Archive: Yes
Archive Date: February 14, 2001
Author's Webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/
Disclaimer: Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm, Lucasfilm.
Feedback: is always appreciated
Notes: A little late, but it has been a very busy fall. October and November will
follow immediately.
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: G - NC17
Summary: The date listed is the date the 'snapshot' was
written/posted. Each piece is a segment within the same
universe, but they are not in any sort of order. Each piece
stands alone. The snapshots will run the gamut from G to
NC17. Some may be several pages long, some only a couple of
paragraphs; some will contain smut, many will not; they will
be different styles with different voices.
September 01, 2000
Obi-Wan stood at the back of the bridge, watching the view screen where Sidhai grew larger as they approached. From the transport's vantage the planet looked calm, a serene ball of greens, golds and blues hanging in the cold, black night of space.
He could feel his master standing at his side, body tight and tense as it had been in the council chamber when Obi-Wan had spoken the ritual words, accepting the mission on his own and his master's behalf. Though Qui-Gon's hands were now tucked into the sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan could still feel the heat of them on his shoulders as they had been after the meeting with the council. He could feel the weight of his master's love and affection settle over him like a second cloak, warding the chill of space.
"She's beautiful," he murmured quietly, for Qui-Gon's ears only.
"And terrible." His master's reply, as softly spoken as his own, brought the council's words back to him.
"Dangerous it is. Sure you must be."
"You will be one of many - she will only take one."
"The planet is dying."
"The planet demands a sinjaaonou - the closest translation we could come to was mate. This will not entail a sexual union as we define it, your lifeforces would merge. The rulers of Sidhai hope that a Jedi would be able to withstand the union physically and spiritually, with their sense of self intact."
"If she chooses wrong all will be destroyed."
"You must be the one to make the decision to accept this mission, Padawan Kenobi."
"I am very proud of you, Padawan." His master's words cut through the cacophony of sounds that had taken up residence in his memory and he turned to smile at the master he respected, the man he loved.
"Though I do wish that I could accept your potential sacrifice with as much serenity as you do."
"If I am serene, Master, it is because you have taught me to be so. It is your example that leads me to attempt this, to try to help the people of Sidhai."
He turned his gaze back to the planet, watching her terrible beauty as it drew inexorably nearer.
September 03, 2000
A lone, mournful cry split the air, followed by the sound of wings flapping over the cool night air. Obi-Wan froze, closing his eyes and willing the bird to choose his master.
The soft brush of wings against the side of his neck squelched that hope and he winced as long talons settled over his shoulder, the sharp claws sinking through the layers of his robe and his tunics to lightly break his skin.
Another cry rent the air, loud and more strident this near. Closing his eyes and sighing deeply, Obi-Wan bit back the plea that hovered just behind the cage of his teeth. He knew from experience that his master would be unsympathetic to any of his complaints.
The bird sat a moment longer before the great beak closed around his earlobe; Obi-Wan's yelp sent the avian off with an indignant squawk.
"Padawan," admonished Qui-Gon, "do try to stand still."
September 04, 2000
Obi-Wan shuddered and almost fell.
Though he'd been expecting it, bracing for it, it still came as a shock, his system reeling. He closed his eyes to try to find his centre, only to snap them open again at the true darkness he found waiting for him. Breathing deeply, he pressed his back against the wall, using the cool, slightly uneven surface as a focal point. He couldn't help but wonder how people lived like this. How could they stand seeing and hearing and feeling in such dim dimensions?
He knew the test was only to last for ten minutes and that had hardly seemed like a long time when the test had been explained to him, but now, cut off from the Force for the first time in his life, it seemed like an eternity.
Not moving from his position against the wall, Obi-Wan looked around the room. He hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings when he'd arrived, but now he discovered that the area was set up to resemble typical Jedi quarters. There was a couch and two chairs around a low table. A fire crackled quietly in a large hearth and bookcase lined the far wall. There were several plants in the room and, quite frankly, Obi-Wan felt that it was cruel to keep them in here, in this room that was cut off from the Force. How were they ever supposed to grow past the stunted forms they currently presented? They didn't even seem alive at all - nothing of them spoke to his senses.
