Ewan's girl Thank you!
Athena Leigh Hey, hey, I must defend myself! In the SW novels they even talk about how Obi-Wan (and Anakin) are good looking! I'm just keeping in tone with those..yeah…that's it. Hee hee. So glad you're enjoying.
Audreidi What turned Obi-Wan? Very good question.
Fudge Well, who wouldn't prefer Obi-Wan to that decrepit old guy? But seriously, thanks for your kind words.
YLJedi Thank you so much!
Kynstar You're so sweet. Thank you.
LoriC I apologize for so many of my fics being in progress, but my imagination has a mind of its own, and sometimes, just demands opening that new document and thinking up a fresh title. I'll do my very best to update as often as possible. Thank you!
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Qui-Gon watched the energy deflate and expire in Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the young man slumped against the pillow, ebony lashes streaked against his ivory skin.
Very small. The Master stood there, thinking the same of this pallid shadow. In battle, he had been an iced illustration of intimidation and expertise, nearly flawless in his maneuvers. But now, with the trappings peeled away, he was just a patient in a hospital bed, vulnerable and dependent on the monitors connected to his veins.
And Obi-Wan was thin. Qui-Gon had previously overlooked his body composition. The shock was still a frozen face of horror inside him, mouth a terrified circle, but his mind was not as stalled as it had been. He now saw that beneath the roomy drape of the cloth gown, Obi-Wan was very lean and only finely muscled. His skin was wet porcelain, fair, and appearing as a yellowed contusion in a few places. The raven hair lay limp around his face.
But, Qui-Gon thought, gods help him, he looked like Obi-Wan, regardless of the modifications.
Evil was real, the Master was certain of that. It had sought him out from the earliest days of his life, always lusting after his demise, but only succeeding in igniting his sorrow. This was another attempt, carefully carried out. Who else but the Dark could create Qui-Gon's perfect idea of hell? This was not a dressed-up corpse. Death would have been a kinder alternative for his one-time Padawan, and the shadows knew it.
He didn't want to forfeit to the utter tragedy, balancing on a spindle, waiting to topple over on him, in him. He didn't want to rip open those long-sewed wounds in his heart, to let the soak of cataclysmic failure renew what had festered.
Yet, his fingers stretched out, to fall upon a cool cheek…
And swerved, resting in the glossed mane instead. Qui-Gon's belly went rigid, but he stayed his touch, inspired beyond the realm of fear and depression. This was what he truly wanted. Not a hot-blooded shouting match, or an admission of grievous sin. He wanted to touch something of Obi-Wan, and know he wouldn't fade to a specter of his reveries.
Nightmares. Obi-Wan was having nightmares, and here was the aftermath, the return to peaceful sleep, with a hint of his unconscious exertions coloring his face.
It was too much. It was too familiar, the entire scene. Marlwen's descriptions had stirred an unnamed sense in Qui-Gon, but now, that name was resurrected, just as the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi had been. Because Qui-Gon could see clearly what it was to witness him in the grips of nighttime terror. He didn't want the two to relate. He didn't want the current form of Obi-Wan to ruin that tender memory, nor did he want the innocence of the child he had been to cloud his perceptions of the man shackled to the cot.
But the water ran, the colors and tones melted together, the black of Obi-Wan's hair became the darkness of his room…
The shrieks shot through the silence like glass shards, lunging into Qui-Gon's awareness and sending him flying, without thought, from his bed. His lumbering steps echoed in the narrow corridor, in time with the repeated word in his head.
'Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.'
He burst into the tiny quarters. The high-pitched cries were amplified by his proximity. Qui-Gon could hear them resounding in every inch of his body, standing every hair. His desperate movements knocked over a chair and cracked a holodisc, but the din was lost under the riddled rain of his Padawan's senseless screams, and he would have trampled through hot coals, if it would have brought him to the boy's side.
Obi-Wan's thrashing was outlined by the moon, the rest of him was concealed by midnight. Barely able to see, Qui-Gon lurched forward, drawing out his arms and scooping the spastic child up against him.
