Chapter 11: Who Reaches For You
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Qui-Gon carried the tumblers of water into the still, silent room. The window's sparse drapery had been tied back to reveal a black and starless night.
He wondered how often this gorgeous planet endured sleepy hours without the delicate beams of illumination piercing through the dark. He stood , frozen, eyes peering into the shadowed distance.
The Master hoped this wasn't an indication of things to come.
He had gone far too long without light.
Obi-One sensed, as he was doing more with every passing day, the older man's arrival, sitting up. His fingers twisted in the blankets and he swallowed. He tried studiously to lessen the nervous habits, but his anxiety couldn't be controlled. Not now. "Did you speak with your apprentice?"
Qui-Gon placed a pale hand around the glass, then rested in the plastic, well-used chair. "Yes. He's on his way to Coruscant now. He sends his best wishes for you." A little bending of the truth won't hurt…I'm sure Anakin feels that way in the first place…deep down.
Obi-One sipped the drink without much interest. His heart pounded in his ears. "Th-That's good. I'm sure he misses being home. " He took a longer, cool swallow, lips pressing together with a quiet, moist click. "Do you miss home?"
Qui-Gon tilted his head in contemplation. "I suppose I always do, when away on missions. I'm not constantly aware of it, being busied by other tasks, but yeah. There's something--warm about being around other Jedi. A kindred feeling that connects us."
Obi-One gave a half-smile. "That sounds great."
Qui-Gon downed the rest of his water and set it aside. He leaned back in the chair. "It can be a remote life. Often, in fact. Sometimes, the only thing that sustained me was remembering what I had back at the Temple. My friends, my peers and former Master.
"Having an apprentice changes…everything. In desperate situations, I was instantly worried for their safety above my own, above anyone else's, truth be told. There were horrible times when I had to put their protection behind others', and it was then that I wished sorely for the basic shelter of the Temple. As a Knight, I longed to seek out injustice, to right every wrong.
"When I became responsible for another life, I still wanted to accomplish those things. But I wanted my apprentice to be beside me. I wanted a better Universe for them…I didn't care about adventure. I became content to remain on Jedi grounds, just sparring and training and living."
Obi-One nodded, the tumbler lying forgotten in his hands.
"With my first apprentice, leaving the Temple was a bit daunting. I was concerned she wouldn't handle missions as easily as my usual mission partners did. The second jumped into assignments without any detectable hindrances. Eyes wide open…" He winced at the slip , but Obi-One didn't appear to notice. "You were somewhere in between . Your goodness concerned me, because I perceived it to be a vulnerability. In the beginning, I was sure you'd be a target for all kinds of criminals. But I soon found you could more than hold your own." Qui-Gon grinned, touching his arm briefly. "Then I was worried you were too eager to rush into missions. The Temple is safer territory for an apprentice to grow.
"But it can only provide so much."
Obi-One dropped his head to the pillow. "What about your apprentice now?" He thought for a beat. "Anakin?"
The reminiscent gleam faded from Qui-Gon's eyes. "Ani's--different. I worry for him, of course, but not in the same ways. It's difficult to explain."
"He's easier to believe in than your previous apprentices?" Obi-One asked, voice bereft of envy.
Qui-Gon sighed. Heavy conflict warred inside him. "---No, I wouldn't say that. I believed in all my Padawans. "
"Then what sets him apart?"
The Master ran his hands through his silvering mane. "There is so much expected of Anakin."
Obi-One's brow furrowed. "From you?"
Qui-Gon's mouth had gone dry. He cursed himself for drinking too fast. "I expect…as much from him as I do any Jedi apprentice. I expect him to be obedient, but express his own ideas, compassionate, hard working."
"Then who else is involved?" The Knight asked softly.
Everybody. "The members of the Council…I explained them to you, didn't I?"
"Mmm hmmm."
"There are members of the Council that were--hesitant to even allow him to train to become a Jedi. So I feel as if they are watching every move I make as a Master. I think they're secretly critical of him. " He glanced out the window. "Ani's spent so much more time in the Temple because he was accepted late. I think that's why he dislikes returning there."
"Do you think," Obi-One paused, collecting a breath, "He's trying to prove himself?"
Qui-Gon touched a grizzled cheek . "How is it that you can delve so deeply into other peoples' souls? You were around Ani scarcely a minute before he left."
Obi-One shrugged. "It sounds like common sense to me. If you're caged, your instinct when released is to want to fly far from captivity. But eventually, you'll want that security back."
Qui-Gon smiled, shaking his head. "You've always been the philosopher out of my apprentices."
"I don't think it's really a philosophy. Just basic instinct. I can't remember this Temple place, can't even remember my birthday, but I want to return there."
Qui-Gon slipped the glass from Obi-One's hands, tucking the blankets around his shoulders. "You don't have to worry about that. As soon as the surgery's over, and you've recovered sufficiently, we'll go home."
Obi-One nestled in the pillows and yawned. "I can't wait."
He combed stray hairs from the honeyed forehead. "Neither can I."
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Mazella Gale entered the hospital room silently, her shoes padding with cautious across the floor, violet-streaked eyes steadfast on her slumbering patient.
Kenobi was asleep on his side. A thin, clear i.v. tube was strewn over his arm, imbedded in the tender flesh of his wrist.
His ever-attentive friend was sitting rigid beside him, towering form cramped into the restrictive hard-backed chair. Brilliant blue eyes stared intensely at the gleaming tile.
Mazella could feel the dense apprehension. She swallowed. "Master Jinn?"
Her small voice was downgraded to a hushed whisper, but the man heard, lifting his head.
She smiled. "Good morning. Everything's prepared for the procedure."
Qui-Gon stood. "Oh…" He glanced at the oblivious form on the bed. His stomach knotted. "I…should wake him?"
"Yes. But be very gentle. We shouldn't add any stress to mind or body."
He nodded.
"Although I don't think I really needed to tell you that." She gave an encouraging wink.
Qui-Gon inhaled, but the air had become so cold he closed his mouth. Slowly, he crouched down to the Knight's level.
"Obi-Wan." He called softly. His hand moved over the ginger cap of hair. "Obi-Wan, wake up."
