Inside Looking Out

by Nimori (nimorii@yahoo.ca)

Archive: who'd want it?

Category: AU snippet

Rating: G

Warnings: Lunchtime bunny. Not beta'd. 'nough said

Spoilers: AOTC, early JA

Summary: Ah, just read it. It's too short for a summary.

Disclaimers: You the man, George. The only thing I'm getting for this is some cheap thrills and (hopefully) some feedback.

He had never been attuned to the living Force, and the muja trees didn't like him much. Obi-Wan Kenobi leaned forward, the thick bulk of a branch splaying his legs and the weight of the vibroshears pulling at his arm. He made the cut, a tense movement made awkward by jittery, under-used muscles, and felt the tree's scream as a faint, outraged ripple.

Even the tree knew he had cut too far, and Obi-Wan sighed, regarding the other scraggly trees in his row. From his perch he could easily see the uneven branches, the white slashes of misplaced cuts, and one sorry-looking specimen from which he had amputated a major limb. Even the raked piles of clippings at the bases were lopsided.

Obi-Wan rubbed his wrist where it ached from the weight of the shears, and wished in vain for his lightsaber. The AgriCorp official had taken it two days before, on his birthday, and in any case he doubted they would let him use the weapon to prune trees.

A muted sense of hostility from the tree got him moving once more, sweat prickling his back, drone of insects teasing his ears. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could leave the tree in peace and move on to his next victim.

The loud buzz of vibroshears drowned the insects and the faint sounds of other pruners at work, the sheer spirit-dulling monotony of his task sucking him down into a place where the only alternative to frustration and anger was apathy. He chose it reluctantly, because to do otherwise would start him on the path to Darkness. Even this wretched task, for which he was unsuited and unqualified, was better than Turning.

High above the ground, isolated in a bubble of greenery and dead air, time stilled, and the moment seemed immortal. The unifying Force was distant, and dodged his grasp as a feather on the wind, while the living Force suffocated and clung without touching him. It was like laying in bacta with a malfunctioning breather, healing and harming all at once.

Around him trees lit the Force as patient stars, insects as comets, the supernovas of other sentients distant and scattered in the grove, all dulled by his semi-blindness to the living Force.

Weaving through them, eclipsing them, the brilliance of the galactic core approached -- meandered really. Another Force user, strolling in the shade and green and hot and still and sound, parting the living Force easily, using it as though owning it, and perhaps the being did. A Jedi then, or at least someone with more training than Obi-Wan.

He killed the vibroshears, gaze darting about the grove. Nothing but green and more green, and could they not have planted some yellowtops for variety? He drew back, settled against his victim's trunk as the approaching glow engulfed all other light, drowned direction with its brilliance. Everywhere and nowhere, until a voice gave reality to the presence.

"I say, boy, are you happy up there?"

Obi-Wan leaned sideways and spotted a brown-cloaked figure looking up at him. "No, Master," he replied, feeling it wiser to flatter a knight by calling him master than insult a master by calling him knight.

"Good. You'll not be cross with me for my presumptions then. Come down from there and let's have a look at you."

Real time resumed with the anchor of conversation, and Obi-Wan felt the press of the living Force lift a little. Remembrance of past and possibility of future returned, and the moment receded. He climbed down, preferring even a painful distraction over the apathetic bubble of his perch. He tried not to be envious of the man's neat Jedi uniform or the worn but well-polished lightsaber hanging from his belt, but it was difficult, and the man's close inspection of him made it worse.

Obi-Wan became acutely aware of his own sweaty, grubby appearance, tangled hair hanging in his eyes, grass stains on his jumpsuit, scratches decorating his hands and forearms because he had forgotten his gloves that morning. He resisted the urge to brush his hair back or tug his clothing into order, but allowed himself to stand straighter. An AgriCorp facility during work hours was not the place to look for a tidy boy, and he would not apologize for doing his job.

A hint of a smile teased the Jedi's lips, not disturbing his elegantly barbered beard in the least. "You do have spirit," he murmured. "I'm glad to see Qui-Gon was right about one thing."

Obi-Wan stiffened at the name.

