ARCHIVE: Yes to Master and Apprentice, and anyone else who
wants it. (Geez, if you do, I'd be thrilled.) Just let me know.
RATING: PG-13
WARNING: Well, there's some suggestive/implied thoughts but no
outright smut. Should be safe.
PAIRING: Q/O
SUMMARY: Obi-Wan dwells on dark thoughts.
SPOILERS: Post-TPM. Spoilers aplenty, like ya need that
warning. =)
DISCLAIMER: The characters are George's. The concept is mine.
He wouldn't want it anyway. In regards to the lyrics, "If There
Was a Time" is c 1994 Warner Brothers, and the lyrics were used
without permission.
FEEDBACK: All feedback humbly accepted. Flames will be fed to
my cat.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Blame this one on my muse. The first glimmer of
an idea came to me while I was washing dishes this morning; the
rest was clinched while I was listening to Harem Scarem
(progressive-hard-rock-Canadian-band) on the way to my parents'
house, hence the title. The lyrics seemed really accurate. Have
I rambled enough? Sorry. Here. Story. Read. Please?
Oh, // around text indicates italics/thoughts.
/I try to talk to the clouds but they spill out the rain
Now I'm truly convinced they've got nothing to say
Well I am alone, is there something wrong with my brain
Now the weeds are on fire and they're burning away/
One final caress: the barest touch of his Master's fingertip
against his cheek, and then Qui-Gon Jinn was dead.
Obi-Wan let out a sob, leaning forward until his forehead was
pressed to Qui-Gon's own. The gesture was useless; yet, while
he still cradled his Master's warm body, he could deny the
truth for a little longer.
Had it only been moments ago that he had been battling the Sith
Lord; that he had lost himself in the grip of emotion, the
desire for revenge so strong it sang like a physical need
within him? It felt like years; no, centuries.
The pure rage was gone now, leaving him an empty shell. Emptier
than ever, he felt, without Qui-Gon's vibrant presence in the
Force. The mindtouch he had known and accepted without question
for the better part of twelve years had fled, left nothing but
a void behind.
/He's gone./ Some part of Obi-Wan's mind finally made that
thought break into his consciousness. He stood, hefting the
curiously light body with Force-assisted strength. The Jedi
Council would have to be contacted. Plans would have to be
made; arrangements dealt with.
He didn't want to deal with any of it. He didn't want to do
anything but weep, but he knew that his tears would not bring
Qui-Gon back, no matter how many he shed. So he forced himself
to find his way back to the upper levels of the Palace, to
inform the Queen of the battle's outcome.
Most of all, he buried the tiny voice within him that jealously
wondered why his Master had spoken only of Anakin with his last
words.
/Last time I checked I'm at thirty-four sins
Another won't matter `cause I'm never gonna win
Hoping now I'm on a road that I can change
Cause I'll change/
The other battles had been successful, of course. The droid
army had been defeated by the timely intervention of the Naboo
fighters; the Queen and her security force captured the Viceroy
and his co-conspirator, who were even now being held in a
high-security cell to await the arrival of a prison ship.
Though Gungans had died in the field, many more survived to
tell the tale, among them Qui-Gon's pet "pathetic lifeform",
Jar Jar. Obi-Wan could even tolerate the annoying mannerisms of
that creature, if only because they reminded him of Qui-Gon's
propensity to accept in friendship the unusual and sublime.
The Queen decreed a day of mourning for the fallen; the Gungans
were laid to rest in the manner of their people, and Obi-Wan
was given leave to prepare Qui-Gon's body for a proper burning.
He tore himself away from the administrivia as soon as
possible, desperate to be alone. Though Master Yoda and the
rest of the Council offered their condolences - and he knew
that they truly felt the loss of Qui-Gon's wisdom and skill -
he knew, too, that they could never truly understand what a
treasure had been lost. They had not appreciated him; not the
way Obi-Wan had.
The body was laid out in a cold room several levels
belowground, in a section of medical rooms. Obi-Wan dismissed
the Naboo who had been assigned to help him, all but snarling
at one young woman who only thoughtfully suggested that he
might not want to be alone with the dead body. When she
blanched and then swiftly left, he wilted into a chair.
"Master," he whispered into the still air. "I was wrong. I'm
sorry."
The air remained still. Of course there was no answer, no
gentle but stern reprimand. Nor would there ever be again.
Obi-Wan would be his own master now; his own and Anakin's.
Heavy-hearted, he rose to begin his task.
/If there was a time when I needed to pray
That the cold wind blows away
If there was a time when I needed a place
To wipe the guilt free from my face
If there was a time for mercy in my life
It's right now/
The Naboo night was bright with all the stars of the galaxy, it
seemed; as if every world in the Republic had lit up in
mourning for Qui-Gon. If Obi-Wan looked up, he could see them
through the open roof of the rounded building in which he sat.
But he did not turn his gaze skyward; he could look nowhere
other than directly ahead of him, where flames crackled on an
open pyre, consuming Qui-Gon's body by slow degrees. Though the
fire was brilliantly hot, he stared anyway.
"What will happen to me now?"
Anakin's voice disturbed him from his reverie, and he turned
his head to look at the young boy. Seeing the guileless,
innocent eyes, something sparked in him. Had he been wallowing
in his grief so much that he hadn't considered anyone's pain
beside his own?
"The Council have given me permission to train you," he
replied, thinking back for a moment to Master Yoda's stubborn,
reluctant allowance of that fact earlier that day. "You will be
a Jedi. I promise."
The boy's eyes searched his own, as if that answer were not
enough; then, with a soft sigh, he looked back at the pyre.
