TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass
By: Syntyche
chapter twenty-four: away from here
Delian Ani-Suru rested her blonde head carefully on one upturned, shaking hand while the other hand fought tiredly to keep her braced upright against the cabin's wall paneling.
Had it only been a day? One damn day in a series of horrendous damned days of searching, waiting, and hoping, until she'd finally, finally found Kenobi and then everything should have been okay, was supposed to have been all right. She would patch him up, he'd eat and sleep off his time on the moisture farm, and they might even laugh about Delian "leasing" him from Watto and Kenobi trying to tear apart the lumpy bastard vehicle she'd given him to use in the Demolition Games. Things would be a little awkward at first, but they'd settle back into their routine.
That's how it had worked out in her fantasy – well, there were other things involved because it was her fantasy, after all – but that had been the core thought that had kept her going, kept her looking for him after he'd disappeared and been gone for so long.
And then she had found him.
What was left of him.
Yes, she had indeed found Kenobi, but the harsh reality of his current state was far from the idealistic reuniting that had kept her looking for him day after day. Rather than laughing and sharing beverages designed to take the edge off of their better judgment, Delian had swallowed back the bile that crowded into her throat as she'd meticulously washed sluggishly congealing blood and layers of dirt from Kenobi's grotesquely thin and wounded body. Rather than melding with his firm frame in a shy almost-lover's embrace of greeting, she'd had to throw her body overtop his to keep him from convulsing off of the narrow bunk when his overloaded system just couldn't take any more. And adding to the irony was that after waiting so long to hear his warm voice, Delian was supremely grateful that the Jedi had finally fallen silent, had finally stopped screaming, his frantic cries echoing off the ship's interior and setting her teeth on edge.
Lifting her head fractionally, Delian glanced over to where Obi-Wan Kenobi lay quietly on the cabin's narrow bunk, having succumbed to the mostly-painless darkness that his exhausted body had at last urged him into with the help of a couple rounds of strong painkillers the Corellian had pumped into him.
She watched as the Jedi shifted slightly, carefully, his full mouth turned down into a frown that even forced unconsciousness couldn't completely erase, his mangled and torn body gently cleaned and his multitude of wounds wrapped and mostly hidden from view by a thin sheet stretched up to his chest.
It wasn't fair.
She was supposed to be holding him, laughing with him, teasing him. Not standing here, too damn much of his blood coloring her clothes while she forced herself not to prepare for the worst.
For his part, Kenobi slept; utterly unaware of the woman who sagged wearily nearby despite the fact she had quite probably saved his life. In stark contrast to Kenobi's oblivious state, Delian was acutely aware of each breath, each twitch, the Jedi made, his quiet whimpers tensing her chest as easily as his insensible screaming had just moments earlier.
She was grateful for his silence, but not the cost: he'd only stopped screaming because he'd lapsed back into unconsciousness and had been sinking deeper into oblivion ever since. Whatever had set him off earlier – she had barely been able to make out Qui-Gon Jinn's name amidst his delirious panic – had sent him into an darkness she just couldn't bring him out of. Dirak Biggs, piloting their small craft toward the nearest medcenter, had helped Delian bring the Jedi aboard and the Corellian had seen the resignation in her business partner's eyes as he surveyed Kenobi's impressive and varied collection of wounds; she knew that Dirak, at least, had no illusions about the Jedi's chances for survival.
They were losing him, but Delian refused to accept it. The fatigued Corellian absolutely refused to admit that Kenobi's wounds were too severe, the damage too extensive, his will to live non-existent. She hadn't come this far to lose him now.
Fortunately Delian was a betting woman, and she refused to give up on Kenobi. Especially since he owed her a huge marker now for saving his life. Ruminating on the delicious ways Kenobi could work off his life debt allowed a small smile to creep across the Corellian's face: no way she could let him die when he owed her.
Obi-Wan Kenobi owed her: now that was a thought to hold on to.
Or would be, if the Jedi lying before her was the same Jedi she had parted with. Delian gritted her teeth as she recalled the way Kenobi had flinched under her touch when she'd tried to help him.
