Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain
By: Syntyche
Chapter Eleven
Obi-Wan Kenobi was running.
He only had a vague idea of which direction he was going and where he was headed; he ran as if an entire pack of vrelts were hard on his heels – or one very disgusted Master. He was certain Qui-Gon wouldn't want him now; not after seeing his mind and the darkness within, or his tears; not after he'd run away like a child.
The wind whipped around him, snapping his long braid across his face and eyes and bringing fresh tears to join the ones streaming down his cheeks. He pulled desperately at the Force, seizing what snatches of it he could and using it to propel him faster and faster until the world raced by in a chaotic blur of color and sound. He quickly left the city behind and soon he was racing along the waterfront, his boots pounding into the wet sand and leaving deep imprints that quickly filled with cloudy water.
When his mind finally caught up to his body, he realized numbly that he'd reached the grassy knoll where he'd previously been. Exhausted, Obi-Wan slowed to a halt and collapsed to his knees, chest heaving and shoulders trembling with exertion. Sobs shook his slender frame, and time flew by uncontrolled as he wept. The only sound he made was a deep, harsh keening that forced its way from his throat and was pulled into the wind and carried away. He hurt, he hurt so very badly. If someone had plunged a white-hot knife into his body, he wasn't sure it could compare to the fiery dagger that had been thrust into his mind by his Master's sudden intrusion and consequent exposure of all the feelings and memories Obi-Wan had cherished, squelched, and repressed.
Oh Force, he knows, Obi-Wan realized with a choked sob. He knows everything.
He was unaware of anything but his grief and despair until he felt himself gathered up in a pair of strong arms and a soft, regret-filled voice urged him to sleep. Too tired to fight the gentle command, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and rested his head against the broad shoulder of his Master.
Despite what Obi-Wan had thought, his Master didn't know everything. His withdrawal from Obi-Wan's mind had been so sudden, he was left with no more than a little hint of darkness and a lot of confusion – and a tremendous amount of guilt for barging in uninvited, even if it had been an accident.
Qui-Gon Jinn paced the room like a caged animal, his tumultuous emotions threatening to swallow him whole. Obi-Wan slept quietly on the couch, curled into a tight ball. The Force hummed around him, occasionally crackling, and Obi-Wan would whimper quietly before falling silent again.
It had been extremely easy to track his errant Padawan; with his unintended invasion of Obi-Wan's mind, Qui-Gon could once again read his apprentice's thoughts quite clearly. He'd simply followed Obi-Wan's Force signature until he'd all but stumbled over the young man near the beachfront. Qui-Gon had swallowed past the guilt and horror and carefully collected his apprentice from the ground, and borne him back to their apartment. Obi-Wan had been too weak to resist the Force behind Qui-Gon's quiet order to sleep, and he remained asleep despite Qui-Gon's near-frantic pacing.
Obi-Wan's pained admission bit at Qui-Gon deeply. Worthless? Where had that come from? Surely Obi-Wan knew not only his value to Qui-Gon, but also his worth to those around him, and the galaxy as well? No one was worthless – least of all his strong, caring apprentice, his Obi-Wan.
How had Obi-Wan come to that conclusion? And when? Qui-Gon's robe whipped around as he made a particularly quick, frustrated turn. Had something happened while Qui-Gon was on Corellia? Before then? Had Master Yoda or Mace criticized Obi-Wan, perhaps? Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan would have told him if that was the case.
Or, Qui-Gon considered, thinking about the vague shadows he'd seen in Obi-Wan's mind, were Obi-Wan's feelings of worthlessness his fault? Had he, in trying not to overindulge Obi-Wan as he had his previous Padawan, withdrawn from Obi-Wan too much? Obi-Wan had rarely complained; indeed he had been quite nearly the perfect apprentice, but …
Qui-Gon's procession of thought halted mid-flow.
The perfect apprentice.
Oh, Force, Qui-Gon thought with start of surprise, what if that's it? He had the sudden desire to shake Obi-Wan awake and demand to know if that was what his trouble was. Was it his fault? Had he failed this apprentice, as well? Did he cause Obi-Wan to strive for the impossible achievement of perfection? The weight of attempting that alone would crush his young apprentice.
Despite his desire to know the answer to a question that had suddenly become very important, Qui-Gon decided not to wake his apprentice … perhaps he could reach his former Master instead.
Not wishing to disturb his Padawan, but hesitant to leave him, Qui-Gon settled on using the public comm downstairs. He gave Obi-Wan a last look and strode quietly from the room.
After he'd withdrawn, the crackling Force around his apprentice escalated to a wail, and Obi-Wan twitched restlessly in a dark, nightmarish sleep.
The knife was in his hand. There was blood, his blood, everywhere – a ruby river seeping from the scars on his wrist and forearm, running from his mouth, nose, eyes, ears, fingernails; on him, the couch he was curled upon atop the knoll, on his Master. Qui-Gon was leaning over him, shouting something, but Obi-Wan couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears.
The warm sense of sleep that had earlier coated his brain shrieked at him now, escalating and twisting and ripping through his mind, howling against the mental shields he had tried so carefully to rebuild and snapping them one thread at a time. His body was on fire, white-hot pain spreading beneath the continual flow of red that was now running down his arms, chest, and stomach to his legs and feet. He was sobbing, both from the pain and trying to catch his breath as his body arched and writhed in agony.
