Archive: M/A. But if anyone else would like it, please ask.
Category: Very mild angst, Point of View Rating: PG
Series: #4 in The Rubaiyat of Obi-Wan Kenobi series, following
Wind and Rain. It's actually become important to have read the
prior stories. I think.
Summary: Qui-Gon examines his life
Feedback: Yes, please.
Thanks to elynross for doing the beta
The noise of the central room faded as Qui-Gon walked, head
bowed, back to his temple apartment. Every now and again he
could hear a shout from one of the younger Padawans, those who
had not yet learned to take life as seriously as a Jedi
should.
Eventually, they would grow up. Just as Obi-Wan had.
The sound of running feet and laughter echoed through the
halls for a moment, surrounding him; then the rambunctious
Padawan skidded to a halt as he realized a Master was observing
him. Sedate footsteps passed him; Qui-Gon nodded, but didn't
look up. He felt alone and isolated, even in the midst of all
the force-blessed joy of finals and a short respite in classes,
separated not just by his all-concealing robe, but by an inner
coldness.
He pulled his hands in tighter to his chest, sinking deeper
into his cloak as he walked, the path memorized from his years
in the temple. He passed corridors he'd not traveled in years,
paths that he'd eagerly explored in his youth. The Padawan had
vanished down one of these, though Qui-Gon couldn't have said
which one; he wondered what pleasure had drawn the child on so
heedlessly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd chased
after something so passionately.
He glanced down the halls as he walked slowly past. Some of
the entryways were dark, in night cycle for the beings who
lived there; some had environmental locks on them, in case
strangers should wander in; some were open and inviting and
filled with people. Memories slipped through his mind, of
midnight feasts stealthily retrieved from the kitchens,
gatherings of apprentices to bemoan the demands of their
masters, stolen moments with this young lover or that.
Every now and again, he caught a glimpse of his old behavior
reflected in someone new. And not just Padawans, either, nor
Initiates, but Knights and Masters and teachers and the workers
than made the temple hum.
But Qui-Gon held himself apart. He had no reason to join in,
save the weight of loneliness that sat on his shoulders
tonight, and that would make him poor company at the moment;
best to keep passing each opportunity by.
Still, the corridors called to him. He stopped at the next
branching corridor and looked down it; anything might be found
if one took a different path. He stood silently for long
moments, trying to get a sense of what the Force might be
telling him, to little avail. There was no rhythm or reason in
this longing that he could discern; best to stay focused and
keep to his chosen path. Turning away, he made sure his hood
obscured the sight of the beckoning corridors, tucked his hands
back into their sleeves, and head down, he walked back to his
apartment.
One day soon, Obi-Wan would live down one of those corridors.
Already he was out most evenings they were in residence. It
would not be long before he requested a place of his own, a
place of privacy. It was only natural and right that he should
want that; it was part of the cycle of independence. He'd left
the crèche and its family to live with a Master,
separating from them at the point he'd needed to define himself
as an individual, rather than remaining part of a group. The
time was coming when he would no longer need his mentor,
either, though his apprenticeship still had several years to
run.
For Qui-Gon, it would be too soon.
And then there would be knighthood and the final severing of
the bond. Obi-Wan could certainly stand on his own, but
tonight, Qui-Gon wasn't sure that he himself could do as
well.
He pressed a hand to the door of his apartment and waited for
it to recognize him and open. He'd left the lights on low
earlier; the half-light suited his mood. How would it be, he
wondered, to live on his own again?
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his cup
sitting abandoned on the table; he must have left it there when
he'd learned that the marks were in, left it to go and see how
well Obi-Wan had done. The cup had been a favorite of his for
several years now, hand-painted with the ruby on the vine
design, a small splash of red amongst the green. The colors
were faded now, indistinct, the detail gone. He walked over and
picked it up, staring at it like it could give him insight on
his life.
Well-used and loved, but chipped and ready to crack. As useful
as it had been, it was time to throw it away.
He set the cup down, took off his outer robe and laid it over
the back of the couch, then sat down and picked up the cup
again, turning it over in his hands, using it as a meditative
focus point and letting his mind drift.
