Archive: Master and Apprentice, SWAL and The Nesting Place only; all
others ask first please.
...running endlessly, frozen solid with the cold decimation of fear,
the movement of air through his tortured lungs a searing misery - no
time to whisper his broken needing, his failures, no voice to apologize
for the things left thrown aside carelessly, the incautious baggage of a
youth who expected too much, and lived as though there would be endless
second chances...this was his penance for failing, and he was
destroyed...
Obi-Wan Kenobi snapped out of his dream with a jarring, sickening jolt.
Sweat clung to every part of his body, drenching him, a disgusting
reminder of his nightmare. His chest heaved with repressed panic as he
sucked in air through his teeth, trying to stifle the outward sounds of
his distress. Hastily, he clamped down tightly on wildly storming
emotions, the sweeping waves of loathing and grief pulling taut within
his mind, shrinking to a tiny flash, then disappearing into his control.
His eyes immediately went to his Master, on the sleeping couch near his
own. Rigid with anxiety, he listened for long moments, hoping he had
stilled his thoughts quickly enough to avoid disturbing the older man.
Qui-Gon's shoulders moved slightly with his even, calm breathing. As he
fixed his eyes on the reassuring movement of his Master's back, Obi-Wan
felt his own breathing level out and become quiet. An occasional
hitching noise escaped from his throat, something like a muffled sob,
but he snatched back those sounds and battered them into silence.
Finally, after several minutes, he felt capable of movement. He
immediately drew back into the corner of his bed, pressed himself
against the wall, and cowered there, arms wrapped around the legs he'd
drawn up tightly against his body.
Sleeping was a torment to him now. He'd spent two precious platonic
nights in his Master's arms, comforted by Qui-Gon's loving presence,
before the specters of pain had begun to penetrate him once again,
sighing their persuasive evil into his unconscious mind. Ever vigilant,
the Jedi healers had spoken to Qui-Gon privately, and Obi-Wan found
himself back in his own bed before he could protest. In his most secret
heart, he was glad of it. He did not want Qui-Gon to know how deeply,
how horribly he was scarred by what had taken place on Echuro, and how
truly he despaired of ever ridding himself of this vast weakness -- his
failure to be what his Master expected of him -- which plagued him every
night.
In daylight, Obi-Wan spoke words tinged with bravado. He was becoming
almost desperate to resume some sort of intimacy with Qui-Gon. Too much
time had passed, too many events in motion, between those brief weeks of
passion they'd shared, and this melancholy point in his existence. His
Master had switched into a mode of instruction Obi-Wan remembered well
from his earliest training; discussion, repetition of the Code,
questions posed which had no right answer, but were meant only to
provoke contemplation and response. Obi-Wan's memory sent him back to
the afternoon of the day just left behind...
"Tell me, Padawan, what must a Jedi do if the commission of an evil act
by another is unavoidable?"
The answer was something even a fledgling Jedi knew by heart. Obi-Wan
recited by rote. "A Jedi cannot allow evil to occur by inaction. A Jedi
who voluntarily stands by and allows evil to be committed is
encouraging the forces of darkness."
Qui-Gon's eyes bored into him. "And which is the greater of two evils:
to allow one's self to be corrupted, or to allow another to be swayed by
the Dark Side?"
Obi-Wan was silent a moment. The answer should have been easy, but he
wracked his brain to answer the question. What was Qui-Gon really asking
him? Seconds ticked by, lengthening painfully into minutes, and Obi-Wan
felt his Master's pensive, probing gaze on him. He could not think of a
way to answer the question. It was as if his mind had become a blank
slate, one he did not possess enough knowledge to fill. His cheeks
burned with embarrassed fire.
Abruptly, Qui-Gon stood. "Enough for today, Padawan. Let's walk a bit
before dinner." He reached out an arm, draping it about Obi-Wan's
shoulders as his apprentice rose from the low bench in the courtyard of
the Jedi Temple.
Obi-Wan reached out to experience his Master's emotions; the tentative
touch was returned with affection and delight with Obi-Wan's company.
Obi-Wan was somewhat amazed, and puzzled. There was no sense of a task
left incomplete. He was used to the resigned, somewhat frustrated
signature of his Master's thoughts after a bout with Code and philosophy
went badly. This time, he sensed only acceptance and happiness.
"Master?" Obi-Wan felt the need to speak his doubts.
"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon continued his leisurely walk toward the large
Temple dining hall, stopping only when Obi-Wan's shoulders tensed and he
turned toward his teacher.
