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Reflections in a Broken Mirror

by Raina (raina_at@yahoo.de)

Pairing: Q/O Archive: m_a and at http://www.nuttersinc.de.vu. anywhere else please ask.

Category: AU? AR? Or is it?

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not Toby’s either. Fiend in Flanel. Artistic license with a Buffy-episode, as well.

Feedback: always welcome at raina_at@yahoo.de

Summary: It’s all a dream. Or is it?

Spoilers: TPM.

Notes: First appeared in Force of a Different Colour II. Thank you, Sian.

Thank you’s: Leandra, for the listening, the reading and liking, the hand-holding, the enduring of the insecurity-attacks and the idea for the ending. Sian for approaching me to write something for her Zine, thank you for your faith in me, for your support and for the beta. Thank you Tem-ve for the reading and the reassurance.

The fog was dense and the very air one breathed was cold and wet. A slight, cool breeze made the misty drizzle drift and expand into an almost living thing.

Obi-Wan was sure that he had to have felt more uncomfortable at some point of his life, though memory failed to supply an event that fitted the requirement. He had definitely felt worse before, that much was sure. He was in no immediate pain, save a headache; he was not bleeding, which was always a good thing in his profession. But the list of good things about his current state ended here.

The steady rain had soaked even his wool robe; he was cold, the fog making it very difficult to navigate through the dense traffic of the capital city on the small planet of Yavin, Gaven. For days now, Obi-Wan'd had this constant, pounding headache that made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything. At night he was troubled by dreams and by day he sometimes experienced a feeling of detachment. His vision was blurry on occasion and sometimes he felt like his Master’s steady presence was all that kept him from passing out.

He had told his Master about these symptoms and Qui-Gon had ordered Obi-Wan to see a Healer the minute they got back to Coruscant. But first they had to finish their mission, mediating a trivial dispute about mining rights on one of Yavin’s moons. A matter Obi-Wan didn’t feel deserved Jedi attention. He was grateful for the relative ease of the mission however, for given his present condition, he was not sure he could have managed it being more difficult.

Obi-Wan sighed, adjusted his hood and hid his freezing hands in his sleeves. Stepping over the large puddle that had formed in the gutter for the umpteenth time this day, Obi-Wan cursed the fact that nobody on this planet had yet invented hovercraft as what passed as a transport on this Force-forsaken rock splashed into a puddle right in front of him, the heavy grey vehicle creating a cascade of water that solied his robes.

Half-turning back to the side of the road they were closer to, he narrowly avoided another transport. He stepped back and rubbed his temples, noticing only now how the fog drifted in patterns, dense and lightly, but there seemed to be no wind to move the heavy air. In fact, the fog seemed to concentrate around him, move towards him. His headache increased and he suddenly had the feeling as if time was slowing down. All movement around him was reduced to half speed. He heard a voice calling his name softly, the voice he’d heard in his recent dreams, a strangely familiar voice that nevertheless he couldn’t place.

He turned fully to the nearer side of the road and saw a man standing there, his form glowing and transparent as if he was a ghost. Yet it wasn’t a ghost. In fact, except for his strange clothing and clean-shaven face, the man looked exactly like…

But that was impossible. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at his Master now making his way back to Obi-Wan’s side, then back to the apparition, who reached out to him while a voice came to him from far away, “…obi…”

Obi-Wan took a step towards the apparition. At the same time the fog seemed to contract around him, making it harder and harder to see anything. Even his Master’s form seemed to blur away from him.

Reaching for the apparition’s hand, Obi-Wan heard his Master scream his name before darkness claimed him.

Obi-Wan surfaced to consciousness slowly. His mind fought towards alertness as if it had been suspended in heavy, warm honey and was reluctant to leave its confinement. Voices drifted into his awareness. Low, agitated voices.

It took him a while to translate the sound into any sort of meaning, but then he discerned words, sentences, a conversation.

“How long has he been unconscious?” A male voice.

“For about three hours. Dr. Quincy stopped by on his early rounds. That’s when the incident happened.” A female voice. Detached, professional.

“What exactly happened?” The male voice again, vaguely familiar.

Obi-Wan racked his brain for where he had heard it before. He considered opening his eyes, but his eyelids seemed still covered in honey, and so he contented himself with just listening.

“I’m not sure. I could swear he looked straight at me. Then he just collapsed.” A third voice. A voice that went through Obi-Wan like a bolt of lightning, a voice he would know anywhere. Master.

His eyelids seemed to cooperate now as he opened them. He was in a rather sterile looking room. Whitewashed walls, his metal bed, a wooden table and a window. Even though he could see no technical equipment Obi-Wan guessed he had to be in a kind of Healer’s ward. Medical technology wasn’t very advanced on Yavin, he knew that, but this was really sub-standard.

The three people he had overheard talking stood at the only door to the rather small room, their backs turned to him. One of them carried a pad with old-fashioned paper on it. He rolled his eyes. Paper. What next?

The voice that had woken him sounded again, “Maybe the new medication is working.”

Obi-Wan decided to make his state of awareness known. He cleared his throat and said, “Master?”

The three people standing by the door all looked around and stared at him in shock. Obi-Wan could only stare back. The female voice belonged to a woman who looked very much like Master Adi Gallia, except for the fact that her headdress was missing and her strange attire. Since when did Council members dress in white coats, greenish tops and faded blue trousers? The first male voice belonged to Master Windu, only he was dressed just as strangely as Master Gallia and had grown a beard.

He ignored them, though, and locked gazes with his Master, who also didn’t look quite right. The man’s eyes and his voice were the only things that weren't radically changed. Qui-Gon wore his hair short, had shaved off his beard and his eyes were hidden behind glasses.

He was also white as the sheet covering Obi-Wan’s body.

“Tobias?” Qui-Gon’s voice trembled lightly.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, confused. “Tobias? You mean Obi-Wan, right Master?”

Qui-Gon rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Oh, dear.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Master, what happened? Was I hit by the transport? Why am I in this place?”

His Master sighed again, then took two steps towards the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. “Do you know where you are?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I guess we’re still on Yavin.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re in England.”

“England? I don’t know the planet.” Obi-Wan was confused. If they weren’t on Yavin anymore, why hadn’t his Master brought him back to Coruscant? And why were Masters Gallia and Windu here? Dressed like that?

And what in the Force's name had happened to Qui-Gon’s hair and beard?

“It’s not a planet, it’s a country. The planet is called Earth.” Qui-Gon looked troubled, raking his hands through his hair as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them, a gesture Obi-Wan knew well and told him of the Master’s confusion.

“Earth? I’m not familiar with it. Is it in the Republic?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to make some sense out of his current situation.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No. Tell me, what day is it?”

“It’s the 21st cycle in the year 21343 since the formation of the Jedi Order of course, Master.”

Master Gallia snorted.

Qui-Gon shot her a withering look before resuming his questioning.“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three, Master.” Obi-Wan was slowly getting frustrated. “Will you please tell me now what happened to me? Why am I here? What do all these questions mean? And what have you done to your hair?”

Qui-Gon looked very sad. “Who am I, Toby?”

Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. “You’re Qui-Gon Jinn, my Master.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m Doctor John Quincy. And you’re not Obi-Wan Kenobi, my Padawan, but Tobias Larson, my patient.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Master, please. Stop confusing me, I’ve had a long day. Just tell me what happened this morning after I passed out on that street and let’s get back home, all right?”

Qui-Gon sighed again. “Toby, you’ve been in this institution for three years.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Stubborn man. What in the name of all Sith hells was Qui-Gon trying to do here? Was this a kind of test?

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then let his mind sink into a light trance to reached out to the Force.

Absolute silence answered him. He was completely blocked from the Force; he couldn’t even feel the training bond with his Master although the man was sitting right in front of him, close enough to touch.

He opened his eyes again, and locked gazes with the man who had said that he wasn’t his Master.

Now Obi-Wan believed it. This man was not Qui-Gon Jinn.

“What have you done to me?” he hissed.

The man - Quincy, he said his name was Quincy - put out his hands, but Obi-Wan flinched from his touch.

“Calm down, Toby. Take a deep breath. We haven’t done anything to you.”

“Then why can’t I touch the Force?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice trembling.

“Because it doesn’t exist.” Quincy’s tone was quiet but firm, his gaze unflinching.

Once again Obi-Wan wanted to reach out through the Force, but once again he was met with nothing but a silence that was so intense it hurt.

“No, the Force is everywhere.” Obi-Wan was breathing heavily, trying to supress his panic. “What have you done? Is it a drug, or is the room Force-shielded?” He swallowed hard, his throat contracting. He had to scream the words to get them through. “What have you done to me?”

He got out of bed and moved towards the wall, putting his hands on the stone to look for Force-supressing devices.

