Last chapter! Thank you so much everyone – your reviews are wonderful! I know it's clichéd to say, but I hope it's been worth the wait. Please let me know if all questions were answered and the angst/mush levels were sufficient. *g* Wow. I can't believe it's finally done …

AN: When I started 'just easier' I had no idea of the warm reception it would receive. It was intended to be a quietly updated story, maybe once every few weeks as things progressed and time allowed as I was very nervous about posting it in the first place. I've never written anything this close to home and never realized it would be so close for others, too. Thank you, everyone. Knowing that it's not 'just you' goes a long way in giving you the courage to keep going.

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

Chapter Fourteen

Obi-Wan had claimed the far end of the couch and was contentedly curled around a mug of steaming tea. He'd been quite happy to retrieve his robe for use as a blanket and Qui-Gon fought back a sigh. Better a blanket than wadded into a pillow, he tried to console himself, but it would need ironed either way.

Qui-Gon had taken the armchair near where Obi-Wan was seated, and had busied himself stirring sugar into his own tea. The air was noticeably lighter between the two Jedi, and Qui-Gon was comfortable to let his Padawan take a little time to sort through the things they had discussed. He would be here when Obi-Wan was ready to talk again. There was still much ground yet to cover, and Qui-Gon had the feeling they would be talking a great deal throughout the months to come, but for now the Force around Obi-Wan had stabilized some and the hum he created had lessened in its intensity.

Qui-Gon stifled a yawn. It was late, and there were negotiations to be dealt with in the morning, but his presence seemed to comfort Obi-Wan and he didn't quite want to let Obi-Wan out of his sight just yet, either. He tried to tell himself he was only worried about Obi-Wan having a relapse of his earlier illness, but truth be told, Qui-Gon hadn't realized until a very short time ago just how dangerously close he'd come to losing Obi-Wan and now that he knew, the knowledge of which wouldn't leave him for a very long time, perhaps ever. It would come as a great surprise to the Jedi Master if he could keep himself from hovering over Obi-Wan's sleep couch all night just to make sure his Padawan continued to breathe.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked in a voice muzzy with drowsiness, unaware of his Master's scrutiny.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan's voice cleared, his seriousness evident. He glanced down quickly then back up. "Do … do you ever feel depressed?" he asked quietly, holding his breath as he waited for the reply. To his astonishment, Qui-Gon laughed softly.

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan hid his sudden gape by swallowing a gulp of his tea hastily. The liquid burned the inside of his mouth and he forced it down. "You do?"

Qui-Gon leaned forward in his chair and studied Obi-Wan intently. "Yes. All the time, Obi-Wan. But I don't have time for it; I have a purpose that requires, that demands my all. Do you see?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes." He hesitated. "Thank you."

"For what?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised.

"For letting me know I'm not alone," Obi-Wan said simply. "And that maybe … it's not just me."

Qui-Gon smiled. "You're welcome, Obi-Wan. No, it's not just you. And you're never alone, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan curled back under his robe, seemingly comforted by the answer. "Master?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"I was given a second chance, wasn't I? Not everyone gets a second chance … Prince Xares didn't."

Qui-Gon was quiet a moment. "Yes, Obi-Wan. You were." He closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the man to whom Obi-Wan referred.

Two years previous he and Obi-Wan had been sent to protect the Crown Prince of Resla, a hardened young man embittered by a vicious failure on the battlefield during the fight for control of Resla. Xares and his forces had succeeded and gained the monarchy, but en route to Resla the Jedi had received word that Xares had not been able to overcome his bitterness or the sting of failure, and had killed himself a mere two days before he was to have taken the throne.

"No, Xares didn't receive another chance," he agreed. "It would appear the Force has other plans for you, young Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded into his tea mug as he swirled the liquid around.

"I think I'm ready for them."

That night, the dreams came again, but they were somehow farther away this time, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was not afraid.

Qui-Gon relaxed back into the chair with a pleased sigh. He'd been able to give his Master good news on both fronts, those of his Padawan and the negotiations. Though Qui-Gon would admit it to no one but his Master, Yoda's praise caused a swell of pleasure in his chest. Yoda had been right; he was ably handing both situations on his own.

Qui-Gon finished his tea and gave into the urge to check on his apprentice. He loosened the cocoon of blankets somewhat so Obi-Wan would be able to breathe and knelt by the bed, watching his apprentice's peaceful features. He'd come so close to losing Obi-Wan, he realized again. So close. And it wasn't over yet, they both knew, but Obi-Wan was ready to begin the slow fight on the long road home.

