Thank you everyone for the nice reviews. Well, that's it, you'll have to wait for a while. *Runs and hides from the enraged readers* Just read it.
* * *
"You know, you were right. The battle seems to be over," said Qui-Gon in a voice that would have led any person to believe he was utterly disinterested in the matter he was speaking of.
Anyone, but not Obi-Wan who had learned over the years of his apprenticeship to discern the slightest signs of emotion in his Master's voice, to look past the imperturbable visage and see the real feelings there no matter how industriously they were hidden. Qui-Gon never showed his feelings openly – didn't consider it appropriate, and Obi-Wan had debated with himself throughout his life if it was a good thing or not. These debates usually led to a hopelessly twisted tangle of reasons and arguments which never showed its core.
Perhaps this is just a perfect illustration of the 'different points of view' lesson, Obi-Wan thought wryly, stumbling but catching himself.
He felt a prickle of relief that he had not lost the ability to sense Qui-Gon's mood, his inner emotions after so many years spent apart. He tried not to think about HOW many those years were. It was all undone now, it did not exist any more.
And now the Master was glad that the battle was over. Glad and concerned. Concerned for Anakin. A surge of sudden unease made Obi-Wan draw a sharp breath, and he almost doubled over as his lungs screamed at him angrily.
Anakin.
How would he face him?
After everything…
Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall and felt chilling cold of polished stone cut into his skin even through the fabric of the tunic, sending his body into a fit of small shivers. His feverishly heated torso welcomed the pleasant coolness, absorbing it with hunger.
Qui-Gon stopped to let him rest, and Obi-Wan watched the Master from under lowered eyelids. Tired. Old but majestic. Noble yet roguish features. He resembled the ancient statues that were adorning the carved room in abundance. The visage of a Jedi Knight. Obi-Wan ran his fingers lightly over the granite wall. A sudden vision made his fingers freeze and curl as though trying to dig into the stone. Flames eating away at that noble visage, devouring the body the spirit had long since abandoned.
The vision was so fresh, so vivid it overshadowed reality, and Obi-Wan lowered his head as he did then. The present slipped away, leaving him in the fog of confusion and doubt. Was it the past or the future? The memory? Yes, memory… memory of what shall never be.
The hand which lowered onto his forehead was cool against his burning skin, and with that touch some sense returned.
"Do not be afraid, Obi-Wan. I am not going to die."
Troubled blue-green eyes shot upwards to meet the reassuring gaze of midnight-blue ones. Slowly Obi-Wan nodded.
The source of Obi-Wan's recent unease chose that very moment to pass the tall painted doors on the opposite side of the room and upon seeing Qui-Gon Anakin bolted across the room – Qui-Gon, not him, Obi-Wan noted with mixed feelings, though why would the boy want to come to him? He wasn't anyone to him.
"We won!" Anakin cried happily – with a hint of proud and impatience to let everyone know about his deed, Obi-Wan observed. It seemed he hadn't lost an ability to discern his former student's emotions either. Whether it was good or not.
Qui-Gon smiled down at the boy gently, and an affectionate smile lit his face. The tall Master put his large hand onto Anakin's shoulder.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes as an almost physical in its intensity pain slashed at his heart. It proved to be harder than he'd thought. They are acquainted for three days – it's so little, almost nothing. And yet they are already drawn to each other. He felt – or maybe it was only his imagination playing, at least he prayed it were so – felt the Force embrace the two in a tight circle of affection and predestination. Like the true Master and Padawan. And he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was being shut out of that private circle, left to stand aside – loyal to both and close to neither.
By what mistake of Force had he become Anakin's Master the previous time? Because it couldn't be anything but mistake, he realized, watching Anakin and Qui-Gon together. They seemed to be the perfect match.
A memory cut into his thoughts – unbidden, acrid – the memory of his own ascension into the rank of Padawan. How much fight, how much effort it had taken. How much of his heart had he had to give to receive love of his Master – love that should have been given for free – like it was being given to Anakin. Why hadn't he ever been loved for simply existing? Why had he always had to prove his worthiness? And still it hadn't ever been enough because Qui-Gon had been waiting for a perfect apprentice – and Obi-Wan could never reach that perfection which his Master so desired. Qui-Gon had been waiting for his Chosen One all along, not knowing it but waiting nevertheless.
