Wan."
The young man was becoming increasingly violent; his blows needed more strength to block with every swing. His brows were knit together in what Qui-Gon suddenly recognized as vicious and unbridled anger.
His heart leaped.
Obi-Wan—*his* Obi-Wan—was fighting in anger! Qui-Gon had come to believe he would never see that day.
"Obi-Wan!"
He tried reaching the boy through their bond.
*No!*
His attempts bounced off invisible walls as strong and sturdy as durasteel. He could feel stale emotions that had been cut off and left to shrivel away in their bond when his Padawan raised his shields.
They were rage and bitterness, shame and anguish. Regret. Self-hatred. Everything Qui-Gon had suspected and more. He could only imagine the torrent of emotions that boiled within the teen's mind where he could not see.
Meanwhile, Obi-Wan's attack became clumsy. His anger was handicapping his ability to use the Force effectively. He sliced at Qui-Gon's head, and when the older man ducked to avoid the blade, Obi-Wan executed a fumbling, wild leap over him, somersaulting messily in the air.
Though Qui-Gon was in no real danger, for he could anticipate his Padawan's sloppy maneuvers before the boy even thought them up, he felt this had gone on long enough.
Before Obi-Wan could land, the teacher sent a surge of Force power at him, knocking the lightsaber from his grip and sending the shocked teen flying backward. Obi-Wan landed hard on his back a few meters away. He did not get up.
Qui-Gon turned his own saber off and walked to where his student's had landed. He picked it up and went to his Padawan. He stood silent over the boy, looking grimly down at him.
Obi-Wan's chest was heaving. One hand, clenched into a white knuckled fist, was pressed against his forehead, as if keeping a great pain at bay. His face was wet with tears and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His lips moved soundlessly, but Qui-Gon had heard and said the mantra so many times in his long life that he did not need to lean closer to hear.
*Fear leads to anger.*
*Anger leads to hate.*
*Hate leads to the Dark Side.*
Qui-Gon clipped Obi-Wan's saber to his belt and left the gymnasium.
* * *
Obi-Wan slipped quietly into their small quarters and crept into the refresher, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He sighed with no small amount of relief at having made it thus far without confronting Qui- Gon.
He had meant to shower, but upon turning the faucets he quickly plugged up the drain. The thought of a bath sounded so opportune and soothing to his over weary mind that he could not pass it up.
He slowly shrugged out of his sweaty clothing, pausing to look at himself in the mirror.
Obi-Wan carefully studied the youthful, unlined flesh of his face, the heavy, sculptured brow. He leaned closer to inspect the gentle cleft in his chin and the smooth curve of his jaw.
He straightened and squared his shoulders, tipped his chin up. A fine line creased the skin between his brows.
Obi-Wan recalled—years ago, long before Qui-Gon had ever taken him as Padawan—something Yoda had told him.
"Each line—meaning it has. Story behind it. Could mean smile—much happiness, or frowning and terrible things. Sadness and bad memories." The senescent Master had touched the spot between Obi-Wan's eyebrows. "Hm. Determined means this. Strong."
Obi-Wan deflated. He was anything but strong.
A half-hearted smile refined his features as he remembered the pride Yoda's comment had instilled within him, and the worry that the old Jedi might proceed to tell him what all the wrinkles on the green face meant.
The smile evaporated as his gaze fell upon the brown, fading marks on his sides. He touched one and pressed it hard until it hurt.
He wished Yoda had been right.
Obi-Wan eased into the warm bath water.
* * *
Qui-Gon Jinn wondered briefly if his apprentice could feel his worry through their bond, but begrudgingly had to admit to himself that even a remotely Force sensitive individual could most likely feel his distress. He tried to keep his voice steady, anyway.
He halted his pacing in front of the 'fresher door and said, "Obi-Wan?" He felt a quick pang of anxious surprise from his student, before he was again left in coldness, cut off from the boy. He waited out the silence for a few beats and tried again. "Obi-Wan. Answer me." The steel like quality of his tone startled him.
Pause.
