Obi-Wan laid his cheek against Qui-Gon's chest, forcing thought to grant him this tiny leave, so that he could register the emotional magnitude of the moment.
He gripped the Master's back with quaking hands, pulling himself closer, as if the man were in danger of disappearing, revealing it all as another cruel illusion.
But Qui-Gon remained, just as strong and comforting as he'd been in the flush of life.
And also completely centered on his original goal. With tinges of regret pulling at the lines of his face, Qui-Gon broke the tight embrace.
Obi-Wan swallowed with a wet click. "Th-Thank you. Thank you for telling me."
In the sky, a single purely white patch weeded through the gray.
Qui-Gon smiled. Although the young countenance was pinched and swelled from tears, the same undeniable beauty lay beneath. No matter the level of pain or heartache, Obi-Wan retained that which made him unique, the rare qualities cherished by others that could never be totally eclipsed by melancholy. Things that became beloved to Qui-Gon's tired soul--and almost caused him to throw away his plans.
Because he knew with one word, he could inspire Obi-Wan to abandon life. Their ties were so deep and old, containing an obedience and unrivaled need to please on the apprentice's part.
During their time together, as teacher and student, Obi-Wan had followed his mentor into fiery danger, bitter uncertainty.
Qui-Gon looked at the brutally open face, and knew nothing had changed. He could take Obi-Wan from the harshness of the Universe, to a home of such grace and peace, without any substantial interference.
But that's just it…I'd be another source trying to take him where I want him to go. I'd be no better than this wretched disease in that respect. Shame engulfed his aura. Nothing has the right to 'take' him anywhere…
Only the Force. And the Force doesn't want him--yet.
The same wonderful aspects of Obi-Wan's character which pushed the Master toward such extreme thought suddenly threw him on the opposite side.
With all his gifts, he still has much to give. And he MUST be willing to give them….I can't influence him that way. He touched the dimpled chin with a vague smile.
He must decide. I know that Anakin needs him…Gods how that boy needs him…But OBI-WAN has to know that.
"You deserved to know a long time ago." Qui-Gon finally spoke again. "It seems foolishness transcends even death."
Obi-Wan shook his head, threading their fingers together.
Qui-Gon stroked the auburn hair. Tiny shards of ice began to drop from the mane, scattering on the ground and slowly melting away. "Obi-Wan, know you know you're a part of a family."
A small, happy nod.
"But a family doesn't disintegrate after a single generation. I may have--passed, but you're still here, and you have the ability to spread the love to a new age. I was father to you, Obi-Wan." He rubbed the back of the slightly warm neck. "And you can be father to Anakin, and continue the chain we created."
Obi-Wan stiffened under his hand.
Qui-Gon couldn't be daunted by the reaction. "But that'll be impossible unless you come to terms with what you're feeling. You'll never find serenity anywhere until you address these problems."
Obi-Wan stared at him with wide, moist eyes--then he dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking roughly.
The earth rumbled.
Master Prila turned away from Bant and Anakin, a hand going to his ruddy red temple. His antennae vibrated so fiercely he could feel it in his skull.
"Oh Force." He gasped.
"What?" The two others demanded in unison.
The healer struggled to swallow. "Go to your Master, Padawan. Right now."
Anakin obeyed, finding Obi-Wan's limp hand through the web of physicians. "Master," He whispered, and half-wished he wasn't holding that hand, with its frigid fingers and clammy palm. He's so cold.
Throwing an anxious but determined glance at Bant, he sealed his eyes.
The amphibious Jedi watched him for a scant moment, her pink skin looking both pale and hotly flushed, then wheeled away from the sight.
"Why? Why're you so upset all of a sudden?" She asked Prila softly.
He couldn't tear his dark gaze from the operating table. "Young Kenobi's looking for respite--he isn't finding it."
"You're not a mind healer." Bant told him.
His shoulders slumped so slightly it was almost below her perception. "Sometimes agony is so severe, it ripples. And one can't help but feel it." Prila glimpsed her through the corner of his eye." It doesn't take a mind healer to sense that sort of pain."
Qui-Gon pressed his feet down firmly as the ground shook.
The euphoria Obi-Wan's fevered mind designed was fracturing. All around them, the counterfeit Naboo suffered the crumbling. Grand trees with thick trunks shriveled and bent, as though bowing to the invasion in willing submission. Flowers wilted. Bright, winged insects fell. The frost had been crippling, but this---
Its perfection was ruined. And for once, Qui-Gon thought, defiled loveliness was justified.
This place was a gorgeous, shimmering land, but its beauty was leeched from its creator.
Obi-Wan could never be the creature of full luminosity he was once was, as long as this world stood.
Proof enough, when Qui-Gon looked down at him, and saw the trembling of the young, bare body, huddled in private misery.
"Obi-Wan, please. Let it out." He massaged a smooth, quaking shoulder. "Let it out before it destroys you."
