Archive: SWAL, m_a, WWOMB and JAOA
Approached from the night side, Coruscant glittered with the lines of a
thousand lights against the dark backdrop of space. Obi-Wan watched it
from the small viewport, his fingers cold and numb where he pressed them
to the metal bulkhead. Coruscant spun lazily above the transport,
falling larger and larger into the view as the orbital descent began.
The door to the small lounge hissed open. Obi-Wan reluctantly stepped to
one side of the port, half turning towards the familiar signature of the
Force that rippled between them. "Would you like to see, Ani?"
The boy wordlessly joined him at the viewport, looking out at the
approaching planet. Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile - his Padawan
wore his cloak, the hood pulled up over the brush of his cropped hair to
keep head and ears warm. The boy was perpetually cold during space
travel. It was partially truth, partially habit... and partially that he
was too thin, Obi-Wan noted, the smile changing to a frown as he looked
at the raw angles of the bones in his Padawan's wrists. Anakin had hit
his first adolescent growth spurt in the last months, shooting up faster
than any amount of feeding could keep flesh on his bones. His cloak hung
inches above his ankles, the sleeves not reaching to the cuffs of his
tunic.
"We'll need to get you another cloak this visit," Obi-Wan told the boy,
reaching out to tug on the mended hem of one sleeve.
Anakin glanced down, startled, then grinned a little sheepishly. "I
can't help it."
"Nor should you," Obi-Wan told him. Shrugging, he smiled softly. "There
was a period of a few years where I think I had to get entirely new sets
of clothes every other assignment. We all go through it at your age."
Anakin made a face. "I wish I could get it over with. I'm all elbows! I
don't like being clumsy."
The statement, made so earnestly, brought a small chuckle from Obi-Wan.
"Maybe someday I'll tell you how bad I was at your age. Everyone goes
through it, and everyone grows out of it."
Around them, the subtle hum and shiver of the transport engines changed
as the ship entered Coruscant's gravity well. Obi-Wan glanced out of the
viewport, where the edges of the planet had been lost beyond the small
port's view space and the lights of Coruscant grew larger second by
second. Nodding, he dropped a hand to Anakin's shoulder. "We're almost
there. Are your things packed?"
"Yes, sir," Anakin replied. Following Obi-Wan's gaze out of the
viewport, he cocked his head. "Master Obi-Wan... could I ask you
something?"
"'May' you," Obi-Wan corrected automatically. "Of course, Anakin."
"Do you like coming back to Coruscant?" Anakin asked curiously. "I
mean... do you miss it when we're away?"
Surprised, Obi-Wan looked down at his Padawan, who was watching him with
a small thoughtful frown between his fair brows. "I suppose I do," the
Jedi Knight admitted. "It's the only home I've ever known."
Anakin nodded, the frown clearing away. He turned to look out the
viewport, where the lights had enlarged to the dotted patterns of
buildings and traffic streams and from there to nearly discernable
landmarks. The boy's face clouded again as he looked out into the
darkness above the city. "Do you think we've missed evening meal?" he
asked, his dismay at the thought almost comical.
Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head. "If we have I'll see if the kitchens
can't be called upon to have mercy on a starving Padawan." Turning away
from the viewport, he headed for the door. "Come along, Ani. We'll be
landing in another minute."
He really did miss it, Obi-Wan decided. Not Coruscant itself, but the
Jedi Temple. There was a feeling to the living Force that wrapped the
venerable structure, soothing and warm, like an embrace that one stepped
into as one walked from the landing platform to the Temple proper.
The night was a calm one, the air thin and cool at that height. Anakin,
his bag slung over one shoulder, shivered. Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a
gentle shove. "Go on, Ani. I don't think evening meal is over yet - if
you hurry you should have time to fill a plate."
Anakin darted off, but slowed and turned after a few steps. "What about
you, Master?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm going to go unpack and find a shower."
The boy's eyes narrowed slightly, then he grinned a little, nodding
knowingly. "I've got some studying to do... maybe I can go to the
library after the meal."
Caught between embarassment and relief, Obi-Wan shook his head again,
trying to look stern. "Impudent Padawan. Go on, or they won't feed you
at all."
"Yes, sir!" Grinning brightly, Anakin whirled, dashing off up the steps
of the main entrace.
Obi-Wan followed at a more sedate pace, wishing all the while that he
was still of an age where dashing headlong through the corridors would
be overlooked. Knowing it wouldn't, he contented himself with
lengthening his strides, taking the steps two at a time. Anticipation
and a flurry of other emotions made him tap his fingers impatiently when
the lift did not arrive quickly enough, and put a small - very small -
bounce in his step when he reached the level of their living
quarters.
