Apparent Mutations: Underneath It All (The Wretched)
Obi-Wan was just short of devastated upon realizing his assumptions were merely blind hopes.
Things between he and his Master had been strained, to say the least, since the saber practice that he was more than ready to forget about, and his shameful outburst afterwards in their 'fresher six days ago. They had really only gotten worse. In an attempt to rein in his dwindling sanity the Padawan had made the abrupt decision to return to his classes. It seemed to him that with something solid to put his energies to work at and focus on he could get his life back together, forget about Torlo IV and that man Benter, and move on. He had almost laughed aloud with pure glee when he first thought of it.
So simple! He and Qui-Gon would be happy again. No more fights.
Obi-Wan frowned and sat down against the trunk of an enormous tree. Its thick, twisting branches were flung outward with soft, cream colored leaves that grew in curls forming a canopy above his head.
To call the emotional exchanges between he and Qui-Gon 'fights' was not exactly fair. Obi-Wan reluctantly had to admit to himself that ever since he had made the mistake of sparring with Qui-Gon he tried to goad the man into anger every chance he had.
Qui-Gon never became so irritated with him that he reacted the way Obi-Wan wanted him to. He usually told the apprentice in the maddeningly calm voice that only a Jedi master could achieve that he should either go to his room or leave their quarters until he was ready to stop acting like an initiate. He always suggested meditation but never ordered it. Obi-Wan had to wonder why.
The Padawan plucked at a long blade of grass and began twisting it into knots as he thought. He also wondered what drove him to spurts of such rage. It frightened him immensely, but each time it came to him he felt there was no stopping it. The reasons behind it were elusive and he *had* tried meditation, more than once, in fact, as his master had advised, but it was troubled and unfocused. As much as he pondered on why what that monster did to him was affecting him so deeply, he could not figure it out.
Obi-Wan had tried reasoning with himself, being literal—Benter had attacked him. Many people had attacked him over the course of his apprenticeship; perhaps not in the same way, but he had been injured enough times that one more physical assault should not have embedded itself in his psyche so deeply.
But this one had, bugger it all. And he could not understand the feelings that washed over him each time he thought of it. He could not understand why his skin burned with embarrassment when he caught someone's encouraging smile, or why he felt so lost and empty.
And alone.
He tensely watched two knights across the garden, but they passed without giving him any notice. Once more by himself, he relaxed against the tree at his back, feeling the rough bark scrape his skin through his tunic and robe. Self consciously, he glanced around to make certain he was alone, and rubbed his back more vigorously against the wood. It felt nice; anything he could touch felt nice. He sometimes found himself squeezing objects too tightly, as if discerning their realness. That morning he had caught himself scraping his fingernails against the sensitive skin of his inner arm, not enough to hurt badly, but enough to be sure.
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. Sure of what, he did not yet know. Maybe that another day had passed and this was still not a nightmare from which he would awake?
He conjured an image of Qui-Gon in his mind as the man had looked when Obi- Wan had last seen him. Grief and regret tugged at his heart. Why was he acting like this? Since starting classes two days ago he had only gotten worse. Never in his young life had Obi-Wan ever been so disrespectful to someone—especially Qui-Gon. He knew that he was wearing on the older man, and wanted desperately to stop, to go to him and apologize for everything he had said, but something within halted him.
He had come close, many times, actually, to confronting Qui-Gon about what had happened on Torlo IV, but each time he drew in the breath needed to speak, opened his mouth to voice the words, something terrible came out. Something ridiculous and completely unrelated. What got to him was that his teacher seemed to know when this happened. At that point, Obi-Wan could not stop himself. Qui-Gon had given him so many chances to just walk away, take back his words…
The Padawan dropped his head in his hands. He had been ordered out of the apartment *again.*
He was useless. Miserable and cruel and dead inside and useless. The only feelings he ever had were the ugly ones he got out of yelling at his master and when he stimulated his skin through touch.
Obi-Wan had spent his latest attempt at meditating on trying to recall the last emotions he had felt, besides anger and its ensuing descent into self- loathing. He was fairly certain they were terror and dread. He had gone over the events of that night many times in his head, replaying the moment when he had walked into the darkened room. He could even remember the way the shadows had danced around the blue blaze of his lightsaber. There had been a sharp warning in the Force, so sudden that it startled him even though his body had already reacted.