No time to think like that. Focus on keeping him alive. Delian twisted one of her earrings apprehensively, completely unsure of her next step. She was about to com Dirak for an ETA when her personal comlink chirped cheerfully, and she instantly hated it for its joyful sound. She thumbed it on warily.
"Yeah?"
The completely unexpected voice of Qui-Gon Jinn filled the tiny cabin, and Delian clenched the small device tightly against the surge of anger that washed through her at the Jedi Master's voice. She remembered she'd given him her comm code that first night in Mos Espa and now wished she hadn't. She childishly but sincerely hoped he was having a worse day than she was, though she doubted at the moment that was possible.
Jinn – Obi-Wan's Jedi Master – had helped her search for Kenobi, and then when they were so close, so close to finding him, the bastard had run off on another "assignment," leaving Delian to go back to that damn moisture farm alone and haul Kenobi's broken body toward his best chance for survival.
As far as Delian was concerned, Jinn didn't factor into her plans for Kenobi any longer. He'd given up that right twice now, and Delian didn't see any reason to make it three times.
"Delian, Qui-Gon Jinn." He sounded weary and she was unpleasantly glad for it, thinking spitefully that if Qui-Gon had had his priorities straight in the first place, Kenobi wouldn't be lying here dying on her bunk. Delian found that being angry at the Jedi Master, while unproductive, made her feel a little bit more in control of the situation than when it was just her alone versus Obi-Wan Kenobi's lack of desire to survive.
"It's about damn time!" she snapped, her voice lowered to a hiss to keep from potentially disturbing Kenobi's already troubled unconsciousness. "Where the hell are you and why are you calling me anyway? I thought you had 'more important' shit to do!"
"I went back. Obi-Wan wasn't there." Jinn's voice sounded strangely hollow, every word forced out painfully, scraping through the tinny speaker.
"'Wasn't there ' – what? You went back?" Delian's mind switched tracks rapidly, stunned. He'd gone back for Kenobi? Had she misjudged him?
No, she determined decisively. He should have gone with her from the beginning. Shaking her head, she murmured, "I already got him, Qui-Gon. Kenobi's with me."
Silence was the only reply that greeted her for several seconds and she almost clicked the comlink off, figuring the call had been disrupted and actually relieved to have a reason not to talk with the Jedi Master when Qui-Gon spoke again.
"With you?" he repeated slowly, sounding as dazed as she'd ever heard him. "Obi-Wan … is with you?"
"Yeah," Delian snapped succinctly, already tired of the exchange and anxious to get back to Kenobi even if the only she could do was fret by his bedside. It sure as hell beat this conversation.
"Is he … how is he?" The Jedi Master was stumbling over the words and Delian felt the tiniest bit of her anger chip off. She sighed, watching the shuddering figure on the bunk.
"He's not good, Qui-Gon," she admitted quietly, just in case Kenobi chose that moment to hear her. "We're taking him to the medcenter in Mos Runa."
There was no hesitation in the Jedi Master's voice – she had barely finished her sentence before he broke in easily. "No - I want you to meet me at the coordinates I will give you, just outside Mos Espa," Jinn ordered, the smallest ray of hope breaking into his rough voice. "My ship is there. I will contact the Jedi Council and have them send Healers to meet us en route."
His tone offered no compromise and Delian's expression twisted into a sneer; she was distinctly unhappy with the thought of turning Kenobi back over to Jinn when she felt the Jedi Master had made his priorities abundantly clear by choosing not to accompany her back to the moisture farm to look for Kenobi.
But he was also the best chance Kenobi had.
She clicked off the comlink without answering, moving forward and laying a gentle hand on Kenobi.
"Hey," she whispered, gently squeezing his tanned, puncture-riddled forearm. "Kenobi, it's me. Uh, Delian," she added awkwardly. "Listen… we're gonna meet up with Qui-Gon Jinn; I think he can help you. Is that okay?" There was no verbal response, and Delian watched him hard for any sort of reaction. "'Cause if it's not you're gonna have to wake up and tell me, sweetheart, it's your only option." He trembled harder under her fingers; whether from her touch or the mention of Qui-Gon, she wasn't sure. "Not good enough," she grumbled. "That's not waking up, baby. You're gonna have to do better than that."
