Three Days

by Flamethrower

Title: Three Days
Author: Flamethrower
Archive: MA & The Flamethrower’s Archive
Category: Q/O, AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, POV
Rating: PGish (no smut in this one, sorry folks!)
Warnings: Might make you threaten my life until I write a sequel.
Spoilers: Only if you haven't read Speaker of Valaeanath. (Link below.)
Summary: Qui-Gon's point of view during one pivotal moment in Speaker of Valaeanath, and something that happens while Obi-Wan is unaware...
Feedback: I love you allllll. Even if I keep forgetting to reply to feedback.
Thanks: To flooring products. I seem to do a lot of writing when I'm putting down tile.
Series: Apparently. Dammit! First story's Speaker of Valaeanath

It was three days before they allowed me to touch him. I could only watch, trapped behind the viewing port in that blasted door. Not that they believed I was in danger, nor he in danger from me (ludicrous thought, that!), but there was a need for a Healer to be present. "Interactions with new beings must be observed by a senior Healer on staff." The better to try to accurately diagnose his condition-- that was the reason I was given by his Healer. Barriss Offee was probably the only Jedi in the centre who wasn't entirely convinced that catatonia was the correct diagnosis for Obi-Wan Kenobi's utter silence. Yoda was not convinced either, but with no way to communicate, no response from Obi-Wan forthcoming, and all of his physical senses tested and found to be functioning properly…

I'd watched him through that panel in the door for an entire two minutes before I was convinced that my former Padawan wasn't catatonic at all. What he suffered from, I had no idea, but when his face was visible I could see his eyes. They were like storm clouds, windows revealing a frightening blend of emotions. I'd seen eyes like those before, during a tour of one of Corellia's mental hospitals that had been accused of providing inadequate care for their patients. They were the eyes of a man who was hanging onto sanity by the barest threads, and could find nothing to stop that inexorable slide into madness.

That, I almost understood, even if I did not yet fathom the cause. Missing out on twelve years, that time passing like the snap of a humanoid's fingers - many days while on Polis Massa, I had looked into the 'fresher mirror in the morning and wondered if I had lost my mind.

Still, presence of feelings meant presence of thought, as far as I was concerned. When Anakin finally approached me, accompanied by Barriss, three days later, I think I was ready to leap out of my skin. The Healer Halls were packed with patients due to the war I was now in the midst of, and it was her first chance to escape the press of her overwhelming duties. However, my years of Mastery of the Force had not kept me from being driven almost to distraction by the seemingly endless wait.

"Ready, Master Qui-Gon?" Anakin asked me. The years meant little to Anakin - as far as he was concerned, I was still the friend he'd made as a child, and thus our relationship had re-established itself quickly. He has been my anchor during the last month and a half, even while I was trapped on Polis Massa and he on Coruscant. It's still strange, though, to look into Anakin's eyes and find that the young, tousle-headed boy from Tatooine is now my height.

"Open the fucking door already," I said, to which Anakin snickered and poor Barriss looked as if she'd swallowed a bug. The woman had been fourteen Standard the last she knew of me, and only remembered a very tall, living Jedi legend. I don't think she'd been prepared for a tall bulk of very impatient Jedi.

"Er, yes." Newly-minted Master Healer Offee ran her access card along the door's panel. "I'll remain out here. Anakin, I still suspect that you're right, and he recognizes you, so you're first. Announce your presence the usual way. Master Jinn, you remember the rules."

"I still think you're being ridiculous," I retorted, scowling.

"Until we know exactly what's going on, you will abide by it and tell him nothing of your identity until I say you can. Or you won't go at all," she said smiling at me. Confound it, she'd already figured out the old Healer method for dealing with me. Bribery.

I took a breath and released it; I would do no one any good if I went into that room a jangled mess of impatient nerves. "Very well. Shall we?"

Despite my calmer tones, I have to admit my heart was in my throat as I went in, steps behind Anakin. Obi-Wan had tucked himself into the corner of the room as usual, arms wrapped around his legs, his face resting against his knees. Defensive position, defensive posture. Oh, he was aware of what was going on, all right - I was willing to bet my life on it.

