REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 5-FALLING BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT
The teapot's gentle whistle was quickly extinguished, sending the hostel suite back into a void of silence again, strangely peaceful after the maelstrom of sheer chaos hours earlier. The early morning suns had only just begun to shoot their blinding white light through the large windows, to hasten sleepers to wake, but the haggard Jedi master had been unable to sleep at all.
He poured the hot water into a dull metallic mug and placed the steeping ball in, before carefully carrying the mug with him back to the bedroom to continue his vigil over his student.
The boy was currently curled up in a tight ball on the bed, his breathing slow and steady, his face sweetly innocent and youthful. He was asleep and at peace - as far as Qui-Gon could tell.
After earlier finding the boy in the shower with scalding water cascading over him, the master had quickly turned it off and wrapped him in a large towel. The incident was too painful to recall; aquamarine eyes widely dilated and uncomprehending, skin lightly burned, panic and confusion sparkling through their training bond.
Further, the boy had fought him.
Obi-Wan had obviously been confused, but it was shocking to Qui-Gon, nonetheless - shocking in the indication that Obi-Wan had no idea what had been happening.
He had held the boy for a long time after wrapping him in blankets and pressing him in a deep sleep, rocking him gently, speaking soft words of nonsensical comfort - more for himself than for any benefit to Obi-Wan.
He knew the boy was strong - despite what had happened last night, despite all of the tears and anger and weariness that had flooded their lives since Obi-Wan's assault. And for that reason, he had questioned why the struggle had been so difficult - more difficult than he thought it should have been.
Obi-Wan was so strong, so bright in the Force, and so very capable. . . .
Qui-Gon strode through the elaborate Temple halls, purpose in his stride. He had a problem, but he knew who he could rely on to solve it.
Obi-Wan. The reliable, dutiful padawan. Of course the boy would do anything he wanted. All he had to do was ask.
There he found him, in the dazzling sunlight, sitting on the crisp green grass of the Temple gardens. To the boy's side sat his best friend Garen, an age-mate and fellow padawan. The two boys, Obi-Wan and Garen, with his dark hair and fathomless dark eyes, made quite a handsome pair walking through the Temple halls, undoubtedly drawing the gazes of many young female padawans.
As he approached, Obi-Wan looked up, greeting him with a bright, sweet smile, while the brilliant light shone magnificently on the youth's flawless face. The radiant eyes, luminous and prismatic as a beautiful deep sea, glowed with the love and affectional trust that had grown between them.
"Good morning, Master," Obi-Wan said, leaning back to casually rest on his elbows.
"Good morning, Padawan, Garen," Qui-Gon smiled warmly, with a small nod to them both.
"What brings you here, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "Did the Council let you leave without a disagreement this time, or are you searching for another grub-crawler to rescue before someone accidentally steps on it?"
Qui-Gon smiled wryly, ignoring the snicker from Garen. "Actually, Obi-Wan, I was searching for a wonderful padawan who would help out his old master. Do you know of any such one?" he asked innocently, watching the humorous expression morph into a more serious one.
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan answered obediently, sitting up. "What do you want me to do?"
"My friend Dajer is arriving today, as you probably recall," the Jedi master explained.
Obi-Wan nodded, his attention fully on Qui-Gon.
"I need to prepare a room for him to stay in," the master went on. "Since the one I thought he would be using is being used by someone else, and I was not informed of this until just now, then I need you to go pick him up at the spaceport for me tonight."
Obi-Wan felt Garen's intense gaze on him, and spared a quick look at the other padawan, before returning his attention back to Qui-Gon.
Catching the unspoken exchange, Qui-Gon said, "I need you to do this for me, Obi-Wan. It will take me all day to prepare things and clean up the room, even with help. He was expecting me, but I cannot be there now." He paused, asked hesitantly, "Do you already have plans?"
Obi-Wan's eyes flicked away quickly. "Yes, Master. I did. Garen and I were going to see a demonstration of the new G-19 Firesweeper." He stopped, looked back at Qui-Gon and smiled somberly. "But I can do whatever you want."
"It should not take long. You might have time for both," Qui-Gon said with a small trace of embarrassment, cleared his throat and gently added, "and I already informed Dajer that you would be there to bring him back."
"Yes, Master."
Blinking back to the present, Qui-Gon looked back to his padawan on the bed. Hooking a foot around a chair leg, he pulled the chair next to the bed and slowly lowered himself in it, his exhaustion suddenly wearing on him. He tucked the blankets tightly around Obi-Wan again and threaded his fingers through the spiky silken hair, breathing its clean, fresh soapy scent.
