The Stolen Ones
Chapter Eight
The curtain, closing behind them, shimmered sweetly - the noise prolonging itself as heads turned. Silence fell, and the last lingering ring and tremble of sound assumed lyrical importance as it faded.
As Qui-Gon walked forward, Obi-Wan had time to observe the glances - feel them flick from his scraped face to his Master's comprehensive bruises. In a moment of stillness small movements of guilt and horror imprinted themselves on his sight. Nam Gillet put down his stylus with slow care, membrane veiling the golden eyes. Wine spilled over Arawn's smooth, diplomat's hands and beaded in the split knuckles.
A glass shattered in the grip of one heavily-medalled general, and as she looked up Obi-Wan caught the hard hazel eyes and saw his own death reflected there.
This is so...bizarre. Bizarre and frightening. From his own experiences Obi-Wan could guess what these people had done to him - inside their heads. It felt indecent, exposed, to stand in front of them now, feeling the impact of those fantasies.
Qui-Gon had found an unbroken chair, settled onto it. The robe billowed about his feet - letting out scents of salt, the mown-grass smell of Prowlers, the unmistakable reek of gore. He must have been aware of how Arawn's haunted gaze tracked the line of blood that slid from his cheekbone into his beard. He must have seen the soft, marred hands twist guiltily together, but he only smiled, at ease, and picked up the conversation as though he had been there all along. "So, what now remains between you and peace?"
The sound of suckers releasing their grasp with a ragged pop - Nam Gillet pulled his tentacles from the floor and eased them into positions of studied negligence.
Force, he's cold! Obi-Wan thought, amazed. No wonder Qui-Gon had wanted to move now. Given the speed of Gillet's recovery from the surprise of seeing them alive, by the morning he would have been as immovable as ever. He was recovering his poise even as Obi-Wan watched - the ashy undertone of his skin shrinking into a mottling of shadowed spots.
"Nothing has changed." He unveiled his eyes - an aurate flash - the only gilded thing left in the room's shabby grandeur, "Except that the alliance we were considering appears unnecessary."
Qui-Gon folded his hands together in the classic gesture of a Jedi Master deeply considering his next move. Obi-Wan found the posture reassuring - an echo of home - and moved up to place a hand on the back of his master's chair. Anchoring himself in all the strangeness. What would Qui-Gon say? Something diplomatic, obviously - the Council would expect no less.
"Nam Gillet, you are a cold, corrupt and self-centred fool. I would be pleased to see you removed from office and arrested for attempted murder."
Collective indrawn breaths. In the following silence a breeze stroked dim music from the silverice once more. I can't believe he said that! What happened to 'speak the truth with tact'? He could see now what a weapon candour was - how it cut and shocked.
"But it doesn't have to be that way." Qui-Gon began speaking as soon as Gillet's flash of anger had faded, "You could come out of this as the saviour of your planet. As the man with the wisdom and vision to usher in a new age of peace."
He didn't smile, but Obi-Wan felt the twist of bleak humour as he went on; "A compassionate man, who saw that his people were fed, housed, healed. You could have their love, Nam Gillet." He had to explain why that was important; "Then you would no longer need the support of any lobby-group for your power. You would be free. You might even be able to become honest."
A spell between them: Qui-Gon could say all of this in public and still create privacy by his focus - intent and sincere. "If you can't seek peace for their sake, do it for your own."
Gillet's shade - a khaki of anger and uncertainty - pulsed through several subtle variations, and Obi-Wan began to regret the absence of their own Nimgoni. Translation would have helped.
"You can't accuse me of crime, Jedi. You said yourself that this madness was due to possession by an outside force."
"As I recall, you didn't believe me." Qui-Gon's innocent expression was rounded and guileless. He's enjoying this!
He leaned forward, to emphasise his next point, and gasped, jerking upright again - posture rigid and the amused eyes startled.
Go ahead; injure yourself worse! Anger pounced on Obi-Wan. Why couldn't Qui-Gon take better care? Why did he have to push himself so hard? Why was there nothing Obi-Wan could do to stop him?
