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Archive: MA, or please ask me

Category: Pre-Slash, Angst, Non-Con, Chan

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: This is a DPS story. That's D for Dead and P for Padawan. Dark subject matter - allusions to violence, abuse, rape, murder, also Obi is only 16 - therefore chan warning.

Summary: After the death of his Padawan, Qui-Gon grieves.

Disclaimer: Mostly George's characters, not mine.

Feedback: Yes please

Note: Thanks to my Master, Cuimne. Many, many thanks! Couldn't do it without you.

I brought my Padawan's body home wrapped in my robe. I did not use the grav sled that was waiting for us with the healers and the others on the landing pad. I carried him out of the ship myself. I almost snorted - healers! What was the point of sending healers to meet us? They wanted me to take him to the medical centre, but I refused. He would spend these last few hours in our own quarters.

Someone was sobbing quietly as I entered the Temple with him - one of Obi-Wan's friends who had been among those waiting for us. I didn't notice who was there. He felt so light in my arms.

I didn't want anyone else coming to our quarters with us, and drove them away. So we were alone when the door slid shut behind us. I took him to his own room, and as gently as I could lay him on his narrow bed. I had managed to heal most of the bruises and jagged cuts to his face during the journey home, but some of the marks were still visible. They showed up as dark smudges on his white skin - not as dark as the skin around his eyes, though. His mouth was closed, lips colourless.

He looked so young lying there, less than his 16 years, still wrapped in my robe. No, I couldn't bear to leave him alone for this last night. I lifted his body again and carried him into my room. Lying in the middle of my larger bed, he looked even smaller.

I sat on the chair across from the bed and spent the night just looking at him. It was as if I expected his chest to start moving again in the rhythm of breathing, his eyes to flicker open and that familiar smile to animate his still face.

I spent the night there, and in the morning they came again for him. It was time to take him for that final ritual, but still I wouldn't let any of them touch him. I carried him myself to the pyre.

"Take the boy." That emotionless, cold voice haunts my waking hours and is at the beginning of the worst of the dreams.

They gave me plenty of time to grieve. But now it was thought that I should be moving on; I should be getting over it. I spent my days alone in meditation, either in the gardens or in my quarters. I refused the offers of company, and when they began suggesting missions I refused those also. Someone even suggested I go back to teaching the youngsters. They didn't understand.

So Master Zinna Na'Tau was sent to speak to me. Of course, it was made to look like a casual meeting, one late afternoon in the Fountain Garden. He used to love to go there. It was well known that Zinna had lost her own Padawan a few years ago. She chatted for a while, and I answered her questions with one word or perhaps two. Then she brought up the subject of Mina, her Padawan. I told her in no uncertain terms that there was no comparison between her loss and mine. Mina had died when the transport on which she was travelling to meet her Master had been destroyed due to a hyperdrive malfunction. An accidental, meaningless death. Zinna couldn't blame anyone for it, and couldn't blame herself either. Though of course, she did, for a while.

I think I hurt her with my words, and she left me alone. Nothing at all like my loss - I had good reason to apportion blame.

"Take the boy." We had been in the filthy pen with the other prisoners for only a day and a night. We witnessed them coming for the young woman, and watched as they led her away screaming. We could hear them as they hurt her, and hear her screams. She never returned, and the young man she had been huddled next to sat white-faced and silent in shock and despair.

I think they were beginning to lose patience with me. They tried over and over to bring me back from the bleak place I was in.

"You must carry on. It is what he would have wanted."

"You can't blame yourself. What happened was out of your control."

The days and weeks merged into one, a blur of sameness. I know I looked a mess - my sleep was disturbed and eating was meaningless.

Then I chanced upon Szekely in my usual meditation spot. They are transparently obvious in their scheming. He had also lost a Padawan, this time by a deliberate act of violence in a border conflict last year.

"Qui-Gon, my Padawan's death came about due to hate and revenge. Those who carried out his murder went free. I could spend my days blaming, but there is no point - it won't bring him back. I have to get on with my life, and so do you. I am considering taking another Padawan. Have you thought about that?"

Take on another? Replace my Obi-Wan? I explained to him as patiently as I could that I could not do that, because I had failed him and he had died. He still didn't understand.

That terrible voice. "Take the boy." The following night they came again for another plaything. The girl hiding in the corner was trying her best not to be noticed. Her pregnancy was obvious. They dragged her to the door, laughing. I tried to convince them to leave her alone but they were not amenable to Force suggestion; there were too many of them. She was screaming for someone to help her; help her baby.

I offered myself in her place, but they wanted younger meat. So I told them. "Take the boy." It took only a moment for them to consider. He looked at me with complete trust in his eyes as they led him away.

I heard them taking their pleasure, the beating, kicking, and his screams. They even carried on after he had stopped breathing. His bright presence in my mind had faded to nothing, but the sounds went on long after. They brought him back and dumped his body in the doorway. Something inside me broke, and I went for them. They couldn't stop me although I did take one or two blaster injuries. I killed them, and charged down the hallway to find the others. I found our lightsabres, and brandishing them together I killed the rest of them.

I returned to the pen and wrapped him up in my robe.

The child would have been born now. Two lives for my Obi-Wan.

So when they keep telling me not to blame myself, they are lying. I told the bastards to take him. My voice. Emotionless. Cold.

I kept his lightsabre. I hold it in my hands, and place it over my heart, my finger on the switch. I don't expect to find him in the Force, but I can't help but hope.