Obi-One's lips parted slightly, a long, dreamy sigh falling free.
Qui-Gon stroked his arm. "Obi-Wan?"
This effort had a stronger effect on him. Obi-One frowned, trying to turn away from the rousing noise.
Qui-Gon had to grin inwardly. Whether burrowed in the crisp, bland sheets of the healing wing, or sprawled on his own bed, or even collapsed among the grit and leaves of makeshift forest shelter, Obi-Wan Kenobi was notorious (if only to his Master) for grappling onto sleep far after the older Jedi was wide awake.
He shook a shoulder. "Come on now."
"…hmmph.." Obi-One sighed sleepily. "…it…time?"
The Master ghosted his touch across the closed eyes. "Yes. It's time."
Obi-One abruptly tried to sit up, and Qui-Gon wrapped a supportive arm around him. "Easy, easy."
He rang his tongue over his dried lips. "'m…going in…now?"
"Yeah."
Obi-One gulped. "Okay."
Qui-Gon gripped his hand. "You're doing great. And you're going to be fine. Alright?"
The whitening face was placid, teeth clamped on his mouth. "Alright."
"Good." Qui-Gon pulled him against his chest. He could feel the mad flutter of Obi-One's heart. "Just think about what I told you. About The Twilight Dance?"
Obi-One nodded, tears glistening on his cheeks.
Mazella's hand stopped briefly on Qui-Gon's shoulder, then she slid a syringe from her smock.
Qui-Gon returned him to the pillow. "Think about how we took care of each other…"
"A-And the blue juice…" Obi-One supplied, the last word cracking.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Yeah. Think of the baby birds you saved…"
Mazella sterilized the inside bend of his arm with a cool, wet swab.
Obi-One tensed visibly, his fingers tight around Qui-Gon's. "The birds…" He repeated feebly, and sketched a hasty smile.
Qui-Gon kissed his forehead while the needle plunged in his arm.
"I love you." The rich voice murmured near his ear.
Obi-One's breath hitched. He felt himself drifting into a thick oblivion. "I…"
He was unconscious before he could return the affection.
Qui-Gon looked down at him, stricken.
Mazella was adjusting his monitors, and two uniformed orderlies arrived with a wheeled stretcher.
Qui-Gon's eyes remained on the familiar, sweet, lax face. He'll be fine…He'll be fine… It'll all be fine…
Seconds later, he watched in a blur as Obi-One was pushed down an empty hallway, doctors swarming around the mobile cot, Mazella in command.
He scanned the vacated room with helpless, lost eyes. He has to be fine.
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Qui-Gon's heart lifted when he sensed a nurse approach the doorway, the soft, brisk slap of shoes against the tile flooring, an old-fashioned clip board tucked against her chest.
But she passed without a glance, in a sweep of white.
He sank back into the chair.
Obi-Wan had been whisked away into an operating theatre almost four hours before, his slender body wrapped in blankets and clear tape sealing his eyes, darkening and separating the light lashes.
Qui-Gon drummed his fingers together, pushing the recent memory away.
Every Jedi bone in his body told him meditation could combat this intense apprehension. It was a vital tool to alleviate stress and achieve a balanced center.
But there were times when it was simply impossible to quiet one's mind.
Like, for instance, when you were marooned in a sterile, stuffy hospital room, while your desperately ill son was under the care of virtual strangers.
Who held his life, his young, cherished life, in their hands.
Qui-Gon rubbed his forehead. "Damn it." He swore lowly.
He had been so certain.
This procedure was the only way to cure Obi-Wan, with his condition so rare, so horrible. Technology was their single beam of hope.
Did I explore every available avenue?
He glanced at the empty bed, seeing the faint creases where his former apprentice had lain.
A strong, cold gurgle went through his stomach. He pressed his palm to it and swallowed. The biting possibilities assailed his mind, taunted his tender, throbbing insecurities.
With all those risks…He could never come back. The fierce worry sprang up before he could fight it, and it proved the grim key to wide, bitter gates.
After everything he's been through, losing his sight--twice, living in such isolation, carrying the pain of my mistakes. He leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. Being robbed of his memories…The last thing he knew was fear and agony…
His chest was achingly full and tight. My Obi-Wan…Someone always must hurt what's good. What's true.
He wiped at tears without realizing they had formed. Even I have.
Qui-Gon could barely admit that Obi-Wan's erasure of his past had given him the chance to reconcile without old indignation and resentment. He was the only support the traumatized man had. Their friendship, however short, had been relatively untainted.
Soon, those harsh recollections would return.
And his Obi-Wan would endure.
But some place inside his ever-wounded soul would never recover.
And, cleanly and quickly, Qui-Gon knew what to do.
He rose from his seat, striding to the communicator.
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The comm unit buzzed shrilly, and Mejant trotted to answer it, tying her long drift of silken black hair in a fast, messy tail high on her head.
"Knight Brei."
The voice that replied was deep, cultured, and instantly recognizable. Her heart, and belly, fluttered. "Master Jinn?" In the rush of her thoughts, a million worries swirled, the strongest being that something terrible had happened, something that prevented Obi-Wan from calling her.
She knew it. She could feel it, in the Force, in her veins.
And she was right. "I know we've never been…close, but I know that you and Obi-Wan have always been. I know you're very important to him."
Mejant paced in a small circle, a hand curled around the small shell of her ear. "Yeah…."
"Obi-Wan was injured while on the Naboo mission. He, " Qui-Gon was forced to stop and swallow, " Was captured, and his memory was erased."
Then, he stopped, sensing the need in her that had already consumed him those days ago, when he looked upon the stolen life of Kenobi, and realized the magnitude of the theft.
"No." Mejant uttered a shuddering gasp. Her dark eyes were wide and brimming with watery anguish. "That---it can't be…" She shook her head, feeling wildly for the chair she knew existed somewhere near, falling into it just as her knees snapped, and gave out.