Their very dark, quiet and empty living quarters. Powering up the
lights, Obi-Wan walked through the deserted central room to peer through
the open door of the sleeping chamber he shared with his former Master.
That room was empty as well, the suite still and silent.
Frowning, Obi-Wan let his bag and cloak fall to the nearest chair. The
sleeping couch was neatly made, the room tidied, but a cup of long cold
tea on the worktable told its own tale. Raking a hand through the loose
waves of his hair, the Jedi Knight closed his eyes and cast his mind
out, seeking for the one particular resonance of the Force that he
wanted.
It came to him immediately, surging through their bond with comforting
familiarity. With it came a rush of emotions - tiredness and frustration
and tightly controlled anger. Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, worry
deepening the crease of his frown.
Dignity was abandoned in a jarring, ground eating stride down the nearly
deserted corridor. Back to the lifts and down six levels, following the
cord of the bond like a physical thing, a string held between his
fingers. Outside of the practice halls he slowed, walking past the
entrance to each until the ripple flared through one in particular.
Sighing, he palmed the door open and entered the room.
The tiny practice chamber was large enough to accomodate two users but
only one currently occupied the circular floor. The hum of the pale
green lightsaber was muted, damped down to low power, barely audible
above the higher pitched hum of the training droid that circled the
floor.
Qui-Gon stood in the center of the chamber, his mouth below the
blindfold set into a stubborn line. He had stripped off his tunics and
the bright lights shone on his chest and back, the freshest scars a
livid angry red against his pale skin. More marks splotched his torso
and arms, the fading red points where the training droid had marked
him.
Obi-Wan pressed his lips into a thin line, leaning back against the
doorframe to watch. The spherical droid circled, bobbing erratically. He
felt the soft surge in the Force as it unleashed a bolt, saw his former
Master feel it as well. The big man moved, fluid, saber leaping
unerringly for where the bolt would impact. Obi-Wan had watched Qui-Gon
in that dance too many times to count, both in training and in deadly
serious reality, the block coming effortlessly and rarely missed. But
now... now, in the midst of the movement that came as natural as breath
he watched as muscle and scar tissue pulled across the wide shoulders,
pulled and caught, jerking the motion short. Reflex saved the big man,
whirling him around on the ball of one foot so that the bolt just passed
him. Swearing softly with a vocabulary that would do a smuggler proud,
Qui-Gon caught his balance and dropped back into the ready position.
The younger man had seen enough. Reaching over to the small control
console set beside the door, he powered down the training droid. Hearing
the change, Qui-Gon straightened, reaching up to pull the blindfold off.
"Obi-Wan," he growled, the irritated warning evident in his tone.
Obi-Wan didn't respond. Leaving the door, he stepped down into the floor
proper, reaching to unclip his own lightsaber and unfasten his belt.
Transfering the saber from hand to hand, he stripped out of outer and
inner tunics, leaving them piled beside Qui-Gon's own. The pale blue
violet of his lightsaber sprang out with a sharp hum that decreased as
he thumbed the power to low. Taking a place two armslengths from
Qui-Gon, he turned to face the older man and dropped easily into the
first, most basic posture. "First form," he instructed softly. "The flow
of defense."
Qui-Gon's face was flushed, stubborn anger set in his eyes and mouth.
"Obi-Wan," he warned again, but the younger man cut him off.
"Do it," he snapped out, his iron tone the same which sent Anakin
scurrying to do what he was told. Rebellion screamed in every line of
the older man's body but he obediently assumed the position, waiting.
Obi-Wan waited a heartbeat, then let himself flow into the simple, clean
lines of the attacking positions for the first form. Saber met saber
with a buzzing hum and a clash of sparks as Qui-Gon moved easily into
the defense position to meet him. It was a form children mastered,
initiates too young to be taken as Padawans, the basic positions off
which other, more advanced, forms were built. The two men went through
it at a speed no training initiate ever attempted, lightsabers forming a
bright pattern through the air, the screaming humm and sparks almost
constant.
The end of the pattern brought them back to their original positions,
armslengths apart, sabers raised between them. Obi-Wan waited another
heartbeat before calling out "Second form" and moving immediately into
the first movement. Qui-Gon met him without hesitation, the excercise
circling about a second time. The flaw came mid-way through it, the
block for an overhead strike jerking slightly, a fraction of a second
slower than it should have been. Obi-Wan noted it but continued on,
already calling out "Third form" as they went into the final position of
the second.
