Archive: master_apprentice, World O' Pretty Boys, anyone else,
pls. ask
Author's web page: http://www.ravenswing.com/ravendreams/
Category: Angst
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: none
Summary: Qui-Gon thinks he wants Obi-Wan to break a bad
habit
Notes: Thanks to my betareaders (you wouldn't think a piece
this small would have needed so much care, but it did):
Mystique: I'm beginning to dread writing a fic without your
advice and patient suggestions. You make me sound like I know
what I'm talking about! ;-)
Emilia-Wan Kenobi: You nit-pick beautifully!: And as always,
Velma: Master Pronoun Wrangler Extraordinaire and my constant
sounding board. All mistakes are mine
Feedback: Waited for with bated breath.
Disclaimers: Lucas owns it all. I don't have enough money to
pay attention.
His padawan should have been home hours ago, Qui-Gon muttered
to himself as he headed towards the crèche.
Helping with the smallest children was not Xanatos' favorite
duty, and his grumbles had been tickling the edges of their
training bond all afternoon. As the day progressed into evening
the grumblings had turned into frustration and were threatening
to slip into something very close to anger.
Finally, Qui-Gon had headed to the crèche to see what
the problem was. As he quietly opened the crèche doors,
he saw his padawan sitting in a small alcove with a tiny boy on
his lap.
"Padawan?" he murmured.
The flash of frustration within their bond was sharp and clear
and tinged with relief. "Master. This boy, he's relatively new
and I can't get him to sleep and he won't drop that filthy rag
and he just keeps murmuring to it and I'm so tired and
frustrated and..." Xanatos' voice slowly climbed in volume.
Qui-Gon saw the Crèche Master running over and he
stopped her with a smile. "I'll handle this, K'tra. You have
the rest of the children to deal with."
The chuckle that floated through the room was warm and full of
soft humor. "Are you sure, Jinn? Little Obi's taken the fight
out of your padawan. I'd hate to see the great Jedi Master
brought low by a mere child."
Qui-Gon just laughed. The coppery head of the boy was bent low
over a doll, as he slowly rocked and sang.
"Padawan, go home and bathe. Then, a meditation on patience, I
think?"
With a faked grimace and a genuine smile, the tall,
ebony-haired young man muttered, "Yes, Master," before standing
and stalking out.
Qui-Gon finally turned his attention to the small boy curled on
a mat. The bright eyes looked up blearily as the Jedi master
folded himself onto the floor next to the child. After a
moment, Qui-Gon reached out and touched the dingy cloth the boy
held. "Who is this, Young One?"
With a slight hitch in his voice, the child said, "It's Wen."
"Wen?"
The child nodded and held the doll up, exposing its well-loved
face. "Mam made it for me. He's my Wen for sleeping."
"And do you think you might be ready to sleep, Young One. You
and your Wen?"
Of course it couldn't be that easy, Qui-Gon thought to himself
as the green eyes filled with fresh tears. "No! I can't sleep.
Mam's supposed to sing to my Wen first."
"Young One, I'm sorry, but your mam is far away. I'm sure she's
singing to you in her heart."
The look the Jedi Master got was fierce. "But I can't sleep
unless she's singing in my ears!"
"You must sleep, Young One... what is your name, child?"
"Obi-Wan. What's yours?"
"Master Jinn."
The little boy's eyelids drooped and he clutched his ragdoll to
his chest. In that second, the misery and loneliness pouring
off the child were unbearable, and the Jedi Master reached out
and drew the boy to him, holding the tiny body close.
Qui-Gon listened to the child's breathing slow as he drifted
towards sleep. The Jedi master looked around, trying to decide
the easiest way to lay the child down so he could see to his
padawan. As he began to move his legs, the little voice chirped
from the crook of his arms. "Master?"
A deep sigh. "Yes, Young One?"
"Will you sing for mine and Wen's ears?"
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I do not sing."
