Master Apprentice
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Walking in Shadows
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Archive: M_A; anyone else, just ask
Category: AU, angst
Rating: PG for now
Warnings: I am on a depressing!fic streak.
Spoilers: JA #1-3
Series: Shadowed Hearts
Summary: Shadowed Hearts #1: in which Obi-Wan and Anakin face individual trials.
Feedback: Pretty please? On or off list.
Disclaimers: You the man, George. The only thing I'm getting for this is some cheap thrills and (hopefully) some feedback.
Notes: This is in two sections which are braided together. Hopefully I don't confuse anyone too badly. I have yet to see the end of this series, so there may be major revisions, cliffhangers, and other general WIP behaviour in the future. Fairly warned be thee, says I.
All things SW belong to Lucas, all mistakes belong to me, and all nekkid Jedi dreams belong to my betas: KatBear, Master Jenn, and The Rose. Thanks for all the help!
Postea
"He makes me so angry. I can't help it. I know Master Yoda says anger is the true enemy, but it's so easy to forget the battle is within. I should just concentrate on improving my inner balance and leave Bruck with his own problems. I can't keep letting him get to me. No master will ever want me like this."
The small voice faded. There followed a silence in which tears threatened, and a brief war fought with temptation before he shut the Journal off. Sometimes he regretted the self-imposed rule of one entry a day, but he did not want to turn his lucky find into a cheap saga such as the trashy holovid adventures he was so fond of, not when it could be so much more. No, this way was better. This way was almost... almost like having a sibling.
Like having a friend.
"Anakin?"
He looked up, casually tucking the Journal into a desk drawer. "Yes, Master?"
"It's almost time for lights-out. Are you prepared for your chemistry exam tomorrow?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Be sure you do well. Good night then."
"Good night, Master." Alone again, he took out his own Journal, thought for a moment, then began his entry as he always did.
"Dear Obi-Wan,
"I went to the commissary today to order new boots. Tathmar and his friends were there. They didn't say anything ‘cause it was Master F'irol at the counter, but they just looked at me that way, like some of the free slimos used to look at me on Tatooine. Tathmar had this big smirk on his face, and I wanted to hit him. The only reason I didn't was I knew word would get back to Master. The only reason. I didn't care about Tathmar's friends, or Master F'irol, or controlling my anger, or following the Code.
"I know how you feel, Obi-Wan, but you're dealing with it. Look at me. I have a master, and I still have problems. I need to remember the battle is within, too.
"I think I'll work that into my meditations. The battle is within."
Antea
"Only one apprentice may you have."
Qui-Gon lifted his gaze past the edge of the teacup, meeting his old master's impenetrable stare. "I had thought you might knight Obi-Wan." Silence met this. "He killed a Sith, Master. What more has he to learn from me?" He made a depreciating gesture at his own chest, where bandages still restricted his movements.
"Prepared to arbitrarily knight him before you were. Agree I do not."
"He is ready to take his trials. Fighting that... that thing was harder than any trial, but if he must be tested again, then test him."
"Ready he is not. Shirk your responsibilities you do."
Qui-Gon drew himself up, ignoring the sharp knives piercing his ribs. "I believe he is ready. He believes he is ready, but if the council insists... How long?"
"Time is irrelevant." At the other master's snort, Yoda thumped his stick on the floor. Despite himself, Qui-Gon flinched, and the movement jarred his injuries. "Impatient you are. Unusual for you." The harsh tone softened. "Two quarters it should be, so no less than one quarter. Before that consider it we will not."
Qui-Gon inclined his head gracefully and rose with less ease. "Thank you, Master."
Three more months, he thought, leaving Yoda's quarters. Three more months and he would be Obi-Wan's master no more. Finally.
Postea
The test results were disappointing, and what little spare time Anakin had vanished under the avalanche of extra studying his master assigned.
"I passed," he had tried to say.
"Merely passing is unacceptable, Anakin. You must do better."
"I'll try."
"Do or do not, there is no try."
"Yes, Master."
He knew why his master was disappointed. Anakin had broken into Obi-Wan's records by his third quarter at the temple, and since then he could not resist looking up old test scores. Some things Anakin did better at -- far better -- but Obi-Wan managed respectable marks in all areas, though the Journal confirmed he hated chemistry every bit as much as Anakin did.
