Master
Apprentice  Archive
Anniversary
|
|
|||
Archive: MA and my site
Category: Angst, AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Well, I guess for Wheel of If
Disclaimer: If I had anything to risk, I might be worried.
Summary: Sixteen years after the events of Wheel of If, Obi-Wan is still feeling the effects.
Notes: Friday, 10-12, was my 16th wedding anniversary, and I spent it sicker'n a dog with a nasty cold, which, of course, made me broody and depressed. Then something Hilary said to me a while back about Wheel and PTSD clicked, and I thought, well, if I can't work on my Sentinel fic, I'll try to see if the Obi and Qui muses are still hanging around. So I dragged them out of the closet -- kicking and screaming -- and between my anniversary, coughing up my lungs, and PTSD from Hilary, there you go. Then the gang (well, mainly Fox and Jennie) over on Phantom Slashers beat it into submission, for which I cannot thank them enough. Here's the final result.
This won't make much sense if you haven't read Wheel of If, but it CAN be read as a stand alone.
It had been a good day, Qui-Gon Jinn reflected, striding down the hall to his home. True, they weren't out of the Temple on assignment, and hadn't for a rotation, but there were other things Jedi could do. And in these times of turmoil, with the Republic in an upheaval and the Senate in disarray, there were plenty of things on Coruscant to keep an old, gray Master quite busy.
Things like his bondmate... his loving but increasingly broody bondmate. Qui-Gon was fairly certain he knew what was bothering Obi-Wan; he often became morose this time of year. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Obi-Wan was a cheerfully acerbic man, given to practical jokes, sudden bouts of insight, unexpected romantic overtures, massive root beer consumption, cheating at sabacc, and unbridled enthusiasm. But that leftover one percent often seemed to happen around the same time every year. There were some terrible memories from Obi-Wan's odd travels, and many of them caused him pain even sixteen years later. But this particular time period -- the anniversary of his horrifying abuse -- was very often the one that caused the most grief, and this year, it appeared to be worse.
"Whoa!" Engrossed in his thoughts, Qui-Gon turned a corner and smacked into another Jedi, who steadied them both after exclaiming. "Qui-Gon?"
"Maul! Hello, I'm sorry." Qui-Gon clasped his friend's shoulder and squeezed. "I was wrapped up in my own thoughts. Sorry about that."
"No apology needed," Maul replied, smiling. "I too was a bit preoccupied. My mind has been focused on my mission too much lately."
"You're still working with the Senate on the Naboo question, then?" Qui-Gon asked, looking carefully at his friend.
"Yes," Maul replied, scrubbing his face. Now that Qui-Gon noticed, it didn't look as though Maul had been getting much sleep. His normally fair skin was paler than usual, and there were dark bags under his eyes. "You would think that after this amount of time a decision would have been made on the fate of the planet. But I'm beginning to believe the Senate is deliberately avoiding one."
"It wouldn't be the first time," Qui-Gon said sympathetically.
"I should be conscripting you and your bondmate to help me, considering your level of expertise with such tricky negotiations," Maul said with his customary dry, understated wit.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "I'd heard," he said, sobering, "that the Malastairians had joined with the Neimoidans and the Rigellians in withdrawing. Is that true?"
Maul sighed heavily. "Yes. To be honest, I'm not surprised, nor am I all that displeased. Their constant interruptions and disruptions were doing nothing to help the situation. Perhaps with them gone, we can actually address the succession question."
"I can think of no one better to resolve the issue than you, my friend," Qui-Gon replied, sincerely. "Just aim that famous scowl at them and I'm sure they'll come around." Maul rolled his eyes and smiled. "You need to come over for dinner, though, and tell us how we might be able to help you," Qui-Gon continued. "You don't look as though you've been eating properly."
"You sound like Malvis," Maul said. "I would love to, but there are just so many hours in the day, Qui-Gon."
"I know, I know," Qui-Gon said, once again squeezing Maul's shoulder, this time in sympathy. "But listen to your Padawan... you need to take time -- make time -- for yourself. I'll call you soon, once Obi's feeling better, and you can come over to talk it out. It helps sometimes to have a sympathetic ear."
Cocking his head to the side, Maul said, "What's wrong with Obi-Wan?"
"It's... that time of the year," Qui-Gon replied, grimacing. "And what with all that's been happening, well, it's a bit worse this year, I think."
Sudden understanding lit Maul's face. "Ah. Yes. If there's anything I can do..."