Then a quiet, somewhat dazed voice, "I'll be right out, Master."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the sheer sadness that bubbled up in his heart. "Please, Obi-Wan. You said that at least twenty minutes ago. The water must be cold by now." The older Jedi felt strangely lost, detached as he was from the youth. Obi-Wan's shields were warily tight once again, and he was not letting Qui-Gon in. "Dinner is ready," the master tried wanly.
"Be right out." The voice was even fainter now. It made Qui-Gon want to fall to his knees with grief.
It had been hours since the disastrous saber duel. Qui-Gon had taken a walk through the gardens and finally meditated for a short spell under a tree. He found that he was not angry with his Padawan in the least, only sad. He had scoured his essence for any trace of bitterness but found none. He was only sad and disappointed that life had turned so sour for his beloved student.
He needed Obi-Wan to know this, that he was there to support and help him. The teenager had said not two words of his experience since the day they returned. It was too apparent that the emotions inside him were confused and roiling about with no guidance. What the Master had seen earlier that day was the result of Obi-Wan not sharing his feelings.
He listened with a surge of hope that had a futility all too obvious to him for sounds that would prove his Padawan really was getting out of the tub. He heard none. Qui-Gon set his jaw.
"I'm coming in, Obi-Wan."
There was no protest and he opened the door. He lingered for a moment in the doorframe, a dull ache lancing through him as his eyes settled on the trembling figure in the tub.
Obi-Wan's head rested on his knees and his face was turned away from Qui- Gon, to the wall. Qui-Gon noted with some unease the red, agitated skin on his arms and back. The older man approached the tub and knelt before it.
He had meant to come in and speak to his apprentice, to tell him that this could not go on, he had to open up, but one look at the shattered soul in the bath made him forget everything.
He clasped one hand resolutely at the nape of the teen's neck. Obi-Wan stiffened.
"I said I'd be right out."
Qui-Gon knelt beside the tub and dipped his fingers in the still water. His gaze roamed over gooseflesh on his Padawan's arm.
"The water is cold, Obi-Wan—"
"No." The word was sharp and quick.
Qui-Gon rose his brows. "You're shivering—"
Obi-Wan whipped his head around, sending his Padawan braid flying over his shoulder. His eyes were red and a fine sheen of tears wet his face.
"I said no!" he seethed.
Qui-Gon was taken aback, shocked by the choleric outburst. He searched his Padawan's eyes with his own, trying to see past the irate fire he saw in them.
And then Obi-Wan seemed to cave in on himself. His anger visibly left him and his eyes, where moments ago had been incensed fury, grew into two deep and empty voids.
"Please, just go," he pleaded.
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice, deeply disturbed by the quick transformation.
"Obi-Wan," he said, "I want to help you." He touched the youth's shoulder, grateful when the Padawan did not pull back right away. "Let me help—"
Obi-Wan shrank away from the touch and resumed the posture he had held when Qui-Gon entered the refresher, but he kept the Master's gaze.
"No one can help me," he whispered hoarsely.
"Obi-Wan…" Qui-Gon begged, shocked at what he had just heard, was now seeing. But the adolescent turned his face away, resting his head on his knees once more.
"Please," he asked softly, "Please just go."
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice for a long moment, but the youth said nothing further.
Qui-Gon stood and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Even as he went to his own room for the night, nothing could shut out the despaired weeping that settled like dust over the stillness of their small home.
It were the normal activities, simple, domestic pursuits such as eating dinner or spending an evening at home that Qui-Gon found to be the most difficult, the most strained, in the days following the pair's return from Torlo IV. But, no matter how daunting these seemingly mundane tasks could appear he faced them with quiet determination.
Obi-Wan sat across from him at the kitchen table staring blankly down at his bowl of stew. Qui-Gon noted that the boy had yet to taste it.
"Aren't you hungry, Obi-Wan?" he asked, shattering the silence. His voice sounded intrusive and foreign to him in the quiet.
Sad, blue-green eyes traveled upwards until they locked on the Master. Obi- Wan shook his head.
"You haven't eaten all day," Qui-Gon responded, then paused, waiting for a reply.
The eyes flickered guiltily down to the stew and Obi-Wan picked up his spoon. He quickly glanced back up at the older man, sorrow permanently etched into his smooth features.