Yet Obi-Wan earned a decent grade, and Anakin had not.
"Dear Obi-Wan,
"How do you manage? I know I had a late start, but I have a master and the extra help when I need it, and I don't have to worry about not being chosen. Sometimes I envy you, even though Master says envy is beneath a Jedi. You have all these problems, and you succeed anyway. I have problems and I let things get to me. I said something mean to Tathmar today, and he didn't even start it this time. It was just because I didn't do so well on my test, but I know I shouldn't have said it. No wonder no one likes me. I wonder if Tathmar has stuff he feels bad about when he's mean to me. He must have an awful life, 'cause he's mean to me a lot."
Antea
Their quarters were crowded since Qui-Gon refused to send Anakin to the initiate dorm. "He's already feeling insecure, and besides, it's only for a few months."
"Yes, Master."
He expected more of an argument from Obi-Wan, but his apprentice had been unusually docile since Naboo. Not that Qui-Gon complained. He simply did not have the strength to debate with Obi-Wan and chase after Anakin.
He had a cot placed in his room for the boy, greatly looking forward to Obi-Wan's knighting, after which they could finally settle the sleeping arrangements. To that end, he set his padawan a rigorous schedule. No one on the council could fault him for skimping Obi-Wan's training, though with his injuries he could not participate as much as he usually did. Starting Anakin on simple katas took what little energy Qui-Gon had, but he trusted Obi-Wan enough to manage his own exercises as his apprenticeship wound to a close.
"I know you are ready for your trials, Obi-Wan, but don't let your training slip while I'm diverted. I want you knighted at the first opportunity."
"Yes, Master."
It was all Obi-Wan had to say in recent days, and though Qui-Gon appreciated the decision not to tax him, he did miss his argumentative padawan.
Returning from his weekly session in the med center, he met the unusual sight of two padawans wrestling a cot out his front door. When the entrance cleared, he found his two charges ensconced in the common room amidst devastation of epic proportions, Anakin waiting in unabashed avarice as Obi-Wan evaluated various items.
"This is outdated, but I'm sure you can upgrade it, or strip it for parts." Obi-Wan handed Anakin an obsolete data-recorder, which the boy gleefully plunked unto a large pile of acquisitions.
"What in the sub-levels are you doing?"
Obi-Wan did not look up. "Sorting my things before I pack. No, Ani, I'll need that." A case containing spare lightsaber parts went into a larger box.
"You're moving?"
"To the padawan levels. They wouldn't assign me quarters on the knight's level yet, so I'll be moving again next month I suppose."
He felt vaguely irritated that Obi-Wan made such a decision without him, but it really was better to get Anakin settled quickly. Obi-Wan was older; he could handle the disruption of a few moves. "Well, don't unpack then."
"Yes, Master."
Postea
He had found the Journals in a box under the bed, forgotten the day Obi-Wan moved out. One Journal for each year, starting at age eight and going right up to age twenty-four, stopping just months before Naboo. Obi-Wan presumably took the current Journal when he left.
Anakin had listened to the first year, devouring it in six sittings, and started on the second before the idea occurred to him. He was nine; the Obi-Wan in the Journal was nine, and the Force seemed to speak of possibilities.
Anakin had made no friends in his first months at the temple, for he had nothing in common with anyone. The padawans were all much older, the initiates younger and irritated at his status. And they were on opposite sides of maturity; Anakin felt himself world-wise yet so very ignorant in the ways of the Jedi, while his age mates breezed through baffling philosophy and ideals, and seemed so naive about the galaxy beyond the temple walls.
The treasure lying forgotten under the bed gave him something he needed: a friendly voice that confided in him, sharing the difficulties of temple life for the young. The Journal-Obi being so near his own age set off ideas, and Anakin calculated their ages, lining them up so that they lived simultaneous lives. The shared experiences eased his distress, and thereafter he began his own Journal entries with 'Dear Obi-Wan,' so to complete the illusion.
Real or not, the friendship offered more than solace. Advice was to be found in the entries, and Anakin found himself at times prepared for lessons before they came. Others times, after months of struggling, a single sentence from Journal-Obi would unlock all his difficulties and he would get it.
