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Shadows stretched in soft criss-cross on the carpeted floor. Drapes flowed in slow rhythm with the breeze.
Qui-Gon's hand lay on the doorframe. These had been his personal quarters since the day he accepted his first Padawan, a hopeful flutter in his heart and meager knapsack swung over his shoulder. The space had never been empty, containing a large desk, antiquated chair of rare wood, purchased on a whim in a crowded little shop on the lower levels, and a tall bureau.
In the beginning, it was just a room, as any other he had occupied in his years, pleasant but barely memorable.
It was not until his apprentices swept through, chasing an escaped ball or swiping an extra pillow, earning a half-amused, half-upset expression from the Master, that it became his home.
He smirked, shaking his head, remembering the suspicious air that hovered around Obi-Wan a certain day when the boy was seventeen. Qui-Gon noticed almost at once the shields thrown up around the apprentice's thoughts, the way he avoided looking his mentor in the eye.
Qui-Gon was planning on approaching Obi-Wan about it, when he passed by his desk.
The top was stacked with mission reports, recorded notes and dusty holos. But above all the clutter, sat a single piece of creamy white paper.
Arching his brow, he picked up the curious item.
Drawn with crisp precision, a Jedi Master was standing beside a rolling, dark ocean, his long hair whipping behind him. Fine lines formed his leonine features, the familiar, broken nose, the trim beard. The picture was shaded with smoky gray, creating stunning dimension and startling, sharp emotion.
He covered his mouth, unable to take his eyes from the beautifully crafted work. At the bottom corner, scrawled in barely legible script, was Obi-Wan's signature, along with a short message:
I love you, My Master.
Tears blurred his vision. Qui-Gon rushed to his Padawan's bedroom, clutching the sketch, a look of wonderment on his face.
Obi-Wan was pouring over an installment of some serial he loosely followed when he felt strong, warm arms envelop him from behind, pinning him to a broad chest.
"Thank you, my Padawan." A voice rumbled in his ear, husky with joy.
Obi-Wan craned his neck, and only smiled.
Qui-Gon glanced fondly at the now-framed gift, hanging over the door, then returned his eyes to Obi-Wan.
Bands of dark streaked over the young Knight's silhouette. His fingers were curled around the thick pillow, a line of moisture streaming from his slack mouth.
The Master padded to the massive bed, sitting with a creak.
Obi-Wan sighed dreamily in response, nestling further into the patterned quilt.
A smile curved Qui-Gon's lips. He fingered the oft-used indigo coverlet, studying the geometric design that, when you peered closely, was actually an arrangement of vibrant, golden blooms surrounded by swirling jade vines.
It was Tahl's favorite, woven by her smooth, delicate hands when she was still a senior Padawan. After her sight was stolen, she tucked the folded quilt into Qui-Gon's drawer, an attached letter explaining that 'I would rather one I love enjoy what I can no longer.'
When she was slain, amid his smothering grief, Qui-Gon searched wildly for it, needing a remnant of her warmth, her scent.
He found it draped across Obi-Wan, tears dried on the shaking boy's face. He couldn't bear to lift it from the suffering child, instead settling beside him, keeping a hand steadfast on his slumbering Padawan throughout the endless, bitter night. And rising before dawn, so it would never be known who had offered the comfort.
"I must've been crazy." Qui-Gon whispered, grazing the base of Obi-Wan's neck with gentle fingers. He stared up at the portrait. "…And cruel."
"N-No." A groggy voice answered.
Calmly, Qui-Gon rubbed his back. "It's alright. You're safe, Obi-Wan."
"Mm…No." Red-stained eyes opened to slits. "You…weren't…ever those things."
His ministrations halted.
Obi-Wan struggled to sit up, the quilt falling away. "Why'd…you say that?"
Qui-Gon watched the subtle illumination from the window light the weary, sleep-creased face. "I was just..thinking out loud, Obi-Wan. Don't worry about it."
He rubbed his eyes, propped on an elbow. "Why…did you think that?"
"I was recalling old times. Times I was happy, and times I was an old fool." He explained with more than a hint of self-deprecation. "That's all."
"Oh." Obi-Wan cautiously reclined on the pillows again. "But…regardless…you've never been cruel."
His voice was still a trembling rasp, and Qui-Gon carded his fingers through the gleaming auburn hair. "You're a forgiving man, Obi-Wan."
The younger Jedi reached for the quilt. His companion blanketed it over his legs for him.
"No…You're just too hard on yourself." Obi-Wan argued.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "This isn't supposed to be my healing, you know." He took a mostly limp hand in his. "I was looking at the picture you drew for me, all those years ago."
Obi-Wan feigned a groan. "Ugh. I was…terrible."
"Not in the least." He countered, with warm inclination. "You were, are, an amazing artist. I cherish every piece."
"You're just…sentimental."
"No…It's because you never added the silver in my hair."
Obi-Wan dissolved into gasping laughter, a hand on his chest. "I guess I'm not…cruel…either."
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Yeah, I know, this one was a shorty. But I thought I'd give you what I have so far, rather than make you wait. ;) Thank you so much for reading…and replying, hopefully. I'll work my best to get the next one up faster, and with a larger length. Thanks again! -LuvEwan