Archive :yes to master_apprentice, Temple Library and my
homepage only
Category: Q/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV
Rating: PG
Warnings: Aside from IWA - 'Inexperienced Writer Alert' - none!
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Spoilers: None
Summary: Qui-Gon returns home from a difficult mission. (Part
of "The Master's Pathway" Series, currently under private
development.)
Feedback: yes, e-mail only
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognizable characters,
names and references, etc are the sole property of George
Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox.
Aren't we glad he created such wonderful things for us to play
with and enjoy? This fan fiction was created solely for
entertainment purposes and no money was made from it. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
MACE WINDU
Master Yoda announced that it is believed he has turned up on a
transport ship bearing the very last of the refugees from the
planet! I still cannot entirely believe it as true. What if
they are mistaken? He was reported killed in the bombing of the
embassy 6 days ago. But, they DID say there were circumstances
that prevented them from providing the body for burial, and had
no explanation for us as to exactly why. Not even his
lightsaber or clothing would they return. Not even an
investigative team was allowed to be sent, all of which made us
suspicious.
Master Yoda cautioned against giving up too soon after the
bombing. He did not notify Qui-Gon's Padawan when the explosion
happened . Thank the gods we did not.
The transport ship is over half an hour late now. I am standing
just inside the doorway with the other council members. This is
the fourth ship of refugees . Only 3 thousand people left. Out
of an original population of over 200 thousand. It is
impossible to believe a religious war could lead to such
carnage and destruction. Men of Gods, killing innocent and
sinner alike, to prevent them from worshipping other gods than
theirs. Will mankind never learn from such folly?
He is one of the very last of the 746 passengers to come from
the transport. He is easy to spot due to his height and the
Jedi robe. But I still did not recognize him at first.
Children. So many of them are only children. Children of all
sizes and ages. They are all filthy, and seem to move as if in
a daze, as does he. We see him pause on the pad and sway
unsteadily, as he seems to consider the skyline, and the look
on his face is one of confusion and unrecognition. Master Yoda
beside me gently touches my sleeve. I look down to find him
staring at Qui-Gon with deep concern. "Go with him - he does
not have the strength. Be gentle. In shock he is." I hear in my
mind and nod once as an answer.
The line is moving slowly as the refugees enter the building
and proceed down the hall to the screening and triage area we
have set up. We are processing them to shelter locations as
soon as possible. He is coming towards me now. I call to him.
He does not seem to respond at all, not even to his name. I
reach out to grab his shoulder, and at my touch he reels back
with a gasp as if I have hurt him. He collides backwards into
the wall and slides down it, his face suddenly ashen, his eyes
dazed and blank, his breathing too rapid and ragged. His lips
seem absolutely blue.
I do not care about the mud he has left on the wall as I kneel
by him and feel at the pulse in his wrist. His heart is just
racing. There is blood matted in his hair and deep, dark
shadows under his eyes. "Easy Qui-Gon, let me call a healer. "
I say, and he shakes his head as he forces himself to climb
back up. I help him to his feet and can feel his is shaking
hard now, and he seems on the verge of collapse. Yet still he
gently pulls away from my touch, his eyes utterly vacant.
There is a huge, dark bruise on his forehead and a newly healed
gash. I pray it is only a concussion that has him this way. //
I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. // I
hear from his mind as he starts off out of the line and down
the hall rather unsteadily, and I follow close on his heels. He
at least recognizes this as his home I tell myself, and he
actually is heading in the right direction!
His steps are slow, as if he has to concentrate just to put one
foot in front of the other. He weaves along almost drunkenly
and others give him a very wide berth, rather than risk a
collision with this mud-soaked being. Even I can hear the
mantra in is mind. It leads him onwards. Several times he
nearly collides with a water fountain, then a potted plant.
When he suddenly staggers, falling headlong towards the wall,
quickly I bridge the gap between us and grab him by his muddy
robe and keep him from the collision. We both end up on our
knees in the hall, him in my arms with a startled look.
Slowly he tries to rise and I steady him. He seems to be
looking at my eyes as if struggling for a name. I gently brush
his mind and get the most absurd thought, something about
musical entertainment? I would laugh, if I didn't sense how
close he is to collapse right now.
I raise his chin to look at his eyes and can feel the unnatural
coolness of his skin. His pupils are widely dilated, but even
in size, thank the gods. I brush the muddied hair away from his
face and ask him if he has been seeing double and he nods with
a blank look. I try to sense if he really understood the
question, but before I get that far I sense a severe dizziness
in him. It is not going to be much longer before he is passes
out, I can tell. I put an arm around his waist and realize with
a start that he is wet. Cold and wet.
