~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Chapter Five: Yesterday
Yesterday,
All my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh I believe,
In yesterday. ---The Beatles
You sure have changed since yesterday
Without any warning
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
I thought I knew you
So well. ---No Doubt
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Ileana sat in the main room, feeling the cold touch of circulated air against her bare arms. Tika and Liram had flopped down on the off-white shag rug, Tika's head nestled against Liram's neck, asleep.
She watched them breath slowly, in and out, perfectly tuned with each other.
She smiled, though her mouth remained tightly pursed. And, though she didn't quite know why, hot moisture began to run down her rouged cheeks.
She shuddered, and crossed her arms, rocking. A raw ache was stirred in her chest.
In her heart. Solitary for so long, beating without accompaniment.
Just me. Fine wrinkles streaked from the edges of her emerald eyes. The woman forced herself to take a deep breath. That's fine. That's fine.
It had been her philosophy, once. As a young girl, intelligent and extremely, perhaps unusually focused. She wanted to be a journalist. Sometimes, though she never would admit it to another soul, she had carried a small holorecorder in her purse---in case breaking news were to occur right in front of her.
Of course, it never did. But it would someday. She repeated the belief in her mind, and refused to consider a lesser profession. She knew about her former friends with big dreams…and attentive eyes. Even when they longed for a career, they were watchful of men. And eventually, they married, settling for household duties.
Ileana pitied them. She would have money, and respect, and a rich, full life.
She didn't need love.
Until she met Berrel, and he grinned at her, a handsome, well-dressed man.
Men had smiled at her before, but this was different. He was different.
She was a woman with him, not a girl that just babbled about reporting, wary of intentions.
Barris loved her in that unique, rare way that was imitated in the romance holos she despised…but didn't mind peeking at once in awhile.
So he kissed her hand, and bought her dinner. She forgot about high-paying jobs, her thoughts suddenly consumed by marriage and the possibility of children.
I wanted to have two. A girl and a boy. She took a long drink of crimson wine, sealing her eyes against the press of the bare, blinding white room.
I won't have any now. I'm ruined. This is what I will be. This is how I will die.
Alone, on a sofa, clutching a goblet.
Ileana inhaled shakily, setting the glass down. She straightened her dress, and smoothed her fiery hair with her hands.
I'm ruined for everyone…because of him.
He is all I can possibly have.
The slumbering dogs were startled awake by the sound of fast footsteps. By the time they trotted to the door, Ileana was gone.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
"Obi-Wan!"
Qui-Gon shot his arms out to catch the man before he could crash to the ground.
Obi-Wan clutched at the Master's tunic, coughing violently, gasping for air.
A calm hand flattened against the rebellious chest, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, denying the strangled cries his attention.
Kneeling on the floor, the hacking form going limp in his hold, Qui-Gon sent healing waves through the closing pathways, willing air to travel through the constricted pipes.
Obi-Wan's boots raked against the carpet as he struggled to receive a precious breath. The presence gently entering his mind hushed him, assuring him that all would be well.
But the black before him was no comfort, and panic shot through him.
Qui-Gon sensed his lungs clear, and released a relieved sigh. He gathered Obi-Wan in his arms, standing.
Sweat glistened on the Knight's forehead. He rested his head in the space between Qui-Gon's chest and arm, panting.
"Are you alright?" Warmth brushed against his cheek.
"Yes." He managed, feeling a little detached and light.
"You shouldn't have done this." Qui-Gon said stiffly, laying him on the couch, and piling pillows beneath his head. Anger and fear tightened his voice. "You should have told someone the moment you began feeling ill. You should not have come on this mission."
Obi-Wan felt a blanket drape over him. "I--I thought I could handle it." He croaked.
Qui-Gon shook his head, sitting beside him, propping his elbows on his knees. "You shouldn't risk yourself trying to be independent. Everyone needs help sometimes."
"You helped me." He whispered, almost to himself.
At that moment the front door was pried open.
Qui-Gon wheeled around, hand going to his saber.
An older man, tall, slender, and carrying a slick silver case, stood.
Obi-Wan shivered, nearly heaving again.
Qui-Gon moved in front of him protectively. His fingers gripped the weapon's hilt. "Who are you?"
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Padme's cheeks and nose had bloomed a bright red in the cold. Anakin's robe was hanging off her small shoulders; she tugged it closer as a breeze rippled. "Ani, I should really get back. This case isn't going to be solved by me wandering the streets with you."
Anakin's disappointment was written clearly on his features. "Okay. I understand."
They walked toward the direction of the cloud car.
"You know, Padme, usually, when someone's been kidnapped, there's a ransom to get them back. And you did say I abducted you tonight."
Padme laughed. "So, what's the ransom, Ani?"
He listened to that sweet, cloying sound, and warmth flooded his heart. He didn't care what she had told him, what his Master would mostly likely tell him when he returned. He knew what they chose to shield themselves from realizing. He loved her. "A kiss."
Padme stopped. The delight he hoped to find on her beautiful face was nonexistent. Instead, she seemed embarrassed, and a tad frustrated. "Ani," She said softly, "I'm not going to kiss you. Not tonight. Not this soon."
Anakin frowned. A sharp pain tore into his chest. "Why?"
The Senator sighed. "You've been on Naboo less than a day, Ani. We've only been reacquainted. We're not ready for any big steps. You're not ready."
"Padme, every moment we're not together is a moment we've lost."
"Why? Why have we lost it?" The question bordered on a demand.
Anakin gazed at her. "Because we're going to be together. I know it, Padme."
"Anakin, we're different. I'm a Senator, you're a Jedi. Those are obligations we chose to accept. Now we must fulfill those to the very best of our abilities. We can be friends, yes, and I would value that. But nothing more." She informed him gently, handing him his robe.
He didn't move to take it. "My Master was married, you know. And then his wife died."
Padme looked at him compassionately. "Was she a Jedi as well?"
"That doesn't matter. He was a Jedi, and he loved. Besides, last time I checked, there weren't rules prohibiting senators from love." He shot back defensively.
Padme's eyes were wide. "I don't have to listen to this. It isn't a debate. I've made my decision, before any complications can arise. Can't you respect that? Can't you respect me?"
Anakin stared at her a moment, a strong longing flaring in him. Then, he smiled thinly. "Yes, Padme. I can."
"Good."