With scarlet-washed, weepy eyes, Obi-Wan looked up at him. "Why would it matter? Why would destruction matter? H-He shouldn't have to deal with me!"
"Why?"
Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Because I didn't want to deal with him."
Qui-Gon saw that every word had to be forced out, and every word tore the Knight a bit more. "Why didn't you want to?" He pressed softly. I must do this. I MUST.
"Mmmph…" Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes, curling in his raw, icy toes. "I-I can't. Oh Gods…" He choked, disgust and loathing evident in his sallow visage. "I can't!" He threw his head down into the weak sanctuary of his hands again, pressing the pads of his fingers against his face. His skin began to redden.
Qui-Gon rested his wide hand against the curve of Obi-Wan's back silently, waiting.
And for awhile, only haggard, tortured sobs could be heard. What started as weeping grew more terrible, as the young man realized the depth of his pain and abhorrence. He clawed at his hair, eyes darting aimlessly, legs restless, muscles coiled.
Then time seemed to still as the anguish became quiet, though ever present in his moist gaze. He lifted his head, panting, eyes twin moons almost glowing in the spark of another discovery.
Qui-Gon steadied his touch. "Obi-Wan?"
The Knight turned to him, and such desolation marked his face that the Master could scarcely comprehend.
"Y-You." Obi-Wan rasped.
All around, shadows lengthened, drawing them into a pall.
But miraculously, Qui-Gon could see him amid the darkness.
"You." Obi-Wan repeated. Then he launched himself at his mentor, emitting a raw growl, all traces of hope and sadness gone from him.
Anakin could easily slip into the shallow levels of his bond with Obi-Wan. The first few paths were simple to travel; since his very early days as an apprentice he'd had the ability to walk them. They were the roads that connected him to Obi-Wan, that bound them, even with a few loosening stones, through batter and hardship.
Despite all his fevered efforts, Obi-Wan couldn't disjoin himself totally.
You just can't be rid of me, Master. Anakin thought with a grim inner smirk.
These attachments were forged during a time of extreme emotional strain--with Anakin still smelling vaguely of Tatooine dust and Obi-Wan still haunted by ash.
Neither had been overly excited at the prospect of forming a bond. After all, it was not the way it was meant to be.
Anakin was promised a fresh life with Qui-Gon as a guide, not a callow apprentice so recently promoted his hair style matched that of his new Padawan. He was supposed to have one of the most honored, sage Masters in the Order--and ended up under the wing of someone who mere days before was shaded by another--who warned that Anakin was dangerous.
In the span of a breath, Qui-Gon was dead, and Anakin would never be the same.
Then again, neither would Obi-Wan.
He entered the Sith battle an apprentice, little more than a child in the eyes of the Council, and emerged a Master, with tears standing in his eyes. His reality were permanently altered.
Anakin could remember the strange expression that came over that face. A look of pained disbelief, as though he didn't understand the abrupt changes, as if he was searching unknowingly for the man who could make it right.
But then, acceptance settled onto Knight Kenobi's countenance. He would never consciously allow his façade to crack again.
The anguish was there, though. And it was a dismal sort of afternoon within the Temple when they initiated the training link.
There were problems encountered as they tried.
Obi-Wan had to lead the boy, but his mind was suffering the ache of severance with his slain mentor, in every sense, and it required enormous strength for the young man to complete the task.
Anakin had no idea how to participate. His thoughts were his own, weren't they? He didn't even know Obi-Wan, and he was expected to be tied to him so personally from the start?
But soon…the two realized something, as they gingerly viewed one another's unwilling minds…
Both had loved Qui-Gon Jinn.
Both had lost him.
In that shared grief, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker found common ground. Their bond was borne largely of sorrow and need--
It could, therefor, withstand incredible damage and adversity.
Here we are again. Engulfed and threatened by misery.
Except this time, I WILL NOT lose my Master.
Anakin moved through into deeper territory, places within Obi-Wan's mind it had taken a long while to learn.
Mostly because Obi-Wan had taken a long while to reveal them.
He was a private sort of person, Anakin noticed that from their initial encounters aboard the Naboo starship. Apart from polite conversation with a handmaiden or urgent dialogue with a security member, Obi-Wan kept to himself, always focused and reserved.
Anakin was startled by such an attitude. On his planet, there was rarely a moment of solitude. Everyone's aura was buzzing with something constantly: weariness, desperation, greed. To meet a man all but devoid of impatience and conceit was remarkable to Anakin. He recalled catching sight of Obi-Wan late at night, or space's equivalency to it, seated at a corner table, alone.
His eyes weren't closed, but there was an absolute stillness in them, their gaze fallen to the floor. His hands were rested on his knees, mouth solid in a line.
For a moment, the little boy wasn't sure if he was breathing, the rise and fall of the chest was so slight, so imperceptible.
The lights were dimmed, hovering a weak glow around the Padawan's cheekbones and forehead.
Padme was an angel, yes. Beautiful and effervescent and kind.