He had turned, swiped at nothing, and the air rushed out of his lungs as something solid collided with his stomach. He had thrown tendrils of the Force outward to push back his attacker, as his saber had been dropped and the light extinguished, but his focus was shattered when something hit the tender spot of his temple. Spots danced in the darkness of the room and something heavy, cold, and unforgiving clicked around his neck. His grasp on the Force was snuffed out immediately and he was left in a ringing silence. His heart thudded in his chest and his eyes darted about in their sockets, searching the blackness for any change while he strained his ears for sound.
Someone had clenched a fist in his hair and Obi-Wan bit off a startled yelp. The lights flickered on and he blinked rapidly as it assaulted his wide eyes.
He was then faced with the man who had later made good on his sneering promise to change Obi-Wan's life forever.
The Padawan longed for something sweet to fill him, if only for a little while. He missed the content happiness that had all but defined his life prior to the mission to Torlo IV. It seemed as though a shadow had passed over him, adding a slight shuffle to his step and dullness to his eyes, slowing the thud of his heart and making him cold inside. He wondered if there was any escaping the bleakness that had become his life.
* * *
"You're the one who said we should try to get back to normal," Obi-Wan said, arms crossed defiantly over his chest as he glared down at the man seated in the chair.
"Yes, I did," Qui-Gon conceded coolly, "However, I did *not* say that we should ignore your problems."
"I'm not ignoring them." The words were clipped and spoken quickly.
Qui-Gon regarded his Padawan, hiding his concern below layers of shields for fear of alienating the boy. "Oh?"
"I'm not," Obi-Wan insisted. "I'm just going to classes. To move on with my life. To learn. You should be happy," he finished, irritated.
"I'm not," responded Qui-Gon slowly, feeling the situation out as best as he could. These days it was best to approach his apprentice with as much caution as possible. He constantly needed to remind himself to keep his temper in check, even as he did not allow Obi-Wan's disrespectful nature to be indulged. Most of the time he chose to respond to the boy's petulance by ignoring it.
"I can see that!" the young Jedi snapped. He dropped his arms to his sides in an effort to project calm. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I've already started them."
The Master raised his brows.
"No, *that* doesn't matter," Qui-Gon countered lightly, fake cheeriness printed on his weathered face. "I can pull you from your classes any time I wish." He searched his Padawan's face carefully. It seemed the ungentle reminder that *he* was the Master had not gone unnoticed by the steaming boy.
Obi-Wan began to pace restlessly. His hands had disappeared into the sleeves of his ever-present robe. Qui-Gon went on.
"Did you forget that, Padawan? I could force you to attend a mind healer as well. I had hoped we could work this out privately, but I'm beginning to think we should have gone to Master Crai from the start."
Obi-Wan met his gaze, eyes dark and quietly smoldering.
"I don't have to tell them anything," he said. "I don't want to. Not even *you* can make me do that."
Qui-Gon hid his despair well, playing it off as mild annoyance.
"I don't want to *make* you. Can't you see that? Can't you understand? I don't want to force you to do anything, but you're making it very difficult for me. This attitude you've adopted is grating on my nerves and I will not tolerate it." While the sternness of his voice was somewhat of a relief for the irritation that had grown inside of him, it belied Qui-Gon's silent, aching plea for his student to come to his senses. Obi-Wan silently dropped his gaze away and let it rest blankly on a faded blotch on the wall.
Qui-Gon remembered when Obi-Wan had unsuccessfully tried taming a wild Chi'fra he had found cowering in the bushes near one of the temple atriums and it had spurted ink on the wall as well as the shocked Padawan. The stain had taken days to disappear from Obi-Wan's skin and, no matter how hard each of them scrubbed, never quite came off the wall. A wistful pang clenched his heart and the Master did not dwell on the recollection. He reminded himself that it was still possible to save the apprentice from the darkness that tore so mercilessly at his fragile soul.
"Obi-Wan," he said seriously, "Talk to me. This is killing you."
"It's under control." The words, though soft and unsure, spilled easily past the pink lips.
Qui-Gon scoffed. "I think that's debatable."