They journeyed the rest of the way to the car, and the driver stood, opening the door for her.
She went to sit, but remembered the cloak in her hands. "Here, Ani." She held it out.
Anakin shook his head. "Keep it. " He began to walk away.
"Ani!" Padme called out.
He turned.
"Thank you for walking me." She smiled genuinely at him. "And I'll contact your room once the reports have been sent."
"Okay."
He watched her depart, the wind buffeting his long tunic sleeves.
The moonlight gleamed strangely in his eyes.
They were darker.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
The man stepped back, raising his free hand. "Whoa there."
Qui-Gon probed the stranger's Force signature, and amid the weak presence discovered nothing remotely sinister. "Who are you?" He asked again.
"Dr. Pendermill, the hotel physician."
Qui-Gon removed his grip from the lightsaber, frowning. "How did you know to come here?"
Slowly, the doctor relaxed. "A droid came running, or I should say rolling, into my office. It said it was sent by Senator Amidala to assist an," He paused, fumbling in his case, finding a crumpled piece of paper, "Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Qui-Gon shook the man's head. "Yes, I'm sorry. He is very ill. He was losing consciousness, and couldn't breath, I didn't notice the droid leave."
"Ah, I understand." He noticed the sweaty young man huddled on the sofa. He pulled a holopad from the case. "How did you prevent him from losing consciousness, Mr…"
"Master Jinn."
"Oh, Master? You must be the Jedi then."
"Yes."
The doctor smiled, walking to Obi-Wan, and sitting on an ottoman.
Qui-Gon followed him. "This may be a bit difficult to explain, but I reached into his body, through the, uh, Force, and cleared his airways."
"Fascinating. I've read of such techniques. You Jedi should go into private practice. You'd make a bundle." He cleaned the shiny end of his stethoscope. "But then, of course, we regular physicians would be out of business." He chuckled as he loosened Obi-Wan's tunic, and pressed the cold instrument against his chest. He listened.
Qui-Gon waited, uneasy, eyes fastened to his ex-Padawan's face.
"The heartbeat is good. No trouble there." He lifted his head to look at Obi-Wan. "Now, I want you to breathe in as deep as you can when I say to, alright?"
Obi-Wan nodded.
Pendermill positioned the probe. "Okay, Obi-Wan. Now."
Obi-Wan breathed in, until there was resistance, and he coughed, his weakened frame wracked with fierce hacking.
The doctor waited for him to recover, then repeated it a few times, expression grave. "That doesn't sound good. What were his other symptoms, Master Jinn?"
Qui-Gon studied the Knight pensively. "Well, on the transport here, a day ago, he collapsed in his quarters. He had a sore throat, fever, chills…"
Pendermill nodded. "This is an infection, not viral. Not yet, anyway. Antibiotics should knock it out rather quickly." He settled the blankets around his patient's waist, and felt his forehead. "His fever should also be broken. I'm going to send out for the medication immediately. In the mean time, " He gave Qui-Gon a small, round container, "This needs to be rubbed on his chest. The vapors will help his respiration. If you want that kind that smells like Bangi berry, you'll have to go down to the pharmacy." He grinned, standing. "We only carry the good old plain stuff."
Qui-Gon walked him to the door. "Thank you, doctor."
Obi-Wan heard it close. "That d-d-droid's always u-up to s--something, isn't he?"
"Yeah. Like saving your behind, you mean?"
Obi-Wan flushed. "Yeah." He said hoarsely, the exhaustion weighing heavy on his limbs and his mind.
Qui-Gon sat beside him and unscrewed the lid to the medication. The smell that wafted up was medicinal…and awful. He grimaced. "How far is the pharmacy?"
The Knight didn't respond, pallor going a shade paler.
Qui-Gon sobered, and carefully wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's back, lifting him upright to pull off his tunic. He eased him back down, choosing to overlook the prominent ribcage.
The heat of the slender body disturbed him, he was suddenly anxious for the prescriptions to arrive. This was, essentially, out of his control. THAT frightened him to no end. He scooped the greasy, off-white gel onto his curved fingers, then spread it across Obi-Wan's chest.
Obi-Wan coughed lightly, head rolling to rest against the back cushion.
The substance left his skin waxy, and it shined in the dim illumination.
"Just a bit more." Qui-Gon murmured, hands that could be unyielding and coarse were mild and comforting. Obi-Wan shouldn't have been surprised, for he had been under this man's care for over a decade, during which he suffered more than his share of ailments. But, after these long, difficult years, he had forgotten.
Or, maybe, forced himself to forget.
The complexities of the situation died in his thoughts, as he surrendered to the lulling ministrations.
When the last of it was rubbed into his chest, Qui-Gon rose, gazing down at the dozing Obi-Wan. He smiled, until a disenchanting pall rose in him, reminding him that things were, forever, changed. After Obi-Wan recovered, he would not accompany Qui-Gon to Dex's for their traditional (always complimentary, despite Qui-Gon's protests) 'well again' sundae. He wouldn't join in meditation, or spars, or a simple walk in the Gardens.
When he was 'well again', Obi-Wan would still be the solitary Knight, and Qui-Gon would still be the Master to Anakin Skywalker.
Tonight was just a painful glimpse at a past closed to him.
If they had ever been a family before, they weren't anymore.
Yet, at this moment, it was fine to pretend.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Anakin trudged beside Qui-Gon, rolling his eyes frequently, restless.
Qui-Gon noticed, but dismissed it as a childish habit only truly broken with the coming of maturity. Sometimes, he mused, not even then. "Padawan?"
Anakin looked up, and Qui-Gon was a bit shocked to see the mandatory spiked haircut, instead of the long, mussed blonde locks. He couldn't help but smile at the boy. "You waste energy that way."
"What way, Master?"
Qui-Gon patted his shoulder. "Sighing, looking around every two seconds, drumming your fingers in your tunic sleeves. Jedi are to be calm, my young apprentice. Let serenity flow through you."
He smiled in turn, tiny freckles spotting his small cheeks. "Okay, Master…"
"Okay."
"Um…Master Qui-Gon?"
He gazed down at Anakin. "Yes?"
"What's serenity?"
Qui-Gon laughed, and for a moment, Anakin thought the brawny man was laughing AT him. He flushed, nibbling on his lip.
"Serenity is a large word for any child to know. It means quiet and happy."