"Thank you, Maul," Qui-Gon said. "I'll keep that offer in mind. You keep mine in your mind too. I'd best be off..."
"Good seeing you, Qui-Gon," Maul said, nodding. They parted and Qui-Gon hurried on. It was getting late, and he was concerned over what he might find in his quarters.
His fears appeared well founded; the apartment was dark and quiet when he arrived. He dialed up the lights slightly, to a dim glow, and saw his bondmate standing on the balcony, looking out over the setting sun. Sighing, Qui-Gon went into their kitchenette to put water on for tea while he thought about what to do. Obi-Wan was closed off to him, his shields up tightly, but Qui-Gon knew what was going on behind them.
For sixteen years, it had been the same thing, in varying degrees of severity. The healers had been adamant; this was normal human behavior. There was even a name for it: post-traumatic stress disorder. It would continue to improve with time, but there was no set time for it to go away. And the problems hit less and less often now; for many years after they were first bonded, Obi-Wan had experienced frequent nightmares and depressions and often fought despair. Gradually, those episodes had decreased to maybe once a month -- less if they were kept busy -- then finally, once or twice a year, if that. They both knew... when the black moods hit, they would have to be ridden out.
But they didn't have to be ridden out alone, Qui-Gon wanted to howl. In fact, it was better for them to be shared. Obi-Wan knew this, but every time, he tried to hide his pain, his feelings. Every time, Qui-Gon had to bully, cajole, beg and tease Obi-Wan to open up, to share, to let him help. Dammit.
The tea steeping, Qui-Gon went to the balcony. It was chilly as the sun set over the city-planet, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he leaned on the railing alongside Obi-Wan. The setting sun cast an orangey glow about them, and the omnipresent air traffic sliced regimented lines across the sky above them.
They were quiet for some time, Qui-Gon just letting Obi-Wan steep in his presence, much as the tea leaves were steeping in the water. "I remember another sunset like this," Obi-Wan finally said, so softly Qui-Gon had to strain to hear. "The sun was a huge orange ball in front of us. I told him the boy was dangerous, and he told me I had much to learn."
Silently, Qui-Gon sighed. He had been right; it was going to be one of those times. How strange it was, to want to throttle himself -- the Qui-Gon that had hurt his Obi so badly. It was even another version of himself -- some kind of Sith demon model that made Qui-Gon ill to think about -- that had tortured, raped and terribly damaged Obi-Wan. But that had been so long ago, in another universe, another time; not here, not now. And it wouldn't help at all to point that out.
"There's tea ready," Qui-Gon finally said softly. "Come inside and have a cup. It's getting chilly out here."
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Obi-Wan turned towards him. Qui-Gon kept his face neutral, gentle, and tried not to make any sudden movements, or any movement at all. When Obi-Wan managed to drag his eyes up to meet Qui-Gon's, the latter wanted to weep at the intensity of emotion revealed there. Obi-Wan lifted his hand and touched Qui-Gon's eyebrow and cheek, gently, tentatively. "Blue," he whispered. "They're blue." Qui-Gon fought the instinct to kiss those fingers; he knew what the reaction would be.
"Come inside, love?" he murmured, barely breathing.
"All right," Obi-Wan responded, then turned to the door.
Qui-Gon made sure to stay in his line of sight as they went inside the apartment, moving quietly and carefully. He got Obi-Wan seated on the sofa, then poured them both mugs of tea before joining him. Obi-Wan sipped mechanically, his eyes focused down, his face closed and tense. Qui-Gon sat still, quietly drinking his tea, waiting for the eruption he was sure would come... eventually.
When it came, it surprised him. "How was your day?" Obi-Wan said quietly, not looking at him.
Blinking, taken aback, Qui-Gon took a moment to answer. "Ah, good. It was good. Busy. There's -- lots -- going on right now involving the Council."
"Yes."
Wanting to keep Obi-Wan engaged, Qui-Gon continued. "I ran into a friend... literally, I mean... on the way home. Maul?" There was a slight hitch in Obi-Wan's breathing at the name, but Qui-Gon kept going. "He looks terrible. I don't think he's been sleeping well -- he's under a lot of strain. I told him... well, I invited him by sometime. He should know he never needs an excuse to drop by." Qui-Gon smiled as he spoke, remembering how Maul had suddenly appeared in their doorway years before -- the day after their bonding ceremony, in fact -- looking for sanctuary with the Jedi.
"Mmm." Well, at least he wasn't shouting.