"Oh." There was a second of silence and then a bright giggle.
"Then I will sing for yours and Wen's ears!"
The child began singing. Qui-Gon settled back onto the mat.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the tuneless noises and sank
into a light meditation until the child fell asleep.
"...and the internal blade crystals are arranged like this."
Qui-Gon clicked off the holo and nodded to the sea of serious
faces before him. "Now, Initiates, you may start your
construction."
The youngsters each struggled over a mock version of a 'saber,
practicing before building one of their own. Qui-Gon enjoyed
teaching this class when he was available. He enjoyed the
chance to share his knowledge without the long-term commitment
of a padawan. He just wasn't quite ready for...
What WAS that infernal noise? An irritating, random noise
buzzed through the room, a low constant that grated along the
Jedi master's nerves.
Qui-Gon scanned the room and finally lit on a red-haired
humanoid male, his bent head moving in time with the tune he
was humming. The initiates on either side of him periodically
looked over at the boy, both with amused smiles that told
Qui-Gon this was not an unusual habit.
Moving to the front of the class, Qui-Gon looked at the seating
chart he was given. Kenobi, Obi-Wan. Where had he heard that
name before?
No matter.
"Initiate Kenobi!" he barked.
The pieces that Obi-Wan held in his hand clattered to the table
as he jerked his head up. "Yes? Um, yes, Master? Umm,
Master..."
The Mon Calamarian beside him whispered, "Jinn."
"Master Jinn?"
"Will you please focus on your project and stop that infernal
humming?"
The initiate blinked and flushed deeply, dropping his eyes to
the pieces lying on the desk. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry."
Qui-Gon nodded and walked over to help a tiny, fair-skinned
girl slip the crystals into their holder when he heard a
whisper, "Good going, Oafy-Wan!"
His head popped up, looking for the whisperer, but all he saw
were rows of studious initiates and one fiercely embarrassed
humanoid fumbling with his project.
By the time Qui-Gon had reached the end of the third row of
students, the low humming had reappeared. The Jedi Master
looked up and sighed deeply. The Mon Calamarian's eyes shifted,
and he saw her foot flash out, kicking Kenobi none too gently.
Clearly startled out of a deep concentration, the boy gave a
violent start and turned to look at his partner. Qui-Gon saw
the boy mouth, "thanks" and then bend his head towards the
'saber casing.
This pattern was repeated once more before the class was over.
As the initiates stood to leave, Qui-Gon called for Obi-Wan to
stay behind. "Initiate, you had to be reminded three times this
class period about your lack of focus. This constant noise
making is a terrible habit to get into."
"Yes, Master Jinn. I'm sorry."
"I think perhaps you can spend this free hour organizing the
lightsaber casings and thinking about the importance of focus."
A deep sigh. "Yes, Master Jinn."
Qui-Gon settled into a chair and began to cover the details of
his next mission. Obi-Wan worked quickly and efficiently,
sorting casings by type and size with no trouble.
The singing didn't start right away.
The Jedi Master rubbed his eyes, blocking out the tuneless
noises, and delved into the lists of information until the
initiate finished his duties.
If his padawan lived to be a knight it would be a miracle.
Qui-Gon sat, blinking, in his favorite chair, listening to the
familiar noise of Obi-Wan making dinner. The sounds were
surprisingly similar to Obi-Wan cleaning up after dinner,
Obi-Wan doing his homework, Obi-Wan taking a shower, and
Obi-Wan getting dressed in the morning.
The voice warbled out of the kitchen, high and reedy and
unbelievably out of tune for a second. Then it deepened,
mellowed into a warmth for a few notes before climbing back
into the stratosphere. The Jedi master dropped his head into
his hands, trying to block out the noise. The words,
incomprehensible through the door of the kitchen, seemed to
create a bizarre cadence, assuring that Qui-Gon would never
finish this report. At least not until after dinner, when he
could send his padawan somewhere.
Anywhere.
