Thanks everyone for reading, and because life has kept me busy, I'm posting 2 chapters. Do note by Chapter 61 Obi-Wan will have found some peace and will be moving past the trauma into the final stages of recovery with a greater focus on developing the will-they, won't they romance (the worst will be behind Obi-Wan and he can focus more on other things).
Blood – it was all his fault, his fault
"Obi, I'm fine. It's my fault for making you jump like that," Bant soothed, wiping away the drop of blood from her nose. Without thinking she had bent over the sleeping Jedi and lightly touched his shoulder. He had woken with a start, and in the process his head had collided with her face.
"Obi, look at me, I'm fine." Bant sat next to her friend and carefully pried his hands from his eyes. 'I'm fine, see."
With a hitched breath, Obi-Wan stared at her and then, much to Bant's surprise, he engulfed her in a hug.
"Whoa, there, Obi, let me breath. Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He grinned sheepishly and reached a gentle hand to Bant's nose. He sounded so contrite that Bant nearly laughed. "Bant, I'm so sorry."
"No harm, Mon Calamari noses don't bleed like humans do. One little drop and that's about all."
"One little drop"…but he'd seen so many more.
"Yeah, just one little drop," he agreed. He touched her nose again. "But I caused this one as well."
The scare of the morning was long past by the early afternoon.
Master and padawan sat side by side in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, feet submerged in the lake, quietly enjoying each other's company. The healers had encouraged Anakin to accompany Obi-Wan on short forays within the Temple to build up his stamina. With most adult Jedi away at the war, it was easy to schedule such outings when classes were in session, for as yet Neille wished to protect the Jedi from the stress of interacting with multiple Jedi at once – especially young and exuberant young ones delighted in the knowledge that one who had been missed was now back home.
"Do you … dream, Master?" Anakin pulled his feet out of the lake and tucked them under him.
He'd been out of the Temple that night when Obi-Wan had had that disturbing nightmare that had brought Siri to his side. He'd been in the arms of his wife when his master had been in the arms of horror. Guilt had chained him close since then, but whatever dreams the Jedi had since then brought neither the padawan nor the friend to his side in the nights.
If his sleep was often disturbed, or not at all, Anakin really did not know, other than that sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to waken with a smile on his face rather than tears in his eyes.
It seemed a logical question, then, to ask, if the smiles came with dreams and the cries with the nightmares.
Now he dared to ask, as over the past few days Obi-Wan had begun to share some of his youth with him, fond memories, sad memories, some with Qui-Gon in them and some without. The words had been tentative at first, almost shy. As Anakin had encouraged his mentor to speak the words flowed more freely.
At first he had listened, the healer's words still fresh in his mind. "Let him speak of things he remembers fondly. Let him know it's safe to be open."
He had been affronted at the implication – if the man didn't feel safe speaking to his padawan after all these years, there was something wrong between them – but Anakin quickly realized that Cielan had already known what he had been beginning to realize for himself – Obi-Wan Kenobi did not share himself easily, and even less so when such sharing seemed not welcome.
He knew little about his master's youthful exploits, fears or dreams, largely because he had never asked.
So he had talked to Bant and he had talked to Siri; after that he had talked to his master. Obi-Wan had stared at him; then touched his hand to the padawan's forehead with a quip about "fevers" and "delirium." When Anakin pressed for more, his master had almost been at a loss for words at this sudden interest in his past, not realizing that speaking of the past was one way for Anakin to find out who the man was that had grown into his master and possibly help that man he had become move forward to healing.
"No, Master, don't tell me about Qui-Gon – tell me about you," he said. Almost shyly, he'd added as Obi-Wan stared at him in shock, "I've come to realize that, well, there are lots of things about my own master that I don't know – and want to know."
Pleasure and surprise fought their way across the Jedi's countenance, before he slowly nodded. "I'd like that…if you'd really like to know, not just because one of the healers suggested it. Oh, Anakin, I'm not dim-witted – it's one of the same techniques we use in negotiating, after all, get all parties comfortable in speaking up."
