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Qui-Gon dipped his head back to rest against the sofa, eyes trailing across the smooth stretch of ceiling, half-lidded.
They drifted languorously to the soup, cooled and clinging to the side of the dish, beside the crumbled remnants of biscuit and shallow ring of juice.
During Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, food was gulped down eagerly, whether the boy was hungry or simply drawn by the tantalizing scents. That insatiable appetite dwindled as the youth matured. More often his plate was pushed away with bits remaining in a scatter. His attention was occupied elsewhere, aware that eating was nothing more than an essential fueling process for his body.
Tonight, Qui-Gon held to the hope that knowledge was returning to Obi-Wan, and the rail-thin form would regain its pleasant fullness.
The Master's hand moved down a slender, covered arm. His cheek brushed against Obi-Wan's hair. "So strong." He murmured, voice lowered and almost reverent. "You are Jedi. Above everyone else."
A broken sigh answered him.
The sadness and rage had soaked so deep into his soul, he had become numb to its power. He was always conscious of it, when he caught a wince from a bruise mistakenly touched, or a shudder belatedly quelled.
The ghosts of the grim, torturous time in captivity had crept into Obi-Wan's eyes. The set so often breathtakingly cerulean had faded to gray, lusterless as clouds swelled with rain.
The wash of tears relieved nothing….Seemed to fortify the wicked wraiths grasping to his friend.
He brought Obi-Wan closer into the circle of his arms.
And tried to block himself off from the agony.
Because if he allowed himself to truly feel it…it could very well destroy him.
---
"Where're your magic powers now, Jedi?" A sneering voice rasped, noxious hot breath swarming in his face.
The skeletal alien sniggered at his prisoner's weak struggle to gather a breath. "All that mystical clap trap is nothing but rat crap now, isn't it?"
The chained figure opened his burning eyes, and rivers of freed tears coursed down his cheeks, catching lacerations, the salty moisture stinging. Hateful words spun in his mind, but his bruised lips were beyond the effort.
A jaundiced, toothy smile split his captor's mouth. "What? No more nasty yelling?" He tilted the dimpled chin sharply, eliciting a feeble hiss from the Knight. "Well, maybe we can make you scream…"
Then, after the grinding buzzing began, the pain erupted.
At first it was unbearable, all-encompassing, wracking his entire body.
His thoughts smeared together, and memories of who he was and why he was trapped in this hell were lost in the bitter maelstrom.
He could only pray, on some savage, bare level, that the agony would force him into unconsciousness.
It was a long, long time before it did…
"Ohhhh.." A quiet, miserable moan fell from Obi-Wan's lips.
Qui-Gon smoothed a wisp of ginger off his forehead. His touch was laced with gentle waves of the Force. "Shh…It's over. It's over."
Obi-Wan twisted in his arms, head thrown back so that his distressed cries were heard clear. Dark streaks of violet gleamed wetly beneath his eyes. "Hmmmph….No…."
Qui-Gon sent a hasty, worried probe through their partially reawakened bond.
Obi-Wan sat up with a ragged and quick gasp. A hand rubbed light circles against his slumped back, and he fell, exhausted, against the support of the Master's chest.
"It's okay." Qui-Gon assured again. He streamed relaxing suggestions along the panting man's mind. "It's over."
Obi-Wan tried to lift his head. "N-No. It c-c-can't be over."
The Jedi frowned, steadying him. "Why, Obi-Wan? The creatures that hurt you will never have the chance again." He framed the perspiring face with his massive hands. Cerulean and jade eyes gleamed sickly in the muted light. Qui-Gon watched them struggle to focus amid the torrent of pain. "So why can't you accept that it's over?"
Obi-Wan stared at him, lips quivering wildly, fear wide and bare in his eyes. "B-Because I can still feel it!" He shouted with frail anger. "When I sleep, I feel their claws a-all over, scraping my skin and y-y-yanking my hair."
Tears poured freely--from both men. Qui-Gon didn't move to wipe them. His focus remained unwavering on the purging Knight.
"I hear th-th-them, even when I'm awake. Whispers in the corner of my mind. T-Telling me I'll pay for interfering." He gulped. "They didn't p-pay, Qui-Gon. They l-l-left me cr-razy and half-dead…" Quaking, Obi-Wan crossed his arms and began to rock. "H-Hungry. My mouth was c-coated with the poisoned filth," He sputtered on the last word, "Even n-n-now, sitting heeere, I taste it." His teeth clamped down over his bottom lip.
"I taste it." He repeated in a severe whisper.
Qui-Gon carefully spread his arm across Obi-Wan's shoulders, stroking the short, ginger tail that brushed against his neck. "You're reliving it, Obi-Wan. It's been weeks. You've been well taken care of since then. Your system was checked and flushed of any toxins." He swept back a fallen wave of hair from the perspiring forehead. "What you're tasting is the remnants of your fright. Your feelings of helplessness. It hasn't gone away because you're hiding from it."