Delian sighed, straightening, gently dragging her fingers through his ginger hair. She'd sealed the bleeding gashes in his scalp and washed his hair carefully, but it did little to improve his overall battered appearance.
She wasn't pleased by the thought, but it did appear that Jinn was Kenobi's best hope. Quietly, she forwarded the coordinates Qui-Gon sent her on to Dirak in the cockpit, and settled back into her silent vigil, echoes of Kenobi's shattered screams drifting through her exhausted mind.
OOOOOOOOOO
Qui-Gon had used his comlink to relay a message through the waiting ship docked in the city's outskirts to the Jedi Council; he'd deliberately spoken with Adi Gallia, a junior member of the Council, knowing that any contact with Mace Windu or even Yoda needed to be avoided right now. They knew him too well, and would easily pick up on the tremor in his voice, the unsteady quaver in his words.
Qui-Gon noticed his large hand was shaking as he put his comlink down carefully, refocusing his attention on the speeder's steering grips. He had a brief stop to make first, but then he would get to Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan was alive. For now.
He hadn't missed Delian's tone, had felt the cold fear that stabbed through her short words:
He's not good, Qui-Gon.
Not good. He could easily translate the statement from the usually optimistic pilot: Obi-Wan was dying. His Padawan was dying because that witch had … had …
But he had stopped her. He had made sure she would never touch Obi-Wan again.
Qui-Gon had to close his eyes briefly against the memory of his body moving seemingly independently of his brain to stop the woman, Marjhan, to stop the poison that flowed from her lips, the devastation wrought by her cruel hands … he had struck her down to stop her.
He had killed an unarmed woman.
The Jedi Master shuddered despite the warmth of the suns soaking into his skin.
OOOOOOOOOO
What the hell? was Delian's first irritated thought when Qui-Gon Jinn's rented speeder came into view and she caught sight of a small, sandy-colored mop of hair poking over the edge of passenger side.
"Hey, Delian!"
The instant the speeder stopped Anakin Skywalker vaulted over the side, his short, quick strides bringing him hastily to where she had been prowling restlessly outside Qui-Gon's vessel awaiting the Jedi's arrival. Delian was relieved, of course, that Anakin had recovered from his injuries, and he seemed cheerful and excited to be accompanying the Jedi Master, but that didn't mean she felt the best place for him was here right now.
Delian wished she could smile at his enthusiasm, but the fact that Jinn had gone out of his way to retrieve Anakin while Kenobi was dying in shattered pieces burned horribly under her skin and the Corellian found herself swallowing hard before she could even get a short nod off to the boy. She swung away from the approaching Jedi Master, brutally forcing the tears stinging at her eyes to stay in check. Kenobi needed her. Kenobi needed someone who cared.
"He's in here," she ground out. "Dirak and I will move him – "
A wall of russet blew past her, and she quickened her pace up the ramp to catch up with the Jedi Master's retreating back – a barrier of solid muscle that she actually bumped into when he abruptly stopped short as he reached Kenobi. Wavering hands, large but gentle, drifted to Kenobi's forehead as Qui-Gon brushed his fingers carefully through the soft ginger strands spilling over Kenobi's closed eyelids.
"His hair is longer," Qui-Gon murmured quietly.
Ignoring the Jedi Master's softly-voiced shock, Delian pushed past him to start unhooking monitors and tubing. "Yeah, that's what I noticed too," she snapped. "Now move so we can get him some help!"
Qui-Gon leant past her; it was laughably easy for the Jedi, not yet even fully recovered himself, to balance and carry the emaciated form of his Padawan, but Qui-Gon took to the task with great care, angling Kenobi's sagging frame against his own sturdy chest and moving toward the hatch. Delian followed, shouting to Dirak over her shoulder that she would contact him once they were on their way and Kenobi was settled. At her words, Jinn shook his head shortly.
