Vokara Che (the Healer) pushes Obi-Wan Kenobi to deal with the aftermath of the death of Qui-Gonn Jinn.

Grief - (Prompt 42: Anatomy)

To learn is to delve deeper into the unknown.

In order to find the source of a problem, first we have to be familiar with the system. I learned this long ago, when I was yet an apprentice healer, deeply appalled by the dissections we had to visit every week. I learned to accept this method of study eventually, but with some hidden resentment always lingering behind. This path to healing seemed unfavourably crude.

As I sat with the young knight in the gardens now, I suddenly saw it in a different light. Dissection was necessary in order to find the flawed piece. All creatures of the Force were inherently deep, and vastly complex. Cutting to the core was usually the only way to succeed.

'What is wrong?' I asked and there was such a strong Force-suggestion behind those words that Obi-Wan had to grit his teeth to hold his mental shields in place.

'There is nothing wrong,' he answered verbally, and mentally he added 'There is only the Force.'

Denial.

The insistent beating down of my inquisitive powers on the gates of his consciousness was becoming rather irksome to him, I could tell. Still, I was not known for giving up. (Neither was he.)

'Do not lecture me, I am not your new-found apprentice. And lying ill becomes a Jedi.'

Had he not been Kenobi, had he not been always perfectly polite, master of the Force and more so the master of himself, he would have answered. 'Get the kriff out of my head.'

Anger.

Instead he smiled and tried to negotiate. His unsettling blue eyes glinted with humour and challenge, preparing for combat. Apparently mental games were enjoyable to him.

'Admittedly I am a bit restless as of late. Nothing that I can't handle though. I, and all others I am sure, admire and value your unique set of skills, Master Che, but I am afraid you are wasting your inimitable capacities on me.'

Bargaining.

Ever the honeyed-tongue. As if my ears had not long been attuned to irony.

'Do not stall, youngling. You are in pain. Your master died.'

'There is no death.'

This time however, the answer was not the equivalent a calculated saber-action, but a reflex-mechanism. The mantra was practiced and I could tell we were one step closer to truths. The automated defensive action meant that simple facts bypassed his mental shields.

'He is incapable of fending off truth,' I realized with a sense of admiration. But I pressed on nonetheless.

'And yet, he died.'

'He became one with the Force.' Another automated response, absolutely devoid of conviction.

To him, the Force was a hollow place now, entirely without comfort. Entirely without Qui-Gonn Jinn.

(Was it wise, this bonding of master and padawan? It always bred so much pain.)

'He died. You are hurt.' Again, the bare truth. This course of action seemed to work, and I was not about to abandon a successful procedure.

'I am not hurt.' This time, it was not denial. To him, his pain was inaccessible.

Depression.

'Qui-Gonn Jinn is dead.' (Persisting. With the scalpel against the skin, with the Force against the mental resistance of the patient, with the truth against all defensive mechanisms of the soul… )

He looks at me and cringes visibly and those blue eyes are turbid and confused now, and he looks away and gasps 'Master'.

Because there is the Force, yes, but there is pain here, abundant pain; and all mental shields and dams of discipline are gone, carried away by this flood of grief.

'I am hurting.'

There is guilt in his voice, because he knows he is not supposed to, because he was raised to let go, to have no possession, no attachment, because he was raised to believe the lie that there was no pain, only the Force.

(The Force was Pain.)

'Good.' I said, surprising myself. He sought absolution, and I refused to give it.

'For now, that is enough.'

'I should accept.'

'Yes.' I nodded and stood up. 'In time.'

I answered with a soft smile.

Cutting to the core meant the wound would not fester, all traces of purulence gone.

'You are where you need to be, Kenobi. Acceptance will come. In time.' And since this time he was vulnerable and unprepared, my Force suggestion overpowered his resistance.

You never leave a wound reopened, but always apply salve to the scarred tissues.

'Rest is vital, Master Kenobi. Your young apprentice shall not find you here.'

And with a final push, young Obi-Wan was asleep under the shade of the Corellian apple tree.

In addition to this story you should probably know that the word 'anatomy' (coming from ancient Greek) originally means something like 'to cut up'.