"Please don't let him trouble you." The man -- older, aristocratic, and very much the Jedi master -- resumed his stroll, gesturing for Obi-Wan to follow. "Qui-Gon is difficult to get along with under the best circumstances."

"You know him?"

"Who doesn't? I better than most. I did spend twelve years pounding awareness of the unifying Force into the boy, though gods know, he forgot it all the hour after his knighting. He always was too content letting the Force do his thinking for him. Sethanius Dooku," he added abruptly, seeming to realize he had yet to introduce himself.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"I know. I've been looking for you."

"You have?"

"Yes. I made no exaggeration when I said I'd been presumptuous. In fact, I'm afraid I've acted almost as viscerally as Qui-Gon is wont to. Forgive me?"

"Yes, of course," Obi-Wan said absently. Who was this man that he would apologize to a washed-out initiate for anything?

"I do not approve of Qui-Gon's actions in this matter," Master Dooku continued. His pace was leisurely, and he cast many inscrutable glances at Obi-Wan as they walked. "Unlike some, I was content to let him deal with Xanatos' betrayal in his own manner, but when I overheard his report to the council on the Bandomeer incident, I could no longer hold my tongue. I fear I gave him a lecture, in front of the council no less, and called him some rather unpleasant names."

Obi-Wan started at this; he could not imagine anyone daring to call Master Jinn names.

"It's true, my boy. As I recall, 'stubborn ass' was the kindest term. I berated him for leaving you here after all you did to help him. There are senior padawans who could not have performed better, and I could not understand why he allowed his own demons to control him to the point of such errors in judgement.

"In short, I allowed the moment free reign, and did not think overmuch on the consequences." They had reached the edge of the grove, and a sea of Alderaani corn beckoned across a dirt track. Master Dooku turned down the access road, keeping to the side to allow vehicles to pass. "Qui-Gon was furious of course. He's been his own knight for nearly twenty years after all, and he didn't appreciate his old master dressing him down in front of the high council. Still, I believe the living Force prompted my outburst. I thought Miarta would be my last padawan, but the future is fluid, and who am I to argue with the Force?"

Obi-Wan blinked back tears, thinking of all the trouble Master Dooku had gone to, and resenting the bittersweet gratification of having his worth acknowledged after the fact. "Sir, I'm sorry you came all this way, but my thirteenth birthday was two days ago. I'm very sorry. You seem nice. I--" His throat fought his efforts to speak.

"Have some faith in the Force, Obi-Wan. It was three days ago that I met up with Qui-Gon in the council chamber. After he stormed out, I requested your apprenticeship, and the council approved the match. Pending your acceptance, of course." Dooku stopped, and turned to face him. "Do you accept? Will you be my padawan learner, Obi-Wan?"

The tears made an aggressive rush and broke though, spilling down his face. He lunged, seized his master and saviour about the waist before remembering Dooku's preternaturally tidy appearance and his own sorry state. His new master only chuckled, however, and patted Obi-Wan's sweaty, bark-flecked back.

"I take it the answer is yes." From somewhere in his robes Dooku produced a second lightsaber, one of the small, plain, training variety. "I didn't have a chance to investigate your preference, and anyway I grabbed the first one off the rack. I hope you like blue, but if not, you'll be building your own soon."

"It's perfect," Obi-Wan said, accepting the gift without releasing his new master's waist.

"It will do. For our first mission, at any rate."

"Mission?"

"Of course. Now that you're a padawan, you won't see much of Coruscant. We're to oversee the elections on Gala in four days, so let's be off, Padawan."

Padawan. In all his dreams he had never imagined the responsibility and honour coming to him in such a manner, the dull pulse of the muja grove to his right and the murmur of cornstalks to his left, the dirt road beneath his feet stretching behind and before him. The weight of the moment seemed bearable with the future winding ahead.

Obi-Wan pulled away and straitened his jumpsuit, trusting Dooku would have something more suitable for him to wear. "I'm ready, Master."

Dooku smiled, and they set off down the road, walking to the pulse of the living Force. The beat did not seem so distant anymore.

~Finis~