How strange it was, to feel disembodied, to feel as if one's self existed separate from a physical body. There was no sensation, no touch, and no smell. The real world had a strange clarity, but there was some barrier between here and there.

He didn't know just when something awoke within him. Time had no meaning. He had been trapped in a void and now he still was; only now there was a strange awareness. He existed, whereas before it was as if he had not. He didn't seem to be alive, though: he seemed to exist separate from his body. He could not reach his master's wounded heart.

Obi-Wan wanted to touch Qui-Gon's hand, feel his master's strong arms holding him close and assuring him that all would be okay, or even feel the man's tears soft upon his face. A part of him could only watch as Qui-Gon carefully tended him, flexing his arms and legs to keep his joints limber, fluffing a pillow, or reweaving his braid.

And when Qui-Gon severed the quiescent bond between them, he had wanted to fade entirely away. If it was so final, why was he still here in this state? Why wouldn't the Force take him, for there was nothing left for him anymore.

And why, when the sun set, was he always alone?

Time was supposed to heal a broken heart. No one had ever quantified just how much time was required. Qui-Gon had tried to stay away for a while and give his heart time to mend, so that when he next visited his former padawan, he would not be lost in regrets.

How did one balance one's duty and one's need to move on? How could he let go, when Obi-Wan hadn't? He wondered, if there was nothing left, if it would have been better for him to have joined with the Force long ago, to be whole and healthy in the entirety of life that was the Force, rather than suspended in something that was neither life, nor oneness.

He let the Council think he was looking over the initiates with an idea of taking a new padawan. Perhaps tending another young one would help to heal the wound in his heart. Several of the youngsters impressed him, but he realized it was because each of them reminded in one way or another of Obi-Wan.

He imagined Obi-Wan looking over his shoulder and offering gentle advice.

"His insistent talking would drive you crazy," was a comment on one young boy, "though his focus is excellent and he would learn well from you."

"Despite impressive lightsaber skills, she would not laugh at your jokes or tease you," was the comment on another.

Do none of them meet with your approval, my Padawan?

Only one, he who sleeps above, he who needs you to call him back.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Hadn't he sent enough pleas into the Force? He had done everything, said everything – wished everything possible. What more could he have done?

Call me back, Qui-Gon. I am ready. I am listening. I am waiting. If you want me back.

It was then that Qui-Gon knew he still wasn't ready, not when he continued to imagine he could hear Obi-Wan's voice in his mind. It wouldn't be fair to any initiate he might accept, for one thing. Not one of them would ever measure up. He would be always comparing, always searching for something long gone and denied him forever.

He knew the voice he heard in his mind was not Obi-Wan. It was only his hopes speaking to him in that beloved voice. Obi-Wan would never have asked if Qui-Gon wanted him back. That question came from his own fears and doubts. Had he done the right thing? Had he any choice?

He hadn't accepted that Obi-Wan was gone

He needed to say goodbye to Obi-Wan, or acknowledge that he never would.

Maybe he needed to share one last sunset with Obi-Wan.