REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia

See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.

CHAPTER 7-AMONG THE RUINS

The soil was moist, rich, and smelled of the dark earth. He patted it down gently, sculpting the top to be level with the lip of the small, pale blue pot that he had found in a tiny merchant shop on his way back to the hostel.

Only an hour before, he had sent Obi-Wan on an errand to pick up an item the master had purchased after he had escorted the boy back to their hostel the night they had been to the Korgill ancestral celebration. The jeweler would be closing for the night soon, and Qui-Gon believed he would have no opportunity to pick it up himself until possibly days later, and he did not know how long they would be here. Therefore, he had sent Obi-Wan to pick up the package for him.

Shortly thereafter, the Premier had been called away for more immediate business, leaving the Jedi master alone to wander leisurely back to the hostel as the descent of night crept over the city. As the deep violet shadows spilled over buildings and air vehicles, he had stopped in a few shops, the last of which he found the perfect pot and even a small bag of potting soil. Already in possession of the Sandriffa seed that the Premier had given him, it was too much for him to pass up.

Smiling, he stepped back from the low cafe table, admiring the little pot, its glazed milky surface reflecting dull light from the two bright glow lamps in the common room of their hostel suite. But the pleased smile slowly faded away.

The pale blue color of the pot held all the subtle tints of his padawan's eyes, and that was too much. He knew Obi-Wan was not going to be warming up to him any time soon. Not after the sharp reprimand that he had given the boy on the balcony at the Eroleen Gardens.

But the boy had been warned too many times before, Qui-Gon argued with himself. Not only was it a foolish trick, but it was also a frivolous use of the Force. Surely the boy realized that.

But there was more to it than that. He felt that he had failed. If Obi-Wan - the boy who had worked so hard to win his trust - would so casually disregard his master's instruction, then would he be able to trust the boy in more serious matters? No, the boy could be trusted. He did not really doubt that. But it brought spectral visions of another, long dead apprentice to life. An apprentice who had been coddled and indulged to the point of ignoring the warning signs of a weakness to give in to anger.

Xanatos.

A name that brought all the hurt and fear of betrayal as sharp and emotionally upsetting as it had been then. Qui-Gon had had no choice. The Force demanded that he stand back and let the young man choose his path, and he had obeyed it like a faithful Jedi to the end. To the end of the young man's life.

But Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was not at all like that. He was a padawan Qui-Gon could trust with his heart. One that would ultimately never betray him.

The storms of Melida/Daan had exposed that encouraging truth. There, Obi-Wan had faltered momentarily, passionately swept along in his inexperience. But he had realized the err of his ways. Obi-Wan was a Jedi. And a Jedi he would always be.

The low, steady buzz of the comm unit broke into his reverie. Walking to the unit, Qui-Gon answered the call. The wrinkled, old face of the little green master, Yoda, appeared on screen.

"Knew you to be needing advice soon, Qui-Gon," Yoda said, a twinkle of mischief in his large olive eyes. "Heard I have of your call here for me, as well as Healer Famu Pasheso's accusations."

Qui-Gon nodded once, instantly attentive to the little master. "What has the Healer said?" he inquired, unsuccessfully trying to hide his worry.

Yoda replied with a tiny sigh. "Said he has, that no longer competent to train a padawan you are."

"Yes," Qui-Gon swallowed, rubbing his temples. "I know."

"Called a meeting with the High Council, has he. Present his evidence, he will. No need for worry, Qui-Gon," Yoda soothed. His eyes held the wisdom of ages, strength and tenderness melted together in a mysterious display of power within those two orbs.

"You . . ." the younger master grasped for the right words. "Why does he want to do this, Master? I don't understand his actions. Obi-Wan needs me right now, perhaps more now than ever. How could that . . ." he struggled to find the right adjective, but instead settled for none, "that healer . . . try to take him away from me now?"

"Another patient this relates to, at least for Famu it does. Brutally raped, another padawan was years ago," Yoda explained, in reflective sorrow. "A patient of his she was. Years of therapy she had, before took her own life she did." He finished in a soft tone, betraying his sadness over the tragedy.

