I'm so far ahead on the other site, that I shake my head - lots of action and a stronger Obi-Wan coming up. The gloom and doom is turning into - action Obi!
Chapter 54. Ankle Whackers, Inc.
Dreams pass in time. So soft, these words, drifting through the air, a whisper, a wisp at the edge of hearing. His imagination; something heard with his heart rather than his ears? Mace narrowed his eyes, but Obi-Wan was too lost in thought to notice. He slowly surfaced from his thoughts, blinked, and ran his hands through his hair.
Trying to settle himself, Mace now knew the signs. Finding acceptance though deeds, rather than release. Even in despair, even in uncertainty, he clung to what he could of Jedi training.
"Gah!" the boy half exploded.
"Very literate," Mace observed dryly, his mouth twitching. Not the most-Jedi-like of expressions, but one he heartily endorsed. Obi-Wan stared at him then covered his mouth as if to cover a yawn. His bright eyes betrayed him, however, as did the crinkle around his mouth. That stifled grin was not going to be stifled long, if Mace Windu had any say in the matter. Being Mace Windu, he did.
"Laugh it up, fur face."
As he hoped, this mocking-insult from a smooth-domed Jedi councilor was the catalyst for a sudden, all-but-silent gust of laughter – once the young man stopped gaping, felt his chin and the stubble adorning it, and recognized the humorous sentiment behind the words.
Mace patted his knee and stood up. "I'll give you a chance to shed the chin hairs and freshen up; then I'll have breakfast on the table. Your friends will see you later; they helped bring you back so don't even think of trying to avoid them."
"No, Master." The answer was cheerful enough. After a short pause, there was another question; this one in diffident tones and one totally unexpected. "Is – will – has Siri, Padawan Tachi, returned yet – or soon?"
"Tachi?" With an effort, Mace relaxed. He hadn't realized the two were that close of friends. "She is not in the Temple, no, Obi-Wan and her return is, well, dependent on her mission." And Force knew how long that undercover assignment would last. No doubt Siri Tachi, Knight Tachi upon her safe return, would be in dire straits as Kenobi had been. Living a secret life amongst pirate and slavers was a terrible thing for a Jedi. At least Siri's master would be waiting to help her former padawan regain her equilibrium.
At least some masters retained the Force-blessed ties that bound them to their apprentices. Adi Gallia was no Qui-Gon Jinn, and thank the Force for that.
Obi-Wan's eyes wandered away before that gaze returned to meet Mace's eyes. "I see." Even words– measured words, but behind them, resignation with acceptance. "What duties shall I be expected to perform while on Seranno with Master Dooku?"
"Duties? " Mace sat back and frowned. "Your only duty is to relax and recover while our not-to-be Count finalizes his renunciation. Once you both return, in a few days time, he has expressed an interest in, ah –" well, mediating between his padawan and grand-padawan, but Mace could not exactly say that. Obi-Wan might not want mediation; he knew he wouldn't were their places switched. But what one wanted was not always what was needed, and in the end, it was the Force and its will that counted.
A muscle twitched in Obi-Wan's jaw, the only outward betrayal of the despair churning through the Force. "Confirming I am too damaged to continue to function as a Jedi?"
"No!" For a moment, just a fleeting moment, Mace was tempted to grab the padawan braid and yank it. Hard. Damn it, the man was a knight, not a – he was a man. A man who had faced a devastating betrayal, injury, and the loss of one of his senses leaving him half-blind and half-deaf. He settled for a pointing finger and his gruffest voice. "You, young man, are to lose that defeatist attitude. You will accompany Master Dooku and you will enjoy yourself.'
Obi-Wan's head shot up and his eyes widened. "I beg your pardon, Master Windu – my attitude ill-befits my upbringing and my disrespect is poor gratitude after all you've done for me these past weeks. I – please forgive me."
"I do not wish your apologies." Mace winced, that sounded harsh even to him. "That is to say, one is not needed unless you continue to be this – exasperating." Ah, that teased a small, tentative smile from the young man. He would seriously hate to be seen as an intimidating – actually he did prefer that, but still – "Blast!"
"'Exasperating' is my middle name," Obi-Wan observed quietly; a small sparkle deep within his eyes. "Or first, if you ask Bant, or only, if you ask Siri."
Both danced around the inevitable question and answer as to who bestowed that meant-to-be affectionate nickname. Like "brat," the term that once brought mirth and grins, it now brought only sadness.