"How was your day, Obi?"
A non-committal shrug was his only answer. Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea, then stared into the cup as though looking for his fortune.
After a few moments of arguing with himself over whether he should continue speaking, Qui-Gon did, hesitantly. "Obi, I was wondering... there's someone I'd like you to meet. I thought perhaps we could go to the commissary for dinner -- I don't know about you but I don't feel like cooking -- then go out to meet him."
"Another mind-sifter, Qui?" Obi-Wan's voice was soft, and his hand began to tremble. Quickly, Qui-Gon reached over and gently relieved him of tea, putting it and his own mug on the cocktail table.
"No, Obi, not a mind-healer," he said softly. His bondmate was coiled tightly, muscles tense and quivering from strain. "Just a... friend I'd like you to meet. We don't have to..."
"Don't treat me as if I'm made of spun glass, Qui," Obi-Wan growled. "I know I'm behaving irrationally."
"No, you're not," Qui-Gon tried to interject gently, but Obi-Wan continued over him.
"It's been sixteen years," Obi-Wan said harshly. "Sixteen fucking years and I still let it rule me, let it ride me, let the nightmares come."
"You don't let anything," Qui-Gon tried again, but Obi-Wan wasn't willing to listen. Perhaps the shouting was coming, then, and with a sigh, Qui-Gon accepted it. He knew that phase often heralded the end of the depression anyway.
"I'm a fucking Jedi knight! You'd think I'd have better control over myself, but no." Nearly leaping to his feet, Obi-Wan began to pace, frantically. Qui-Gon held himself ready, watching his Obi-Wan carefully for the signs that the collapse was imminent. "I don't know why I bother. I really don't. I'm totally useless, can't even meditate for Force's sake..."
"You're not useless. This is just a bad time..."
"And the nightmares," Obi-Wan continued, as if Qui-Gon hadn't spoken. "Do you realize, I nearly killed Mace today? I was sitting in the garden, laughably trying to meditate, and he startled me. I nearly sliced his head off." Pacing, talking, pacing, talking... Obi-Wan had paced himself into the corner and now appeared to be trapped there. He began to bang his forehead against the wall, and not very gently either.
Again moving slowly, keeping his intentions clear, Qui-Gon rose and walked over to stand next to his anguished bondmate. He carefully didn't touch Obi-Wan, no matter how much he wanted to; instead, he just leaned on the wall next to him and tried to get his attention. "We'll get through this," he murmured, ducking his head to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "I know it's bad this time. We can get through it."
"And then what?!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, forcing himself even further back into the corner, if that was possible. "Sixteen years, Qui-Gon. It should be buried. It should be done. Why can't I let it go?"
"You can, and you do, most of the time. You know this. It's just... hard... right now. We're all under a lot of strain, and for you, given what happened with Anakin, it's worse." Qui-Gon was groping desperately for the words to bring his Obi -- his rational, calm Obi -- back, and to keep this Obi-Wan from further self-destruction.
Abruptly, Obi-Wan lunged for him, grabbing two fistfuls of Qui-Gon's stola in a punishing grip. "He wasn't even my Padawan here!" he nearly shouted into Qui-Gon's face, his own twisted up into an agony of pain.
Fighting back tears, Qui-Gon gently patted the hands that held him. "I know, love, I know," he murmured, then tipped his head down to lean his forehead against Obi-Wan's. "But he was still important to you. Who he was; what he represented. I know Loral and Sasha are just as upset, just as devastated as we are."
His grip slowly easing, Obi-Wan gulped air and shuddered. "It wasn't supposed to happen here," he said, his voice soft and shaking. "Not here. Anywhere but here."
There was nothing to say to that, no platitudes that would be welcome. "I know, I know," Qui-Gon whispered, gently rubbing Obi-Wan's arms and shoulders.
"Why can't I let it go?" The question was plaintive and so softly spoken that Qui-Gon almost missed it.
"Your scars, love, they go deep," Qui-Gon said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "Both the physical ones and the mental ones. You know what the healers said -- it could take a lifetime for them to fade." Pulling Obi-Wan into an embrace, Qui-Gon rubbed his hands along the back he knew to be criss-crossed with tiny white lines. "What... what Anakin did..."
"Don't say his name," Obi-Wan whispered. "That's what she said to me when I saw her. Don't say his name, he'll hear you." Obi-Wan shuddered, but didn't pull away, and Qui-Gon was glad for that. They stood huddled together in silence for a while, and Qui-Gon let all his love and compassion flow across their bond to lend what strength he could to his lover.
