Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Mouse.
Summary:
A/N: So here is chapter two. For those of you waiting for an update to Human, I apologize. It's not abandoned it's just… stuck. I'm still working on it though. Anyway, here is the continuing story of Lost as our Jedi try to put things back together in the aftermath of Xanatos's mischief.
A/N 2: Big thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta Maevependergast. I still couldn't resist tweaking somethings so all mistakes found here are mine.
Thanks:
-No reviews this time. /sniff sniff :'(
Please R&R!
~LOST~
Chapter 2 – Wake-up Call
It was still quite early when Ar Songe finished his morning rounds and left the Healing Halls to follow up on Master Jinn's recommendation. Life in the Temple was already buzzing with a gentle wakefulness as the first wave of Jedi and the clans from the crèche began their journeys to the refectory for firstmeal. Ar gave polite nods of greeting at many of the masters and a few of the knights he passed. He gave a smile and a wave to the still sleepy-eyed members of the Clawmouse Clan as their crèche master herded them by. There was still a smile on his heavily tattooed face when he reached the desired door on one of the masters' halls of residence. After a quick check of his robes and with his expression schooled to one of gentle serenity, Ar pressed the door chime to alert the Jedi in residence of his request for entrance. It was only the matter of a scant few heartbeats before the door slid open to reveal the master he sought.
"Master Uvain," he greeted with a deep bow.
"Master Songe," Tahl greeted, surprise evident in widened stripped eyes. "Please, come in," she said as she stepped aside in a clearly welcoming gesture. Ar gave another slight bow before crossing the threshold to her quarters, but he was brought up short as he quickly realized she was not alone.
"My apologies. I did not know you already had guests."
"It's fine, Ar," Tahl replied as she let the door slide close behind her. "Would you like some tea? I believe there is still hot water in the kettle."
"Thank you, but no. I'm afraid this will not be a long visit as I am still on shift in the ward, but I wanted to speak to you in person."
Though he had endeavored to keep his tone neutral, something in it must have sparked a note of anxiety with the other Jedi in the room. Mace, who had thus far sat quietly on the couch, suddenly leaned forward and levered his intense gaze upon the master healer.
"Has something occurred with one of your patients?" the Councilor intoned.
"Not with one of my patients, no," the healer responded carefully. Tahl took a seat beside Mace on the couch and gestured to the empty armchair to her left. Ar pulled his cloak beneath him as he took the offered seat. Both Jedi remained quiet, apparently waiting for him to elaborate.
"Padawan Kenobi has fully recovered from his physical injuries and Master Jinn is well on his way to doing the same."
"And Padawan Mir?" Mace asked nearly interrupting him.
"Her condition is unchanged since last reported to the Council," he replied. "She has not yet awakened, however, if she remains unconscious much longer we may choose to rouse her by artificial means. At this point, my concern is for her master."
"Vresh? Why?" Tahl asked beating a frowning Windu to the punch.
"You are aware of Master Tivi's… proclivities towards stubbornness?" Ar stated in unnecessary diplomacy. Mace sighed, the lines in his forehead deepening.
"A profound awareness," he groused as Tahl badly concealed a soft laugh behind her hand.
"He refuses to leave her side ignoring his own needs for sustenance and sleep. His emotions are as erratic as his Force signature."
"That kind of single-minded, over protective nature is not uncommon for masters, especially those of junior padawans," Tahl countered. Ar dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"But if his Force signature is as unbalanced as you say," Mace began. "He could prove a danger to himself."
"And to other patients in the ward. Unintentionally, mind you," Ar quickly added forestalling the objection he saw forming on Tahl's lips. "As far as I can tell he is either unwilling or unable to meditate. The result of remaining in such a high stress state is severely affecting his control. I could forcibly sedate him, but I would rather not resort to such… blunt action if it can be avoided."
Mace gave the master healer a sharp nod.
"Agreed. I will order him to return to his quarters."
"An order he would likely follow," Ar answered hesitatingly.
"But?" Mace inquired.
"But one just as likely to engender severe resentment and returning to his quarters, in and of itself, may not necessarily equate to eating and sleeping."
"Then what do you suggest?" Mace asked and at this Ar smiled in a rare show of his mischievous nature.
"It was suggested by Master Jinn that perhaps it was time unleash the only thing in our Jedi arsenal that is scarier than a Council directive," he answered with a pointed look towards Tahl. Mace's eyes followed his and a smile lit up his face.
"You know for once I think Qui-Gon has the right idea," he said. Tahl looked between the two masters and shook her head.
"This is what all my years have come to - wrangling gundark-brained masters? I should charge for this kind of service," she sighed. Mace's smile widened.