In the centre of the conference table, water stood in a chipped blue jug. He could at least pour and offer a glass.
"Thank you." The hand looked steady, holding the tumbler, but the surface of the liquid shivered spasmodically. When Qui-Gon drank he left a tendril of blood in the water, uncurling like a strange flower.
"Circumstances have changed." Gillet's eyes reflected the tainted drink in a shimmer of colour, "I'm now convinced that we are innocent of deliberate harm."
"Good. Then you will, of course, release Ibhis LoXin immediately."
Obi-Wan registered a muffled gasp to his left and the lifted face of a young woman with hopeful, almond eyes. There was an answering twitch of appreciation from Arawn as the older diplomat smoothed back his fall of beaded braids; finally daring to be seen.
"That was an entirely separate incident. There's no evidence at all that Ibhis was possessed."
"None but my word, no." Qui-Gon tilted his head, glancing at the other diplomats, waiting for comments that didn't come, but clearly inviting discussion. "But your innocence also rests on my testimony. So I ask you; do you believe me or not?"
It could so easily have been a humiliating moment for Nam Gillet - a point on which he was forced to back down. Except that Qui-Gon presented the choice without triumph, as though he believed Gillet might have the strength to condemn himself out of principle. A strange compliment; and a meekness which offered no target.
Gillet pulled at the floor again, twice, with a noise like bursting bubblewrap, then snaked out a limb to slap at the comm-panel behind him. "Detention? The charges against Ibhis LoXin have been dropped. Release him at once."
The implications of this sank in slowly - Obi-Wan turned them around in his mind like pieces of a puzzle. When he saw how they fit together he didn't like the shape.
If I save my questions till later, will he answer them, or will he just come up with an excuse? The thought felt disloyal, but it remained a fact that Qui-Gon had not attempted to teach him anything since the death of Xanatos.
Painfully aware of his breach of etiquette he came forward to kneel in the folds of wool beside Qui-Gon, tugged at a sleeve which was stiff with dried blood. "Master?"
Turquoise eyes flashed as they turned on him; reproach and something else. His throat tightened. Yes I know I'm supposed to just watch and learn; but how can I, if I don't understand?
A small drain on the Force allowed him to shift into hyperfocus on his master's face. Fierce regard beat on his own skin like a desert sun, as Qui-Gon watched him in the same way. They could now speak in utter silence, reading the small movements of face and lips. Obi-Wan excelled at this game - but he had never tried it with Master Jinn before. Afraid to try, perhaps - the scrutiny could be relentless.
//Master, I don't understand. You've just given away your best bargaining chip. In acknowledging Ibhis' innocence he forces you to testify to his own.//
Qui-Gon had abandoned the reproach - he answered neutrally, hiding his emotions, but not quite managing to smooth out the lines of pain around his mouth. //Only if he believes in my honesty.//
Intent as he was, Obi-Wan could hear the grate and sob of his master's breathing, see the tremor across his shoulders, almost invisible beneath the heavy layers of fabric. He wanted to abandon everything and drag the stubborn man into medical care - Make him get better. But Qui-Gon was too perfect a Jedi to care about his own health, and if that was what he expected, Obi-Wan was not going to let him down. If you want to ignore this, that's fine. I can do it too.
//With this,// Qui-Gon continued serenely, //We have achieved several things. Firstly, he's accepted that legally you and I are the only witnesses to his innocence. It will now be more convenient for him if we live than if we die. A small concession, perhaps, but worthwhile.//
Even in hyperfocus Obi-Wan couldn't see a smile - was it hurting that much? He returned it anyway, sure the last sentence had been a joke.
//Secondly,//
Around him Obi-Wan could feel an anxiety, an almost superstitious dread, growing in the diplomats who watched. To them this conversation must look like telepathy. A demonstration of the strange powers of the Jedi. Unsettling for them to think we can read their minds. Who knows what secrets we might choose to reveal? Any another time Obi-Wan might have found a boyish pleasure in the glamour of it, but now he had no feeling to spare.