"I didn't want to believe it either." Qui-Gon confided, in a kind, sympathetic baritone. "I didn't want to know the enormous impact it would have…"
"NO." Mejant stared at the framed holo of her mate sitting on a corner table, an uninhibited moment he had been stretched in the sand of a cool beach at orange, shadowy sunset, clad in threadbare shorts, his hair strewn over his face, and laughter soft on his mouth. She grasped the picture of frozen perfection in her hand, trying to forget what this man was telling her, focusing on the safer truths she held to. "He's…He's withstood it before. It didn't affect him at all…"
"Sciences of that…that area have advanced since then. And he was sedated. No one could've guarded themselves against that kind of power, Mejant." The Master assured. "Not even Obi-Wan."
Mejant's blurring eyes bore into the shimmering gaze of her lifelong companion. She pulled at her restrained hair. "When?"
Qui-Gon inhaled. I'm not even sure. Feels like more than an eternity. "Maybe a week. The days…I've lost track, with everything that's happening here."
Mejant stroked the gentle curvatures of Obi-Wan's face, the fight in her dying, tears dropping on the glass. "His entire past--is gone?"
"Yes."
She collapsed into harsh, dry sobs, clutching the photograph to her heaving chest, forgetting in her sorrow the usual shyness that prevented her from revealing anything personal. "All our memories…" The lament dissolved in weak cries.
Qui-Gon waited again, for there was nothing he could do for her, to ease this great, encompassing pain. She was too far away, too unknown to him.
Mejant sniffled. "Is he alright?" She asked, in a whisper.
"He woke soon after. I explained the situation to him, and he was…upset. But he's Obi-Wan. He adjusted to it, was willing to listen to recollections of his training…" Qui-Gon breathed out. "But I couldn't tell him about you."
The Knight sat up slowly, leaning heavily on the chair's arm. "You couldn't?"
"It would've been too much for him. He knew about losing his Force training, friends. Knowing about you…He was beyond devastation before. That blow could have been irremediable."
Mejant's fingers grabbed at her chin, tears sliding down. "But he'll be coming home, won't he? I have to be able to see him, despite that…I have to."
"He will be coming home. But first, he's undergoing an operation, as we speak, that could return his memories. It's not guaranteed, and even if it's successful, the return will be gradual, but I decided to go ahead with it. The main doctor is renowned, and I trust in her skill."
Mejant swiped her hand across her ears. "What if it…"
Qui-Gon was quick to abolish the morbid concern. "Don't think it, young one. It will do no good, for any one.
"When he is brought to the Temple, he'll need your love, to handle the memories as they come. I love Obi-Wan, so much, but there are certain…things from our shared past that will extremely hard for him to reaccept into his mind.
"Your relationship with him has been mostly positive, from what I've gathered. You have a mutual affection that runs deeply. If you can be there for him--"
Mejant shook her head, though she was fully aware the Master couldn't see her. "Of course I will. And thank you, Master Jinn. I'm grateful it was you that told me."
There was warmth in Qui-Gon's reply. "I'm grateful that he has someone as dedicated as you. These hours spent, just in this suspended state of fear, have been difficult. It has given me time to think, whether I wanted it or not. " He chuckled humorlessly. "For all the damage inflicted upon Obi-Wan, you have been a salve. I saw it on the landing platform. I sense it now."
Mejant smiled through the overwhelming shock and misery. "We've been there for each other. Always."
"And I don't doubt you'll be there for him when this…hellish thing is over. I only needed to be certain."
Her eyes trailed over Obi-Wan, captured in the beautiful landscape, a reflection of the stunning soul within, and nearly submitted to the pain once more. "I'll be there, Master Jinn." Her forehead wrinkled. "But how can you be sure that he'll beat this?"
"I can't be sure." Qui-Gon told her bluntly. "Jedi that I am, my personal prophecies are limited. I can't tell if this operation will cure him.
"But I do know Obi-Wan has conquered demons that sometimes exist only in nightmares. If I can't have faith in him, what sort of friend, or father, am I?"
Mejant brought her knees up, weaving her trembling arms around them, a habitual position from earliest childhood. "You're right." She said, desolate. "I just wish…There was something I could do."
"I know. I've struggled with the same. But all I figure we can do, Knight Brei, is pray. It doesn't really matter if anyone's listening. It's enough."
Mejant braced the picture in her delicate hands a second longer, then set it back. "He always prayed for you."
Qui-Gon hadn't been prepared for that. "He did?" The man had to ask.
She pulled the band from her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders, and rested her chin on her knees. "Every day, since he became your apprentice." A cloud car sputtered outside her window, but it couldn't completely invade the intimacy. "Once he was Knighted, he couldn't speak of you. But I just knew."
Tears left his voice coarse. "I never…"
"Did you pray for him, Master?"
"Every waking moment, or at least, that's how it felt. Most things in the apartment, even little, insignificant things, reminded me."
Mejant tossed stray tendrils from her face. "So you prayed for each other…" In a rare beat of bravery, she pursued her curiosity. "What did you pray for him?"
Qui-Gon sighed. "Happiness. Relief from the stress he's always been burdened with. The strength to -maybe-forgive me someday.
"But he wasn't happy, was he?"
Mejant caught herself glancing at the framed holo again. "There were brief instances. But that's all they were. Brief. Then he would close up and retreat."
Qui-Gon's agony was huge and burning in his heart. "I was the reason." It wasn't open for debate.
But then, she wasn't prone, or finding reason, for debate. "You're also, partly, the reason he has passion for so many things. An acceptance and understanding of creatures he would've overlooked."
"He would have learned those virtues, eventually, on his own. Those shortcomings were youth-based."
Mejant tucked her sleeves around her fingers. The Master was being attacked by a tumult of guilt, spurred by the tense circumstances, and his concern for his former Padawan. She still didn't know this man. But she could relate to his emotion. "Don't write off the years spent with him as nothing for Obi-Wan. He wouldn't have made it this far without your guidance….Yes, I know about the mistakes committed. You've caused hurt.
"But, the good you've done him far outweighs the bad.
"I think he prays the same things for you. He wants you to be happy, wants you to move past the pain."
Qui-Gon gulped. "I've been misguided, distracted so often…"
"He loves you." Mejant silenced him with the three honest words. She was quivering, surprised at how easily she had abandoned her bashfulness, how the thoughts had spilled from her lips.