Two years went by, two years of increasing pressure, increasing despair as days and weeks and months passed and no one wanted Obi-Wan, as no one had really wanted Anakin. Then came Bandomeer, and at times he forgot he knew how it turned out, forgot Qui-Gon had chosen Obi-Wan after all, as the council had finally agreed Anakin could be trained. He listened with tears in his eyes, wishing he could rail at Qui-Gon for being so blind and hurtful.
"Dear Obi-Wan,
"I'm so happy for you! I mean, I knew Master Qui-Gon would chose you, but he had us both worried. I don't know if I could offer to give my life for people I don't know, like you did. I guess that's why Qui-Gon chose you -- I know he only wanted me because of the bugs in my blood. You're so lucky. Master says I have a lot to learn before I can go on missions, and I know he's right. Oh, I learned a new meditation today, that one with the three spheres you had trouble with. I think it's hard, too. Master says it will improve my ability to multitask. Whatever that means."
Antea
"Master Jinn, do you realize your apprentice has been training in the lower gyms at obscene hours?"
Qui-Gon blinked at Adi Gallia, who had materialized out of nowhere. He glanced over to the terrace below, where Anakin was attempting to insert himself into a game of atzieball, and not quite succeeding. "He certainly has not--"
"Not the boy. Your apprentice," Adi said sharply.
"Obi-wan is a grown man. If he wants to use the gym at night, he can."
"All night? Every night? When I've seen him there during the day as well?"
Qui-Gon blinked again, but could not help feeling pleased his padawan was as eager to lose the braid as he was. "Perhaps he is overdoing it a little."
"A lot. You should be supervising him."
He gave her a pained look. "I am supervising him."
"He's exhausted, Qui-Gon."
"I'll speak to him about the extra activities. Was that all?"
"No, but it's all you're prepared to hear." She stalked away, leaving him speechless. After a moment he got up to look for Obi-Wan.
It took nearly an hour to track him down, but Qui-Gon finally found him in the philosophy library, poring over two different interpretations of the Code.
"These contradict each other, Master," Obi-Wan said in greeting. "Which of them is right?"
"They both are." Qui-Gon noted the dark circles under his padawan's eyes. "Adi Gallia thinks you've been training too hard."
"Have I?"
Qui-Gon realized he did not know. "Perhaps a little. I'm as eager as you to lose this," and he yanked affectionately on the long braid, "but it won't help you in the trials to be worn out." He hesitated, then decided to bring up a subject he had been dancing around. "Have you thought about what you will do after? I mean, will you go back on the mission roster? Or will you teach?"
"I'm not certain."
"I wouldn't mind some help with Anakin." He hated to admit it, but he needed help with Anakin, and he did not know how they would manage if Obi-Wan decided to take a long-term assignment off planet. Duty first, he told himself sternly.
Obi-Wan's mouth opened briefly, then closed. "Chancellor Palpatine heard about my fight with the Sith," he said at last. "He's requested me as liaison. I might take it."
"That's wonderful! And if you're on Coruscant most of the time, you won't mind helping your old master out now and again." He grinned, hoping Obi-Wan would laugh at the joke, but the younger man just smiled wanly.
"I suppose. Might add to my reputation... helping train the Chosen One."
Qui-Gon did laugh, and patted Obi-Wan's arm. "Good. I was a little worried when you moved out so quickly. I know you just had Anakin's interests at heart, but--" His comm cut him off, and he checked the message. "Force. I must go; Anakin's gotten into a fight." He rose, but glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't wear yourself out before your trials, Obi-Wan."
Very softly as he left, "Yes, Master."
Postea
"I can't help but wonder if Master only took me because the Force made him. He says he sees now that we were meant to be together, but I don't know. He's a kind man. Usually. Maybe he's just being nice. We're going to Gala to help with the elections, and the pilot looks a lot like my friend Guerra. I hope this mission will go better than Bandomeer. I hope I can make him glad he finally chose me."
"Dear Obi-Wan,
"Sometimes I wonder if you hate me. No matter what Master says, I know it was my fault, and I wish I could make it up to you. All I can do is be the best padawan I can. Did I tell you we're going on a mission? Just a short one to Alderaan, and it's only to stand around at a reception for a few hours, but it came in a real mission file, with cultural research links and everything. I finally feel like a real apprentice, and not just some kid that followed Master Qui-Gon home.
