Growing Pains
Leap of Faith
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But it surely did not seem so now. Which, Obi-Wan Kenobi supposed, was proof of the adage he had just last week discovered in his favorite tome of ancient philosophy.
"Master Seva says that hindsight lends clarity while foresight often only obscures," he observed loftily.
"You could have used a bit more foresight, all the same," Qui-Gon Jinn retorted, frowning over his half-finished handiwork.
"But you always say-"
"Do not quote me at myself, young one." A slight pause. "And you can lay off the sagely platitudes while you're at it."
"….Yes, Master – ow!"
"Hold still, Padawan."
The older Jedi issued the command in an affectionately grumbling undertone, one broad hand firmly gripped about his apprentice's much smaller one, the other wielding a delicate pair of tweezers.
"Can't you help matters along with the Force?" his young protégé demanded.
One eyebrow quirked upward repressively.
"I'm sorry, Master."
"Just hold still. Or we will be repeating the meditation statue exercises ad infinitum."
Obi-Wan released a long breath and looked away, his focus vaguely inward, detached from the body. It was harder to suppress a tiny involuntary reaction such as a nervous tic or a reflexive flinch than to slow one's respiration or alter one's overall body temperature. That was the tricky part of Force manipulation – the more subtle the task, the more control it required. He made it through the next two splinters without a twitch – but when Qui-Gon yanked a particularly nasty sliver out of the soft tissue between thumb and forefinger, he nearly yelped.
And definitely winced.
"Obi-Wan."
"I'm…" – he almost said trying, which would have been a fatal error, so he settled for- "…working on it."
The tall man rolled back on his heels. "As I am working on this." His blue eyes widened slightly, conveying regret. "Perhaps we ought to seek out a medical droid after all."
"No. I can hold still." Obi-Wan obligingly stretched out his palm flat, despite the stabbing ache this caused. Bright red streaks marked the places where thin poisonous spines had penetrated beneath the skin; rougher patches, oozing blood, the spots where one had been removed. "Just do it."
"Very well." Qui-Gon did not express any doubt, even if he privately harbored it. They set to work again, one bent over the criss-crossing hash of injuries, the other fixing his gaze on the architectural intricacies of the ceiling, mind wandering deep into the Force, so that burning physical pain and the animal instinct to bolt, flee, escape became things other and outward, belonging to some abstract and inconsequential plane of being.
"Good," Qui-Gon's voice said from a great distance. His fingers and the cold vertices of the tool moved toward the very center of his student's hand, where sensitive uncalloused skin was pierced with an intricate network of needles. "Easy now." His precautionary grip tightened, forbidding movement. The metal tips of the tweezers probed experimentally at the throbbing wound.
His padawan's youthful features did not maintain an impeccable Jedi stoicism, but the hand did at least not jerk away from the tall man's ministrations.
"Is that all?"
Qui-Gon snapped the steri-seal on a bacta capsule and gently smeared the miraculous ointment into his student's palm and fingers. "For that side. Left hand next." He wrapped thin gauze around the hand and reached for the opposite one.
It was an absolute mess. "….Obi-Wan."
The young Jedi squirmed a bit, mouth twisting ruefully. "The Force told me to jump," he protested. "And there was nothing to grab but those vines."
"Which happened to be covered in miniscule, toxin-coated spines," Qui-Gon remarked, levelly. "You never do anything by halves, Padwan." He attacked the new set of splinters with unrelenting precision.
"And there was no exit route besides that window, Master. You said preserving the codex in the event of a complication was my first priority –"
"And it was." The Jedi master deftly extracted a nasty sliver and tossed it aside, frowning slightly as he strategically planned his next target. "And you did well; the Council of Elders specifically thanked me for my acolyte's bravery and initiative."
The praise eased the extraction of the next three spines. Obi-Wan impassively, mouth pressed into a thin line of endurance.
Qui-Gon worked silently, large frame bent studiously over his task, his large hands nonetheless nimbly tweaking and tugging the tiny barbs free of swollen skin. He dabbed at the oozing blood with an antiseptic.
"Mmph."