Half-formed fists beat his chest and shoulder. Disjointed sounds were thrown out in breathless panic. The Master could not allow himself to be affected by any of it. He clutched Obi-Wan tightly to him, carrying him from the darkened bedroom to the amber-lit common room.
After the past two episodes, occurring over the past two nights, the Master had left a few glow rods on a low, dusky setting. He had contemplated adding one to the boy's quarters, but it was too small, and closed in spaces seemed to aggravate the effects of the nightmares.
Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the sofa and gathered the lanky body in his unyielding embrace, to prevent the violent reaction from harming either of them. It would not comfort Obi-Wan, not yet. From his unhappy experiences, Qui-Gon knew the rest of the ugly fantasy had to play out. There was no shaking the poor youth out of it.
Obi-Wan twisted in his fright, scratching at the air, catching his Master's flesh more than once. The blood welled on Qui-Gon, but he didn't notice, enduring what he had to, waiting with feeble stoicism for his student to awaken.
It wasn't long before the apartment communicator was buzzing. The unholy bellows were disturbing their Temple neighbors, many not even on the same floor. A security docent would be at the door before it was over. And Qui-Gon would have to explain that his Padawan's overactive imagination had flared again, in the midst of his slumber.
He didn't know what monsters chased Obi-Wan in his dreams. By morning, the recollections had evaporated along with the tears, and the boy was oblivious to his spasms, his only evidence the slight rawness of his throat, and the minor injuries to the older Jedi's person, to which he responded with great shame. Qui-Gon always gently nudged the boy to tell him, at the trembling core of night, when the memory was fresh, but he was rendered silent by his ordeal.
Perhaps tonight would be different. Qui-Gon prayed that it would be, for his tortured Padawan's sake. If his singular intervention could not remedy the nightmares, he would be forced to take Obi-Wan to the Healers' for a full medical report, something that was the boy's widely known definition of nightmare.
The frenzied body slowly eased against Qui-Gon and the wails were shortened to gasps. Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan's head and rested it on his shoulder, rocking and whispering in his ear. Obi-Wan whimpered, seized up again by incubus, but it was momentary.
At last, the tension in his muscle settled, and one final moan stretched out guttural from the boy.
"Wake up." Qui-Gon murmured. "Wake up now, Obi-Wan. Tell me you're alright."
Obi-Wan kicked out suddenly, then went totally still, his fingers tangled in Qui-Gon's hair.
Silence was suspended in the common room for several minutes, during which Master soothed apprentice with warm washes through the Force and the simplistic stability of their embrace. He knew Obi-Wan was too old to respond with such mindless fervor to mere dreams. And in regular consciousness, the boy would chafe considerably if coddled the way he was afterward.
But he was clutching Qui-Gon to him, pressing his hot face against worn layers of tunic, as though to let go was to be plunged back into the nightmare. Rationality had been eclipsed by blind panic--uncharacteristic of a young man who had faced creatures of unequalled depravity and brute strength, without a waver to his heartbeat.
"Say something, Padawan," His lips were near to the perspiring temple, "This isn't like you."
And it wasn't really like Qui-Gon, either, to sit up on late nights with a frightened child tucked against him. This was all instinct. Pride and his unique brand of aloofness had to be set aside, for the time being. Their relationship was new, but the trials had been many, and already, the connection forged was unlike any other Qui-Gon had experienced. There might come a point, later in the life of the apprenticeship, that he would admit to cherishing that link.
But, he had to remind himself, the roots were still being planted. There was so much more to be discovered, beyond a sprout. And yet, his heart had exploded with fear that first night, when Obi-Wan's screams catapulted him from sleep.
No matter the length of their relationship, Obi-Wan was his weakness. To hurt the boy was to devastate the man.
Qui-Gon smoothed the auburn spikes. "It was a dream, Obi-Wan. It's over now." He felt Obi-Wan shudder, and wrapped his arms more snugly around the apprentice. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
Obi-Wan shook his head, eyes firmly shut.
Qui-Gon sighed and leaned back. "If you tell me, I can help you. This can't go on." He stared out at the deadened kitchen area beyond the common room, losing thought in the slow trudge of minutes.
