Master Apprentice
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Stoicheia 2: Helium
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It wasn't difficult as such. As long as you didn't breathe.
Not that that would have been in any way harmful -- it wasn't pure helium gas, just ordinary dry air laced with enough of the stuff to make it obvious that you had been breathing. One lungful and your voice goes funny. Or, as Garen had so indelicately put it, the three-inch Obi-Wan speaks. The pointed look from grinning brown eyes hadn't done anything to keep Obi-Wan from blushing. What business had Garen looking below his fellow Padawan's sash?
Especially in the presence of said fellow Padawan's Master.
Not that Obi-Wan was in any way embarrassed about his body -- that was a sentiment that would have been hard to develop for one who had grown up in the Temple, sharing bedrooms, showers, play-fights and quiet moments with fellow initiates of all species. And even if nobody had ever told him what a fine young man he had grown into (and people had, with astounding frequency), Obi-Wan wouldn't have been tempted to mistake Garen's comment for anything but what it was -- friendly teasing. Besides, three inches was quite simply wrong, and Garen knew that very well. Not for nothing had they had the playful 'sabre fights that pubescent male Padawans had indulged in for centuries -- so long in fact that they had become known as the Ritual of the Thin White Blade -- and not once had he ever been uncomfortable admitting that he and Garen occasionally jacked off together...
Now he was. Acutely so.
Qui-Gon Jinn's silence behind his back felt like a huge sun-drenched standing stone, brown and serene. Only the barest exhalation (or was he imagining that?) betrayed the Master's amusement as he watched Garen wave his goodbyes and skip out of the bare antechamber they were in.
Garen had passed that particular test, ostensibly. And it _was_ easy, as long as you didn't breathe.
The trick was to disengage your mind from your body, to release your emotions not into your muscles and breaths but into the Force, pure and clean like the breath of the universe. It wasn't so much a matter of holding your breath in meditation, it was a matter of letting the Force do the breathing.
Of course there would be distractions. That was a given.
Taking a deep breath and turning around to face his Master, Obi-Wan looked up into Qui-Gon's twinkling eyes and said, "I'm ready. Master."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I have no doubt you are, Padawan. Remember, nothing in there can really touch you or endanger you. All you feel is your own reaction. In a way, all that's in there is what you bring... for the fear and the anger and the love and the joy are all your own. It's learning to give them up, release them into the stream of the Force, that's the lesson here." He smirked slightly. "Though you'll find it's also a pleasant sensation to be freed from one's body for a while."
I don't know about that, Obi-Wan thought privately. Aloud, he said, "I will do my best, Master."
"I'm sure you will." A friendly pat on the shoulder had Obi-Wan jerking in reflex. Damn, how would he be able to control his body's reactions in that room if even an unexpected touch from his Master made him start? Serenity, Kenobi, serenity, he chanted inwardly. He doesn't mean it that way. Though I wish he did, he added silently. I wish he did.
"How am I going to know it's over?"
"I'll come in and pick you up, Obi-Wan. I won't be monitoring you, except for the obvious physical data. So don't worry about passing out and lying there undiscovered, Padawan... besides, it's not quite enough helium for that."
Obi-Wan smiled shakily. "If you say so..."
A warm but firm hand on his back guided Obi-Wan through the door into what he knew must be a room. There were no walls to be seen; the darkness was so complete that even the thin trickle of light from the narrow door was swallowed within a step from the entrance.
The door closed behind him. From now, he would have to follow the Force.
Calming his heart, he settled into a meditative kneeling position on the floor, absorbing the sandpaper roughness of it and dispersing the sensation into the Force. Yes, that would work. He closed his eyes, useless in the complete darkness, and visualised his breath sinking deeper into his body, retreating into each single cell, infusing it with oxygen to last for a long time.
The floor under his knees began to shift.
Unwittingly, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but saw nothing. Willing himself to calm, he let them drift closed again, tracking the slow tilt of the floor but not letting it trouble him. He would go with the angle, tilt with the floor and trust in the Force.
Only when he was close to tumbling off the now steeply sloping floor did he reluctantly get up, standing awkwardly on the slowly gliding ground, allowing the movement and welcoming it, and releasing it. It was almost like flying, a small voice in the back of his head said, his greatest wish... and even that he forced himself to release. No feelings, just... the Force.
He took one step forward to steady himself, and found it easy. A walking meditation, then. Something cool brushed his left hand, and he reached out, calmly, expecting nothing. He found a chain and ran his fingers along it lightly. Smooth, cool metal. Good. It seemed to lead him in the same direction as the floor did and he acquiesced and went along, serenely.
The pain hit him out of the blue, or out of the black, slicing into one careful fingertip, sending a lightning arc of agony up his arm, into his brain... where it dispersed, slowly, measuredly, into the Force. He felt a drop of warm blood running down his fingertip, and acknowledged that, and let it go.
The little spiky creatures looked pleased.
Obi-Wan registered them with a disinterested eye, noted their ugliness and their obvious desire to be noticed, and moved on.
His feet were warm. Very warm. He wondered briefly about what the floor was going to do next, visualised his boots, and let the image go. The warmth continued, perhaps rising. He didn't focus on it.
It focused on him.
He avoided it, sinking deeper into his mind, letting his body do the walking, on autopilot.
There was a scent... no, not a scent. He didn't even try to concentrate on what it was. He didn't have to. It found him. The limey, greyish scent of the communal showers in the sparring halls. And with it all the memories of the days he had spent there.
His feet were hot. His boots were on fire, red-hot and... not really there, he told himself, disengaging himself with some effort.
"Oafy-Wan!"
He felt his lips tighten minutely. It wasn't a real voice, it couldn't be. It wasn't Chun -- Chun was dead, and the anger he had felt was no longer his. He let the echo of it go into the Force and watched the image of the brown-skinned Padawan fade into the blackness of the room.
