Chapter 11: Unlocked Doors
Again four people sat elbow-to-elbow around the tiny table in the cramped kitchen, and again unspoken tensions and wariness filled the air, but this time no one made any effort to discuss what was troubling them, to question and seek answers. Qui-Gon found himself longing for that long-ago tea with the Agri-Corps, less than half a day ago. They had been on the verge of complete distrust, but at least they had resolved their issues. And these three ought to be friends, as close to each other as they were to Qui-Gon—or so he believed. All in all, it was quite disheartening.
Julune refused to speak directly to Dooku, and only looked at him when it was absolutely necessary. When she touched the soup pot, Qui-Gon could have sworn he saw the temperature descend at least two degrees. Her attitude toward Obi-Wan was as warm and open as always—even more so, perhaps—but there was definitely an edge beneath the words she aimed at her husband. She was disappointed that he didn't throw the Jedi out on his rear, obviously.
Dooku seemed oblivious—he chatted companionably, answering Qui-Gon questions about what he'd been up to and asking his own, laughing at the same old jokes and stories they had always told each other. But Qui-Gon noticed the speculative eye that was turned to the boy every now and again, and the thoughtful glances thrown toward Julune. Dooku was not the best diplomat in the Jedi Order, but he had the makings of a fine politician, always aware of the unseen interplay in a room.
Obi-Wan's reaction, though, was most troubling of all. He had turned very, very quiet, rarely looking up from his soup bowl. He slowly crumbled the crackers Julune pressed into his hand to fine, grainy dust, crushing them deliberately against the table with the tip of his finger, crumb by crumb. Qui-Gon watched the level of soup in his bowl, hoping for a rapid descent. But by the end of the meal it was obvious that the boy had eaten only a few bites, if that.
He exchanged a worried glance with Julune. This was not progress. Perhaps she had had the right idea from the beginning—Dooku's presence was not doing their young charge any good at all. A locked door might have prevented this.
But it was too late now. The door had been opened, and things were starting to creep out from the darkness in the closet. Qui-Gon had known that Obi-Wan had many troubles that would need to be dealt with. He had hoped for more time to let the child relax and grow comfortable in his new surroundings, but perhaps it was just as well to bring it all into the light as soon as possible. It could only fester, shoved down and hidden in the blackness.
"Take another Padawan?" Dooku laughed, responding to Qui-Gon's latest question. "I think not! Training young Xanatos was enough aggravation for a lifetime. You do recall that my hair wasn't completely white the last time we met?"
Qui-Gon grinned. "True, true. But I assumed that it was simply because you are no longer middle-aged."
"Teasing me about my age now, are you?" Dooku wagged a finger in good-natured warning. "I'm quite capable of slapping you down for that, you insolent little wretch. And you're not that much younger than I, if you'll recall."
Qui-Gon sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his chest in contentment. This was the Dooku he remembered, the playful back-and-forth they had perfected over months and years of easy companionship. "Fifteen years is a long time, old man."
"Not nearly long enough," Dooku grumbled. He cast an appraising look glance up and down his old student. "Forty-three and expecting your first child. It took you a long time to find your place in the galaxy."
Qui-Gon sat forward, letting his hands fall into his lap. This was a serious comment and deserved a serious answer. "I don't think anyone truly ever 'finds their place' in life. Roles change and develop over time—people evolve, and their characters mature. Earlier in my life I was a wanderer, and for a time I was your student. Now the moment requires that I be a husband, a friend, an open ear and willing hand. In a few months I will be a father. But who knows what new things I will be doing in a year, or five years? I will live each moment as I find direction to do so. I have no regrets, and I expect to die with none."
"Ah, yes. The possibilities are endless, are they not?" Dooku nodded slowly. "You are a wise man, Qui-Gon Jinn. I never taught you that." He flashed a white-toothed grin, teasing and serious at once.
"Life teaches me. Each day brings new lessons to those willing to learn."
Julune nudged him, and he glanced instinctively over at the boy. Obi-Wan was drooping, his eyelids struggling upward, then falling again, his head sinking toward his soup. Qui-Gon cleared his throat, very softly, and Obi-Wan instantly raised his head to stare at him with wide eyes, obviously surprised to realize he'd been nodding off at the table.
Qui-Gon smiled gently, hesitated, then reached out and touched his cheek just for a moment before pulling away. "You must be tired, and no wonder. Are you done eating?"
The boy nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Qui-Gon's. Then he looked down, his hands twisting the napkin in his lap.
Julune stood abruptly, her thighs bumping the table with a clattering of spoons and a sloshing of soup. "Come to the common room, sweetie. I help you fix up the couch."
She passed Qui-Gon without her usual peck on the cheek, and he sighed. He knew this wasn't the end of it. Obi-Wan followed her without a word, and Dooku looked at him quizzically.
"Do I detect a hint of frost in the air?"
Qui-Gon nodded dolefully. "You are a Jedi. The Jedi rejected that boy, wounded his spirit. Naturally she is protective."