In fact he couldn't tell if there was another living being in the room with him, be it animal or vegetable. Nor could he feel anything beyond the four walls, though he knew that several knights and one master stood just beyond the door and the entire temple beyond them.
It felt like he was blind. Or deaf. Or wrapped so tightly in linen that he couldn't touch or see or feel anything around himself, and even his sense of himself was muted. He knew he had to learn to function like this, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
And he didn't.
September 05, 2000
Obi-Wan clung to the rings on the ceiling of the gymnasium. It had been so easy to float up - all he did was imagine himself jumping high enough to reach the rings and when he jumped, he did.
Obi-Wan had a good imagination. Master Y'na always said so, but he didn't know if it was good enough to get him back down again. His arms were starting to hurt though and he was pretty sure he was going to let go soon, even if he didn't want to. So he imagined himself letting go and falling to the ground like a feather.
He let go and knew right away it wasn't working. He didn't fell like a feather at all, unless the feather was attached to a stone. Curling himself into a ball, he tried to imagine himself landing on a bed of feathers. He never knew falling could take so long - he even had time to wonder how long Master Y'na was going to yell at him for. And if he was going to break all his bones or just some of them.
Suddenly he reached the ground and it caught him with big hands, long arms pulling him into a safe embrace. Obi-Wan raised his head and found himself looking into a stern face with blue eyes and a dark beard.
"Are you okay?"
Obi-Wan nodded.
"And do you know where you belong?"
"The crèche."
"Well then, if you aren't hurt, I suppose we'd better get you back there."
"Okay."
He was carefully lowered to the ground and they began to walk back toward the crèche. Obi-Wan looked at the hand swinging next to him and he put his own hand into it. His hand disappeared.
"Thank you for catching me."
"You're welcome."
Obi-Wan looked where his own hand was swallowed up by the man's and wondered if he'd ever be as big as this man, if he would ever be as good at using his imagination to make things happen the way he wanted to all the time and not just sometimes like what happened now.
The big hand holding his squeezed tightly and Obi-Wan smiled.
September 06, 2000
I hold him - my strong, capable padawan curled in my arms like a child.
It reminds me of another time I held him so. He couldn't have been more than six and he'd somehow gotten himself up to the ceiling of one of the aerial chambers, but didn't have enough Force control to get himself down again. I caught him, with the Force and in my arms.
Had the Force led me there that night? I can't help but think so.
As I took him back to the crèche, he put his little hand in mine, his trust complete. I take his hand now; mine is still bigger but it no longer swallows his so completely. The small, childish hand has been replaced by the hand of a man: broad palm, long fingers with calluses from training and years of hard work.
I squeeze lightly and though he sleeps, he squeezes back - his trust still complete.
September 07, 2000
Obi-Wan reached up for the sweet rafi soup and almost fell as Bruck Chun pushed him out of the way. The taller initiate still had to stretch, but he reached one of the three remaining bowls. Obi-Wan watched as the other boy's hand grabbed the edge of the bowl, liquid splashing along the sides as Bruck tipped it in his haste. More drops splashed onto the floor, the warm, sweet odour drifting up to Obi-Wan as Bruck gave a shout of triumph and took off to join his friends.
Resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the other initiate, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the rack containing the last two bowls of his very favourite dish. It was too high for him to reach and if he went and got a chair, both bowls would likely be gone by the time he got back.
Starring longingly up a the heavy, white bowls, he contemplated using the Force to bring one down. He had just decided to risk it when a large body pressed along his back and he watched as one of the bowls was taken by a big hand and lifted down to be carefully set on Obi-Wan's tray. Tilting his head, he blinked up at the man who had reached the soup.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," answered Obi-Wan, face breaking out into a wide smile.
"I take it it's good?"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
"Then perhaps I should..." His voice faded away and Obi-Wan followed his eyes; the last bowl had been taken while they talked.
"You could have mine, sir," said Obi-Wan slowly with a resigned sigh. "After all, you were the one to get it down."
