Call on Me

by Nixale (erfoo@gundamwing.net)

Archive: Anywhere. Just ask me.

Category: Angst, death

Rating: G

Warnings: Once again, angst, death. Oh, and a few tiny hints at slash, that can also been seen as affection.

Spoilers: None

Summary: Obi-Wan's ill, and thinking.

Feedback: YES!

I never want to move again. Not after that mission.

"How many firefights, Master?"

"Twenty seven."

He stared at the wall with the same dead exaustion that I felt. Numbness. We were both tired, so tired, and yet couldn't sleep. The nightmares of what we saw. What happened to me.

I should probably be feeling dirty, useless, unwanted, depressed, suicidal. Isn't that what rape vicitims generally feel? But I'm a Jedi. I don't feel.

Honestly, I feel like I'm dying. Dying of things that make me want to hide in a little room and cry like a child.

Home. Courscant. The Temple. The Council.

I almost felt nausesous at the last thought. The Council would expect-demand, even-a full report, regardless of what happened. I still felt like I was dying, but only when I thought about the rape. Whenever I did, Master would wrap me in a Force-embrace, or an actual one if he was there. It was nice to know that someone cared.

Even if it was only out of pity.

I can't remember much of anything, lately. It started when we were still on the ship, a day before we reached Courscant. I think I had walked into the main room of our small quarters on the ship, and passed out.

Fainted, like a weak little girl.

If Bant was here, she would have scolded me for that.

"Girls don't faint because they're weak, they faint for the same reasons anyone else does!"

But Bant wasn't here. No would she ever be. I killed her when I told her that I had been raped. I hadn't wanted to see the look of pity in her eyes, so I flung her against the wall. People had tried to tell me that she wasn't dead, just unconcious. Someone even had the balls to dress up as Bant and tell me that she was here, and alive.

I killed her too.

I don't feel remorse for killing them, because I know I'm dying. I won't have to face the in the afterlife Force, because I won't go there. I'll go the Hell, the only place I can ever truly belong.

Or am I even fit to go to Hell? But where else is there to go?

Master just came by. He asked me, ever the diplomat, to wake up. I told him that I was awake, and then asked him if he would kill me. He shook his head and looked away.

But not before I saw the tears in his eyes.

Finally.

My death is coming, knocking, closer by every movement. Something soft brushes my lips, and it feels good. I want to return it, but I don't. I'm not worthy. Not after being raped and tainted.

Tainted.

"TAINTED!"

I suprise everyone in the room by screaming. I hear alarms go off everywhere and then...

"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. There's no way he's going to wake up. The fever has damaged his brain too much."

"Remove the life support."

I can't comprehend it. It was just a simple chill. How had it escaleted into a fever? Into pnumonia? Into...death?

My Padawan was dead and there wasn't a Sith-damned thing I could do about it. Because I was too weak.

I had my own bout with the illness, but it had been so much milder. Because Obi-Wan had poured his life energy into me, because he had sucked away the disease into his own body.

He knew he couldn't handle it, not after the mission. Too exausted. Too ill from stress.

Suicide, in a way.

//I did it for you. You may not like it, but your life has so much more potential than mine did.//

I looked around for the source of familar voice, even though it was in my head.

It chuckled.

//Don't bother. I'm not around. I'm in you, and I always will be. In more ways than one, you know.//

Obi-Wan joked in my mind. Obi-Wan made a sex joke in my mind.

I wanted to scream out loud.

My Padawan just died and now he's in my head for all eternity!

Maybe not.

//Qui-Gon, I'll be here when ever you want. Just call on me.//

I sighed as familar arms surrounded me, even in death.