A/N: Hmmm…I don't think this chapter flows as well as the rest—the characters seem a little confused to me. But I think if you wait it out, the ensuing chapters will kind of bring closure to this weird place where all the characters are. Let me know if you think this chapter is too disconcerting—maybe I'll rewrite it. By the way, I probably should have mentioned this at the beginning, but there are references to the JA series by Jude Watson or whoever. It's not really important (especially in this chapter) but I've mentioned aspects of that before and never warned you all. Sorry. Thanks for reading and responding :)
Chapter 6
Just as the medic had said, Anakin was standing anxiously behind the doors, trying to stand on his tiptoes to peek through the window. He stumbled back quickly as the door swished open and Qui-Gon strode out with more strength and assurance than he really had. The boy's face lit up eagerly as he beheld the standing form of the Jedi, and it took all his self-control not to tackle him with a gigantic, running hug. He could not, however, repress his excited salutation. "Qui-Gon!"
Anakin's energy was infectious. "It is good to see you, Anakin," Qui-Gon said with a smile.
"I knew you'd be okay!" he exclaimed. "Did you get my message?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon said. "While I am very pleased with the outcome of events, I must confess your interpretation of my orders is a bit of a stretch."
Looking apologetic, Anakin said, "I really didn't mean to. I just wanted to help."
"Sometimes the best way to help is to trust in someone else's judgment," Qui-Gon pointed out.
"I was only going to use the guns—honest! I was just going to help out in the hangar! But I didn't know exactly how the ship worked," he admitted sheepishly. "Next thing I knew I was in outer space on autopilot. And they needed my help!"
"What you did was very brave," Qui-Gon said. "Most children your age would not have done the same."
"If I can make a difference, I have to do what I can."
"That is a very noble attitude."
"Qui-Gon, I just want to be a Jedi," he burst suddenly. "Will I really be a Jedi?"
Potential seemed to overflow in the boy. How could the Council ever turn him away? Qui-Gon knew that, no matter what, he would never turn Anakin away. The Force had brought them this far for a reason—it would not leave them out to dry now. "Yes, Anakin, you will be a Jedi. It is your destiny."
"But the Council…I really don't want to be a problem."
"You must trust in the Force."
"Can the Force be wrong?"
The question so was sincere and so innocent, but echoed painfully in Qui-Gon's head. He hoped not. He could not admit his doubts to the boy. Instead, he laughed slightly, mindful of the pain in his abdomen. "You have much to learn of the Force."
***
The world around him changed somehow. It was still dark, but he could no longer move. The air felt substantial and his limbs registered dim sensations. Then he realized that his eyes were closed.
He couldn't breathe. Panic tightened in his chest which rose and fell against his commands. Something had been placed in his throat—he attempted to move his arm, in vain, to dislodge it, but found he could still not even muster the strength to open his eyes. Trying to calm his fears, he settled to take things one step at a time. Eyes first, and then on to more substantial tasks. Remembering finally to draw from the Force, he worked at his eyes. His eyelids fluttered with resistance—apparently they had grown quite comfortable to the closed position that they were reluctant to change. But Obi-Wan was determined now.
Finally, after much cajoling, he found himself staring upwards into sheer whiteness. Squinting, his eyes tried to close again, to protect themselves from the onslaught of light. Blinking away the bleariness and the shock, he attempt to focus with limited success. Whiteness still pervaded his vision and although his eyes were now open, his body refused to respond to much else. Flicking his eyes around desperately, he began to make out fuzzy objects—shiny and distorted.
//Master…?// The plea was weak, but hopeful. It had been his master's guidance and presence that had brought him this far, and, with his energy rapidly waning once again, he needed the support Qui-Gon could offer him.
"Shhh," a voice soothed, leaning into his field of vision. It appeared to be a young woman—a medic, he supposed, by the white tunic she wore. "Take it easy."
He struggled to speak, but found himself unable.
"Hey, slow down," she said. "You have a breathing tube down your throat."
Obi-Wan's eyes darted, unnerved, about the room. Where was Qui-Gon? What had happened? He choked on the tube, trying to resume his own control over his breathing. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had brought him to this point.
"He's panicking a little bit," he heard the woman say.
"Should we take the tube out?" another voice now asked.
"His life signs are strengthening. I think it's safe," yet another voice recommended. "If we don't, he'll just fight it."
"We could sedate him."
"No. We just got him back. I don't want to take the chance of pushing him back under again."