When they warned you about the problems a master faced in
helping a padawan through puberty, they mentioned the mood
swings, the acne, the physical changes. Qui-Gon was prepared
for gangly limbs, increased sleep needs and adolescent crushes.
No one ever focused on the voice change.
Or how long it lasted.
The singing didn't slow as the skinny teenager carried two
plates to the table and set them down. Obi-Wan filled the
glasses with water, arranged the eating utensils and folded the
napkins, each step punctuated with song.
From what Qui-Gon could understand, Obi-Wan was singing
something involving a wookiee and an ill-fated trip to
Alderaan. Or maybe it was a love song celebrating the seven
moons of Telos IV. Whatever it was, it involved a series of
notes that had only been joined together on the farthest
reaches of the Rim to signal distress.
"Obi-Wan!"
The singing stopped suddenly, and Obi-Wan's eyes jerked to meet
him. "Yes, Master?"
"Silence is a virtue, young apprentice. Especially when your
master is trying to finish a report for the Council."
"Oh, sorry, Master. I didn't even realize..."
Qui-Gon sighed at the hot flush which spread across Obi-Wan's
face. How many times a week did they have this conversation?
Qui-Gon thought, half-amused, half-irritated.
"I'm aware of that, Padawan, but you must break this bad habit.
You must be aware of your actions. How many times have we
discussed this? How many more times will this be an issue for
us to work on? Tonight, our meditation will be on focus and
remembering that there is a time and place for everything."
"Yes, Master. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."
"Thank you, Obi-Wan."
"Ummm... As soon as the bread is warmed, the evening meal will
be ready."
Qui-Gon nodded absently and bent back over his datapad. There
was a moment of quiet jostling and banging of pans before the
humming started leaking through the room.
The Jedi Master covered his ears with his hands, blocking out
the endless medley of Coruscant's Top Ten, and delved into his
report until his padawan placed the bread on the table.
Qui-Gon paced, clutching the commlink in his hand. Frustration
nipped the edges of his control. The raw pull of panic wasn't
far behind. The negotiations had broken down days ago and now
they had his padawan and he just had to search and hope.
And listen.
The Feiler had taken Obi-Wan while Qui-Gon was meeting with the
leader of the Sunis.
He wasn't sure how they kidnapped the young man, but Qui-Gon
knew he was alive. The Feiler had made sure of it. Qui-Gon
could hear every single thing they asked his padawan, every
single thing they did to him.
As the teams of soldiers searched for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon
monitored him through the bond, trying to glean clues from the
sounds crackling through on the commlink. The Jedi master knew
they were getting closer to finding the young man, could hear
the rising fury from Obi-Wan's captors as the soldiers closed
in. This would end, well or badly, but it would end soon.
Almost as much as he needed to search for Obi-Wan, the Jedi
master needed to keep the connection between them open, needed
that constant reassurance. Qui-Gon couldn't take the chance of
missing the sounds of his padawan's last words, if it came to
that.
From the moment the nightmare started, Qui-Gon had listened,
staying as close to his padawan as he could. There was silence
in the beginning days, a steady refusal to answer questions.
Then the dull thuds had traveled over the commlink, punctuated
by distant flashes of pain within the training bond. The Feiler
interrogators were screaming, barraging the young man with
questions. An odd sound filled the background behind the
questioners' voices and the sickening sound of fists hitting
flesh.
Obi-Wan was singing.
The sound was familiar, comforting. Qui-Gon had listened to
that voice sing those same songs since his padawan was a child.
The voice, now rich in timbre, continued for hours.
Qui-Gon grasped onto that voice, the songs. The voice was a
constant measure of his Obi-Wan's state. When the interrogators
were in the room, the song was monotonous, distant, a source of
meditation and retreat. As the bright sparks of pain within the
training bond increased, the songs became louder, raucous,
fierce expressions of defiance.