"Oh." Anakin grinned. His sapphire eyes twinkled. "Thanks."
Qui-Gon ruffled his sandy hair. " You learn a bit everyday, whether you are aware or not. Wisdom isn't something you're born with. You gather it over time. One day, you will be very wise, I am sure, Ani."
The encouraging, loving words reminded Anakin of his mother, and his heart swelled with sorrow and gratitude. He abruptly launched himself into Qui-Gon's arms, wrapping his own short pair around his mentor, pressing his cheek against a bearded one.
Qui-Gon embraced him tightly, the fledgling Padawan braid brushing against his skin. "You are a gift from the Force." He whispered.
Anakin heard, and his love for Qui-Gon grew.
He wouldn't see his mother for awhile, he knew, and his Master could never be her substitute. But Qui-Gon was all he had on this world. He would hold onto him.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
In the end, he did respect Padme's wishes. He would be elated, of course, if she pressed those full, ruby lips against his, if her velvet touch caressed him.
But girls had thrown themselves at Anakin often enough.
Maybe a chase would be exhilarating. Especially when he thought of the prize. Padme Amidala, the most beautiful, intelligent, perfect woman in the Universe would be his…soon.
Besides, he was sick of things being handed to him. He excelled in every subject, save psychology, but that was a bunch of junk, wasn't it? Theories that supposedly explained the anatomy of the mind---he didn't much care to know the reasoning behind others' thoughts. They weren't important. So why learn about them? The only angle he needed to study was thought persuasion.
And that came naturally to him.
His lightsaber was an extension of his body. He smiled inwardly, remembering the envy flushing fellow Padawan's faces as he sparred in the gym, noticing their awe at his unsurpassed talents.
He heard whispers, sometimes, that spoke differently.
A few Jedi, in hushed voices, said his style was overly aggressive, that anger and conceit fueled him, instead of the pure Force.
Then they would reminisce about another Jedi, who moved so fluidly and gracefully that his body seemed boneless. The content focus always etched into his handsome visage.
Yes, some said Obi-Wan Kenobi was better than him.
Anakin would scoff, and just fight harder, letting the rage and jealousy beat in him. He was still good. He was still Jedi.
He merely had a secret weapon.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Qui-Gon read the label of the medication, delivered by Siron 7, who rushed into the room in a fluster, spouting off Obi-Wan's vitals, as well as the chemical make-up of the substance coating his chest.
The Master quickly deactivated him, but his loud string of monotone words had already awakened Obi-Wan.
The Knight rubbed at his face, shifting beneath the crisp sheets, the scent of the cream heavy in his nostrils. He sensed Qui-Gon near-by, for the Master's Force presence was now more vibrant in Obi-Wan's psyche. The brilliance of his ex-teacher's aura was incredibly familiar, and, he could admit to himself, comforting.
It was strange not to wake to silence.
Of course, coming to consciousness with your ears aching from an annoying bot's ramblings wasn't as soothing. The rich baritone he heard rumble some distance away, however, was.
And Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he felt about this new relationship.
It's not really new, though.
After twenty years, it can't be.
He pushed himself to a sitting position, supported by pillows, folding his hands on his stomach. A palm rested lightly on his forehead, and he was flooded by a thousand yesterdays, that weren't tainted with betrayal and resentment.
No, it can never be new between us.
Just fresh.
Obi-Wan smiled faintly, oblivious to the cold sweat sheen on his skin, the heat radiating in his body, the pain flaring in his head.
Qui-Gon unscrewed the lid, pouring the dosage into the attached sterile cup. His eyes kept drifting to Obi-Wan's pale, waxen face, as he began to notice the subtle change there. To anyone else, he would still have appeared to be the same brooding, hurt, weak man, drained of a beautiful spirit, left to suffer as a shell.
Qui-Gon couldn't blame them for the mistake. For so very long, Obi-Wan had been just that. Except, that resplendent soul was not gone, or even diminished. Only dormant, lying in the depths of the wounded Jedi, waiting.
It had always been Obi-Wan's way. He would not push. He would allow his despair to surge within himself, would take what was unbearable, until his companion was ready.
Qui-Gon knew now. Obi-Wan had waited too long.
He lifted the feverish head slightly. "Here, drink this." And steadily streamed the medicine into Obi-Wan's mouth.
Obi-Wan drank, his glassy eyes gleaming with malady, his hair clinging to his face.
Then Qui-Gon settled him down on the cushions again and smoothed the blankets over him. For a moment he simply sat, watching him, remembering gentler times, where the shadow of sin couldn't eclipse their friendship. He sorely wished the darkness would go from them, would leave Obi-Wan to his natural light.
"I--I feel like a Bantha trampled me." Obi-Wan remarked miserably, coughing into his hand. "Make that two."
Qui-Gon smiled, reaching out hesitantly, then stroked his cheek.
At first, Obi-Wan wanted to pull away from the touch, return to the security of being alone. He stopped himself, knowing his true need right now was NOT an empty room. "Th-This is l-l-like on Tameroo."
"DON'T remind me."
Obi-Wan chuckled, and the sound was as rare and lovely as the violet shrew's morning song. Both, Qui-Gon feared, were in danger of disappearing. "Oh, c-come on, Qui----Master Jinn, it wasn't th-that bad."
"Yeah, yeah, sure." Qui-Gon grumbled playfully. "I just couldn't eat for a week."
Obi-Wan frowned. "But I-I was the one who w--was sick."
"Yes, all over my tunic. That sort of thing tends to spoil one's appetite."
The Knight laughed hoarsely, grasping the blanket to lessen the pain. "Well, y-you shouldn't have been in the w-w-way."
Qui-Gon flinched at Obi-Wan's attempt to conceal his pain. He ran his fingers through the moist hair. "Yes, well I got revenge on you, if you remember. When I broke my leg?"
Obi-Wan groaned. "For your reputation as an invincible maverick, you sure acted like a sniveling initiate, Master…Jinn."
"But you were a perfect nursemaid." Qui-Gon teased.
"I can't argue with that. I even baked you my famous cookies." He grinned.
Qui-Gon was pleased that his voice was sounding a bit stronger. "Those were famous because nobody could get them down, Obi-Wan. They were poisoned chocolate rocks."
Obi-Wan flushed, trying hard not to giggle, perspiration trickling down his face. "They weren't poisoned."