"Master?"
The tentative little whisper took him by surprise, and he looked down at the mostly hidden face. "What is it?"
Obi-Wan lifted tearful eyes and the sight was a flawless depiction of misery. "Will you…Will you ever leave me?"
Qui-Gon framed the damp cheeks with his hands. "Of course not." He wiped pools of moisture from under Obi-Wan's eyes. "That would be rather silly of me, wouldn't it?"
Obi-Wan took a breath and his forehead crinkled. "W-Why?"
Careworn fingers teased the ends of a slim Padawan braid. "Because, I want to be the one to get the credit, for raising the greatest Knight of the Order."
Obi-Wan actually smiled. "I'll remember to thank you in my speech."
Qui-Gon chuckled. "Your speech?"
The boy nodded, nestling his head under the bearded chin. "Well, I assume one would receive a medal for such an esteemed honor."
"Oh," Qui-Gon laughed heartily, never forgetting that Obi-Wan's hands remained in a vice-like grip on his arms, "I'd imagine so."
It was quiet for a few minutes, as the demons dwindled into translucence, and Obi-Wan relaxed into the sane perimeters of reality.
He was close to sleep, but Qui-Gon knew now had to be the inquiry, or a possible solution to this mess would be lost for another score of hours. "Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Can you tell me what you see? In the dreams?"
Obi-Wan's body stiffened, and he turned his face toward the haven of Qui-Gon's shoulder, so perhaps the memories would not be permitted to fill his eyes. "I…I feel…"
Qui-Gon could sense his struggle. "What do you feel, Padawan?" He urged gently.
The Universe seemed to slow, waiting for the child to finish, holding one huge, collective breath.
"Cold."
But it wasn't enough for the Master. It didn't explain the sharp wails and helpless fighting against an unseen enemy. There was more. There HAD to be more… "And what else?"
Obi-Wan shook his head, a thick, steel door slamming over his thoughts, blocking Qui-Gon from even the palest mental communication. "No." The apprentice whispered.
He was trembling in Qui-Gon's arms, and the man knew he didn't have the resolve to pursue it further, to tear away the shields and force difficult recollections from a tired child. "Alright." He tried to reposition himself, was nearly suffocated by the weary, frightened grasp of Obi-Wan around him.
Obi-Wan said he had been cold. So Qui-Gon had to be contented to wrap a cloak around the huddled form, and hope the warmth would be found for him once more.
Had it been real?
Was the corrupted creature before him once the child who sought solace and assurance in his arms?
But no. Surely Obi-Wan Kenobi had left long ago, taking with him a sliver of his former Master, so that the man could never recover enough to claim completion of his own soul.
Qui-Gon stared down at him, the features softened and unthreatening-a trick. A clever trick, but the man was familiar with them. He wouldn't be duped. Ever again.
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Puckered.
Queen Amidala didn't want to stare at the loose skin, stretched at the eyes, puckered at the cheeks. But her eyes remained staunch on Senator Palpatine's face, the chalky surface and yellowed pores. If she looked close enough, allowed all else to retreat beyond her periphery, that face seemed…more than eyes, a nose, a thin mouth. When she focused, or, eased her focus, the official of Naboo vibrated, buzzed, sifted in that skin.
But then the Master Jedi came through the doors, stirring the silent room into small action, and the entrancing pull ebbed, blinked quickly away.
Qui-Gon stood at the opening in their circle, between Palpatine and his apprentice, hands looped in his sleeves. He breathed out heavily before speaking-something the young sovereign noticed he had adopted as of late. "His strength gave out before he could tell me much of anything."
"What did he tell you?" Padme asked.
"He told me he was led here."
"By who?" And Bruck's voice was more commanding, harboring vestiges of anger in its timber.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "He didn't say. But he knew Master Yoda was coming. I don't know how, after all this time, but he knows Yoda is close." Through his connection with the boy, Qui-Gon could hear Bruck's shock and sizzle. "Which means his gifts of the Force were not squandered after his…departure from the Jedi. He retains them. And, I would wager, he's improved them. Obi-Wan," It still felt strange on his lips, "Has never been stupid."