"A Jedi seeks not profit."
The dead do not dream. Only sleepers dream and the dead do not sleep. Sleep is for the living. But it has also been said that Jedi do not dream, not truly. They may see the certain past, the possible future, or even other presents on the tiny screens of their closed lids, but dream they do not. So, when Obi-Wan awoke with his heart pounding against his ribs and gasping for breath, his legs caught in a tangle of bedclothes he is certain of two things.
He is not dead.
And he is not a Jedi.
Because he dreams…
"Padawan! Padawan! It's alright. You are safe. You are safe," Qui-Gon repeated as he gathered Obi-Wan's small, thrashing limbs in an embrace. It was the second time in just a few hours the boy had fallen into the grips of a nightmare. He wasn't awake yet. The bond they shared more open that it had been in days was flooded with bits and shadows of violence and the hiss of a falling red saber. Obi-Wan let out a small whimper and Qui-Gon instinctively tightened his grip ignoring the painful complaints of the fresh synthskin on his back. He continued to whisper calm entreaties in the child's ear, but added another layer of comfort sent through their training bond.
/Padawan, wake up!/
/M…master?/
/I am here, Padawan, but I need you to wake for me./
/Yes, Master./
Ever obedient to his master, bruised lids began to lift until Qui-Gon found himself looking into eyes far more stormy gray than blue – a clear sign of the boy's upset. It took only a few seconds of wakefulness before the boy turned his gaze away from his master, the bond turned bitter with traces of shame, disgust, anger, and fear.
"None of that, Padawan," Qui-Gon gently ordered as he placed a finger under the boy's chin to pull his gaze back to his eyes. "It was just a nightmare, nothing more."
"Yes, Master," came the soft reply, but Qui-Gon was not so easily fooled.
"You do not believe me." It was not a question, but Obi-Wan answered as if it were.
"I know it was a nightmare," he said as pulled away from his master and tucked his knees under his chin. Qui-Gon allowed the movement though the clearly self-protective gesture disturbed him.
"But?" the master prompted. The slope of the boy's shoulders rose and fell with a dramatic sigh.
"But it wasn't just a nightmare, was it. It happened. It was real. You almost died and it's my fault."
"It wasn't your fault, Padawan and I didn't die. I am here and I am whole."
"But you almost weren't," Obi-Wan said as he turned a defiant glare upon the master. "And that was my fault and you know it."
"I know no such thing," Qui-Gon answered flatly and with more heat than he intended, but the boy appeared unfazed as he continued to stare down the older man a similar heat in his stormy eyes.
"You were fighting Xanatos. If I hadn't distracted you,"
"I still could have been struck down," Qui-Gon interrupted. He chose to ignore the wince that flashed across his apprentice's features as he spoke. "Nothing is ever certain, Padawan, especially victory. Always in motion the future is."
At hearing the oh-so-familiar words of the Order's Grand Master some of the fire in Obi-Wan's eyes seemed to die out or at least bank down a bit. He turned his gaze away from his master and lowered his face between his knees in hiding. Qui-Gon let out a long, steady breath and collected his thoughts before speaking.
"What you have had to deal with the past few months was more than you should have ever had to bear, young one, and yet you have done so bravely and with an aplomb far beyond your years, but that does not mean there won't be scars, wounds, or consequences. You have suffered a significant trauma and you must heal from it, but healing takes time and it takes help. We can heal from this, Padawan. You and I, together," Qui-Gon spoke softly as he placed a large, warm hand over the boy's spine. "Obi-Wan, look at me please."
At least two deep breaths preceded the hesitant obedience that finally lifted the boy's head. Qui-Gon moved his hand from the child's back using it to cup one side of his face instead. With a calloused thumb, he gently brushed away the lonely tear that had escaped the boy's tenacious control. The gesture emboldened a second tear to tempt escape and the master watched it roll, unbidden down the child's other cheek.
"You must release your guilt, little one. Xanatos alone bears the responsibility for what has happened and he will bear the consequences as well. He did not succeed. We did not die and he will never be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again, but he will still win if you cannot accept the truth that this is not your fault. Let go of your guilt, Obi-Wan. It has no place between us."
"Yes, Master," came the subdued response. Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan could not obey him just yet, but with time and patience, he believed that he could release his guilt – that they both could.
The Halls of Healing were by their very design meant to instill calm and inspire healing. The lighting was bright, but not harsh. The palette of the walls and floor were pastel soft, but not melancholic. The decorative furnishings, scant though they were, were lively, but not cloying. Yes, it was all by design, purposeful, but to Vresh it was no more than a prison of forced tranquility.
