This story is also posted on jc.n and anticipating a few ofthe comments received there, especially from Qui-Gon fans - this story deliberately starts out playing up certain aspects of certain characters to that character(s) detriment. My intent was to explore the extremes of personalities, and in relation to Anakin, get out some festering Anakin-dislike by making him truly despicable - and yet human. In later chapters characters will be drawn back into a middle ground where some will no longer be so OOC. My hope is that any character hate may soften to understanding and a bit of pity for the choices some made and the paths some were led down, for any trait such as compassion can be "bad" when taken to extremes.
This story is in a way about balance: about human failings ad human triumphs and the rocky path we call life. Or, I'm jut being grandiose (wink).
Final note: I don't respond, or rarely, to comments on this board for a number of reasons. I do on the other board, however.
Chapter Two. The Hollowness of Being
Some weeks later…
He stared out the window, into a sullen, gray sky, only his breathing betraying that this statue was alive. He had stood, unmoving, for an hour or so, frozen in place, eyes unfocused as idle thoughts swirled in his mind. It should be winter out there, as it was winter within him – barren and hollow, but he no longer knew.
His wounded mind had lost much, including track of time. Was it winter – bare trees and stark branches, shades of black and gray buried within shadows under a weak sun? A foolish thought, for Coruscant was made of nothing natural, and one season was impossible to distinguish from another.
Coruscant was nothing like – that place. Hell. A shudder ran up his spine, unnoticed.
He had thought Naboo beautiful, once. Before. When he could still see beauty in the world. When he could appreciate the lordly waterfalls dropping like necklaces of liquid silver into pools sitting in meadows of soft green under an open blue sky. A city of towering spires and rounded domes, colorful flower boxes brightening the plazas. He had had barely time to appreciate its beauty then, though it had soaked into his soul; now it haunted him.
Like so much else, what was once meaningful and good had turned cruel. Had he acknowledged such an emotion as love, he had loved it, but love had shown him its darker side, to end his life as he knew it.
Did flowers still bloom on Naboo? Were the days sunny and the citizens now happy, freed from the yoke of occupation? Did they rejoice, or did they, as did he, wander in the memories of bygone days, remembering what had been lost and could not be reclaimed?
Was Naboo warm under a summer sun, or did it shiver in the dark?
Had one season moved into another, or had time even moved on? It was hard to tell the seasons on a planet that was all city, climate-controlled, all but artificial except at its core. It was a planet that masqueraded as one, as he masqueraded as a Jedi.
They were frauds, both imposters in their universes, outwardly one thing and inwardly another. They all knew it; he could see it in their eyes. Concern, dismay, pity. It was why he had been all but hiding in the cocoon that had been his refuge, his bed in the healers ward, but he could hide no more. The healers had given him no more reason.
Taking pity, or withdrawing it, he wasn't sure, but discharged him from their care they had done. Life went on and so must he. He had shed far too many tears. It was time to stop and to move forward. He just wished he knew how.
He leaned forward, finally, and pressed his face to the transparisteel panel. Its chill went unfelt; he was already cold, always cold. Warmth was one more thing denied him, since that day. He wondered if he would ever feel it again – if he even remembered how it felt. Would he ever know, or was he locked forever in this stasis – stagnant and molding, only half-alive and no more than half-dead?
A hand dropped on his shoulder and he started, eyes betraying his confusion as he relaxed and turned around. He startled too easily these days; shied from most touches, fled most looks and well wishes.
"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry," the sonorous tones held a hint of apology. "I startled you."
He nodded, shrugged. He hadn't yet gotten used to the sensation that someone had crept up behind him, taking him unawares. For too many years he had felt the approach of someone's Force signature, augmented his human senses with the Force.
"I wasn't listening – I should have heard your footsteps," he said, shivering suddenly. "Is it winter?"
"Hmm, I suppose so," Mace conceded, a puzzled frown on his face. "Why?"
Obi-Wan looked at his fingers, rubbed them against each other. "Cold. Dreary…empty."
"You need some hot tea, then," Mace said briskly, knowing that Obi-Wan was alluding to himself, not the weather. He had brought Obi-Wan from the healers ward just a few days before, and in that time had wrapped innumerable cloaks and quilts around the shivering Jedi.
"Come, sit."
He still wondered if the healers had released him too early, but they had advised that Obi-Wan needed to ease back into life, not stay wrapped in his cocoon of solitary existence amongst the sick. What ailed Obi-Wan needed tending by other than by healers; it needed a slow introduction to living again.
"How's Master Jinn?" he asked abruptly. Surprised, Mace turned to look at him, saw genuine curiosity.
"Secured his final medical release, too, though moving a bit slowly still."
"And Anakin?" Obi-Wan was staring at his fingers, twisting them, and for some reason Mace's heart twisted within him. The young man was still not well, perhaps would never be, yet he found it possible to inquire about the one who was, in a way, responsible for his illness.
