Title: Reach for Tomorrow
Author: Padawan Celebrìan
Category: angst/drama/OC
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none really, JA series, perhaps
Archive: just drop me an email and let me know where it's going
Feedback: There's this nifty little button at the bottom of the story.
Series: stand-alone
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan touch many lives, both on missions and in
between.
Disclaimer: We all know the drill, people. I am not George Lucas, I wish to
god I was, but I'm not. Therefore, I'm not making any money off this. I
have nothing worth suing for.
Author's Notes: So this is a little out of date, what with episode two and
all. Too bad! Qui-Gon forever, that's my motto and I'm sticking to it. This
is just a little something to occupy me between stories. Enjoy!
***
They made me go back today. My friends crowd protectively around me, but I
see the pity in the eyes of strangers anyway. It hardly mattered, for it
was in their eyes too. Everything they did betrayed them, each flickering
gaze, each gentle hand, each tentative question.
The change is in my eyes too. I'm not blind; mirrors don't lie. My eyes look dead. There is no emotion in them-not that I will show anyway. A few times my façade slips, and for a brief flash you can see ho haunted my eyes look. I'm still thin, much too thin, but then after what was done to me.
Deep shadows under my eyes portrayed my plight more elegantly than anything else. The injuries are nearly gone now, but there is a limp in my step, and pain radiates in a dull ache from my tightly bound ankle. The heavy bandages covering my abdomen and my taped ribs prove horrific reminders. Each little sting where my clothes rub on half-healed gashes, each sore bruise won't let me forget. The few faint scars (thank the Force for bacta tanks) not covered by my clothes leer out at me, even as they draw the eyes of my peers.
Two years. I lost nearly two years of my life in that Force-forsaken place, in a system so remote the Republic barely knew of its existence, far from the reach of Republic justice, and as such beyond the reach of the Jedi. I had given up hope of rescue. All I desired was the peace death would bring. As the suicide attempts became more frequent, so did the amount of guards outside my cell. If only I had succeeded.
My Master gave her life for mine. In trying to save me, her beloved Padawan; her stupid, worthless Padawan is more like it. Why couldn't I save her? Why did she leave me alone? Why? I'm so cold, and lonely. I feel I am the only being left living in the whole of the galaxy, despite the close proximity of my year-mates. I'm only just thirteen, a braidling fresh from the Temple, the Knights would tease kindly. What will happen to me now? I'm broken, in body and spirit. What Knight will take me on now? The Agri-corps would be a relief, I wouldn't have to face the memories, the Temple ghosts haunting my around every corner.
Finally the day is done. I've retreated to the farthest corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, meditating on my non-existent inner peace. I've almost achieved some element of calm when I hear voices coming nearer. Drawing farther into my corner I try to give off a few small waves of serenity into the Force, hoping whoever is coming will sense them, assume I am meditating, and leave me alone.
The Force was with me, because they've gone by. I peek my head around the bushes obscuring my vision, and I notice it is Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his fifteen year old apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Temple rumor has it they're back from an important mission, and lucky to have escaped with their lives. Obi-Wan had certainly been at the Healers while I was there; if other parts of the rumor were true I couldn't say. This pair was notorious about the Temple for their efficient handling of dangerous missions, so I won't discount the hearsay.
I don't know Obi-Wan very well, despite the several classes I've had with him throughout the years. But I remember the graceful, agile thirteen year old he was two years ago in my saber class, and my memory clashes sharply with this image of him; I see how he is walking now, slowly, timidly, as if afraid he will collapse, his arm held protectively close to his abdomen, stiffly almost, though it would take Jedi perceptions to notice that, perhaps. I know he could say the same about me. He was injured, then.
It's Qui-Gon that draws my attention, however. His leonine features calm, one hand resting lovingly on Obi-Wan's shoulder, shortening his long stride to match Obi-Wan's hesitant pace. He too is a sharp contrast to my former memories of the man, although I had heard about the changes Obi-Wan had brought in his disposition.
As they continue a bit further down the path Obi-Wan leans trustingly against Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon in his turn wraps an arm around his Padawan's shoulder. Stray Force eddies floating around the Temple calm when they touch the rays of peace master and Padawan seem to exude.