When the shudders stopped, Qui-Gon spoke again. "Obi, I meant what I said. I'd like you to meet someone with me. Will you come with me to the Deraani garden? We can get dinner afterwards."
Obi-Wan sighed and sank further into his embrace. "I -- I don't know, Qui. I'm not exactly fit for company right now. Why don't you go--"
"And leave you here to brood, all by yourself? I don't think so," Qui-Gon said. "We've talked about this before. You are not alone here, Obi-Wan."
"I don't want to--"
"You're not, you're not," Qui-Gon interrupted him roughly, knowing, from hundreds of other arguments just like this one, what Obi-Wan would say. "I love you. You're not inconveniencing me, making me hate you, or driving me away. I want to share with you, share everything with you, the good and the bad. If I could take the pain away, I would. But -- please. Don't pull away from me. Let me help you."
Gradually, Obi-Wan leaned back in Qui-Gon's embrace, tipping his head up. Qui-Gon looked at his lover; his eyes were dull with pain, and his hair -- the glorious hair that Qui-Gon never tired of touching -- was in disarray. Qui-Gon smoothed it down gently, then cupped Obi-Wan's chin. "Come with me, please. We don't have to talk to anyone else, and you don't even have to talk to my friend. Just meet him."
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan slumped and nodded. "All right. Fine. But can we eat here, bring it back home? I... I don't really want to be out, right now, Qui."
"All right," Qui-Gon agreed readily. "Let's put our cloaks on; we'll put the hoods up; we don't have to talk to anyone on the way."
Nodding wordlessly, Obi-Wan let himself be draped in his cloak before following Qui-Gon out of their apartment.
The Deraani garden was a night garden. Although lovely during the day, it had to be experienced at night for the full effect. Night-blooming flowers made the relatively small space heavy with perfume, and small creatures filled it with musical sound. Starflits, insects that glowed with their own small, blue light, thrived in the garden, which made it a popular one for the smaller members of the Jedi.
A group of younger initiates was there now, excitedly racing about with commandeered jars, catching the flits. There seemed to be some sort of competition going on, who could either catch the most, make the most noise, or possibly both. The treefrogs did their best to sing over the din, but were losing the battle.
Obi-Wan stood in the archway to the garden, and looked about in dismay. It must have been apparent how uncomfortable he was, but Qui-Gon was determined to have his way. "Come over here," he said, steering Obi-Wan to a corner of the garden where a low bench waited. "Sit down, and I'll go get my friend. I'll be right back."
Sitting, Obi-Wan pulled his cloak tightly around him, trying to ignore the happy voices that caroled around him, reminding him of his own blackness and pain by their very joy. Pulling his anguish around himself like he had done his cloak, Obi-Wan tried to empty his mind.
That was difficult to accomplish after a large ball smacked him in the side of his head and bounced into his lap. Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see a small, tow-headed young boy skid to a stop before him. "I'm sorry, Sir Knight, sir," he said breathlessly, sketching a bow. "It just got 'way from me."
"No harm done," Obi-Wan said. He lifted the ball and handed it to the initiate. "Why aren't you trying to catch flits?" he asked, surprised at his own question. But the boy had no jar, unlike all the other initiates in the garden.
"I don't wanna catch 'em," the boy answered, taking his ball. "Nothin' should be catched in a jar, no matter how little a time, doncha think?" He looked at Obi-Wan with wide, sincere eyes, and Obi-Wan felt... something. "Flits and everything should be free. I mean, sometimes they want to land on me--" and it was true, there were presently two in the boy's hair and one on his shoulder-- "but that's 'cause they know I won't put them in a jar."
"That's... that's very wise of you, initiate," Obi-Wan replied, and the boy beamed.
"I'm only five, but I'm going to be six soon, and I'm going to be a Jedi Knight, like you, some day," he said.
"I imagine you will," Obi-Wan said, blinking. The child reminded him of someone, but he couldn't remember who...
"You're a Jedi Knight, but you don't feel so good, do you?" he asked, artlessly. Climbing up on the bench to sit with Obi-Wan dislodged one of the flits, but the others in his hair remained. "The Force talks to me, you know," he confided. "My sister says the Force isn't supposed to talk to you, but I know it does. She's going to be a Jedi Knight some day too. She's five, like me. What's wrong with you that you got such a big hole in your middle?"
