DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Reluctantly, he returned to his quarters within the Temple. He was relieved to find that the air circulators had got rid of the worst of the burning smell. He shed his outer robe, and moved to the bathing chamber. Once inside, he faced his reflection in the mirror, grimly. He lifted a comb.
A listener in the outer room might have thought the master was fighting a fierce battle against an inexorable enemy. The muffled expletives, occasional thump, and heavy breathing certainly suggested it.
When he was finished, Qui-Gon regarded his reflection, and shut his eyes, and counted to ten.
Then twenty.
Then fifty.
At one-hundred, his temper was securely back under control, and he opened his eyes again.
The tangles were gone-- that was a mercy. However, the effort expended to manage this had left the ends... poofy. He turned his head to the side slightly. The view didn't improve in the least. The right side was sleek and well-behaved. The left side was... poofy. He bent over the sink. *Perhaps, if I run water over it....*
The jet of scalding water that emerged from the tap was an instant reply to *that* foolish idea. The Master bolted upright, left side of his face stinging and reddening already. He forced himself to calm down, breathing slowly and evenly through clenched teeth.
*I'll just wear the mess in a braid,* he decided, and proceeded to plait his hair. To his relief, it cooperated. *Now, a tie....* Holding the end of the thick braid in his fingers, he looked for a thong. Nothing. *There-- an elastic.*
It promptly snapped. So did the second one. And the third.
Finally, he managed to secure his hair... although his dignity was in distinct absence. He deliberately avoided his reflection, this time, and stalked back out into the living room. Part of him was tempted to simply go back to bed and hide under the blankets. But the part of him that was optimistic suggested that the day could hardly get any worse; and, it was only his pride that was hurt. Jedi should be humble, after all.
"Right. Humble." Gathering his serenity and peace of mind around him with an effort, he emerged from his quarters, ready to face the afternoon. In the process, he nearly knocked over a small boy.
He looked down.
The boy looked up. And up.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi, isn't it?" he asked, when it became obvious the boy wasn't going to speak first.
"Yes, sir."
"Is there something I can do for you?"
"No, sir."
There was another pause. "Are you sure?"
"No, sir."
Another pause. Qui-Gon took a slow, cleansing breath. "Would you like to walk with me?" he suggested.
The boy looked relieved. "Yes, sir, thank you."
They walked in silence for a moment. The boy spoke first, thank the Force.
"Sir-- how did you know you were going to be a Jedi?"
*So that's what's troubling him.* "The Force told me, I suppose; although I didn't know it at the time. I had thought I would be a farmer."
"So did I," Obi-Wan admitted. "But when they brought me here... I thought they had to know what they were doing. But, sir-- I think...." He trailed off.
"You think, perhaps they were wrong about you."
Obi-Wan stopped, and stared. "Yes-- but how did you know that?"
"I think everyone who has ever trained here has felt that way, at some point."
"Everyone? Even... even you?"
"Oh, yes. I couldn't seem to do anything right. I was too tall, and too thin, and I fell over my own feet constantly. I ran into people all the time, and I even knocked Master Yoda over, once."
The boy's eyes were enormous. "You didn't!"
"I'm afraid so. It wasn't one of my better moments," the Jedi admitted, still able to remember his embarrassment and horror.
"That must've been awful."
"It was. But I don't think that's your problem, is it?"
"No, sir. Nothing makes sense," he said, very quietly. "Everyone else seems to understand the lessons. I'm the only one who always has to ask a question before I get it. Sometimes I still don't get it, even after I ask."
"And a Jedi should always know everything."
The boy nodded. Qui-Gon could feel the misery radiating from him.
"Obi-Wan, have you ever been to the creche?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you seen the very small children? The babies?"
"Yes, sir." He looked puzzled.
"Then you've seen the way they learn to walk right away. The moment they learn to stand, they know how to walk, how to run."
"But-- but--"
"Yes, Obi-Wan?"
"That isn't how it happens, at all!" the boy burst out, then reddened yet again. "I mean-- I'm sorry, sir, but that isn't how it happens."
"It isn't?"
"No, sir. They have to learn to... oh."
"They have to learn to what?"
"To walk. They take little steps, and then bigger steps."
"And?"
"And? And... and sometimes, they fall down."
They were both quiet for a while, as they continued their walk.
"I think I understand, sir."
"Do you? Good."
"I guess I better go. I have class soon."
"On your way, then. Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Keep asking questions." With his best enigmatic smile, Qui-Gon strode away, down the hall, around the corner, his robe billowing out around him in approved Jedi Master style.
Obi-Wan watched him go, eyes wide with hero-worship. He slowly turned, and headed to class, head full of new ideas.
As he strode off, Qui-Gon's mind was elsewhere, until--
"Slow down, you should," a voice said, from below him. A somewhat testy voice, of a somewhat testy Jedi Master.
"Oh. Oh, damn. May I help you up, sir?"
"Get up by myself, I can! Not that old, I am."
"Yes, sir. No, sir. Of course not, sir."
"Why in such a hurry, are you?"
"I was... Master, may we speak? I have a question for you...."
"Ask, then. Getting any younger, I am not."