"And he loves you, Mejant." Qui-Gon managed. "I can tell why."
She smiled. "Be sure he knows how you feel…Make it right."
"I'll do all that I can. And he'll come home."
Mejant took the bright beach print in her hold. Hope soared, albeit cautiously, inside her.
"Until then, Knight Brei."
"Until then."
The connection ended.
And she sat in the chair, cold from risen gooseflesh, for several minutes.
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Qui-Gon drew the slim, black disk from his tunic, running the circular object around in his hands. Outside, the sun burned high in the rich, blue mural of the Naboo heavens, informing anyone who was unaware that it was the peak of afternoon.
The morning had faded languorously, the early hours of worry knotting his stomach. Mejant's kind words remained in the front of his consciousness, a comfort throughout the sluggish shuffling of the day, when he would count another sweep of the clock in heavy silence.
He looked down at the disk. The surface was smudged with fingerprints, some nearing two decades old. It was warm from the heat of his chest, and the thick layers of tan cloth that always enclosed it.
Eyes coated in reminiscent shimmer, Qui-Gon thumbed the activation button.
A holographic image hovered above the base, surrounded in a buzzing, azure mist. Obi-Wan was half-standing, half-slouching, an engraved, gold medal hanging from his neck and a gangly arm slung around Bant' shoulders. The two were grinning madly, he with his wide, roguish flash of teeth, her with a shy glimmer of self-awareness. His face was rounder, ginger hair shorn in sharp spikes and a short Padawan tail flipped behind his ear. Behind them was a parting crowd, emptying the Temple sparring arena stands. It hadn't been an effortless victory, as could be affirmed by the beads of sweat dripping from his indented chin.
Qui-Gon smiled. The boy, edging on fifteen, had traced the intricate carvings of the award once, then looped it on a hook in his closet. The Master understood why it was bathed in constant shadow, instead of displayed in the light of the bedroom. Obi-Wan was pleased with the honor, no doubt, but would never allow himself to relish it as other students might.
Qui-Gon wondered absently what had become of it, the medal with the jade strap. Perhaps, when everything was straightened, and Obi-Wan was returned, he would ask.
He flicked on the next photo.
And chuckled out loud.
The apartment kitchen was cramped with vibrant colored balloons: red, yellow, purple. A huge chunk of cake, with band after band of thick chocolate, was impaled with a fork.
Obi-Wan beamed at the camera, showing a mouth littered with chunks of crumbling black. Beside the plate was a pile of candles.
"Eighteen." Qui-Gon murmured to himself.
He switched to the following picture, and his smile lowered, replaced by an indefinable expression.
The healers ward was dim, the small room white and shaded with gray. Qui-Gon sat in a chair that Bant was thoughtful enough to provide for his large frame. The young apprentice, seven years into his apprenticeship and clad only in a hospital gown, was snugly cradled against him. Qui-Gon's massive hands cupped his head, steadied his back. The pair were so deeply asleep they didn't notice Obi-Wan's friend snap the holo.
The stay wasn't due to an overly crucial ailment. In fact, the Padawan's appendicitis was already cured, surgery completed and recovery well-begun, when the gentle Mon Calamarian entered the dusky room.
Later in the week, as Obi-Wan lay napping, she pressed the holo into Qui-Gon's palm. He had looked up at the girl, and mouthed a surprised 'thank you'.
He peered closely at the image now, seeing the way Obi-Wan's hand rested on his Master's upper arm.
The apprentice had been in pain, stretched on his side, whimpering very quietly. He protested when Qui-Gon scooped him up, but his objections died as the Force soothed the lingering aches, and exhaustion sent him drifting to the numbing balm of sleep.
Qui-Gon smiled again.
Footsteps clapped against the floor. He glanced at the door, not expecting to see Mazella Gale standing in the frame.
Weariness paled her saffron skin, but she was grinning, perspiration beaded on her forehead. "It's over, Master Jinn.
"And I believe it worked."
Qui-Gon stood, breath catching in his throat. He searched her face desperately for uncertainty. "You do?"
She nodded, pushing a damp strand of pale pink and ash-tinted hair from her eyes. The young doctor took a few steps inside. "It was a longer procedure than I intended, but he was stable throughout it. The trauma was minor. I don't know if he even felt it."
He heaved a sigh. "That's…wonderful news."
"He's unconscious now." Mazella squeezed his hand. Her violet eyes were stunningly clear. "I have all the faith in the universe that he'll respond, Master Jinn."
He stared down at her, his chest tight. "I don't know how…I'm so thankful that you've maintained that faith, Doctor Gale."
She smiled. "Oh, come on. You've had faith in him from the beginning. If anyone's saved him---it's you."
Qui-Gon struggled against the well of relieved tears. "It's incredibly nice of you to say. " Even if I don't believe it.
Mazella crossed her arms, gazing at the distance. "It's the truth, Master Jinn. When this tragedy occurs, its not often that the person has someone to lean on." She turned her bright eyes to him. "All their ties have been snapped in one horrible instant. Only a strong individual's willing to reform the bond, even in the absence of hope and familiarity .
"They can walk away, and the victim would never know. But if they stay, through it all, then they've established good memories, where there had once been a void."
Qui-Gon drank in the assurances…but not so smoothly. "I've been beside him since the moment he awakened that day." His dark eyes strayed to the window, unable to focus. "But before then, we were apart, in every sense, for a decade."
Mazella watched him.
He glanced in her direction. "And that was entirely my fault. How will Obi-Wan feel when that is restored to his memory?"
She inhaled slowly. "It's a miracle he has the chance to remember it at all." The woman replied, striding to the door. "I understand your upset, Master Jinn. I really do. But even if he never utters a word to you again…Wasn't it worth it?"
Qui-Gon felt his face, and his ears, flush. "Of course."
Mazella tipped her head forward minutely. "And he'll remember these days that you took care of him. He appreciated it then.
"And he'll appreciate it now."
Qui-Gon swallowed. "I pray that he does." He said seriously, sincerely. "When can I see him?"
Mazella stepped into the hall. "Now, if you'd like."