Third form, then, each one advancing a level from the one before, the
speed faster, the circle longer and containing more moves. Qui-Gon
stumbled on a second overhand strike, recovering it with blunt accuracy
but little grace. It was a back cut that undid him, drawing a wordless
sound of protest from him as the muscles of chest and shoulder stretched
around scar tissue to meet the demands of the move and failed. Obi-Wan
slipped easily past the failed defense, saber blade halting so close to
Qui-Gon's ribs that the other man, frozen, could feel its heat and the
tickle of the crackling energy.
Obi-Wan waited one final heartbeat, then switched his lightsaber off and
straightened. "Third form, position seven," he said softly. "I could do
that when I was eleven."
Qui-Gon slowly lowered his lightsaber, switching it off. In the silence
that fell his breath gasped heavily, wide chest heaving as he struggled
to pull in enough air. The flush of his face had become mottled
blotches, stark white and red. Sweat trickled down his cheeks and chest,
dampening his hair and darkening it to a deep steel grey that bristled
out sharply from the curve of his skull.
Unwilling to meet the younger man's gaze, Qui-Gon dropped his own eyes.
The hand that held his lightsaber trembled, muscles tensing. Obi-Wan
could feel echoes of an inner turmoil, locked tight behind shields that
dropped down between them like blast doors. He stood quiet, waiting
patiently. At length Qui-Gon half turned, stiffly holding out his
lightsaber to the younger man. Obi-Wan took it but the Jedi Master did
not immediately release it, holding on for another long moment before
letting his hand drop.
A quick, Force assisted motion tossed both lightsabers to the edge of
the room, where they landed neatly atop the crumpled tunics. Stepping
close, Obi-Wan reached out and drew Qui-Gon's stiff shoulders into an
embrace.
In another heartbeat the stiffness crumbled. Wirey arms reached around
him, closed and held tight. Obi-Wan shifted his weight to his toes to
close the difference between their heights, sliding his fingers into the
bristle of short cropped hair and firmly pulling the older man's head
down to his shoulder, Qui-Gon's beard scratching against his neck. The
arms tightened around his waist, giving him a moment's forewarning
before Qui-Gon folded his knees and drew them both down to the floor.
The position made it easier, equalling out their disparate heights
better. Obi-Wan drew Qui-Gon against him, cradeling the larger man as
silent tremors shuddered through him. One hand crept down out of habit,
pressing to the smooth knot of scars to measure the heat pouring off of
them and feel the spasmodic twitch of the overextended surrounding
muscles. The other reached up, stroking gently through hair cropped as
short as his own had been only years before. "Oh, love," he whispered
softly, his voice breaking. [Qui-Gon... love...]
The shields cracked, emotions boiling forth in a maelstrom. Frustrated
anger, helpless fear, grief and pain. Obi-Wan opened himself, taking the
emotions in and channeling them back as silent support and love. The
breath of a sob caught in the older man's exhale, swallowed back.
Trembling, he leaned into Obi-Wan's arms, his hands fisted tight against
the younger man's back.
They sat like that, held and holding, until some of the emotions eased;
caught and dispersed, released slowly into the Force as the Jedi Master
calmed himself. Breathing deeply, Qui-Gon slowly shook his head,
pressing his cheek to Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"Years," Qui-Gon whispered hoarsely. "It's been years..."
"One of which you spent mostly on your back, convalescing," Obi-Wan
interjected reasonably. "The second was in physical therapy."
"Two years, then" Qui-Gon growled. Sitting up abruptly, he broke away.
Obi-Wan let him go, watching as the older man dropped his head against
his raised knees, hands clasped against the back of his neck. "Sith! Two
years of trying to regain what was lost, and for what?" Raising
his head, he held out his hands. Reaction was setting in, his arms
visibly trembling as muscles in the broad shoulders spasmed. Qui-Gon
groaned softly, closing his eyes. "It's not getting any better," he
admitted at last, softly.
"Then maybe you should stop trying to force it," Obi-Wan replied gently.
"The healers did say it might not."
"But they also said it might," Qui-Gon protested, then sighed,
the sound drawn from the depths of his body on a wave of despair.
"They can only do so much," Obi-Wan said. Reaching out, he placed a
light hand against Qui-Gon's chest. "They can replace limbs, bone - even
the lung, if you would let them. But they can't replace every ligament
and muscle. Not without rebuilding all of it." He let his hand drop from
shoulder to waist, tracing the scars and muscles.