Glancing at the chrono hanging on the wall, its pale blue light softly blinking, he mentally calculated the time difference on Coruscant. The Council would be out to lunch by this time. Perhaps he could speak with Yoda. The wise, old master had been of immeasurable help to him in more times than he could remember, and he definitely could use some advice now.
Sparing one more affectionate look at his padawan, he went into the adjoining room to the comm station. He considered going to the public comm downstairs so as to not disturb Obi-Wan's peaceful slumber, but after careful consideration elected to stay in their suite, in case the youth needed him. Reluctantly, he admitted that he had become overly protective of his student.
Sinking in the silky, plush side chair, Qui-Gon entered the Temple's transmission code, sipping the hot tea in his hand. He frowned and looked at the still steeping water in the mug, tasting only the faint byreena spice on his tongue. Suddenly thinking of his appearance, he hastily set the mug down, straightening his tunics and brushing his hands over his hair to hide the strays that had escaped the hairclasp in the back. I must look awful, he thought fleetingly, his mind already back to the comm.
A young face lit up the screen, eyes bright and overeager. The girl bowed, her silky dark brown curls tumbling about her elfin face, then said, "Jedi Temple. How may I be of service to you?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon breathed deeply to slow the rush of adrenaline. "This is Master Qui-Gon Jinn. I need to speak with Master Yoda."
The child looked away, to something out of sight at the side, frowned, then looked back at him. "Master Yoda has gone to the Galactic Senate Building on business. Do you want to leave a message, or is there anything else I can help you with?"
Qui-Gon stared at the expectant brown eyes that blinked shyly. "Ow," he jumped up from his seat, holding the mug away from him, scowling at the hot tea spills on his pants legs. "No, no, no," said the Jedi master with barely contained frustration.
Glancing back at the screen, he saw the uncertain dark eyes watching him, and set the mug aside.
"Uh, I'm sorry, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, politely inclining his head. "I'll try to catch Master Yoda later. Thank you." He smiled reassuringly and waited for the girl to smile, before ending the connection.
Consciousness came slowly, edging into the sheer darkness that had overshadowed him mere hours before. His first awareness was of that cruel dark power buzzing, but he did not invite it in, allowing it to become a part of him. No. He would never do that.
It was evil.
Pushing it away, he shivered and huddled deeper into the thick heavy blanket around him, pressing his cheek into the soft pillow, seeking a refuge of comforting warmth from the sickly cold air around him that seemed to leech every bit of heat from his body.
The sound of a faint shifting of cloth and a dull clanking brought him further toward consciousness, but he laid still, wanting to stay from it as long as possible. When the sweet aroma of something savory wafted to his nostrils, he suddenly realized how hungry he was.
A gentle hand slid across his back, and he wanted to shrink away from the touch, but forced himself to remain still. He knew it was Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon. Oh, Obi-Wan had a vague idea of what had happened last night. A blurry canvas of images and thoughts was all that remained, but that was enough to know that Qui-Gon was no doubt disappointed in him. That thought did nothing to encourage him to full wakefulness.
He wanted to slip away from it all, pretend the last few months had never happened, but that was not the way a Jedi padawan should feel. He was just a disappointment to himself, to his master, to the Jedi Order.
"Obi-Wan," said the soothing baritone voice of his master. The hand shifted up to his face, the backs of fingers lightly caressing his cheek. "Padawan, I have breakfast here. You need to eat something."
One sleepy eye opened, staring out of the haze of slumber, while the other eye remained buried in the pillow. The pale iris rose, settling on Qui-Gon's face brightly lit by the morning light, then fell to the tray of dishes in the master's lap.
"Please eat," Qui-Gon urged gently, patiently waiting for any response. It was the way Qui-Gon had always treated him whenever he had suffered any illness or injury on a mission. So kind, so caring.
A mission to Cagonor sprang immediately to mind. Obi-Wan had contracted a potent strain of Jelogian Flu. The primitive locals had given the fifteen-year-old boy the only medication they had for it, expecting it to work effectively. But their physiology was different - different enough that the sickness only progressed in the young padawan's body.
Feverish and frequently hallucinating, Obi-Wan had only vague memories of the whole ordeal, but he did remember the presence of his master and the tender care that the man had given him in his more lucid moments. Finally, after five days, the boy's body had by no small miracle finally purged itself of the terrible Flu.
But now the padawan could not help but see it all colored with sympathy, even the dreaded pity. He inhaled the inviting scents of honeyed rolls, freshly halved putla fruit, and the sweet tang of diwi juice - a hidden treasure they had discovered on this planet.