He almost delighted in that, then willed himself to calm once again. So he was seeing things now, and still keeping up. He allowed himself a tiny moment of smugness, a tiny moment of inhabiting his slowly walking body, of feeling the life-giving oxygen thrumming in his cells still, of living in communion with the Force. Yes, his Master had been right. It was a glorious feeling. And it was with a tiny pang of regret that he let it go, and watched it float down the wide river of the Force, down and away from himself, away from the body that walked. And walked.
And thudded into something quite unexpectedly.
Don't be alarmed, he told himself, calmly. It's not real. It can't harm you.
It didn't feel like it was about to harm him anyway. It was warm and dry, and solid. Smooth but not entirely unelastic. He catalogued the sensations absent-mindedly while letting his fingertips run over the surface. It wasn't quite smooth, sort of... bumpy. Rounded shapes under something like skin. Dry, except where his bleeding fingertip was leaving a thin trail of moisture. It wasn't quite still. It moved minutely, and further up it had texture. Thin wispy hairs, too short and soft to really feel. An interesting object, Obi-Wan's mind supplied calmly, then let his interest slide away into the Force. Would he be able to move around it?
Questing fingertips slid sideways, cataloguing terrain. Almost at eye level, the roundness intensified, but he encountered no resistance. Something touched the back of his hand, and more of the same feathery sensation played over his fingertips, one strand dragging against the bloodied finger, unsettling the soft greying mass, releasing a cloud of faint scent --
The sensation slammed into Obi-Wan's razed mind, too fast and too much to do anything with. Too good, too close, much too close and too close to his dreams to release, the feeling pierced him to the core, filling him with the faint masculine scent and making his skin tingle all over from that one light touch, making the blood pulse and pump under his suddenly too-thin skin, skin that was too thick still as it kept him from the glorious nearness and warmth that was here right in front of him, the fulfilment of his dreams, his very own dreams, dreams he refused to give up to the Force because they pulsed through his veins just like the blood did, and filled his cells with throbbing life just like the oxygen did, and he knew there was not enough room for both, not with the fulfilment of his dreams so nearby, and Obi-Wan allowed himself the gasp of pleasure at the intimate touch and drew a deep breath of the heady scent and let himself fall forward, to embrace failure...
... to embrace his Master.
Obi-Wan blinked, and saw nothing. It was still dark. But he acutely felt his eyelashes against the firm chest he'd collapsed against, and he heard the slow thudding of a mighty heart, and no breath but his own, and the slight hum of the door as a thin shaft of grey light in front showed him that he had walked around the room in a circle. And that he would have to do so again, because he had failed... hadn't he?
Or had he...? What was Qui-Gon doing... in here?
"Merster? Yiou err... reel?!"
Qui-Gon's lips quirked minutely at the sound of Obi-Wan's voice, and before Obi-Wan had even finished blushing at the embarrassing droidlike squeak, he'd been swept up in a tight embrace and dragged out of the dark chamber, into the cold light and air of the real world.
Once outside, he felt his Master's chest expand in a deep breath, and thought he heard a quiet chuckle before the booming voice reverberated around his skull, slumped as he was against his Master's bare chest. It was just too beautiful a place to leave...
"Yes, Padawan, I am real. I told you I would pick you up, didn't I?"
"Ai... feeiled, didn't ai?" Obi-Wan coughed, making a miserable face at his voice's reluctance to return to his normal light tenor.
"Failed? Why would you? You did admirably, Padawan. Neither pain nor disgust nor fear nor anger remained in your body long enough to trouble you. I am very proud of you, young Obi-Wan..."
"B-but I..." Ah, almost back to normal now. He breathed a sigh of relief. "But I, um, reacted when I bumped into you..."
The Master grinned. "Yes, well... to be perfectly honest, I would have been quite disappointed if you hadn't. Your control is admirable for one of your age, Padawan... Obi-Wan. But it won't reach as far as downright dissimulation."
"Dissimulation?"
"Your fears, your angers, even your physical pains aren't yours, as a Jedi. You showed that extremely well. But there is one thing that has remained yours, and yours alone, and would not be purged because it is... well, it's of the Force as well as of the body." He drew himself up to his full height, taking a deep calming breath, and continued with eyes closed. "I speak of love."
Obi-Wan just stared. Stared at the profile of the man he'd secretly loved ever since he'd had the first glimpses of what that word meant. Stared at the fall of thick greying hair he'd longed to touch for years... and which he'd just touched... and Qui-Gon had... known it all along?
"Not known it. Sensed it, Padawan... yes, you were broadcasting." A large hand clamped down on his shoulder warmly. "There is nothing to fear, Obi-Wan," the face leaned in conspiratorially, and Obi-Wan could do nothing but watch and let it happen and catalogue sensations as the mouth, framed by the ticklish short beard, touched his ear, and the warm voice whispered, "I have kept it to myself. With, I might add, my own feelings on the matter. Which aren't... aren't all that different. Give or take thirty years."
The Master's voice had acquired that dryly humorous tone that Obi-Wan had come to love over the years, even though it had dealt out more than a fair share of stinging criticism of everyone and everything... now, it just sounded glorious, for what it said...
"I therefore suggest," the warm Masterly rumble was back, "we retreat to our quarters and have a good word or two over a cup of chai on the sofa, hm? Forgive your old Master his curiosity, but I'd love to hear it all from your own mouth... Obi-Wan."
"Qui-Gon." The name still tasted odd, after years of 'Master'. And the croak in the Padawan's voice had nothing at all to do with helium and everything with the nearness of his beloved Master's lips, coming closer until they touched, fusing smile to smile, mind to mind.
It was easy, so easy, as long as you didn't try to breathe.
---The End---