Ewan's girl Thank you.
Athena Thanks so much for your support.
Rieyeuxs Wow, your review was very flattering. All I can really think to say is thank you.
Master kaym At least Ani's out of the picture Is he?
O
The first year had been difficult, and the saddest moments of that time swirled in the chalice, deep violet.
Qui-Gon could hear the excited crackling of conversation from his place on the balcony. He stood, drink in one hand, the silken tips of Obi-Wan's hair in the other. That hair had grown longer, to the neck, and was combed once a day.
Below them, the Temple was caught up in a rare instance of utter celebration. It was the new year, and hopeful smiles spread on the faces he had known.
He took a long swallow of his wine.
Obi-Wan sat beside him, clad in both thermal tunics and his Master's cloak, to stave off the chill compounded by the twilight breeze. The ugly shadows beneath his eyes had been lessened by the few hours of sleep he garnered each night.
But the nightmares made sure they were never erased completely.
Sometimes, it was only whimpering, and Qui-Gon could bring him out of it quickly, without much damage. But more often, it was an onslaught of ragged screams, the kind born of terror. The same screams that populated the Master's nightmares.
Brilliant shimmers exploded in the sky, followed by a spirited round of applause.
He turned away, looking down at his Padawan. He wanted to apologize for the thoughts that trespassed his mind, thoughts of gratitude for the frightened cries that relieved the silence and brought him something of the young man he cared for. But instead, "Anakin's loving this, I bet. He'll probably swipe a few sticks and set them off in the apartment tonight." He laughed quietly. "He has enough energy for ten initiates."
Qui-Gon still waited for responses, and he paused before sinking into the other chair. "I wonder if maybe you would handle him better than I am. I think it's hard for him to relate to me, the old man that I am."
He couldn't deny the wear Obi-Wan's condition was to them both. Silver was overtaking chestnut in his hair, and it wasn't uncommon for him to skip meals, while assuring that his student's intravenous feedings were completed.
And how would he explain the facts, gritty and cruel, to Anakin?
Qui-Gon wrapped his fingers around Obi-Wan's. Once, about a month before, he was convinced he felt returned pressure when he held his hand and it had since become a test. He idly rubbed a circle in the cool palm with a thumb. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. You should be out with your friends tonight, not with me." He caressed the side of his face. "But next year, right?"
O"Shh," Qui-Gon soothed, "It isn't real, Obi-Wan. Dreams aren't real."
Spring was flourishing around the planet and within the Temple, yet Obi-Wan trembled. Small gasps scraped in the quiet, and the fear was entirely real.
Qui-Gon held him tighter, "Wake up. Please. Tell me what it is, and I'll make it right. Anything, Obi-Wan, and I'll make it right."
A few more minutes, and he could sense Obi-Wan awaken.
"Tell me," He whispered fiercely, "Tell me what it is and I'll help. I'll do whatever it takes."
Qui-Gon waited, staring down at his student through the darkness. He wasn't sure if an hour or a minute passed before he abandoned the effort and leaned back against the wall, cradling Obi-Wan's head on his shoulder. He sought the hand—
And felt a weak squeeze from frigid fingers.
Qui-Gon could scarcely believe it. "O-Obi-Wan?" The tears appeared before the smile could, "Can you hear me?"
No answer, but the grip was steady.
Obi-Wan was holding on.
OHe wasn't sure what to do.
Obi-Wan's birthday had come midsummer, an event he meant to pass relatively unmarked. But Anakin discovered the special date and wanted very much to give him a party, the kind his mother had thrown on Tatooine. The excitement and sparkle of renewing a tradition of his old home had been beautiful in his young eyes, and Qui-Gon had felt his heart contract.
But he couldn't bring himself to feign celebration, not even for the kind boy who helped whenever and however he could. He couldn't sing jubilant tunes and eat cake while Obi-Wan sat, unaware. It was the day that marked growth in his life, but he was paralyzed in the moment on the generator floor. He was still twenty-five years old in his own mind, and in his Master's. Why wrap a present when it simply couldn't be opened?