What had happened to him? Why couldn't he breathe? His eyes snapped open. Force, what he wouldn't give to just be able to move and speak. Despite himself and even his growing reign on the Force, he could do nothing except stare wildly and resist the slow and methodical pull and push in his chest.
A man positioned himself in Obi-Wan's line of vision. Gazing down at his patient tenderly, the man spoke gently. "Stop struggling so much, and it will be easier to breathe," he advised. Obi-Wan tried to obey, having no means with which to argue, surrendering his autonomic functions. His gagging decreased, and the man smiled approvingly. "Good. Now. We're going to try and take you off the ventilator."
Ventilator? Why had he needed a ventilator? Where was Qui-Gon? Why wouldn't the world stop burning into his retinas so brightly?
The edges of the world began to dim in Obi-Wan's vision and the voices became distant, echoing through the hollow of his perception. In slow motion, the healer's hands reached to his face, grabbing onto something. Obi-Wan tried to see, but the effort made him cross-eyed, sending his head swimming.
"We need you to cough so we can take out the ventilator," the voice boomed bizarrely. Obi-Wan blinked, attempting to focus again. He felt separated from his autonomic body which functioned against his will and without his power. "Cough now," the healer advised.
To reply, Obi-Wan sucked against the tube, feeling it grate unpleasantly against his throat. Reflexively then, he choked, vainly trying to expel the uncomfortable tube. Apparently this was what the healers wanted, and they pulled, and Obi-Wan felt the tube slip out of his throat.
Sputtering, Obi-Wan gulped deep breaths, hoping to restore normal breathing. Each breath scraped against his dry throat and he coughed hoarsely.
"There," the healer said as the world slowly came back into focus. "Feel better now?"
Properly oxygenating his brain always proved to make things clearer. He still struggled to catch his breath but he managed a tight nod. He was on Naboo, it occurred to him suddenly. He had defeated the Sith. The Sith had defeated Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon!
With this sudden revelation, Obi-Wan tried to sit up, determined to find his master. The healers immediately restrained him, and effectively terminating his efforts. "What is it with you guys," the healer muttered. "Never will just sit still. You need to rest so your body can recover."
A logical point, Obi-Wan mentally granted him that. As a Jedi he had learned to listen to his body and act according to what it was telling him. But, also as a Jedi, he knew that sometimes even when his body demanded one thing, with the Force and enough will, he could override his flesh. And right then, his mind focused intently on his master. Weakly, he again attempted to rise, with more determination this time.
"What's so important?" the healer asked, his voice sounding firm but compassionate.
Obi-Wan turned confused and desperate eyes upon the healer. Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly realized the futility of that project. His throat, parched by the ventilator, made an inhospitable passageway for speech. All that came out was an unintelligible rasp.
"Take it easy," he admonished lightly. "The ventilator dries out your throat. Speaking will be difficult for awhile."
"..i...on...," he rasped, still struggling to sit up.
The healer gave him a confused look.
"…aster…" he tried this time.
"Look, just lie down here and take it easy, and everything will be okay."
But Obi-Wan would not be deterred. "No…"
The healers, fully frustrated with their impatient young patient, labored to pacify Obi-Wan, for his own sake. "You need to calm down," the healer told him again, with no visible effect. Despite the young man's weakened condition, he put up a respectable fight. Soberly, the healer admitted, "We might have to sedate him after all."
"Are you sure? Will that hinder his progress?"
Obi-Wan was not listening. He could not listen. He needed to find his master.
"We don't have a choice."
All he wanted was answers, and he was receiving none. He did not blame the healers, but something had gone wrong—something had gone dreadfully wrong. Obi-Wan felt as if he was slowly losing something—something vital and important—why couldn't he place it? The unknown just made him fight harder, as if the effort would somehow accomplish his ends.
***
Qui-Gon watched as Anakin's small sandy hand bobbed cheerfully out of sight. The boy could swing from utter ecstasy to melancholy worry within seconds. Apparently, he had been satisfied with Qui-Gon's shirked reply. Sighing, Qui-Gon noted the tiredness in his disposition, felt it might behoove him to actually listen to the healers when they had told him to rest. He reentered the room with just such intentions.