"You wouldn't understand," the Padawan protested weakly, and Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that Obi-Wan did not want to fight him, but felt obligated to do so. Still, the boy did not tear his gaze from the wall.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, softly commanding the tormented youth's attention, "You must confide in me. You *must.* Pretending this never happened to you—" He hesitated, then decided to bring the issue out in the open. "Pretending it never happened will not change the fact that you were raped," he said flatly.
Obi-Wan winced sharply at the word and Qui-Gon realized that it was the first time either had said it out loud. The Padawan turned away, shrugging more deeply within the folds of his robe.
"I know," he said quietly, then gave a soft moan. He rubbed his eyes with both hands before they vanished back into the sleeves of his robe. "I know…! I'm just trying to figure it out—" He felt that horrible flush color his cheeks again.
Raped!
So that was it, then. How…embarrassing? To have Qui-Gon say it like that was unbearable. Couldn't the man see that he did not want to talk about it? For one so attuned to the Living Force he certainly seemed blissfully unaware of the feelings of his own Padawan.
A sad smile softened the Master's sharp features. "I am aware, Obi-Wan. I can feel them so clearly even when you shield yourself." Qui-Gon stood and in one short stride was standing before the teenager. He put his hand to the boy's elbow and gently turned him so they faced each other. Obi-Wan's gaze flickered about nervously, anywhere but Qui-Gon's eyes.
"Why won't you allow me to help you?" Qui-Gon implored quietly. "You know I want to. Why do you insist on ignoring this? You're strong, Obi-Wan. Tell me why this time you have chosen to run instead of fight."
The Padawan looked up at his Master, shocked, and for a moment Qui-Gon's heart sang with hope. But Obi-Wan's eyes darkened and he wrenched his arm out of the older man's grasp. He stepped back to put some space between them and the Master was crushed when he felt the hurt entwined so deeply in his Padawan's voice, rather than hear the angry words spoken.
"How could you—You don't know—!" Obi-Wan stumbled over what he wanted to say. "There's no way in Sith you'd ever understand!" he cried, and wanted to weep when the red haze clouded his vision once more. "I can't talk about something like this. There aren't words. I thought you would know that!" He backed away a few steps more and muttered bitterly, "You, out of everyone in this damned temple."
Qui-Gon was prepared to let the questionable language go without comment in order to discover what the boy meant.
"What are you saying?" he demanded to know, only dimly aware that the volume of his voice had risen to match that of his apprentice's. More quietly he added, "No matter what you may think, Padawan, I cannot always know what you don't tell me."
Obi-Wan's eyes were bright with untempered anger. "I mean Tahl, for Force's sake!"
Qui-Gon stopped short and his eyes hardened, daring the young man to continue.
The apprentice was not swayed. "When she died you didn't talk to me. You kept it all in. I never understood why until now. Some things should be left alone. Sometimes," he muttered, "The pain goes too deep. It can't be helped."
It took the Master a moment to gather his wits about him, as they had been completely scattered by this admission, to remain calm.
"I refuse to allow you to make excuses, Obi-Wan." He did not want to entertain the notion that his actions, over a year old, were now coming to surface. "I refuse to allow you to continue like this. It's dangerous." He released the anger that had welled up inside of him—remembering that this was not completely Obi-Wan. This was something Obi-Wan had created to battle back the warped emotions twisting through him, an act to stave off the remnants of the creature that had hurt him so terribly.
He lowered his voice and cautiously closed the gap between them, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers over his Padawan's brow. Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered shut briefly in something like relief at the contact.
"The darkness has come too close to smothering your light these past few days, my Padawan. I am desperate to help you overcome it."
The boy was silent for a moment, and then slowly repeated, "Help," so softly that Qui-Gon almost did not hear it, as if he was testing the word on his tongue, and slowly lowered his gaze to the floor. He wanted to welcome the warmth Qui-Gon's touch brought to his cool skin—he could not ever seem to stay warm these days—but not yet.
Green eyes, heavily flecked and speckled with shards of blue were no longer dark with anger, but clouded with deep thought. They rose upward and regarded the Master quietly for a moment.
"Give me time," Obi-Wan said.
Qui-Gon placed both his hands firmly on either of the boy's shoulders.