Master Gallia tried to stop him, but Qui-Gon, no, Quincy, held her back, whispering, “Not yet. Trust issues, Laura.”

It was only when he started to pound his fists against the wall that Quincy said, “Ok, I think this has gone far enough for now.”

The woman who looked like Master Gallia and Quincy took him by the shoulders and pulled him back to the bed. They forced him down and the man who looked like Master Windu inserted a needle into his arm. As unconsciousness reclaimed him, Obi-Wan sent a last plea into the void the Force had once filled, “Master! Help me!”

Hazy. The only word to describe Obi-Wan’s world when he woke up again was hazy. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, and even if he had, he would have been hard-pressed to care. He was floating in a calm he could easily identify as chemically induced.

Drifting in and out of consciousness for a while, he finally registered wisps and scraps of conversations nearby.

“…drug didn’t work the way I anticipated it, but he’s responsive. And that has to be progress.”

“… no memory of his previous life, apparently.”

“…supposed to proceed like this? He doesn't believe me…”

That voice again. The voice that made him feel safe and protected despite the fact that his situation was slowly beginning to drift back to him. Through the calm however, confusion and fear were making their way to the surface of his consciousness even as his intellect noted that the drug must have started to wear off.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the man who looked so much like his Master - Quincy, his still misty intellect supplied - who was sitting in a chair next to his bed, reading. The second thing that came to his attention was that his wrists and ankles were secured to the bed.

When he tried to free his hands from the restraints, Quincy closed his book and looked at him with a smile. “Oh, hello. I was wondering how long you’d sleep on.”

Quincy stood up and crossed the small distance between the chair and the bed. He took Obi-Wan’s wrists in his hands gently and said with an apologetic look, “Sorry we had to secure you, but we weren’t sure how you’d react when you woke up and we didn’t want you to hurt yourself again.” He pointed at the small wounds on Obi-Wan’s hands and arms.

Obi-Wan stilled. “Why did you drug me? Why are you keeping me here?”

Quincy sighed and rubbed his nose under his glasses. “We drugged you because you were hurting yourself and because you were hysterical and unresponsive. I’m sorry, but it was necessary. And we’re keeping you here because we want to help you.”

“Help me.” Obi-Wan scoffed. “You want to help me? Stop giving me Force-suppressing drugs, give me back my lightsabre, allow me to contact Coruscant and let me go.”

Once again, Quincy sighed. A bone-weary sigh of deep exhaustion. “Toby.. how can I start to explain…”

“You can start by saying my name right. It’s Obi-Wan, not Toby. And you can tell me how long I’ve been here,” Obi-Wan answered what he knew was a rhetorical question.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Quincy asked, obviously glad to have a starting point.

“Well, I remember being on Yavin with my Master, and then I think a transport hit me, the next thing I knew was my waking up here. How long ago was that?”

“That was this morning. But to answer your earlier question, you’ve been here for three years, two months and almost a week now.” Quincy’s tone was low and steady.

Obi-Wan felt slightly nauseous. He had to close his eyes for a moment, taking deep calming breaths to keep himself from throwing up. A hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes again and he looked into warm blue eyes that were so much like Qui-Gon’s he wanted to cry.

“Here, drink this.” Large hands helped him sit up and held a glass of water to his lips, holding his head so he could drink with the restraints on.

He was half afraid the water might be drugged, but try as he might, Obi-Wan couldn’t believe that Quincy wanted to do him any harm. He accepted the water gratefully and sank back to his pillow.

“Feeling better now, Toby?”

“Obi-Wan! My name is Obi-Wan, could you try to remember that?”he said, rather too loudly, only increasing his damnable headache.

Quincy shook his head sadly. “No, it isn’t. Your name is Toby, but I know that no matter how often I tell you, you won’t believe what I say. So I think we’ll try a little visual demonstration.”

Quincy went to the small table in the corner opposite the bed and picked up an item that seemed to gleam slightly, like metal. When he approached Obi-Wan, he could see that it was in fact a small mirror.

“Now I know this will be a shock for you, but you have to see this for you to start believing me. Now look at yourself in the mirror.”

Obi-Wan swallowed back his fear. What had they done to him?

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, recited the litany against fear then opened them.“Oh Force..”

The person staring back at him from the mirror looked only faintly like himself. His hair was redder, his face was thinner and paler, the freckles on his nose more pronounced. His Padawan haircut was gone, replaced by a messier and longer style, and most importantly, his braid was gone.

He tried to reach for the mirror, forgetting his hand was tied. He struggled for a brief moment against the restraints around his wrist until Quincy untied them. Almost unconsciously, his hand wandered up to his ear, willing what he’d seen not to be true. But the mirror hadn’t tricked him, the symbol of his apprenticeship for which he’d worked so hard for so many years, gone.

He ran his fingers through his hair. It felt different. Not just longer, but of different texture as well. He took a strand between his fingers and saw that it was the same almost-red he’d seen in the mirror.

He closed his eyes. He could hear the blood rushing through his body, a deafening storm in his ears, could feel the blood drain from his face in dizzying speed, felt the breath leaving his lungs as if somebody had sucked it out, wasn’t able to replace it on his own…

Cool hands settled on either side of his head.

“Breathe.”

He couldn’t.

“Toby, breathe.”

No air.

A sigh. “Obi-Wan. Breathe. Now.” Command.

Automatically, Obi-Wan followed the commanding voice and took a deep, gulping, desperate breath.

“Good. Now breathe out… and in… and out… slowly.”

The gentle voice guided him through the worst of the panic attack. When he could open his eyes again, he looked directly into Quincy’s concerned ones.

“What happened to me?” A whispered question.

Quincy sighed. “That’s a very long story, Toby. You should sleep and I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”

He was guided down to the pillow and the covers pulled over him.

“Sleep now.”

Obi-Wan blinked back tears and whispered, “Where is my Master?”

Another one of those heavy sighs Obi-Wan already disliked. “You don’t have a Master.”

“I want Qui-Gon. Where is Qui-Gon?”

Sad eyes watched him as he curled into a foetal position, hugging himself.

“There is no Qui-Gon.”

“I don’t believe you.” His voice sounded small and child-like to his own ears.

Another soul-deep sigh. “I know.”

Obi-Wan remembered his Master saying that everything always looked brighter in the morning.

If only that was true in this situation.

Still being held in a mental institution - and so far he couldn't discount Quincy’s story - alone, disconnected from the Force, without his lightsabre or any possibility of contacting Coruscant, his situation certainly hadn’t improved.

At least they were feeding him, he noted with relief as the nurse, a blonde, resolute-looking woman in her early forties, brought him a tray with his breakfast on it. He was less pleased when she handed him a very small white cup with two pills inside.

Accepting the tray with a curt thank you, he proceeded to eat and ignore the cup.

The nurse was having none of it, though. “Mr. Larson, you have to take your medication.”

Obi-Wan glowered at her. “It’s Padawan Kenobi to you. If you want me to take these pills, you’re going to have to force-feed me. I won’t participate in your attempts to deny me connection to the Force.”

She frowned at him. “The what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The Force. The mystical energy field that binds us, surrounds us and holds the Galaxy together. Honestly, don’t you people know anything?”

The nurse, Peterson her nametag said, just snorted and shrugged. “Whatever. Now please take your pills, or I will have you force-fed.”

Grudgingly, he took the pills from her and took them into his mouth, knowing without having to ask that she would follow through on her threat. He didn’t swallow, but hid them under his tongue. Only when the nurse told him to open his mouth and lift his tongue did he swallow the pills.

Nurse Peterson patted his head. “There’s a good lad. Now just relax.”

Obi-Wan sighed and shot her a withering look. “It would be so much easier to relax if you didn’t insist on feeding me drugs that interrupt my connection to the Force.”

The nurse sighed as well. “Tobias, these drugs are supposed to keep you from having another psychotic episode. They’re supposed to help you, to keep you here so that we can sort out what’s wrong with you.”

Obi-Wan stared at her in open disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“What she means is that these drugs are supposed to keep you tied to reality so that I can help you remember who you really are.” A voice interrupted their conversation.

Nurse Peterson smiled and turned around. “Good morning, Dr. Quincy. I’ll leave this to you, then.”

Quincy smiled back at her. “Thank you, Linda.”

She left the room and Quincy’s smile was directed toward Obi-Wan, who tried desperately to hold on to his anger, but couldn’t in the light of a concern that was so much Qui-Gon’s, even though the man’s very Qui-Gonness confused Obi-Wan more than anything else.

“Good morning, Tobias. How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan decided to ignore the wrong name, for he was sure Dr.Quincy would continue to call him that no matter what he did or said. Thinking about the answer to Quincy’s question, he briefly considered wit or sarcasm, but in the end settled for the truth. “Confused.”

Quincy let out a small breath of air, almost a laugh, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Another one of those ‘Qui-Gon’ sounds.