"It's not going to poison you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said in a strained sort of humor, unable to completely mask the grief he felt at seeing his once sure and able apprentice looking so lost.
"I know," Obi-Wan said, somewhat impertinently and in a hushed tone. He tugged at the edges of his robe, which he now rarely took off. He seemed to sink deeper within the brown cloth. Qui-Gon had chosen not to question its presence, as the youth seemed to find solace in its warm, concealing folds.
"I'm not forcing you," Qui-Gon explained.
"I know," said the Padawan again quickly.
An awkward pause stretched between them and Qui-Gon leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together.
"Try to eat at least some of it," he reasoned gently. "Half."
Obi-Wan looked down at the spoon in his hand and nodded numbly. He scooped up some broth and vegetable and forced it into his mouth. Mechanically, he chewed, swallowed, and repeated the action.
He could feel Qui-Gon's eyes on him, watching him eat.
"There's some bread there," the older man suggested, but Obi-Wan shook his head. Qui-Gon fell silent.
A scarlet flush rushed up Obi-Wan's neck and colored his cheeks. Why was this so hard? What was he doing wrong? He could easily sense his Master's worry and felt guilty that he was the cause of it. He wished to be normal again, if only for a few moments, to allay Qui-Gon's concern. The unhidden sympathy in the older Jedi's eyes was too much to bear; a painfully clear reminder of what had been done to the Padawan. It reminded him of the way someone looked at a being who had lost a limb. It made him feel even more as though he had lost something that could never be returned to him.
No—not lost. It had been taken, whatever it was. Ripped from him in a violent and brutal way—
The memories came to him, then, suddenly and unbidden, and he was horrified to find that his hand was shaking in response. He glanced up to see if his Master had noticed, and saw the man looking at him with open compassion.
The door chime was impossibly loud in his ears and Obi-Wan started violently. His spoon clattered to the floor, brown liquid splattered across it. Qui-Gon was at his side instantly.
"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan sputtered, furious and sick when he felt tears splash down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I don't—I can't—" He broke off with an ardent shake of his head.
"Obi-Wan, sh. It doesn't matter." Qui-Gon picked the spoon up and placed it back on the table. "It doesn't matter. Everything is fine." He studied the Padawan worriedly. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. You don't have to eat if you're not hungry…" He moved to touch the teenager's tense shoulder, to soothe him, but when Obi-Wan shied away he gripped the back of the chair instead.
Obi-Wan had hunched over in his robe, holding it tightly around him. His gaze was locked onto the table edge.
"Don't be embarrassed, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, desperation coloring his words only just. He was running out of things to say. "Please," he begged quietly, forcing himself not to grab the youth by the shoulders and shake whatever oddment was left in him from the trauma. "Obi-Wan, please. Say something."
The Padawan shook his head miserably, shuddering as he forced his body to release some of the unwanted tension.
"There's someone at the door," was all he could say.
* * *
Saber practice.
Normally, Obi Wan loved it, but his apathetic reaction when Qui-Gon suggested it irked the older man. Qui-Gon had set up time in the gym when they were sure to be alone, believing that they should go on as close to normal as possible until Obi-Wan was prepared to come out of his haze.
The boy followed silently at Qui-Gon's heels, hands clasped behind him, head down, and back slightly slouched.
The usual posture, as of late.
When they began the drill, Obi-Wan was sluggish, hesitant, but Qui-Gon did not ease up on him. He was dead set upon finding the Obi-Wan he knew; the master was certain that Benter had not taken all of his Padawan.
Obi-Wan's eyes were wide as Qui-Gon backed him into a wall, and his parries were nearly late, brought up just in time to block his Master's blows.
"You can do better, Padawan," Qui-Gon urged, "Fight me!" He was determined to get past the hushed, servile nature that had settled over his student. He did back away, then, to give his apprentice the chance to get on the offensive.
"Fight me!" he growled again, and something changed in Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon purposely left himself wide open for an attack, but was surprised anyway at the viciousness with which Obi-Wan swiped at his belly. He jumped back; the tip of the blue blade narrowly missed singing his tunic. He began to move back even further as his student advanced upon him, but planted his feet firmly on the ground. If Obi-Wan wanted him to move, he would have to make him.
