It wasn't that Qui-Gon was a selfish man. Far from
it. Nothing he did, nothing he said, was ever meant
to bring him any personal glory. He knew he was
good at his job, but he traded on the Order's
reputation, rather than his own. When he was out in
public, he wore his cowl up; it mattered that he was
a Jedi, not that he was Qui-Gon Jinn. He could
count on the fingers of one hand the number of
times in his life he'd taken a course of action for
reasons motivated by anything other than concern
for another individual.
But sometimes, he thought, as he launched into a
third set of pull-ups on the high bar in the
gymnasium; sometimes, selflessness went too far.
Sometimes, it skipped right over stoicism and
skidded perilously close to martyrdom.
DammittohellsoftheSith -- he'd apparently taught
Obi-Wan
too well. Remember the less fortunate,
Padawan. Use your gifts to benefit others,
Padawan. And look where it'd gotten him. He felt
a cramp begin to flare up in his side; he'd been
breathing badly. He relaxed his arms and let
himself hang freely from the bar, dropped his head
so his chin rested on his chest, and inhaled slowly.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Damn. Damn.
Damn.
Well, he'd eat his belt before he'd go to the
ceremony. He didn't care what anybody thought of
him for it. The fault was his own; he'd raised a
padawan whose personal code had no room for
flexibility of interpretation. And the unkindest
aspect of this was that it seemed on track to cut
deeper and hurt longer than his previous folly, the
padawan whose personal ethics had no room for the
Code. Where he had failed with Xanatos, he had
overcompensated -- and now it had cost him Obi-
Wan. Qui-Gon felt his breath shape itself into a
bitter laugh. Could the one be the Force's way of
punishing him for the other?
It wouldn't be much to celebrate, anyway, of course.
Those who were attending the ceremony were doing
so only out of courtesy. Everybody, even those
who knew none of them personally -- even small
children, for skies' sake -- knew that Obi-Wan was
bonding to whatshisname as a favor. No, Qui-Gon
scolded himself sternly, gritting his teeth and
pulling his weight up to the bar again. Not as a
favor; Obi-Wan was bonding to whathisname (to
Kellet, you idiot; denial will get you nowhere -- to
Kellet Windrunner) to save whatshisname's life.
(Kellet. Kellet. Kellet.) Everybody knew the
details of Windrunner's debt to the Hutts; everybody
knew Obi-Wan had risked his own life to save his
childhood friend, going essentially unarmed into a
lair where the Force would do him little good; and
everybody knew that Windrunner had been at
death's door, to coin a phrase, when Obi-Wan had
succeeded in getting him out. Obi-Wan had forged
a hasty bond between Windrunner and himself to
facilitate the healing process; without the bond,
Windrunner's mind, his essence, would very likely
have shut down before Obi-Wan could even plot the
coordinates of his jump back to Coruscant.
Windrunner wouldn't have died, but he couldn't
have been said to have been living in any
meaningful sense. Everybody knew Obi-Wan had
done the right thing.
Turned out nobody knew anything. "A
healing
bond?" the physician who received them had
exclaimed. "I should say not. This man was near
death, you know -- he hadn't just stubbed his toe."
"That makes a difference, does it?" Qui-Gon had
asked.
"Makes a
difference?" the healer echoed. "Bet
your boots it makes a difference. Bonds formed in
adversity, you know, high stress, medical
emergency, they're guided by the Force. And their
tenacity is inversely proportional to the patient's
chances of survival without them. A healing bond
is just a quick little nothing, you know -- it's for
taking care of cuts and bruises."
Obi-Wan had shut his eyes. "Are you saying what I
think you're saying?" he asked.
"Depends what you think I'm saying. Which is this:
if you initiated a bond between yourself and that
man behind the curtain, I'll be a son of a mynock if
it's a paltry healing bond. Possible it's a very strong
bloodbond, depending on his health before the Hutts
got hold of him, but I'd say the odds are good you're
looking at a lifebond here."
"
What?!" Qui-Gon couldn't restrain himself.
Obi-Wan still hadn't opened his eyes; he was
leaning against the wall, hitting the back of his head
against it repeatedly.
"A lifebond. There are some injuries, illnesses, you
know, that only a lifebond can cure. So if a patient
is lifebonded, the mate is the only hope."
"And if he's not ..." Obi-Wan began.