Obi-Wan pressed his face into the warmth of Qui-Gon's tunic. "No."
Qui-Gon, very gently, pulled him back, holding him by the arms. "You needn't be embarrassed by that, Obi-Wan. You survived a terrible, terrible ordeal." He smiled. "But you were never crazy, my Padawan. You reacted naturally. You were in shock.
"And you still are."
The young Jedi looked at him, understanding slowly registering in his tear-stained, pinched face.
Obi-Wan nodded.
Qui-Gon inhaled with an assuring smile, though still completely aware of the grim depths of the intervention. "Mace was worried for you. You spent weeks in the hospital ward, but all that improved was your body. The most precious part of you," He kissed the auburn crown of his head, "That most damaged by this, was as raw and unhealed as the day you were rescued."
Obi-Wan squeezed his hand with ever fiber of strength he possessed. "The moment I was brought here, w-when I came home--" He hesitated, "I was afraid. That you would see how pathetic I h-had allowed myself to become. How breakable." His voice was low. "But at the s-same time, I just wanted to be where everything made sense."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "Nothing about your condition is pathetic or weak. I would never be so blind and moronic to think so."
A blush colored the pallid Knight. "I-I didn't mean…"
Qui-Gon touched his mouth. "I know what you meant. It' s the way you are, Obi-Wan. The way I shaped you under my tutelage." He shushed further objections with a quick wave of his hand. "But you can't be perfect. This horrendous thing that was done to you--you can't walk away without scars or a time of recovery. "
Obi-Wan sniffed. "I want to forget."
"But you can't." The Master said. "As much as I would like to take these memories from you, I can't either. You must address them in order to move past them."
Obi-Wan's fingers curled around the billowing sleeves of his sleep tunic. "I c-c-can't." He grimaced, the sour, festering flavor viscous in his mouth. "I d-don't want to rem-m-member."
He blinked, tears collecting on his lashes. Gods I don't sound like myself…What's happened to me?
Qui-Gon patted his knee, cautious of the fading bruise there. "That's normal, Obi-Wan. Of course you don't want to remember. But these memories will feel different now." His finger ran along Obi-Wan's cheek. "Because they can't hurt you anymore."
Blue eyes striped with glinting moonlight narrowed. "Not if you don't let them."
Obi-Wan watched the familiar, deep color for a moment, breaths slowed. "You'll…help me?"
Qui-Gon finally dried the moisture from the smooth, golden skin. "You know I will."
---
The day following the tearful breakdown was nearly silent, with the weakened Knight sleeping most of the morning wrapped in a handmade quilt, in the center of his Master's bed, eyes pulsing as he dreamed.
Qui-Gon used the free time to straighten what had been left unattended. Dirty dishes discarded in the sink, clothes thrown on the floor, and other messes disregarded in favor of caring for Obi-Wan's needs.
He was depositing dirtied tunics in the laundry bin when the communicator rang out in short, shrill beeps. He jogged to answer it, glancing in the slumbering man's direction worriedly as he passed by.
He palmed the flashing button. "Hello?"
"Master?" Anakin's deep voice replied.
Qui-Gon smiled. "Padawan. How's your mission?"
"It's great!" He enthused, then quickly sobered. "I mean, it's a lot of work, but I'm handling it. The King said he's never worked with someone so talented in negotiation and persuasion."
Qui-Gon's grin broadened. "That's wonderful, Anakin. I'm glad to hear that you've apparently improved in mediation areas of your training."
"Yeah." The word glimmered with self-pride. "There shouldn't be that much left to do here. It's working out fine."
"It's fantastic that things are going so smoothly."
Anakin laughed lightly. "I would've been kinda bored, but the King's given me…I guess you wouldn't call it an expense account."
Qui-Gon quirked his bearded lip. "You mean accommodations?"
"Uh…yeah. I think. I've gone to some really good restaurants and things like that."
"Oh." The Master tapped his foot, finger pressing to his chin. "You've only accepted what's necessary, right?"
There was a pregnant pause. "Of course…Oh, I better go. I just wanted to catch up…"
"Well, when do you think you'll be back?"
"…What?"
Qui-Gon swallowed his slight frustration. "When will you be back?" He asked again, a bit louder.
"I'm not sure. A few more days at the most…." Rustling was audible in the background.
"Contact me before you depart, Padawan."
"..I will, Master. Bye."
The other end went dead before he could speak a hasty farewell. Qui-Gon stood with his hands on his hips, staring unseeing into the adjoining room, the brisk conversation replaying in his mind. A few days.
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