In those small hours where they left Obi-Wan to rest, to ache
in his bonds, the songs were hoarse, soft things which faded in
and out of comprehension. Those songs were balms to wounds that
Qui-Gon could only imagine. As he had as a babe, as a child, as
a young man, Obi-Wan wrapped himself safe within the melodies
of his soul.
Qui-Gon felt no shame in stealing his own comfort from those
melodies.
The song continued ceaseless for longer than Qui-Gon imagined
it could. Nothing stopped it. Not the crackles of electricity.
Not the sharp sounds of leather on fragile skin. Not the
unmistakable whine of a lit lightsaber. Not even the harsh
jeers accompanying bodies slapping together.
The voice became dry, crackled as the time went on. Finally,
there was only an exhausted whisper through parched lips.
The captain of the guards ran up to Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn.
We've located him. I have troops on their way."
Qui-Gon nodded and sent a wave of comfort along their bond.
They're coming, Obi, he thought. Hang on.
The Jedi Master cradled the commlink with his hands, blocking
out the agonizing sounds of laughter and jokes which
accompanied the violation of his padawan, and clung to the
belief that the fading whisper of song would continue until his
padawan was safely at his side, where he belonged.
Qui-Gon sat reading a treatise on the governing bodies of the
Rim planets, lounging in his favorite chair, eyes moving lazily
over the words. He felt his eyelids begin to lower, blinks
coming slower and slower. The afternoon sun was warm upon him,
and his sleep was deep and dreamless.
When the Jedi Master awoke, he was covered in a light blanket,
his book and boots removed. His padawan must have come in and
cared for him while he slept. The thought brought with it a wry
smile tinged with more than a little pride.
Five years ago Obi-Wan couldn't have removed his boots without
waking him. Five years ago, Obi-Wan couldn't have entered their
quarters without waking him. Five years ago his padawan had
been painfully young and innocent.
Five years was a long time.
It won't be many more days, Qui-Gon thought, before he won't be
my padawan anymore. His trials will be here and he will be a
knight. Through every test, through every hardship, Obi-Wan had
overcome. The stubborn set of chin had met every pain, every
sorrow, every loss with the grace and serenity becoming one who
served the Light.
Soon, if I fall asleep in my chair like an old man, I'll wake
up chilled with my feet uncomfortable, he thought. With a
stretch and a grimace, the Jedi master stood and folded the
blanket over the arm of his chair. He bent and looked at his
boots in the fading light. They were scuffed and torn and they
needed to be replaced. It was a pity really, they were
comfortable, functional boots and they had served him well.
The door to the kitchen slid up, and Qui-Gon blinked against
the brighter light. Obi-Wan stood there, neatly groomed,
holding two steaming bowls of soup.
Smiling warmly, Obi-Wan murmured, "Master! You're awake just in
time. Our meal is ready."
"Thank you, Padawan."
"It's my pleasure, Master."
Quickly and efficiently Obi-Wan set the table and served the
meal. The food was simple and filling. The conversation was
warm, comfortable, filled with news about old friends, easy
jokes that had roamed around the Temple since Yoda's skin was
firm.
At the end of the meal, Obi-Wan cleaned the dishes while
Qui-Gon gathered information for an initiate's class he was
going to be teaching the next day. The evening ended with a
simple game of strategy that Obi-Wan won with a laugh, and then
they shared a long moment of meditation.
There was a warmth, a deep caring that seeped between them as
they surfaced from the depths of their minds. Qui-Gon's eyes
opened first, tracing over the lines beneath his padawan's
eyes, the varied scars that traveled over the exposed skin on
his chest. When Obi-Wan's bright green eyes opened, they were
soft and serene, calm stones that gently reflected the light.
As they said good night, Qui-Gon headed to his room and removed
his clothes, listening to Obi-Wan rustling in the 'fresher,
readying for his shower.
The Jedi Master sat on his bed, straining to hear something
beyond the splash of water hitting flesh and tile, and tried
not to regret.
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