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A nurse was scanning a screen, her spectacles creating severe lines of shadow that streaked up to touch her temples.
She typed the vitals in her data recorder, then turned toward the cot, half her face bathed in red neon light.
The patient had been roused to a very shallow consciousness in the operating theater, able to mutter simple responses through numb lips.
He slipped away into deep sleep moments after, and the rest was thoroughly peaceful, as far as she could ascertain.
His young visage, while creased from the stress put upon his body, was quite beautiful to her eyes. But she couldn't be certain if the opinion originated from bare attraction, or the knowledge of the amazing hardships the lad had endured.
Either way, his journey had been long. He deserved the rest.
She smiled, dabbing the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. The dark crescents beneath his eyes were in sick contrast with his paled skin, his hair was damp and wilted.
Despite the unsettling appearance, the nurse was pleased with his initial progress. She was told , fleetingly, by Doctor Gale that this man was a Jedi, a member of the heroic and almost fabled Order. As a child, in a more primitive area of Naboo, Knights were revered…feared.
She had never seen one so closely. Surely never under the care of her skillful, aged hands.
He was proof, flushed with life and breath, that the ancient warriors existed.
And that they indeed fought for justice. For her people. For countless others.
She ran her wrinkled fingers along his arm. "I wonder, young one, how high your price will be." Her voice was quiet, rich. "You'll be well again. Then they'll, whoever they are, they'll send you off into the dangers of the worlds again. And they'll have to trust that when you fall, someone will be there to catch you."
The slick sound of the door opening silenced her worried musings. The elderly nurse stepped back. "Doctor Gale."
Mazella tipped her head in pleasant recognition. "Nurse Ri. How is he?"
"Stable, and very well." She informed her with a smile. A large, imposing man stood behind the diminutive woman. His eyes were striking, full of a quivering melancholy…and kindness.
Mazella indicated the man with a sweep of her hands. "This is Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He's acting as guardian for the patient."
Ri gave another smile. "He's a remarkable young man, Master Jinn."
Qui-Gon could barely focus on the elderly nurse, his concern leading his gaze to the sleeping figure of Obi-Wan. "Yes, he is."
Doctor Gale turned to Ri. "I'd like to speak with you about the patient in four. Let's leave Master Jinn to watch over him."
Qui-Gon bowed shallowly to them. "Thank you. You've done so much."
Mazella nodded. "You're welcome, Master Jinn."
The two women walked out, and Qui-Gon hardly registered their departure. He came to stand at Obi-Wan's bedside.
"My child." He whispered, lifting the slim hand and lacing their fingers together. The warmth of the palm, the void of returned pressure, sent tears rolling down his rugged cheeks. "I don't know how much longer I can wait."
Obi-Wan's countenance was drained of its normal, golden color, enhancing the darkness that lined his lashes, the cracked surface of his lips.
Qui-Gon touched his fingertip lightly on the pale mouth. At that moment, he would have sacrificed…anything to hear words fall from it…Even a single syllable. "I knew you would do well." He brushed the ruddy hair, feeling the silky texture.
"And I didn't know." The man smiled. "I had all the faith in the Universe--and all the worry." He enclosed the hand in both of his and stroked the knuckles. The bruise from their altercation on the starship had dwindled to a purplish phantom staining Obi-Wan's skin.
Another reminder that while those days of intense pain were behind them, they could never be completely gone.
"It's a wonder that I haven't suffered a stroke or something." He chuckled softly, ignoring the uncomfortable muse. "The tumbles and colds, the sprains and fevers." And gods, so much worse. "The healers were probably dumbfounded you lasted through your apprenticeship."
His smile then, for some reason, faded. He lowered himself to the chair. "Sometimes, so was I." He admitted. "You had a way of…instilling such confidence. I trusted you implicitly. And then, a heartbeat later, I was afraid, to the bone, for you." Qui-Gon stared at the hand he still cradled. "Some days I wanted to hold you tight away from the nightmares of Jedi life. I felt so foolish. I reminded myself that you weren't a defenseless youngling who needed such protection." His voice was a cultured, low grate. "But that's the kind of reaction you bring out in me.
"I found that, despite my rationalizations, I needed to protect you. Always."
The fingers began to grip very weakly. He rubbed their length in a gentle attempt to rouse Obi-Wan, massaging down to the slender wrist. "But I failed you. I allowed myself to be singly driven by what the Force had whispered to me. And ever since---" Qui-Gon swallowed a dense lump in his throat. "I've been so conflicted. Naboo was the site of your pain and loss. And I dread remembering that time.
"But in the same instance, I must retain some…I can't call it thankfulness…I don't know what to call it. I just know that Anakin would still be chained by slavery on Tatooine if we weren't the team sent on that mission. I love you more than my life, Obi-Wan.
"And I love Anakin. It breaks my heart, completely, to imagine that boy in that sandblasted hell. I'm glad he has this chance, to be what he's dreamed of, what he's destined for." He caressed the curve of Obi-Wan's cheek. "Does that damn me?" The man asked, words shaking with uncertainty. He felt the creeping pall of horrible conflict overtake his soul. "To love one child, is to lose the love of another?"
Obi-Wan sighed, sheets rustling as he stretched his legs.
Qui-Gon tucked the blankets in closer. "Maybe, after you're well again, we can all start over. We can get to know each other again. Anakin as well." His tone was injected with forced optimism. "I think he's misunderstood you."
He stared down at the Knight, and his soul swelled. "Everything can be right, Obi-Wan."
Obi-One wet his top lip sleepily. His brows formed a crinkle in his forehead. "…Tired…" He mumbled.
Qui-Gon laid his hand on the forehead. "I know you are. " He remained calm , though inside he was ecstatic about the gradual awakening. "You've done great."
Confusion creased the ivory face, only to clear a beat later. "Sur…Surgery?"
"Yes. It's all done."
Obi-One laid his arm around his head and yawned. "I'm better?"
Qui-Gon could sense the deep exhaustion, the fragile hope. "We won't know that yet. It's too early. The stimulation to your mind can't be rushed."
Obi-One grasped the large hand. "You…won't leave?"
"No. When I leave, you're coming with me, Obi-Wan. Remember?"