The old texts hidden deep within the Archive were forbidden to all but Council members, but Vresh knew of one text. He had discovered it as a padawan at Qui-Gon's elbow. The two of them had snuck into the vault on a dare and in it they had come across an ancient treatise written on the Sith. In that tome, the two had read the Sith Code, but neither had the maturity nor life experience to even begin to comprehend its meaning. But here, today, at this time, a fragment of the first line repeated like a sickly mantra in Vresh's mind.
Peace is a lie…
Though he was no Sith and though he knew those words were untrue in the galactic whole, in a cold, stark room in the medical ward sitting beside his unconscious and gravely injured padawan, Vresh felt an undeniable kernel of truth in the sentiment.
In this place, peace was a lie. Serenity was a mask, a convenient veil placed over the eyes of the aching and grieving beings found within all because they were Jedi and a Jedi was serene.
It was a lie.
A well-intentioned falsehood because this Jedi was anything but serene. He was anything but calm. There was no peace within him.
Vresh let out a long breath. She should be awake by now. This never should have happened. He should have gotten there faster. He never should have allowed her to go in the first place.
Should. Should. Should. Such an absurd word. Things either were or were not. Do or do not. Did or did not. There was no room for should in the Force. And yet… wasn't that all the Force really was? The Force whispered of shoulds, what a Jedi should do, what events should be and yet… the Force had permitted this to happen.
The Force said this should happen.
"No," came a tight whisper from Vresh's throat. He closed his eyes and held on to the tiny paw in his hands a little tighter. "This cannot be the way."
Vresh swallowed around the knot in his throat, physically attempting to push down the white-hot anger simmering just beneath his skin. Semay. Severin. Lantis. No, not Lantis. He refused to count her among his greatest losses. She would live. She would wake. She would recover. He would accept no other outcome.
The Force and its shoulds be damned.
Vresh took in a hitching breath and slowly let it out. The life of a Jedi was hard. He knew that. He accepted it, but he was more than just a Jedi. He was a man. Mortal. Human. Breakable. And despite all his years of training to the contrary, Vresh knew that if he were to lose Lantis it would end him. Her death would be the last of a trio of wounds from which he would never recover. He did not need his gift of foresight to know that truth.
"Padawan," he began his eyes still closed, head bowed, hands clasped around hers. "Please, wake up. There is so much more for you to do. So much more for you to see and more place for you to go. I will show it all to you, but first you have to wake up. You have to. Wake up, Padawan. I miss you."
His last words would have been unintelligible if anyone were listening closed up as his throat was with fear and grief. He gave no notice to the tears that ran freely down his cheeks nor did he feel the slight shift in the tenor of the Force around him. In fact, he noticed no change in the Force at all until something shifted in his head. It was so small, so subtle that it too almost went unnoticed and, perhaps, might have still were it not accompanied by the quietest but most unmistakable of sounds.
"Mmmm…"
Vresh snapped up so fast his neck cracked, but he didn't even notice it as he stood and hovered above his apprentice's supine form. All he knew, all he could see were the thin, white lids struggling to open beneath his gaze. He reached a hand out behind him and turned the lights down to a soft glow, never once taking his eyes off that beautiful, furred face below him. Eventually, the lids lifted and, for a moment, Vresh thought he might actually explode from joy like the world's happiest thermal detonator.
"Mmm…mastah…"
"Padawan," Vresh whispered as tore his gaze away from his apprentice just long enough to pour out a small cup of water. He brought the rim to her short muzzle and allowed her to take a few tentative sips before he pulled the cup away and placed it back on the small table.
"Padawan," he repeated as he carefully stroked her whiskers. Beneath him, Lantis let out a purring sigh, her gaze still heavy with sleep.
"Master," she purred contentedly, then her eyes widened and Vresh felt a sharp burst of fear across the newly awakened training bond.
"Obi-Wan! Master, Adaen is," she started frantically, but Vresh immediately pushed calm reassurance down the bond as he continued to stroke her face.
"All is well, Padawan. All is well. Everything has been dealt with and thanks to you no one was hurt," he said tripping over the last word. "No one else," he amended. "Obi-Wan is fine, thanks to you."
He finished the last with a gentle tap to his padawan's nose.
"So… it's over? Everyone's okay?" she asked and Vresh felt tears threatening in his eyes once again. He swallowed hard, resolutely holding the tears at bay while he answered.
"Yes, Padawan. Everyone is fine. You should rest," he said as he watched Lantis give up the fight to keep her eyes open. "Rest. Everyone is fine," he whispered and even though the bond between them thrummed with contentment, Vresh could not help but taste the bitterness of his lie upon his lips.