"All that you need," was the easy reply.
* * *
Obi-Wan was just short of devastated upon realizing his assumptions were merely blind hopes.
Things between he and his Master had been strained, to say the least, since the saber practice that he was more than ready to forget about, and his shameful outburst afterwards in their 'fresher six days ago. They had really only gotten worse. In an attempt to rein in his dwindling sanity the Padawan had made the abrupt decision to return to his classes. It seemed to him that with something solid to put his energies to work at and focus on he could get his life back together, forget about Torlo IV and that man Benter, and move on. He had almost laughed aloud with pure glee when he first thought of it.
So simple! He and Qui-Gon would be happy again. No more fights.
Obi-Wan frowned and sat down against the trunk of an enormous tree. Its thick, twisting branches were flung outward with soft, cream colored leaves that grew in curls forming a canopy above his head.
To call the emotional exchanges between he and Qui-Gon 'fights' was not exactly fair. Obi-Wan reluctantly had to admit to himself that ever since he had made the mistake of sparring with Qui-Gon he tried to goad the man into anger every chance he had.
Qui-Gon never became so irritated with him that he reacted the way Obi-Wan wanted him to. He usually told the apprentice in the maddeningly calm voice that only a Jedi master could achieve that he should either go to his room or leave their quarters until he was ready to stop acting like an initiate. He always suggested meditation but never ordered it. Obi-Wan had to wonder why.
The Padawan plucked at a long blade of grass and began twisting it into knots as he thought. He also wondered what drove him to spurts of such rage. It frightened him immensely, but each time it came to him he felt there was no stopping it. The reasons behind it were elusive and he *had* tried meditation, more than once, in fact, as his master had advised, but it was troubled and unfocused. As much as he pondered on why what that monster did to him was affecting him so deeply, he could not figure it out.
Obi-Wan had tried reasoning with himself, being literal—Benter had attacked him. Many people had attacked him over the course of his apprenticeship; perhaps not in the same way, but he had been injured enough times that one more physical assault should not have embedded itself in his psyche so deeply.
But this one had, bugger it all. And he could not understand the feelings that washed over him each time he thought of it. He could not understand why his skin burned with embarrassment when he caught someone's encouraging smile, or why he felt so lost and empty.
And alone.
He tensely watched two knights across the garden, but they passed without giving him any notice. Once more by himself, he relaxed against the tree at his back, feeling the rough bark scrape his skin through his tunic and robe. Self consciously, he glanced around to make certain he was alone, and rubbed his back more vigorously against the wood. It felt nice; anything he could touch felt nice. He sometimes found himself squeezing objects too tightly, as if discerning their realness. That morning he had caught himself scraping his fingernails against the sensitive skin of his inner arm, not enough to hurt badly, but enough to be sure.
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. Sure of what, he did not yet know. Maybe that another day had passed and this was still not a nightmare from which he would awake?
He conjured an image of Qui-Gon in his mind as the man had looked when Obi- Wan had last seen him. Grief and regret tugged at his heart. Why was he acting like this? Since starting classes two days ago he had only gotten worse. Never in his young life had Obi-Wan ever been so disrespectful to someone—especially Qui-Gon. He knew that he was wearing on the older man, and wanted desperately to stop, to go to him and apologize for everything he had said, but something within halted him.
He had come close, many times, actually, to confronting Qui-Gon about what had happened on Torlo IV, but each time he drew in the breath needed to speak, opened his mouth to voice the words, something terrible came out. Something ridiculous and completely unrelated. What got to him was that his teacher seemed to know when this happened. At that point, Obi-Wan could not stop himself. Qui-Gon had given him so many chances to just walk away, take back his words…
The Padawan dropped his head in his hands. He had been ordered out of the apartment *again.*
He was useless. Miserable and cruel and dead inside and useless. The only feelings he ever had were the ugly ones he got out of yelling at his master and when he stimulated his skin through touch.
Obi-Wan had spent his latest attempt at meditating on trying to recall the last emotions he had felt, besides anger and its ensuing descent into self- loathing. He was fairly certain they were terror and dread. He had gone over the events of that night many times in his head, replaying the moment when he had walked into the darkened room. He could even remember the way the shadows had danced around the blue blaze of his lightsaber. There had been a sharp warning in the Force, so sudden that it startled him even though his body had already reacted.