And Qui-Gon vowed that, Force permitting, he would be with him every step of the way.

Epilogue

With a yelp, Obi-Wan Kenobi darted out of the shower as the steaming cascade of hot water suddenly turned into an onslaught of frigid icicles. Master!!

Sorry, Obi-Wan, came the reply, and Obi-Wan could hear the mirth in Qui-Gon's voice. He sighed explosively and reached for a towel. I told you – twenty minutes and I start the wash. I refuse to allow your training clothes to sit for hours. They smell funny.

"Yeah, yeah," Obi-Wan grumbled as he knotted the towel. After the successful completion of the trade regulation negotiations, he and Qui-Gon had resumed their habit of sparring before dinner. Obi-Wan had always relished the rigorous training – and since his despair curbed while he focused on his training, Obi-Wan welcomed the intense workout all the more.

He cracked the door open and yelled down the hall, "That's Padawan abuse, you know that, Master??"

He pushed the door shut and reached for his toothbrush; halfway there, Obi-Wan caught sight of his profile in the mirror and froze. You can do it, he told himself firmly. Slowly, he turned so he was facing the mirror and wiped the misty condensation off with his hand.

A stranger did indeed stare back at him. Obi-Wan swallowed hard. That's me?? That's me??

The hair, he remembered. Ginger-colored. Somewhat damp. Kinda spiky on top. Short on the sides and in the back. Padawan braid firmly tucked behind his right ear. So far, so good.

The high forehead, okay, that was his.

Obi-Wan skipped the haunted, tired eyes and went straight to the cheekbones. They were more angular than he remembered, but his birthmark freckle still rested high on his right cheekbone. All right.

He started to check his nose, but his eyes caught his attention and he couldn't help but stare. Bluish-greyish, he thought, or bluish-greeny, depending on the light, but it was difficult to tell. Whatever color they had been, dark circles that suggested a lack of sleep or calcium or both, as the case was, now ringed their hollow depths in striking contrast to his white skin. Any emotion he'd experienced during his depression looked back at him from bluish-greyish-greeny eyes whose owner he wasn't sure he knew anymore.

Force, he thought, gazing incredulously at his reflection, anything anyone wanted to know, they could have seen in my eyes.

Obi-Wan managed to tear himself away from his haunted eyes, reminding himself fiercely that he'd chosen to fight and those eyes would disappear soon. Searching for somewhere to redirect his gaze, he quickly latched onto his lean frame, where another surprise awaited him.

Wow. Ribs.

Obi-Wan was somewhat startled to discover that over the past few months, his habit of skipping meals had certainly caught up with him. He didn't remember being quite so thin, nor could he recall being able to see so much of his rib cage before. Obi-Wan briefly considered wearing an extra tunic around his Master for awhile to keep him from worrying, but discarded the idea when he realized Qui-Gon had already seen him tunic-less after his suicide attempt nearly two weeks ago.

"Obi-Wan?? Are you coming for dinner?"

And there was one good thing about his Master seeing the new skinniness in his figure. Qui-Gon had given up on his abortive attempts to cook dinner – Obi-Wan usually cooked, but after their sparring practice he was too exhausted to poke around in the kitchen – and in an attempt to help Obi-Wan gain back some of the weight he'd shed, they had eaten out nearly every night. Some nights Master Depa cooked for them, and Master Mace Windu had offered once, but his invitation had been fervently declined and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan treated him to dinner out instead to ease any offense taken.

"Yes, I'm coming," he called back.

Obi-Wan dressed quickly and gave his reflection a last look. It would be some time before the hollowness of his eyes faded and his compact frame was rebuilt. He continued to be plagued by fatigue and the voice that whispered doubts was not silent, only muffled. And yet … behind the hollowness was a glint of determination.

He would fight. He was ready for the battles ahead and the long road home. It wasn't over, but he had begun.

He would choose strength over weakness, and he would succeed.

Bought a ticket for a runaway train

Like a madman laughing at the rain

Little out of touch, little insane

It's just easier than dealing with the pain

The End

7/01

Syntyche

Not meant to infringe on copyrights held by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, et al. I make no money off this story; it's purely a labor of love. Please ask before archiving elsewhere; I'll okay it, but I'd like to know where it's going. Feedback is as cherished and adored as Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. :-)