"I remember," Qui-Gon said, softly, with a grim expression. "Padawan Y'saba, wasn't it?" He remembered the confident young student and the way she had changed afterward. It had been heart breaking watching from a distance as she had withdrawn and become so different.

The day he had learned of her death, Qui-Gon had just emerged from a tenday's seclusion, where he had immersed himself in the presence of the Living Force. It was a spiritually refreshing event that he looked forward to every year, when he could forget the daily routines and trappings of life, and devote himself to that powerful energy that infused all things.

"Famu saw how handle Y'saba's problems, her master could not. Helplessly watched, Famu did until too late it was. Now, let another patient die he can not. Fear he does for Obi-Wan. Mishandling the situation now he is, but stand back and let another Y'saba happen he will not. Especially when never fully recovered from that, has he."

Qui-Gon nodded his understanding. Pasheso was only acting out of fear of his own failure. Fear that he had contributed to a padawan's death and fear that the circumstances could repeat themselves if he did nothing. "But what of the Council? What will they say?"

"Initial arguments support you, they do," Yoda gestured towards Qui-Gon with the gimer stick in his hand. "Yes, yes, keep Obi-Wan as apprentice most assuredly you will."

Qui-Gon sighed. A heavy burden he had not realized he'd been carrying was lifted. But, things were not totally resolved. Obi-Wan was still distant, almost cold, toward him. That situation would still need to be remedied.

As if knowing his thoughts, Yoda continued, "Talk to him, you must. Doubt not that open up eventually, he will. Stubborn you both are," he chuckled lightly, as glee danced behind his eyes. "Turn into a great Jedi Knight, he will. A good master you have been, Qui-Gon. Convince you otherwise, let no one."

"Thank you, Master," Qui-Gon smiled, his midnight blue eyes shining with a new fervor of strength.

"Now, if nothing else you need . . . ."

"I'll be fine, Master," Qui-Gon confirmed. "Thank you, and may the Force be with you."

"And with you," Yoda replied, before the connection was cut.

Sighing with relief, Qui-Gon suddenly noticed his padawan's Force signature rapidly approaching, and with it his Jedi serenity fled. Taking several slow deep breaths, he seated himself on the chocolate colored sofa and put on a mask of peace.

It was time for them to talk.

Coming to the door to their suite, Obi-Wan was surprised to sense Qui-Gon's presence inside. He had thought his master would have still been with the Premier. Taking a moment to relax and pull himself together, he keyed the entry code.

When he entered the room, he had not known what to expect, but Qui-Gon sitting calmly on the sofa was certainly not it. Cautiously, Obi-Wan walked further into the room, intending to by-pass the man on the sofa and retreat to his guest bedroom.

"Obi-Wan?"

The padawan froze at the soft address, his head bowed and body postured with uncertainty.

Seeing the boy's hesitation, Qui-Gon spoke in as calm a tone as he could muster. "Come here, please."

Obi-Wan threw a quick glance to his master.

"Please, sit down," Qui-Gon said, indicating the sofa where he sat.

Pushing aside his reluctance, the boy tramped to the sofa and sat down on its edge at the opposite end, keeping his eyes from Qui-Gon and setting the small, rectangular silver box that he had been sent to retrieve between them.

"Thank you for picking that up for me," the master smiled, indicating the shiny box.

"You're welcome, Master," Obi-Wan replied in the dutiful - and very formal - manner he had adopted since leaving Coruscant. If one had not known better, one would think that the pair had just recently met, for there was no warmth, no kinship, no trace of familiarity.

As Qui-Gon's eyes ran over his apprentice, he took note of the boy's damp robe, darkened from the fall of a light snow that had just begun outside. A fine sprinkling of melting snowflakes still covered him. Obi-Wan set stiffly with his shoulders slightly hunched, evidently still cold from the dropping temperatures.