"Hmm. Strange. They just tasted like it then."
"YOU must have bad taste. Mejant and Bant loved them. They even took the rest home."
"Because I begged them to." Qui-Gon informed him, continuing to brush his fingertips across Obi-Wan's face, avoiding looking into those once-luminous, dead eyes.
Gradually, the conversation grew softer, until the sickly man's breathing had slowed, sooty lashes lain against his skin.
The moon's light bled through the closed curtains, bathing his face and chest in its glow.
Qui-Gon leaned forward, and barely kissed Obi-Wan's forehead, bracing his warm temples with massive, callused hands.
Then he gingerly slid one of the pillows from beneath the slumbering Knight, and stretched out on the oversized ottoman.
He lay there, completely awake, listening to the quiet of midnight, and Obi-Wan's snores.
For a heartbeat, he was truly happy.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Ileana wiped at her eyes, smudging the make-up further, tears mingling with fading foundation. Her hair was wilted, strands of scarlet straying into her vision.
She whimpered, angrily shoving them behind her ear. Her high-heeled shoes clacked against the floor and slowed her gait to an awkward trot.
"Forget it!" She cried out raggedly, ripping the blasted things from her feet and flinging them into the street. Then she began to run, ignoring how the hosiery was caught on the uneven gravel and tore.
She clutched the handle of the bag hoisted over her shoulder, and tightened her painted lips to keep the sobs at bay.
The cold of night bit at her exposed skin, chilled her nose, her face looking red and pinched.
A few passers turned to watch her, confused by her desperate, unkempt aura, in this planet of peace and serene beauty.
Ileana didn't care, not at this point, as she traveled the emptying blocks, beneath a dark, star-speckled canvas.
She ran until she came to the small, dilapidated house, with the gray, aged shingles, and the door, with the peeling shaves of wood.
Ileana smiled, panting, her feet aching and her body frozen.
I'm here my love.
She eagerly slipped the key from her slim skirt pocket.
Moisture trickled from her weary eyes.
I'm here.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Qui-Gon stood seamlessly from the ottoman when he sensed Anakin's arrival.
The Padawan stood in the doorway, his eyes ringed by shadow, an expression across his face that was decidedly unsettling.
"What's wrong with him now?" Anakin said flatly, glancing at Kenobi, who was sleeping deeply now, sweaty body pressed in the curve of the couch. He looked at his Master, something that could have been hurt, but bordered nearly on annoyance, stirred in his dim blue eyes.
Qui-Gon was simply too tired to address the caustic tone of the inquiry. "He is still ill, Anakin." He paused, registering the evolution from twilight dusk to pure black in the Naboo sky from the window. "And it certainly took you a long time to escort the Senator to her vehicle." He raised a chestnut-gray eyebrow.
Anakin's gaze darted to the floor, he trailed his finger along a near-by chair. "She just wanted to---talk, Master."
Qui-Gon recognized the defensive pout, bringing to mind past years, when that innocence twinkled in Anakin Skywalker's eyes. It may have been difficult to find beneath the guise of manhood, but Anakin was still the little, grimy slave boy from Tatooine, the child of thankless giving and sweet heart. He smiled. "That's fine, Ani. I'm sure the Senator's been under terrible pressure due to this investigation. She deserves some free time to enjoy an old friend's company."
Anakin studied him a moment, then grinned. "Yeah---She has a hidden side I've never seen before."
Qui-Gon frowned. "What?" He asked cautiously.
Anakin laughed softly. "Nothing…bad, Master. She's just very funny. I didn't know how funny she was."
"Oh." Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, visibly relieved. "Well, that is a pleasant surprise."
Anakin pulled off his boots, yawning. "She said she would call when the documents were on their way." He stole a look at Kenobi over Qui-Gon's shoulder, and felt an angry heat burn at the base of his neck.
Qui-Gon's comment brought him back. "The hotel is breathtaking, isn't it?"
"Mmmhmmm." The apprentice agreed, munching on a juicy Muja fruit from a woven basket.
Qui-Gon smiled widely at that, chuckling to himself.
Anakin wrinkled his brow. "What?"
"It's nothing, it's just…" His eyes narrowed with good natured humor. "All my apprentices tend to pick a Muja. I've always detested them."
"Your apprentices?"
Qui-Gon laughed again. "No, the fruit. You would probably devour them whole if not for your manners, and Obi-Wan would kill you if he knew you were taking the only one. No probably about it."
Anakin forced a smile, but he was sickened inside. Does he REALLY need to talk about him? It's bad enough I have to be in the same room with him.
Then, Obi-Wan coughed, stirring, rustling the sheets.
Speak of the Sith..
Qui-Gon moved briskly to his side, and elevated his head. "It's alright." He murmured, before looking up at Anakin. "The hotel physician left some throat spray while you were gone, I'm going to get it. Stay with him."
Anakin nodded. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon jogged into the hallway, hoping he was mistaken, that Anakin wasn't as sullen as he sounded.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Berrel ran to Ileana, who was standing in the doorway, feet bleeding, barely able to contain her sobs.
"Baby!" He exclaimed softly, capturing her shivering form in his muscular arms.
She laid her head against his chest, sealing her eyes, more tears sliding from the thick lashes. "Oh my love." She gasped, grasping his back, pressing her lips to his collar bone.
Berrel pulled her back slightly. "What's wrong? Why are you here---like this? It's the middle of the night. Wasn't it dangerous?"
Ileana smiled, her vision bleary, lips trembling. "I--I didn't care." She rasped, filled with the satisfaction of his concern. She gazed up at his unshaven, rugged face. "I had to see you."
Berrel grinned widely, lifting her, covering her delicate mouth with his.
She fell into the kiss, letting the passion consume her, until the shaky misery left her. "I love you, Berrel."
He sighed while breathing in her scent. "I miss you…when you're gone." Then he set her on the ground, eyes lingering on her. "You're here just in time, babe."
Ileana sniffled, rubbing the watery mascara from her face. She smiled. "For what?"
He crossed his arms, eyes dark. "Senator Amidala's unfortunate death."
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Anakin sat on the ottoman, he heard Qui-Gon's departing steps.
Then he looked down at Kenobi. The Knight was completely oblivious to everything, mouth parted, a feverish red splotching his cheeks.