"I know." He prodded at the buried end of a particularly long and deeply embedded sliver. "Still. I wonder – did the Force tell you to grab the vines? Surely you sensed the danger."
Obi-Wan's shoulders fell forward. "I did, Master." He scowled. "But… there wasn't much choice. I wasn't sure I could direct my fall, with the artifacts on my back. They were heavy and awkward, and – well – you said not to be overconfident…"
"True." The older man exhaled slowly, working cautiously now. "Easy… just a little more. I do wonder if it is possible you overlooked another possibility in your haste."
His apprentice snorted a little. "My haste to hit the ground?"
Qui-Gon glanced up, allowing a hint of humor to show in his own eyes. "Your haste to leave a burning and collapsing building. Perfectly natural – but even under duress, we must be attuned to the subtleties of each situation."
"Yes, Master," the padawan miserably intoned.
The last splinter was withdrawn, with a shared hiss of displeasure on either side of the operation. Qui-Gon applied bacta, mouth turned down apologetically at the corners. "However, I think there is very little need for a lecture on the topic; it would seem fate has dealt out its own harsh reminder."
Obi-Wan dropped his gaze, regarding his bandaged hands with a singularly wry disapprobation. "This is good," he muttered, morosely sarcastic.
At which moment the serving droid chimed at the ambassadorial suite's door.
"Good evening sir Jedi. My masters send their compliments and ask whether you would join them for libations after evening meal? There is a small reception planned in the foyer."
Qui-Gon nodded. "We shall attend. Convey our thanks." He accepted the hover-tray and slid the panel closed upon the automated emissary.
"Food?" Obi-Wan's spirits perked up noticeably.
Until his efforts to handle the serving utensils and dishes proved little better than awkward fumblings. He dropped his temporarily crippled hands to his lap and sat fuming as Qui-Gon served up the meal.
"I'm sorry, Master, I know frivolous uses of the Force are forbidden, but in this instance-"
"In this instance," the Jedi master smirked, "You may choose between going hungry or suffering the humiliation of being fed like a baby thranctill."
"Regurgitation will not be necessary," Obi-Wan growled, one brow arching upward.
His companion chuckled heartily, and settled in his seat opposite. He waved a magnanimous hand. "I rescind my previous injunction. You may frivol at will."
The subsequent stretch of time proved several things. First, that their hosts –like politicians across the galaxy – kept a fine table, despite the depressed economy and food shortages afflicting their small planetary system. Second, that Obi-Wan's Force control was good, but not quite good enough to pull off the proposed feat. Third, that perukkh sauce left indelible and eye-catching stains upon simple cream linen tabards. Fourth, that it was very difficult indeed to extract oneself from Jedi uniform without the use of hands. Fifth, that the facilities boasted no laundry unit. Sixth, that such complications were actually sufficient to endanger the Republic ambassadors' punctuality.
They arrived downstairs late, but Qui-Gons' sheer impressive aura rendered it fashionably late. The entire Council of Elders reiterated their previous encomiums upon the Jedi, especially the very young hero, and lamented the explosion that had demolished a significant portion of their historic assembly hall.
"But our cultural heritage – our greatest treasure- has been preserved," the Spokesman enthused. "And so, we shall rebuild, as we have before."
The Jedi master bowed. "Your leadership will carry your traditions into the future."
"And you, young man," the Speaker blustered on, "That was a spectacular leap. The crowds outside were amazed, and I must say, I would never even dare to touch one of those horrid vines." He shook his head admiringly. "They are covered in poison spines, you know. Ah, the magical things you Jedi can do. You inspire us all, I am sure."
Obi-Wan glanced up at Qui-Gon, then made a careful bow, keeping his hands securely tucked away out of view, inside his voluminous cloak sleeves. The Speaker ambled away, a glass of liqueur in one hand.
"Master?"
The tall man steered him by one shoulder toward the open balcony doors adjacent. The night breeze outside was cool, a relief from the stuffy environs within. They leaned upon the smooth parapet railing.
"Let him draw his own conclusions. More important to me is this: what have you learned?"
Obi-Wan peered at the creepers clinging to the stone wall. "That those blasted things grow everywhere here."