"Mmmm…Mmmmhmmm…" He turned onto his side, sightless eyes closed. "I was scared."
Qui-Gon touched his shoulder. "I would've been too."
Obi-Wan nodded against the pillow. "I thought of…what you told me. About the Twilight Dance. And the little birds."
The Master grinned, his deep blue eyes shining. "It helped."
"…Yeah." He yawned again. "I even dreamed of it. Standing outside of the ship, the birds chirping behind me. I felt so frightened."
Qui-Gon dropped the hand. "What?"
The shocked tone jarred Obi-One. "I…Didn't you tell me about all of that?"
Qui-Gon felt the fresh spring of tears. "How could I tell you about standing outside the ship, when I was still unconscious?" He reasoned, shaking.
Obi-One sat up. "I…remembered that…on my own?"
Qui-Gon embraced him tightly. "You must've. You must've remembered it, Obi-Wan."
Sobs congested in his chest. "I…r-remembered?" He whispered.
A kiss was pressed against his temple. "Praise the Force." Qui-Gon dissolved into painfully grateful, silent cries. "Praise the Force."
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Mazella tilted Obi-One's head gently, a scanner hovering inches away from him. She paused to read the results, then breathed out and smiled. "You've recovered incredibly well, Obi-Wan." She commended him.
The Knight smiled in return. In the two days since his surgery, he remained restricted to bed rest, but was mostly alert . He spoke with Qui-Gon about the strange bits of memory that drifted into his blurred mental periphery, listening as the uplifted Master explained their meanings.
There were streams of late night chats, mantras recited in odd, backwards syntax.
Some were echoes of laughter. Female. Soft.
Qui-Gon didn't seem certain of those origins. He cleared his throat and told him that, in time, he would be able to recall the circumstances attached to the teasing remnants.
It was comforting.
But frustrating.
He wanted a great rush of familiarity. Not this gradual restoration, where wraiths of his past brushed through his mind. Present, yet somehow transparent.
And he knew that, in that way, he resembled them. Obi-Wan didn't feel whole.
Dr. Gale's warm touch on his arm broke him from the reverie. "Your perseverance has been astounding. Even with such hardship, you were a beautiful presence."
She pulled him into a quick hug.
"Thank you." Obi-One told her hoarsely, her rapid heartbeat against his chest. "I owe you…so much."
Mazella drew back. "You Jedi are certainly selfless. I've been thanked a lot lately--for something YOU'VE done."
Obi-One flushed. "I could never've done it alone." Qui-Gon draped an arm across his shoulders, supporting him, and his belief.
The young alien watched them fondly. " Your memory is reestablishing at a good, healthy pace. They're not coming at an onslaught. I don't fear for your brain suffering an overhaul of any kind."
Qui-Gon braced his bearded, silvery chin with a finger. "So the rest of his memories will return at the same speed as the initial ones?"
Mazella's pale purple eyes were reflective. "Some might be larger, containing more than others. But it could be as long as a year before his past is completely restored. It's a slow, and very delicate, process.
"But, taking into consideration what I've seen so far, I think you're well enough to return to Coruscant."
Obi-One swallowed, his belly fluttering and mind spinning with elation.
H-Home.
He gripped the sheet loosely and inhaled.
Mazella squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry I can't stay. This work---it takes me across the galaxy. Shows just how widespread this crime is."
Qui-Gon agreed with a grim nod.
"But my thoughts will be with you both." She promised.
The Master bowed deeply. When he lifted his head, a sheen of tears gleamed on his craggy face. Looking at this miraculous, Force-sent…child, he was overcome with gratitude. "As ours will be with you." His lips ghosted across her hand. "I shall never forget the miracles you've performed for him."
She grinned, a lovely blush appearing on her creamy yellow skin. Mazella dashed her glossy gray and salmon hair back. "All the luck to both of you." She said, on the brink of tears, then all but ran from the room.
Obi-One listened to the departing steps. He sighed as a silence blanketed over the space. The new knowledge was dizzying. Home…Maybe by the time we reach it, I'll remember it.
Qui-Gon perched on the edge of the bed. He cupped the dimpled chin, wishing the serious lines would be smoothed from the visage. "Things are getting better." He told him simply.
Obi-One stared into the thick void of a black distance. He mustered a smile. "Yeah."
The older man studied the sad composition of Obi-One's face. "I know it must not be so exciting right now. Going back to Coruscant."
Obi-One shook his head, eyes closing. "I'm very happy to be leaving here." He didn't mention the glaring uncertainties that plagued the back of his mind. This Jedi claimed to understand, and he did, to an extent…but some things…no one could really comprehend.
"As am I." Qui-Gon pat his knee. "There are so much waiting for you on Coruscant, Obi-Wan."
But Obi-One remained surrounded in a mixed mist of gloom and withdrawal. Qui-Gon decided that he needed a moment to digest all that had happened.
"I'm going to contact Anakin and let him know we'll be on our way soon."
Obi-One nodded.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Qui-Gon walked into the narrow, empty hall and slipped his commlink from a pocket of his tunic. He stood for a moment, looking unfocused at the seamless steel walls, his face, with muddled, less pronounced features, mirrored in the surface.
He had not anticipated the numbed reaction from Obi-Wan. The brilliant smile he envisioned for the news was, in reality, a weak twitch of lips, purely to benefit the Master.
Surely Obi-Wan was pleased to be heading for Coruscant.
His hand bent into a fist. He leaned his forehead into it, back propped against a cool wall. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?
But his heart wasn't welling with certainty. Would I be overly zealous if I were going somewhere I could only be told was my home, when I had no personal sentiment toward the place?
Qui-Gon huffed, glancing at the closed door to Obi-Wan's room. A pained expression flashed across his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared.
Tiredly, he thumbed the button programmed to contact Anakin.
A few buzzes pulsed over the connection before the apprentice answered. "Master?"
Qui-Gon brought the device to his mouth. "Ani, how are you?"
The boy's less cultured voice reverberated from the communicator, with a slightly mechanical inflection. "I'm fine. Caught up on some assignments…and stuff."
Qui-Gon smiled with a weary satisfaction. "And stuff?" He chuckled.