Obi-Wan felt a strange energy fill him, made him feel bigger than he was, as if his body had ballooned to great size and was waiting impatiently for him to use its new power. He felt restless and slow, so he quickened his blows, needing the feel of the two crackling sabers smashing together. He grit his teeth together so tightly it hurt and squeezed the handle of his weapon until his knuckles were white and straining against the taut skin of his hands.
The energy continued to fill him so that he thought he might go mad. It was an itch on his mind. It made him angry. It made him want to break something.
He lashed out at his Master ferociously and a wicked grin graced his darkened features when he saw the man falter.
It made him want to shatter and destroy something so utterly that it would never be right again.
Like he had been.
His vision blurred and went red with rage. He visualized the creature that had broken him. He was going to kill that monster.
Kill him.
Obi-Wan had never wanted something more.
* * *
Qui-Gon saw the darkened, hooded eyes of his apprentice and felt a sharp stab of apprehension.
"Obi-Wan."
The young man was becoming increasingly violent; his blows needed more strength to block with every swing. His brows were knit together in what Qui-Gon suddenly recognized as vicious and unbridled anger.
His heart leaped.
Obi-Wan—*his* Obi-Wan—was fighting in anger! Qui-Gon had come to believe he would never see that day.
"Obi-Wan!"
He tried reaching the boy through their bond.
*No!*
His attempts bounced off invisible walls as strong and sturdy as durasteel. He could feel stale emotions that had been cut off and left to shrivel away in their bond when his Padawan raised his shields.
They were rage and bitterness, shame and anguish. Regret. Self-hatred. Everything Qui-Gon had suspected and more. He could only imagine the torrent of emotions that boiled within the teen's mind where he could not see.
Meanwhile, Obi-Wan's attack became clumsy. His anger was handicapping his ability to use the Force effectively. He sliced at Qui-Gon's head, and when the older man ducked to avoid the blade, Obi-Wan executed a fumbling, wild leap over him, somersaulting messily in the air.
Though Qui-Gon was in no real danger, for he could anticipate his Padawan's sloppy maneuvers before the boy even thought them up, he felt this had gone on long enough.
Before Obi-Wan could land, the teacher sent a surge of Force power at him, knocking the lightsaber from his grip and sending the shocked teen flying backward. Obi-Wan landed hard on his back a few meters away. He did not get up.
Qui-Gon turned his own saber off and walked to where his student's had landed. He picked it up and went to his Padawan. He stood silent over the boy, looking grimly down at him.
Obi-Wan's chest was heaving. One hand, clenched into a white knuckled fist, was pressed against his forehead, as if keeping a great pain at bay. His face was wet with tears and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His lips moved soundlessly, but Qui-Gon had heard and said the mantra so many times in his long life that he did not need to lean closer to hear.
*Fear leads to anger.*
*Anger leads to hate.*
*Hate leads to the Dark Side.*
Qui-Gon clipped Obi-Wan's saber to his belt and left the gymnasium.
* * *
Obi-Wan slipped quietly into their small quarters and crept into the refresher, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He sighed with no small amount of relief at having made it thus far without confronting Qui- Gon.
He had meant to shower, but upon turning the faucets he quickly plugged up the drain. The thought of a bath sounded so opportune and soothing to his over weary mind that he could not pass it up.
He slowly shrugged out of his sweaty clothing, pausing to look at himself in the mirror.
Obi-Wan carefully studied the youthful, unlined flesh of his face, the heavy, sculptured brow. He leaned closer to inspect the gentle cleft in his chin and the smooth curve of his jaw.
He straightened and squared his shoulders, tipped his chin up. A fine line creased the skin between his brows.
Obi-Wan recalled—years ago, long before Qui-Gon had ever taken him as Padawan—something Yoda had told him.
"Each line—meaning it has. Story behind it. Could mean smile—much happiness, or frowning and terrible things. Sadness and bad memories." The senescent Master had touched the spot between Obi-Wan's eyebrows. "Hm. Determined means this. Strong."
Obi-Wan deflated. He was anything but strong.
A half-hearted smile refined his features as he remembered the pride Yoda's comment had instilled within him, and the worry that the old Jedi might proceed to tell him what all the wrinkles on the green face meant.