Obi-Wan lifted his head at our approach, and my heart ached at the sight. His hair was clean, but straggled and knotted, and his beard was as wild as his eyes as they darted around, focusing on nothing. His face turned in our direction, tracking our progress through some unknown means.

I watched Anakin touch Obi-Wan's shoulder; Obi-Wan touched Anakin's hand and squeezed his eyes shut as if pained, lowering his head. Anakin looked up at me, his eyes bright with tears. "I know he knows it's me," he said, and the sudden sound of Anakin's voice startled me, a sharp fall of noise against the silence of just three men breathing. "I just… we can't get any farther than this. He knows the touch of my hand and that's all." Anakin stood up, blinking his eyes several times, and then gestured at me.

"You try."

I knelt down next to Obi-Wan and caught the familiar scent of my Padawan. The twelve years I'd spent frozen in time had not altered my memory. The warmth of him was tempered by the antiseptic smells of the cleansing agents used in the Halls, and I was struck temporarily blind by the feelings that surged up within me. I'd barely had the chance to become used to the idea of a universe without him, and yet, here was Obi-Wan, I was next to him, and I had no idea of what to do.

Force, but I'd missed him. Right then, I think the only thing I wanted was to see him smile, to see me.

I touched his shoulder, as Anakin had, and the response was immediate. Obi-Wan tensed, lifting his head in a much sharper motion than he had before. He reached up with his right arm, his hand brushing the cloth of my sleeve, his lips half-parted as he explored with his fingers the soft material of my tunic.

Touch. Obi-Wan's sense of touch was what he had, I realized. Why only that sense when all of his senses should have worked, I didn't know, but it explained his motions, his actions. He'd tracked us across the room by the vibration of our steps, nothing else.

I sucked in a surprised breath when his fingers found their way to my hand. The touch of his fingertips was like a warm, gentle rush, and with it a memory came back to me that I had forgotten between losing myself outside the Archives and finding myself on Raxus Prime, befuddled and confused, in the company of Mace Windu, senior Padawan Anakin Skywalker, and Quinlan Vos.

On the balcony, watching the sunset. Anakin was with the Council, being tested, probably terrified out of his wits. I'd wanted to remain with him; Mace had refused.

I was arguing with my Padawan, who was so ready for his Trials I was shamed I'd not already presented him to the Council to take them. Obi-Wan was rolling his eyes at me, exasperated, but even amidst his frustration he was smiling at me, his eyes alive like blue-green fire as they were touched by the sun. He was, as ever, far more worried about me than he ever was about himself.

Force, I'd thought, right at that moment. I love this man.

Oh. Oh, dear. Oh, dear gods.

Obi-Wan had taken hold of my hand while I'd been caught by memory and realization. His head was tilted, as if unsure of what to do next. I held my breath, just as unsure, and allowed him to lead us, my heart racing in anticipation of something I didn't know, couldn't expect.

Obi-Wan's fingers washed across the skin of my palm like a faint breeze, taking in size and callus and line… and then he signed a message in Valaeanath onto my skin.

'Help me!'

Qui-Gon Jinn watched the sole occupant in the bacta ward, an individual body floating in silence amongst a long line of empty tanks. For once there was quiet; this area of the Halls was not needed at the moment, and most of the Healers were taking the genuine lull in patients to gather themselves, to breathe, to pass out on unoccupied beds before the next wave of injured soldiers and Jedi could arrive.

Outwardly, he was just as serene as his surroundings, nothing to be heard but his breath, blending in with the quiet hum and soft hiss of the tank machinery. Inwardly, his thoughts were a right mess. Heady relief had taken control of his mind, because Qui-Gon had held Obi-Wan's hand and felt life fleeing from the man's body. He'd felt it. In desperate horror and refusal he had reached out and forced his way through the last of the inhibitor's barriers to reach the man who, in three days, had become the love of his life. He didn't want to face the rest of this life, this blasted war!, without Obi-Wan there, to make bearable the unbearable.

The sound of Obi-Wan's mental voice, saying his name, had been one of the most wonderful moments of Qui-Gon's entire life. And then he was there, his presence a full bloom of sun and starlight, regarding his oncoming death with the quiet amusement in which Obi-Wan Kenobi regarded most things in the universe.