"Well, the Council has a different name for you, ah, that is if the Council ever stooped to such things." Mace actually smirked; it was something Yaddle had muttered under her breath, truth be told, but he had no compunction about twisting her words around. "The 'how'd-he-do-it-boy.' Granted, it was just the one time," and the actual phrase more convoluted, "but it stuck in my mind."
Obi-Wan frankly stared. "How did I – what did I do, Master Windu?"
"Defeated a Sith. Saved a dying man. You know, the stuff even we masters of the Council would find difficult."
"Oh; but – I can't really take the credit for either. It was the Force, really."
"Stubborn lad. When a young initiate used the Force to trip a Knight just as said Knight was in the proper position to tip a food tray directly upon the head of a two foot high green gnome, it wasn't the Force that got punished, was it? No, it was the initiate."
A rather peculiar expression crossed the young Jedi's face. "That initiate…?"
"Not important," Mace cut him off. "My point is whether you used the Force or let it use you, you were the human, the Jedi part of the equation. Force knows – none of us know – just how you managed something no one can explain, but the Force did not act alone and it does not get all the accolades."
"But – "
"No 'buts' Obi-Wan."
But –" He subsided on his own. Thank the Force; apparently, The Glare still worked.
"I swear Yoda's line has a stubborn streak in it that makes each and every one of you - ," Mace heaved a sigh, "gifted, talented and utterly frustrating to the rest of us."
"Exasperating," Obi-Wan murmured under his breath, then froze.
"That, too. And annoying. Aggravating…need I go on?"
That, at least, earned him a small smile. "Now, come on, first meal is nearly ready – and by the way," he waited until Obi-Wan was on his feet, "be forewarned I will step in and personally see to it that you are not allowed a cane in your doddering old age just in case ankle-whacking is also part of Yoda's bequeathal to his line."
If ankle-whacking is Master Yoda's legacy, it should be any ankle but my own I whack, Obi-Wan grumbled to himself only two days later, allowing himself a grimace as he rubbed the offending joint. Really, he was far too clumsy when relying on just his own five senses. And just like that, the sense of loss hit him.
Everything was muted nowadays, cast in shades of gray when once they sparkled in his inner sight.
Oh, you're a gloomy one today!
The self-admonishment did not do any good. He wasn't unhappy nor was he happy, but he should be content. He wasn't.
Content.
He rolled the word around on his tongue, tasted it with both his heart and mind. Content was good, content was satisfaction, content was needing nothing even if perhaps wanting something, content was the desired disposition: a Jedi should not embrace extremes of either delirious joy or despairing depression. An even disposition meant an even temper.
A Jedi.
So did that mean he was not one? And why didn't that thought itself frighten him? He didn't know how to be anything but a Jedi.
He leaned forward on his elbows and rested his chin in the palms of his hands. He was actually thinking - of how he felt. How bizarre. He'd been feeling with little thought of just how he was feeling, since – since his world had crashed around him. Now his mind was questioning his feelings.
He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Or maybe my scattered wits are just circling around my head trying to fit back together?
He sighed, wondering when and if he would ever feel normal again; wondered what normal even was. The insecurities that had plagued him most of his life? The anger that lessened as self-confidence grew? The acceptance, even caring, he had come to expect from the man who now no longer cared? He had found his place in life, or so he'd thought, only to lose it – the boy who had known he was meant to be a Jedi and had finally felt worthy to be called one – was now what? Who was he now; who was he to be now that what he was, was no longer?
A small head nudged his hand. Stop thinking, start scratching. Obi-Wan glanced down and chuckled.
"Yes, your needs are more immediate, aren't they?" he murmured.
So he gave in to the moment and the demand, merely sitting, a finger of one hand scratching the slightly battered ears of the old felinoid who seemed to have adopted him.
A low rumble of pleasure was followed by a tap of a paw against his thigh. Obligingly, he moved into a cross legged position as ten pounds of warm fur jumped lightly into his lap, turned around and around several times before settling down to gaze up at him through half-slitted eyes, all six paws kneading the fabric of his leggings.
Mrrrph was followed by a wide yawn.
"I'm not fond of pathetic life forms, you know," he said absently, stroking her fur. In return, his hand was butted in a gesture he had learned was a demand for chin scratches, enforced by tiny but sharp teeth if ignored. "Yes, yes, fond or not, I do obey orders well." He suited actions to words.
