Bant pushed a stray, pink lock of hair from her eyes. "What do you mean?" She asked the physician.
Prila exhaled heavily, giving the patient's chart a quick once-over, then replacing his coarse hand on the cool forehead. "Right now, the healers are preparing to correct the disorder. Once diagnosed, it's actually quite simple to reverse…given that the patient is willing to be docile to our efforts."
"So as long as you have his cooperation, this can be fixed without him suffering anything permanent?"
The Master accepted a pile of tubes and circular sensors from another healer, and began to adhere the small, cold monitors to Obi-Wan's temple. "Well, there will be residual damage. Disorientation being the most severe. Nothing to worry about.
"But," And now his strange eyes were grave, "The huge problem this disorder creates is paranoia. This young man isn't going to trust us. He's in a late stage of the illness, judging from his collapse. Now he's completely separated from reality, with no outside forces to interfere with his own illusions.
"You say he's been accusing others of hiding his Master from him?"
Bant nodded, feeling her apprehension rise to dizzying, nauseating levels.
Prila stepped back and motioned for the team of doctors to begin.
"You…Shouldn't you be heading the operation?" She wondered, confused.
"The others are capable. They're trained for it. Only the disease's identity eluded them before. I'll remain to oversee it, of course." He explained. "If your friend is searching for his deceased Master, bringing him back to the land of the living will be extremely difficult. That's been his focus, his singular goal, Knight Eerin. Chances are, the malady's taken him to the edge of death. He's very close to reconnecting with his mentor."
Bant glanced at her lifelong companion amid the crowd of healers. "Then how--how can we convince Obi-Wan to come back?"
Anakin leaned back against the chair, barely finding the control to breathe. His chest fluttered and his stomach was wrenching with powerful nausea.
The disbelief was as searing as the strips of artificial lighting, beating their counterfeit, electric beams down on his tear-streaked face, reminding him coarsely of reality when all he wanted to do was shirk the weight of it.
To pretend it wasn't happening.
On Tatooine sometimes, when his mother didn't arrive home, and he sat alone in their dusty hovel gazing at far away, unreachable stars, he tried to create such an illusion. He imagined he was staring into the sky from somewhere with cool air and soft blankets and--above all--no chains. Shmi would return from the market carrying food, a grin spread brightly across her lips, without the dark circles beneath her eyes or the slightly red tint of her skin.
For awhile, he was cradled in the dream.
Until the door would slide open, and she'd shuffle inside, hiding her exhaustion behind a smile, quickly wiping the sweat from her creased brow.
Anakin knew that fantasies never lasted. Not for him, at least.
Maybe all this..Maybe my life as a Jedi's just a fantasy.
He thought back on the moments when Obi-Wan offered his back as a pillow as they rode a seemingly endless path. Anakin remembered the rough fur of the labored beast beneath them, how it would chafe his skin if he wasn't careful.
And his Master's tunic, warm and worn with traces of his scent.
He needed only to breathe in to know he was safe, weave his small arms around the slender middle to feel life.
Anakin would wake in a tiny campsite, hearing the crackling fire and seeing Obi-Wan's young countenance soft in sleep.
He'd risk lying a hand on his cheek. Perhaps expecting the image to shimmer and fade, like all the other wistful reveries of his childhood.
But Obi-Wan never left him.
The apprentice stared down the hospital corridor, his eyes hollow with disenchantment, threaded with deep crimson pain.
Too good. It was too good to be true.
Qui-Gon stopped beside Obi-Wan's hunched form, his hand hovering inches from the bowed head, but somehow unable to touch the russet locks.
A cutting wind whirled around the two and it whistled a low cacophony in the Master's ears. "Don't fear telling me what's in your heart, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan grasped at his head with a shuddering moan.
Qui-Gon steeled himself, swallowing. It would be so easy to sweep him into his arms, and wait for the swell of pain to pass. Then he would be free of his fate. They would be free.
But Qui-Gon was forever devoted to the Force. He could not trifle with destiny.
Even if such betrayal meant he could have Obi-Wan beside him again.
He would not.
But Gods it was hard.
"Don't' fear me, Obi-Wan."
There was a sudden shake through the ground, a brief fracture that caused Obi-Wan to turn his eyes toward the other man.
"I…can't." He said hoarsely.
And Qui-Gon knew it wasn't in response to his pleas. He crouched to his Padawan's level, taking the cold face in his hands. "What? What can't you do?"
Obi-Wan shut his eyes. Drops of frost began to melt from his lashes. "I…can't…hate him."
Prila glanced at the healing team as they began the procedure and huffed. "This disease infuriates me. Every healer is trained to reverse it, since much of the operation is identical to others. It's just the damn diagnosis…" He shook his head, the short extension that sensed pain vibrating.
Bant stared steadily at him. "Master Prila, how can we get to him?"
The alien touched her small shoulder. "To be honest, I'm not too certain. When he was lucid, he wouldn't respond to reason. Not even from his friends or his own apprentice…"
Her eyes widened. "Anakin." She breathed. "Anakin, his Padawan. Couldn't he…Couldn't he try to contact him mentally?"
Prila considered the notion for a moment, lips pursed.
"He did get through to him. Just for a few seconds, but he did. Anakin reached him through their link." Bant offered hopefully, on the brink of shaking the Master physician until he gave her the answer, the right answer, she needed. That Obi-Wan needed.
"The Padawan was able to get through while the disease blocked Kenobi?"
The Mon Calamarian nodded.
Again, his dark, permanently narrowed eyes turned to the operating table. "As they labor to correct the condition, his shields could , and in all likelihood will, weaken. His thoughts'll begin to untwist, return to normalcy." When they met Bant's, there was a feeble gleam of confidence. "The Padawan could possibly reach him."