“I can imagine. Why don’t you finish your breakfast and I tell you a bit about this place and what you’re doing here?”

Obi-Wan nodded his acquiescence and started to eat while Quincy drew up a chair and started to speak. “You’re in a Sanatorium for the mentally unstable in Sussex, England. You were brought here over three years ago after you had a schizophrenic episode.”

“A what?” Obi-Wan interrupted.

“A schizophrenic episode. You lost contact with reality.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

Quincy seemed to consider his next words carefully before he spoke, “I think I’ll have to start at the beginning. At who you really are.” He held up a hand to stop Obi-Wan from interrupting him. “Please hear me out, Toby. You need to know all of this to understand what’s happening to you.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

Quincy took a deep breath and released it in an obvious calming exercise that once again reminded Obi-Wan very much of Qui-Gon. “Now, where to start? As I told you before, your name is actually Tobias Larson, and before you came here, you were a prospering writer of science fiction novels. About four years ago, you started to have symptoms of mental instability. Hearing voices, even hallucination from time to time. Gradually, as work on your new project intensified, the symptoms became more and more severe until you had an acute psychotic episode, which led to you being brought here.”

Obi-Wan listened to all of this with disbelieving detachment. If Quincy wanted him to believe a word of that, he would have to come up with a better story. “And you’re saying that Toby Larson is me?”

Quincy nodded.

“Then why can’t I remember any of the things you just told me?” Obi-Wan demanded. “And why do I remember very clearly being Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Quincy stood up and walked over to the small wooden desk opposite of the bed. He picked up what looked like a notebook and brought it over to the bed. “Do you know what this is?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “It looks like a notebook.”

Quincy nodded. “Precisely. Your notebook.”

He opened the notebook at its last written-on page and handed it to Obi-Wan, who took the book with trembling hands and started to read.

Obi-Wan sighed, adjusted his hood and hid his freezing hands in his sleeves. Stepping over the large puddle that had formed in the gutter for the umpteenth time this day, Obi-Wan cursed the fact that nobody on this planet had yet invented hovercraft as what passed as a transport on this Force-forsaken rock splashed into a puddle right in front of him, the heavy grey vehicle creating a cascade of water that solied his robes.

Half-turning back to the side of the road they were closer to, he narrowly avoided another transport. He stepped back and rubbed his temples, noticing only now how the fog drifted in patterns, dense and lightly, but there seemed to be no wind to move the heavy air. In fact, the fog seemed to concentrate around him, move towards him. His headache increased and he suddenly had the feeling as if time was slowing down. All movement around him was reduced to half speed. He heard a voice calling his name softly, the voice he’d heard in his recent dreams, a strangely familiar voice that nevertheless he couldn’t place.

He turned fully to the nearer side of the road and saw a man standing there, his form glowing and transparent as if he was a ghost. Yet it wasn’t a ghost. In fact, except for his strange clothing and clean-shaven face, the man looked exactly like…

But that was impossible. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at his Master now making his way back to Obi-Wan’s side, then back to the apparition, who reached out to him while a voice came to him from far away, “…obi…”

Obi-Wan took a step towards the apparition. At the same time the fog seemed to contract around him, making it harder and harder to see anything. Even his Master’s form seemed to blur away from him.

Reaching for the apparition’s hand, Obi-Wan heard his Master scream his name before darkness claimed him…

Obi-Wan stared at Quincy in shock. “How can that be?”

Quincy just gestured to the book. “Read on.”

Bewildered, Obi-Wan leafed back a few pages.

Privately, Obi-Wan thought that Yavin was the place farthest from the bright centre of the galaxy, with the possible exception of Hoth. Qui-Gon had time and again reminded him to be tolerant and open to other ways of life, but this place was nothing more than a mud hole with mining right issues and bad weather. He debated whether he should tell his Master that his head hurt again, but decided against it. There was nothing Qui-Gon could do about it anyway. Obi-Wan sighed and raised his hood against the drizzling rain. He only wished these disturbing dreams would stop.

He leafed back another few pages.

Entering the mess hall, Obi-Wan noticed with pleasure that he and Bant seemed to be on Coruscant at the same time for a change. Grinning happily, he joined his friend. “How are you?” he asked as he enveloped her in a crushing hug.

She smiled and hugged him back just as tightly. “I’m very well, thank you. Now let’s get some food and you can tell me your news.”

Obi-Wan leafed back to the very first page of the notebook.

Winter solstice was only three days away and Obi-Wan had no idea what he could do to escape having to take part in the ritual Marnia wanted him to participate in. Melos had proven to be a hospitable world so far, but Obi-Wan didn’t think he wanted them to be quite that hospitable. But a promise was a promise, and so he would have to embarrass himself completely in public.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to confess the whole mess to his Master and be rescued from this. He contemplated telling Qui-Gon all the embarrassing details about the ritual and how exactly Mania had gotten him into doing it in the first place and blushed. When he thought about it, he actually preferred the ritual to Qui-Gon’s annoyance. He’d rather embarrass himself repeatedly in front of a hundred strangers than once in Qui-Gon’s eyes.

Obi-Wan looked up, wide-eyed, uncomprehending. “That’s the whole last half year of my life. How is that possible?” he whispered, completely confused.

Quincy sighed. “Remember how I told you that you are a writer?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Well, about four years ago, you started a new science fiction project. For this story, you invented a whole universe, with a Republic, a Jedi Order, space travel, the Force and of course, a main character by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi. You were very precise in fleshing out the details of this universe, with its good guys, its villains, its political system and spiritual philosophy. Soon, all that started to become more and more real to you, until the line between reality and fiction began to blur. Gradually, you started to give more and more of yourself to this story, especially to Obi-Wan. You endowed him with characteristics you’d like to have, gave him powers to help the helpless, a very firm belief system and a firm social structure to hold him together. You began to identify with Obi-Wan so strongly that you poured more and more of yourself into him, your background, your history. The lines between you and Obi-Wan were so blurred that when you had your schizophrenic episode, they disappeared completely and you fell into your fantasy, abandoning all ties to reality.”

Obi-Wan was staring at him with wide eyes, hating the way a gentle blue gaze looked at him with so much compassion, as if he was the crazy one. He tried to collect his wits enough to speak, but found that he couldn’t make his lips move.

“This is why you don’t remember the last three years here. You've been catatonic for as long as you've been here. You only ‘woke up’ yesterday morning.”

Obi-Wan shook his head in wordless denial, his hands clutching the bedclothes.

Quincy moved towards him, but Obi-Wan flinched away, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth, murmuring, “No, no, no,” over and over again.

“Toby..”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. That’s my name. Obi-Wan. I’m not crazy. That’s my name. It’s impossible. I’m Obi-Wan.”

“Toby..”

Big hands settled on his shoulders, but he drew back, a scream tearing from the very core of his being, “I am Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!”

Quincy sighed. “I realise this is next to impossible for you to believe, but please try to think about this for a minute. Is all of this really so far-fetched? Isn’t a young man in a mental institution far more likely a person than a Jedi Padawan with mystical powers, connected to an all-knowing energy field that controls all life?”

Obi-Wan just stared at him, desperately trying to hold on to something, anything, a spark of solid, indubitable reality in all this swirling confusion. In the absence of the Force, he settled on the other unswayable constant of the universe. Qui-Gon Jinn.

He closed his eyes, buried his head between the knees he still held tightly hugged to his chest, and whispered a silent prayer. “Master.”

~~He was walking through what used to be the Temple corridors, now but a ruin of their former greatness, dust and debris crowding the empty, lonely halls.

He heard a whisper in his head, prayer or curse, he wasn’t sure. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, spirit to eternity.”

Through the settling dust, he saw a figure, glowing in the ethereal light of Coruscant’s three moons. The figure reached out to him, transparent fingers almost touching him, and the word fell from transparent lips, “Padawan.”~~

Obi-Wan woke with a start, groaning in frustration when he took in his surroundings. He was still in the plain hospital room, still in this mental institution, still thought to be Toby Larson. He’d woken from one nightmare, but the other still held him firmly in its grasp.

He had to admit to himself that his iron surety that Quincy was wrong or trying to trick him was being slowly eroded, shaken not only by a notebook that detailed his life in a way mere surveillance couldn’t account for, but also by the complete and utter absence of the Force.

He’d be damned if he admitted this to Quincy, but he knew that even the most potent of Force-suppressors couldn’t account for the total silence he felt. He should be able to at least feel the Force’s presence, even if he couldn’t use it. But he felt - well, nothing.

The absence of the constant that had been with him for as long as he could remember, robbed him of the one touchstone he’d always been completely sure of. Before Qui-Gon Jinn, before conscious thought it seemed, the Force had been there. No matter what else had gone on in his life, the Force had been an anchor, a mirror as much as an ally, something that told him with complete certainty who and what Obi-Wan Kenobi was.