//By placing this importance on my word, he has to face the question of how trustworthy I am. If he can come to believe in me, he will feel less exposed about making this risky move. If he can't - then he can't be sure I won't condemn him anyway. His own anxiety will drive him. But...//
Obi-Wan gave himself a mental shake, paid attention, receiving the strong sense that everything Qui-Gon had just said was rationalisation on top of this one basic principle, //I will not blackmail him into this. True peace is not achieved by fear.//
Fear leads to anger. A basic Jedi tenet. And in the case of governments anger leads to war. Of course. Obi-Wan bowed his head to acknowledge understanding. When he looked up he was in time to see a ghost of agony flit across his Master's face. His 'perfect Padawan' act slipped. //Master?//
He stopped, breathed carefully, began again. //Please, won't this wait? It's not going to help, to...to risk yourself. Put it down for a while.//
There was the smile he'd imagined earlier - not quite relaxing the tense lines of the mouth. //Obi-Wan, if I stop now I could be unconscious for days. I'm sure you can calculate how many people would die in that time. I can't....//
Master Jinn's head bowed slightly, so that a fall of hair concealed his wince, but the intaken breath hissed through his teeth; too shallow, too laboured to sustain him. //Besides, I promised.//
Obi-Wan tried to stand, wanting to get back out of view until he had regained some control over his emotions, but Qui-Gon touched his shoulder to stop him. //Go fetch Im, Dek and Eryn.//
He took a guess. //The Nimgoni family?//
Too strong to completely hide, disappointment shadowed the Force-bright gaze, and he could guess the thought behind it - 'You didn't even ask them their names?' - as Qui-Gon nodded.
He kept his face averted to conceal the hurt - I had other things to worry about! - as he left.
"Oh, you finally remembered about us?"
The flesh-eating landspeeder looked particularly grotesque in the gardens; its furnace nodded over by climbing white sitsi; an iron wheel deep in the hringbell bed and its tracks slicing through the finely raked gravel of the drive.
It was the girl who had spoken; she was lounging against the warm metal with her hands full of stolen flowers. In the watered green light of the security lamps her auburn hair was black and her skin white as a cloud - an unfinished sketch of a being.
He breathed a couple of times, to bring his temper under control, and thought about how to undo Qui-Gon's disappointment. "Look," he said, "We didn't get off on the right foot, did we? I'm sorry. I was worried about Master Jinn, and I still am. Can you excuse me for being a bit twitchy?"
She scowled at the flowers silently.
Folding his hands he bowed his most formal bow. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Jinn's apprentice. Are you Im?"
A look of derision between herself and the younger Nimgoni. OK, Obi-Wan told himself firmly, I guess that means they're thawing towards me.
"Im is my name." The older Nimgoni slid fluidly out of the speeder - she was also little more than a pattern of grey and black in the lamplight. "This is Dek and Eryn. They don't mean to be rude either; but we've had a lot to be anxious about too."
Humility is the foundation of accurate perception, he told himself, while anger showed a thin red line at the edge of his mind like a bud splitting. It was true that his focus had been achingly tight, But I don't have time for this.
"Master Jinn would like you to come up and witness the negotiations."
"Us?" Eryn clutched the flowers - sweetness and black liquid oozing from between her fingers. She looked at her mother in panic. Im had faded into a suggestion of movement around her glistening eyes.
"You don't have to do anything, he just wants you there."
When he turned, they followed him. Dek slithered to his side and kept pace with him in a spider-like undulation which looked like a lot of effort. Dek had something to say - something that was important to him. "It must be great."
"What?" It occurred to Obi-Wan that this powerful creature was probably about his own age. If they had met in the Temple Dek would have been his yearmate, like Bant. Like Bruck. Don't go there!
The Nimgoni boy could not smile, but his skin was orange, in waves of madder and amber. What was that? Envy...?!
"Being a Jedi, of course."
Scarlet, sudden, the bud of rage bloomed in Obi-Wan's chest; unexpected, terrifying. It was all he could do not to storm off - find something fragile and break it, just because.
