I apologize for the lack of updates, and I assure y'all that I'm not abandoning this fic. I've just been focused on finishing another story, 'Mists of Yesterday', that was started before this. There will be updates more promptly soon. Thank for you reading . -LuvEwan

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The blankets were thick, soft comforters stuffed with a light filling, cool and fuzzy on the surface, providing a warm that soaked through him. He nuzzled in his makeshift cocoon, the aches in his body diminished, as if lulled into the same balmy stupor his mind currently drifted in. The pillow was worn, a tattered relic of Qui-Gon's that graced the bed since Obi-Wan's early days as an apprentice.

Probably before that.

He inhaled slowly, the breath tapering off into a sigh. The material, like everything else in the apartment, carried the scent of his Master. A mixture of aromas, some distinct, others unnamable.

It was, simply, Qui-Gon.

And therefore, beyond definition.

He heard the steady clip of the fan and smiled loosely. Qui-Gon became aware soon into their partnership that Obi-Wan needed a breeze, even a slight stir in the air, to sleep comfortably.

He was almost tempted to throw off the layers of covers and sheets to truly enjoy the cool swirl in the room, separated from the full chill only by his thin sleep shirt, hair ruffled by the gentle wind.

Almost. Obi-Wan curled tighter in the bedspread, eyes flickering shut, lashes laid in colorless curl against his cheeks.

He was so close to slipping back to sleep, could feel its drowsy fringes teasing him.

But it was too late. He had mused a second too long, and lost the extra time he would have used to wallow in warm oblivion.

He was completely, utterly, irrevocably awake.

Obi-Wan groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of a hand.

The muted spray of the shower explained Qui-Gon's absence. He looked over at the creased blankets beside him and a small smile moved briefly across his lips.

Even after some hurdles were cleared, his former Master didn't leave him to face the dark alone.

Obi-Wan maneuvered himself until his legs were dangling off the side of the bed. It had been…many days since he could manage to walk independently. Soreness burned in his calves, the bones forming the curvature of his feet aching.

But if Qui-Gon had taught him anything, it was that a problem could never be solved by incessant stewing.

And unless he could somehow fool himself into believing being carried to the lavatory was desirable, Obi-Wan would take heed of that advice.

Stretching his toes, the Knight stepped onto the warm carpeting. Then, with an ill-suppressed grimace, he shifted all his weight onto his feet, and finally stood.

A painful rush went through his head, but quickly ebbed, along with the accompanying dizziness.

The room was bathed in muted sunrise, and Obi-Wan welcomed the loss of huge shadows, of darkness that robbed the space of its normal definition.

Yes, because the night brought on demons.

Monsters that hid in the billowing pall, with familiar, sneering faces and snide voices.

And they had their weapons--tools they used to…

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Let it go. Acknowledge it, then let it go. His gaze became clearer upon opening, his hands only a little tight as he began walking.

The first steps were sharp bursts of discomfort, shooting up his legs, reminding him starkly of their long disuse.

He was tempted to crawl back under the covers.

But instead, he walked on, noticing that with every careful pace, the pain lessened.

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