TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter twenty-eight: you run away

oooooooooo

You run away. You could turn and stay, but you run away from me.

oooooooooo

The morning had come.

Today, he would leave for Naboo alone, to rest, to refocus. To spend an enforced exile in solitude trying to re-center deep within the warmth of the Living Force. To remember who he was and what he stood for.

To try and forget her.

Obi-Wan would depart for Bandomeer this afternoon after the Council had quietly but yet unbeknownst to him crushed the Padawan's dreams of being a Jedi Knight, telling the battered young man gently that he too needed time to rest and refocus, but choosing not to mention that they felt he would never again rise to the level of a Jedi; that Obi-Wan was too wounded, too scarred, too fragile to be trusted with the lives of others. Qui-Gon felt it was cruel to disillusion Obi-Wan, but he was again being denied access to his former apprentice - and what would he say to the young man, anyway? Obi-Wan was fragile, he did need to heal, to try and pick up the jagged shards left of his life.

He also needed to try and forget her.

Qui-Gon folded the chestnut robe too small for him and settled it gently into his duffel bag; he was taking only the most minimal effects to Naboo and the only items even remotely personal he had chosen were a carved japor snippet Anakin had given him and the robe he had found tucked away in their apartments that still faintly smelled like his former Padawan. He would take those things, and release all other attachments.

Or so he was telling himself.

The awakening heartache of his loss clawed at him, threatening to tear gouges in the weak, hastily built barriers he had erected after discovering the Council didn't know what he'd done on Tatooine but was still sentencing him to enforced solitude. Everything he had risked, everything he had staked a claim to was being torn from his weak grasp and there was nothing he could do to pull them back to himself. No Anakin. No Obi-Wan.

Just exile.

OOOOOOOOOO

He needed to say goodbye to Anakin, to reassure the child he would return for him soon; the boy was safely enrolled in classes here at the Temple, some remedial - like diplomacy - and some advanced based on the skills he had already acquired. Anakin would be protected by many Masters and Knights until Qui-Gon could return and claim him as his own Padawan, and the thought of being the sole Master of the precocious child brought Qui-Gon a warmth he knew would help to carry him through long months on Naboo. He had sacrificed much to bring Anakin this far; he would not let his destiny as Master to the Chosen One - nor Anakin's destiny as the Chosen One - go unfulfilled.

And, regrettably, he knew he ought to also bid goodbye - and perhaps a thank you - to Delian. Qui-Gon's tired brow furrowed as he realized that he wasn't certain what the Corellian had planned, and he felt in small part that the pilot was his responsibility as she had accompanied him from Tatooine. He wondered if anyone had bothered to see what Delian wanted to do now that Obi-Wan was being … relocated … and he supposed that he should ask, but he wasn't looking forward to any discussions with the surly Corellian. They had shared a few tense moments of bonding over their mutual worry for Obi-Wan, but although Qui-Gon had a natural and easy rapport with almost every individual he encountered, he and Delian had started off poorly and their relationship had not improved overmuch amidst the strain of the past several days. In truth, he was having a hard time blaming her: she hated him for the same reasons he hated himself.

After some searching, he found her sitting at a desk in the Archives, her blonde curls softly backlit by the Archives' calm blue lighting. Her dusky eyes glanced up from the monitor as his shadow crossed into her light, and a look that was a curious mixture of fear and disgust flashed across her face as she took in the tall Jedi Master.

"Kenobi?" she asked immediately, and Qui-Gon realized the reason for her fear.

"No change that I have been informed of," he admitted quietly.

Delian nodded. "I'll stop in to see him later, before he leaves," she said, and Qui-Gon felt a flash of jealousy stab through him he couldn't quite ignore: it seemed not everyone was restricted from seeing his former Padawan.

To distract himself from an uncharacteristic snarl of anger that was slowly building in his midsection, Qui-Gon brought himself back to the reason he had sought the Corellian out.

"I was wondering what you were planning to do now that we are all going our separate ways," he put forward, trying for a conciliatory tone despite his undeserved resentment toward the Corellian. "Do you need transport back to Tatooine?"

She didn't answer, and Qui-Gon could see she was deep in thought, twisting one of the earrings adorning her left ear. Without directly answering his question, she gestured absently toward the screen displaying the records she had been perusing. Qui-Gon glanced at the names in some confusion but offered helpfully,

"They are both excellent Healers, but have been assigned away from the Temple for many years. Do you know them?"

Delian leaned away from the desk as she rubbed her eyes and blinked furiously in the manner of someone who had spent too long staring at a monitor without pausing to refocus their strained vision every now and then. "They're my parents," she admitted, her lackluster tone curiously devoid of any warmth or pride.