"Oh, yeah, yeah, it's great." It was impossible to stop this coming out with Dek, precisely because he was so afraid of saying it to someone else - someone important. "I don't dare make friends cos they die. Complete strangers try to kill me all the time. I've totally stuffed up the one relationship I am allowed, and you're trying to tell me how great it is?"
He quickened his pace - trying to get some privacy. Just a little space in which he could purge the anger into the Force. Dek was grey as a stormcloud behind him - his hurt like a slap between the shoulders. Eryn stepped on the hem of his cloak, luminous with indignation.
"You piece of slime! His dad died, d'you know that? My whole family died. Yeah, you suffer too. We all suffer! But you can do something about it.... You want to know what despair is? Try being helpless, like us."
Helpless? She was right, Obi-Wan thought as his fists unclenched. Perhaps it was his own helplessness that filled him with fury. Because it still remained uncertain whether he was a Jedi at all. The council had not officially accepted him back into the Order since his defection on Melida/Daan.
This mission was part of his probation. A simple mission, a straightforward task, little more than a holiday. An undemanding time for himself and Master Jinn to test their commitment to his training, to re-establish their bond. An easy chore. Something he wanted badly, and it was falling apart under his hands, turning into blood and pain and terror just like everything else. Why does this happen? What's wrong with me?
Eryn's raised fist - still dark with pollen - was pulled away. "Ssh," said Im, reaching up to stroke Obi-Wan's back with a gentle tentacle, "Leave him be, Eryn. You know what he's going through. His father's very ill."
The breath went out of him leaving a frigid hollow, as if he'd stepped out into the vacuum of space.
"We will not have dry vertebrates like you polluting the sacred seas!"
Tempers were high - skittery with guilt. Walking in on those flailing green arms was like swimming through weed filled water. Obi-Wan was struck by how sleek they all were, how fat and clean they must look to his charges. But what in the stars were they talking about?
Im parted the curtain behind him, getting the fiddly edges caught on her suckers, filling the room with a clamour of bells. At the looks of shock her colour swept into imitation of the walls - slightly battered coral. The camouflage was unimpressive, after the Prowlers, but a mark of terror so extreme that, reflexively, the glances dropped.
At the sight of her fear Qui-Gon started to get to his feet, fell back. A small cry of pain - shocking as a scream coming from him - transfixed the room. Im dived for the door.
"Please." Obi-Wan stopped her, aware that he was hugging his own ribs - the ache seeping through past his shields - Shut up and do what you're told! "You're what this is all about. Let them see."
He went out and grabbed Eryn's hand, tugging; "Please, come in and," he bit his lip again, trying to show urgency, but not need, "Let me go to him."
Reassured that no-one was looking at them - they were watching Qui-Gon as he convulsed, fighting to breathe - they came in, and Obi-Wan was able to run to his master's side. Qui-Gon was curled over the agony in his chest, coughing in ragged spasms and whining at the pain. Obi-Wan grabbed his upper arms - the muscles strained and shuddering under his touch - tried to push him upright. "Master! Master look at me!"
The bent head shook, so Obi-Wan grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. His heart faltered when he finally saw his master's face - strands of hair sticking in the sweat on his cheeks; skin pale as death and the lips blue. "Right that's it, you're going to the hospital now."
A calloused hand caught Obi-Wan's wrist, eased the hand away, the slitted eyes focused unsteadily. "Soon. Help...?"
Without thinking, Obi-Wan reached out to the Force; brought it flowing into him and through him into his master. Fear and fury tugged, trying to pull the flow of life away, distracting him, nagging him. He hated himself for feeling it, and it was that which finally ripped the Force out of his hands, leaving him bereft.
Qui-Gon straightened, squeezed his arm in thanks. It hurt a little - the man had a strong grip. "The moon, Dra'zim."
Obi-Wan wanted to scream. Surely Qui-Gon couldn't still be ignoring this? He must give in now. Surely?
Nam Gillet had frozen in place, and Arawn had backed away, stood, hands over his mouth, shaking, as though he had shared in every serrated edge of pain. But really - Obi-Wan managed to achieve a tenuous dispassion - really nothing had changed, and there still was the question of the shared moon: Not enough land for two, but no-one allowed to build underwater.