"I haven't been concentrating as I should on my lessons, and I -"
"The lessons themselves are not important, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's tenderly
chosen words sent a shock of wonder through the younger man. Regardless
of his expectations, his Master was a constant source of surprise to
him. "Only the dialogue is important. You must become accustomed again
to the routine of learning, of your mind expanding to take on new
possibilities. When you are ready, there will be progress. Do not
trouble yourself over it." Qui-Gon stopped, and turned to face Obi-Wan,
his other hand coming to rest on the vacant shoulder. "I am pleased
simply to have you here, whole and well, Padawan."
With those words, Obi-Wan knew his Master's unhesitating devotion, his
patience, his willingness to wait for his Padawan to regain the ground
he'd lost. Obi-Wan saw his Master's eyes close, knowing that mental
obstructions had been lowered. He received an impression of sweeping,
gracious warmth, and he felt his Master's emotions: surging love,
stained with an infinite sadness; a worry and concern so intimate that
Obi-Wan was left breathless. His Master reached out with two gentle
fingers, stroking Obi-Wan's cheek lightly, a touch which conveyed, with
the briefest of sensations, endless wishes left unspoken.
The power of it staggered Obi-Wan. He leaned forward and found himself
stayed by his Master's strong arms. He stood there, basking in the
joyous warmth of those feelings, until Qui-Gon withdrew the overwhelming
flow of passion, one piece at a time. Obi-Wan sensed his Master's
regret, and he straightened to his full height, looking up into the deep
blue eyes.
Without speaking, they turned back toward the dining hall, Qui-Gon's arm
still resting across the top of his Padawan's shoulders, a brace and
anchor against what was still to come.
"Faster," Qui-Gon said calmly. "And this time, don't pull back. I want
to feel the full strength of your blows."
Obi-Wan nodded and swung his saber to the ready, tensing as he watched
his Master's body language, attempting to predict when Qui-Gon would
strike.
Qui-Gon stood relaxed with his hands at his sides, watching his
apprentice's eyes dart from Qui-Gon's face, to his hands, to his legs,
and back again. Inwardly, the teacher sighed. The key to an opponent's
weakness could be seen in the eyes and felt in the Force. Obi-Wan knew
better; it was a lesson hard learned by any student of the Temple before
they reached young adulthood. His apprentice was years past such simple
concepts, and yet he was having trouble remembering even the most basic
aspects of his training. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, hoping to
feel it flowing through and around his Padawan. It was not. The small,
brittle ripples of the Force Obi-Wan was attempting to command were
strangely stunted, out of tune with his body's physical song, and the
overall effect was disturbing.
With a deliberate bid to completely conceal his intent, Qui-Gon suddenly
lifted himself in the air and somersaulted over Obi-Wan's head, a move
the younger man might normally have favored in battle. It was not
Qui-Gon's style, and for this reason, he expected to take Obi-Wan off
guard. It worked. His lightsaber, set on extremely low power, flared
into dangerous brilliance a full half second before Obi-Wan could turn
to block the strike. Qui-Gon slashed down with the saber, cutting
through Obi-Wan's tunic and inflicting a stinging wound.
Obi-Wan made no sound of pain, but his lips tightened, and his fighting
stance improved immediately as he whirled to face his teacher. He
blocked a lightning-quick succession of slicing blows, but his timing
was off, his feet always just a fraction behind where full perception
would have placed them.
Qui-Gon noted all these factors -- Obi-Wan's quickly increasing fatigue,
the way his legs seemed awkward beneath him, how his timing was off, how
the fight seemed to take every spare scrap of energy he possessed.
He pressed the attack even harder.
Obi-Wan was driven back, parrying as fast as he could, but not utilizing
the Force to assist him. Qui-Gon feinted and scored another burn, this
time down the side of Obi-Wan's arm, neatly shredding the cloth above.
Then he pulled back slightly, giving Obi-Wan the chance to press the
offensive.
Obi-Wan dealt a few swift blows, the impact of them far less than
Qui-Gon was used to from his Padawan, but considerably better than their
first practice duel. Qui-Gon saw the look of concentration on his
student's face and began using the defensive moves of a Jedi Master,
calling all his training to bear. A quick cut here, a shallow scorch
there, and Obi-Wan was quickly overwhelmed, struggling to keep his feet
and not fall flat on his back, defenseless beneath the onslaught. What
had been a hesitant offense turned into a desperate defense.
As suddenly as it began, Qui-Gon ended it, deactivating his lightsaber
and stepping away. Obi-Wan froze for a moment, before his muscles turned
to water and flowed out from underneath him like melting snow. He sank
to the floor on his knees and was immediately enfolded in his Master's
arms, the prickle of the older man's beard rasping across his cheek as
he spoke softly in Obi-Wan's ear. "Do not fight your fatigue, Padawan.
Embrace it. Let it cleanse you."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall to Qui-Gon's
shoulder, heavier than stone. "Why did you attack me with all your
strength?" he asked faintly.