Soon enough they have turned the corner, and I edge back into the shelter of the bushes. I feel oddly calm, something near peaceful now. A sad almost- smile graced my face; it was the closest I had come to a real smile in years. Suddenly, I could remember why we do it, why we fight. For so long I had concentrated on my pain, I had lost sight of the big picture. We reach for tomorrow because we can't hover in yester-year forever. We reach because fate or loved-ones, or self pulls us. And we reach because we yearn for love; something I was once again beginning to hope for. I could see it glimmer in the distance, as I was finally able to stand and reach cautiously for tomorrow.
The change is in my eyes too. I'm not blind; mirrors don't lie. My eyes look dead. There is no emotion in them-not that I will show anyway. A few times my façade slips, and for a brief flash you can see ho haunted my eyes look. I'm still thin, much too thin, but then after what was done to me.
Deep shadows under my eyes portrayed my plight more elegantly than anything else. The injuries are nearly gone now, but there is a limp in my step, and pain radiates in a dull ache from my tightly bound ankle. The heavy bandages covering my abdomen and my taped ribs prove horrific reminders. Each little sting where my clothes rub on half-healed gashes, each sore bruise won't let me forget. The few faint scars (thank the Force for bacta tanks) not covered by my clothes leer out at me, even as they draw the eyes of my peers.
Two years. I lost nearly two years of my life in that Force-forsaken place, in a system so remote the Republic barely knew of its existence, far from the reach of Republic justice, and as such beyond the reach of the Jedi. I had given up hope of rescue. All I desired was the peace death would bring. As the suicide attempts became more frequent, so did the amount of guards outside my cell. If only I had succeeded.
My Master gave her life for mine. In trying to save me, her beloved Padawan; her stupid, worthless Padawan is more like it. Why couldn't I save her? Why did she leave me alone? Why? I'm so cold, and lonely. I feel I am the only being left living in the whole of the galaxy, despite the close proximity of my year-mates. I'm only just thirteen, a braidling fresh from the Temple, the Knights would tease kindly. What will happen to me now? I'm broken, in body and spirit. What Knight will take me on now? The Agri-corps would be a relief, I wouldn't have to face the memories, the Temple ghosts haunting my around every corner.
Finally the day is done. I've retreated to the farthest corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, meditating on my non-existent inner peace. I've almost achieved some element of calm when I hear voices coming nearer. Drawing farther into my corner I try to give off a few small waves of serenity into the Force, hoping whoever is coming will sense them, assume I am meditating, and leave me alone.
The Force was with me, because they've gone by. I peek my head around the bushes obscuring my vision, and I notice it is Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his fifteen year old apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Temple rumor has it they're back from an important mission, and lucky to have escaped with their lives. Obi-Wan had certainly been at the Healers while I was there; if other parts of the rumor were true I couldn't say. This pair was notorious about the Temple for their efficient handling of dangerous missions, so I won't discount the hearsay.
I don't know Obi-Wan very well, despite the several classes I've had with him throughout the years. But I remember the graceful, agile thirteen year old he was two years ago in my saber class, and my memory clashes sharply with this image of him; I see how he is walking now, slowly, timidly, as if afraid he will collapse, his arm held protectively close to his abdomen, stiffly almost, though it would take Jedi perceptions to notice that, perhaps. I know he could say the same about me. He was injured, then.
It's Qui-Gon that draws my attention, however. His leonine features calm, one hand resting lovingly on Obi-Wan's shoulder, shortening his long stride to match Obi-Wan's hesitant pace. He too is a sharp contrast to my former memories of the man, although I had heard about the changes Obi-Wan had brought in his disposition.
As they continue a bit further down the path Obi-Wan leans trustingly against Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon in his turn wraps an arm around his Padawan's shoulder. Stray Force eddies floating around the Temple calm when they touch the rays of peace master and Padawan seem to exude.
Soon enough they have turned the corner, and I edge back into the shelter of the bushes. I feel oddly calm, something near peaceful now. A sad almost- smile graced my face; it was the closest I had come to a real smile in years. Suddenly, I could remember why we do it, why we fight. For so long I had concentrated on my pain, I had lost sight of the big picture. We reach for tomorrow because we can't hover in yester-year forever. We reach because fate or loved-ones, or self pulls us. And we reach because we yearn for love; something I was once again beginning to hope for. I could see it glimmer in the distance, as I was finally able to stand and reach cautiously for tomorrow.