He thought of the first time he saw Kenobi, upon the starship, crouched beside him, so very worried about his Master. Anakin smirked at that. From that moment, Qui-Gon had been HIS Master, the one that stood beside him, that felt his touch on his shoulder. All the great man's hopes for a legacy were instilled in Anakin. Kenobi was nothing then. Now, blinded and sickly, he was even less.
Anakin sat his chin on a fisted hand, as the Knight coughed harder.
The pillow beneath his head was damp with sweat.
Anakin stared at it.
A powerful urge swept through him, whispering in his mind.
He wanted to take that pillow and shove it over the damned Kenobi's face, smash it down until he could cough no more, until the breath was forever stolen from him, until he was gone…
Anakin blinked rapidly, shaking his head, belly cold. No. I didn't just think that. I wouldn't think of such evil ideas. It was a mistake…I didn't really think it…
He studied Kenobi again, studied the features, illuminated despite the darkness, that entranced so many at the Temple. The round jaw and hairline, the sculpted lips. Those sightless, cerulean eyes.
Whenever Anakin thought himself less than perfect, it was Kenobi's face that floated into his thoughts, taunting him, reminding him that nobody had forgotten Qui-Gon Jinn's second apprentice.
They would never forget.
Was Anakin doomed to live, partly concealed in the shadow of Obi-Wan Kenobi, an inferior, forever?
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
"Here we go." Qui-Gon announced. He sat beside Anakin, offering him a thankful smile before gently shaking Obi-Wan's shoulder.
Obi-Wan moaned, turning away.
Qui-Gon moved to the couch, cradling Obi-Wan's head in the curve of his arm. "Open up now." He told him in a quiet, coaxing tone.
The Knight frowned, and tried to wriggle from the Master's hold, still heavily under the medication's effects.
Qui-Gon chucked, drawing him against his side and spraying the throat soother .
Obi-Wan swallowed hard in surprise, then relaxed, drifting easily to sleep. Qui-Gon brushed his hair from his forehead and laid him down.
Anakin couldn't stand the serene expression on his Master's face. He stormed into his private quarters.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Padme ran her manicured fingers along the soft, worn robe, smiling absently.
Then she rested her head against the velvet cushion of the luxury cloud car and sighed. Through the tinted window, she saw the distant mountains, tinted violet, majestic in this midnight hour.
She truly loved Naboo. It was a gem among artificiality, the place of her heart.
The Senator closed her weary eyes.
A vision sprung into her mind.
Neon lights and blurred flashes of speeding vehicles. Looming buildings and slick, cool steel.
Coruscant.
Padme straightened, clearing her throat. No. That isn't my home.
She looked down at the deep brown cloth, played idly with the wide sleeves.
"Padme, every moment we're not together is a moment we've lost."
The woman gazed out the window again, leaning her cheek on her hand.
Anakin was young, and raised by an Order who forbid love. What could he really know of it then? She was probably the only female he knew, even partially well, besides his mother.
He was rushing thoughtlessly, without any deliberation, without realizing their situation.
Anakin's emotions were most likely lust.
Padme didn't much care for the power of physical attraction. It wasn't logical. She knew, on some level, that she was pleasing in appearance, had overheard enough conversations, read the mentioning of it in articles. But it was mere chance that she was attractive. She could be a troll with warts sprouting on her nose, she would still be Padme Amidala.
And she wasn't sure Anakin understood that.
"..we're going to be together, Padme. I know it."
Her stomach fluttered at the memory. Then she took a deep breath, forcing herself to place the robe on the adjacent seat.
I don't care what he says. It's too soon.
I don't love him.
I don't.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Ileana backed unconsciously away from him, gripping onto the desk. "What?" She asked, her breath still coming in hitches.
Berrel shot her a quizzical look, then approached her. "I'm not waiting anymore. She's more than a nuisance now, baby. She could wreck everything."
Ileana swallowed. "You---You're going to kill her?"
He stared at her intently for a moment before laughing. "I don't take risks that big. I may like walking a dangerous line or two, but I wouldn't enjoy being executed." He wiped a smudge from his metallic hand. "But believe me, I WANT to kill the mouthy witch."
Ileana's eyes fell. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, so cold all of a sudden. The chill was snaking into her heart. His deathly frost.
He was going to kill Padme. Her dear friend, who thought to gaze beneath the surface, and discover the liveliness of a woman many considered dull and useless.
And Berrel would plan her murder easily. He wouldn't care that Padme Amidala sought to protect the weak, that she had given Ileana some sort of worth.
Oh stars. Ileana trembled. Her stomach roiled. I was going to throw away my friendship. Put so many more lives in danger---for him.
For nothing.
She felt his flesh hand scrape against her elbow, and she secured the mask in place, smiling at him. "You know why I'm so insanely in love with you, Berrel?" She asked in a sultry tone, running her thin fingers up his muscular arm.
Berrel cupped her chin. "Why?"
She fluttered her lashes. "Because of your genius." Ileana quelled her reborn disgust for this creature, and kissed him. "Because…you are the most intelligent man I've ever known."
Berrel mouthed her neck. "Is that so?"
"Mmmhmm…" She blinked back her shamed tears. With a small, flirty smile, Ileana leaned in closer. "I can't believe you're going to kill the witch." She settled her hand in his hair, and her breath warmed his ear. "Tell me everything."
And he did.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
The weapon was remarkable.
He searched his mind for a better term---efficient, sturdy, even unusual---but found none that suited it as well.
Maul studied the long hilt. It was black, but with underlying glitters of gray. The protruding stripes of the power source gleamed red. One end was slightly curved.
But what drew the Sith's attention were the pair of letters, engraved jaggedly in the middle of this exceptional saber: 'DF'.
The violent shaft of rage assaulted him again.
His Master had assembled this fine lightsaber, and initially the apprentice assumed it was a mere replacement.
So it had been puzzling when Sidious placed it in a smooth, black case, lined with velvet, and had not touched it since the construction was completed.
The thought of it burned away in Maul's mind, until curiosity finally bested him, and he investigated the oddity.
Now, looking at the custom weapon, he was filled with a morbid certainty.
There had to be a way to stop this madness.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Obi-Wan flipped onto his stomach, one hand resting on the pillow while the other clung to the edge of the ottoman.
A contented sigh slipped from his mouth.