"Master?" he said, patiently waiting, raising his eyes to meet Mace's.
Well, the moment had come, then.
No matter how calm Obi-Wan was now, Mace expected a teary breakdown shortly – the healers had told him to expect them, though the occurrences were less and less frequent with time. Mace brought two cups of tea over and set them down on a small side table, covered one with his hand and shook his head as Obi-Wan reached for it.
"Qui-Gon and Anakin had the braiding ceremony a few days ago, the day I brought you here." Mace watched as Obi-Wan sat silently absorbing the news. He blinked, the only sign of his having heard, but ripples were stirring the Force.
"Oh," he finally said, closed his eyes. The ripples swelled, grew to waves. "Oh," Obi-Wan said again and lifted a hand to his head, as if pressing the very spot he imagined his end of the bond with Qui-Gon had been attached.
Mace caught him as he crumpled forward; eyes closed against a sudden onslaught of tears and held the shaking man until the tears lessened.
"Drink your tea before it gets cold," Mace said, not unkindly, briskly.
This, too, the healers had advised. Obi-Wan was emotionally fragile, but somewhere inside he was still the man they had known. He would be embarrassed and he would feel his display of emotion was inappropriate. His behavior was entirely consistent with the damage to his mind, though, and the best way to react was simple and straightforward.
Obi-Wan pulled away, rubbing a hand over his eyes to remove the tear tracks and nodded albeit shamefacedly. Tears, emotional vulnerability - all Jedi learned early in life not to display such, for vulnerability could be exploited. The healers had tried to prepare him for these types of reactions with the same incomprehensive medical jargon they had used before the Council.
He hadn't liked what they had had to say anymore than he liked it when their words proved accurate, but the matter of fact way that Mace Windu, Yoda, and the few other Jedi he saw accepted such moments seemed to have helped to ease his discomfort.
"I suppose…they both got what they both deserved," he observed, looking half surprised at his attempt at a joke, poor as it was. Mace gave him a surprised look and then nodded.
"One might say so," he agreed dryly.
"Why?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly, setting down his half-drunk cup of tea. At Mace's inquiring look, he waved his hand around, half embarrassed, indicating "here."
It was not too hard to guess what Obi-Wan meant and was unable to verbalize.
"Why did I bring you here to my quarters?" he asked, and Obi-Wan nodded. "I suppose I could tell you that it's my duty as a Council member, but I don't think you'd buy that, would you? The truth?" He hesitated, not sure he could explain it adequately or without causing Obi-Wan more pain.
"Your, um, status, is unsettled right now," Mace winced at the expression that crossed Obi-Wan's face, to be quickly wiped away. "We've offered you a well-deserved promotion to knight which you have – for now – declined. Then there's the fact that you're still convalescing; it's not good for you to be alone…. Force, Obi-Wan, don't make me admit a small part of me enjoys rubbing this in Qui-Gon's face."
Stirring restlessly, Obi-Wan shook his head. "He never meant – to hurt me, not like this. He was hurt, dying…the Force -"
The frown that had always intimidated Obi-Wan made an appearance. Adi Gallia had once told her fellow Council member that any padawan that no longer quailed before it was automatically ready to be knighted. What was worse, Yoda had smirked and agreed with her.
And now ready-to-be-knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi accepted the frown without comment. It usually looked far fiercer than the emotions behind it. In this case, the barely repressed emotion raged far fiercer than the frown would indicate.
"I'm tired of hearing Qui-Gon use the Force to excuse his behavior. There were far kinder ways of accomplishing what he accomplished. You may not blame him for your suffering but I do," Mace said bluntly. He softened his voice. "I once promised him I'd look after you if anything happened to him before your knighting. I now transfer that promise to you, Obi-Wan; I'll stand at your side as long as you need someone there, even after your knighting. You won't be alone until you're ready."
"Thank you," Obi-Wan choked out, wrapping the quilt even more tightly around himself. "It – might be a while."
"No miracles, Obi-Wan. All I expect is that you try, and I know that you are capable of achieving anything you attempt. You will find healing."
"E…even if I…don't regain – the Force?' Obi-Wan's voice wobbled.
"You're still Obi-Wan Kenobi, with or without the Force. You will recover, and if you never touch the Force again, it still clings to you like a lover and flows through you like the air you breathe; Force, it dances around you. It is still your companion – never forget that. Never!"
Mace's tone was fierce, but its very intensity heartened Obi-Wan.
Forget…oh, but if he only could. But he kept reliving those last few blurry weeks, searching, always searching, for a reason.
It always came down to one reason: the Force itself must have willed it.
He nodded wearily and huddled into the couch, seeking to forget, seeking to banish the chill, and seeking to reclaim who he was. He closed his eyes, but he could not close out those memories. They tormented him, these memories of how it had been – and the knowledge of how it now was.