"Sure."
The Master pointedly ignored the utterance from Bruck. It was natural for Jedi, especially the younger, more tender members, to react with vehemence towards those that strayed from the path. It was a reminder, more than a betrayal. A reminder that staying Jedi was a constant, deliberate process. One could never settle into complacency or comfort.
If ever Qui-Gon Jinn was certain of his beliefs, it was in that. A nest warm under the shadow of your own convictions would turn cold. It was inevitable. He had gathered his young Padawan close in his embrace, to shelter him from the dark nightmare. But in the end, he had saved neither of them from anything. And would come to sit in that place again, alone.
He thought he was powerful enough, Jedi enough, to rescue the child from the midnight wings. And here he was, here was Obi-Wan, relentlessly tortured in sleep, even now.
But he wears the face of the nightmare.
Qui-Gon coughed, for no reason other than to drag himself from the thought, and saw that the Senator was regarding him with pale eyes.
"I think it best for you and Bruck to await Master Yoda's arrival on the main floor, your Highness." The Master said, shaking the disquiet off as flakes of famished skin, "Anakin could use the company."
"I could stay here. With you, Master." Bruck argued, his customary passion present, but devoid of irritation. He stepped closer, to speak in intimate conspiracy, "You shouldn't be here alone. You don't know…you just don't know what he could do."
Qui-Gon smiled, touched to the heart by his student's worry, and immensely grateful for it. "He's very limited in what he can do right now, my Padawan. And I've been a Master longer than he's been alive. There is a leverage there, no matter how slight it may be. I think I can hold my own."
Shadows crossed murkily in ice blue eyes. "But you didn't. He could've killed you."
"And yet, here I am." Qui-Gon touched an eternally pallid cheek, a pallor that seemed never to have turned toward the flush of the sun. "And here I will stay, Bruck. You don't have to be concerned with that."
Bruck fought the rebellion punching up in his lungs. "Yes, Master."
Qui-Gon gave a burst of mental encouragement before addressing the Queen. "I know you would like to be directly involved, Milady, but I have to say I would not be comfortable with that. There's a reason Obi-Wan is here. And we cannot ignore that his arrival coincides with yours in the hangar. It could be your life he was planning on taking."
Padme didn't smile, but the lost expression appeared in her eyes all the same. "And yours, Master Jinn. If I may say so," She pursed her lips, "He never looked at me. But I must contact Captain Panaka, and can check on Anakin in the mean time. If I have an escort."
Bruck took the invitation without confusion, standing at her side. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Master."
But the Master felt himself recoil at that. "N-No. I don't want anyone coming in close contact with him, at least until Master Yoda arrives with the suppressors. They will lock him securely away from the Force, more so than the standards all Jedi carry."
"Do you really think it requires that extensive a measure of precaution?" Palpatine joined the conversation smoothly.
"In a word?" Qui-Gon answered him, after a stale kind of silence, "Absolutely."
On that ill-strung note, Bruck and the Queen advanced to the lift.
"With all due respect, Senator, I would prefer you to go with them."
A smile tweaked Palpatine's lip. "Of course, Master Jedi. But," He continued in a friendly voice, "I'd appreciate a moment of your time beforehand. I'll be right behind you, Milady."
Padme nodded; she and Bruck disappeared in the dark column.
Qui-Gon's eyes were on the space they vacated when the next words came.
"What will your Order do, Master Jinn?" Palpatine wondered softly. "Surely you can't turn him over to regular authorities. Or is there a custom Jedi guillotine unknown to the public?"
The chuckle sat like a dour weight, and Qui-Gon turned, the angular lines of his bone structure catching the lights. "I can't begin to think what will happen to him. But I can't imagine the Council will simply step back and relinquish their part in this. He won't be on Naboo much longer."
But, of course, the Senator already knew that. He saw more than the flat, immediate plane of the normal being. His vision stretched further.
Oh. He had already seen so much.
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