Obi-Wan was glad to be away from the Temple; away from sympathetic eyes and unuttered words. Away from the nickname "Sith-killer" he'd been graced with. Away from all he knew, sitting in a rose garden with blue skies above rather than the constant stream of aerial traffic that filled Coruscant's skies. At the same time, he was not entirely comfortable around Master Dooku, who had swept into the Temple and swept Obi-Wan away with him to Serreno.
Master Dooku: he who had told Qui-Gon to jettison Obi-Wan so long ago as being unworthy.
Master Dooku: he who had been rumored to have had words with his former padawan before asking Obi-Wan if he wished a change of scenery and then whisked him away almost before he could formulate a response.
Master Dooku: he who had barely spoken to him on the journey or since arrival late the night before. He was treated as an honored guest, but so far had been left to his own devices by and large.
Obi-Wan wondered why, but Qui-Gon had been drilling patience into him for years. In time the reason would become clear. So he had unpacked his few things in the lavish bedroom with its large windows and expensive hand-crafted furniture, stood for some time on the small balcony overlooking the estate grounds before the cool air herded him back inside to sit before the fire – a real wood fire in an old-fashioned real fireplace – before he had finally tumbled between the shimmersilk sheets.
Cozy and warm in a bed large enough for three, settled in luxury as he so rarely had the chance to experience, he had dreamed not of those rare occasions, but of others: hard ground and bone chilling dampness that his cloak could not cushion or entirely barricade himself from. He had been far from comfortable, physically, those few times shelter had been but a cloak and the stars, but it had been no true discomfort those times because of who he was with; the man he had admired above all others.
Mentor, teacher, and friend.
Master and Apprentice they had been, Jinn and Kenobi, together overcoming shared hardship and adversity with soft laughter and fond memories, finding in both sufficient warmth to ease the night before them.
"Are you enjoying yourself, Obi-Wan?"
The question came without warning over dinner, the first time Obi-Wan had seen Master Dooku since their arrival. Both sat at the end of a table meant for twenty or more. With just the two of them, the elegant room was chill and formal. The food before them, in contrast, was plain and hearty, the wine, very expensive and very good. Obi-Wan lifted his head and saw genuine interest on Master Dooku's face.
After a hesitant pause, he courteously said, "Yes, sir, I am."
"Good." Dooku studied him; then smiled. "I had hoped we would have moved beyond mere courtesy by now to – better terms. We are of the same line after all."
"Sir." Obi-Wan paused and folded his fingers in his lap. "You have been most kind, but I must ask – you have not taken an interest in me or my training since – since you told Master Jinn – he should give me up. Why have you now taken an interest in my feelings or well being?"
The bushy eyebrows rose in admiration. "Well spoken, my boy and quite – mistaken. I never advised Qui-Gon – ah," Dooku appeared rather perplexed at some nagging tickle. "Ah," he coughed, "yes, I believe I did advise my padawan he had best give you up – if he was not prepared to accord you the proper respect a padawan deserved. I feared the relationship between you two would be detrimental to you both if he didn't shape up."
"With due respect, sir, I'm not sure I'm prepared to accept that." Obi-Wan stared at his plate; hating that he could once again feel the slap of that long ago comment as clearly as when he had been an insecure thirteen year old padawan realizing that the home he had thought he found was just an illusion, a place and a position, but not a home, never a place where he truly belonged but only resided. He looked up then, his eyes quiet and calm upon the older man. "You never once spoke to me and you rarely visited my master after that."
"Qui-Gon and I were close, but we never had the relationship the two of you developed. I angered him when I spoke out and we more or less parted ways at that time. He did not appreciate my blunt honesty."
"Did you appreciate his feelings, Master Dooku?"
"Well, well." Dooku raised an eyebrow and sat back, studying his grand-padawan. "After several years of indulging his feelings, I no longer felt the need. For a Jedi preaching 'live in the moment' he was neglecting his moment shamefully in my estimation – he was neglecting his new padawan. He had no business accepting you if he was not prepared to accept you fully and release his past. You still bear those scars, Obi-Wan and don't tell me you don't – don't give me that line about releasing your feelings into the Force and all is behind you now – you're human. You were young. You got over it as all humans do, but you didn't get rid of it. It lives inside you and it just got all stirred up by Qui-Gon's latest foolishness, or idiocy as I see it."
