Disclaimer: This is a work of non-profit speculative fiction. No infringement on the copyrights of George Lucas is intended.
Summary: Obi-Wan must find a way to bridge the rift between himself and Qui-Gon.
The ground was wet, there by the shore; dampened from a recent rain, it gave beneath Obi-Wan's weight and pulled greedily at his boots with each step. Though the rain had passed he could smell it in the air - clean and heavy, wet, the dark green smell of earth and plant and water, the tangible scent of life.
It was something he might have taken pleasure in, normally, but now it seemed only to mock the circumstances around them. Amidala stood further inland with her handmaids and men - war haunted their thoughts, hovered about the words from their lips like a palpable chill that settled around them even in the crisp sunlit morn. Even where he walked, at the edge of the shore where the dark water lapped against the ground, the chill stretched forth its fingers to brush and beckon.
At the shore, where his Master stood, looking out across the water... where the chill of silence ran deep and swift between them, an untried river that Obi-Wan found himself at a loss to stretch across.
From Coruscant to Naboo, and naught a word had passed between them that had not been stark necessity. Silence had fallen across them like a strained shroud, one that Obi-Wan himself had woven. The guilt gnawed at his stomach now until he could admit it - yes, he had made it, with hurt pride and anger as the threads upon his loom. Hurt and anger and yes, the dark, bitter taste of jealousy that made him want to strike out, to inflict the same hurt he felt upon the one who had struck him. It had carried him on its wave for a time, given a spiteful edge to what few words he had spoken and birthed the chill that had nourished and grown in his roiling emotions.
Until he had woken, clear headed at last, to find the chill grown beyond his control and no idea, now, of how to breach the shroud he had created.
Over an arm's length between them, and for the first time in countless years Obi-Wan did not feel he could step closer to that broad-shouldered frame. Qui-Gon did not glance about as he approached, did not speak or gesture or in any way acknowledge him. Starkly frightening it was, how quickly the silence had become customary, how easily the distance between them had grown. To break it now would be Obi-Wan's task, the creator become the destroyer... the healer. He swallowed dryly, tasting the bitterness, feeling the faint twinge of still stubborn pride and the aching emptiness of remorse.
"Master." He almost winced at the sound of his own voice shattering the still air - quiet, yet it rang like the klaxon of a great bell in the silence, the single word alone an offering of an unspoken apology. And still Qui-Gon did not turn, only the breeze that lifted long strands of his silver streaked hair giving life to the carven statue of his stance. Obi-Wan tightened his jaw, as though the pressure might combat the flutter in his stomach, and spoke again, the word pitched louder now. "Master."
Nothing. A long moment, pained and straining, until at last the remnants of false pride gave way and Obi-Wan bowed his head, his whisper dry upon the breeze. "Qui-Gon."
"Obi-Wan." Deep voiced and just as quiet, and now, at last, the older man did turn to face him. There was no judgment in his tone but the shroud had touched his eyes, deepened the lines upon his face. Obi-Wan swallowed again, regret tumbling the words out with heartfelt awkwardness.
"Master... I have behaved badly. I meant no disrespect to you." Qui-Gon's eyes trained upon him steadily, a still mirror before which Obi-Wan could only haltingly continue. "I don't wish to be difficult about the boy." Words left unsaid, but perhaps it would be enough to convey his heart. There was jealousy, yes, but he knew the taste of it now, knew how to better it rather than let it be the better of him. Knew that it's touch could never sting half so sharply as the pain of looking at what he had unwittingly wrought.
The words passed between them, knifing through the silence, laying the heart of it bare. Obi-Wan took a breath, held it, expelled it again, hearing the overly loud thrum of his own heart within his ears. Qui-Gon continued to study him; his voice, when he spoke, quietly shattered the air around Obi-Wan and robbed him of his next breath. "Nor have you been." The shroud faded before the Jedi Master's simple words, brushed away on the slight breeze. "You were honest with me. Honesty is never wrong."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. The steps he had found impossible minutes before now faded away like a forgotten nightmare, restoring to him his proper place beside his Master, the rift between them fading into the bright sunlight. The faintest of smiles lit Qui-Gon's stern face, a warmth that touched his eyes more than his expression. "I spoke the truth when I told the Council you were ready. You are. There is nothing more I can teach you."
Obi-Wan opened his eyes to the light of the day. Behind them the voices of the others carried softly upon the air, snatching away the intimate quiet of relief that he, greedily, would rather have kept. Qui-Gon's gaze flickered in understanding. Reaching out, he stroked the back of one hand lightly across his pupil's cheek, his touch lingering gently. Obi-Wan leaned into the slight gesture, a thousand things conveyed more easily in touch and gaze than words alone could ever have done. Qui-Gon's fingertip brushed across his lips as the Jedi drew his hand away, the caress and the warmth of his voice conveying all that Obi-Wan needed to hear. "You will make me proud, my young Padawan."
"I will always try, my Master." If his voice broke slightly there were none close enough to hear, and the light in Qui-Gon's quiet eyes was all the sun needed to drive the last shadows of the shroud away from Obi-Wan's heart.