Loneliness – that ageless, lifelong loneliness which had been his constant ache and tormentor there, in the desert – resurfaced now. Sand and rocks, stone and statues – all the same, he was alone. Here, with two people he loved, with his family he was alone.
Something hot and stinging burned Obi-Wan's cheek. He brushed his fingers over the tender skin, then extended his hand and looked with numb surprise at the moisture on his fingertips.
Tears?
Was he crying? Here? Now? He started to wipe them away but stopped short. Why should he hide his tears? No one would care if he cried. The thought echoed with bitter taste in his mouth, and he lowered his head again.
Anakin and Qui-Gon were too full of each other to pay any attention to anything apart one another. The boy was telling his story, breathless with excitement. The Master was all attention, catching, it seemed, his every word. Funny, Obi-Wan thought, the story was the exact copy of the one Anakin had told his then-Master after he'd officially become apprenticed to Kenobi.
I could have died here, and they wouldn't have noticed. The bitter words formed in his clouded mind as though on their own volition. So much for your care, my dear Master.
He knew Qui-Gon could have heard those thoughts, Obi-Wan was now in no condition to maintain his usual adamantine shields, and a part of him wished that the older Jedi did hear them. Wished to be admonished, wished to at least get a stern look – but none of that ever came. The other part of him wished to shrink away, to huddle up in a corner and melt down into oblivion.
They didn't need him here. He was the two's company. Quietly Obi-Wan slipped out of the room.
He had to find medical facility. He vaguely remembered where it was, but it had been so long… He walked close to walls, leaning against them occasionally. The feeling of body disappeared, changing to an almost euphoria. The air seemed to acquire malleability. Breaths came in short gasps as Obi-Wan stumbled through the uncountable number of rooms – like an endless maze.
Images of the present – hazy, blurred, framed with black fog and full of dancing spots – kept mixing with images from the past. Where columns stood he saw them charred and ruined; statues broken, windows shattered and paintings torn to shreds. He saw faces, swimming past him, and he followed them with bewildered stares for some of them were dead.
A woman came before him. Padme. Amidala. He didn't know what to call her anymore. Symbolically white face now seemed an ashen mask of death. Red mark on her bottom lip seemed to be a trickle of blood. Obi-Wan froze before her, looking in awe.
"… Kenobi…" As her lips moved words came to him as though from infinite distance, muffled, echoing. He strained to catch them. "… all right?"
She leaned forward a bit. Excitement rolled from her. She was happy to win. She was proud to win. Padme laid a sympathetic hand onto his forearm and looked into his eyes. Sparkling vivid eyes, hazel eyes…
He remembered those same eyes as he had taken away her child. How could he ever do such a thing? Was the possible restoration of the Order more important than suffering of a mother whose child had been taken? Was it worth the child's heart-rending cry as the baby reached for the mother?
Obi-Wan lowered his gaze in shame. He could not look at her, and he will never be able to.
"Obi-Wan?" She tried to catch his eyes, tried to find the reticent and loyal Padawan where there was now only an old man. She couldn't find what she sought. "Are you all right?"
This time he heard and he nodded automatically. She looked at him some more. He straightened in a small burst of energy but still refused to meet her eyes.
He didn't deserve her compassion.
And she walked away to celebrate her victory and mourn those lost – to carry on with her life.
Obi-Wan pushed himself from the wall and went forward again. He had all but forgotten about his destination, he only needed to move, move to keep living. People passed him like ethereal shadows – silent, unseeing. And he moved between them, a stranger on their festivity. No one came close to him, no one spoke to him.
Alone.
And then the walls started to crumble. His hand slipped over the smooth surface as he slid to the floor slowly, heavily.
"Padme… and Anakin… forgive me," Obi-Wan whispered. Wheezing sound of his breathing was almost louder than his words. "And you… my Master… Qui-Gon. Forgive me…"
He rolled slowly onto his back and peered up. The ceiling was so high… Obi-Wan gave a strangled cry trying to protect himself with his arms as the ceiling started to fall down on him, until it buried him in black void.