Without it, what was he? Who was he?

He chided himself for the thought. With or without the Force, he was still and would always be Jedi. As such, he would master any situation with serenity and calm. There is no fear, there is the Force. And if there is no Force, there is always the mind.

Giving up sleep as a loss, Obi-Wan sat up and settled on his knees. He began with breathing exercises, and slowly, with the help of a lifetime of practice, he willed his consciousness into the calm of meditation.

He had a lot to work through.

“You look much calmer this morning,” Dr. Quincy observed.

Obi-Wan just nodded.

“But you still have many questions, I presume?”

“Naturally.”

Quincy smiled. “Well, then let us address these questions. Can I trust you not to try anything stupid if we take a little walk through the institution?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Where would I go?”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

This time Obi-Wan found himself smiling back. “Yes.”

The trip through the hospital was rather short, but nevertheless it gave Obi-Wan something to look at. The institution itself was rather small, but the gardens were extensive and even in winter they had an air of calm beauty.

Obi-Wan stared at the frozen grounds through the windows.

“As soon as I’m sure you’re stable, you can go outside anytime,” Quincy said, obviously reading his longing right.

“Thank you.”

Quincy smiled. “You’re most welcome, Toby. Remember, this place is your home for now. We all want you to be comfortable.”

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the hallway they were traversing. They’d met relatively few other people, and most of those had been staff. The atmosphere in the building was quiet, almost tranquil. The few patients seemed well cared for and calm.

He knew nothing of this planet’s customs, but he’d seen enough on his travels to know what this all summed up to. “Am I right in supposing that this institution is private?”

Quincy nodded. “Yes, we are also a rather small hospital, designed to give patients the optimal care.”

“’Optimal care’ and ‘private’ mostly translate into ‘expensive’. Am I rich or something?”

Quincy gave him a small smile. “Well, you yourself aren’t poor either, but your parents are rather wealthy, and they pay for your stay here.”

Obi-Wan winced. He didn’t know why, but this piece of information made him rather uncomfortable.

“Parents,” he said, trying out the word. He’d never had parents before, and he hadn’t missed having them. After all, he had Qui-Gon.

“Yes, they’re…, well, I think we’ll save this conversation for a later date. I don’t want to overwhelm you, and besides, we’ve arrived.”

They came to a stop in front of a door marked ‘Records and Personals’.

Obi-Wan pointed at the door. “Here?”

Quincy nodded, opened the door with a key and motioned for Obi-Wan to precede him into the room.

The room was rather large, filled from top to bottom with shelves, boxes, and cases with drawers.

Turning around to Quincy, he raised his eyebrows in question. “What are we doing here, then?”

Quincy went over to a shelf and heaved down a large box, which on closer observation was labelled ‘Larson, Tobias’. He set the box down at the desk near the room’s entrance and gestured for Obi-Wan to come closer. “This box holds your personal effects, mostly what you accumulated here, but also some things from your life before you came here. I’d like you to take a look at them.”

Obi-Wan just nodded.

He approached the box cautiously, as if whatever was in there could bite him. He felt a vague sense of dread start on the back of his neck and shiver down his spine. He knew he’d find his answers in that box. Answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

But he wouldn’t find out by standing around and staring.

He remembered a myth once heard on a distant planet, about a woman who had set free all the evil in existence by opening a box. He felt slightly silly as the analogy flashed through his mind as he reached out and opened the lid on his life.

The box was filled to the brim with notebooks just like the one Quincy had shown him the night before. He stared at them in wonder. “There must be dozens.”

“47, in fact. 39 from your three years here and eight from before. The ones with hospital labels are from here, the others are from before. And the brown leafy ones are your personal diaries from before the schizophrenic episode. Much of what you want to know about Toby Larson is in this box.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why are there so many notebooks? You said I was catatonic for the last three years.”

Quincy nodded. “In a way, you were. You were unresponsive, you didn’t react to anything said or done to you, all you did was sit on this desk and write about Obi-Wan’s life, eat, sleep and go to the bathroom.”

“So I did react to my body’s needs?” Obi-Wan was confused.

“Yes, but you ate, slept and went to the bathroom when Obi-Wan did. You weren’t aware of your physical surroundings, or at least you weren’t interacting with this reality. You picked up things like the fire alarm we had two years ago and even worked it into your story, but you weren’t responding to any attempts at communication. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan rubbed his temples. “Not quite.”

Quincy smiled sympathetically. “Give it some time. This must all be very overwhelming.”

Obi-Wan nodded absently and picked up a notebook at random. The date stamp on the label told him it was from about two years ago. He opened it in the middle and read.

Obi-Wan ducked and feinted to the right, then somersaulted over Bruck’s head. The other Padawan wasn’t kidding anymore, he was certain that if it wasn’t for the training sabres and Master Ja’let’s watchful eyes, he’d be in serious trouble. It pained and grieved Obi-Wan that Bruck was still so angry with him after all these years with little to no contact.

“I remember that. I was 17 then.” Obi-Wan said faintly and put the book away. He picked up another one and opened it near the beginning.

“Try again.”

Obi-Wan sighed and released his frustration into the Force. He couldn’t discern why he had so much trouble with this exercise. He centred himself mentally and physically and leapt again, only to fall on his face once more. Getting up, he prepared to do it all over again, but Qui-Gon’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“No. Enough for today. You’re exhausted and frustrated, you won’t get anywhere now. We will meditate together on whatever is troubling you and try again tomorrow. Once you’ve found your centre and the proper focus, you will be able to complete this exercise with ease. Remember, your focus determines your reality.”

Obi-Wan sighed. If only, Master.

“Maybe you want to take the box back to your room?” Quincy asked.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, please. Would you help me? It’s a bit large and heavy to carry the long way alone.”

Together, they carried the box back to Obi-Wan’s room in silence. Obi-Wan’s mind was too busy for conversation. He had a million questions, now more than ever before. They reached his room and put the box on the small table in the back. Obi-Wan sat on the bed and Quincy pulled up a chair.

“Now I imagine you want to ask me some questions?” Quincy broke the silence.

“Yes. You said I was catatonic for three years. Why did I suddenly come out of it now?”

Quincy smiled. “We put you on a new experimental drug. It had the effect we wanted, pulling you back to this reality, but unfortunately, it left you with your delusional personality. It helped us with the chemical aspect of your problem, but left the psychological unsolved.”

“So basically I’m still a loon, but now I’m at least a responsive one.” Obi-Wan’s tone was dry and his smile was humourless.

Quincy shrugged. “Well, we can work on your problem now.”

For a while, Obi-Wan was silent. He looked at Quincy searchingly, as if the answer to the riddle the man presented was easily readable from his pants or white shirt. He couldn’t say how much time passed while he tried to come to terms with what he’d heard and the one question that was still very loud in his mind.

Finally, he found the courage to ask. “Why do you look and sound so much like Qui-Gon?”

Quincy smiled again, a gentle, warm Qui-Gon smile. “You used a lot of people from your life as models for characters in your story. Many of them we’ve figured out, others we haven’t. You’ve clearly identified me with Qui-Gon Jinn, who, interestingly enough, only started to show up after you came here and met me. Before, your stories read as if Yoda was your Master. Incidentally, you based him on your Scandinavian grandfather. Short, terrible English, but one of the wisest people I’ve ever met. He comes to visit you on occasion.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t know what to make of Quincy’s revelations, so he stuck to the most glaring point. “You read all of this?”

Quincy nodded. “Of course, as your doctor, I need to know all I can about your fantasy world.”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands. If this was really a faithful retelling of his life, there were things in there he wouldn’t have anyone know, especially not any Qui-Gon Jinn like person. His long-standing feelings for Qui-Gon were sure to be mentioned somewhere in there.

“Toby, you don’t need to worry. As your doctor, I’m bound to treat anything in these journals as confidential.” Quincy spoke softly, using the same tone Qui-Gon always used when trying to impart a lesson, patient and kind.

“Thanks, that’s a relief,” Obi-Wan replied with a snort, taking his hands from his face to run them through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

Quincy took this as a cue and stood up. “I think I’ll leave you to your reading material. I’ll check on you later, all right?”

Obi-Wan nodded, relieved. He had a lot to think about.

He looked at the box. He also had a lot to read.

It was a beautiful day, but he wasn’t able to enjoy the sunlight on his face. This place had seen too much death for him to find peace here. He centred himself and waited for Qui-Gon to begin the ritual. They would honour the dead in the Jedi way before returning to Coruscant. Qui-Gon lit the torch with the lighter he’d been given and went to the pyre.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, soul to the Force.” Qui-Gon’s calm and powerful voice rung out among the stone walls. His master then lit the pyre and took two steps back to stand beside Obi-Wan, putting a hand on his shoulder and Obi-Wan felt waves of strength and calm flowing through him at his Master’s touch.