"That is very kind of you, but you were here first and it would be unkind to make you suffer just because you are not yet grown."
Obi-Wan contemplated his bowl for a moment, remembering how small it looked in this man's hand, but deciding finally that even some of a small portion was better than none. "Would you like to share it?" he asked.
"An admirable solution," said the tall man, fetching a second bowl into which Obi-Wan carefully poured half the soup. "I foresee that you will be a great Jedi."
September 08, 2000
I love the dining hall here at the temple. Filled at any given hour with hundreds of beings from almost as many races, the currents of the Force flow smoothly, a gentle caress against my senses.
Today there is a boy in line several people ahead of me. An initiate, the Force around him is strong but untutored. He is standing absolutely still, every part of him focussed on a tray several units above his reach, upon which sit two bowls filled to the brim with a faintly bluish liquid. He is almost quivering. I do believe he is going to attempt to Force-lift the bowl down from its shelf and I have a sudden, startlingly vivid vision of his control slipping and the bowl falling with a loud clatter, liquid and shards flying in all directions. Not only would he lose his prize, but his lack of finesse would embarrassed him terribly.
The vision is as surprising in the depth of my desire not to let it happen to the boy as it is in its rarity.
I move forward quickly to lift the bowl down before disaster can fall.
September 11, 2000
"Obi-Wan Kenobi."
He turned at the sound of his name, eyes widening as the tallest humanoid Jedi he'd ever seen came toward him. The big man went to one knee and held out his hands - the significance of his position not lost on Obi-Wan.
"Do you feel it?" the man asked, his voice deep but soft.
Obi-Wan looked at the steady hands that were held out to him, palms up. He could see the calluses across the top of the broad palm, as well as one or two along several knuckles. These were the hands of a warrior and a scholar - the two things Obi-Wan most wanted to be - a Jedi who was good for more than just using his 'saber.
More than that, he could feel the Force swirling around them, felt it gently nudging him. He could almost see it, a gossamer thread already binding him to this man.
He could refuse if he wanted; no initiate was bound to bond with any master who asked, but he had learned enough of how to read the Force that he knew refusing now would only be a delay.
In the end none of that mattered because he could see his future in this man's hands.
He raised his own hands and slowly placed them palms down into the Jedi's hands.
"Yes," he said solemnly, "I can feel it."
September 12, 2000
"I can feel it."
The boy's voice seemed to echo, resonating with the Force. Qui-Gon looked at the small hands clasped within his own, noting how his engulfed Obi-Wan's, just as the lad's life was about to engulfed by Qui-Gon.
He licked his lips, wetting them in anticipation of saying the words that would bind him to this boy with the solemn eyes, though the formality was hardly necessary - they both could feel the Force drawing them together.
"I am Qui-Gon Jinn. I ask you to do me the honour of becoming my padawan. I ask you to put your life in my hands, so that I might teach you the ways of the Jedi until you are deemed ready to stand on your own."
Obi-Wan's eyes seemed to glitter with emotion, but his hands in Qui-Gon's were steady, as was his voice when he answered.
"I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I accept the honour of taking you as my master. I put my life in your hands and take yours into my own, that I might learn from you the ways of the Jedi until I am ready to stand on my own."
"Let the Force seal our covenant."
"It has."
Qui-Gon felt his knees twinge, but remained where he was, content to hold hands with Obi-Wan, to remain in the moment that joined them.
September 13, 2000
"Halt." Large, warm hands took his own and moved them, readjusting his grip on the hilt of his 'saber. "Try it again."
Obi-Wan ran through the movements once more, stumbling slightly as he over-extended his reach on the final pass.
His master took his hips in his hands and twisted him slightly. "Again."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and ran through the routine yet again. As he came to the point where he had stumbled before he remembered the feeling of his master's hands on his hips, the placement of each finger and the pressure exerted to push him into the correct position. He twisted his body to match and completed the routine without a fault.
"Good. Very good."
Obi-Wan stayed in place, breathing heavily, waiting.