"You're staying here. There's no reason for you to come to Coruscant." It was a statement she ignored, brushing past him deliberately.
"Screw you," the Corellian snapped shortly, turning to pierce him with her amber gaze. "I think of the two of us, I have more right to be with him than you do, so you can take your high-and-mightiness and shove it back up your ass. I'm coming with him."
She turned her back on him, disappearing into the depths of the Council vessel.
OOOOOOOOOO
The engines hummed a soothing lullaby as the vessel moved through hyperspace, speeding them toward a rendezvous with a Council ship carrying a Healer. Anakin and Delian slept, and Qui-Gon was grateful for the silence as he sat by Obi-Wan's bedside, keeping quiet vigil over his lost Padawan.
He brushed a hand through Obi-Wan's thick hair, noticing with a small smile the copper highlights that Tatooine's suns had set afire in the usually tame ginger strands. There was a horrible emptiness where Obi-Wan's Padawan braid should have been, and Qui-Gon's hand went to a small pouch on his belt, dipping inside and feeling the softness of the braid tucked away there. He had taken from Marjhan's chilling body the symbol of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship – even though Obi-Wan deserved to be promoted to Jedi Knight for slaying the Sith creature, Qui-Gon was certain he would want to keep the braid he had worn for so long under Qui-Gon's tutelage.
In the bunk behind the Jedi Master, Anakin mumbled in his sleep and turned over, and Qui-Gon was relieved the boy didn't awaken; he had chattered incessantly while Qui-Gon and Delian worked to get Obi-Wan secured and make sure he was sedated. Had Obi-Wan ever talked that much when was Anakin's age? Qui-Gon didn't think so.
The Jedi Master's gentle hand drifted back to his Padawan, resting on a shoulder that easily protruded through Obi-Wan's bruised skin. Words slipped through his mind then as grief crowded at his throat.
*There is no emotion, there is peace.*
A sorrowful tear slipped down the Jedi Master's lined face as he rubbed healing salve carefully over the black and green mottled skin around Obi-Wan's left eye and across his cheekbone.
"What'd you offer, Padawan? I could sell you for that much," he'd teased, relieved that Obi-Wan had found a way to get them off-planet. Obi-Wan had just smiled, though Qui-Gon had noticed that his eyes were grave.
"You just did."
Gently along ribs that he could count Qui-Gon continued rubbing salve tenderly into the extensive bruising and cautiously around the myriad of small cuts. They'd had to lie Obi-Wan on his back, but Qui-Gon knew there was a crisscrossing of fine lash lines scoring the tanned skin there that he would need to treat later.
"What about the boy, Anakin? Does your 'exchange' permit his freedom? Can I take him with me, at least?"
*There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.*
The words didn't give the Jedi Master the comfort they normally did, but Qui-Gon continued to recite them as he carefully checked the gouge on Obi-Wan's thigh. He swallowed his nausea back as he realized how deep into the muscle had been sliced and he hastily rewrapped the seeping wound.
*There is no passion, there is serenity.*
"Be extremely careful, Obi-Wan. I'll be back very soon."
There was nothing he could do for the thick scarring on the soles of Obi-Wan's feet, but he rubbed salve on the old wounds anyway, desperate to keep his mind focused.
"He was here, yes, but he was … difficult. I did only what was necessary to keep him in line…"
A choked growl forced its way from the Jedi Master's throat as he thought of the woman he had slain. The Council would understand – he had done it for Obi-Wan. He'd thought she'd killed his Padawan, and if she hadn't killed him, at the very least the damage she had done was displayed before Qui-Gon: a gruesome, battered wreckage that had once been his healthy, vibrant, whole Padawan.
You took an innocent boy, stole from him everything he held dear, hurt and humiliated him, destroyed him, and you call that necessary?
Obi-Wan, too, would understand what his master had done for him. Qui-Gon grit his teeth as he came to the last verse of the Jedi Code:
*There is no death, there is the Force.*
Obi-Wan would live to understand.
OOOOOOOOOO