“I could use a bit of that now…” Obi-Wan murmured and sighed. He seemed to be doing little else lately.

Reading one’s own life told in third person by a voice that was and wasn’t his own was an experience he couldn’t have described in words. He’d spent hours going through the notebooks, reliving some of the greatest and worst moments of his life through the eyes of an all-knowing observer.

He wondered dimly why “Toby” hadn’t written this in first person, but then again he understood little of his situation now, why should this make any sense...

Sighing once again- he’d start hyperventilating soon- he returned to “The Life and Times of Obi-Wan Kenobi”, as he’d started to refer to the journals in his head.

Breathe. Deeply. Once. Twice. Centre on the heartbeat. Let your awareness sink into your body. There is nothing outside. Only you. Concentrate on your own mind, the unchangeable core of your being.

An old lesson, heard as clearly as if Qui-Gon was standing behind him, whispering in his ear while he moved into the opening position of the kata.

He’d read the notebooks for most of yesterday and all through the night, and he desperately needed air and exercise. So he’d asked the nurse who brought him breakfast if he could go outside and she had allowed him to, but not before calling Dr. Quincy to report his wish.

He’d wandered the gardens for a bit and had decided to try and do a kata. Qui-Gon always called katas moving meditations, and that was exactly what Obi-Wan needed now.

The last 24 hours had confused him more than he liked to admit. The notebooks held information about his life no one else could possibly have. It described emotions and the workings of his mind in a detail he wasn’t at all comfortable with, but could neither reason nor explain away. As much as he hated to admit it, Dr.Quincy’s story made more and more sense, especially in light of the older notebooks.

While the notebooks that dated from his stay in the institution were very detailed, they only covered the last five or so years of his life. The notebooks from before the hospital were a lot sketchier and only went back to his twelfth birthday. When he’d tried to remember his life before that day, he could only recall a few poignant moments, all described in the notebooks as memories from his childhood, but he couldn’t sustain his memory to serve him further. Life before his twelfth birthday seemed hazy at best.

He sighed and pushed these thoughts aside, focusing again on his heartbeat as a guide to meditation. He took a deep, calming breath and started the exercise. First kata, first form, weaponless. Move with your breath, let the energy of the movement guide you.

He didn’t remember it being this difficult. His arms were cramping after the first set of movements when he tried to hold the opening position of the next set and he was actually out of breath and sweating like he’d just run five laps in the Temple gardens. He stopped the exercise and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Is that what you had in mind when you write about katas?”

Obi-Wan jumped in surprise. He hadn’t been aware that he was being watched. He turned around to face Dr.Quincy, who continued speaking with an air of nonchalance, but whose eyes held an unreadable expression.

“I was always wondering how that was supposed to look. It shares certain similarities with Tai Chi, so I guess you based it on that. I know that you used to do Tai Chi before you came here.”

Obi-Wan was still a bit out of breath, so he took his time answering, cursing inwardly that heightened awareness had gone with his Force capabilities. “I don’t remember this being so difficult.”

Quincy smiled that Qui-Gon smile Obi-Wan loved and loathed to see on this man. It made him feel warm, made him want to smile back, despite his firm resolution not to like the man. But how could he dislike someone who smiled at him like that and who looked at him with so much warmth?

“You spent the last three years sitting on a desk, Toby. That takes its toll on your physical condition. If you don’t want to believe my words about what’s happening to you, at least believe your body. As a Jedi, you were taught to listen to your body, be in harmony with it. What does it tell you now?”

Obi-Wan looked down. Sith, that was exactly what Qui-Gon would have said. He supposed it made sense in a twisted sort of way, after all, Quincy was Qui-Gon.

No, he wasn’t. He couldn’t start believing Quincy. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan, not Toby Larson.

He sighed. “Right now, my body tells me that you’re asking too many questions this early in the morning.”

Quincy gave a soft laugh and raised his hands in a ‘backing-off’ gesture. “There’s no arguing with your body. Do you want to sit down and rest a bit?”

Obi-Wan nodded and followed Quincy to a bench under a tree.

The morning mist had not yet lost its battle against the winter sun, but it would soon. It was still cold, and Obi-Wan felt the slight breeze cool the sweat on his body. Working up a sweat over the kata. The last time that had happened to him… he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened to him. But he didn’t want to think about this, it gave him a headache.

Well, he already had one, for hours now, and he was feeling slightly nauseous even. He looked at Quincy, and the man seemed far away, on the edge of Obi-Wan’s awareness, even though he was only an arm’s length away.

Obi-Wan shook his head to clear the fuzzes out of his brain. He was aware that Quincy was talking, but he couldn’t make sense of the words.

He looked up and there… among the trees. A form, too well known, even if it was translucent and blurry through the fog.

Quincy talked on, but Obi-Wan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure just standing there, looking at him.

Now the figure moved, stretched an arm out towards him, reached for him, lips moving for a voice he knew as well as his own, whispering, “Obi-Wan.”

He was aware of a hand on his arm, but he shook it off, stood up and approached the apparition. But the closer he got, the farther it seemed to move, until Obi-Wan had to run to keep up with it.

He reached out, but he slipped on the ground and fell, fell, endlessly, until his head connected sharply with the forested ground under him.

He faintly heard Quincy call him. “Toby…” before the world went black.

“Padawan?”

Obi-Wan didn’t dare open his eyes. The soft beep of a heart monitor and the soothing hum of technical equipment sang a song too beautiful to believe. And then that voice, calling him Padawan..

“Obi-Wan? Are you awake?”

Obi-Wan, even better. Not ‘Toby’ or ‘Tobias’, no, Obi-Wan.

He reached out with his hand, eyes still closed, and at once it was enfolded in a larger one he knew very well. Calluses from a lifetime of lightsabre training. Not a doctor’s hand.

He reached out again, this time with his mind, and a slight sob escaped his lips as the Force answered his call joyfully and as strongly as ever, filling the voids in his consciousness with a glorious symphony of impressions, the strongest of which was the training bond, the shining presence of Qui-Gon Jinn like a Force-beacon, sitting next to his bed, holding his hand.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked directly in deep blue ones filled with warmth and a smile just for him. “Welcome back, Padawan.”

Feeling dizzy, he let himself be guided back to the pillow. Qui-Gon was speaking to him, but his voice was far away, and Obi-Wan felt like he was packed in a thick layer of Regelian cotton. He felt his head touch a cool pillow, then blackness engulfed him once more.

Slowly, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. White ceiling, faint smell of chemicals, no beeping machinery. Sith. Not again.

“Toby?”

Obi-Wan groaned. No. Please no.

“Toby, look at me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut in protest. Just a dream. All just a dream. “Wake up, Obi-Wan, wake up,” he whispered. Concentrate. Your focus determines your reality.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Toby, please look at me.”

Sith. Sith, Sith, Sith. Damn. He should have paid more attention to his language tutors. He was running out of swear words.

“Toby, please.” Quincy’s voice sounded almost desperate.

Sighing, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and focused them on Quincy.

The other man closed his eyes briefly in relief. “Thank god. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Obi-Wan croaked in response.

He sat up and gratefully drank the glass of water Quincy handed him. When he found his voice again, he asked, “Why am I here again?”

Quincy sighed heavily. “Well, you had a slight relapse. You were catatonic for most of yesterday. I’m afraid we haven’t quite found the right dosage for your medication yet, but once we have that settled, you should be on the mend.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, uncomprehending. “I want to wake up again. Why can’t I wake up?”

“Because you’re not asleep.”

He shook his head. “Yes I am. And I’m back in this crazy dream. I just have to will myself to wake up, then the doctors will fix this chemical imbalance in my brain and all will be well again.” He spoke rapidly, in almost a whisper.

Quincy took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know, what I always found so fascinating about your imaginary world was how detailed it was. I should not have been surprised that you hallucinated a completely logical explanation for all this.” His gesture encompassed the room.

“I didn’t hallucinate. I’m hallucinating now,” Obi-Wan said through clenched teeth.

“And yet it doesn’t feel like a hallucination, does it? Doesn’t feel like a dream,” Quincy mused, almost absently.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan shook his head. “But my own life didn’t feel like a dream either. So who’s to say what’s the dream?”

Quincy just looked at him, met his gaze unblinkingly with these incredibly warm blue eyes, those Qui-Gon eyes that made Obi-Wan feel slightly dizzy.

He swallowed. “You haven’t given me a reason in the world to believe that this is any more real than my Jedi life.”

“You’re right. You have no reason to believe me.” Quincy still didn’t look away.

After what seemed forever, Obi-Wan forced himself to look away. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered. But a part of him knew it was a lie. He honestly didn’t know what to believe anymore.

He sent a quiet prayer into the silence that once held the Force. Qui-Gon. Master, please wake me up.