Dooku leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "And she blames you for not tossing me out on my ear." Qui-Gon didn't have to answer. The Jedi sat back, placing his hands on the table on either side of his bowl. "Well, she needn't have worried. I have no intentions of acting like the arrogant fools who chose so poorly. In fact, I don't intend to act much like a Jedi at all, at least not for much longer."
Qui-Gon felt his eyebrows bend. "Master Dooku?"
The other man sighed, and lowered his voice even further. "I have suspected for quite some time that something is amiss in the Jedi Order. The story of that boy confirms my suspicions, certainly, but it is not the only one I've heard. Quite the opposite."
He stared away for a moment, studying something within his own mind, then looked back at his old friend. "Something must be done. When I return to the Temple, I will speak to a few people, encourage a few reforms. And if nothing is done . . . well . . . I will follow the requirements of the moment, as you so eloquently put it."
"You would leave?" Qui-Gon drew in a deep breath, shocked despite himself. For as long as he had known this man, he had always had a deep commitment to the ideals of the Jedi. Certainly Dooku had had points of contention with his brethren, moments of dissatisfaction and dissent, but Qui-Gon had never imagined that the differences would become so insurmountable.
"I hope it doesn't come to that," Dooku said grimly. "But I certainly will not discount the possibility."
They fell silent. Qui-Gon could hear the soft humming from the common room, an ancient folk song of Thyferra, gentle and lilting. It drew a smile to his lips, as busy as his mind was with other thoughts. His Julune would be a wonderful mother when the time came. Surely there could be no one better to soothe the troubled boy who had come into their keeping.
"Keep me informed," he said at last, raising his head to look his old mentor in the eye. "Let's not let another ten years pass without a word, yes?"
Dooku smiled. "Indeed no. Don't be surprised if you from me in less than a month."
They sat in silence, listening to the gentle rise and fall of Julune's voice. After a time Qui-Gon saw the light in the common room switch off, and heard his wife's soft tread heading down the hall toward their chamber. They didn't usually retire quite so early, but he supposed she had as much right to be tired out by the day's events as he did.
The Jedi stood, stretching his arms and shoulder blades. "My accommodations are near the spaceport—I'll be back tomorrow. We have much more to discuss. Do thank Julune for the delicious meal for me." He gave Qui-Gon the same dignified smile as always, raising one eyebrow in an elegant arch, and walked silently out to fetch his cloak from the common room wall.
Qui-Gon continued to sit there, considering all that had happened in the past few hours, the revelations made, the previously closed doors creaking open on unused hinges. It had been a long day, and he looked forward to joining Julune in bed. Then he realized what he'd been staring at with unseeing eyes for the last ten minutes.
A small table completely covered with dirty dishes and a half-full soup pot, liberally sprinkled with cracker crumbs and splashes of soup. Naturally, they'd all left it for Qui-Gon to clean up by himself. He refrained a sigh and set to work.
It didn't occur to him 'til much later that he'd never heard the outside door open and close as Dooku left.
X
Obi-Wan was dreaming again. They were the same dreams as always, the same disjointed images of death and darkness, the same blood coating his hands and blotting out his vision. He watched the universe decay, the Temple die, his friends and teachers fall. The river hurtled over the edge, descending into a void of pure nothing.
He fought, struggling against the horrors that he prayed were only a nightmare, and not a true-seeing. The despair nearly overwhelmed him, and he cried out against it, thrashing helplessly against the knots of thick, icy night that held him in an unyielding grip. It wasn't supposed to be like this! Someone, someone had promised to guard him, protect him from this. He had promised! Where was he?
"Where are you!" Obi-Wan screamed, and watched the images splinter at the power of his voice, shattering and falling, only to be replaced with more. "Where are you? You're not here! You said you would guard my dreams! Was it too much trouble for you? Am I too much trouble for you? Where are you!"
He ran, but he wasn't fast enough. He was never fast enough. A wave crashed up out of nowhere and lifted him off his feet, hurtling him into another sequence of images and feelings, sights and smells, blood, rot, burning, the smell of molten metal and stars going nova. He could not swim, not in this, it was too thick, too powerful, too fast.
"Qui-Gon! Please, Qui-Gon! Where are you?"
Qui-Gon couldn't hear him. He was alone. The wave abandoned him on a freezing rock, the sky boiling with thunderheads above. Obi-Wan hid his face in his hands, sobbing, but his hands could not block out the images, the visions. Despair grabbed him in a strangle-hold, choking off his breath, driving him to his knees.
"Where . . ." It was a bare whisper, halting and weak, just as the boy himself was.
Nearly crushed to the ground, Obi-Wan found the strength to lift one hand, just a few inches, just enough to reach out, just a little. Please, help me. Somebody. Anybody.
A strange, large hand touched his forehead. "Obi-Wan. Wake now, lad."
Obi-Wan's eyes flew open. That wasn't Qui-Gon's voice.