"To show you your own strength," his Master said. "You can withstand
all that is thrown against you, Obi-Wan, if you will but learn to bend,
to accept your weakness as a part of you, not something which must be
drawn out and discarded." Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan's weight off of him
and sat on the floor, facing his apprentice. He regarded the young man
with a thoughtful look. "You have endeavored for some time now to right
this wrong within you. That is work enough. You must stop feeling
responsible for my pride."
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, astonished. He began to understand that he
had not fooled his Master; Qui-Gon had simply chosen not to speak of
Obi-Wan's most private battles. Instead, he had allowed Obi-Wan the
freedom to grapple with his problems as he saw fit - a mark of his
Master's respect for his abilities, and his recognition of Obi-Wan's
equality.
Obi-Wan had been seen through, discovered, practically from the first
confident statement he'd made after his healing. And protected, right
from the start, until his Master felt he was ready to face the fears
which besieged him.
"You are strangling your heart by maintaining such rigid control of your
thoughts and feelings, my Padawan." Qui-Gon reproached him without
judgment, in the most compassionate tones. "You do not disappoint me,
Obi-Wan, and least of all for falling victim to my mistakes," his
Master added, every word a weight lifted from Obi-Wan's chest. "When you
are ready, you will find that you are able to eliminate the memories of
your ordeal."
Obi-Wan bowed his head for a moment, overcome by gratitude toward his
Master. The elaborate maze of perception which was haunting him faded
for that moment, allowing him to peek into Qui-Gon's mind, reveling in
the disciplined order of his Master's thoughts. His Master patiently
permitted the exploration.
Satisfied that his apprentice had understood the lesson, Qui Gon raised
himself onto his knees and initiated a light healing trance, touching
his long, skilled fingers to the wounds he had inflicted on his
Padawan's body. The burns were not serious, and were quickly reduced to
fading white streaks which would heal completely within hours.
As Qui-Gon's hands moved in fluid, sensuous patterns across his torso,
Obi-Wan felt his breath catch and fought to control his response. The
pleasurable touch deepened, as the fingers splayed across the wounds,
and Obi-Wan raised his head, opening his sea-green-blue eyes into the
enfolding, unfathomable blue of his Master's gaze. There was no mistake;
his Master desired him, and in those eyes Obi-Wan saw the destiny he had
feared to face. The moment caught and held, suspending them above the
future they might share, if Obi-Wan dared.
"Master," he whispered, overwhelmed.
"Soon enough, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answered, his voice deep with longing,
answering the wish for freedom in Obi-Wan's plea. "Soon enough."
Obi-Wan allowed his mind to drift back to the present, to his shivering
body, which remained secure against the wall at his back, the place of
sparse comfort he'd retreated to after his nightmare. His muscles ached,
incredibly knotted and sore from the brutal workout he shared with
Qui-Gon. The burns inflicted by Qui-Gon during practice were gone. He
rubbed his fingers across those places his Master had touched him. He
had been foolish to think Qui-Gon no longer desired him. Another of his
many frivolous fears. His Master was simply wiser than his apprentice,
and understood that the mind must heal before the body's demands could
be satisfied. Now, if he could spare his Master some of the worry which
crept across his features when he studied his Padawan, Obi-Wan felt he
might achieve a measure of peace within himself.
Silently, Obi-Wan scooted down into the center of the bed, shoving
blankets to the floor to clear his way, and sat cross-legged on the cool
sheet, hands resting on his knees. He delved inward, mustering the
concentration he sorely lacked these days, and began to enter a
meditative state. At first, a flurry of thoughts scattered across his
inner eye like crackling embers flying from a burning log. Slowly, he
narrowed his focus, but his thoughts invariably returned to the concerns
of the day. He gave in to his observations, to the pictures and
impressions of memory.
Qui-Gon had watched him sharply after their training drill. Utterly
drained, Obi-Wan needed help to rise from the ground, and wobbled
unsteadily during the trip back to their rooms. Once there, he was aware
that Qui-Gon was waiting for him to meditate. In fact, he expected
it...but Obi-Wan had felt his anxieties crawling over him like jabbing
needles, and knew it would be a pointless exercise. Agitation over the
enigmatic, hostile dreams which awaited him in sleep prevented him from
finding focus. And because he was very tired, he would meet his
nocturnal enemies swiftly, unprepared. He'd reached out with a worn
half-effort, but his mind was too uneasy to permit him to harness the
Force. He was getting used to it. And he doubted it would ever improve.
You can withstand all that is thrown against you, Obi-Wan, if you will
but learn to bend, to accept your weaknesses...
His Master's words rang back to him, and he recognized the clarion call
of fact, but had no idea how to go about shaping Qui-Gon's teaching into
his personal truth.
When you are ready, you will find that you are able to eliminate the
memories of your ordeal.