The unsettled feeling in the Force rattled him immediately, but he failed to locate its source for a moment. Then a familiar presence, thoroughly agitated, hit him squarely through the Force. Obi-Wan…He hadn't figured the young man would regain consciousness so quickly. Funny, he thought as he went to his Padawan's frantic bedside, he did not even sense when it happened. Usually, when in such close proximity, Qui-Gon was acutely aware of Obi-Wan's feelings and presence, and surely, after lacking the presence for so long, it would resound through him all the louder when it returned.
Stepping by the healers, he nudged through until he was standing right over Obi-Wan. The healers, finding themselves suddenly not in control, looked perplexed to one another, too uncertain to disturb the scene unfolding before them.
Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hand in his own, and the young Jedi instantaneously stopped his thrashing. His eyes wide, he stared breathlessly up at his master's kind face, trying to perceive if it was reality or if he had slipped back into the unconscious world once again.
"…aster?" he whispered, his chest heaving.
"Yes, Obi-Wan."
"…'re okay?"
"Thanks to you," Qui-Gon told him with a slight smile.
"Where were you?"
"I was with Anakin. I hadn't talked to him since our battle with the Sith."
Obi-Wan didn't need to express the fears that had been heavy on his heart, Qui-Gon could read them all in his pale countenance. The boy, although truly a man, could seem so vulnerable and young at times. He thought briefly to remind Obi-Wan to not only accept his fears, but also to release them, but the boy looked so tired and so relieved. The concerns of his Padawan touched Qui-Gon's heart, reverberating their affection and care that had grown through years of trials and adventures. Obi-Wan, though usually quite reserved, could hide nothing from his master, and Qui-Gon thrived on the admiration of his Padawan. Obi-Wan had revitalized him 13 years ago, and he still had that affect today.
But amongst the secure feelings, came a sadness that Qui-Gon could not readily place. Somehow the look of hope and relief on his Padawan's face tore him up inside. Soon, he rationalized, Obi-Wan would be a Knight, and he would have to let the young man go. But it was more than that, but something he couldn't quite define.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Obi-Wan face at Anakin's name—why would his master leave him for a mere boy he hardly knew?—but he reined it within himself quickly. "…glad you're okay," he said, smiling, his voice wispy.
"We both still need to rest to recover from our wounds," Qui-Gon said. "You should really listen to the healers."
"…sorry, Master...," Obi-Wan apologized, his voice beginning to drift nearly inaudibly. The young man's adrenaline waned rapidly and sleep beckoned.
"Shhh," Qui-Gon instructed, placing a large hand on Obi-Wan's forhead. "Now sleep."
Needing little convincing, a remnant of a smile trailed across Obi-Wan's face as he closed his eyes. With the pieces of awareness left in his tired body, Obi-Wan scolded himself mentally. Qui-Gon had every right to give attentions to others, especially Anakin. As a Padawan, it was his duty to respect and trust his master. After all, that was why he still had a master—he still lacked complete maturity to make such judgments on his own. He could feel the residual sensation of concern from Qui-Gon through their bond, and that comforted him. His master's judgment may be impulsive at times, but it had always proven valid in the end. Perhaps Anakin was meant to be a Jedi, perhaps Qui-Gon was even meant to be his master. It was not Obi-Wan's place to interfere.
Drawing on the solace of the bond he shared with Qui-Gon, he settled beneath the sheets, allowing his eyes to drift shut. He was tired, after all. All would be well soon—he would be a Knight, and Qui-Gon would be there to welcome him home from the trials. It was very against the Jedi way to dream in this manner, but as Obi-Wan slipped away beneath his master's comforting touch, he could not help but smile as he envisioned Qui-Gon's proud face as he gently cut his Padawan braid, completing their bond and giving them each the closure needed to start off on their new walks of life.
Qui-Gon stood silently, waiting until the body of his apprentice went lax in the healthy realm of sleep. Stroking the light brown hair, he laid the young man's hand neatly upon the sheets. He allowed himself to linger there a moment longer, just to bask in the wonder that was his dutiful apprentice. Turning around, he came face to face with the confounded but respectful main healer. "You should listen to your own advice," he said. "You should be in bed."
"Of course," Qui-Gon said compliantly, following as the healer led him to a vacant bed.
He shook his head. "You Jedi are something else," he commented.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Qui-Gon indulged the man. "Why's that?"
"Ever since you've been around, I feel like there's something going on, something that I can't see or hear or anything, but that's definitely there and that you guys understand it."
The man had aptly, though crudely, describe the Jedi's ability to sense the Force. Qui-Gon offered him a friendly smile. Lying down, he said cryptically, "It is not so hard to understand if you only know where to look."