"And if he's not, and someone initiates a bond, that's
the bond they're going to get," the healer said,
nodding. "Like I said. These aren't like other
bonds. They keep going until they're full, so to
speak. It's a bit like forcing a flower, rather than
planting it and nurturing it and waiting for it to
grow. You know about gardening?"
Qui-Gon snarled and struck the wall. Obi-Wan
spoke. "But once such a bond is formed, is it the
same as a regular bond?" he asked. "I certainly
hadn't planned to create a
lifebond with Kellet
Windrunner. Can this bond be severed, once he's
well?"
The healer gave a snort. "Not if you want him to
survive, it can't. Bad enough trying to sever a
regular lifebond -- folk get awfully sick, and they're
never really whole again. Severing a bond, you
know, it undoes the benefits the bond had ... had
accrued, so to speak. So when a bond is created for
the purpose of healing an injury, severing it sort of
re-does that injury. This one -- Windrunner? --
yeah, he gets well, and you sever the lifebond, he'll
be dead in a day and no mistake."
"Well,
that would have been helpful to know,"
Obi-Wan said. "Why isn't this something
everybody knows?"
"Don't blame me," the healer said, raising his hands.
"We don't count on folk initiating bonds with
wounded people all on their own. That's our job.
And when they do, you know, it's often
unconsciously, just a little healing bond, nothing
you'd notice. Or a fellowbond, where it never hurts
to have one more."
"
We were planning to lifebond," Qui-Gon said
between clenched teeth, gesturing between himself
and Obi-Wan. "What are we to do now?"
The healer puffed air through his cheeks. "I'd say
you're in a bit of a fix, gentlemen."
And a bit of a fix was what it was. After much
contemplation and meditation and railing and
cursing and gnashing of teeth, Obi-Wan had
admitted that he couldn't in good conscience sever
the inadvertent bond and let Windrunner die just
because the physicians hadn't bothered to educate
the Order on the nature of healing bonds. Qui-Gon
couldn't very well insist that he sever the bond
anyway. Decency demanded at least a brief
ceremony commemorating the bond. Qui-Gon
refused to attend. He chose to work out, instead,
channeling his anger into something productive.
When Qui-Gon returned home, Obi-Wan was
already there, sitting on the sofa, elbows on his
knees, head in his hands. Obi-Wan looked up and
raised an eyebrow. Qui-Gon returned the level gaze
for a moment, then swung the door closed and went
to drop his satchel in the bedroom.
Obi-Wan followed him and leaned against the
doorjamb. "Everyone asked for you," he said.
"Everyone knew I wouldn't be there."
"Still." There was a long silence. "Qui-Gon, we --"
Qui-Gon flung his towel over to the corner and
turned to glare at Obi-Wan.
"It's no use blaming me, you know."
"Isn't it?"
"I couldn't let him die, Qui-Gon. I may never see
him again, but I couldn't kill him. I shouldn't have
been able to live with myself, and neither would
you." Qui-Gon stomped back out to the living
room, and Obi-Wan kept following him. "But it
doesn't
mean anything, this bond. It's nothing.
You and I can still --"
Qui-Gon sat heavily on the couch. "You're
lifebonded to a stranger. How in the worlds can
you and I form a bond? He'll always have
something I won't."
Obi-Wan knelt next to him and took his hand. "He
won't have anything. We can forge a bloodbond,
and pay the lifebond no mind."
"A bloodbond."
"Our bond will be as strong as we make it, Qui-
Gon," Obi-Wan said. His face was open; he hid
nothing. "We don't need some formal thing in order
for our bond to be true. Do we?"
Qui-Gon cocked his head and squeezed Obi-Wan's
hand. "I suppose we don't," he allowed.
"If I say I shall love only you forever, what does it
matter if I have a bond with someone else? The
Force isn't with Kellet anyway -- he won't make any
demands on the bond. He can't even feel it." Obi-
Wan held Qui-Gon's hand in both of his, pressed a
kiss in it, laid his head in the palm. "I'm sorry to
have hampered our plans, Qui-Gon, but they needn't
be ruined. Bloodbond with me. Please."
Qui-Gon sighed and felt his foul mood waning. His
lips twitched and his eyes crinkled into a smile as
Obi-Wan lifted his head. Qui-Gon nodded to the
spot next to him on the couch; Obi-Wan rose and
sat. Qui-Gon traced one of Obi-Wan's eyebrows
with the tip of a finger. "I will," he said.