Two days. All the meditation and focusing exercises he could remember, but still, here he was in this small room. In a mental institution. Tobias Larson.

Damn. Why didn’t these doctors work faster? He wanted out of here, back to his home, his life and his Master. But he was stuck here, and rapidly feeling desperate.

He hadn’t spoken a word, not to the nurses and not to Dr. Quincy, who nevertheless came twice a day and just sat with him for an hour or so before leaving again. Obi-Wan supposed he was sulking. He really didn’t care. There was nothing more he had to say.

Obi-Wan scowled and fixed a steady glare at the wall, steadfastly ignoring Quincy, who was sitting in a chair opposite his bed, silently and steadily watching him.

They’d been here like this for the last two days. Yesterday morning, Quincy had come in with the nurse who brought his breakfast. When Obi-Wan had ignored him, he’d pulled up a chair and sat down. He had sat there all day, silently contemplating Obi-Wan, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to get something to drink. He only went away when it was bedtime, and when he woke up this morning, Quincy was back already, sitting in the same spot as yesterday, the same patiently expectant expression on his face.

Obi-Wan hadn’t spoken a word in almost four days. He steadfastly ignored Quincy, though at times he gave up and glared back at the man, who met his sulking anger with nothing but warmth and patience at every turn.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew what was going on here. He’d spent too many years with Qui-Gon not to know. Quincy had engaged him in a contest of wills. Who would hold out longer ? And even though Obi-Wan had resolved not to buckle, he knew one thing for a fact: if Quincy was indeed anything like Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan would likely lose. Nobody out-stubborned Qui-Gon Jinn.

It was now early afternoon, the sun was shining enticingly, almost beckoning him outside. For hours now, he’d stared at the moving patterns of sunlight and shade on the walls. He was sick of this room, sick of this stalemate, sick of the whole damned situation. Sick of Quincy’s eyes on him, though he admitted it made him feel good, too, in a childish way. As a teenager, he’d loved to be the centre of Qui-Gon’s attention. He’d loved it as an adult as well, if he was perfectly honest.

He sighed. This was getting them nowhere.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Obi-Wan’s voice sounded strange to his own ears, raspy and a bit more harsh than he’d wanted to sound. He turned his head and looked at the doctor.

Quincy looked up at him from the piece of floor he had been contemplating, obviously surprised but equally obviously trying hard not to show it. “Not really.”

“What about your other patients?” Obi-Wan asked.

“It’s Sunday, Toby.”

“Sunday?” Obi-Wan stared at him blankly.

His companion sighed. “It’s my day off.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, Obi-Wan leaned back into the headboard of his bed. He felt at once guilty and oddly touched that Quincy was sacrificing his surely sparse free time for Obi-Wan. Shyly, he looked at Quincy again, only to find the man smiling at him, a small, warm smile.

Obi-Wan felt himself blush under that smile. “Don’t… I mean, don’t you have something better to do than to sit with me all day? I mean…” he trailed off, for he really had no idea what he meant.

“Not really, and besides, I thought you needed the company. I’m your doctor, Toby, it’s my job to be there for you whenever you need me, not just during duty hours.” Quincy’s voice was gentle and steady.

“Always there for me. I like the sound of that,” Obi-Wan whispered softly, blushing more deeply.

For a while, they were silent again, but their silence was comfortable now, not competitive. Obi-Wan watched the shadows move over the wall before finding the courage to continue the conversation in a quiet voice. “Must be a difficult job, being a doctor in a place like this.”

Quincy nodded. “Yes, but it’s very rewarding.”

“What about your family? Don’t they mind that you’re not at home on a Sunday?”

A short shake of the head. “I don’t have a family to mind.”

Obi-Wan looked down at his blanket. Quincy’s voice had sounded strangely detached, like he didn’t really mind, but on the other hand there was an almost wistful quality to his voice as well that made Obi-Wan regret the question. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

Quincy waved away his apology. “It’s all right. I know so much about you, it’s only fair that you should know something about me too.”

Obi-Wan looked up and was reassured by Quincy’s looking at him with nothing but open patience. He swallowed and turned to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Quincy.

He looked at the man for a long time. It was true, he knew nothing of Quincy except that he looked and sounded like Qui-Gon and was a doctor. On the other hand Quincy knew things about Obi-Wan he wasn’t comfortable with anyone knowing, so he surely had the right to ask. But his own rather private nature held his tongue.

Quincy seemed to guess his predicament, for the other man just smiled and said, “Ask,” in that classical amused teacher-voice Obi-Wan knew so well from Qui-Gon.

He fought his own smile. “All right. So you’re not married.”

Quincy shook his head. “No. Never was.”

“Girlfriend?”

Another shake of the head.

“Boyfriend?” Obi-Wan couldn’t suppress the grin that spread over his features.

Quincy blushed slightly, but shook his head again.

“Pets?”

A chuckle, and this time Quincy nodded. “Yes. A cat. Her name’s Lucy, and she’s a beast.”

“Most cats are.”

Quincy looked up and their eyes met. They exchanged a warm smile and just looked at each other for long moments before the older man started to speak, “Want to go for a walk?”

Obi-Wan nodded heartily. “Yes, please. This room is driving me crazy. No pun intended.”

Quincy laughed, a wonderful, hearty, Qui-Gon sound that tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to think of his Master now. When he opened his eyes again, Quincy was looking at him with concern.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded and said, “Yes, let’s go out before I go up the walls.”

Quincy smiled slightly and preceded him out of the room.

“So why is it that you’re here on a Sunday, exactly? Doesn’t Lucy miss you at home?” Obi-Wan resumed their conversation as they were strolling around the hospital’s wintry garden.

“Lucy knows how much I love my work. She throws a fit when I’m late for dinner without calling, though.” Quincy’s tone was light, though his eyes were fixed on the surrounding landscape, not on Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan smiled. “I hate it when Qui-Gon does that.”

He regretted having said it as soon as it was out of his mouth, but he really hadn’t been thinking, he’d just enjoyed the moment for the first time since he’d passed over into this strange world of which he didn’t know if it was a dream or reality or hallucination. The silence that suddenly fell was heavy and a bit uncomfortable.

After they’d walked like that for a few minutes, Quincy cleared his throat to say, “Look, Toby, I…”

Obi-Wan held up his hand. “Please don’t. I know what you’re going to say, and it’s all very well, but can’t we just pretend for now that you’re not my doctor and I’m not…the nutcase you’re trying to cure and just walk together like two people who are just getting to know each other?”

Quincy sighed. “You’re right. Let’s just leave the therapy inside for now. Just promise to stay with me until we’re back from our little walk.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I promise.”

“Let’s walk, then, shall we?”

Silently, they resumed.

“So Lucy doesn’t like it when you’re late for dinner. Is she a good cook?”

“No, but she’s one hell of an eater.”

“Remind me never to come over to dinner.”

Quincy laughed, and this time, Obi-Wan didn’t allow himself to think of Qui-Gon.

They walked for over an hour, talking about nothing and everything, giving sensitive topics a wide berth. Obi-Wan was supremely grateful for the holiday from the ever-nagging questions about his state of mind. He gave himself over to the moment, the sun on his face, the wind in his hair, and only allowed himself a small twinge of regret that he couldn’t feel the Force.

They returned to Obi-Wan’s room around dinnertime, and Quincy left him for the night, telling him to eat his vegetables. Obi-Wan only grinned and asked him to say hi to Lucy.

As soon as Quincy was gone, Obi-Wan let himself fall onto the bed and closed his eyes. If only this damned headache would go away, he could almost be content.

Soon, the nurse would come with his dinner, and he knew it would in all likelihood taste appalling. Idly he wondered if the hospital couldn’t afford a better cook with all the money it must get from its patients.

In the distance, he heard the nurses with the trolley moving down the corridor, but he didn’t get up. He wasn’t very hungry, on the contrary, he was just the slightest bit nauseous and what the Sith was wrong with his eyes anyway?

Involuntarily, he went over to the small writing table and sat down at it. He let his fingers run over the edges of the paper of his notebook, traced the written words there lovingly. Even though his headache increased, he smiled and lay his head down.

He’d sleep, just for a moment.

“I think he’s waking up.”

“Thank the Force. Have you found the source of his condition?”

“Well, after you told us he was unwell before the accident, we ran a couple of scans and it turns out Padawan Kenobi had a slight case of Mandovian flu. That’s a relatively harmless disease, but it sometimes has the side-effect of creating a chemical imbalance in the brain, thus causing the patient to suffer from hallucinations and sometimes even larger psychotic episodes.”

Obi-Wan groaned and opened his eyes. His head hurt like all Sith hells and he really could do with a glass of water.

A hand clasped his own. “Padawan, are you awake?”

“Mh.” Noncommittal, but apparently good enough for Qui-Gon, who smiled at him.