A light spurt of laughter. "Well, am I supposed to list every little thing?"
The Master gave an amused grin. "I suppose not. Have you finished your mission report?"
Anakin hesitated. "Almost. " He didn't wait for disapproving emotion through their bond, rushing into an explanation. "Master Espella invited me to spar, and he was so wowed by my fighting that he asked if I could assistant teach a few of his saber classes--"
"Really?" Qui-Gon enthused, curling his lip.
"Yeah. And everyone always says that he doesn't often, what did they say…'sing the praises' of Padawan sparring techniques. " He added.
"That's wonderful, Padawan. I'm very impressed."
Anakin's pride bled into his words. "So, I didn't have the time to complete my report."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "Well, I guess an extension would be alright this time. Are you enjoying this new endeavor?"
"Mmhmm. Espella told me I have to tone it down, though, because the students wouldn't be able to follow me at my normal speed."
Qui-Gon had to swallow an objection, as he sensed something less palatable creep into Anakin's voice. "Just remember that everyone learns at their own, individual rate. And no one's perfect."
A fine layer of the youth's heightened esteem dissipated. " I know, Master." He replied more soberly. "Are you returning soon?"
Qui-Gon was almost grateful for the switch of subject. "Actually, that's why I called. Obi-Wan's responded very well to the surgery, and a few of his memories have already returned. The physician okayed his release today."
"Oh. That's good. So you're coming back now?" His interest seemed to lie heavier in the latter.
"I'm letting him recoup for the rest of the day. I think he's a little overwhelmed." His eyes traveled to the small room again. "We'll be leaving for Coruscant tomorrow."
"Great. I've…missed you." Anakin said, embarrassed.
Qui-Gon smiled. A warmth blossomed in his chest. "I've missed you too, Ani. I'm much looking forward to talking with you when I get there."
"I am too." He agreed in a low timbre.
"Well, I better go check on Obi-Wan. I'll see you then. Bye, Anakin."
"Bye Master."
Qui-Gon switched off the comm. He crossed his arms and sighed. Gods, but he was exhausted. He, for one, was glad to be leaving for Coruscant.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Obi-One sat against the support of two thin pillows, cushions that should have molded to his form long ago. He had spent most of his waking hours in this bed. Initially, he had been more than worn out, his head aching and heavy, and the solace of a warm mattress was welcomed, needed.
But his body had gradually replenished and energized. Often, his back throbbed, his skin sweating atop the sheets, and he longed for a workout of his rested muscles. He didn't mention the discomfort, for when he thought about it, the matter became trivial.
And, a stronger fiber in his reasoning, he didn't want to complain. Qui-Gon remained with him out of the kindness of his heart. Not because he had any real binding obligations.
Obi-One rubbed the base of his neck and sighed, closing his eyes as the bland, shadowed canvas of his blindness became increasingly depressing. He was hopeful that once the effects of the wipe were reversed, the deep, grinding compulsion to stifle the feelings he deemed unnecessary to voice would subside.
He was still afraid, despite Qui-Gon's insistences of unwavering dedication, that if he said the wrong thing, stirred an unfavorable feeling in the Master, he would be weighing the generous man down.
More than he already was.
Qui-Gon wouldn't turn and abandon him here. He knew enough of him to be sure of that. But Obi-One couldn't bear if he was an annoyance, too dissimilar from the man he had once been…too needy.
He massaged the cramped crux of a leg, foot sliding against the cool blankets. I can just walk around a little.. Obi-One eased out of the bed, grimacing as the rush of standing went to his head. He ran a hand through his short, thick hair.
The unyielding ice of the tile was more of a shock than he wished to admit. He bent and flexed his toes with an appreciative exhale, feeling the edge of the mattress to guide him.
The warmth of a beating afternoon sun spilled on his upturned face, and he smiled, taking cautious movements toward it.
His heart thundered in his ears as each step in the gait brought him farther from the security of the bed, deeper into the black sea of mostly undefined space. He expected to trip and fumble, to fall flat on his back and be discovered by Qui-Gon, to be devoured by a fiery chagrin.
So when his fingers met the smooth window pane, Obi-One couldn't help the fresh, genuine grin that split his face.
Almost reverently, he lifted his hand to press against the glass. Heat thrummed in the surface and seeped into his skin.
His joyous expression faded to a soft smile. He blinked away the tears forming in his eyes.
Only a few memories had made themselves known to him. He could feel them in his chest and in his mind, a swirling, scant collection that spread a fine haze. Noises were more prevalent, shouts and laughs and rasping whispers. Once, a howling, sharp cry.
They came when he was asleep. When the first, after the small, initial details of The Twilight Dance, had occurred, and Obi-One was catapulted to consciousness, Qui-Gon asked him, hesitantly, if it was possibly a dream.
But dreams were always slightly warped. Rarely, if ever, did they skid across the mind with such crisp precision and emotion.
Qui-Gon urged him to describe the shred of recovered past and Obi-One felt a stab of discouragement, fearing that the Master was skeptical of him.
As if he sensed the tremors of doubt, Qui-Gon took his hand. "I want to believe it as much as you do, Obi-Wan."
The honesty wrapped around him like a drift of silk, and Obi-One found he could relax a bit into that. "I don't know how to tell you…I can't exactly see it--"
"Tell me what you know." Qui-Gon responded simply, sitting beside him. "And what you feel."
"A-Alright." Obi-One swallowed. He sank into the recent recollection, letting the surroundings of a yesterday become that of the now. "I'm walking, but not…I'm not walking normally. I'm taking small steps, but it's like they're huge bounds, and there're fingers around mine. Someone's speaking to me, a woman or a girl. I think it's a girl." He paused, trying to maintain the strict focus.
Qui-Gon stroked his back. "Keep going, Obi-Wan."
He nodded. "And she asks me if it hurts. I laugh and tell her that it hurts like hell," Obi-One paused for a wan flush to rose his cheeks, "But that it's better than not having it at all."
Qui-Gon's brow scrunched for a moment, then smoothed in knowing. "Bant. You were talking to Bant."