"Okay, it was Healer E'Shon's suggestion, but I decided maybe she was right, even if for the wrong reason." He debated with himself on how open to be, to risk opening potential wounds. If there was one thing he had learned over the past months, it was how much Obi-Wan meant to him, and how much of the man he did not truly know – only thought he knew.
Had he lost Obi-Wan, truly lost him, there would be too little of him to commit to his heart as Obi-Wan had committed Qui-Gon.
He had never once thought there could be a time when Obi-Wan wasn't in his life, but now he knew it was possible. Jabiim had proven how frail such certainty of immortality was – Kenobi and Skywalker would not always be a team. When the Force called one of them home, that one would go and the other would have to remain behind.
"What reason would that be, my padawan?"
There was something in Obi-Wan's gentle gaze that indicated some of his thoughts were clear to his master. Obi-Wan was touched and amused at the same time, but not going to let his padawan off easily – Anakin needed to speak what was in his thoughts. Hadn't his master always let his padawan find his own words and his own way – even his own answers when such was possible?
"Master, I, uh, know Master Qui-Gon is not truly gone to you, because you have so much of him in your memories. Some part of him lives on because of that. I want more of you to live on, too, than I have now."
"That means a lot to me, Padawan. Thank you."
His master's reaction was proof enough he didn't know his master as well as he thought. Discussing his potential demise didn't bother him in the slightest; Obi-Wan was at peace with the Force on the subject. He was touched by his padawan's words rather than bothered by the subject.
With Anakin's encouragement, Obi-Wan had spoken a bit haltingly, occasionally darting glances at his padawan as if doubting he was sitting there speaking not of Qui-Gon, but of Qui-Gon and himself, himself and Garen, with or without Bant.
Superficial things and little moments, so much of what they had spoken of consisted of just such things. Anakin vowed it was just the beginning. It would take a lifetime for a lifetime's memories to be shared, and Anakin meant to savor every moment of it.
"Dream as in dreams, or do you mean the nightmares?" Obi-Wan asked. He turned his gaze from the lake before them to his padawan's eyes and smiled. "Both, I think. So far the nightmares elude me upon awakening, and while the healers say that is not good, I consider it so. I prefer the times I awake with dreams built from memories of my friends and of my padawan - of you jumping in my bed your first violent storm, or the first time you asked to go swimming – in water!"
"You remember both those?" Anakin was delighted, and deeply touched that some of his "firsts" meant as much to Obi-Wan as to himself. "You know, Master, I – ah, I'm sorry we lost some of that closeness for a while."
To his surprise, Obi-Wan reached out an arm and draped it over his padawan's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, too. Perhaps neither of us handled the transition well – of you growing from a child in need of direction to -," an impish smile spread across Obi-Wan's face, "an adult young man still in need of direction."
Anakin met that impish smile with one of his own. "Is that why I'm always leading you astray?"
"Ah, Padawan, but I always follow, do I not?"
"Muttering that awful saying about the definition of stupidity," Anakin countered.
"So you do pay attention to me."
"Sometimes, yes," Anakin allowed, not failing to catch the twinkle in his master's eyes.
Truly, his eyes had been opened to so much since their reunion, the talk in the shuttle, the touching of his master's memories in the bacta tank. Chancellor Palpatine would be pleased at his young friend's growing understanding of his master. As busy as he was, the older man had done his best to make up to his young friend for the perceived lack of warmth from his mentor that Anakin had often complained about.
If he could just get the stubborn man to fully open up to him and let Anakin give him an emotional shoulder to lean on, but Obi-Wan would always be Obi-Wan – only allowing hints of his real emotions out – but they were making a beginning.
Don't push him, padawan, but do encourage him to release whatever he can with unconditional acceptance. Cielan had been quite clear on that. If he doesn't find a way to release everything to the Force, everything will find some release at some point, some way, perhaps explosively. If he lets out a little at a time, the results will be less spectacular but far less alarming to witness.