Obi-Wan sat up slowly and Qui-Gon handed him a cup of water. “Here, drink that.”

He finished the cup in one go and handed it back to Qui-Gon with a smile. “Thanks.”

Qui-Gon smiled back. He looked worried and very tired, Obi-Wan noted.

“How long was I…’gone’?”

“About 36 hours.” Qui-Gon replied, still clasping his hand in a death grip.

“Seemed longer to me…” Obi-Wan mused.

“Well, I can understand that. From your brainwave readings, you were dreaming again.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes. I…”

Qui-Gon ran his free hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. “You what?”

Obi-Wan swallowed and whispered, “I’m…confused, Master. It’s all so…real.”

“That’s all a side-effect of the Mandovian flu, Obi-Wan. Now that the doctors know what’s wrong with you, they can treat you and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. These hallucinations will fade as well.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “What shall I do until then, Master?”

“Just focus, Padawan. Focus on the Force, and on me. Can you do that for me?”

Obi-Wan was convinced that he could stop planets from moving when Qui-Gon Jinn smiled at him like that.

For hours, he let himself drift in the Force and Qui-Gon’s gentle presence. The rock and the sea. He focused on Qui-Gon’s steady breathing and heartbeat as a guide to meditation and let his consciousness anchor itself in layer after layer of his sense of self.

Eventually he noticed that Qui-Gon, undoubtedly overwhelmed by exhaustion, had gone to sleep next to him, but he didn’t follow his Master into the realm of unconsciousness, he continued to float on the Force. Your focus determines your reality.

His world was disturbed by a blinding light in his eyes, a flash of pain in his head, and suddenly he was no longer floating, he was falling, faster and faster and dimly, from far away he heard himself scream.

“Toby…”

He still felt the scream on his lips and in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked into the concerned face of Dr.Quincy, who had taken up residence in a chair at the side of the writing desk he was still sitting at.

Obi-Wan blinked at him, not sure if he was actually awake. He felt like he was struck blind and deaf with the sudden absence of the Force. He felt cold sweat on his face and body, and he was shivering violently. The headache was gone, though.

“Come on, lie down.” Quincy helped him to the bed and Obi-Wan gratefully collapsed on the cool mattress, still shaking.

He felt Quincy’s hand drawing soothing circles over his back and heard a voice whisper, “It’s all right, just relax, just breathe, Toby.”

Obi-Wan slowly followed the voice’s guidance and let himself drift off to sleep, fervently hoping that when he woke up, that voice would be there, in any form.

Voices. Voices, penetrating the fog his consciousness had retreated behind. Agitated voices, arguing.

He heard them faintly, as if they were in another room, which wasn’t far from the truth, for when he had woken enough that he could open his eyes and move his head without making the room move in a way it surely wasn’t supposed to, he noticed that the voices came from the hallway outside his hospital room.

Hospital. Hadn’t he just been in the Healer’s Ward with Qui-Gon? And how long had he been asleep anyway?

He was beginning to lose track of things. Time for instance.

Voices. Focus on the voices, Obi-Wan, he told himself firmly. He couldn’t understand what was said, but he dimly recognised Quincy’s voice. He considered pulling on his robe to see what all the fuss was about when the door opened and admitted Nurse Peterson to the room. She smiled at him. “Oh, you’re awake. Wonderful. You have some visitors.”

“Visitors?” Obi-Wan asked, at a loss. Who would visit him?

She went back to the door and held it open. “Dr. Quincy, he’s awake now.”

Obi-Wan heard Quincy’s voice from the corridor. “Thank you, Linda. I still advise against this. He is in no state for visitors.”

Another voice answered, one Obi-Wan faintly associated with the doctor who looked like Master Windu. “He’s conscious, isn’t he, John?”

“Yes, Richard, but he’s not stable. He just had another episode.” Quincy’s tone was low and concerned.

“I appreciate your opinion, doctor, but he’s our son and we haven’t spoken to him in over three years. We’d like to see him immediately.” A third voice, crisp and businesslike. A voice that made Obi-Wan shudder and feel that he didn’t want to meet its owner.

A heavy sigh from Quincy. “I’m still against it, but since I can’t forbid you…” he trailed off and Obi-Wan heard steps move in the direction of his door which was still held partially open by Nurse Peterson.

The door opened fully to admit three people, Dr.Quincy and two others, a man and a woman Obi-Wan had never seen before. The woman was in her early fifties, attractive in a soft, blurred by time way, the man was of the same age, tall, thin, well muscled, clean-shaven and kept himself very straight. Both were immaculately dressed.

All three of them looked at him, Quincy with concern, the woman with ill-disguised fear and the man gave him an appraising once-over look that was so cool Obi-Wan cringed.

He swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to centre himself, seeking to rid himself of his sudden urge to disappear under the scrutiny of these people. He didn’t know who they were, even though he had a pretty good guess from what he’d heard of their conversation with Dr.Quincy.

He locked eyes with the man and refused to flinch at the barely disguised resentment he saw in the blue gaze.

The man spoke, his voice as crisp and cold as it had been in the hallway. “Tobias.”

The woman moved closer to Obi-Wan, reaching out to touch him, but he flinched away, confused, and shrank back against the headboard of his bed.

The woman sighed and sat down on the chair next to his bed. “Toby, it’s me. Your mother.”

“Mother?” Obi-Wan asked, confused. He looked at her, trying to find something about her face he recognised, but she remained a stranger to him, not even her desperate eyes moving him to an emotion except vague pity. “I don’t have a mother.”

Her face fell and Obi-Wan felt distantly sorry for her.

The man who he supposed must be his ‘father’ stepped closer and pointed a finger at him. “Nonsense! Of course you have a mother. And a father too. Parents whom you’ve caused no end of worry and trouble. Now pull yourself together, son.”

Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to flinch or crawl under his bed to hide from that pointing finger. He was Jedi after all. Jedi didn’t hide. He squared his shoulders and exchanged a quick look with Quincy, who gave him a slight smile and settled down on the edge of the small writing desk, indicating that he didn’t have any intention of leaving, for which Obi-Wan was thoroughly grateful.

“I apologise for causing you trouble, but I’m not entirely sure I’m really your son,” Obi-Wan said in his most neutral voice.

His supposed mother wanted to speak, but his ‘father’ interrupted her, “Of course you’re our son. Don’t you think we know you? What’s the matter with you?”

Obi-Wan smiled humourlessly. “I’m told that I’m delusional. Does that clarify the matter?”

His father’s face turned red. “Now listen here, we’ve tolerated your eccentricities for a long time, but I won’t have you talking back to me now that you’re no longer a damned vegetable, getting your mother and me worked up with worry.”

From somewhere inside him, Obi-Wan felt a deep, instinctive anger rise up. “I’m sorry for inconveniencing you with my mental health problems but I find it hard to believe that you suffered any other strain than that on your wallet as soon as you shipped me off to this place,” he said, his voice cold but deadly calm. He was digging his nails into his palms to keep from yelling, and was reciting the litany for serenity in his mind.

“Toby..” his mother started, reaching out to him, and for a moment, he felt the anger recede and compassion rise again, but then his father interrupted her once more, yelling at him, “How dare you speak to us like this? We’ve done everything to insure that you get better, we made sure you had the best care and doctors. How dare you use that tone of voice on me, you ungrateful brat!”

Through clenched teeth, Obi-Wan pressed out, “I think it is best if you leave now.”

“What?” his father’s voice was startled.

“Leave. Now.” Obi-Wan managed to say the words without biting his tongue.

Stunned, his father stared at him.

Before the man could say anything, Quincy cleared his throat. “I believe, Mr.Larson, that Toby asked you to leave.”

Mr. Larson whirled around and fixed Quincy with a glare, but to Obi-Wan it seemed the doctor remained unimpressed.

“What did you say, Doctor? I believe we’re the ones who pay the bills around here.”

Quincy smiled pleasantly, but Obi-Wan knew him well enough to see the edge there. Qui-Gon would have had one hand on his lightsabre with an expression like that. “Yes, but Tobias is the patient. And if the patient wants you to leave, that is what you do.”

Furious, Mr. Larson glared first at Quincy, then back at Obi-Wan who returned the glare with enthusiasm, then the man made a dismissive gesture towards his son, gave a huff of frustration and went out, slamming the door behind him.

Mrs. Larson rose slowly, looking at her son with a sad expression. “Toby…”

Obi-Wan turned to her, trying to calm his still raging anger. “Madam?”

She reached out as if to touch him, but aborted the gesture halfway. “I’m sorry, dear. I hope you get better soon.”

She looked at him with so much honest emotion that all his anger fled him. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

She smiled at him, shyly, then collected her things and went after her husband, leaving him and Quincy alone.

For a while, neither of them said a word. Then Quincy shifted from the desk to the chair and looked down to the floor. “Sorry about that. I tried to stop them.”