"Yes, well…"
"He visited me, just before that last mission of yours. Ah, that got your interest, did it?" Dooku waggled a finger at him. "Something's going on, my boy. This Qui-Gon is not the same man who was here feeling the approaching loss of his padawan; we commiserated together about growing old. He was missing you, my boy, even before you had gone. This young prodigy may have grabbed his attention but there has to be something else going on."
"With respect, sir -"
"Think, Obi-Wan; you are reputed to be a reasonably logical man. Has my padawan ever been deliberately cruel? Have any of his fancies engaged his attention as long as this new padawan of his? No."
Stung by the implied criticism, and honest enough to admit he had not thought of anything but his own feelings, he retorted with what he had more than once voiced yet never quite accepted until now, "He will follow any path set before him by the Force – and set aside anything at its request."
"With an appalling lack of tact and common sense, no, I refuse to believe that. You must refute it as well – use your mind, not your heart."
"My mind tells me he is the Jedi we all seek to be." Obi-Wan shoved back his chair, not ready to have this conversation; unwilling to have this conversation, because if he truly believed that his former master was following nothing more or less than the will of the Force – what did that say about him?
"Would you behave so?"
The question stopped him as effectively as a hand on his arm. "I am not as good a servant to the Force; no, I could not." His voice was as hollow as the realization. "Capable," had been the best commendation Qui-Gon Jinn had been able to dredge up before the Council seemingly so long ago. Incapable was more like it. Who was he to doubt the Force, to stand against its wishes?
A heavy hand descended on his shoulder, taking him by surprise. "Then let me ask you this: would the Force ask you to abandon someone – anyone – in the cruelest manner possible when that very someone is pouring out his very life to save yours?"
The weight of his realization bowed his head. "The Force would never ask such a thing; it dictates what we do but not how we do it."
"Then why do you believe Qui-Gon was following the Force's will?"
Obi-Wan knuckled his eyes, feeling the warmth of tears that wished release. He would not give himself the satisfaction. "Because it hurts less that way."
Dooku stepped back and studied him, before nodding. "So you'd rather take the lesser pain than seek an explanation that might remove it all?"
That stiffened his spine and silenced his words. Was that his truth? His motivation?
Cowardice?
Then he clearly was no Jedi.
"Bring Kenobi to me; the boy as well."
Well, accidents did happen, BB smirked to himself. "Accidental" dismemberment in the course of capturing a trained Jedi could easily be explained. Especially since the Jedi in question had already accounted for one Sith.
As for the boss, well, he'd get his comeuppance in time. The little skirt he hungered after – well, he knew how to "invade the boss's territory," so to speak, how to leave his mark in flesh and on the soul. Let her struggle, it would only deepen his pleasure. He'd always liked the rough rides, the bumpy journeys to and from orbit to the smooth hyperspace sailing between the stars. When he was done, his hate and lust spilled in a harsh cacophony of sound and motion , "BB was here" would be carved across her no-doubt-shapely hips, her torn body a blazing signpost.
All in time, of course, but a greater lust burned within him: the lust for vengeance against one who mocked him just by living. Before the corpse could cool, perhaps even while the light faded from eyes to the empty gaze into eternity, he would spill retribution in shades of liquid yellow or even milky white over the ocher and crimson canvas of his masterpiece.
What a giggle that would be…more colorful, too, than the patchwork quilt of black and blue he'd almost created under the very noses of the Jedi. If he hadn't been interrupted, so nearly caught – but he had been interrupted and nearly caught.
He had thought at first to be cheated from his revenge when Qui-Gon Jinn had nearly struck Kenobi. His fist had lashed out – and halted, as if by Kenobi's tears. Weepy-Wan, the wonder boy.
Instead, the fist had smashed into something less satisfying than Kenobi's flesh. The look of bewildered horror on the Jedi master's face, oh how that had almost made him swallow a giggle. The look on Kenobi's face – had been priceless. Truly, had the blow landed it would have been less painful, but rather than mar the flesh, it had seared the soul.
All BB had done was nearly destroy the body left behind. Jinn had already taken the rest.
Only his instinct for self preservation had made him cast his stick aside and flee when approaching footsteps threatened to entrap him. Jinn – Jinn had returned; Jinn paced outside and further sodden thumps would be overheard and investigated. BB had decided to be satisfied with which each had contrived between them, in an unwilling and unrecognized "collaboration": Kenobi's body still lived – but his mind had fled.
Yet somehow that been returned to him as well, just as another opportunity had been given to BB himself to finish the job once and for all. Revenge would be so sweet.
Quite the giggle, in fact.