Snips and images came to him, words and phrases rolling around
in his mind. Stumbling, tumbling, careening around in his mind,
bouncing off one another to serve no useful purpose--
But always, eventually, returning to Obi-Wan.
The cup in his hand became a book, and he was remembering
reading some of Obi-Wan's poetry lessons aloud. What a gift it
had been to be able to say those words to his Padawan, shielded
and disguised by the propriety of instruction. With the class
over, that small joy had been taken from him. That must be what
he truly mourned. It was only understandable that Obi-wan would
rather spend time with his young friends....
The cup crashed to the ground, shattering, and Qui-Gon
grimaced. He carefully picked up the shards and poured them
into the recycling unit, then closed the door and listened
while the clay skittered off to the central repository.
He glanced at the time, startled to see that it had grown so
late; he must have missed the passage of time while he'd been
meditating. He swung back to the common room and picked up his
robe, intent on carrying it back to his bedroom and putting it
away. He stopped in mid-movement, though, and decided to leave
the robe for now. He felt more settled, more focused than when
he'd first entered the apartment. He wanted to retrieve the
stillness he'd felt while looking at the cup, turning himself
to embrace the changes in life and the natural rhythm, rather
than fighting them. Accepting within himself Obi-Wan's need to
move on.
In the stillness of the apartment, with only his own thoughts
for company, the sound of the door opening seemed as loud as an
engine blast. Obi-Wan was home.
Frowning, Qui-Gon checked the time again. Yes, it was later
than he'd realized, but far too early for Obi-Wan. Unless,
perhaps, something happened? No, he would have sensed that
through the bond.
"Master."
"You're early. I didn't expect you for quite some time."
Obi-Wan shrugged and slid onto the arm of the couch, brushing
his braid casually back behind him. "Same old stories, same old
restaurant. Nothing really new."
"And this is new?" Qui-Gon looked around the common room. "I
could have sworn you put that scrape in the wall with your
light saber at least three years ago."
Obi-Wan smiled at him. "Well, that's different, isn't it? I
was expecting excitement when I went out. I don't expect
anything exciting here."
Oh, that hurt, but it was truthful. Their missions and council
meetings were as much excitement as Qui-Gon wanted in his life.
He balanced those by trying to keep his life at the temple
quiet, to rest for the time when his energy would be needed
elsewhere. He smiled ruefully in agreement. "Fortunately. I'm
not sure I'd like our rooms to be a hotbed of activity. I need
some time to rest at my age."
"You're not so old. A third of the Masters are older than you,
even those who don't come from long-lived species." Obi-Wan
finished taking off his boots and set them down next to the
front door. "Stop pretending you're going to collapse any
minute."
"Obi-Wan--"
"Oh, come on. I've seen you do a lot of stuff on missions. You
stay at home and read because you like it, not because you're
tired."
Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes, I do like to read."
"So read." Obi-Wan sprawled out next to him and threw his feet
onto Qui-Gon's lap. "To me."
"Padawan!" "Master." He grinned. "I find that I like it when
you read, too. Aloud."
Qui-Gon flushed, a mixture of pleasure and confusion heating
his skin before he brought his feelings back under control.
He'd considered reading aloud to Obi-Wan his guilty pleasure,
something his Padawan took no real interest in. But now, here
he was, lying on the couch, taking up more room than a king,
commanding Qui-Gon to read to him.
And it wasn't such a bad thought.
Qui-Gon adjusted Obi-Wan's feet so that they rested
comfortably in his lap and picked up his datapad. "I warn you,
the material is tedious."
"Couldn't it be worse than 'Poems Every Being Should Know,'
could it?"
Qui-Gon shuddered slightly. "No."
"Well then...." Obi-Wan poked Qui-Gon with his toe. "Start
reading."
A incredible sense of recklessness filled him as he looked
down at the reader. He felt like a Padawan again, running
heedlessly through an empty, unknown corridor with no Master
there to watch. With a laugh at himself and his place in the
universe, his deep voice filled with passion and joy, Qui-Gon
did what was commanded. He began to read.
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