Pushing himself up sluggishly, Obi-Wan realized with startled embarrassment that he was still naked from the shower. He held the blanket snug around him while Qui-Gon arranged the pillows behind him, then slowly sank back against the soft fluffiness. The tray was placed across his lap with a care most never saw from the reserved Jedi master.
Looking over the tray, Obi-Wan's stomach growled. He rubbed his eyes and stole a glance at Qui-Gon, who was sitting in the chair beside the bed, silently watching him.
"How-"
"What was dinner like with the Prince, Master?" Obi-Wan softly said in haste, but casually enough to seem to not notice he had interrupted Qui-Gon, while his eyes roamed hungrily over the tray of food.
"It was nice," Qui-Gon answered. A pleasant smile graced his haggard face at the memory. "Prince Lekiam is a kind man, not at all like the Premier."
Nodding, Obi-Wan stabbed the ruby flesh of the putla fruit with a fork, pulling off a small bite. "How was the food?" He poked the bite in his mouth, his eyebrows rising. "Mmmm."
"Exactly," Qui-Gon lightly chuckled. "If you ever get tired of Zihrinian cuisine, this is the next best thing."
"That good, huh?" Obi-Wan smiled at him briefly. Too briefly, before returning his attention back to the food in front of him. "This is good, Master. But I assume dinner was much more rich than this."
"Yes. Breakfast here is lite and healthy. Dinner, at least with the Prince, was extremely rich and thoroughly satisfying." Qui-Gon sent a covert probe, mentally touching his student's mind and found the shields firmly in place. Obi-Wan was still pushing him away. It was time they talked.
Qui-Gon struggled with a choice of words when the comm unit gently buzzed. Rising, he left the room and flipped the answering switch at the comm station.
The image of Healer Famu Pasheso appeared on screen, his gray hair neatly slicked back and his gray eyes sharp. "Master Jinn. I commed as soon as I found out."
Qui-Gon frowned in confusion. "Found out?"
"That you had called the Temple," the healer explained, cocking his head. "This is about Obi-Wan, isn't it? You're having trouble handling the boy, are you not?"
Unsure of where this was going, Qui-Gon tonelessly replied, "I wanted to talk to Master Yoda."
"I know, but Obi-Wan is my patient. It's my business where he is concerned," the healer explained. "I knew you would have trouble with him, Master Jinn."
"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon fought to remain calm and quell the quiver of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. As yet, he was not sure whether to be angry or concerned.
The healer's eyes sharply eyed him. "Obi-Wan should be able to handle a simple mission like this one, but he's having problems, is he not?"
"Well, I'm. . . not sure," Qui-Gon answered hesitantly.
Pasheso impatiently nodded. "I cleared the boy for a mission, because he should be able to handle it, but you, Master Jinn, do not know how to handle him. This is all your fault. Obi-Wan would be further along if not for you."
Suddenly needing to sit down, Qui-Gon sank into the chair in front of the comm station, his mouth open in shock of what he was hearing. He was bereft of words.
Pasheso went on doggedly. "I'm going to speak with the Council concerning a new master for Obi-Wan. It's apparent you can no longer train a padawan."
Qui-Gon finally regained his voice. "This is the most ridiculous. . ."
"This is not ridiculous." The healer crossed his arms in frustration, eyes glaring. "This is serious. And a serious problem that I must take to the Council."
"Healer Pasheso," Qui-Gon said in a voice dangerously tainted in anger. "Obi-Wan is my padawan and will remain my padawan, and I will not have you interfering."
Pasheso snorted. "That's how you felt about Xanatos too, wasn't it?" He lifted his chin defiantly. "Wasn't it?"
Blinking back the pain, Qui-Gon replied as calmly as he could. "This is not about Xanatos."
"No," Pasheso stated matter-of-factly. "This is about you - and Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan needs a master who is competent enough to help him."
"Healer. I ask that you stay out of this," warned Qui-Gon.
"Nevermind, Master Jinn," the healer smiled humorlessly. "I can see this is going nowhere. I'll contact you later if I need to. Good day."
The comm screen blinked out, leaving a distressed Jedi master staring at the screen.
This was definitely the last thing he had expected. Pasheso had always been cold toward Qui-Gon, but never to this degree, and never to suggest that he believed Qui-Gon was incompetent. Standing unsteadily, he returned to Obi-Wan's room, finding the boy out of bed, wearing only a pair of leggings while rummaging through his travel bag.
Obi-Wan glanced behind him, to the Jedi master standing in the doorway. "Who was that?" he said in a casual tone, returning to his task.
"It was the Temple, returning a call." Qui-Gon said, watching his student pull a clean tunic out of the bag. He leaned against the doorpost, rubbing a hand across his wiry beard, his mind still preoccupied with the comm call.