"I know," Obi-Wan whispered conspiratorially, putting a hand on the young Jedi's shoulder and squeezing lightly. Despite himself, Anakin's eyebrow rose in dead imitation of his master.
"Uh, know what?"
"You want to give me a change of scenery to make me feel good, so you're sitting here with your old master when you no doubt wish to be elsewhere. I appreciate that."
"I want to be here for you, Master. You've always been at my side when I've needed you, if it was at all possible. I know you don't really need me, or anyone really, because you seem almost yourself again – and I'm glad. I knew you could put this behind you fairly quickly."
"Well, I'm not entirely there, yet." He pulled his feet out of the water. Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, Obi-Wan regarded his padawan with slightly shamed eyes, as if confessing something he found difficult.
"The truth is, Padawan, most of the time I feel in control and I don't know what it is the healers worry about. I try to live in the present as Qui-Gon taught me. Then I overreact to hitting Bant in the nose – no, not on purpose," he tweaked Anakin's own nose playfully, "and then I realize I'm not fully myself yet, either."
The words lingered in the air as Anakin absorbed them. Suddenly, he tilted his head to the side with a grin.
"If you're not my master, then who are you?"
Obi-Wan's rich laugh startled the padawan. "You know, I think I remember Mace asking me something similar - who did I think I was. Are you two in this together?"
"Master Windu and I?" Anakin merely rolled his eyes. "He barely tolerates me – can you see us conspiring – together – against you? I have a better idea – you and I against him."
In response, a fond hand ruffled his hair as Obi-Wan hesitated before leaning close and whispering, "That 'wig delivery' stunt of yours – I knew about it. How do you think I just happened to be visiting Mace at the right time?"
A slow grin spread across Anakin's face. Wig Order for Windu, ah yes, a fond memory.
"Hey, you're not such a stick in the mud after all, Master."
"Not always, Padawan, not always. I saw no harm in such a prank, and I knew eventually Mace would see the humor in it, too. Um, remember the hairy spider 'the size of a Bantha' that dropped on you up there on that diving platform? I believe you had been hesitating about making your first dive into the pool from that height."
"No – that was Master Windu?" At Obi-Wan's nod, Anakin doubled up but didn't fail to notice the reminiscent grin on his master's face. "You were in on it, too!"
"Your master? Why Padawan, why would I resort to such a trick to get you to jump off the platform when all I would have needed to do was to ask you to step back from the edge? That would only be running away from your fears, now wouldn't it – or should I say jumping?"
With a friendly clap on the shoulder, Obi-Wan stood. "For the record, I'm not afraid of fish served with the head still on." At Anakin's puzzled look, a little smile crossed his face.
"Master Windu, however, is."
The peace of earlier had long since evaporated. Obi-Wan longed to be back in the spot that comforted him, holding a normal conversation with his padawan, listening for the Force in the soft splash of the fountains or scenting it in the delicate aroma of Haleothe blossoms.
Instead he faced a persistent healer.
"Do you think you can talk some more on that?"
The question brought Obi-Wan upright; he had been slumped in a seat, relieved, or so he thought, to be finished – ready to rest after a long afternoon.
"What 'more'?" he inquired a tad grumpily. "Force, you want me to draw you a diagram – show you the scars?"
Cielan refused to be baited, which the Jedi had to admit made his irritation just a bit less frustrating. He wasn't really trying to bait her, but her questions made him feel like she was baiting him.
Like she had.
"The scars are all too evident without that, Obi-Wan."
He dropped his head into his hands. Better that than to throw up his arms and pace around like a deranged Jedi. Better that than growling. As time went on, she only grew calmer as he grew more agitated.
He had been rather satisfied that he was moving forward; his ability to speak without shaking of what was done to him dulled by repetition and too many years of too many wounds.
That didn't mean he enjoyed speaking of such things – and to have Cielan make him focus on such had him rather wondering at the state of her mental health.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting Cielan away and inadvertently shutting himself in with stirred up memories.