Obi-Wan threw his arms around Qui-Gon's
shoulders, dropping kisses on his neck and face.
"I'm so glad," he groaned, and truly, his relief was
evident. "I love you."
"And I love you," Qui-Gon said, returning Obi-
Wan's embrace. "Now. Let us attend to this in a
timely manner. I've no wish to run onto any more
obstacles."
Obi-Wan tensed, but Qui-Gon smiled as he kissed
him, and Obi-Wan ruefully hung his head. "I am
sorry," he repeated.
"We shall fix that," Qui-Gon answered.
Obi-Wan grinned and hopped to his feet, pulling
Qui-Gon after him. "Come on. It won't take much.
We'll nurse the bond to full strength and have the
ceremony as soon as they'll let us. Come on."
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "Race you to the
Council chamber," he said.
And they were off.
Obi-Wan ran as fast as he safely could, but the
cycling of the energy shields was too quick for him.
He skidded to a halt with just one layer of the
barrier between himself and the core, where Qui-
Gon was fighting the beast with every scrap of his
strength. Obi-Wan bounced on the balls of his feet,
anxious for the door to slide away so he could join
the battle; he hated standing uselessly aside when
there was something important he could be doing.
The thing, the Sith, was very good. It spun and
leaped, flipped and twirled, parried and attacked
again immediately and still found time to snarl, to
mock Qui-Gon with its (Obi-Wan was forced to
concede this) greater agility. It wielded its two-
bladed saber with enviable grace. Qui-Gon was a
formidable bladesman, but he appeared to be
overmatched. Obi-Wan twitched impatiently.
And then it happened. Qui-Gon raised his saber
over his head in an attempt at a downward slash on
the shorter Sith; in three short instants, it had
parried the blow with its blade handle, brought that
handle down and up again to connect with the
bridge of Qui-Gon's nose, and stabbed him with the
red blade through the chest.
Obi-Wan screamed. Qui-Gon fell. The Sith paced
back and forth, waiting, like Obi-Wan, for the last
door to open.
You're next, my lad, it seemed to
say. Obi-Wan felt his lip curl. The thing had no
idea what it faced in him.
The door opened and Obi-Wan rushed forward,
fighting blindly and well. He pressed his
advantage; the Sith pressed its own. He cut its
weapon in half. He kicked it; it kicked him. He
could tell, peripherally, that he was fed by anger,
fear, and aggression, but he didn't care. He glared
at the creature over their crossed blades and knew
he had never felt such hatred.
The Sith knocked him into the chute with a
judicious application of the Force; Obi-Wan
grabbed a nozzle and held on. The Sith kicked his
lightsaber after him and struck the rim of the chute a
few times with its own blade, creating a shower of
sparks over Obi-Wan's head.
Oh, now you're just showing off, Obi-Wan
thought.
And nothing burns me up more than a
show-off. He concentrated; he felt the Force rush
through him; and in one movement, he'd leaped out
of the chute and over the Sith's head, called Qui-
Gon's lightsaber to his hand, and sliced the Sith in
half at the waist. He watched it fall backwards into
the chute.
Obi-Wan ran to Qui-Gon's side and dropped to his
knees, lifting Qui-Gon's head into his lap. "It is too
late," Qui-Gon was saying.
"No!" Obi-Wan protested, reaching to lay a hand on
Qui-Gon's chest -- but even as he spoke he knew,
with terrible certainty, that Qui-Gon was right. This
wound was beyond his ability to heal. Obi-Wan's
voice caught in his throat.
"Obi-Wan. Promise ... promise me you'll train the
boy."
"Yes, Master."
The boy. This is what you think to
speak of as you lie dying? Obi-Wan thought,
furiously, helplessly. As though his own lungs were
trying to absorb Qui-Gon's injury, Obi-Wan could
scarcely breathe.
Qui-Gon reached up to brush a tear from Obi-Wan's
cheek. "He is the chosen one. He will bring
balance."
Obi-Wan could do no more. He grasped Qui-Gon's
hand as tightly as he could and let the tears flow.
He had an idea he rocked back and forth.
"Train him!" Qui-Gon whispered. Then his muscles
went slack, his eyes closed, and Obi-Wan couldn't
feel even the faintest of breaths on his wrist in front
of Qui-Gon's mouth. He bent over the lifeless body
and wept bitterly. He cursed the day he'd ever met
Kellet Windrunner.
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