Qui-Gon stared at the pilot, bemused but surveying her with new thoughtfulness. "You have Elayna's eyes," he murmured quietly. "I see it now."

"Yeah, whatever," Delian grumbled, but Qui-Gon saw the softening around her gaze, the merest shift in her aura that indicated she was pleased in some small way by his comment.

"Have you ever had your midichlorian count tested?" Qui-Gon asked curiously, folding his arms across his broad chest carefully. He hadn't fully recovered yet, and the pull of carrying Obi-Wan days before had strained his healing belly. "Have you thought about Jedi training for yourself?" he suggested, not overly enthused by the thought of running into Delian day after day at the Temple once he returned but feeling somehow that it would be better for the galaxy as a whole if the Corellian confined somewhere … secure.

"Yoda insisted I have my count tested after I got here," Delian answered dryly, cautiously venturing to add, "I guess it's pretty high."

"Really?" Qui-Gon hadn't sensed much of the Force in her at all, though admittedly his connection to the Living Force had been skewed for some time now.

"Apparently, yeah." Delian looked up at him a little shyly, eyes wide, nervousness jumping in her gaze. "I thought … " She hesitated before admitting quietly, "I thought I would stay at the Temple for awhile, if that's okay; maybe learn some useful Jedi stuff and whatever."

Qui-Gon blinked. She had surprised him again. "Really?" he repeated dumbly, feeling somehow that the idea of Delian as a Jedi Knight was more than even he could take.

"Hell, no!" Delian grinned, her face contorted mid-sentence as she started laughing, small giggles that turned into outright chuckles as she was clearly amused by his response. "I can think of a million better things to do than waste my afternoons here meditating and being all Jedi-y."

"So, your midichlorian count?" Qui-Gon asked tiredly, fighting the urge to drop his head into his hands and sob, just a little.

"Safely non-existent," she grinned fiercely. "Or at least low enough not to matter."

Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed at his forehead ruefully. "I can see why Obi-Wan likes you," he smiled, slightly grudgingly, allowing her the point for leading him on so easily. "You share a similar sense of humor. Actually," he added hesitantly, "I was wondering if you could take a message to him for me."

"Take it yourself," Delian snapped, all traces of humor immediately disappearing as she settled back into an uncomfortable tension at the mention of Obi-Wan. "For whatever reason, he actually misses you."

"I have been restricted from seeing him … again," Qui-Gon explained unhappily. "I didn't realize that anyone nonessential was being permitted to see him," he added sharply, a hint of his earlier jealousy reasserting itself firmly in his chest and lodging uncomfortably tightly in his throat.

"Maybe I'm not nonessential," Delian replied, allowing smugness to slide into her tone but not hiding the anger undercutting her words. "After all, I'm pretty sure I went straight back for Kenobi without dragging my ass about it - and saved his life, too," she added fiercely. "And I'm not even the one charged with protecting him."

This was how conversations between them typically went. Qui-Gon lifted a hand to indicate she need say no more, but the Corellian forged ahead, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at him thoughtfully. "You know, I've been reading up on you too, Master Jinn; and do you know what I've found?"

"I can't even begin to imagine," Qui-Gon said tiredly, moving his weight from foot to foot, wondering how un-Jedi-like it would be to turn and walk away. "Nothing good, I'm sure."

Delian shook her blonde curls, sinking deeper into her chair. "Not quite. I've been reading about a man who fights for what he believes in. A man who protects the people he's entrusted with. And I've been wondering if I've been wrong, if perhaps you're not the man I think you are. Perhaps you're not a weak, spineless, self-serving prick who throws away a perfectly good apprentice because he thinks someone better has come along."

"That's not fair," Qui-Gon protested softly, brushing off the way each word she uttered stung at a quiet part of his soul he wasn't interested in acknowledging. He shifted uneasily.

"So these reports say," Delian agreed with a nod. "Apparently you're a hero. A defender of the weak and helpless. Loyal to a fault. Honorable. Just."

Qui-Gon shook his head, his voice very, very soft when he answered.

"I'm not that man anymore," he whispered, hearing the hum of his own lightsaber in the back of his mind, the slight gasp that escaped that woman as he sliced her in half.

Delian pushed herself away from the desk and stood, brushing her palms against her thighs in a gesture that made Qui-Gon think absently that she was wiping her hands clean of him.

"That's too bad." Her dusky gaze settled on his face, challenging him. "Because as much as I hate to admit it, that's the man that Kenobi needs to pull him back."

"I can't help him," Qui-Gon protested immediately. "I'm not supposed to see him." He shook his head, feeling useless and unfamiliar tears crawling into the corners of his eyes. "There's nothing I can do for Obi-Wan now."