Then what was Obi-Wan, with his distinct brilliance and silence and luminescence?
Anakin stayed near the doorway, watching him for a bit more, trying to name the feeling he saw in the emerald eyes, splashed with azure and rimmed in gray.
Then, he knew.
Obi-Wan was thinking, that was clear. And his musings were not the stuff of light dreams…
He was somber and heavy, like something was pulling him, pinning him in his seat, and he was calmly fighting his complacence.
Anakin wanted to rush over to him and shake his arms, stop whatever it was that was happening within him.
But then Padme was there, standing at Anakin's shoulder, beckoning him away.
He went with her…but a tiny piece of his heart stayed with Obi-Wan.
After they became Master and Padawan, Anakin wished he could ask Obi-Wan what had absorbed him that evening. But he knew the man would never tell him.
These roads he could tramp were lined with intelligence, with memories of happiness and lessons learned, taught. Anakin was assured by their existence, that they weren't ruined by this invading illness.
But when he tried to delve further, the avenues were dark, and he couldn't continue the effortless trek.
For them, it was night again.
Qui-Gon went down with a soundless gasp on the ground, Obi-Wan straddling his chest and raining punches on his face.
The darkness was thick and strangely humid, so that it was difficult to gather a breath. Qui-Gon found that he couldn't react to the assault. His throat was choked by the hot, moist air.
And Obi-Wan's screams were so loud they forbid any interference.
"It was YOU! All the time! All the time it was YOU!" He shouted, a ragged edge to his voice and a frightening power in his fists.
It was frightening because those clenched fingers weren't the cold, pale ones of a man stricken by illness. They were the focused weapons of a man impaled by grief and resentment--who wasn't allowing the pain silence any longer.
Obi-Wan knew what he was doing.
When Qui-Gon caught sight of his eyes amid the darkness, they weren't brightened by fever or dimmed by acceptance. No…
These were the eyes of his apprentice. And they looked much the same.
Perhaps because the pain has always been there. It's just that no one's noticed it--or they have, and have been too scared to confront him.
The object of his sad musing wasn't in the same reflective mood, completely consumed by the bloodlust pumping in his veins, the intense stillness within him that told him, without moving, without stirring, that he had waited and suffered far too much, far too long to let himself go this terrible way. There was a great conflict in Obi-Wan Kenobi's mind at that moment. A base, physical need of reciprocation, revenge warring with the part of him resigned to cool passivity that he had adopted as his nature.
But who would choose to hold fast to a poison, a venom pooled and rotting in a mouth, when they could be rid of it? When they could just spit it out?
Obi-Wan grabbed the broad shoulders, that had once been soft as a pillow after exhausting, arduous missions. "YOU! YOU'RE the reason!" He rattled them. "I wouldn't NEED to hate him! I wouldn't need to!"
"Why?"
With a shaky inhale, Obi-Wan smashed the shoulders back on the ground. He covered his head with his hands. "NO NO NO NO NO NO NO…."
Qui-Gon didn't attempt to rise or move the weight from his midsection. He didn't feel the desire to watch him rock back and forth, locked in his misery and soul's crisis. He had seen enough.
And, even as a supposed rogue and sage Master, joined with the most divine entity in the Universe, he couldn't take the sight of another tear.
Is it because you love him…or because he's blaming you?
"Oh…gods, what's he doing?"
Bant looked with a tight urgency at the healer heading the operation. "What?"
"His heart rate's going crazy."
Prila crossed his arms, craggy red face chiseled in consternation. "Perhaps the apprentice has reached him by now. He could just be startled by the arrival."
Bant steepled her hands, then rested her chin on the clammy, finned fingers. Or maybe Ani hasn't got through at all.
Obi-Wan gripped handfuls of his hair. "NO NO NO I'M NOT HEARING THIS I'M NOT FEELING THIS NO NO I'M NOT…" His lungs were working in overdrive, panting and aching and so damn cold. Every time he breathed in, it was sharp. And when he stopped talking, he could feel the pain, closing in, pulling at him with greedy fingers.
"You do, Obi-Wan."
There was the voice. The crisp, completely certain voice. The one that reprimanded him when he erred, guided him when he faltered, whispered softly to him when he would cry.
But not anymore. He would weep by himself. It was how it was meant to be.
Tears pressed at his eyes, and Obi-Wan blinked in the darkness. "Why are you doing this?!"
"Doing what, Obi-Wan? Trying to help?"
Obi-Wan felt through the shadow, searching for something…something that he could hurt the way he had been hurt. Someone who could know what it was to suffer…the way he had suffered…the way that someone had caused him to suffer…
"Help? You think you're helping? You're the one who made me promise." Obi-Wan said, and his tone was dangerously even. "You threw me away for him…Then scrambled around to find me again…J-Just so I could…J-Just to…" Obi-Wan felt flesh beneath his fingers, the echoed pulse from the man's dead heart, the rise of counterfeit breath. He squeezed.