How many times did he need to relive it…?
…The vibroblade twisted as it drove deeper, rasping and tearing living flesh until the moist flesh of her hand – moist in the wash of his blood – connected with his bare skin. It was cold, wet and slithery though it brought only searing fire shocking through him.
With a laugh deep in her throat, the vibroblade was twisted free and withdrawn and her hand swirled around the wound, stroking the red swells into patterns, painting him with red as her tongue sipped from his skin… delicate sips from a cruel mouth…a mouth that seemed suddenly determined to taste the horror and pain leaching through his pores…her eyes dropped lower and she smiled before dipping her head down….
"Obi-Wan, wake up."
"What?" His voice wavered as he blinked. Cielan now sat at his side, her hands against his cheeks. He groaned and tried to sit up straight.
"Sshh, just breathe for a few minutes. You fell asleep and had a nightmare."
"I – what?"
"A nightmare. Want to tell me about it?"
It took a while for the words to sink in. He had been lost in the memory of her teeth sinking in where a moment before lips had worried his flesh in an ecstasy of abandonment. He brushed a hand across his forehead as if brushing away the memories, but it wasn't so easy.
"No," he admitted. Yet, it was a nightmare born from a memory, real and yet not real; the difference between blurred by a desire not to remember. He didn't want to speak of it – but he wanted to get past it, and if speaking of it meant Cielan would let it go….
"That must have hurt terribly."
He nodded; she was speaking of his nightmare, he was speaking of the entire nightmare he'd escaped from.
"After awhile, it was hard to tell. Once the pain is a living thing, it's – well – you just endure."
"So now you numb it as best you can. You talk about this burn, that punch, that vibroblade slash – but you speak of each one as it you were reciting a laundry list of wounds. I can get those details from Neille and Bant."
"What details do you want?" He finally snapped; accusing her of taking an unhealthy delight in the details he had yielded.
"I was beaten… stabbed, burned…how many times do I have to tell you that? Did I forget to mention something that left a scar behind or something? What do you want me to say! When every nerve in my body was afire with pain, do you want me to say I should have just bit my lip, that a Jedi wouldn't scream from the pain….well, when my throat was too raw to scream anymore, was I a Jedi then? Oh, Force, it hurt…."
He turned his head away; heedless of the tears trickling down his cheeks for the pain in his throat was so bad that he couldn't even scream anymore.
"This will make your throat feel better," Cielan said after a few minutes of silence, a glass of warm water in her hand.
"How?" he croaked.
"You're rubbing your throat, for one thing." After he took the glass and swallowed a few mouthfuls, she said gently, "It's not really sore is it? It was, but it's not now, is it?
"It was so real," Obi-Wan said, closing his eyes and leaning wearily against the seat back.
"It was real - then. So, do you really think a Jedi wouldn't scream with that much pain inflicted on him? What if was another Jedi there? Would you be upset if that Jedi screamed, or would you think the Jedi didn't deserve to be called one, because he screamed – what if it was your padawan?"
He stared at her and then slowly shook his head.
"So we agree – even a Jedi would scream with all that pain, so I guess that means you're a Jedi as well."
"You really should be a mind healer," Obi-Wan grumped.
"You think? Here." Cielan grasped his hands and sent waves of Force to brush his mind until she felt him relax. "Does that help – I know this was an intense session."
"Thank you, I'm sorry…I got snappish again. I hate that."
"I pushed you to it, okay? I'll forgive you if you forgive me."
When Cielan grinned at him, he slowly grinned back and nodded. "I'm on to you, now. When I feel like I was – or am – not coping well, I just need to plop an imaginary Jedi in my place? Predictable; I should have seen that coming from parsecs away."
He shook his head slowly. Sometimes part of the answer just stared one in the face; one just had to recognize it and accept it.
Cielan had gifted him with the obvious; it was now up to him to find a way to make use of it.