The smile evaporated as his gaze fell upon the brown, fading marks on his sides. He touched one and pressed it hard until it hurt.
He wished Yoda had been right.
Obi-Wan eased into the warm bath water.
* * *
Qui-Gon Jinn wondered briefly if his apprentice could feel his worry through their bond, but begrudgingly had to admit to himself that even a remotely Force sensitive individual could most likely feel his distress. He tried to keep his voice steady, anyway.
He halted his pacing in front of the 'fresher door and said, "Obi-Wan?" He felt a quick pang of anxious surprise from his student, before he was again left in coldness, cut off from the boy. He waited out the silence for a few beats and tried again. "Obi-Wan. Answer me." The steel like quality of his tone startled him.
Pause.
Then a quiet, somewhat dazed voice, "I'll be right out, Master."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, pushing back the sheer sadness that bubbled up in his heart. "Please, Obi-Wan. You said that at least twenty minutes ago. The water must be cold by now." The older Jedi felt strangely lost, detached as he was from the youth. Obi-Wan's shields were warily tight once again, and he was not letting Qui-Gon in. "Dinner is ready," the master tried wanly.
"Be right out." The voice was even fainter now. It made Qui-Gon want to fall to his knees with grief.
It had been hours since the disastrous saber duel. Qui-Gon had taken a walk through the gardens and finally meditated for a short spell under a tree. He found that he was not angry with his Padawan in the least, only sad. He had scoured his essence for any trace of bitterness but found none. He was only sad and disappointed that life had turned so sour for his beloved student.
He needed Obi-Wan to know this, that he was there to support and help him. The teenager had said not two words of his experience since the day they returned. It was too apparent that the emotions inside him were confused and roiling about with no guidance. What the Master had seen earlier that day was the result of Obi-Wan not sharing his feelings.
He listened with a surge of hope that had a futility all too obvious to him for sounds that would prove his Padawan really was getting out of the tub. He heard none. Qui-Gon set his jaw.
"I'm coming in, Obi-Wan."
There was no protest and he opened the door. He lingered for a moment in the doorframe, a dull ache lancing through him as his eyes settled on the trembling figure in the tub.
Obi-Wan's head rested on his knees and his face was turned away from Qui- Gon, to the wall. Qui-Gon noted with some unease the red, agitated skin on his arms and back. The older man approached the tub and knelt before it.
He had meant to come in and speak to his apprentice, to tell him that this could not go on, he had to open up, but one look at the shattered soul in the bath made him forget everything.
He clasped one hand resolutely at the nape of the teen's neck. Obi-Wan stiffened.
"I said I'd be right out."
Qui-Gon knelt beside the tub and dipped his fingers in the still water. His gaze roamed over gooseflesh on his Padawan's arm.
"The water is cold, Obi-Wan—"
"No." The word was sharp and quick.
Qui-Gon rose his brows. "You're shivering—"
Obi-Wan whipped his head around, sending his Padawan braid flying over his shoulder. His eyes were red and a fine sheen of tears wet his face.
"I said no!" he seethed.
Qui-Gon was taken aback, shocked by the choleric outburst. He searched his Padawan's eyes with his own, trying to see past the irate fire he saw in them.
And then Obi-Wan seemed to cave in on himself. His anger visibly left him and his eyes, where moments ago had been incensed fury, grew into two deep and empty voids.
"Please, just go," he pleaded.
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice, deeply disturbed by the quick transformation.
"Obi-Wan," he said, "I want to help you." He touched the youth's shoulder, grateful when the Padawan did not pull back right away. "Let me help—"
Obi-Wan shrank away from the touch and resumed the posture he had held when Qui-Gon entered the refresher, but he kept the Master's gaze.
"No one can help me," he whispered hoarsely.
"Obi-Wan…" Qui-Gon begged, shocked at what he had just heard, was now seeing. But the adolescent turned his face away, resting his head on his knees once more.
"Please," he asked softly, "Please just go."
Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice for a long moment, but the youth said nothing further.
Qui-Gon stood and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Even as he went to his own room for the night, nothing could shut out the despaired weeping that settled like dust over the stillness of their small home.
