Chapter Six
"Much better," Qui-Gon praised, squeezing Anakin's forearm in encouragement.
"The pain is nearly gone," Anakin admitted, obviously relieved, "but I tire so easily."
"And you were convinced you'd say an invalid forever," he admonished lightly. They reached the entryway to Anakin's living area and Qui-Gon stalled, checking Anakin's condition to see if he was fit to keep walking. He seemed fine, or as fine as he possibly could be under the circumstances. His cheeks were flushed and he continued to move at a pace that was painfully far removed from the deft quickness of before Bandomeer, but a quick reach into the Force showed untapped resilience buried beneath Anakin's determination to get well. Qui-Gon was not surprised and even relaxed a little. "You'll be back to full health in no time."
"That's what I'm told," he said, directing a turn towards the couch.
Though this particular walk was short, Anakin had been working with healers for nearly a half hour; it was remarkable he could walk even this extra distance after such an extensive, trying rehabilitation session.
Anakin withdrew his arm from Qui-Gon's supportive grip and gingerly took a seat on the edge of the couch. He tried to keep his back straight and rod-stiff, which the healers told him was the best position for lasting injuries. Qui-Gon sat next to him, feeling more at ease in Anakin's presence than he had since arriving. It had seemed the damage would never pass, and the hopelessness Anakin emanated wore on both of them, but finally both could see the recovery underway. Regrettably, Anakin's improvement meant that soon Qui-Gon would have to leave; he could not afford to stay much longer, not when his previous trip to Metellos brought such a suspicious lack of leads. He was overdue to return.
"Anakin, we need to talk--"
"About your leaving." Anakin gave a small smile and shrugged at Qui-Gon's startled face. "I can read you like a book," he explained. "When are you going?"
"Soon. Perhaps in the next two days. I wish I could stay longer, but there's so much left to investigate on Metellos, and I've yet to check the archives…"
"I was hoping you would stay until I was well," Anakin frowned, posture slumping from the disappointing news and the effort of trying to keep his back so straight. "It won't be that much longer, I don't understand why there's such a rush."
"You don't need me here," he said, trying to be positive about things. Inwardly he felt the slightest tinge of guilt--after all, it had been so long since he'd spent any real time with Anakin, and to leave before he was fully healed compounded the feeling. "You've got to focus on Kenobi's training."
Anakin grimaced. "Don't remind me. Master Windu insisted we meet as soon as possible, and I'm trying to figure out a way to delay it as much as possible. I'm not ready to train a Padawan yet."
"You're far too negative. Anakin, I have told you time and time again that doubt is not the way of the Jedi."
"No, no, you misunderstand me. I'm still too weak to begin training Kenobi. We should wait." He shook his head. "This is part of the reason I don't see why you can't take him. At least you're well."
"This again?" Qui-Gon suppressed a groan. "How many times are you going to dispute the Council's decision?"
"Until I see the logic in it! You even said you didn't agree with it, Qui-Gon. It's foolishness." Anakin lifted his chin stubbornly, daring him to argue.
"He's your responsibility now," he said, steadfast and completely ignoring Anakin's comments about what he thought. Anakin didn't need the ammunition of being validated, in his eyes, by Qui-Gon's doubt.
"I know that," Anakin snapped. "That's not the--"
"It is the issue," he interrupted, knowing what Anakin was going to say either because the Force aided him or because Anakin was terribly easy to read. "This is a lesson you must learn; it is the will of the Force."
Anakin may have mumbled something like 'the will of the Council,' but Qui-Gon certainly did not hear such an impertinent remark.
---
Qui-Gon decided to head over to the sparring room instead of sending a summons to bring Kenobi to them. It took a moment upon entering to recognize him; he stood at the far end of the playing floor, practicing Form II against a padawan two years his senior.
Kensa Rubika, her mouth set in a grim line, struck in erratic, aggressive bursts that consistently hit near the hilt of Kenobi's saber. Kenobi wore a calm expression that betrayed nothing, and parried her without a blink or a second of hesitation. Qui-Gon watched them, comparing their contrary Forms and even the distinct differences of their appearance. Rubika as the older, more experienced padawan did not so much as seem to notice the scrutiny, but Kenobi had only been observed by Yoda, and never without commentary. He glanced over his shoulder when a pause from Rubika permitted it; the nervousness of youth.
"Kenobi."
"Master Jinn," he acknowledged, trying to control his panting. He backed away and deactivated his white training saber—after shaking short dark hair out of her eyes, Rubika did the same and left the mat. Qui-Gon made way as she brushed past him to the door. "Thank you, Kensa," Kenobi called after her.
"Perhaps you should visit the refresher before we continue," Qui-Gon supposed, eyeing Kenobi's flushed face and sweat-dampened torso.
"I'm sorry?"
"Come with me."
Explaining might have been the best option, but Kenobi followed without question or complaint. The pair passed few people on the trip to Kenobi's quarters, which were mostly empty now that Yoda had left and Kenobi was set to move. "I will wait for you," he explained, going to stand near a window. He looked out at Coruscant's bustling daytime. "Please try and hurry, Master Skywalker won't like to wait."
He started at the mention of Anakin, pieces falling into place, and politely nodded before moving on to the 'fresher. The muffled sounds of Kenobi disrobing followed, then the sonic shower started up.
Qui-Gon took the time to explore what was left unpacked of Kenobi's things. A Jedi might not have had possessions, but Padawans tended to accumulate items; books for study, recorded HoloNet reports, the occasional news publication. Transient items that were always discarded by Knighthood, which was why the Jedi took no pains to censure them. It was not as if Kenobi owned a toy blaster, or whatever it was most young men took to coveting; only a few rather impersonal mementoes to help him feel comfortable living in such an unadorned environment. As expected, all Kenobi would be bringing--aside from his clothing and equipment--was a book and a crystal used to encourage meditation. Acceptable. Not things he would mourn if lost or destroyed.
Per his instructions, Kenobi was quick to use the 'fresher and redress. He walked out, boots unlaced and fiddling with his damp padawan braid, and saw Qui-Gon still standing by the window. There was no evidence of his having examined the room, but Qui-Gon would not have been surprised if Kenobi had sensed the assessment. "I hope I did not take too long," he muttered, not meeting Qui-Gon's eyes. Most of the time Kenobi exuded a stillness found admirable in Jedi, but every so often Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that Kenobi was very shy and trying to hide it.
"Not long at all. Are you nearly ready?" Regardless of Kenobi's response, he walked over, clearly waiting to leave.
"Yes. I just need to tie my boots."
When he bent to one knee, Qui-Gon used the quick moment to gauge the faint pulses of the Force he could discern. They were easier to read and probe now that Kenobi was not looking at him. Younglings and padawans seemed to only sensed Force-scrutiny if they saw you doing it, or if you warned them, or in the unlikely event you were indelicate. Anakin was so far the only one who had cottoned on.
That was, until Kenobi looked up suddenly when Qui-Gon started to interpret the direction of his thoughts. Qui-Gon was so startled he nearly stepped back; the same sort of rushing discovery he'd had with Anakin. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, obviously aware of what had transpired.
"I'm ready," Kenobi finally murmured, standing and breaking eye contact.
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Yet another thanks to Catrina and Trey.