"I do?" Obi-Wan blinked again, then focused on the child sitting next to him. "Yes, I suppose I do," he said sadly. "It's a rather... long story. I've had lots of, well, lots of hurting. And it's still there, some of it."
"Oh," the boy said, nodding as if he understood all the worlds' pain. "Then you should cry. Crying makes it feel better sometimes."
"Is that so?"
"Uh-huh. Master Neela said so, and she never lies."
"But... how long do you suppose I should cry?" Obi-Wan asked, amazed at himself that he could talk this way to this boy, this stranger, who felt so much like -- like home to him.
"Crying lasts until you stop crying," the boy replied, shrugging. "It lasts until you don't got -- don't have -- any more crying to do. I could hold your hand while you do it, if you want," he offered, shyly.
Feeling caught between tears and wonderment, Obi-Wan stared down at the little boy next to him. "What's your name, initiate?" he asked, softly.
"My name's Luke. What's yours?" Luke asked.
"My name is Obi-Wan," Obi-Wan replied, then hesitantly took the hand proffered and shook it.
"I-am-pleased-to-meet-you, Knight Obi-Wan," Luke said, obviously reciting what he had been taught. "I like that name. It's a good name, a Jedi name. Luke isn't, I don't think, but my sister says I'm being stupid."
"I think Luke is a very good name," Obi-Wan said, swallowing a lump in his throat.
"You think, really? That's what Quiggy says too, but he likes to tease Leia, so I can never tell if he's being serious or not. Hey! There he is."
Obi-Wan looked up to see his bondmate approaching, a small, dark-haired girl holding his hand. "Luke! I've been looking for you," Qui-Gon said, smiling down at them. "I see you've met my friend already," he added, to Obi-Wan.
"Oh! You know Sir Obi-Wan?" Luke asked Qui-Gon, who crouched down to see all of them better.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi is my bondmate, Luke," Qui-Gon replied, smiling at the boy. "And this is Luke's twin sister, Leia."
"Hi," Leia said, smiling shyly at Obi-Wan, who found himself -- remarkably -- smiling back.
"Shall I do this properly, then?" Qui-Gon asked, tickling Leia, who giggled. "Obi-Wan Kenobi, may I present Initiates Luke and Leia Skywalker."
Obi-Wan swallowed heavily. Before he could say anything, though, a bell sounded from the archway, calling the initiates in for the evening. "Oops, gotta go," Luke said, but turned to look up to Obi-Wan. "If you need to -- you know," he said, glancing significantly at Leia, "I'll be glad to hold your hand. Just so's you know."
"Thank you, Luke," Obi-Wan replied, then shocked himself further by engulfing the boy in a hug, which was readily returned.
"Come on, Luke, we got to go," Leia said. "Night, Quiggy, it was nice to meet you, Quiggy's Obi-Wan. Come on!"
"Twins. She had twins." Dimly Obi-Wan was aware of the twins running off and of Qui-Gon rising, brushing off his trousers and sitting beside him. "Did I know she had twins?"
"Leia's the elder," Qui-Gon told him, softly. "The Naboo want her for queen, but, well, you've felt her. She belongs here, in the temple, where she's been all her life. Luke as well."
"Do they know..."
"About their mother? About what their father did to their mother? No, of course not," Qui-Gon replied. "Not yet. They will, though, some day. It will be a shame they'll have to learn to live down."
"Luke... he feels just like Ani, but without..."
"Without the fear," Qui-Gon was nodding, understanding. "Yes, I felt it too. I didn't know Anakin as well as you did, though. But I remember him. Luke is a good boy; a fine child. He'll make a wonderful Jedi Knight, like his sister will. They're nearly ready to be chosen as Padawans."
Obi-Wan was silent for a long time, his mind in a whirl, thinking back, remembering. Qui-Gon let him be, just sat with him and let him think, and for that he was incredibly grateful. As the garden fell quiet, with only the songs of the treefrogs disturbing the peace, Obi-Wan said, "I've always felt so guilty, for leaving him. Even though I hardly knew I was doing it. And then, I hurt him, in other places. He was basically a good boy, Qui-Gon. I don't know..."
"I think that possibly Yoda was right," Qui-Gon said, after Obi-Wan's voice petered out. "Not in the fact that he was too old to train... too old in years, anyway... but in the fact that his mind was too set. His slavery had become too ingrained for him. Loral is a wonderful teacher, he's raised many successful Padawans; I can't imagine Anakin's madness being blamed on his tutelage. Perhaps it was just... destined."
"You mean the Force..."