Concerned, Qui-Gon stood. "You're cold, Padawan." He crossed the room to open a closet. "I saw some blankets in here, if you wish-"

"No," Obi-Wan protested. "I'm fine." He winced at the phrase that he apparently repeated too much for Qui-Gon's liking. "I'll be okay," he rephrased the response.

Qui-Gon closed the closet door and looked at Obi-Wan. The boy was still staring sullenly at the floor. "How about some tea? I'll go make some," he added quickly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to refuse, but Qui-Gon had already disappeared into the narrow kitchen. He sighed, then took several deep slow breaths, searching for the peace that remained elusive.

Once he had filled two mugs of steaming hot, byreena spiced tea, Qui-Gon hurried back to his waiting padawan. "Here," he held one mug out to Obi-Wan, who took it after a short hesitation. Then the Jedi master settled himself back on the sofa.

Obi-Wan still would not look at him. Shifting to more fully face his padawan, the master considered his words carefully before speaking. "Obi-Wan," he began delicately, "remember earlier today when I found you leaning off the balcony at Eroleen?"

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan answered evenly, but Qui-Gon could sense the underlining resentment.

Qui-Gon hid the urge to frown. "I behaved poorly toward you when I let my anger control my actions, and I want to apologize to you for that." He paused to let his words sink in and did not fail to notice the tiny crease form between Obi-Wan's brows. Then, he went on. "I admit that I felt fear. Fear that you could have fallen and died. And fear that I had failed in your training," he added, softly. "However, I do not apologize for reprimanding you for your disobedience. Your actions were careless and inexcusable, and deserving of censure. But I did not give you a chance to explain earlier, so if you have anything you would like to say, I would be more than willing to listen and try to understand without any preconceptions."

With that said, Qui-Gon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked expectantly at his student who sat motionless at the other end of the sofa, staring at the floor in front of him.

Confused, Obi-Wan simply sat there, unsure of what to say. He had expected Qui-Gon to do any manner of things after his blatant disobedience earlier. Not only had his master apologized, but was now asking him for an explanation for his own actions. What could he tell Qui-Gon? That he simply felt like it? That he wanted to just escape his troubles? It all sounded so lame.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's serene voice came again. "If there is any reason you did what you did, I want to know. I know that you would not do something like without a reason. You've matured so much since you were fifteen."

"There was no reason." Obi-Wan's voice was tight. His hand slipped around the end of his padawan braid, fingering it tightly.

"Obi-Wan, I am your Jedi master-"

"I don't want to talk," the padawan decreed, bolting up from the sofa - an action that sent a splash of tea from his mug to the soft, pine-green carpet below. He did not even care to keep the rudeness from his voice. After a quick glance at the spill on the floor, he threw the mug against the wall, smashing it into numerous pieces. The hot liquid ran down the wall in the now deathly silence.

It took Qui-Gon a moment to recover from the shock of his apprentice's lack of restraint - not to mention the normally respectful padawan behaving so discourteously toward him. He tore his gaze from the new stain on the wall, to the boy's back that was turned toward him. Now it was Qui-Gon's turn to let his frustration bleed through his voice. "And why not, my Padawan?" he said, picking up the conversation from before.

"Because I just don't." Obi-Wan whirled around, finally meeting those piercing sapphire eyes with a glare of defiance. "You wouldn't let me to talk to you earlier at the Gardens. I can't talk when I want to, but only when you let me." The sharpness to his voice was clear.

Battling to maintain a sense of peace in the surprising drift of the conversation, Qui-Gon paused before answering. "You're my apprentice," he said, easily. It was simple statement, but carried with it so much weight.

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "And I have to do everything you tell me," he shot back.

"Unless I overstep my bounds, yes," Qui-Gon said, with just the desired amount of authority.

"It's not fair," the boy exclaimed, his gently indented chin stubbornly set.

"It's not supposed to be. We're Jedi," said Qui-Gon in his maddeningly calm voice. He had reached beyond the building tension in the room, to the deep wells of peace offered by the Force. It was his responsibility to take control of the situation, he realized. Obi-Wan was still an apprentice. The boy's actions were proving that.