As for the rest… well, his Padawan had always loved a challenge, and Obi-Wan had ripped the last connections of the inhibitor to shreds with strength of thought and will, and in Barriss Offee's hands the tendrils and hooks of the Sith device had curled up and withered.

Three days of watching. Three days of living with him. Three days of watching once more. Observation to touch, touch to surgery, surgery to recovery. It would be nice, Qui-Gon thought, opening his eyes to glance up at Obi-Wan's sleeping form, for these sections of time to cease, to become part of the whole once more.

"Oh! My apologies. I didn't realize anyone was here."

Qui-Gon got to his feet in one swift moment, almost as startled as his sudden visitor had sounded. He turned and bowed to complete the motion, unnerved that he had been caught unawares so easily. "Chancellor. My apologies - I didn't hear you arrive."

Chancellor Palpatine, many years older than when Qui-Gon had last seen him in person, waved his hand in apparent unconcern. He stepped forward, leaving his ever-present cadre of guards waiting at the bacta chamber's entryway. "Please, no need for such formality. We were friends once before, after all."

Qui-Gon kept his features still; Palpatine had been no enemy, but civil words spoken in passing hardly made them past friends. The Chancellor might be beloved by his populace, but Palpatine was a politician through and through, and Qui-Gon had little use for his ilk. However, one did not make an enemy of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, no matter how much you disliked his very presence. "Of course, Chancellor. What brings you here, might I ask?"

Palpatine looked up at Obi-Wan, who remained oblivious to his presence. "Our beloved General, of course. It was devastating to hear of his death, but his miraculous resurrection has given the people a newfound hope for the war effort. As I'm sure yours does for him," Palpatine continued, looking at Qui-Gon with a friendly smile that didn't quite seem to match the lack of emotion in his cold blue eyes.

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon replied, ire and hackles raised even as he kept his tone pleasant. "We were friends once before, after all."

"Just so," Palpatine agreed, still smiling. "What are your plans, Master Jinn? Now that you have found yourself in such a… precarious position?"

Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I am yet uncertain. Twelve years is a long time to be… sequestered. A lot of things have changed. People have changed, as well."

If Palpatine noticed the subtle dig, he ignored it. "That they do, Master Jinn." He sighed, a melodramatic noise that rebounded off the walls of the bacta chamber. "I do wish you hadn't awoken to find our Republic in such disarray."

'I do wish you hadn't awoken at all.' That's what you meant, isn't it? Qui-Gon thought, keeping that observation carefully buried in the center of his mind. There were currents here that he did not understand, but one thing was clear - the Chancellor was not pleased with his presence. Not at all. "I am saddened to see our Republic in such a state, but grateful that my presence means there is one more Jedi here to defend it."

"Well spoken, Master Jedi," the Chancellor replied, a quick glint of steel shining in his eyes. "I trust your Healers, and young Anakin, will keep me informed as to General Kenobi's recovery?"

"Of course. Chancellor," Qui-Gon said, bowing, as Palpatine turned to depart. He was quickly flanked by the red-robed guards, and just the site of them was enough to leave Qui-Gon with a bitter taste in his mouth. The Chancellor's colors had been dark blue and steel for eons, traditional colors of neutrality. Palpatine had announced the change in office color in his eighth year - the one that should have been his last as Chancellor. Four years ago.

"Ah, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, turning his attention back to his silent companion. "There is too much here that I do not understand, and I don't like any of it."

He settled back down onto his knees, brow furrowed. For the first time since arriving on Coruscant six days ago, Qui-Gon attempted to meditate on the eddies of the Force - and found its currents just as muddled, just as messy, as his thoughts.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and watched Obi-Wan's hair drift in bacta current, its golden hue discernable despite the pale pink of the surrounding goop. There was a faint hint of a smile on Obi-Wan's lips, reminiscent of the man's ever-present quiet amusement. Qui-Gon smiled back, despite his misgivings. "To quote you, my love: I have a bad feeling about this. All of this."

--Three Days
12/05--12/06/2010