It was all she had to hear.
Bant took off at top speed, moisture beading down her salmon cheeks and shivery optimism rivaling the fear in her heart.
Qui-Gon didn't speak a word, framing the numb cheeks and watching Obi-Wan's eyes.
"Something…S-Something wants me to." Obi-Wan whispered. "Inside, there's this terrible urge--to hate him. To hate and distrust him."
Qui-Gon wiped a lukewarm tear away with his thumb. "Have you…Do you think you've given in to that urge?"
Obi-Wan looked at him, his hair rippling in the strengthening winds. There was another quake within the earth, but he didn't seem to notice, remaining deathly still. Even the moisture glistening in a bitter gloss over his eyes froze.
And Obi-Wan could feel the cold, worse than before. The icy gale blasted his body like it would a crumbling statue. Slowly, pieces began to fall away under the onslaught, to drift into the gray-streaked background.
His clothes, the tattered leggings he began this journey in, were gone.
The trappings of a Jedi were erased from his form.
Crumpled in a ball, Obi-Wan Kenobi was nothing but a man, with scars seeping from his skin to his bones, each of them uncovered.
He was, at last, exposed.
So there was really no use in trying to grapple for a shroud to throw hastily over his heart. All that he was could be seen.
And there wasn't a way to undo the shocking work of the winds. For an instant, he wanted to reverse it, to crawl back into the protective concealment of robes and self-deceit, because it was safe, because it was familiar.
But the pulse of panic passed; Obi-Wan found, with more than a bit of surprise, that he would rather be vulnerable to his own emotion than smothered by delusion.
Just as before, Qui-Gon didn't move to warm him from the winter. This time, Obi-Wan was thankful for his refrain.
"I've lied to myself for so long." He said, with a humorless smile. "Tricked myself, somehow, into believing I could live on a different level than anyone else. That I could go through my days without feeling the same human emotions. Shutting off my natural reactions, so I could function and perform and do my duty. Do my duty with every damn step. Always centered on what must be done. What only I could do." Streams started from his eyes, silvery. "Only I could."
Qui-Gon touched his arm, but the customarily smooth skin was ruined by an inexplicable coarseness that wasn't present moments before, nor evident from his outward appearance. "I didn't…I mean, there wasn't enough time."
Obi-Wan sniffed, rising from the ground. "I know that. And I knew how important he was. I could feel it too."
"Yes…" Qui-Gon stopped beside him. His jade gaze flashed with pain. "But it was our last moment together. "
"Your last chance to get him trained." Obi-Wan responded dully. Qui-Gon looked unsettled, but the Knight only smiled, arms at his sides. "It's okay, Master. I can be realistic. Saying goodbye to a friend is a pale sentiment next to securing the fate of a galaxy. It's ridiculous to think otherwise. I know my place in the scope of things. "
Qui-Gon grasped his arms, forgetting the rough texture of them in the fire of his anguish. "Oh Obi-Wan, you have to know it was more than that. You were more than that to me."
Obi-Wan's lips were tightly compressed.
"I've loved all my apprentices. They're precious, they are the culmination of a Master's work and meaning.
"But no one, not even Xanatos, with all his endearments and charm, could accomplish what you have." He stroked Obi-Wan's jaw with aching gentleness. "No one else became the child of my soul.
"That, Obi-Wan, is something only you could do."
Anakin snapped his head up when Bant barreled into the room.
"Ani!"
He rose to meet her, his eyes wide and fearful. "What? What's happened?" His voice was riddled with dread.
She braced the sides of his face briefly. "You can help, Ani. You can help your Master." The healer didn't wait to explain. She grabbed the startled apprentice's hand and led him down the corridor.
Obi-Wan was struck speechless by the man's intimate divulgement, his naked body and heart quivering. He knew he was a main concern of his Master, that his life was of value to the other man.
But never had he allowed himself to dream that the familial love he felt for Qui-Gon was requited.
He would never have taken it as truth, had it not been spoken by the man himself, had the words not spilled from his whiskered lips.
Obi-Wan clamped down on his own uncontrollably trembling lips, wishing his mouth wasn't so numb. "Oh…" He shook his head. "It can't be…"
Qui-Gon gripped his hands. "Yes it is. I know you have no reason to believe it." His eyes dropped for a shameful moment, then returned to their strict, desperate focus. "I never told you. I let you live your life without that most vital knowledge. You never---" He swallowed hard. "You always knew you belonged to a family, the collective family of the Jedi. But you never knew you were my family.
"My son."
Obi-Wan threw himself into waiting arms, cutting through the remnants of frost with his form. "I know now."
Qui-Gon was content to hold him for a few moments.
Bant introduced Anakin quickly to Master Prila, who strode forward.
"Padawan Skywalker, I've heard much about you." He glanced at Obi-Wan's still body, where the boy's eyes were already trained. "Your Master is in the middle of treatment for his illness."
Anakin looked only partially relieved. Shadows clung to his face; his hands were balled into whitening fists. "Is he going to be alright?"
"The healers are very skilled." Prila touched his shoulder, drawing him reluctantly from the scene. "But they can't bring his mind back to reality. He's far from their reach, and from what I've been told, he's heading toward his former Master."
Anakin inhaled, his mouth looked sullen and bruised as it compressed. "But Qui-Gon's---"
"I'm aware of the man's death. Which is precisely why you must attempt to find your Master within his mind. If you can bring him back from wherever he's hiding, his chances of survival and recovery will increase dramatically."
Anakin didn't have to consider it. The answer fell from him before he was fully aware. "I'll do it."