Twenty Seven: The Wait of Dust

The bandage around his arm is already beginning to fray. A thread dangles from the end, and I rub it between my fingers.

How many times has he been smarted by the blade, far worse than this superficial wound? I never gave it too much worry…Until I had already branded deeper wounds on his heart

And now I know it can't be patched just once and be expected to heal. It will take layers of salve to mend.

This is only the first.

My head is leaned against the couch. As darkness encroaches, I feel a heaviness seep into my body. Something I've battled--and, maybe, can soon forfeit.

"Obi-Wan?"

He's awake. I haven't been able to gauge his level of consciousness very well as of late-he's been a superb actor-but I can sense the change in his breathing. "Obi-Wan, are you alright?"

After a moment, he nods and sits up, rubbing his face.

This happens often to me. I see him every day, direct most aspects of his life and training. And then I am, quite abruptly, confronted by a stranger. Someone vaguely familiar, but different in spirit. His face holds only the memory of his childhood.

I've been striving to stay in perpetual memory, cling to a past where there was ample time to accomplish all that I wanted to, for him to experience all that he should.

Obi-Wan is a man now.

He is not yet a Knight, but that will change, too.

And…I once had a heart, but I think that will be taken with him, as it always has.

For today, he is with me. For a few years more, I can feel my own heartbeat. So I should not halt it prematurely. My stupidity is driving him away, though in form he is beside me.

"Obi-Wan, I don't want you to be afraid to tell me the truth."

He looks away. "I'm only afraid that I'll hurt you."

Barely a whisper, and I can feel a pang in that heart I possess. "I think it would hurt us far worse if you didn't tell me."

My Padawan sighs, studies his hands. "I didn't want you to have to say no. I knew it would be--an uncomfortable situation. All those people. And you had enough to worry about."

"I think you did too."

He shakes his head. "What did I have to worry about?"

"Oh, all you just described." I smile without much humor. "We've been trying to protect each other, but it's done more harm than I imagined."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Obi-Wan. When's the last time we've left the Temple?"

He doesn't answer.

"When's the last time you've had a good night's sleep?" I hesitate. "I've attended an appointment with Master Meelon."

His eyebrow lifts. I can see he's surprised and, beneath the exterior, mortified. "Master Meelon? The mind healer?"

"While you were with Mace. It was mandatory."

"What?" His eyes are gray, streaked with dread. "Why?"

"Because others were realizing what an effect all this was having on you. You're denying it now-I know you want to spare me-but life after your…return…hasn't been ideal, my Padawan. Far from it."

He shrugs, but the dust of Ejhlon isn't drifted to the air.

He wants to flee, as I did, but he's held in place.

I know he wants to overcome this. Yet, at the start of the path, the trek seems so long, and he fears to replenish himself for the journey, he will be made to steal from me. And Obi-Wan would rather fail at the first pace than do that.

It is something that has endeared him to me, while I must struggle to rid him of it. A trace of the sweet child that cannot linger in our Jedi-specific maturity.

"I know that nothing in life is perfect, the way you would precisely wish for it to be.

"But there are some things-stepping outside, breathing fresh air, exploring the Gardens-that should be available to you as a natural freedom. Whether or not you were imprisoned. I took those away. It doesn't matter why. And because of that, I robbed you of so much more."

"But I understand why--"

I squeeze his shoulder. "My motivations shouldn't excuse me of my wrongs. Obi-Wan, I wanted to shield you from danger-it's all I've been able to think about-and because of that you didn't voice your concerns.

"I still knew they existed. You were trying to tell me. Not in words, perhaps, but regardless, you were. On the balcony, in the lift…as you fell asleep the other day. I refused to listen. Now I will listen, Obi-Wan. I'm waiting to listen, but you won't say anything."

He proves me correct, sitting in silence for many moments, gazing at a landscape beyond that of the apartment, one composed of shadow, and with shades of uncertainty.

What if I've affected him deeper than I thought? My stomach clenches up into an ice-rimed knot.

"I didn't want to recite my speech because I didn't want you to worry. And I didn't see Garen at all when he was here, because I didn't want to leave you alone."

It's a physical blow to me, and I jerk back a little. "Why?" My voice is a croak. I'm not accusing.

I'm merely dumbfounded.

He stares into my face, and I see the temptation in his, to stop before he has begun, fall before a step can take him any further. "Because I was gone. F-For so long, and it didn't feel right to--abandon you." His expression is solemn. "I knew how tired you were."

I don't move. We're caught in a vacuum, without sound, and only this one, terrible truth is in existence between us. "How tired I was?"

"Yes."

My apprentice is a convincing actor. But, apparently, I am not.