Qui-Gon took his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head. "Keep your chin up - while this kata is for practice, when you're in a battle you will need to pay attention to what you're opponent is doing." Placing one hand on Obi-Wan's back, Qui-Gon pressed the other against his stomach and Obi-Wan tilted slightly, following the prompting of his master's hands. "You're moving within your centre of gravity, it's keeping you too grounded - you have to be ready for anything. If you stay on the balls of your feet you'll be working with gravity to make your next move even if you change direction at the last moment."
Then Qui-Gon clapped him on the back. "Much better today, I'm very pleased."
Obi-Wan beamed as his master slipped an arm around his shoulders and turned them in the direction of the showers.
September 16, 2000
I correct his stance once more and move him through a trouble spot. His body is warm and pliant beneath my hands; a living clay that is mine to mould and shape.
He performs the kata yet again, this time each limb is perfection, each movement, large or small, is executed exactly as I have instructed. At the same time he brings to it his own growing understanding of how his body moves, of its place in the Force.
Perhaps I am a sculptor, creating a living statue, but it is he who brings it to life. Though we have been together only a short while, already we are an integral part of each other; we compliment one another with our checks and balances, our strengths and weaknesses.
My smile is ready for him as he completes the form and comes to a stop in front of me.
September 17, 2000
Walking the rim of the volcano, his voice taunts me. "Don't fall in, Oafy-Wan!" I try not to, I really try but the ledge is small and hot, so very hot it burns my feet and the blisters make me careless and I'm tumbling, head over heels into the red hot molten lava.
Hands catch me. Qui-Gon's hands. My master's hands are like a brook, leaving coolness in their wake as he saves me from the volcano.
But the Linalt grab me, pulling me into the middle of their alter of sacrifice. They tie me down and light the pyres. I can hear them chanting as they call down their god. The flames lick closer and closer, they singe me, burning away my clothes and licking my skin with devastating heat.
Qui-Gon rescues me, his voice louder than the crackle of the flames, his hands spreading a soothing balm over my burns.
But Bruck is back; his voice still taunting as his friends gather around me. Friendly sparring has turned deadly and their 'sabers are everywhere, there are too many to defend against and soon I am scored upon. Again and again the stinging burn of their 'sabers touch me. Bruck's voice circles around us, he spins around us and his friends turn their power to full and they keep striking me. I cry mercy, I cede, but they don't stop.
"Master," I cry out and he is there, his hands pushing away the other boys and reaching for me. I know they will be cool and soothing and I relax into their hold as everything fades to black.
September 18, 2000
Fill the bowl with cold water. Rinse the cloths and lay them on his body. Reassure him, even though he cannot hear. Sit by his side a few moments, soothing the wrinkles from his brow.
Repeat.
And repeat.
And repeat.
Qui-Gon's world had narrowed six hours ago to these small tasks. There was little more that he could do save hope the Force would not take his padawan from him. Saksquiln fever was both savage and brutal. Seven out of ten did not survive the first hour; of those, most succumbed at some point during the following 20 standard hours the fever burned.
Qui-Gon would not let Obi-Wan be among those claimed by this fire. Tirelessly he began again the movements that were his only defence of his padawan, turning them into a meditation, into a kata designed to save life.
September 19, 2000
Obi-Wan hunched into himself as he saw Qui-Gon enter the courtyard. Perhaps if he made himself small enough he would not be seen. He knew hiding from his master was not how a padawan should act, but then neither was failing in the one task he had been given. "Protect the Bralin," Master Qui-Gon had told him. Instead of protecting them he had let them slip away from him while he was watching the perimeter. They had all died in the woods, waylaid by those the Alsu had left waiting. All dead as surely as if he had gutted them each himself with his own 'saber. His first mission and he had failed miserably.
Obi-Wan looked up to find his master a few feet from him, face sombre. Dropping to his knees, mindless of the muck, Obi-Wan crawled to lay his forehead at his master's feet.
"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered. He could hear the creak of his master's boots as Qui-Gon bent down and then long fingers wrapped around his arms, digging in with bruising strength. Obi-Wan didn't cry out, determined as Qui-Gon lifted him to accept his punishment in silence.
