Summary: A vignette: Mission sucks big time, Qui-Gon wallows in
self-pity until Obi-Wan arrives. Here's lookin' at you, kid.
Disclaimer: George Lucas may have created them, but Qui-Gon and
Obi-Wan belong to the whole universe.
Notes: Many thanks to Pumpkin for encouragement and initial
beta, and to Martin for a final review. Any mistakes are
strictly my own.
Feedback: Please, privately
Narrow streams of smoke hovered silently in marbled layers
stretching across the room, obscuring the rare slivers of light
that forced their way into the shadows. Unnoticed, they flowed
freely through this wretched place like a silent river,
coursing down several pathways at once of their own volition.
In the background, dozens of animated conversations created a
raucous din, allowing the Master his solitary, uninterrupted
contemplations. In his dark corner. Where the wandering smoke
was mostly gray and black. Just like his thoughts.
Tall, ruggedly handsome and very quiet, the seated figure
projected thoughts of unease and danger around his small table,
keeping the other patrons far away from his corner. Within
that, he projected the image of an empty table and a blank
space. He faded into the shadows behind him and he became the
shadow.
Qui-Gon Jinn - Jedi born and raised for over 50 years of his
life - could not recall a more miserable day of his existence.
He kept his unaccustomed frustration and anger hidden tightly
behind iron-clad shields, but still they troubled him. The only
visible sign of his mood was the single drink he had nursed for
most of the evening.
The sooner he and his padawan could be off this accursed planet
the better, he told himself for the hundredth time. It was
clear, when the negotiations had finally ended, that neither
side had wanted an amicable solution. Yes, they had sat at the
table and spoke in polite terms and masked their lies and
hidden agendas behind bureaucratic double-speak to convince
everyone of their sincerity. But when the end came, it was
suddenly crystal clear that they'd never intended to concede
even the slightest point to one another.
The vistar for the Icanju finally brought the entire farce to a
crashing halt when he suddenly leapt to his feet and threw his
impressive pile of contracts and letters of agreement at his
counterpart for the Ban'se'kan sitting across from him at the
table. This was after said counterpart, adjan Ko, refused to
agree to yet another concession and threatened to leave the
table.
It was downhill from there with both negotiators and their
aides hurling insults, datachips, folios and anything else they
could get their hands on, at each other.
In all his 20 years of arbitrating, it was the worst display of
childish behavior the Master had ever been forced to sit
through. Even his three padawans, at their worst, had never
sunk to throwing tantrums.
That was two days ago. Time and distance had not cooled their
animosity, and had, in fact, resulted in formal notification
from both parties that negotiations were halted. Not for a
week. Not until the next rotation. Not even indefinitely. Just
halted. Cancelled. Period.
His careful attempts to smooth out tensions on both sides
resulted only in hostility, covered by the thinnest veneer of
civility. They let him know, in polite terms of course, that
his and his padawan's assistance was no longer required or
welcome, and that they should leave as soon as they could
arrange transport.
It happened sometimes. It happened - sometimes - that consensus
was simply beyond the ability of all parties. It had never
happened to him, but he had heard from others that sometimes it
happened.
Now he stared into the tiny thunderclouds swirling around his
table and wondered if he was more disturbed that the talks had
ended so badly, or if it was just that he had failed.
Obi-Wan, his padawan, had taken it all in stride, looking to
his Master for guidance. Perhaps it was just that at 17, four
days of talks added up to less than a week, whereas at 52 it
represented weeks of wasted effort in preparation for the
talks, and a blemished record that might hinder his
effectiveness in future missions.
And now they were packed and ready to leave first thing in the
morning, leaving their failure behind along with the thousands
of people who would be affected by this unresolved dispute. As
many times as he let the frustration flow through him and into
the Force, it filled him up again with the sour taste that
knotted his insides. He could feel it in his empty stomach,
eating away at him, leading him further from his center. His
serenity. His Light..
This bar was a perfect hiding place. Next to the spaceport,
near their room, it was a gathering point for lowlife, outlaws
and amateurs looking to make a brutal name for themselves in a
hostile universe. Two minor fights had broken out already
tonight, with all participants still present and in one piece.
His own lighsabre hung discretely beneath his dark robe, hidden
from view. Just like him, as he hid behind the shadows.
The smell of fear and anger still roiled through the Force,
leaving his teeth on edge and his senses alert. It mixed with
the acrid taste of smoke and left the tender surface of his
tongue and throat raw and sore.
It was already into the small hours of the next morning, and he
was no closer to resolving his dark emotions, when he felt a
lifting of his troubled spirit. It was as though bright bubbles
of laughter were pressing against him, shoving away the heavy
thoughts that smothered him, lifting away the stains darkening
his soul.
He knew what is was without looking up, but he did so anyway
out of long habit.
Closely-cropped golden hair reflected the dim overhead lights
of the bar, as his padawan navigated a path between patrons and
tables. The smoky haze parted for him, dissipated by the light
that clung to him like a halo, and it joined again behind him
to fill the vacuum left in his wake.
Obi-Wan made confidently for his Master's table, drawn
unerringly by their bond, which had led him to this foul den of
iniquity in the first place. Sauntering past tables full of
scum and villainy, his clear and guileless blue-gray eyes met
those of Qui-Gon, and he smiled.
It was actually a crooked, lopsided grin, but it lit up the
entire room, burning away the haze and illuminating every
corner. Or so his Master thought, because suddenly the entire
room had faded away and only he and his young apprentice were
left. That grin spread across his whole face, just for his
Master.
Qui-Gon watched him approach - like a fresh ocean breeze,
surrounded yet untouched by these lost and condemned souls who
sucked off of the living essence of others. Obi-Wan shone
against their dull spirits. Where they hunched in on themselves
afraid to face their own existences, he stood straight and
proud; where their eyes shifted away to avoid seeing the
consequences of their actions, Obi-Wan's never wavered, never
had reason to be wary of his Master or be afraid to face
himself.
Still smiling, and keeping his eyes on his Master, Obi-Wan was
oblivious to the roomful of eyes that had turned to look at
him, and the occasional rough or greasy hand that reached out
to grab his attention, as he passed by.
He was standing next to the table before Qui-Gon realized that
he, too, was smiling. In less than five minutes the world had
totally changed its course. Before Obi-Wan had even opened his
mouth, the Jedi Master was wondering how he could have felt
such deep frustration and anger, when now it had disappeared
with no effort.
Only a smile. A smile that warmed his heart and dispelled the
cold and dark.
"There is a natural light show in the sky right now, that I
thought you might like to see," Obi-Wan was saying to him.
"It's beautiful. Green and red ribbons, dancing across the sky
in waves."
It took a second to register the words and shift his mind from
the vision of his approaching padawan, to the young man who
stood before him. And all at once the noise and smoke of the
bar flooded his senses once more.
"You can see it really well from our room. Would you like to
come back with me and watch it?"
Qui-Gon chuckled at the unsophisticated ploy to turn his mind
from his troubles, and pushed his untouched drink away as he
stood. He held an inviting arm out to Obi-Wan and wrapped it
around the younger man's shoulders when he moved closer.
"I would like nothing better than to leave with a pleasant
memory of this planet, padawan," he said with a smile, drawing
his student with him as they made their way through the smoke
of the bar.
He suddenly neither knew nor cared where his dark mood had come
from or where it had gone. The only thing that mattered to him
was at his side, along with the startling enlightenment that
the light he now held was all the more precious for having been
without it.
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