Chapter Four
The medical staff managed to convince Anakin to stay abed for another day and a half. After that, he heaved himself off the mattress and limped as far as Qui-Gon's sitting room, where he dropped into a chair and refused any help in getting comfortable.
"You try spending that much time on your back," he said defensively, when Qui-Gon admonished him for moving before he was well enough. "I think I've got bed sores."
"Surely not." Qui-Gon busied himself with preparing tea for the two of them Gwethh tea. He poured the water with abject concentration, meditating and readying himself for the discussion sure to come. How to broach the subject? The Force didn't provide all the answers, not when it came to this.
"It's not as if I'm heading back to the Outer Rim. I'm having tea with my former master. Hardly taxing."
"You be sure and remember that when the droids have to drag you back to your quarters, Anakin." With perfect steadiness, Qui-Gon carried the tea over to Anakin. He carefully handed over the cup, gently grabbing Anakin's wrist when it started to shake, and refusing to be deterred by the glower he received for his trouble. When it looked as though Anakin could grip the tea properly, he let go and took his own seat.
"Stop being rational, it doesn't suit you." Anakin blew across the steaming drink, watching Qui-Gon from above the cup's rim.
"You're right. I normally leave rationality to Yoda." The tea was bitter, metallic, but soothed the throat and stomach. The aroma was pleasant, too, smelling faintly of spiced berries.
"He's certainly got enough of it for all the Jedi," Anakin muttered. He set his tea down on the table placed between them and gingerly adjusted a pillow propped behind his back.
Qui-Gon took a long drink, unmindful of the scalding heat. "Are you healing well?"
"I'm getting there." As if on cue, Anakin took up his tea and a muscle in his back spasmed, throwing him into painful rigidity. "Maybe—not." His jaw was clenched, upper lip drawn above his teeth into an expression that mimicked wrath.
Qui-Gon was not going to wait for an invitation. One hand on Anakin's lower back and the other on his bicep helped him rise to his feet. "You must lie down."
"I'll be—fine, Qui-Gon." It was evident how much weight Anakin had lost on Bandomeer and during his bed rest. He felt flimsy beneath Qui-Gon's firm hold, hindered by more than limping and shuddering, painful breaths. Qui-Gon hadn't seen him so thin since the early days of becoming a padawan.
The two of them navigated a tricky shuffle to the couch; the walk was short, ridiculously so, and yet it seemed to take ages. They both had to stoop so Anakin could rest on the couch, Qui-Gon doing his best to bear the brunt of the effort, but by the time Anakin was properly situated he looked ready to pass out, eyes glassy from pain.
"There's no escaping it, Anakin," Qui-Gon murmured, seating himself by Anakin's feet at the edge of the couch. "You must stay in bed."
He nodded miserably, covering his eyes with his hand. "I hate being useless."
"It won't last forever."
"No. You're right. It can't." He dropped his hand from his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling. "You know, if I hadn't have gone, or if I hadn't allowed myself to be found out, this never would have happened—"
"You could have died, Anakin. Now is not the time to dwell on what might have been. Concentrate on getting better and what you have learned." Qui-Gon carefully ignored the nagging regret ticking away in his own mind; he would never forgive himself for sending Anakin on that mission. It was his responsibility. He should be the one recovering from defeat.
"That I'm not infallible, you mean."
"What?" Qui-Gon turned his full attention back to Anakin.
Anakin smiled grimly. "I'm not infallible. You know what Master Yoda says..."
"What does he say?"
"'A way of putting you into your place, the Force has.' I suppose I've learned my lesson now." His voice shifted to a mutter, but Qui-Gon detected little genuine bitterness from Anakin. "Granted, judgment was something I should have learned as a padawan. It's embarrassing, really."
"Embarrassing? Anakin, we're going to capture him, and we would not have been able to do that without your help—"
"I know, Qui-Gon." Anakin sighed, flinching when his ribs protested. "But my job was to capture him, and all I came back with was a vast knowledge of Ionite mines and a few broken ribs."
"Don't joke."
"I'm not joking. I'm in pain; there's a difference."
"Perhaps we should put this subject on hold until you're feeling better."
"Probably. I have a feeling I'll be driven mad with boredom by then, though."
He turned to better face Anakin, who stared up at him expectantly. "There was something I meant to discuss with you. If you're feeling up to it, that is."
"This sounds like Jedi business." Anakin's demeanor immediately changed; his eyes seemed more alert, his focus on the surroundings more acute. The very way he used the Force shifted from passive to assertive. It was as if Qui-Gon were watching a man become something entirely different in an instant.
"It is. Important Jedi business."
"Such as?" Anakin craned his neck in an effort to fully meet Qui-Gon's gaze.
"Yoda is leaving for the Outer Rim in a few days. He cannot take his padawan with him." Bluntness was the best path to take with Anakin Skywalker. He sensed most deception or hesitancy, and it aggravated him like nothing else. Qui-Gon learned by experience that keeping him in the dark was nearly impossible.
"His padawan is…" Anakin took a moment to think. "Kenobi, right?"
"Yes. I'm sure you know who he is."
"Of course," he said. "Get to the point."
"Anakin," he began regretfully. "The Council—"
"I'm not sure I like where this is going, Qui-Gon." He visibly shied away, suspicion radiating from him in almost tangible waves.
"I don't blame you, but at this point no one can be concerned with preferences."
"A clever way of saying I have no choice. How like the Council."
"Your reaction is most unlike a Jedi," Qui-Gon reprimanded him. "You can't blame the Jedi Council for every assignment you find unpleasant, Anakin. We've been over this."
"I'm sorry. I just don't understand why I am assigned this."
"Are you certain you fully understand what is being asked of you?"
"What, that I'm supposed to take him on as my padawan?"
"There's more to it than that, Anakin. You've never even been considered to teach a Padawan Learner. The fact the Council is entrusting this to you is remarkable."
"Don't kid yourself—there wasn't anyone else to do it. Anyone who would agree to, rather. And everyone knows I'd be a fool to refuse such a big assignment, it would put me in worse standing with the Council."
"I don't even think that came into consideration, Anakin. There was no one else free to take Kenobi."
"You're free," Anakin argued. "You haven't had a padawan since I became a Knight."
"A whole two years ago," Qui-Gon said wryly. "I'm in no state to take another apprentice, you know that. It's too dangerous. You're the best choice."
Anakin cursed softly and looked away. "It never occurred to anyone that my teaching Kenobi would potentially work against the prophecy?"
"The worst that could happen is he ends up fighting like you, Anakin. I doubt it's possible to… fundamentally change his nature, if that's what you're worrying about."
"I still don't understand why it has to be me."
"You don't have to understand."
"I just have to… do my duty." The end trailed off into a near whisper.
"You always do."
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This chapter seemed like it would never end. I'm so used to writing such short, concise sections, and this one droned on and on. The word count is still pitifully small, but content is starting to speed up. I feel strange using dialog for exposition, but it is how Qui-Gon and Anakin discover what they're to do. Anyway, Lucas is the bloody king of utterly unsubtle dialog. No worries.
Much thanks, as always, to Trey and Catrina for the beta services. They clean my fic up and make it readable.