Chapter 5. No Peace for the Wicked
A strangled gasp and low moan awoke Mace Windu, alerting him that the young Jedi in his care was in the throes of a nightmare once more. He threw off his covers and headed to Obi-Wan's side as he had done nearly every night since installing him in his second bedroom.
He supposed he could have slept through them did he so choose. He did not.
Whether he woke Obi-Wan or not was not the important thing. It helped the ailing young man feel accepted when acceptance was hard to come by, and while it in some ways also burdened the young man with a sense of guilt, it was scarcely noticeable amongst the already heavy burden of guilt he shouldered.
Kenobi struggled with the shambles his life had become while Jinn frolicked with his precious padawan. A fair assessment or not, Mace didn't particularly care.
His old friend Qui-Gon seemed almost besotted with this boy. He had already thought of ordering him to see the healers – mind and body – for an explanation, but right now he trod on dangerous ground. Qui-Gon brooked no talk of his behavior, now or then. When things calmed down, he would reconsider it then.
In the meantime, Obi-Wan was his concern. The entire Council was appalled, quite frankly, but all agreed the important consideration was Obi-Wan's health. He had once been a Jedi of much promise – now his very status as a Jedi was in jeopardy.
He will make it through this! If strength of character is enough, he will fight past this illness of the mind and heal.
Yoda, too, was deeply concerned. He only sighed and his ears curled forward when they spoke of him, as they did daily. The ancient Jedi was as heartbroken as Mace himself, both betrayed by emotions that surprised them. Just as unlikely was the wish to throttle both Qui-Gon Jinn and the Force itself for what they had taken from the young man.
He grabbed a glass of water on his way to Obi-Wan's side and set it on the small nightstand as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Wake up, Obi-Wan," Mace laid a gentle hand on the tossing Jedi's forehead, as always frowning at the coolness beneath. "Obi-Wan, you're safe and Qui-Gon is alive. Wake up, now."
Bleary, red-rimmed eyes finally opened and stared at him, blinking in confusion. Mace smiled and helped Obi-Wan to sit up. Once he was leaning against his pillow, he offered the glass of water which Obi-Wan sipped.
Obi-Wan suddenly shivered. The glass in his hand trembled; Mace steadied it before it spilled its contents. "I don't want to go back there – why do I go back there?" He sounded like a hurt child. In some ways he was. What was worse, the part of him that wasn't knew the other part was. Obi-Wan was not whole. The healers had tried their best to explain, but their explanation hid their own uncertainties.
Obi-Wan was broken, organically and mentally. Whatever damage Obi-Wan had done to himself to save Qui-Gon was magnified by what Qui-Gon did to him. The combined effect left this trembling, emotionally fragile and Force-blind boy behind.
For some reason, making Obi-Wan speak of those experiences helped him sort through the memories and make some twisted sort of order out of his life.
"Tell me," he urged, a gentle hand on his shoulder to encourage him. "Tell me," as Mace steeled himself to hear it once more.
"Tatooine." Obi-Wan bit his lip, repeated the name. "Tatooine."
Tatooine, not even their destination, but his destiny, bound to a nine-year-old boy. Naboo had severed Obi-Wan from the life he had known, and severed him completely and utterly from the man he had once been proud to call master.
He would have given his life for Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo but the Force had not allowed it. It had instead allowed him to live, and he sometimes wondered why. Those were the times he found himself weeping in Mace's arms, and heard words meant to comfort: "The Force wants you to live, Obi-Wan. It has need of you and someday you will understand why. The Light is still within you, you just can't see it yet."
Someday those words might comfort him, for now, they strengthened his resolve to make something good from the bad.
Words, he had discovered, had power beyond themselves. Words could heal and words could wound.
"I take Anakin Skywalker as my padawan."
He had been blindsided by his master's words before the Council but that had not lessened his respect or affection for Qui-Gon. They had, however, inflicted pain. The words had cut deep and the wound bled in hurt silence, until the padawan had realized -what words had hurt, words could heal – and healing was what was important.
He would forgive, for that was what a Jedi did.
"I am sorry, Master."
Obi-Wan had swallowed his pride and hurt, his utter humiliation, and asked forgiveness for speaking his mind as he had been taught by example and expectations. It had been granted, or so it seemed, their relationship no longer strained and the two again working in tandem. Encountering the Sith in Theed hangar had changed that.