Obi-Wan nodded, numb, still staring at the door. His anger had evaporated and had left only confusion in its wake.

The meeting had stirred emotions in him he hadn’t felt in years. Deep, personal anger against the man. Compassion and almost understanding for the woman, as if he knew something about her, understood something on a fundamental level.

And his father… he’d been hard-pressed not to throw something at the man. He remembered thinking the whole time what nerve the man had to show up here after all that had happened. But Obi-Wan didn’t remember anything happening between them, didn’t remember ever meeting them before even, but something deep inside had recognised…

“Is it always like this with them?” he asked, his voice raw with confusion.

Quincy shrugged. “I don’t know, but judging from your diaries from before your came here, your relationship with your father was always what one could call strained.”

“Are they…well, is that the reason I’m…” Obi-Wan didn’t know how to finish the question.

“Here?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Well, it’s a part of it.”

“And what’s the rest?”

Quincy smiled. “The answer to that question is half your ticket out of here. I can tell you a bit of it, but if you really want to know, I’d advise you to read your diaries. Toby’s diaries, that is.”

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long time. Then he nodded. “Maybe I will.”

September 23rd
Talked to Tom today, told him the new novel should be finished by June. Don’t know if I’m going to make that deadline, but I’ll try.

Spent the whole night typing away, keeping Robert awake. He was mad, said I should move the computer to the living room. I told him, like I did about a million times already, that I can’t work in the living room, but that the couch out there is very comfortable. Snuggly, even. He wasn’t impressed with my brilliance, it seems. Stormed out. Bloody drama queen. No respect for my work. Always says I waste my talent on Science Fiction, and how much more important his work for the “Times” is.

Journalists. Bloody intellectual snobs, the lot of them. Why do I keep that one around?

Never mind.

Talked to Mum, she called to make sure I’d attend the Major’s birthday dinner. 200 people, black tie. I’m thrilled to bits, but of course I’ll be there, since she played the guilt card by telling me that Erin already agreed, which means I can’t leave her alone with the parental horror. Mum then informed me that it would be a very formal affair. Meaning ‘Dress up, leave your fairy boyfriend at home and don’t embarrass us with any of your usual shenanigans’. That’s what mental health issues are to my parents. Shenanigans. Possibly telling that both their kids need bloody therapy.. Must ask Erin how she’s doing, by the way.

Now back to work. I have a chapter to finish.

Obi-Wan leafed forward a few pages, skimming the entries that mostly centred on Toby’s book at the time and his boyfriend Robert.

He stopped and read another entry.

October 19th
Major’s birthday. Just came home from the dinner party. The only positive thing about the evening was seeing Erin. She looks really good. The new therapist seems to be good for her.

Party went as expected. Huge affair, lots of speeches and presents and formalities. On arrival a butler took my coat and led me to the ‘family table’. ‘Family table’ all right. Aunt Augusta with her daughters, the snobs, and Uncle Henry with his offspring, looking at Erin and me like they expected us to explode any minute. Yeah, that’s what you get when you’ve got the dysfunctional sibling as a parent.

Of course nobody remembered to invite Grandpa, the only person in the whole family who ever had the guts to tell the Major off; after all, we wouldn’t want him disturbing the festivities.

Pamela was selected to give the speech as a representative of the family, and of course the whole fucking ballroom full of people turned to me and Erin and started to whisper about the nutcases of children that were inflicted on the poor jubilant and his poor wife. I really shouldn’t let it bother me what these snobs think of me, but I hate the way they look at Erin, speculating when she’ll try it next. I gripped her hand under the table and she smiled at me, not the grimace her smile used to be, but a real one. Therapy really must be helping.

The evening just went on and on and I was bored out of my mind and almost fell asleep during General Lee’s speech. Erin had to pinch me.

After the speeches we both dropped our presents on the pile and sneaked out to smoke a joint in the cloakroom. One thing I have to say about Erin, no matter how down she is, her weed is always the best.

Shared a few laughs, talked about her shrink and my new novel. She told me I should get a shrink as well, with my depressions and all, and I told her I should have gotten one years ago, right around when she got one, but “Men solve their own problems, Tobias!” so of course I never got any help, even though I had depressions the size of a small planet.

Erin agreed with me but said it wasn’t too late to start with therapy and that she would give me the number of her shrink if I wanted to.

Told her I’d think about it, but really, I don’t think I’ll do it. My work is therapy enough for me.

Came home and found Robert still on the couch where I’d left him, unfortunately, watching some artsy movie, telling me basically to run along and play because he wanted to watch that bloody movie. It’s my damned apartment, you idiot. Not like you’ve talked to me or even fucking touched me in weeks. So why don’t you just go home? Why don’t I just send you home?

Why don’t I just go and write a little on the next chapter and leave the moron to his movie? Maybe he’ll fall asleep in the living room so that I can do as I please in my own fucking bedroom without having to deal with another guilt trip from the drama queen. Got enough of them for one night. Guilt trip from the Major, from mother, from Erin even, from bloody Aunt Augusta, telling me how hard I make life for my poor parents. The bloody nerve. Nobody ever asked me how hard they make life on me.

Next year I’m not going. Definitely not.

Obi-Wan sighed and closed the diary. So far away from him. So different. And yet…

Reading the diaries of his own life had been strange, reading these were even weirder.

He didn’t remember the recounted incidents, didn’t know who the people involved were, but he could taste Toby’s cold anger on his tongue like the memory of a childhood flavour. Sharp, bitter, much like the anger he’d felt yesterday when his ‘parents’ had been here.

He pinched his nose, too tired to go on reading. It was late after all. He’d continue in the morning.

Obi-Wan switched off the light and went to bed.

~~ He was in the common room of their quarters in the Temple. It had to be the middle of the night, for the only light in the room was silvery moonlight painting the room’s walls with the oval shapes of the windows. They were alone in the room, just him and Qui-Gon, kneeling opposite each other, calmly watching each other.

“Concentrate on your breathing, Padawan. Breathe into your centre.”

Obi-Wan did as he was told.

“The Force flows all around you. Feel the Force.”

Obi-Wan reached out and felt the cool, soothing touch of the Force flow into his soul.

“Now release the anger. Release the pain. Release all conscious thought.”

One by one he released it all. Anger. Fear. Conscious thought.

“Now let go of the here and now. Let yourself fall. Let the Force catch you and carry you to where it pleases. Give yourself to the Force.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, released his iron grip on the Moment and fell…

He couldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t go to school. Couldn’t even go down to breakfast. He just wanted to stay here, buried under the sheltering darkness of his blanket. Here, nobody would see him. And if they couldn’t see him, they couldn’t laugh at him, or take away his notebook, or call him a failure, a fairy, a loser, a wimp.

No. He’d just stay here. His blanket never judged him.

Knock on the door. “Toby!”

His mother, worried.

He didn’t answer.

Stronger knock. “Tobias!”

The Major this time.

He still didn’t answer, only buried himself more deeply into the covers.

“Tobias, you will open this door right now!” Command tone. Normally, he would have jumped. But today he couldn’t get out of bed. Here he was safe.

He clamped his cushion over his head as the Major’s shouts grew louder and angrier. Just pretend you’re not there. That’s it. You’re not there. Nobody wanted you anyway, ever. So just pretend you’re not there and everybody will be happier.

Crash and splinter when the Major kicked in the door. His mother’s sobs in the background. The Major’s steps coming closer and him shrinking in the bed, making himself smaller.

The Major ripped away the covers from over his head, screaming at him, “Get out of this bed right now! I’ll not have you miss your train back to school!”

He didn’t move, couldn’t move, paralysed with the absence of cover, of the darkness, of the cloth to hide him from that steely blue-eyed gaze that told him in more than words that he was worthless, weak, a failure in every way.

He cringed and tried to make himself as small as possible.

The Major gripped him by the shoulders and dragged him out of bed, no hard task for a man of the Major’s stature to handle a too-thin twelve-year old.

No, no, don’t take him away from the bed, the bed was safe, outside wasn’t, no, please just let him lie there quietly and disappear and don’t put him on the train with all the boys who beat him and laughed at him and took his notebooks away.

He screamed…~~

He woke up screaming, struggling against the bedclothes and the foreign sights and sounds surrounding him. He was shaking all over and at first he struggled against the arms that came around him.

“Shhh, Obi-Wan, I’m here, it was a nightmare.”

Strange sound to his ears. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan?

Qui-Gon. Master. Holding him, comforting him. He leaned into the embrace, coming to himself slowly, finally able to shake the fear of the child in the dream.

He relaxed, burying his face against his Master’s shoulder. So warm, so comforting, totally all right for him to just let go of self-control. Safe. No matter what he did, he was always safe here.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders shook as his Master’s tunics were slowly wetted by his tears.