Characters-Rating: Q/O - PG-13
Category: AU, Drama, HC
Series: JAOA tweener
Summary: Qui-Gon takes a walk.
Spoilers: Not really - possibly some for the series.
Archive: M_A, SWAL, WWOMB and JAOA - anybody else just
ask.
Feedback: YES please! It keeps my plot bunnies fed and healthy.
Notes: Many thanks to Black Rose for letting me play! Thanks
also go to Mark for encouragement & Laurel for hanging in
there. This little tweener-story takes place shortly after
'Breathing Room' (in process).
[This is telepathy] and /these are thoughts/.
Disclaimer: George Lucas is god and owns everything... except
this weird permutation which is just for fun and I doubt he'd
want it. All JAOA-specific things belong to Black Rose.
JAOA - Small Steps
Year of the Republic 24,983
Gail Riordan, 2000
wander@dnai.com
"Master, the healers won't approve. Let me help you."
"No, Obi-Wan. This is something I must do. Too much help now
will be a hindrance later." His voice was still rough and
whispery, but there was no doubt of his resolution.
It hurt to witness, to watch and listen, not moving, as Qui-Gon
struggled to rise, pushing himself slowly vertical, balancing
and reaching with his weak right hand, his nearly useless left.
At last he stood, hardly more steady than the babies in the
creche, temples damp with effort. Obi-Wan forced himself to
keep still.
[Think of it,] his Master remarked presently, saving his
breath, [as practice for Anakin.]
There was a railing around the edge of the room. Having gained
the stability of the doorway, Qui-Gon leaned for a moment
against the wall. Gathering himself, his thoughts. [You have
started coaching Ani] (reach, grip, stand upright) [on the
Forms.] A small step.
"Yes, First through Fourth, attack and defense." The healers
didn't want Qui-Gon to try walking without their supervision.
His muscles were still relearning basic function, and the least
effort left him struggling for enough air. A fall would be
disastrous.
[You watch him,] (shift hand, then foot, balance) [and make
notes.] (Shift other foot, then the left hand.)
There was only the sound of effortful breathing. The knuckles
of Qui-Gon's right hand were white on the bar, the left had
been persuaded into a balancing but strengthless curl. The
drape of the thin sleep trousers emphasised how little flesh
was left on his bones. Obi-Wan would Force-catch him if it even
looked like he was going to fall.
[You can give him facts,] A shuffle, a slide; [direction,] the
second foot joined the first, [correction,] breath rasped,
[teach technique.] Another small step. [Skill ...] another
[cannot be given.] A pause and a step. The slow concentration
of movement was almost eerily graceful, if one did not know
what it had once been.
[Learning is won by doing.] The corner. (Reach with the left
hand ...) Muscles spasmed; his face twisted in pain as the
elbow jerked and twitched.
Obi-Wan's own hands clenched tight in reflex. /Breathe. Just
breathe. He won't fall. I won't let him fall./
Even words were work. [He must do --] a half-a-step.
[Embody.] Another. [Act.] The spasm eased, hands steadied on
the rail. [Practice.] A slightly firmer step. [Engage himself
to learn.] Ankles wobbled, knees threatened to collapse.
Obi-Wan bit his lip and forced the reflexive tension he felt
out into the Force.
[He will need you to watch] Qui-Gon breathed, swallowed;
centering and balancing, [both when he fails] the tremble
lessened [and when he succeeds.] He pushed onward, small
increments. [So that you may ... note the effort,]
He was using the lecture, Obi-Wan realized, as a distraction
and a focus for them both.
[Work ... to correct the failures]
Only a few more inches, one more step. Obi-Wan held his breath.
[And celebrate ... the successes.]
Qui-Gon was exhausted, shaking, hair clinging in damp strands
to face and neck. His breath sawed, quick, harsh, almost
sobbing -- but he had traversed the room, aided by nothing more
than the railing and his own will. He stood, swaying, at the
side of the couch, flushed with achievement. Obi-Wan's heart
swelled.
[You may,] even through the Force his voice was breathless
[help me now.]
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, at his side instantly. He
caught and eased him down to the freshly made couch, reaching
for a towel to blot away the sheen of sweat on face and chest,
careful of the angry, tender scars. His eyes stung, pain and
joy and relief all mixed together. "Please, Master, don't..."
A still-trembling hand forestalled him.
[Celebrate the successes, Obi-Wan.]
Blunt fingers brushed his cheek, curled behind his ear,
feathered through his hair.
[Even the small ones.]
Tendrils of Force served in lieu of muscles, tugging him
forward, his head closer.
[I know it's hard, love,]
Warm breath caressed his face.
[I know.]
He could fall and drown -- had fallen, was drowning -- in those
blue eyes.
[But the prize is worth the effort.]
Soft lips touched his own, kissing, blessing.
[Celebrate the Moment, love.]
Such fragile triumph, such small steps to be called a victory,
but it was success, and kisses were celebration indeed.
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