Qui-Gon's hand was so cold that even through two layers of fabric it felt chill. "Tell them about Nield."
Now Obi-Wan felt as stunned as the others. Nield! What could Nield have to do with this? Nield's friendship had been the other reason - after Cerasi - that he had left the Order and thrown away everything he had so much dreamed of having. Was this some kind of strange rebuke? Would Qui-Gon really do that to him now?
"Think. The lake...."
And the solution came to him fully grown, with a kind of awe, and joy, because instead of a rebuke this could only be a gift.
"Nield is the Governor of a planet called Melida/Daan," he began, and felt the shocked gazes settle on him with relief. How off balance they must all be, if they find being addressed by a 13 year old boy reassuring!
"Melida/Daan has recently come out of a period of civil war. Their economy is ruined, but they maintain manufacture of Houses of Remembrance. Lately they ran out of land and began to build them on repulsor-lifts, over the lakes and seas..."
Nield's face, drawn and bitter as he showed Qui-Gon the lake where he had swam as a child - the only place untainted by war on his world - and the ugly black building that floated over it; full of angry ghosts.
Now even that violation would be turned to good. Oh, Master, this is brilliant!
"The manufacture of repulsorlifts is the only exportable industry they have left, and currently it's moribund, waiting for orders. Do you see? The Beta Systems could have the land, and the Nimgoni could build over the water - without touching it."
It was so like Qui-Gon, to bring peace and new prosperity to over six devastated planets, and to do it by means of a personal friendship.
Obi-Wan's awe and pleasure faltered a little when he thought of it that way. But was it right? Was it moral that he as a Jedi should use his influence to acquire orders for his friend's industries? Nimgon could probably get those repulsor lifts elsewhere for less money.
Yes - made by a company like Offworld or the Trade Federation, whose workers were slaves, where the profits would go straight into the hands of the rich and corrupt. But if they bought from Melida/Daan the money would rebuild a war-torn world.
It felt fantastic to be doing something for Nield, but his mind was uneasy. He looked down at his Master - dismayed to see him openly shivering - "Is it right, Master?"
"Why not?"
"People will say..."
"Let them. Can't care what people say, or...never do anything."
That sounded like a personal creed. Not greatly reassured Obi-Wan turned back and found all the frightened, separated individuals in knots of discussion - heads down over datapads. He could sense it - an easing throughout the room; consensual relief, as if the decision had already been made.
Absurdly, Nam Gillet's colour had changed to pink and silver, like the Temple at sunset. Humour?
"What are they here for?" he said, pointing at Im and her children.
"Witnesses." Qui-Gon's voice rattled in his throat.
"To shame me?"
But he managed a crooked smile, "Or to inspire."
The shade deepened until Nam Gillet was like a massive rose with golden eyes. An unexpected resurgence of something worthwhile in him? Or a cynical adaptation to the changed circumstances? "Well, if I'm to start a career as a man of compassion we'll begin with you. Get yourself to the infirmary. I don't want you dying here on the only valuable carpet in the building."
Qui-Gon grinned - one of the rare broad smiles that didn't suit him - "Sign first."
Obi-Wan stopped in front of the tank and pressed his hands on the glass. His breath misted the clear surface, and his hands left streaks of moisture and mud.
Master Jinn?
Qui-Gon floated in the bacta, long body mapped with old scars, expressive hands relaxed in unconsciousness, face hidden behind the mask and the billowing dark cloud of hair. Utterly remote, utterly untouchable.
Master?
Obi-Wan had duties to fulfil, and detailed instructions on how to go about them, but somehow he couldn't find the strength to start. He wanted to stay here - to break the glass and shake the man until he woke up. Nothing else in the universe was real.
A hand wrapped around his wrist - startlingly brown against his pallor - and he looked up into the umber eyes of a middle-aged nurse. "You're not doing any good here, you know; messing up my stuff." It was good that she wasn't kind - he didn't think he could have stayed together under the impact of kindness.
"We're going to take him out in three hours. We'll know then."