He felt the malady dwindling in his weak, impossibly weary body. The medicine left a rather pleasant stuffiness around his mind, so that his thoughts were hazy and light, too wispy to grasp.
But the emotions carried in them were coherent: happiness, comfort, sweet familiarity.
He wanted to stay in this state. No troubles, nothing truly tangible apart from faint feelings, with his eyes closed. When everyone slept, from peasant to haughty king, their eyes were shut. It was in the quiet of deep night that Obi-Wan could be equal. Darkness surrounded all in those hours.
And Qui-Gon was here to take care of him. Yes, he had sensed the man near to him up to the moment he fell to the heavy, drug-induced slumber. It was like it used to be. Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon would be here still, until day broke, until Obi-Wan felt that distinct warmth of a rising sun creep up his back.
Like it used to be.
If resentment was alive in him now, it was surely dying, for he was filled with good memories of his apprenticeship, of nights spent this way.
Obi-Wan smiled, shifting to his side, the cover slipping from his bare chest without notice. "Master?" He whispered.
There was no response. Obi-Wan rubbed at his face, though he continued to smile sloppily. "Master?"
Silence.
Obi-Wan leaned forward. He balanced himself with an open palm, and searched the ottoman with probing fingers. "Master?"
There wouldn't be a soothing rumble of baritone to answer.
Qui-Gon was gone.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Anakin lifted his head when the door to his room slid open.
"Can't sleep?" Qui-Gon asked, pulling a chair up beside him at the large, mahogany desk.
"No. I was just waiting for the information on the case to come in. Padme said she would call when it was on the way."
Qui-Gon sat a stack of holopads on the desktop. "A bellboy dropped them off a few minutes ago."
"Oh." Anakin said almost inaudibly, staring at them a moment, before turning to look out the window. Glints of a slivery moon caught in his dim eyes.
Qui-Gon noticed the obvious disappointment, could read it at once in the suddenly rigid lines of his Padawan's body. "Are you too tired to look these over with me?"
Anakin broke from his daze. He shook his head. "Of course not, Master. I'm---eager---to learn more about all this."
But Qui-Gon knew what really had distracted his student, what had left a sad mist over a usually lively spirit. Anakin attempted to conceal the emotion, as he did with most feelings, and yet Jinn could see it clear as a Melaharan crystal. Pa---Senator Amidala was intending to call here.
Anakin was intending to answer.
Qui-Gon gazed at the boy thoughtfully, brow displaying an inner troubling. "Anakin, why were you out so late with the Senator?"
Anakin didn't bat an eyelash. His face was smoothly bland. "Just catching up, Master." His thick lips were a straight line. "You know, how my life has been, how hers is. Just general stuff." Not too much of a lie.
The weak lighting made it appear that the edges of Anakin's hair were burning. Qui-Gon noted that the illumination had a very different effect on this youth, than any other. It didn't caress and stroke his face, as it did with a certain Knight in the main room. Qui-Gon was certain that no one else could captivate the incandescence quite like Obi-Wan-but Anakin's visage seemed to smolder under the brightness.
Not at all gentle.
Not at all comforting.
Qui-Gon shifted uneasily, tearing his eyes from the sight, and focused again on the numerous holopads.
"So," He cleared his throat, "We should be able to finish these in reasonable time. Much of the information is sketchy, according to the Senator."
Anakin just nodded, fist digging into his chin. "What about Knight Kenobi?"
Try as he might, the apprentice couldn't neutral the disdain completely in his voice. Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. "He is resting."
Anakin wanted to roll his eyes. "Shouldn't he be helping? I mean, he's part of this 'team' too."
Qui-Gon tensed discreetly. "With the amount of drugs in his system, he would be of little help."
What's new? "So he's just gonna lay there while we work through the night?"
The Master's jaw clenched. "Yes. He will be proficiently filled in tomorrow, once he is lucid and well again.
"Now, shall we begin?"
Anakin grabbed a holopad half-heartedly, anger throbbing at the base of his neck. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon was silent then, as he was immersed in the reports.
Anakin drifted after reading the first sentence. He wondered why Padme hadn't called. Had his proposal offended her that deeply? She should take it as a compliment. I only wanted to touch those lips.
Qui-Gon coughed, and it sounded forced. Anakin straightened and attentively looked down at the screen. He galvanized his mental shields.
He didn't like it when his Master could hear the thoughts and rasping whispers in his head.
After all, they weren't his to hear.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
He heard a tapping at the door, and sat up, shoving the stuffed bantha beneath his pillow. He tentatively reached out through the Force, then smiled softly. "Come in, Mejant."
There was the quiet sound of cloth brushing against cloth as she walked to him, and Obi-Wan tried hard to conjure an image of her: obsidion hair hanging to her waist, short legs covered with cream-colored material, tunic sleeves a bit too long, as they had been since their childhood. She would be older now, carrying more wisdom in her breathtaking eyes. He attempted to picture her, with the flush of round cheeks, the curve of beloved lips, flutter of painted lashes.
It had been three years since he was able to see her. Despite his struggles to overcome the wear of time, her appearance was beginning to fade in his mind. Other things, too. Things he had taken for granted, things that now kept him up during cold nights. He agonized over the losses, for every day seemed bleaker with thinning recollections.
Yes, her hair was obsidion, he had written the description countless times in secret poems.
Obsidion, charcoal, inky.
Beautiful.
It didn't do much good to ask what these words represented. He would only sound like a fool when he heard the response, a response he would most likely not remember either.
One recent morning, he was sipping muja juice, and paused, the sticky drink drying on his mouth, as he attempted to recall the shade of it. There were color titles floating through his mind---red, orange, yellow---but what did they mean? He wasn't sure---
"I know you didn't want to go to the little festival down on main level today. But Master Claren made his famous chocolate drops."
Fingers cupped the curve of his neck, and he rested his head against her wrist appreciatively. "You saved me a pound or two…right?"
She giggled. "Or five."
Obi-Wan gasped, but it bordered on an amused laugh. "What?"
Mejant held a strand of russet loosely between her fingers, watching it gleam in the sunlight. "I know how much you like that stuff. Claren was more than happy to give it."
Obi-Wan blushed, and Mejant felt ridiculous at how the change in that lovely face captivated her. "Mejant, I was joking about a 'pound or two'. I thought maybe a few drops…You actually brought five pounds?"