"Bant?" Obi-One questioned. He clasped his lip between ivory teeth and sorted through the mounds of information the Master had fed him since the memory erasure. "Oh…Bant" He exclaimed quietly. " She's my…"
"Best friend." Qui-Gon supplied, the smile on his face mirrored in his answer. "You two were just about inseparable when you were younger."
"And she's a healer, right?"
The elder Jedi squeezed his shoulder. "Right."
Obi-One was bolstered. He continued with an excited lilt to his cultured voice. "Yes. She's walking me down a hallway, and she had been muttering…Muttering that she didn't know why I couldn't just test it in the hospital's halls."
"Test what?" Qui-Gon wondered.
"My leg. It feels a little tight. My right one." Obi-One explained, frowning as though he could feel remnants of the injury presently. "I stumbled a little, and Bant locked her arm around mine. I told her something…" He waited for the words to rise in his mind, "I told her that she was being too protective. She said that she'd do the same for any patient, then she planted a light, kind of shy kiss on my cheek. I told her that she must be in love with all her patients then."
A smirk jerked at Qui-Gon's lip.
Obi-One didn't notice the tugging smile on his own mouth. "She started to push me, but then realized my current state, I think, and instead she just punched my arm. She asked how she could ever be in love with someone she'd seen as a chubby four year old, sucking his thumb with one hand and picking his nose with the other."
Qui-Gon laughed heartily at that, pulling Obi-One against his shoulder.
"I replied that she wasn't much better, and reminded her of when…Bruck?" He appeared to mull over the new name, then continued, "When Bruck cut her hair with a training saber."
The Master gave a muffled chuckle that resonated in mid-throat.
"Was Bruck one of my friends, too?"
And the cheerful mood was temporarily sucked from the room. Qui-Gon teased pieces of auburn, moon-glinted hair through his fingers, gazing into the Naboo night. That was one topic he had completely dodged in his selective stories of Obi-Wan's childhood and apprenticeship. Bruck Chun was a huge pall in his former Padawan's life, an eternal pain that haunted and hated Obi-Wan Kenobi every day, though the youth would never admit to it.
How could he take the blade of those memories, and wrench it into the tender heart again?
He wouldn't, Qui-Gon decided instantly. Not until it was necessary. And even then, he would do so with great, shuddering reluctance.
"Not exactly." He responded, believing a lifetime must have passed during his deliberation, though in reality it had been seconds. "Bruck was around the same age as you, but you two never really got along well. He was a very jealous boy, a boy with a lot of demons-- and flaws. He resented the brightness in you."
"Oh." Obi-One accepted with a single nod. Qui-Gon's hand rested on the side of his face, nudging his head against the stalwart, warm chest. "There was a…bad feeling in my stomach after I said it to her, like it had slipped without me thinking. I---was sad after I said it." Careworn fingers trailed along his cheek. "Bant started talking about something else, and while she was talking, my leg started to give out.
"I was falling…until someone caught me. Small, small hands. With…claws?"
And Qui-Gon erupted into laughter once more, huge tears rolling down his face. "Oh, Force, Obi-Wan."
Obi-One smiled with patent confusion, probing fingers tracing the humored lines of Qui-Gon's face.
Qui-Gon clasped the fingers and kissed them, still chuckling. "Master Yoda?"
"The little alien. The ruler of the Jedi?"
"No, not ruler. Just a very wise member of the Jedi Council. He heads it. And he also happens to be one eighth your size."
Obi-One snorted, covering his mouth with a hand. "What? A tiny little…"
"Troll." Qui-Gon grinned. "The word you're looking for is troll."
Obi-One threw back his head and laughed. "A-A tiny little troll caught me?"
"Yes, well, he also happens to be one of the most powerful Jedi in history…not that it makes it any less funny."
"It definitely doesn't." He agreed, wiping at his watery eyes. "That's all I can remember."
Qui-Gon brought an arm around him. "You were around eighteen then, if I'm correct. You almost lost your leg on a mission. And I almost lost my head trying to grab for you when it happened."
Obi-One was aware of the energized buzz fleeing him, he settled into the parental embrace, content to listen.
"When I finally got you to a hospital, they were overflowing with casualties, and you had to wait." He clenched his eyes shut as the awful visions assaulted him. "I had to watch as others went before you. Patients who were injured, but not as badly as you were. But we were Jedi. The doctor said outright to me that we were involved. The others weren't, and were innocent. They would go first, because they didn't pledge themselves to anything." A swell of old anger crowded his chest. "I held you against me, ripping my tunic off and soaking it in the medicine a nurse passed over to me while she was hurrying to help someone else. You were so limp in my arms. By the time I had fully initiated a healing trance, and had bandaged your leg, you weren't responding to anything anymore."
"The doctors were just going to let me…die?"
"But I wasn't." Qui-Gon comforted, his skin gone cold from the memory. "And eventually, you were brought into the operating room. I knew they did their best, despite my earlier reservations, but there was uncertainty concerning your ability to walk.
"You spent a few months nearly immobile at the Temple--which drove you crazy. Bant was your nurse, and when you took those first, albeit shaky, steps, she ran all the way to the apartment to tell me.
"I was in the shower at the time."
Obi-One laughed softly. "I guess I wasn't the only embarrassed one that day."
Qui-Gon leaned against the wall. "I guess not."
The conversation dwindled, and Obi-One was weighted by the pull of sleep, hardly able to center.
"Rest. We'll talk some more tomorrow."
And, with that assurance, he slipped to slumber.
Obi-One smiled to himself, his hand dropping from the window.
"I'm glad to see you smile." Qui-Gon said at his shoulder.
He turned toward that masculine voice. "I wanted to feel the sun."
Qui-Gon caressed his cheek briefly, then studied the golden beams streaking from the clear sky. "It can be a wonderful feeling, can't it?"
Obi-One nodded, taking a steady breath. "And I want to feel the sun on Coruscant."
He had never uttered a syllable, but somehow, the Master knew of his misgivings, his buried dread. "You will. But it will be different there--because it'll be home."
And, at that moment, Obi-One knew he was ready to face that return.
**Whew. Got through another one! J Hope it's an enjoyable journey for everyone. **