"I hate that," said Obi-Wan, with one breath.

"What? That we're Jedi?"

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. "No," he said, softly and opened his tempestuous eyes again. "I hate the way you can cut me off, the way you can make me do whatever you want, whenever you want to." Once again, a mutinous aquamarine gaze bore into Qui-Gon.

"What specifically are you referring to?" Then seeing Obi-Wan's obvious reluctance to open up, Qui-Gon added, "I give you permission to speak freely."

Obi-Wan hesitated, unsure of whether to go on. It was not often that he was given leave to speak his mind, but he usually took the opportunity when it was given. "You cut me off . . . and threatened me." There was an angry hurt in his voice.

Qui-Gon tilted his head in puzzlement. "Threatened you?"

Obi-Wan stood still, a ragged breath the only answer.

"What do you mean? When?" Qui-Gon implored, with genuine interest.

"At Eroleen," Obi-Wan knew he had to go on now. "When I started to leave, and you said it had better not happen again." The words rushed out of him.

"Obi-Wan, I was talking about leaning off of balconies. I did not mean it as a threat. And the fact that you had promised me years ago to never do it again. I am sorry if I hurt you. But I was upset that you had broken your word to me, and I was also upset that you could have died." Qui-Gon sighed theatrically. "If you wouldn't close yourself off to me, then perhaps you would have understood."

"I don't want you messing with my head. And I wish you'd stop trying to figure out what I'm thinking," Obi-Wan spat, sensing Qui-Gon's tentative probing of their bond abruptly end. "Don't you know how annoying that is? It's all your fault, anyway."

If Qui-Gon had not been confused before, he would definitely be now. "My fault?" He stared at Obi-Wan for a moment, trying to understand the recalcitrant boy's reasoning. "Wait, wait. What exactly are you talking about?"

"I . . . ." The padawan couldn't say it. He just couldn't. But he wanted so badly to let it all go, to be free of this deep seated pain. Swallowing hard, he noticed the wild fluttering of his heart. "I'm talking about you . . . making me-" his voice broke, and he looked away.

Sensing that he needed to remain quiet, Qui-Gon waited, stilling himself until his padawan could continue.

Obi-Wan took a couple of deep, ragged breaths. "You," his eyes pooled with tears, "made me . . . go to the spaceport and . . . ." He couldn't go on. Choked by the bleakness in his heart, his breath hitched slightly, and he whispered, "and I hate you for it." He froze, barely breathing, and cast his gaze to the floor.

Qui-Gon frantically tried to piece together what Obi-Wan was saying. "Obi-Wan . . . ."

"No," the padawan warned, his voice gushing with emotion. He blinked back salty tears and looked deep into Qui-Gon's eyes with all of his pain exposed in their depths. "Just leave me alone."

"Obi-Wan, please talk to me," Qui-Gon said, hoarsely.

"No. Just," Obi-Wan drew a trembling breath and his voice faded to a whisper, "leave me alone." He felt weak with despair. And so sick.

In one graceful movement, Qui-Gon set his mug on the floor and was on his feet, moving to stand in front of Obi-Wan. "Padawan," he offered softly in solace. "Let me help you."

Eyes blazing anger and hurt and flooded with a multitude of other unknown emotions suddenly pinned the Jedi master, just as he had lifted an arm to touch the boy's shoulder. He froze in his movement and met the boy's gaze squarely.

"Like you helped me almost get . . . raped?" Obi-Wan countered, in a quivering whisper. "No. I don't want your help."

Qui-Gon lightly settled his large hand on the boy's shoulder, decidedly undeterred by his padawan's rampant emotion. But as Obi-Wan stepped back out of reach, his hand slid free.

"Just leave me alone," Obi-Wan moaned, with such despondence that Qui-Gon felt his heart ache. The boy's eyes were full of anguish and his hands were twisted into white-knuckled fists. He was faintly trembling in his abject misery. "Just leave me alone," he panted in a near sob. Finally, he backed away to the door and fled down the hall.

Qui-Gon suddenly noticed the unnatural quiet of the room.