Disclaimer: No, not mine :)
A/N: Thank you Knight Queen, Liz-chanloverofAnime and Nat2 :)
Almost two weeks had passed since the landing, but Qui-Gon couldn't know that, of course.
The first thing he noticed about his new surroundings when he woke up was that they resembled his cell as little as it was at all possible. He took it all in – the fading light outside the window, the cool spring air (oh, the air!), the smell of wood, and boiling spinach, and goats; the noises of someone probably fussing over the cooking food and a soft flow of very, very creative (if ugly) expletives from the next room. He caught 'sith-fucked spinach' among other things. He also caught Obi-Wan's voice. So – it was true?
Memories started coming back to him – fragments and images; the explosion, the man that looked like – that was – his former Padawan; the harshness of his voice; the running, the shooting; the ship; than it became more fogged, more splintered, clothed in a haze; Obi-Wan forcibly feeding him; images of an unknown woman – also feeding him; dreams mixed with reality. He needed to clear his mind, so he reached for the Force.
Almost instantly a shadow fell over him, and a tall figure appeared in the doorway. Qui-Gon more sensed him than saw his face: Obi-Wan, of course. So… tall? But of course, he must be twenty by now… The figure just stood there, hesitant, silent. The Force around him was disturbed by the emotions he tried to keep inside. What emotions?
"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan's voice was strained.
The vortex of emotions threatened to drawn Qui-Gon, the foremost of which was… fear? Fear of the unknown? Or something else? He reached for the quiet of the Force.
"You are awake," Obi-Wan said slowly, than made a hesitant step to enter the room. He had to bow his head to pass through the doorway, Qui-Gon noticed. "I… How are you feeling now?"
"Not bad." Qui-Gon said quietly. Quiet was the best policy, if you are insecure, he had always thought. Emotions would be of no use here. He had to think.
He sensed no threat, though. No reason to fear. And yet…
"Do you… do you want to eat now?"
"Obi-Wan. Come closer."
Obi-Wan did. A whole hesitant step.
"Roan – the healer – said you should eat if you wake up while she's out, you know. We've… she's been feeding you while you were feverish, which you probably don't remember, and she said you need to eat a lot in order to regain your strength. Sounds quite logical to me, by the way."
Qui-Gon searched for his voice.
"I'll bring you the food, I guess." Obi-Wan said.
"Wait."
"What?"
"I… want to take a look at you."
Something in Obi-Wan's stance changed, and from the boy he went back to the man. His voice was bitter.
"Don't bother. You are not going to die or anything, so don't give me that…" he trailed of.
"Pathetic crap?" Qui-Gon inclined his head.
"Yeah."
He did step closer, though.
The light from the window fell on Obi-Wan's face now – he looked younger – well, younger than in the dungeons, anyway. He was clean-shaven and newly washed and… not all that changed, all in all. He looked twenty, as he should. As if the hardened man in the dungeons had never really existed; it all seemed so unreal. And yet – the bony face, the firmly set jaw, calm eyes that never betrayed anything… The same man it was, all right.
"Sorry about that, I guess," Obi-Wan said after a moment. "I shouldn't be upsetting you. I'm not… quite in control of myself at the moment, I suppose."
"You look very much in control of yourself," Qui-Gon said softly.
This was… a stranger, Qui-Gon thought. He couldn't know what to expect from him. The force around him shimmered and changed in the matter of seconds.
The silence was long. Neither knew what to say.
"You saved my life," Qui-Gon said finally, as if trying to clear it all up for himself.
"Oh, no you don't." Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "Not now. Just… eat and sleep and…" He relaxed a bit, obviously made himself relax. "There will be time." he said softly. "Plenty of time."
Some internal battle was going on, Qui-Gon could see that. So much pent-up emotion that it could blow up a space shuttle. Obi-Wan had always been unpredictable. And now… what was he now?
Obi-Wan seemed to guess his thoughts, at least partly.
"Don't look at me that way. Just… don't." He paused. "You have no reason to be afraid of me. Or anything."
"I am not afraid, Obi-Wan."
"Wary, then."
"That I always am."
Obi-Wan's lips thinned.
"Of course you are. Look, I'll bring you that thrice-damned food and…" He wrinkled his nose. "Shit!" he muttered and rushed off to the kitchen.
He reappeared in the course of five minutes with a tray. The thing on the plate was green and smelled mostly of burned up spinach.