She twisted him by the shoulders, his head coming last as he strained not to turn away. "Go - get yourself clean. Eat something. Maybe get some rest?"
Im and her family were forlornly sprawled in the corridor; feeling placeless, like him. "Come on," he said dully, "You can have my room."
He led them there, palmed open the door and stood back as they surged in. Immediately the large space looked crowded.
"Wow!" Eryn jumped on the soft bed, scattering dirt on the sheets, "Wow it's like sitting on a cloud!"
It's like being smothered, Obi-Wan thought. An urge rose up in him to tell her he wasn't used to this luxury, that the pallets of the Temple were thin and hard, that he wasn't the spoiled little rich boy she thought. But today the urge was unimportant, and he let it fall away into darkness.
He watched them gawk at the cleanness and comfort with a sense that he should be receiving something from their pleasure. An empathic pleasure of his own, perhaps? Satisfaction? Master Jinn would feel it. Master Jinn would....
"I'm going to get clean." Obi-Wan grabbed fresh clothes and pushed through the adjoining door to his master's room, unable to face their curiosity and noise any more. It was quiet in here.
What am I going to do?
The shower stung in abrasions he had not noticed. Mud thinned around his feet, and he had to scrub his hair twice to get rid of the salt and sand. His scalp felt raw. New tunics pulled harshly over an angry sunset of purple bruises and grazes. He replaited his short braid in the mirror without looking into his own eyes.
What am I going to do? Suppose he....
He couldn't finish the thought - he recoiled from it, scared and a little surprised by the desolation which lay there, even in imagination.
I'm going to do my job.
He sat at the comms terminal, twitched his white tunics straight, and put through a call to their liaison at the Temple. Wasted effort - the striped eyes that met his could not see his nervous neatness. "Tahl!"
But she could hear the tremble he was trying to suppress in his voice. "Obi-Wan? What is it?"
"I want to formally notify the Council that the treaty between Nimgon and the Beta Systems has been signed. I'm downloading a copy, and a request for Republic Aid..."
Tahl put her hand on the screen, as if to reach through and read his face. The scar danced across her eyes and forehead as she frowned. Obi-Wan didn't like looking at it, remembering that he had tried to maroon her on Melida/Daan when she was newly blinded. She was one of his Master's oldest friends, and that was one more thing Qui-Gon had to forgive him, if he lived.
"Obi-Wan, why isn't Qui-Gon telling me this?"
"He's," he bit the inside of his cheek again - it was getting very sore, "He's hurt, Tahl. There was something here we weren't expecting. Something evil and very powerful; we haven't had a chance to find out what, but it got him. They're going to tell me in a couple of hours whether he'll...be OK. Or not."
"I see." She sat up straighter, breathed twice, and presented to him the mask of Jedi calm he was sure he wore himself. "Are you in danger?"
"No." The Force, elusive as it was even at the best of times, was now the calmest thing in his soul. "I think Master Jinn drove it away. I don't know what happened. I wasn't...I wasn't there."
"Alright. Just hold the situation together and I'll send a new team out to you at once."
Failure. Anger rose out of the pit of his soul like a bright arrow. His master had not failed. "No! Didn't you hear? The treaty's signed, there's nothing more to do!"
She dared laugh over his pain; but he felt he deserved it from her. "Obi-Wan they won't take your glory. They'll accompany the first shipment of aid, to see it's fairly distributed. They'll tidy up any loose ends, and you can bring him home to the healers.
"OK" he nodded, knowing she couldn't see, but unable to trust his voice. She waited through the silence, hearing maybe the ragged edges of his breathing, but thankfully not able to watch his face. "Tahl, can they come fast? He... He promised the aid would come tomorrow."
Her grin was half grimace; "Sounds like the Jinn I know. Always asking too much."
Obi-Wan thought of Gemmer's frail determination; Blue, silent and decent and desperate,
"Tahl that's not fair. People are dying here. You want more innocent lives to be lost just because 'these things take time'?!"
She chuckled, "Now you sound like him! I'll do what I can, Obi-Wan. And don't worry; the man's very difficult to kill."