Obi-Wan stood, turning halfway towards him with the tunic in his hands. "Anything important?" His eyes were shaded dark with worry.
"No," the master replied quietly, meeting the boy's gaze. This was not something to tell Obi-Wan - at least, not yet. There was no need to worry him.
The boy's eyes cleared, and he appeared to relax, accepting Qui-Gon's answer. "So what are we supposed to do today, other than baby-sit the Premier?" the youth snickered nervously.
Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan was trying to avoid talking about his confusion in the shower, as well as the distancing of himself from Qui-Gon. The boy was hedging, but the master decided to not indulge him further. Walking to the front of the youth, he placed his hands on the boy's bare upper arms, squeezing gently and drawing his padawan's attention.
Obi-Wan eyed him with wary suspicion.
"How are you, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon felt the boy's biceps tense slightly.
With a faint sigh, Obi-Wan absently fingered the bottom of his braid. "I suppose I'm fine, Master," his voice soft and distant. Aquamarine eyes dropped.
"What about. . . what about last night?" said Qui-Gon slowly, hoping he was saying the right thing.
The padawan's eyes flicked briefly to Qui-Gon's, before falling again. "What about it?" said Obi-Wan, in a barely veiled challenging tone.
"You've never done that before," Qui-Gon said delicately.
Obi-Wan ducked his head, embarrassed. "So," came the quiet reply.
"So," the master continued evenly. "What happened?"
"I had a nightmare, okay?" the boy shrugged one shoulder, fractionally lifting his head. He peered up through dark eyelashes. He could not mention the Darkness. The intensity of it that had touched him while in the shower had nearly frightened him. He felt this was something he should tell, despite the unwanted pity that might result, but something held him back.
"Obi-Wan, you-"
"It's no big deal, Master," Obi-Wan interrupted, his hands unconsciously gripping the tunic tighter. "Can we forget about it?" His tone was civil, but obstinate.
Qui-Gon's brows knitted together. "Obi-Wan, ever since we left the Temple, you've been shutting me out," he said, a tinge of scolding slipped through the normally calm voice.
Obi-Wan pulled out of his grasp, taking a couple steps back. "There's nothing else to tell," the padawan argued, the agitation in his voice rising, eyes mutinous.
"I think there is, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon went on, his voice deceptively peaceful. "That had never happened before. I know you, my Padawan, and I know when something's bothering you." Midnight blue eyes earnestly searched the boy's.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened, unable to look away from Qui-Gon's. He feared they could see straight into his heart. "I'm fine," the boy said tightly.
"I don't think so," Qui-Gon bluntly remarked. "And I wish you would stop saying that." He tried unsuccessfully to hide the amusement from his voice.
The humor in his master's tone only inflamed Obi-Wan, his chin stubborn, his eyes storming. "What do you want me to say?" he asked in exasperation, quickly sobering his master's expression. He wanted to continue, to ask Why have you cancelled sparring practice every day? Why do look upon me with eyes of pity? Why did you make me pick up YOUR friend at the spaceport? Why did I see Tarren?
But he held it all back.
"I want you to tell me what's wrong?" the Jedi master pressed, undeterred by his padawan's rising anger.
"Nothing." Obi-Wan stared rebelliously. "Nothing more than there has ever been. Don't worry about me, Master. I can take care of myself. I'm a Jedi," he spat out, a little more strongly than he had intended.
"You've not been acting like one," Qui-Gon countered quickly, and immediately saw that that was the wrong thing to say.
Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise, staring unblinking in the Jedi master's eyes, then momentarily faltered, with a bleak look surfacing.
Seeing the hurt spread across his padawan's face, Qui-Gon took a step forward, wanting to make amends. "I'm sorry," he said, a little breathless. "I didn't mean. . ."
"No," Obi-Wan's voice barely trembled, but the hurt was unmistakable. "You did mean it, and you're right. I haven't been acting like a Jedi." The boy turned away, bowing his head, and buried all of his emotions deep within the strained confines of his heart. "Especially last night," his voice softly caught on the last word.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said to the boy's back, wanting to placate, and felt the knotting up of his stomach. He stretched his hands out toward his student in a vain attempt to take back what he had said. For all the years of diplomatic experience he had as an interplanetary mediator he still could not communicate effectively with his own padawan.
"I'll be ready shortly, Master," Obi-Wan called over his shoulder, his voice more controlled. After wiping a hand across his eyes, he went in the 'fresher, the door closing softly behind him.
Qui-Gon slid to his knees, burying his face in his hands and remorse in his heart.
Maybe Pasheso was right.