Obi-Wan felt a deep sigh building within his heart, and its pressure
pushed at the edges of his frustration, expanding until he thought his
thin hold on stability might fracture into messy pieces. A swift image
crossed his mind, that of himself as an incoherent madman. He chuckled
softly, wryly, hoping the likeness was only a tension-induced fantasy
and not a vision of things to come. He sobered quickly, reminding
himself that it could happen if he was not able to do something to
embrace his Master's words, to interrupt this cycle of pain he'd entered
into against his will.
Qui-Gon stirred. Obi-Wan froze as his Master turned over smoothly on his
sleep couch, then burrowed a shoulder under his pillow and sank down
again, deeply asleep. Obi-Wan allowed his look to rest on his Master's
face, now turned toward him. Qui-Gon's fine hair, undone at night, was
wildly tossed in every direction. Obi-Wan found it strangely attractive.
It reminded him of the disarray once caused by his own hands plunging
through that hair, freeing it from its confining ties. And the lips,
slightly parted in sleep, which Obi-Wan had touched and devoured, melted
into with fluid hot kisses.
It angered Obi-Wan to have even the most hazy untrue memories of his
Master's visage, corrupted by anger and leering avarice, hovering over
him as he was brutally violated. Some part of him had always refused to
believe it was possible; the signature of Qui-Gon's mind had been
totally absent from the experience, but Obi-Wan had been too busy
shrinking away from the desecration of his mind to make distinctions of
any kind. Defiled, he had simply closed down, ignoring logic, ignoring
discipline. He was unwilling then to separate reality from unreality,
heavy phantoms from their lesser specters. A dream, within a dream,
within a reality too harsh for imagining. A reality he could not
control. And still the secondary outrage exploded into his dreams every
night, an obscene tableau playing itself out, and he could not reach his
Master within that world to explain how he had failed him, though he
knew he somehow had.
In fact, he was at a loss to explain it to himself, and that was the
crux of the problem...
Obi-Wan buried his face in his suddenly shaking hands, grinding the
heels of his palms into his tired, shaded eyes. He would look haggard in
the morning with so little sleep, and once again, Qui-Gon's questioning
eyes would follow him around the room, across the courtyard, through
every move he made. All the patience his Master had offered him, all the
quiet instruction, could not drag him from the cave of his misery. Not
yet. It was not his Master's pride which was at stake. It was something
intangible, something important.
When you are ready, there will be progress. Do not trouble yourself
over it.
It would be easy to dismiss his Master's words as comfort spoken
lightly, without purpose, merely to ease Obi-Wan's troubles. However,
Qui-Gon never spoke without purpose. The gravity and integrity of his
Master moored him to the security of the familiar, of the routines they
had shared since Obi-Wan became Qui-Gon's apprentice an eternity ago.
Obi-Wan compared the boy to the man, and found the man sorely wanting.
Where was the courage he flaunted so easily, the sureness that he was on
the right path? Such things were sometimes considered failings by older
Jedi, but Qui-Gon had seemingly known his heart, even before he was able
to persuade his Master to act upon that knowledge. His adult persona had
swallowed up the best things the boy had to offer. It hardly seemed
fair, now that he could have used a bit of the youthful bravado.
Obi-Wan felt very old, and very weary. The night was feeding on him, and
he could find no nourishment to replace what was lost to the dark.
The sun was rising over Coruscant, glinting harshly off steel spires,
straying aimlessly amongst rushing traffic and polluted atmosphere,
glowing as it gained power from rushing over the edge of the world.
Obi-Wan reined in his wandering thoughts and watched the splendor of the
aurora, losing himself in the sparkling colors, until the warm light of
morning streamed completely into the room. He swung his feet to the
floor and stood noiselessly, avoiding waking his Master out of
consideration more than his earlier fear of being read like an open
book. He stepped to the adjoining room and slid the door closed, before
throwing off his sweat-stained sleep tunic and immersing himself in a
hot shower.
As the first droplets of water hit his apprentice's skin, Qui-Gon sat up
on the sleep couch, his face a study in sadness. He opened his eyes, and
crystalline tears shone with false brilliance in the early morning
light, spilling slowly, a testament to his helpless regret.
Category: angst, h/c, some action, and maybe a little smut
Disclaimer: Lucas owns 'em. I use 'em. Lots.
Feedback: Oh yes - it makes me write much, much faster, so please let me
know what you think.
Notes: Well, I thought all the h/c was out of the way, but
Qui-Gon informed me I was wrong, and who am I to argue with a Jedi
Master?
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: PG
Series: Sixth installment in the "Desolation" series; a direct sequel to
"Knights and Pawns" and "Edge of the Abyss".
Summary: Sometimes sharing and confronting pain is the only way to heal
it.
Timeline: Set about two to three years before TPM: Obi-Wan is
about 22.