"And anyway, if I didn't tell you before, I'm sorry."
Antea
Qui-Gon looked up as Anakin entered the waiting area. He smiled at the boy. "It's only been an hour, Ani. It will be several more before we can expect Obi-Wan to come out."
"I know, Master Qui-Gon, Sir. I wanted... Can I wait with you?"
He patted the bench next to him, and Anakin sat, fidgeting.
Qui-Gon could hardly wait for Obi-Wan to emerge so he could cut that damn braid off, that symbol of everything he could not have, could not touch... If not for Anakin's presence he might sweep Obi-Wan right off his feet, but upon due consideration, that was probably unwise. He was almost certain Obi-Wan returned his feelings, but pouncing on him right after his trials was sure to upset his soon-to-be-former padawan's sense of propriety.
Oh, severing that braid would be sweet.
He had plans for the entire night, had made dinner reservations and arranged for Ani to stay with Vol-Ki and his master. In a very short time everything in his life would fall into place, and he could finally get on with training the padawan he never expected to have, get Obi-Wan moved back in with them -- into Qui-Gon's room where he should have moved the first time, if not for that damn braid.
A slow series of clicks hauled his attention out of daydreams, and he looked up to find Yoda hobbling over, ears pasted to his head.
Qui-Gon sat up straight, alarmed. Too early for the trial to be over, and unbidden thoughts of accidents careened through his mind. "Is something wrong?"
Yoda's ears twitched, and he silently offered a lightsaber, casing as familiar as Qui-Gon's own.
"What's this?" he asked. "It's not time for the ceremony yet."
"Obi-Wan's master you were. Your duty it is to destroy the crystal."
For a moment the words held no meaning, then his body recognized the truth if his mind did not, and he reeled as though struck. Destroy his lightsaber... Failed.
He was on his feet an instant later, bolting through the hallways for Obi-Wan's quarters. The levels reserved for padawans not wishing to live with their masters were too far for a headlong dash, and his injuries too fresh. He slowed, panting, heedless of shocked stares of those he passed.
Arriving at the door he keyed his code, and found Obi-Wan had not listed him for entry. Biting back words Jedi were not supposed to know, he drew on authority he had never had to use and punched in his override code.
The room within was empty, barely lived in. Belongings never unpacked, but still there, and Qui-Gon looked around, hopeful. Hard to tell with all but essentials still packed, but it appeared as if everything was there. His gaze lit on the open closet, rows of sedate uniforms neatly hung, dark stripe of a cloak at one end.
Beige and brown all the way, yet he knew Obi-Wan possessed a handful of civilian clothing.
The 'fresher, when he checked, was devoid of personal items.
He sat heavily on the bed, thoughts dashing frantically between the hangar, from which Obi-Wan could catch a flight to any part of the planet, and the launch bay, from which he could leave it entirely.
Hangar or launch bay? Hangar or launch bay? Opposite ends of the temple, both a good distance from the living quarters and his legs were already trembling, air searing lungs with each breath and getting worse. Black spots danced.
Desperate, he followed the training bond, already knowing what he would find. Obi-Wan's end floated, not severed as outside interference might cause, but disconnected, as though each tendril had been firmly ejected from the mind they set roots in so long ago.
Painless break, but such a feeling of loss, and Qui-Gon lay back on the bed, panting. He had enough sense remaining to dial the medic on the comm before the hurt radiating from the ill-healed wound stole his ability to speak.
And when he woke to a worried boy and a sterile room in the med center, a week, and lifetime, had gone.
Postea
"Master, I promise, somehow I won't fail you. I'm not as good as Xanatos, I'm not as fast or as clever, but I know how his failure hurt you. Somehow, I'll succeed. I'll make you proud of me.
"I am not him."
He looked at the Journal for a very long time before making his own entry.
"Dear Obi-Wan,
"I don't know what to say. I can promise I won't fail, but I don't know if I can keep such a promise. I'm not as good as you. How can I hope to succeed where you could not? You made it so far. I want to make him proud, for you and for myself, but I can't.
"I'm not you."
Finis