"Yep."
"I thought he was strict about the amount he gave each person!"
"Eh, I have my ways."
Obi-Wan made a strangled, bewildered sound. "I hope you know you're going to have to help me with it." He patted her stomach.
Mejant chuckled, catching his hand with his. "Yeah right, wise guy. Like I'd eat that. It's pure sugar!"
"Yeah…sure." Obi-Wan retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "But if it was dribbled with Krokali nut butter, you'd be all over it."
"So! The point is, it's NOT. So eat up, my love. I've loved you at a hundred and sixty pounds, I'll love you at three hundred."
Obi-Wan kissed her cheek. "I have no doubt you would."
Mejant breathed out contently, savoring the intimate touch. From time to time, Obi-Wan was distant, and an affectionate gesture was rare. He wore a heavy look on his handsome visage then. She could feel the burden of his disability when he smiled the counterfeit smile he used to downplay the pain. Mejant knew he would not share the hurt, would harbor it in his heart. Would blink until the tears dried.
"People were asking about you." She commented while nestling against his chest.
He wrapped a strong arm around her . "Really?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Any of the young female Knights? You know, the ones that DON'T try to murder me with chocolate poisoning."
Mejant grinned. "Yes, but I don't think Bant's your type."
He dropped another kiss on her head. "You never know."
"Well, you were sorely missed. Master Windu, Adi, Poof, Yoda, of course, Jinn and Luminara. She seems happy lately. For awhile, she was so upset, after that disastrous mission---"
Obi-Wan's heart thundered in his chest. "What did he say?" He asked, in a tone both sharp and faintly frightened.
"Who?"
Obi-Wan fairly trembled. "You know who."
Mejant winced. It had really, truly slipped. She had no intention of bringing former Master and Padawan together again. It was just another name to her, on a list drafted quickly in her mind. "He---uh---He wanted to know why you weren't attending. He wondered why you would miss one of your favorite things---he said he was worried you were ill…or something."
Obi-Wan swallowed, with a bit of difficulty. His breathing was erratic against Mejant's back. "What did you tell him?"
Mejant looked up at her dear companion, read the pain beating in his sightless eyes. "I told him you were napping."
The tension eased a fraction in him.
Mejant sighed. The bright, joking Obi, the one that lived in a thousand, blissful yesterdays, had retreated once more, leaving the muted shadow.
She turned around, pulling him into an embrace. The warmth radiated between them, and she was glad.
He became so deathly cold sometimes.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Obi-Wan pulled the tight-knit blanket over his bare chest, shivering, as the medicine dulled in him, and the pain resurfaced.
He should not have trusted. His heart had been deceived by a few gentle words and a healing touch.
He knew now. Nothing could heal him.
Especially Qui-Gon Jinn.
He should have known, should have held to the beliefs guarding him as he stepped up that transport platform. He had been taught from childhood never to leave oneself open for attack.
And Obi-Wan did.
There was a loneliness in him, that gnawed at his soul, that left him aching and empty. Mejant couldn't fill it, though her love and devotion did instill a weak warmth in him. She kindled it with her quiet encouragement and unconditional support. Gods, but he loved her.
He tried to make that enough. But there was an echo in his ears, repeating in his mind, telling him that nothing could quite be enough.
Because this loneliness wasn't new, it had been there when he was nothing more than a clumsy, awkward initiate, always a little too conscious of shortcomings, though he honestly had very few. Obi-Wan Kenobi would never realize anything save his faults, and that festered in him. He needed someone wonderful, someone flawless, to show him the way, down a path that would not accept his failings.
Qui-Gon Jinn was that guide, and he loved him almost instantly, willingly giving all he could, in hopes that he would, possibly, be better.
And for so long, he stood beside that man. He stood at his father's shoulder, admired the noble Master like no other could. He knew the affection had been, ultimately, one-sided, but occasionally, there would be a shared smile, or an unexplained embrace. When Qui-Gon would betray his reputation of a distant, cold rogue, and be an insecure boy's best friend.
When that relationship was severed, and Anakin Skywalker stole Obi-Wan's entire Universe, Qui-Gon took the very essence of his former apprentice with him.
No, nobody could fill such an utter void…
Though, for awhile, during these few, strange days, Obi-Wan believed Qui-Gon could.
He lay on the sleepcouch, a night wind whistling sharply beyond the window, a very old weariness capturing him once more.
"You shouldn't have done this…….. You should have told someone the moment you began feeling ill. You should not have come on this mission."
Obi-Wan's breath hitched. There had been the declaration, a ringing truth, and he chose to ignore it. To spare himself from a pain that could never be ignored too long.
He doesn't want me here. He never wanted me.
And I let myself think----
The thought thankfully dissolved, and he was reduced to hot, bitter tears.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Qui-Gon set the holopad down, rubbing at his dry eyes. There were numerous information disks, but overall their contents were the same. Different victims, sharing impressive physical traits and training, disappearing inexplicably. No history of mental problems, nothing that would cause them to suddenly run away.
It was another example of the dangers of the Universe. Each dusky alley held horrible possibility, every empty street was open for violence. His spirit was weighed down by the musing. There was too much suffering and greed for a single Order, much less a single Jedi, to contend with.
And he worried for the defenseless, as he worried for the young man beside him, head buried in lanky arms, snoring loudly.
Qui-Gon Jinn had learned long, long before that cruelty wasn't biased, it touched without a prejudice, harming any and everyone.
As sure as the night brought a swirling darkness to the sky, it would be this way.
His only defense was the Force. He would pass this eternal weapon on to those he loved. He had taught the facets of this unifying glory, ultimate protection, to his apprentices. It was the armor that deflected fatal blows. On his dying day, it would be the barest legacy of his life: the single lesson that stood above all else: the Force was strength.
But it didn't bless every being like it had blessed him. There were crying children in barren villages, without that soft melody whispered in their minds, that spoke of peace and benevolent power, that calmed even the most uproarious of storms. And there were wicked souls, whose corrupted, rotting auras were coiled around the darker shades of that Force.
Qui-Gon glanced at Anakin, and a cold flitted through his stomach. He knew that times ahead wouldn't always be bright and pleasant, that black and evil would permeate solidity. His nightmare was for his dear Padawan to be swept into the awful whirlwind lying in wait.