He did cry out as his body was pulled close to his master's and Qui-Gon's grip shifted, the long hands sliding around his back to hold him close.
"Sh, Padawan. I have you, you are safe."
"But I failed the Bralin. I failed you, Master."
"You could not protect them from themselves, Obi-Wan." Two fingers slid beneath his chin, urging him to look up into his master's face. "And you would only fail me if you did not do your best and I know you did your best, Padawan."
"You do?"
"You could not do less."
September 20, 2000
Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan pushed himself into the first form of yet another kata. The boy was wet with perspiration, his limbs shaking; the only thing keeping him upright was the Force.
"Enough," he called out loudly.
Obi-Wan stopped, mournful eyes meeting Qui-Gon's own.
"I didn't punish you because you did not deserve to be punished. Why do you dispute my judgement?"
Obi-Wan shook his head.
"You are punishing yourself, Padawan, with these katas. Using them as a way to atone for your perceived responsibility in the deaths of the Batlin. But you are not responsible for their deaths and I will not allow you to continue to work yourself to your own death. Come. Meditate with me, let me guide you to see that I am right."
Obi-Wan took his outstretched hand and knelt beside him and together they slipped into the meditation for peace. Qui-Gon smiled as he realised the boy had not relinquished the hold on his hand.
September 21, 2000
Red. Everything was stained red. He wiped at the red stain on his leggings, on his tunic, but the stain didn't go away, it spread. And he knew, he knew it was blood. He had to get it off; he scraped at his skin to get it off. Scraped; scraped until his hands hurt, but not as much as the blood hurt his eyes so he scraped some more.
Large, clean hands took his own, stilled him. They held a white cloth and wiped it across his stinging, stained hands, taking away the blood until his hands didn't hurt so much.
So much blood, the white cloth soon became pink with it. Long fingers moved over his palms, leaving them clean and unhurt.
But he still hurt inside.
Maybe he was broken.
No, the one who was broken lay beyond the blood, beyond the hands that cleaned him.
Why did it hurt so much inside?
His face was tilted up, the fingers warm on his jaw, gentle, not bruising, not punishing and he looked up and saw a face. No accusation in the blue eyes that looked into his own, only gentleness and pain to match his own.
"Master," he whispered, letting the hands gather him in. "Master."
September 22, 2000
He was practically catatonic when I found him, kneeling next to the Dursanan's body. The children were whimpering quietly, but safely huddled together in the corner behind him.
The wailing noise my padawan was making matched the one sounding along our bond and he was tearing at the skin on his hands. I knew the blood there couldn't all be his own, though the gouges he was inflicting on himself were surely bleeding.
I knelt there with him, speaking to him as I would a frightened animal, but I do not believe he heard me. Removing my sash, I used it to clean the blood from his hands before soothing the hurts with gentle touches of the Force.
The keening finally stopped when I healed his hands, when the blood was gone. But when I raised his head to make him meet my eyes, his were so full of pain; it hurt to look into his face.
"Master." He spoke so softly I could barely hear him and I gathered him to me, rocking him. "Master," he said again, the sound even fainter.
I am so sorry, my padawan, my innocent Obi-Wan. I would have spared you this if I could have. Unfortunately we cannot defend the innocent without losing our own innocence. This pain, this loss of light and purity is the price we must pay to serve the Force.
September 23, 2000
The wound is opened again, but I can't close it this time. I'm putting everything I can into keeping us hidden; our hunters are near. It won't do him any good if I save him only to be discovered and killed.
I push that thought away, strike the word from my vocabulary as if it doesn't exist. We're going to get out of this and off this awful planet and my master is going to be fine. Just fine.
Taking Master Qui-Gon's hands, I press them against the stain in his tunic, using them to staunch the blood. His hands have always seemed so big to me; signifying love and strength, and safety. Today, with blood, his blood, seeping around their edges, pushing up between his fingers, I know they aren't big enough at all.
"Please," I beg him silently while keeping us hidden, while pressing his hands against his chest, while feeling that I am failing him, failing my master, "please don't leave me."