So he had gently let Anakin down with the promise that when the boy's birthday came round, there would be a wonderful, magnificent party unequalled in fun and gaggy sweets. The child's grin had been blinding, and Qui-Gon was left with a clear conscience to sit beside his apprentice, grip his hand and talk of plain things.
But now, a few months later, he just wasn't sure what to do.
Anakin was eleven today, and mindful of the vow made by his guardian, had his young heart set on going to the races. Not just any races, the boy had assured him, but 'the fastest, most intense races with the sleekest vehicles. And it's not even illegal!'
A real positive, considering where his taste for speed and adventure could sometimes lead him. It was a small request that Qui-Gon was prepared to grant, but it brought up the torturous question:
What about Obi-Wan?
He had never left his Padawan for more than an hour since their return from Naboo, and it was only in circumstances involving the Council. Only in obligations he couldn't remove himself from, despite powerful attempts. How could he leave him now, not for official business, but to watch races on the other side of the planet? Who would ward off the nightmares and encourage movement from frozen fingers?
Anakin was already tearing his room apart in search of suitable material for his heroes to scrawl their autographs upon. He couldn't break the promise, and watch those little shoulders slump and the mouth hang in a frown.
Qui-Gon crouched before Obi-Wan, resting his palms on the blanketed knees. In the half-light of the bedroom, Obi-Wan's pallor was bleached and the drying tear tracks were once again visible on his thin cheeks. He had begun to cry, silently, in the day hours, always without consolation. Although, he wasn't always alone in his quiet weeping.
Blunt, life-worn fingers stroked the places where the misery had fallen. "I won't be long, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon suddenly sealed his eyes, to combat the thought that his departure had brought the warm moisture to gray eyes, "Garen is in the Temple for awhile, so I'm going to ask if he can stay with you. He'll be…he'll be so happy to see you." A jagged boulder was lodged in his throat, he could barely swallow, "Maybe I've been selfish, keeping you to myself the way I have." He placed a soft kiss on Obi-Wan's temple and smoothed his hair, "I won't be long."
And then, as if to explain the betrayal Qui-Gon perceived it to be, "It's his birthday."
He composed himself and contacted Garen, who arrived quickly. The tall, dark-haired Knight had been skimpy on formalities, going to his oldest friend and folding his arms around him in a tender embrace.
Qui-Gon knew it was a private moment, but couldn't bring himself to separate from Obi-Wan, not yet. He watched Garen's head lean into the curve of Obi-Wan's neck and the small quakes begin to shake his broad back. From the passion of his sorrow, Qui-Gon had to wonder if the young Knight had ever allowed himself to mourn the tragedy of his friend—or if he was waiting until he saw for himself the aftermath.
He's been busy. A new Knight on missions. Qui-Gon rationalized to himself. There just wasn't time. In his civil inner dialogue, there was no mention of the several instances when Garen would call and ask, in a mild tone uncharacteristic of the brash pilot, if he could visit Obi-Wan.
Anakin came bounding up to him, smiling widely. "Are you ready to go?"
Qui-Gon shook himself from the agonizing stupor and looked down at his ward, the tears retreating before they could descend. "We sure are." It was a lie, completely.
OThe stands were packed, and even from his place among them, the crowds looked like a distant, dotted mosaic. The contestants pushed full throttle around the track, leaving thin streaks of exhaust to mingle with the dust. One driver narrowly avoided crushing into the sidewall, and there was a collective gasp from the fans.
Beside Qui-Gon, Anakin released an exasperated, "Whoa!"
The Master smiled and laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder. It was a few minutes before there was enough of a lull in the action for him to speak. "Are you having a good birthday, Ani?"
He blinked up at Qui-Gon and nodded. "It's been the best."
Qui-Gon smiled again. "I'm glad." And it WAS true. He wanted Anakin to be happy. He just didn't want that happiness to come at the expense of Obi-Wan. But to stay in constant company with his Padawan would cheat Anakin.
It seemed whatever he did, he was hurting someone.
Qui-Gon looked away and swallowed. The buzz and roar of the race was at his ear, and he let himself be absorbed in the race.
If only for a few hours, his mind was without chains or pain.
O