Disclaimer: This is a work of non-profit speculative fiction. No infringement on the copyrights of George Lucas is intended.
Summary: At the end of a mission Master and Padewan take a moment of time for themselves.
The sound of the council room door closing was more felt than heard, a barrier that crashed down behind them and closed them off from the judging eyes of the Jedi Masters, removing them from the center of observation. Obi-Wan expelled a breath in a tight puff, drawing it back in through teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. The point between his shoulder blades still crawled, the force of the Masters' eyes upon his retreating back making his skin tingle and raising the fine hairs across the nape of his neck.
Qui-Gon reached down to rest a comforting hand on the shoulder of the boy who walked at his side. "Run ahead, Anakin. We are to meet the Queen at the landing platform. Do you remember the way?"
Anakin glanced up at them both, eyes wide and dark in his small face. He nodded, once, a jerk of his sandy haired head, and when Qui-Gon released him he darted away down the corridor.
Leaving them alone and truly without onlookers.
Silence stretched, growing deeper and thicker with every passing breath. Obi-Wan fixed his gaze upon a point two inches above his Master's left shoulder, fixed it and held it even as he held his position and the uncommunicative expression upon his face. Willed himself into the outward semblance of calm even as his emotions raged within him, locking it down, locking it away where only he would hear the shrieking of his own wounded heart.
But even that dignity was denied him, and he knew it when Qui-Gon turned darkened eyes upon him, the older man's expression drawn and suddenly weary. "I meant no hurt to you, Obi-Wan."
Stung, Obi-Wan tightened another degree, his spine popping with painful protest from the rigidity. "Of course not," he grated, the words issuing reluctantly from his clenched jaw. No amount of control could take the searing sarcasm from their tone. "It is the greatest compliment, for a student to hear the teacher say he is ready."
A flush stained Qui-Gon's cheeks, his lips pressing thin as his eyes slid away. "You should not have heard it in that manner," he conceded, regret coloring his deep voice. "But I meant what I said. You..."
"Meant it?" Obi-Wan hissed, his voice dropping until it filled only the space between them, sharp as a bladed knife, breaking across Qui-Gon's words with a flagrant disregard for respect. "Of course you did! How convenient for you! If I am ready, Master, then you are free. Take another apprentice, if you wish. Do whatever you want. You need no longer be burdened with the teaching of me."
He had gone too far, far beyond too far, but he could not bring himself to care. Even the hurt that flared in Qui-Gon's eyes could not silence the words that leapt from him, barbed pieces of his own pain thrown into his Master's face. The Jedi Master flinched from it, his own mouth tightening as his frustration rose.
"You overstep yourself," Qui-Gon warned softly, steel lining his quiet words. Sighing, he shook his head slightly. "You think as the Council does. Why can you not see it? The boy must be taught."
"The boy is dangerous," Obi-Wan spat, bristling anew at the mention of the source of his own pain. "Why can you not see that?"
"That is jealousy speaking," Qui-Gon replied sharply, chiding. "Is this, then, how you prove you are ready?"
"And if I am not? Would it change your decision?" Obi-Wan challenged. He did not wait for a reply. "I think not. The boy crowds all else from your mind."
"Do not presume to speak for my mind when you do not know your own," Qui-Gon said sternly. His expression softened some as he regarded his apprentice. "I do not forget you, Obi-Wan," he continued quietly. Reaching out, he cupped the tense cheek in one palm. "Calm yourself, my Padawan. This will pass..."
Obi-Wan jerked his head away, breaking the connection. "Everything passes," he grated. What slim control he retained was deteriorating fast, frayed and slipping from his tenuous grasp. Qui-Gon's comforting touch, as unthinking between them as breathing had once been, had pushed him from fury to the brink of tears. He clutched at the anger, using it as the crutch to hold back the greater sin of dissolving before his Master's eyes. Even breath was difficult now, each one drawn in a shaky spasm that trembled in his chest. "Everything." Pain robbed the angry strength from his words but they hissed forth all the same, stark and flat. Of its own his hand reached out, pressed light against the broad width of Qui-Gon's chest, fingers splayed across the strong throb of the man's heart. He held it there for a brief moment, counting three of the pulses before dropping his hand. His eyes met Qui-Gon's, a morass of angry pain swirling in their depths. "Even this."
Qui-Gon made no move to stop him when he turned aside, did not call out or beckon him as he strode away. With each step away from his Master's presence Obi-Wan marshalled his strength, feeding it from the flames of outraged anger, hurt and stinging pride, fury and jealous indignation. Anything to quiet the pain each step brought, the loss that ached through him and pierced his heart. Everything might indeed pass... but he would not let it go lightly, nor without a fight.