"Perhaps they were planted as a means of defense. The species has great longevity, and would serve as a primitive deterrent to any would-be thief or intruder hoping to scale the wall."
The young Jedi shrugged, shifting his arms beneath his robe. He released another long breath. "Well, I'm suitably deterred."
Qui-Gon leaned over the edge and fingered one of the thick green ropes. "Ah," he murmured. "The spines are not apparent immediately. They only rise perpendicular to the stalk when you apply pressure… or drag downward like this." He withdrew his hand quickly, rubbing at two fingers. "A natural defense. To the touch, however they are quite soft. Try it."
His apprentice hesitated fractionally, then humored him. "Oh," he said. "That's odd."
"I see now," Qui-Gon remarked.
"I don't understand."
"I see what you should have done," the tall man clarified. "Consider the moment of action again. What might you have done differently?"
Obi-Wan's brows quirked upward, then beetled together as he mulled over the problem. "I had to jump," he insisted. "I could feel the Force- as though it was urging me to jump, to escape – the explosion happened only a moment after that –"
"You were quite right to obey your instincts. But listen to what you said. You felt that you should jump."
"Yes, Master," his apprentice helplessly concurred. "But it is a long way down form the top level – the plaza is at least a hundred meters below, and we haven't practiced Force-cushioning a fall from that height, and – "
"Obi-Wan."
The tirade ceased.
"Stop thinking. Use your instincts. You followed the guidance of the Force, up to a point. It was after you jumped that you made your fatal error."
The young Jedi grimaced and thrust his gauze-wrapped hands out from beneath wide sleeve hems. "I grabbed the vines to slow my descent," he objected. "There was nothing else to do but fall, Master!"
Qui-Gon folded his own arms and leaned back against the wall, expectant. "You didn't have to slow your descent."
His protégé eyed him warily. "I should have… simply fallen?" he asked, bemused.
A small chuckle. "I'll show you." The Jedi master sprang lightly onto the rail, and summoned Obi-Wan up beside him. They balanced, sure-footed as mountain yarrix. "This balcony is only a few stories above ground level. But the demonstration should suffice to illustrate the principle."
"The principle of falling on our faces."
"The principle, young one, of heeding the Force and flowing with a situation, rather than second-guessing it. There is such a thing as an excess of caution."
Obi-Wan favored him with a look of purest skepticism.
"When I say three, we both leap off the edge," the tall man commanded, tone brooking no opposition. "One, two, three."
They leapt in unison; Qui-Gon's emerald blade sprang out of its hilt with a startling snap and hiss; a wide swath of creepers were neatly sliced from their moorings and sent tumbling downward alongside the Jedi; a neat Force push propelled the tangled mess of stem and leaf toward the waiting pavement just ahead of the two plummeting figures; the greenery hit first, providing a neat mattress of limply coiled vegetation upon which the two of them made a safe- if somewhat squelching- landing.
Only a handful of stray spines ended up stuck in the protective folds of their cloaks.
"You see," Qui-Gon said, dusting himself off as he rolled free of the mess, "A solution always presents itself."
Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet and stared wide-eyed at the heap of fallen vines. His mouth twisted, in disappointment or disgust. "I never thought of that."
"You had very little time in which to ponder a strategy," the older man consoled him. "But I think in this case anxiety about falling might have retarded the progress of intuition. Next time the Force tells you to jump-"
"Just jump." Obi-Wan nodded somberly. "I understand." He glanced upward at the illuminated balcony above. "Of course, that does not make for a very diplomatic exit."
They could, of course, simply leap back up; the height of the windows above was not outside the padawan's current range of skill. "I would rather walk in the gardens anyhow," Qui-Gon decided. "I think our brief appearance at the reception fulfills the demands of duty."
"You mean, you realized it after the fact," Obi-Wan interpreted. "Master Seva says –"
"Yes, Padawan. Hindsight lends clarity. Foresight often obscures. But," – he tugged at the short learner's braid behind his apprentice's ear- "it is best to keep your focus in the present moment."
They walked on, boots crunching a muted cadence upon gravel. "…And your hands off spiny native life forms."
Obi-Wan shoved his hands into his sleeves and huffed out a vexed reply. "Yes, Master."