Someone help me someone help mesomeonehelpmesomeone?someone?someone?someone-help-me-please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke with a start, a muted scream dying in his throat as he struggled to draw air into his laboring lungs. His stomach lurched with vivid recall of the dream, and Obi-Wan knew what was coming next. Oh force, oh force, oh force, he breathed in a chant as he stumbled to his feet. Arm protectively around his middle, Obi-Wan stumbled quickly to the fresher and barely made in inside before his stomach heaved and the little he'd managed to eat of late was quickly vomited up. Dry heaves came next, and by the time Obi-Wan collapsed, exhausted, against the rim of the bathtub, he was certain there was absolutely nothing left in his body – including vital organs – to throw up.
Until memories of the dream he'd had splashed across his vision.
When he'd finished a second bout of retching, Obi-Wan curled up on the floor and rested his flushed cheek against the cool tile. He didn't think he had the strength to do anything else, but discovered he was wrong there too as tears slid from his eyes to trace a crooked, forlorn path across his cheekbone and over the bridge of his nose to drip onto the tiled floor. Pitiful, Kenobi, he heard the derisive voice say, but he had no more power to banish the harsh litany of self-degradation that followed than he did to lift his hand and brush his tears away.
Qui-Gon closed the connection with a slap of frustration.
"'I'm sorry, but the Council is currently in session,'" he mimicked the aide he had spoken to with a tired sigh. "Probably agreeing on more rules I'll have to break."
He stepped out of the comm booth and flicked a quick glance at the chrono displayed on the wall. Time to rouse Obi-Wan and force some dinner into him. He would try to reach Master Yoda again later.
As he climbed the stairs, Qui-Gon debated whether or not to touch his apprentice's mind to wake him, or simply give him another shoulder-shake. Normally Obi-Wan didn't mind his Master's gentle Force nudges to encourage him to rise and face the day, but Qui-Gon was still a little tentative about using their bond. He was shielding from Obi-Wan now, not wanting to jostle his Padawan since Obi-Wan had unexpectedly found his Master invading the private corners of his mind – albeit that Qui-Gon had done it accidentally.
The living room was empty, and the fresher door was ajar.
Good. Obi-Wan's up on his own.
"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon wasn't sure how to act around his Padawan, or how Obi-Wan would react to him. He wanted to apologize – as if that would make what'd he done all right – but no reply was forthcoming and Qui-Gon wondered if perhaps Obi-Wan was ignoring him. His first glance into the fresher told him that this was not the case.
"Obi-Wan!"
He dropped to his knees beside his apprentice, noting Obi-Wan's sweat-soaked hair and clothes and the smell of vomit in the air and pushing these observations aside as he carefully placed a large hand near Obi-Wan's left temple.
Dull eyes turned up to look at him, and Qui-Gon noticed silvery tear tracks down the flushed cheeks. Obi-Wan's mouth moved to speak, but his words were inaudible.
"Shh, it's all right," Qui-Gon soothed, combing his hand through the damp hair. "Everything's okay." Which was a lie, but he repeated it like a mantra as he gently lifted his Padawan so Obi-Wan's upper half was cradled in his arms. "It's okay."
Finally a tentative mental brush reached Qui-Gon's mind.
M-master?
"I'm here," Qui-Gon reassured. "I'm right here, Obi-Wan," he promised, and was pleased to see some of the light return to Obi-Wan's blue-grey eyes. He held the shuddering young man tightly. "I'm right here."
Obi-Wan's mouth worked again, but the only sound his throat could produce was a rasping whisper that was painful for him to force out and for Qui-Gon to hear. Qui-Gon gently displaced his apprentice to retrieve a glass of cool water from the fresher sink, which Obi-Wan tried to refuse by turning his head away. Qui-Gon, however, murmured, "Drink, Obi-Wan," and placed the glass to Obi-Wan's lips. After a few wary sips, Obi-Wan turned his head away again, but not before flashing his Master a tiny, grateful smile. He tried a 'thank you,' but couldn't speak past the raspy whisper.
Qui-Gon hesitated, and carefully toed the threshold of his bond with Obi-Wan. It's all right. Don't speak yet.
Obi-Wan flinched at the contact but nodded, and Qui-Gon could feel the Force shift around him as gathered the little strength he had. Master, I … I need to talk with you.
'I'm here," Qui-Gon reaffirmed, speaking aloud to ease his Padawan's anxiety, then chuckled as Obi-Wan amended, well, 'think' to you anyway, Master, with a breath of a laugh. "Do you want to clean up first?" Qui-Gon asked cautiously. "Are you still feeling ill?"
After a pause, Obi-Wan responded, I think I'm okay, but I would like to clean up – but Master, I need to apologize to you – you're absolutely right: I've been behaving like a child and I –
"Obi-Wan, stop," Qui-Gon interrupted the rush of words firmly. "Stop right now. I owe you an apology as well." He offered Obi-Wan a small half-smile. "And if you wallow in all that angst, you'll make yourself sick again. I need to talk with you too, Padawan … but I want you to clean up first. Do you need help? No? All right then. Take a long bath, a short shower, whatever you feel like. And think about what you'd like to say to me that does not involve apologies or self-castigation. Also, I'm going to have some soup brought up, as you feel entirely too thin under your tunics, Padawan. Do you think your stomach can handle a bit of soup?" Obi-Wan nodded carefully and Qui-Gon helped him stand. "Good." Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a quick hug, ignoring the surprised look that flitted across Obi-Wan's face.
"You've had me worried," he explained. "I'll bring you some clean clothes and there are clean towels in the cabinet. We'll talk when you're finished."
end chapter eleven
*l* There was more to this chapter, but as it would have qualified as yet another cliffhanger ending, I'll just post it in the next chapter in non-cliffhanger format. ;) Thanks for the reviews!