Qui-Gon caught his hand, threading their fingers together. The trembling
was gradually easing but small tremors still ran down his arm and
through his hand, making it flutter against Obi-Wan's own. "No," he said
firmly. "No. If it was something small - a finger, a hand - maybe. But
not this. It's too much."
Obi-Wan nodded. It was an old discussion, begun from the moment Qui-Gon
had woken in his sickbed and continued until the Jedi Master had
thoroughly convinced everyone that he truly meant what he said. The
mechanical disruption of so much, so near to his heart, would change the
way he sensed the living Force. Qui-Gon had insisted that he would find
the physical adjustments easier to make than relearning how to touch the
Force. In clearer retrospect, Obi-Wan wasn't so certain.
"A wise man knows his limitations and works around them," he quoted
quietly. Qui-Gon laughed mirthlessly.
"There's limitations, and then there's crippling," he said bitterly. He
turned his head away, still refusing to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "A wise man
admits defeat."
Squeezing the hand in his own, Obi-Wan tried to offer what comfort he
could to that deadened voice. "Why is it defeat? A Jedi does so much
more than fight. You are one of the finest teachers the Temple has. Why
define yourself by combat? You won't be the first or the last who has
been injured and can no longer fight as they once did. Master Yoda can
not walk without his staff. Master Koon sits on the Council, and he has
no eyes."
"A blind Jedi can still defend themselves as a Jedi," Qui-Gon replied.
He gestured to the cast off blindfold on the floor. "Isn't that the
purpose of the lesson? To learn to trust the Force, without the
distraction of sight? Plo Koon is a more dangerous opponent now then he
ever was before. Whereas I am..."
"A Jedi Master," Obi-Wan finished firmly. "Probably one of the strongest
with the living Force. An excellent teacher - I shall challenge anyone
who contradicts me on that - and a skilled diplomat and wise man. The
Senate would take you as the Temple liason in a heartbeat."
Qui-Gon snorted. "No. The Chancellor and I have had words. I doubt they
would welcome me back quite so openly."
Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "Chancellor Palpatine does have a sharper side
to him, doesn't he? No, I can't see the two of you being best of
friends. Just as well. You hate sitting through Senate meetings anyways.
What of teaching, then? You could take your pick of any class in the
Temple. And when Master Rancisis steps down they're going to try to talk
you into a Council seat again."
"I don't want a Council seat," the Jedi Master snapped, rubbing
irritably at his temples with his free hand. "Mace knows that. I'll
teach. It's the only thing I can do. I certainly can't leave the Temple
like this."
"Ah," Obi-Wan breathed softly. Leaning forward, he rested his cheek
against the older man's shoulder. "That's the real problem, isn't
it?"
There was no reply but Qui-Gon's hand tightened on his, the grip
crushing in its silent desperation. Obi-Wan shifted until he could slip
his free arm around the other man's waist, drawing them closer once
more. "Is it so hard, watching us leave for assignment?" he asked
quietly. "I promise you, love, I will always bring us back to you, Ani
and I. Always."
Qui-Gon shivered slightly. "What if you can't?" he asked gruffly.
The younger man smiled. "If I can't then I can't," he said firmly. "But
I shall fall content in the knowledge that you are here, and safe. I
will pass into the Force only when I know, on my last breath, that
Anakin, at least, will return to you." He gripped the other man's chin,
forcing Qui-Gon to look up and meet his eyes. "It is the same thing you
would do, were our positions reversed."
Qui-Gon slowly closed his eyes, then nodded. "It doesn't make it easier,
Obi-Wan."
"No, I don't imagine that it does," the younger man said softly. Qui-Gon
opened his eyes, momentarily startled, then slowly smiled, a bittersweet
expression. Freeing their hands, he reached up to draw them closer
together.
Obi-Wan sighed, resting his head on his lover's broad shoulder. All of
the love that he could draw from his soul flowed between them but he
knew, in the face of that cold kernel of fear, that it would never be
enough. Was, in fact, the cause. Eased now, the kernel would bloom
again, each time the older man was forced to watch them leave on
assignment and to wait the silent vigil, unsure if they would return. It
was a personal battle, one which Qui-Gon fought and would continue to
fight within himself. The only thing Obi-Wan could do to ease the demon
was continue to keep his promise.
"Try not to worry too much," he suggested, trying for a lighter tone to
break the heavy sobriety. "If Anakin is right then we'll both be at his
wedding, and that gives us a few years at least."