Obi-Wan touched a reassuring hand to Anakin's shoulder. He knew
the boy had become attached to Qui-Gon in an adoring,
hero-worship type of way. Their relationship would be more
formal, as was proper for a Master and an Apprentice, but there
was no reason they could not be friends as well. If nothing
else, they had the mutual memories of Qui-Gon to build on for
the beginning of a friendship.
/If I went down on my knees, would it all be in vain?
But for now I'll believe `til there's some better way
Well my pages turn `til I've got nothing to say
Now the days with no dawn are coming of age/
Obi-Wan procured new clothes for Anakin the next morning. Jedi
tunics would comprise the majority of his wardrobe for the next
several years, so he knew it would be easier to introduce the
boy to them now. He also found a barber to clip Anakin's hair
into the proper Padawan style, leaving one lock long at the
back for a pigtail and one short lock behind the right ear for
what would eventually become a braid. Normally, Masters cut
their new Padawans' hair themselves, but Obi-Wan didn't trust
himself with the scissors; his memories of Qui-Gon performing
the same ritual shook him substantially and he had to excuse
himself.
/I loved you, Master,/ he whispered to the bright morning
breeze. /What in the world compelled me to keep my mouth shut,
my heart closed?/
He knew what it was. He'd been embarrassed and afraid. Sure
that his feelings would be seen as nothing more than an
adolescent crush, he'd hidden them behind a wall of silence.
Hidden them well, it seemed, for Qui-Gon had never said a word
or raised an eyebrow in question. Over time, Obi-Wan had
convinced himself that his feelings were nothing more than the
crush nearly every Padawan felt for his or her Master; he'd
taken lovers when the opportunity arose, but the encounters
never felt fulfilling in any way.
Now, of course, it was too late. He would have given anything
to take back the moments before Qui-Gon's death, to stop his
Master from blindly charging in after the Sith Lord; surely
there could have been some way to delay Qui-Gon until they both
could have attacked the Sith again. The scene played over in
his head, as if he were watching a hologram; there, he could
have blocked that blow that sent him flying down several
levels; Qui-Gon would have knocked the Sith off the catwalk and
onto another, and they both would have gone in after him -
"Master Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan turned at the sound of Anakin's voice. The boy's hair
was newly sheared, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable in
the new Jedi outfit. Obi-Wan forced a smile, putting the
useless ruminations aside. "You look just right for the
celebration parade," he commented, reaching out to ruffle
Anakin's hair.
/Last time I checked I'm at thirty-five sins
Another won't matter 'cause I'm never gonna win
Holding on to a ghost that I can't save/
Much later that evening, after all the confetti and trash left
behind by the parade had been cleaned up, the celebratory
Gungans had returned to their home, and the inhabitants of the
city of Theed had dispersed, Anakin and Obi-Wan stood on the
steps of the palace to await the arrival of the transport which
would return them to Coruscant. They had made their goodbyes to
Queen Amidala only scant minutes earlier; there had been honest
regret in her eyes as she bid farewell to Anakin with a sweet
hug and kiss, and when she expressed to Obi-Wan her sorrow at
Qui-Gon's loss, Obi-Wan thought he glimpsed tears.
He had to move on, he thought with a heavy sigh. If he
continued to dwell on the memories, on the regrets and thoughts
of how Qui-Gon's death could be prevented, he would be useless
for training Anakin. /If only... if only I'd said something
before./
"Master, sir." Anakin pointed up at the heavens. The contrail
of an interstellar craft was visible high in the stratosphere.
Obi-Wan nodded to Anakin. "That's our ride. It should be down
here quite soon."
Anakin gazed upwards for a moment longer, then shifted his gaze
to Obi-Wan. "Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly." Obi-Wan sat down on the steps, lowering his eyes
to Anakin's eye-level.
"You miss Master Qui-Gon, right? That's why you're thinking
about him all the time?"
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed slightly. The boy was perceptive,
moreso than he'd thought. "Yes, I do," he replied honestly. "He
was my Master since I was thirteen years old."
"Did you love him?"
Obi-Wan's breath caught in his chest. He forced himself to
breathe, but he could not meet Anakin's eyes anymore. Turning
to look at the courtyard, he nodded. "I did. I still do."
Anakin's voice had changed somehow, subtly, the inflections
just a little different, when he spoke again. "He misses you."
"What?" Obi-Wan looked at the boy again, startled.
"He. he loved you, too." Anakin blinked suddenly and shook his
head. "I - I felt it somehow," he said, obviously fighting to
express a concept he wasn't quite sure of.
"It's all right. I understand." Obi-Wan let loose a deep
breath, feeling for the first time that the tight grip on his
heart, the one that had been there since Qui-Gon's death, had
somehow eased. "Master Qui-Gon has moved on," he said softly.
"He is one with the Force now. That's how you felt him."
Anakin nodded acceptance of this explanation. As Obi-Wan leaned
back on his elbows, looking up at the stars, he closed his eyes
and breathed in, slowly, then out again, the rhythm akin to
that of his meditative breathing.
And he felt the Force around him, seeking its way in and
through him as it had not since his first uttered denial of
Qui-Gon's demise. He had abandoned himself somehow, lost
himself in the darkness; he was equally aware now that only
that knowledge so simply uttered by Anakin could have freed
him.
The caressing wind that blew lightly through his hair could
have been Qui-Gon's fingers; the rustle of the breeze in the
trees might have been the sound of his Master's robes as he
turned swiftly. He thought he heard his voice, in the moments
before the roar of the transport's engines drowned out all
other sound; and Obi-Wan felt the empty place inside him fill
up again.
As long as the Force was with him, Qui-Gon would never be truly
gone.
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