"Then you're exactly the man I think you are," Delian replied. She snapped off the monitor, turned her back on him, and left the Archives.

oooooooooo

I'll give you something you can cry about; one thing you should try it out

Hold a mirror shoulder high when you're older, look you in the eye.

oooooooooo

OOOOOOOOOO

She went to check on Obi-Wan then, plodding down the now-familiar path through the Healer's Wing, feeling the loneliness weigh on her soul as Qui-Gon's question tugged at her mind. What wasshe going to do next? See if she could get passage back to Tatooine? Return to her old life? Her simple, uncluttered, Kenobi-free existence …

Delian swallowed hard. She would think about that later.

He was in bed, as usual, staring at the ceiling. Tears snagged in her eyes as she willed him to show some sign of life, some hint that the old Kenobi was still there somewhere, just waiting for right moment to smile again.

But he didn't smile. Not anymore.

"Hey, darlin'," Delian announced her presence quietly, waiting until he turned dull eyes to her before entering the room all the way; she had only surprised him once and she was determined not to do it again. It was …frightening … when he was startled. I should have shot that bitch when I had the chance, Delian thought, not for the first time.

He nodded to acknowledge her presence and she moved to stand by the bedside, wanting to reach for him but holding back. He didn't say anything, so finally to break the silence - and with a small amount of hopefulness, Delian admitted - she ventured,

"I've been trying to decide what to do now that we're all … back here," she said slowly. "I guess I could go home… " Delian stole a glance at him but he said nothing, just watched her from beneath the shaggy veil of copper-streaked ginger that fell across his eyes. No protestations that she should stay, but no affirming that she should go, either. There was just … nothing.

Delian bit her lip, hard, against the surge of emotion crashing into her. Please be whole again, she wished fervently, appealing to - well, anyone listening - but mostly to the man across from her.

"Everyone is leaving," Kenobi said softly, and a tiny glimpse of hopefulness crept across his shadowed features. "So I should go back, too."

"Excuse me?" Delian said, hoping she had misheard him but feeling the cold wash of dread sweep over her, pulling the blood from her face and filling her with tense anxiety.

His face was open, honest and pleading turned toward her. "I need to go back home, Delian, back to Tatooine." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I have work to do."

Anger roared into Delian and she had to turn away to keep from snapping at him. "You can't go back, Kenobi," she bit out, struggling to keep her voice under control. "You're not going back. Ever."

"She needs me," Obi-Wan murmured, lifting a scarred hand to brush the hair back from his eyes, now shining an unstable grey in the warm light of his room. Delian could see the shift in him; a building of unacknowledged emotion trapped in an unbalanced vessel.

"Well," she said slowly, knowing she was close to spitting the words out and fighting to stay steady herself. "Other people need you now, sweetheart. You need to refocus here."

Again the hopefulness in his eyes, and though just moments before she had been praying for some emotion from him, Delian quickly found that she hated this earnestness from him: the things he set his hopes on were not good.

"Qui-Gon?" he asked softly.

Why the hell had she come? Clearly this was a bad idea. "No, not Qui-Gon," she ground out, almost choking on the name of a man she despised. "Qui-Gon is … busy."

"He's leaving me," Obi-Wan sighed. "Again." And it was almost Kenobi who said quietly, steadier and a little stronger as his sad eyes locked onto hers, "I watched him walk away, and it was because of me. I wasn't good enough. And now … "

"And now?" Delian prompted, leaning a hip against the bed frame, worrying at his sudden surge of emotion, wondering if she should call the Healers ...

"And now look at me!" Kenobi shot back angrily, waving a hand toward himself. "I deserve to be sent away! Why would Qui-Gon want to even bother with me anymore? I've driven him off!" His anger subsided, fading away. "I deserve this." He pushed himself off the bed, limping tiredly toward the window, the strain in his expression and body evident in the stiff way he held himself upright as he glared at the city outside, frustration sending fine tremors through his slender body.

As she studied him standing at the window, Delian thought back to a time before he'd gone missing, back when he'd been full of Light. She could still see the Light shining in him, but now it slipped through from painfully ragged cracks with tattered edges. Anger, grief, shame … these were the primary facets that made up the new Obi-Wan Kenobi. She watched him drag his wounded leg across the floor as he stumbled back to the bed, the effort of standing for even such a short time painful to witness as his jaw clenched and his hands grasped at the sheets on the bed, twisting them in his long, twitching fingers.

"I deserve … " he started to repeat softly, then jerked his head away angrily, face turned away from her. Delian saw his shoulders shaking and moved closer, until her body barely grazed his in a loose embrace. If possible his rigid body got even tenser and he was trembling furiously before she could even finish reassuring him.

"Kenobi - "

"Get back," he whispered urgently, "let go please,"

She stepped backward immediately, moving around to face him. His pupils were wide, his breathing ragged; he braced his hands against the bed and dropped his head, fighting to bring his breathing under control.