He thought about food, and about rest, and they nauseated him. So he spent the next two and a half hours searching for Im's missing child. Going through the records relentless as a droid he could pretend that his stomach was clenched with hunger and it was only lack of sleep which made his eyes smart.
"He's still unconscious!" Obi-Wan's voice broke as he said it, but his spirit was under such tension that he didn't care, even though two doctors and the middle-aged nurse had all stopped to look at him.
"Here, child." She was a lot gentler now, as she pushed a chair to the bedside. He wondered if that meant something bad, and nerved himself up to ask. I'm a Jedi. I can do this.
"It's still touch and go." She said gently, "He was hurt worse than we thought." Patting the seat she smiled at him, "Talk to him. Someone familiar...well. Maybe you can get him to wake up."
Obi-Wan sat down, and though the lights were bright and the room unbearably cluttered with people, he felt that the universe was emptying around him. He was going to be the only thing left in a white, meaningless void. "Master?"
The bruises had faded from Qui-Gon's face. He might have been sleeping, but for the breathing mask and the tubes in throat and wrist. Strands of his hair - the mingled browns of chestnut and chocolate - fell over the edge of the bed and brushed Obi-Wan's knee. A writing that he couldn't understand against the pale linen.
He checked, to make sure no-one was watching, and then he leaned forward and took the large hand into his own. "I've got everything sorted out. The Temple's taking care of the treaty, and I've written a search program to look for Tli, Im's daughter. There's no sign of..."
It was growing hard to talk. His body wanted to cry, but he wouldn't let it. He had so much to cry about. If he started he would not stop for days, and Qui-Gon needed him to be strong. A moment, closing his eyes, pushing all those griefs back down, and he went on. "No sign of that...nexus. I told Tahl you drove it away. Did you? I'm, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you fight it alone... I'm sorry I..."
Blamed you. Thought you'd left me to die? Those things could not be said. A sob escaped - just one, and he bit it back quickly, burying his teeth in the trembling lip. He'd run out of things it was safe to say.
Bowing his head, he watched his hand where it lay, impossibly small against Qui-Gon's; small, pale, powerless. He couldn't make Qui-Gon wake. He couldn't make this man do anything he didn't want to do, not even live. "Oh Master, please."
Fingers flexed against his. He looked up, with tears fighting joy in his heart. "Master, please wake up."
Qui-Gon turned his head toward the sound of his Padawan's voice, smiling. He opened his eyes, looked at Obi-Wan. Surprise, confusion, and sorrow went through his unguarded face like a confession.
Force! Obi-Wan snatched his hand away, backing off, He expected someone else. Like Xanatos! And he's *disappointed* that it's only me!
"Obi-Wan?" A weak rasp of regret, concern.
"Oh, you remembered my name this time!" Vague impressions of the chair falling, its clamour shaking the ward, everyone looking. And then he was out of the door and running.
"Bastard! I hate you!" He found himself at their ship, pacing through the empty cabins, shouting at the walls. "You don't want me, well fine! I can get a new master. I don't need this. I don't need you."
He bruised his hands against the walls, and when the pain bit slid to his knees and rested his forehead on the cool metal. "Right, Oafy. How glad are the Council going to be about this? First you leave the Order, come back; leave your master, come back, leave again. It looks great, admit it. If I was them, I'd want to get rid of me too."
He turned round, drew up his knees and beat his head softly, repetitively, against the wall. "I could tell them it was your fault, Qui-Gon. It was you I couldn't get along with. You who kept driving me away. I would do fine with a different master."
The words had a shape he couldn't quite comprehend. He said them again, "A different master."
Even supposing the Council took him back, even supposing another master would want him, just saying it was like death. Thinking it was like standing on the edge of a pit, willing himself to jump, knowing that if he did, the darkness would close over his head forever. It tasted of ashes and despair in his mouth.
He got onto his bunk, pulled the sheet over himself, switched off the lights and lay in the dark for hours.
"I hate you, Master."
What am I going to do?
Why not see what else I have written and am interested in.