September 24, 2000
The thrum of steel and the cold of hyperspace tease me awake despite the heavy pull of sleep's warm, dark embrace.
Opening my eyes, I find that I am lying on a med bed, my padawan's body warm next to me, his breathing slow and even. The lights are dim, a healer in her chair by a bank of machines is sleeping, her crest drooping as she rests. She wears robes that mark her as an inhabitant of the Jedi Temple and the sign I can see over her shoulder is in Republic Standard.
We're in hospital. But safe.
I look down to where my hand is linked with my padawan's, both stained with blood. My heart begins to pound - is my padawan hurt? I cannot remember what has led us to this med bay and the blood that stains my hands accuses me.
Feeling tired, week, I nonetheless turn to my padawan, to search his body for wounds. It is only as I try to move that I realise that I am restrained by tubes leading from vats and machines into my body while Obi-Wan has no such restraints.
I look again at our blood stained, linked hands. My blood.
My padawan is safe. And so am I - his doing I surmise. I squeeze the hand in mine - still small - he is still so young, but already fulfilling the promise I saw in the boy I clasped hands with the day the Force brought us together.
September 25, 2000
Obi-Wan felt his friend's lifeforce grow weaker. It wouldn't be long now before the other boy was dead. He held Tobin's hand tightly, feeling alone and lost as it slowly grew cold.
His master's hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed gently, warming Obi-Wan's body, and his heart.
September 26, 2000
We do not often get close to other beings - it can be a lonely life, especially for a boy. That the Regent's son and my padawan had so much in common made their friendship inevitable. Ironically this seemingly harmless friendship - we are here to facilitate the transfer of power, there is no disease, no dispute, no guns to mar this mission - is ended with sickness and death.
Now I can do no more for Obi-Wan than offer the comfort of my presence, letting him know he is not alone.
September 27, 2000
Today is the day.
My master leads me to the healers, his hand holding mine, offering guidance, comfort. Just as they always have, though never have I felt the need for them as I have since the Kintan blinded me. Anytime I faltered he was there to catch me with his hands.
Thinking back, it has always been so, though rarely have I been so aware of just how much my masters hands are a part of me.
We arrive at the healers and when he would drop my hand, I cling to his.
Today is the day I find out if I can see again.
Today is the day I need his strength more than ever.
September 28, 2000
I touch him more than usual. As if his blindness means that I cannot trust my own eyes.
I hold his hand as if he were a child again, though in truth I cling to it for my own comfort as much as his.
Te-Sin enters the room, her flat mouth widening in the Basink version of a smile. "Ready?" she asks as she turns her attention to the band of cloth around Obi-Wan's head.
"Yes," he replies, his voice steady.
His hand squeezes mine tightly and I am glad I can pretend he is clinging to me a little bit longer.
September 29, 2000
My head hurts with every beat of my heart and my stomach rolls with each move I make. Does my master know? He must and this punishing regime is my reward for allowing myself to lose track of my surroundings and of what I was drinking.
I falter once more at the leap in the last portion of the kata. I stay where I am, breath leaving my body harshly. I don't think I can do it again.
He comes to me, rests one hand on my back and the other touches my forehead before sliding through my hair, across my scalp. Perhaps I can manage the kata once more if it means his hands will linger against me.
My master helps me up and verbally moves me through the leap I keep missing. All the while his palm rests against my chest. It sparks a hazy memory from last night; the walk to our quarters and my master holding me up, pulling me this way and that, and the lingering hands as he undressed me. I wonder how much is memory and how much my desire, my imagination.
For I have dreamed of his hands on me. Not as a master, not as a teacher, but as my lover.
"Padawan." His voice is exasperated but his hands are gentle.
September 30, 2000
The door once opened no longer wishes to yield; last night as I undressed Obi-Wan I wished I was more than his master, wished that he was not drunk and that I was in fact undressing my lover.
I have always used my hands to guide him, but today, when I find myself touching him I want there to be more. I want us to be more.
He falters at the leap, bringing my attention back to him and I move forward to help him up, to make sure he is unhurt. But I do it eagerly, to touch him.
On to October 2000's Snapshots