"No, not the Force." Qui-Gon frowned and stared off into the middle distance. "I think... I think even the Force is controlled, somehow, or maybe controlled is the wrong word. Influenced. The Force can and does do things, like ensure that you ended up here for me. But it can only do so much... in the end, perhaps there's a greater destiny that the Force can do little to control."
"And it was Anakin's destiny to turn, to go mad, to rape and then kill his wife?" Obi-Wan shook his head, frowning at the thought.
"It seems rather ridiculous when you put it that way, but yes -- well, maybe. Maybe, had we not managed to destroy Palpatine, he would have turned to the dark and become a Sith. Or, maybe, given a focus, something concrete to fight, he would have become a warrior for the good, and killed Palpatine himself. I don't know -- I think I'm just making it up as I go along. Perhaps that's what we all do." Qui-Gon gave him a sidelong look that was at once serious and humorous. "However, I don't want you trying to do a little reality hopping to try and figure it out."
Snorting, Obi-Wan's lips turned up slightly in a smile. "No fear of that, love. My traveling days are over. If the Force made it so that I ended up here, it was for me as much as for you. You keep me sane. Even when I don't want to be."
Qui-Gon raised Obi-Wan's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I love you," he said earnestly.
"I love you too," Obi-Wan murmured back. "And I think I know why you brought me here, tonight, to meet Luke."
"You felt it, then?" Qui-Gon asked, not relinquishing the hand he still held.
"Yes." Obi-Wan squeezed the fingers that held him so gently. "Luke's meant to be my Padawan, isn't he? And Leia, yours."
"Never thought I'd be raising another Padawan, and at my age, too," Qui-Gon said, nodding in agreement. "But I've been feeling it for a while now... it was just that it seemed to coalesce today, when the Leia-cane crashed into my legs this morning." He studied Obi-Wan's face. "How do you feel about that? I know you've not wanted to take a Padawan..."
"It never felt right," Obi-Wan said, nodding.
"Yoda has been watching them, and he told me -- of course, with no ulterior motive --" Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and Obi-Wan chuckled-- "that he's been waiting for a bonded couple to take both of them, so they wouldn't be separated. He feels separating them wouldn't be a good idea, and, well, I have to agree with the nosy old troll. At least in this case." Cocking his head, Qui-Gon continued. "But you didn't really answer my question... how do you feel about it, Obi?"
To his surprise, the idea seemed -- good, correct, to Obi-Wan. He felt no trepidation, no qualms about raising twin Padawans with his bondmate. "We'll need bigger quarters," he mused softly.
"Three bedroom apartments are available, I'm sure," Qui-Gon said, dryly. "Let's talk about it over dinner. Shall we?"
"All right." Obi-Wan allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and to his surprise, found himself kissed thoroughly as soon as he had done so. He wrapped his arms around his tall lover and opened his mouth, letting Qui-Gon in to taste, to love, to feel him. When they broke, breathless, Obi-Wan smiled.
Qui-Gon returned the smile, wistfully. "I love your smile, and I love the fact that you're feeling better," he whispered, brushing red-gold hair -- beginning to gray at the temples but still shining -- out of Obi-Wan's eyes.
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said simply, not letting go. A strange thought flitted through his mind then, and he frowned. "I wonder..."
"What?"
"Luke. He feels so powerful, at least as powerful as Ani was. Maybe, maybe he was right all along, and Anakin was the chosen one, or the one who would bring the chosen one to the Jedi. Maybe it's Luke."
"No." Qui-Gon looked down into Obi-Wan's face, and his eyes carried so much love and devotion and joy it was all Obi-Wan could do to just accept it. "No, I know who the chosen one is, Obi. And it wasn't Anakin. It never was."
Once again, for what must have been the dozenth time that evening, Obi-Wan felt himself near tears. He swallowed and leaned forward to rest his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Let's go eat," he finally managed, not knowing anything else to say.
"Sounds good," Qui-Gon said, his own voice sounding a bit thick. "Pick it up and take it home, right?"
"No... no, let's eat there. I'm... hungry, all of a sudden."
"Must have been all that raw, unbridled enthusiasm surrounding you when the initiates were here," Qui-Gon teased gently.
"Oh, Force, six year old twin Padawans," Obi-Wan groaned, in not-so-mock dismay. "We're insane."
"Well, it beats the alternative, Obi-love," Qui-Gon laughed. Turning, but still arm-in-arm, they walked out of the garden and back into the Temple.
end