As we move down the hall towards the elevators, I pour all the
warmth and energy I can into him. It is like sending it into a
black bottomless hole; he is so empty, and drained. He is
drained to the point of it being a severe risk to his own
wellness, and now I wish I had taken him to the healers in the
triage area. But even if I had, so many others were hurt so
much worse. He would not have let himself be treated before
them I know. If I can just get him home to Obi-Wan, I think to
myself. Obi-Wan will pay more attention to what he needs than
the healers would with all their other patients as well.
We are nearly to his level, when suddenly he pulls away as if
alarmed for some reason. He looks at me, eyes wild for just a
moment, then suddenly goes just pasty white as he sways
severely. "Mace??" he mumbles, the rest incoherent, and
suddenly his knees give way. Before he can even hit the floor,
I sweep him up into my arms, as if he were a small child. I am
surprised. He should weigh more, I think unhappily.
At first he squirms feebly against being held so. Then he tries
to make a mind suggestion that I want to put him down. I half
laugh. He is just barely conscious and yet still he struggles
for independence. I can feel what is coming in him, and gently
press his head to my shoulder and rest my cheek on his hair. I
do not want him to be frightened now.
"Relax Jinny, you are safe now," I try to sooth, using the
familiar nickname, as I send waves of calm and comfort to him,
even as he fades away from consciousness while resting in my
arms.
My heart goes out to him as he grows so limp and heavy against
my chest. Quickly I turn into the first alcove I find and
gently lay him on the couch. I make sure he is breathing and
has a pulse, but his skin is clammy and cold to the touch. I
brush his mind and find pictures of indescribable horror and
long periods of sheer terror, then numbness, until the cries of
the children bring him back. The cries of the children on the
transport ship.
He has collapsed because he has used nearly every ounce of
energy he had to heal the people on the transport, especially
the children. Several of whom should not be alive tonight and
yet are. I mentally scan the wound on his head and find a minor
skull fracture. He has been beaten and is bruised from one end
of his body to the other. But it is the horrors of what he has
witnessed, the stress of the healings, and plain hypothermia is
why he has passed out now.
Gently I place my hands over his abdomen and chest, and channel
as much warming energy as I dare into him. Gradually his
breathing steadies and seems easier. His face is not such a
waxen ash color now and the bluish cast leaves his lips. Still
he does not wake, and this concerns me. His energy level is
just so, so, so depleted.
Carefully I place my hand under his chest, so it is in back of
his heart, and my other hand I rest on the front of his chest,
over his heart. His pulse is rapid, and feels weak to me. He is
still pale though and lies so still. His breath so shallow and
soft. It tears at my soul to see him like this. I study his
slackened features for a long moment, then gently and briefly I
sweep the stray hair out of his face. We may argue in the
Council, and I may swear he is a holy terror in private, yet it
would just kill me to lose him. I do not want to picture a life
without this particular Jedi Master as a 'thorn in my side,' as
I have so often accused him of being in the past. // Such a
lesson may the Force spare us all from! // I think to myself.
He has been my best friend since I was old enough to know what
the word meant. Since early childhood we have been through
thick and thin together.
"Jinny, don't go. Stay Jinny, stay here! We need you. You know
we do!" I find myself whispering softly, my eyes closed, my
forehead resting against his as I try to push the thoughts
firmly into his mind. I keep sending as much warmth into his
body as I can draw, even as I show him the place our friendship
has always had in my heart, even if it is sometimes very hidden
and disguised, especially with me now ON the Council!
It is so easy to take long-term friends for granted over the
years. Now I let him see how I value him as a part of my life.
I push it into his mind, trying to crowd out some of the
horrors so recent to him. I feel the air around us growing cool
as I even suck the heat out of the room to try to give him
warmth, and finally I feel him take a decent breath and stir
just a little bit between my hands. His heartbeat is slower
now, and stronger. // Give me 15 minutes Jinny. 15 minutes to
get you home. // I think to him, and I finally feel his mind
weakly reach out for me in return.
Gently I gather him up in my arms. Still I try to push my own
warmth and energy into him. It is not that much farther to his
quarters where I can feel Obi-Wan is waiting. We are on the
right floor and almost there when he wakes with a gasp. Quickly
I find another alcove and sit down with him. His pulse is
stable and he is warmer than he was before, but not yet warm
enough. He struggles up and out of my arms and I let him go. I
know that if I try and restrain him, he will struggle even
more. That would cost him energy he cannot spare.
I stay close as he heads for his door, palms the lock, and as
it opens I hear and sense Obi-Wan's gasp of dismay and feel his
deep concern for his Master. Jinny staggers inside, and in a
moment I can feel his deep relief as he hugs Obi-Wan. I too am
relieved. When I sense he is in a hot bath, and Obi-Wan is with
him, only then do I dare leave. I think Master Yoda needs to be
informed!
End of Chapter 3
Continue to Chapter Four (Master Yoda's point of view)
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