He had turned, swiped at nothing, and the air rushed out of his lungs as something solid collided with his stomach. He had thrown tendrils of the Force outward to push back his attacker, as his saber had been dropped and the light extinguished, but his focus was shattered when something hit the tender spot of his temple. Spots danced in the darkness of the room and something heavy, cold, and unforgiving clicked around his neck. His grasp on the Force was snuffed out immediately and he was left in a ringing silence. His heart thudded in his chest and his eyes darted about in their sockets, searching the blackness for any change while he strained his ears for sound.
Someone had clenched a fist in his hair and Obi-Wan bit off a startled yelp. The lights flickered on and he blinked rapidly as it assaulted his wide eyes.
He was then faced with the man who had later made good on his sneering promise to change Obi-Wan's life forever.
The Padawan longed for something sweet to fill him, if only for a little while. He missed the content happiness that had all but defined his life prior to the mission to Torlo IV. It seemed as though a shadow had passed over him, adding a slight shuffle to his step and dullness to his eyes, slowing the thud of his heart and making him cold inside. He wondered if there was any escaping the bleakness that had become his life.
* * *
"You're the one who said we should try to get back to normal," Obi-Wan said, arms crossed defiantly over his chest as he glared down at the man seated in the chair.
"Yes, I did," Qui-Gon conceded coolly, "However, I did *not* say that we should ignore your problems."
"I'm not ignoring them." The words were clipped and spoken quickly.
Qui-Gon regarded his Padawan, hiding his concern below layers of shields for fear of alienating the boy. "Oh?"
"I'm not," Obi-Wan insisted. "I'm just going to classes. To move on with my life. To learn. You should be happy," he finished, irritated.
"I'm not," responded Qui-Gon slowly, feeling the situation out as best as he could. These days it was best to approach his apprentice with as much caution as possible. He constantly needed to remind himself to keep his temper in check, even as he did not allow Obi-Wan's disrespectful nature to be indulged. Most of the time he chose to respond to the boy's petulance by ignoring it.
"I can see that!" the young Jedi snapped. He dropped his arms to his sides in an effort to project calm. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I've already started them."
The Master raised his brows.
"No, *that* doesn't matter," Qui-Gon countered lightly, fake cheeriness printed on his weathered face. "I can pull you from your classes any time I wish." He searched his Padawan's face carefully. It seemed the ungentle reminder that *he* was the Master had not gone unnoticed by the steaming boy.
Obi-Wan began to pace restlessly. His hands had disappeared into the sleeves of his ever-present robe. Qui-Gon went on.
"Did you forget that, Padawan? I could force you to attend a mind healer as well. I had hoped we could work this out privately, but I'm beginning to think we should have gone to Master Crai from the start."
Obi-Wan met his gaze, eyes dark and quietly smoldering.
"I don't have to tell them anything," he said. "I don't want to. Not even *you* can make me do that."
Qui-Gon hid his despair well, playing it off as mild annoyance.
"I don't want to *make* you. Can't you see that? Can't you understand? I don't want to force you to do anything, but you're making it very difficult for me. This attitude you've adopted is grating on my nerves and I will not tolerate it." While the sternness of his voice was somewhat of a relief for the irritation that had grown inside of him, it belied Qui-Gon's silent, aching plea for his student to come to his senses. Obi-Wan silently dropped his gaze away and let it rest blankly on a faded blotch on the wall.
Qui-Gon remembered when Obi-Wan had unsuccessfully tried taming a wild Chi'fra he had found cowering in the bushes near one of the temple atriums and it had spurted ink on the wall as well as the shocked Padawan. The stain had taken days to disappear from Obi-Wan's skin and, no matter how hard each of them scrubbed, never quite came off the wall. A wistful pang clenched his heart and the Master did not dwell on the recollection. He reminded himself that it was still possible to save the apprentice from the darkness that tore so mercilessly at his fragile soul.
"Obi-Wan," he said seriously, "Talk to me. This is killing you."
"It's under control." The words, though soft and unsure, spilled easily past the pink lips.
Qui-Gon scoffed. "I think that's debatable."