"I … " he started again, breathing harder and Delian backed away a step, hating angrily that her closeness caused him greater distress now. He was shaking so hard the restraints clipped to the side of the bed were rattling, and though his teeth were clenched she swore she heard him whimpering, over and over, loud in her head and the silence in the room. Sweat rolled down his face and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He was a man who, despite his jagged efforts, was about to unravel.

Delian's fingers were reaching for the call button even as a half dozen healers flew into the room, grabbing for him as he shied away from their touch. One healer whispered soothingly as he reached out to grasp Obi-Wan's bicep, wrapping his fingers loosely around the bunched and corded muscles under his hand. Obi-Wan's mouth opened and he screamed, loud and shattering, bucking and writhing under the hands reaching for him as nonsensical pleas spilled from his lips. Delian had backed herself into the corner and she realized tears were streaming from her eyes; she jammed a fist into her mouth to keep a frightened keen from slipping out and attracting the Healer's attention to her. She needed to be where Kenobi was, as terrifying as it was to watch him fall apart.

"Where's Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan was demanding over and over, his voice hoarse and pleading, nearly swallowed up by the soothing litany of calming words the healers continued to throw at him. "I need Qui-Gon, he knows. Please don't take them, I need them … please…" Obi-Wan was getting desperate now, and Delian wondered when the proud Jedi she had met had learned how to beg so well.

"Please," Obi-Wan whispered, visibly forcing himself to speak calmly though Delian could hear the tremors in his voice, knew he was walking a very fine line of keeping his sanity. "I'll be good, I promise." His pained look turned anxious when his eyes landed on the small figure who was slowly making his way in the door; Delian knew him by sight - it was hard to forget who Yoda was. "Master Yoda," Obi-Wan scratched out desperately. "Where's Qui-Gon?"

Yoda didn't say anything, trudging quietly through the parting wave of healers as he moved toward the trembling Jedi in their midst. Still shaking, still on the edge, Obi-Wan respectfully and slowly knelt, his weak right leg sliding out from under him uncontrollably and sending him tumbling to the floor awkwardly. He sat on the floor for a moment, his face so agonized and defeated that Delian's heart twisted deep in her chest.

"Young Obi-Wan," Yoda said quietly, laying a thickly-clawed hand on Obi-Wan's arm, gazing on the apprentice with wide, sad eyes. "Young Obi-Wan," he repeated softly, and Delian knew she wasn't the only one struggling to keep from crying. Yoda glanced up, casting a pointed look at the cluster of people in the room and they slipped out obediently - all except Delian, still pressed quietly into the corner. Yoda ignored her - or maybe didn't see her - as he returned his large eyes to Obi-Wan.

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan gasped, moisture clinging to his thick lashes as he bent his head wearily, his forehead just barely resting on the small Master's shoulder in a sight Delian found almost strange. Strangled words slid between gasps for breath, "help me please. I'm so lost."

Yoda's gravelly voice was barely loud enough for Delian to hear, even as she strained to catch the words. "Dear little one, so sorry we are at what happened to you has." His claws gently raked through Obi-Wan's hair, long and shaggy still, unkempt and uncared for.

Obi-Wan was crying, his hand unconsciously rubbing the gnarled mass of flesh of his right thigh as his sorrow-filled tears dripped onto Yoda's robe. "I tried to do the right thing, Master. I tried. She was too strong for me." His breath hitched at the anguished admission, his fingers digging deeper into his wounded leg, and Delian knew he was hurting himself even as she realized he wanted to.

Yoda's hand dropped to cover Obi-Wan's fingers, stilling their unceasing movement. "Broken you may feel, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but broken you are not," he assured quietly.

Obi-Wan said nothing, still sprawled clumsily on the floor, painfully bent to rest his head on Yoda's small shoulder. Delian watched the odd pair, also silent, wondering what hope there was for Kenobi. From here she could see the deep scarring on his bare feet that would never leave him - along with many, many other reminders.

"To Bandomeer you will go," Yoda said softly. "To heal and to help."

"Shall I be a farmer, Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan asked without lifting his head, softly bitter. "Shall I be that which I had always feared I would be?"

"Help in different ways, we all do," Yoda reassured gently.

Obi-Wan stilled, lifting his head and fixing his reddened eyes on the small Council member. "Master Yoda." Yoda looked at him, and Delian was surprised at the sudden flash of trepidation that knifed through Yoda's large eyes, as if he already knew and dreaded the question that was coming even before it left Obi-Wan's dry lips.

"I will never be a Jedi, will I?"

oooooooooo

I made a mess, who doesn't?

I did my best but it wasn't enough …

oooooooooo

You Run Away, Barenaked Ladies

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