With a steady heart and proper guard, Anakin would survive it.
He smiled at the slumbering youth, but the expression felt stiff to Qui-Gon, and he stood. The room seemed to have been sucked of fresh air.
It was like he was being strangled by the abrupt depletion. The Master hastened through the hall into the main area, where he found a comforting stillness.
His steps slowed as he approached Obi-Wan, wedged snugly in the curve of the couch, breathing in rattled gasps.
Qui-Gon grabbed the vapor rub and sat beside him. His nose was throbbing from the confused reaction Obi-Wan had to him that unfortunate morning. The man refused to think of it as intentional.
This was Obi-Wan.
Not Anakin.
Qui-Gon sealed his eyes and shook his head, twisting the lid off. Anakin's temper is aggravated occasionally. He would never act out rashly.
Obi-Wan's hand was curled on his chest. Jinn gently lifted it. The glint of distant light caught on the Knight's skin, illuminating the bruising on his fingers. Qui-Gon brushed his own thick, callused fingers across the purplish contusions, and shuddered inwardly.
It was an accident.
He studied Obi-Wan's relaxed face, and he couldn't resist touching a pallid, soft cheek.
Things are getting better. I heard it in his voice, sensed it in his movements.
The scene of the fist flying at him replayed in his mind. The sound of the mild, tender hand clashing with his face. The pain blossoming, the blood flowing.
Never again.
Because things are getting better.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Ileana stepped out into the sun, and the rays of pure blinding light caused her to blink, and look down.
More tears collected on her freshly enhanced lashes. She sighed, tightening her resolve, sealing her eyes until the moisture was all but gone.
Her hair was swept into a bun, with thin fly-away strands dangling in her face. She felt mussed and bedraggled, dress deeply creased and dark smudges staining the skin beneath her eyes. The wrinkles marring a gracefully aged visage seemed prominent.
She moved briskly along the sidewalk, early morning air filling her lungs with slightly relieving freshness.
Naboo was waking around her, a few merchants set their fruits out carefully, while a young, softly clothed couple strolled, glancing at store windows, and at Ileana.
She knew they must think contemptuously of her; past her prime and hopelessly alone, unkempt, visibly desperate. They would journey to their quaint home, revel in new love, dream of the future.
And she would return to her solitary existence. She had accepted that last night.
But Padme Amidala didn't deserve an unhappy fate, she was needed here. Without her influence, dismal clouds would gather in this breathtaking, clear sky. Nobody, not even the doting couple, would be able to flourish in eternal twilight.
Saving the Senator was Ileana Zimn's future now.
She quickened her pace.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Padme sat in the hotel's lavish restaurant. As she fiddled absentmindedly with a cloth napkin, plates of steaming food went by, succulent dishes that would normally leave her, to be frank, drooling.
Today, her appetite was replaced by a cold churning in her stomach that spread in goose pimples along her smooth skin. She was thankful for the long sleeves of her pale violet gown, that boasted embroidered and bejeweled openings, with an oval cut-out on her back, aptly displayed due to her done-up hair. Tiny, glittering clasps held loosely curled tendrils away from her face.
Two bodyguards stood at the eatery's door, dressed in casual attire. Their distinctly muscular bodies were lost in the baggy clothes, and their eyes rarely drifted to the lone Senator.
She studied the chandeliers that hovered above every table, trying to steer her focus away from the irritating jackhammer that had become her heart.
A few fellow diners looked at her discreetly, and Padme flushed, bowing her head, all at once very uncomfortable with her recognizable persona.
She was reaching for a piece of thick wheat bread when a waitress stopped at her side. "Are you waiting for someone, Senator Amidala…m'am?"
Padme concealed the instinctive grimace at such a stale, unbecoming term, smiling with her rouge mouth closed. "Yes. Three men." When she realized how that must sound, she hurriedly added an explanation. "They're assisting me on a case, and are staying at the hotel."
"Oh, of course. Would you like a drink?"
Padme caught sight of the Jedi trio approaching, Anakin standing between them, face as intense and intent as always. She gazed up at the waitress, chestnut eyes unknowingly widened. "Y-Yes." She cleared her throat, clasping her hands together.
The waitress frowned, looking at the young woman, waiting. After a few moments, she spoke. "Um, what would you like?"
Padme realized she didn't know the name of any types of liquor , having abstained from the stuff of her own accord. But today, her calm had vanished before daybreak, and anxiety rolled through her. "What would you suggest?"
Before the waitress could respond, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Anakin had taken their seats.
Padme took a deep breath. Anakin was sitting scarcely a foot away from her. "Um, never mind." She answered. "Water will be fine."
It wasn't the first time someone had looked at her as though she were insane, but it was certainly the most embarrassing, and the Senator cursed herself silently.
Qui-Gon noticed her rather unglued manner, but chose wisely to ignore it. "Good morning, Senator Amidala."
Padme grinned at him, relieved to have conversation began. "Good morning, Master Jedi. I trust you all slept well?"
"Yes." Qui-Gon assured.
Anakin wanted to laugh. Of course. He shot Kenobi a small glare. If you were so drugged out you couldn't even read a single datapad, that is.
"Was the information helpful?" She asked.
Anakin replied a beat faster than Qui-Gon. "Oh yes, Padme, it was very helpful."
She smiled at him, and it was a soft, tender expression, intimate, though the room was full and bustling. "I'm glad."
Qui-Gon's jaw clenched slightly. He should have sat between them.
Obi-Wan heard every word of the dialogue, but felt distanced from the other three, and couldn't find a moment to add a comment.
His pallor was still noticeably pale, nearly ghostly against the gold and cream backdrop of the restaurant. Already, the lucid yellow light was causing a glisten to that skin, and his cloak was wrapped tightly around his recovering body.
He didn't speak a word through the meal, except when he ordered a meager breakfast of fruit. The exotic aroma skirted past his nostrils; he was uninterested in the juicy slices. He sipped his weak juice.
Eventually, Qui-Gon leaned in closer to him, and whispered in his ear. "Are you alright, Obi-Wan? You haven't touched a thing."
Obi-Wan's lips were sealed, he didn't acknowledge the Master's concerns. He is only worried because he has to be. The Council might be upset if I turned up dead.
It used to frighten Obi-Wan a bit when he thought longingly of his own demise. Now he was accustomed to the morbid desire.
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~