"I can't cook," Obi-Wan said miserably and suddenly looked very much like a young boy again. Qui-Gon felt oddly touched as Obi-Wan helped him sit up and lay the tray before him. "I scraped some spinach from the top, but it still smells. You can always eat the fruit, I suppose. I was unable to ruin that."
Qui-Gon didn't quite know what to say, so he smiled, and took a bite.
"How does it taste?"
"Well… burnt?" Qui-Gon gave him another smile. "Oh, Obi-Wan…"
"Look… just don't all right?"
"Am I not allowed to thank you?"
"No."
"For the food?"
"Stop it."
"I'll just eat then, I suppose."
"Do. Um… There is no meat for now. Roan says you should rebuild on vegetables and such. Vitamin C and all that. I don't know."
They sat in silence, for a time. Obi-Wan took away the tray after Qui-Gon had finished, cleaned up, and came back hesitantly.
"Look," he said. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."
"You didn't shout."
"Whatever you choose to call it, then."
"It's all right, Obi-Wan."
"It's not. You should sleep now."
"I don't think I can."
"What… What do you want me to do?"
Qui-Gon paused. He didn't know. There were so many things unsaid, and he didn't feel up to any of it now. He couldn't know how Obi-Wan – this new Obi-Wan – would react to anything he said. And yet, he wanted to hear him talk. It was… comforting, he supposed. But he needed to find a neutral topic. A very neutral topic.
"Why don't you just come here and tell me about… Roan?"
- - - - - - - -
Obi-Wan sat on the floor and watched his former Master sleep. Roan was still out – she had had an emergency call and left it all to Obi-Wan – taking care of the house, watching over Qui-Gon, feeding the goats and the pigs, cooking the damn spinach – everything. He wasn't quite sure how she could entrust all she had to an unknown man, but she was an unusual woman in more ways than this.
So – she was out. Won't be back in a couple of days, probably. Qui-Gon had chosen just that time to wake up for good after two weeks, of course. It would have been so much less awkward, had Roan been there.
Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan was glad he was finally awake, of course. He was glad the fever was down and the man was getting well. But – he just wanted to leave it at that. He had rescued him because… he couldn't have left the man in the bloody prison, obviously, to starve and be tortured and whatnot. He wanted nothing more with him, though. Just to know he was well. That was all.
Why did Qui-Gon had to look at him so? He had detected fear there. Fear. Of me. 'Have you come to kill me?' ' You are entrusting me with a blaster?'
Don't be unfair, he told himself. He'd been imprisoned for Force knows how long. Beaten. Everything. Of course he was afraid!
But… of me?
Obi-Wan didn't have much illusions about himself. He was prone to anger. He was impulsive. He was rash. He was also hardened, now, hardened by all the things he had gone through and all the things he had seen since he had left the Jedi. On Melida/Daan alone there had been enough death and tragedy for three lifetimes, and he had handled it all, and alone, at the age of thirteen. And Melida/Daan had been just a beginning.
But he was sure about one thing, at least: whatever else happened to him, he had stayed a decent person. Not open, perhaps, not overly sensitive, not always law-abiding either – but decent. That much he could say for sure.
So why did Qui-Gon look at him that way?
Force only knows how I look at him…
Obi-Wan had thought he had faced his past. He had thought he was through with it. The whole Jedi-temple-Qui-Gon-Master-Padawan-all-that-crap business. So why couldn't he face Qui-Gon like an acquaintance from long ago, a one he was perhaps fond of, in a way, but nothing more? Why couldn't he face him calmly, kindly, maturely. He had dealt with various scum of the Galaxy. One would have thought he could deal with a weakened Jedi Master.
Yet, when he tried to retain his calm, he only lost control. When he tried to be polite but detached, he came out as cold and harsh. He was aware of it, to be sure. He just couldn't do anything about it.
And he had so thought it in the past.
He straightened his back, sitting in the old meditation position, and tried to find his calm. He wasn't a boy of thirteen any more. He was Ben Kenobi. He couldn't cook, that was true, but he could slice into most of the computers he ran into; he could pilot better than most; and he could deal with explosives calmly, efficiently, and expertly. God damn it, after all the ugly things he had survived, he had rebuilt his life. He had made himself a position in the Intergalactic Miners' Rescue Team. He had his own rescue squadron now, hard and able men he had trained and retrained himself. All the things he had learned, he now used to get people out of danger. He was able, independent, strong-minded.
So, why in seven hells did that same Ben Kenobi flinch at every word of his former Master? Why did he search desperately for Qui-Gon's reaction to anything he said?
- - - - - - - - - - -