It was not a battle to end all battles, only a battle to end the life Obi-Wan had once known. He just hadn't known it.
The Zabrak: the one Qui-Gon had battled on Tatooine. Obi-Wan's heart thudded in his chest. Beside him, his master stood outwardly calm, prepared, but inside – inside raged many emotions.
Chief amongst them: indecision.
He could feel the conflict within Qui-Gon: it was not just the mental preparation for the confrontation with the figure that stood all but mocking them. He didn't have time to analyze it, other than to know it was a conflict he had never thought to feel in his always-decisive master. He clamped down on his own feelings. Excitement and fear tried to course through him; more likely, adrenaline from anticipation of the coming encounter in terms that made sense.
Somehow he knew this Zabrak who radiated supreme confidence was a fighter unlike none he had ever before encountered. Cold, calculating and assured; Obi-Wan had no doubt it was a Sith as Qui-Gon had claimed had attacked him on Tatooine.
It was time to set aside all discord between them and seek harmony, for only working as the team they were did they stand a chance. If Qui-Gon's skills had barely allowed him to hold his own on Tatooine, Obi-Wan himself would be taxed to his maximum. He was not Qui-Gon's equal in prowess; his edge was youth and agility. Only together, by combining their strengths and working with purpose could they offset the Sith's advantage.
Focus. He drew in all his attention so that it encompassed only he and Qui-Gon and their adversary.
A second blade, vermillion like the blood it would soon seek to spill, shot out of the opposite edge of his lightsaber. Obi-Wan's eyes widened as beside him Qui-Gon hissed through his teeth. With one accord, they launched themselves – and found themselves in a furious battle.
First Qui-Gon was kicked out of the fight. Obi-Wan pressed forward, biding time by strutting cockily as the Sith eyed him with amused disdain. It allowed Qui-Gon a chance to pick himself up and rush to his side.
He was sent flying next, sliding across the polished floor, but somehow not losing his grip. Up, Obi-Wan, up, he could hear the exhortation through the bond. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain and surged to his feet. Qui-Gon could not – would not – fight alone.
Together they herded the Sith against bare air, a possibly fatal fall at his back, and Obi-Wan darted in and out, a feint, leaving an opening for Qui-Gon to press the attack. It should have worked and would have worked against a lesser opponent.
The Sith somersaulted to a metal grid walkway in the vast chamber, and the Jedi immediately followed without thought, one to either side. The fight raged on, where a fall could be fatal, one misstep away. Now, more than ever, keeping focused was keeping alive.
And the unthinkable happened: Qui-Gon's focus wavered.
Without the anticipated distraction Obi-Wan's attack was deflected, a kick that sent him plummeting into empty air.
Qui-Gon seized his moment; a resounding blow and attacked in a fury. The Sith fell back. Qui-Gon carried on the attack, relentless and unstoppable; he trusted his padawan to save himself while he carried on with his task.
Twisting his body in mid-fall, Obi-Wan smashed into a lower walkway and grabbed the edge as his momentum carried him over its edge and nearly tore his fingers from their desperate clasp. Shoulders, hands and fingers all strained under the pressure, but his grip held long enough for him to stop his wild swing and pull himself to the walkway, where he gulped in several deep breaths of air and reached to reclaim his lightsaber which had landed nearby.
Wait for me, Master!
Hurry up! I need you here, now! Hurry!
Obi-Wan took a final calming breath and drew on the Force to propel him upwards into a huge leap to a higher walkway. He didn't have enough left to put into a Force-propelled run. He pumped frantically after the two duelists, his desperation to catch up bleeding into the bond.
Focus, Obi-Wan! You were careless. Impatient and demanding, it was both a criticism and a plea sent through the bond – you lost your focus and therefore your footing – regain your focus and save yourself so you can rejoin me to finish this battle.
He never did catch up.
All of them reached a long passageway; all were trapped behind energy gates. Even when the gates opened, Qui-Gon did not wait for him and fought on alone, with Obi-Wan still trapped behind a gate and mentally urging his master on until the moment the Sith plunged his lightsaber into his master's chest and stood triumphant, to turn and look at the apprentice with a look that said clearly: Prepare to die, you are next.
But he had not died, not in the way of mortal flesh. The Sith died at his hand, at his fallen master's blade. Qui-Gon lived, and Obi-Wan - only a part of him died that day, in that place, at that time.
By a blow struck by Qui-Gon Jinn.