Despite himself, Qui-Gon laughed softly. "If Anakin is right, he's going
to marry that headstrong young queen. Can you imagine their
children?"
Mock groaning, Obi-Wan sat back, shaking his head. "Ah no, Qui-Gon. No
indeed, Master. I can imagine it, and training Anakin is enough
for this Knight. No more Skywalkers."
A hint of the bitterness crept back into Qui-Gon's eyes, but he shook
his head gamely as he rose to his feet. "Well, I certainly can't train
them. A combination of those two... the child would make a fine Jedi,
wouldn't it?"
"Oh, certainly," Obi-Wan said with a trace of sarcasm, accepting a hand
up. "Arrogant, demanding, headstrong, imperious, exuberant, boisterous,
rebellious..."
"Intelligent, quick witted, good hearted, generous, and brave," Qui-Gon
finished. Then he smiled, the expression reaching the deep blue of his
eyes for the first time. "Assuming, of course, that our young Ani is
right about the wedding. He's quite taken with her, isn't he?"
"Apparently it's mutual. They keep in touch." Walking to the edge of the
floor, Obi-Wan stooped to retreive his tunics.
Qui-Gon, following after him, crouched and picked up his lightsaber,
turning the slim hilt over in his hands as he looked at it. Finally, he
turned and offered it to the younger man on his palm, a deep sadness
carving lines about his expressive mouth. "It seems a shame to neglect
it just because I can't use it as it should be used."
Touched, Obi-Wan reached out. He hesitated for a moment, then placed his
own hand over Qui-Gon's and forced the larger fingers shut around the
hilt. "Then use it however you can. If the first two forms are all you
can do, then do them." He met Qui-Gon's gaze firmly. "Not as part
of some agenda, but because you need it."
The Jedi Master hesitated, then nodded. Watching as Obi-Wan withdrew his
hand, he shook his head. "When did you become the Master?" he asked
softly.
Obi-Wan laughed. "I don't think I have," he admitted. "I wake every
morning and look in the mirror and wonder who that young fool is who's
trying to masquerade about in a Master's robes." He pulled a mournfully
worried face. "And what's going to happen to him when the Council
catches on."
Qui-Gon smiled. Standing, he slipped an arm around Obi-Wan's waist,
turning the younger man to face him. "If that happens I might actually
have to take that Council seat and convince them of their error."
Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to the Knight's upturned brow.
"Have I said 'welcome home', yet?"
"Not yet," Obi-Wan breathed, eyes closed and a smile playing about his
lips.
"Hm. Terribly remiss of me," Qui-Gon mused. "Welcome home, Obi-Wan." The
kiss began slowly and continued until both had to break for breath.
"Where did you leave the boy?"
"At evening meal. And after that, the library." Obi-Wan considered, head
tilted back, eyes half closed. "If we go back now, we should have some
time before he returns."
Qui-Gon tilted his head, gaze sliding consideringly to the doors of the
practice chamber. "Those doors do lock," he suggested, only half in
jest.
Obi-Wan shook his head vigorously. "And this floor is hard," he
countered. "Never again. I've been on a transport for three days,
Qui-Gon. I want a shower and my own sleeping couch, in that order."
"What was that about demanding?" Stealing another not-so-quick kiss, the
Jedi Master reluctantly released the other man and stooped to pick up
his own tunics. "A shower first, then. We could both use it. After
that..."
Obi-Wan grinned, a touch impishly. "After that," he interrupted, "I
expect to be welcomed home with more enthusiasm. This was a long
assignment."
"Enthusiastic but quiet," Qui-Gon mused. "That might be arranged."
Gesturing Obi-Wan to proceed him from the chamber, he powered down the
lights and let the door slide shut behind them.
Category: AU, Angst, H/C
JAOA Webpage: http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/garden/jaoa.html
Disclaimer:
Feedback: Yes yes yes... always appreciated, frequently
begged for.
Notes: *Black Rose shakes the Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon plot bunnies
that have locked their teeth around her ankles* They're not
very subtle when they want attention, are they? This is
what I call a "tweener" - a little filler piece that
actually falls between TPM and the JAOA prelude. *points to
the plot bunnies who are starting to gnaw* Blame them!
[this is telepathy] and these are thoughts
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: PG
Series: JAOA
Spoilers: TMP, ANH
Summary: Obi-Wan returns from an assignment to a frustrated
Qui-Gon.
Warning: It's mild angst and even a few bits of humor for safety's
sake.