"You wouldn't understand," the Padawan protested weakly, and Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that Obi-Wan did not want to fight him, but felt obligated to do so. Still, the boy did not tear his gaze from the wall.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, softly commanding the tormented youth's attention, "You must confide in me. You *must.* Pretending this never happened to you—" He hesitated, then decided to bring the issue out in the open. "Pretending it never happened will not change the fact that you were raped," he said flatly.
Obi-Wan winced sharply at the word and Qui-Gon realized that it was the first time either had said it out loud. The Padawan turned away, shrugging more deeply within the folds of his robe.
"I know," he said quietly, then gave a soft moan. He rubbed his eyes with both hands before they vanished back into the sleeves of his robe. "I know…! I'm just trying to figure it out—" He felt that horrible flush color his cheeks again.
Raped!
So that was it, then. How…embarrassing? To have Qui-Gon say it like that was unbearable. Couldn't the man see that he did not want to talk about it? For one so attuned to the Living Force he certainly seemed blissfully unaware of the feelings of his own Padawan.
A sad smile softened the Master's sharp features. "I am aware, Obi-Wan. I can feel them so clearly even when you shield yourself." Qui-Gon stood and in one short stride was standing before the teenager. He put his hand to the boy's elbow and gently turned him so they faced each other. Obi-Wan's gaze flickered about nervously, anywhere but Qui-Gon's eyes.
"Why won't you allow me to help you?" Qui-Gon implored quietly. "You know I want to. Why do you insist on ignoring this? You're strong, Obi-Wan. Tell me why this time you have chosen to run instead of fight."
The Padawan looked up at his Master, shocked, and for a moment Qui-Gon's heart sang with hope. But Obi-Wan's eyes darkened and he wrenched his arm out of the older man's grasp. He stepped back to put some space between them and the Master was crushed when he felt the hurt entwined so deeply in his Padawan's voice, rather than hear the angry words spoken.
"How could you—You don't know—!" Obi-Wan stumbled over what he wanted to say. "There's no way in Sith you'd ever understand!" he cried, and wanted to weep when the red haze clouded his vision once more. "I can't talk about something like this. There aren't words. I thought you would know that!" He backed away a few steps more and muttered bitterly, "You, out of everyone in this damned temple."
Qui-Gon was prepared to let the questionable language go without comment in order to discover what the boy meant.
"What are you saying?" he demanded to know, only dimly aware that the volume of his voice had risen to match that of his apprentice's. More quietly he added, "No matter what you may think, Padawan, I cannot always know what you don't tell me."
Obi-Wan's eyes were bright with untempered anger. "I mean Tahl, for Force's sake!"
Qui-Gon stopped short and his eyes hardened, daring the young man to continue.
The apprentice was not swayed. "When she died you didn't talk to me. You kept it all in. I never understood why until now. Some things should be left alone. Sometimes," he muttered, "The pain goes too deep. It can't be helped."
It took the Master a moment to gather his wits about him, as they had been completely scattered by this admission, to remain calm.
"I refuse to allow you to make excuses, Obi-Wan." He did not want to entertain the notion that his actions, over a year old, were now coming to surface. "I refuse to allow you to continue like this. It's dangerous." He released the anger that had welled up inside of him—remembering that this was not completely Obi-Wan. This was something Obi-Wan had created to battle back the warped emotions twisting through him, an act to stave off the remnants of the creature that had hurt him so terribly.
He lowered his voice and cautiously closed the gap between them, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers over his Padawan's brow. Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered shut briefly in something like relief at the contact.
"The darkness has come too close to smothering your light these past few days, my Padawan. I am desperate to help you overcome it."
The boy was silent for a moment, and then slowly repeated, "Help," so softly that Qui-Gon almost did not hear it, as if he was testing the word on his tongue, and slowly lowered his gaze to the floor. He wanted to welcome the warmth Qui-Gon's touch brought to his cool skin—he could not ever seem to stay warm these days—but not yet.
Green eyes, heavily flecked and speckled with shards of blue were no longer dark with anger, but clouded with deep thought. They rose upward and regarded the Master quietly for a moment.
"Give me time," Obi-Wan said.
Qui-Gon placed both his hands firmly on either of the boy's shoulders.
"All that you need," was the easy reply.
* * *
