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Archive: MA, QAJ/helens

Category: Q/O, noncon, first time

Rating: R

Warnings: Non-consensual dark stuff.

Summary: Obi-Wan thinks he's not good enough. Qui-Gon is desperate enough to try anything to get him to see otherwise.

Feedback: Yes, please. Seriously, just a note to say you read this one would be appreciated.

Disclaimer: Lucas came up with the characters, but what they do here is purely the product of imagination.

He pushes himself so hard, and his efforts are never wasted. Does he realize how far he's come in the last six years? He must not. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he still sees the angry young boy who didn't know how to control his emotions. There is such a thing as overcompensating, my apprentice.

He doesn't see what he's given me. That much is clear. He doesn't see how he's changed me, how he's given me back something I feared I'd lost forever. I can believe again -- in myself, in the Order, in the Force. Does he know how lost I was, how broken I was before he came to me?

He's redeemed me, and I love him for it. And he may never know.

He pushes himself so hard. He pushes himself as if he thinks I can't forgive him for making mistakes, for learning, for needing time and space to learn. Are my expectations for him so high? Perhaps they are; he's earned it, though. He's more than earned my expectations. He's perfect in ways he'll never see, I fear.

He's perfect in other ways, as well.

Sometimes I turn away from him at the wrong moments, and I hurt him. I have promised myself I'll explain why someday, when his braid is cut off. Until then, I can bear the echo of his pain and confusion when I turn away from him in those moments.

I cannot stand to watch him like this. I can't look at the self-loathing I see in his every move. It has not been so bad a day as that, Obi-Wan. Why do you do this to yourself? You've taught me what it takes to forgive myself. Why is it you can teach, but you can't learn what you've taught me?

I push myself through the seventh kata again, reaching for something I know is beyond me. I have seen him do this so many times -- have seen him define perfection in the grace of his motion. Does he know how long I've looked at him, realizing how far I have to go before I will be his equal?

I'm not good enough. I can see that, and there are days I lie awake, staring at the wall, pushing my thoughts away from me. I close doors on all my emotions, wanting to be nothing more than empty space. I want it not to matter that I can never be perfect, that I can never measure up. I want to be free from this despair I feel, knowing that nothing I do will ever be enough.

He's not as objective as he once was. I remember the first time he looked at me and saw beauty. Could I ever forget it? The look in his eyes left fire and sparks behind, marking me forever. Yours, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to fall to one knee in front of him and swear it.

And then what?

He misses a movement in the seventh kata, and I sense the spike of anger that flares through him. Outwardly, he remains calm. He lets me take his arm in my hand, lets me wrap him up in my body, holding him tighter than I need to in order to correct his form. I whisper encouragement to him and he continues.

That moment will haunt him, I know, but I don't know how to heal him from it. Every mistake he makes hurts him. It has gotten worse over the last few months, worse as I look at him with newfound respect for how far he's come in such a short time. Why? I want to ask. Why do you feel this way? How is it that the more I see in you, the less you see in yourself?

How much of this is my fault, for not realizing earlier that he had this kind of potential in him? How much of it is still my fault, for turning away from him without explaining why? And what if I did? What if I told him how much I want him, how much I care for him, how need for him all but consumes me at times?

I want... I know exactly what I want. I want him to see what I see, to feel what I feel when I look at him. It's his right. He deserves to see himself through my eyes. How do I show him? How can I make him believe?

Night falls. I lie awake, staring at nothing, reaching out for him and feeling shards of broken glass between us. It's too much. I can't stay here while he radiates pain like that.

I stand at his door, and I know he can sense me. The pain grows sharper, cuts me as I try to reach for him, and then he pulls on those shards between us, and they're gone. Where does he hide them? What does he do with that kind of pain?

I am invited in. He doesn't say it, but I know. I open the door. He sits at the edge of his bed, head in his hands, sheet drawn across his hips.

I go to him and fold my legs under me, kneeling in front of him. I look at him, and wait for him to look at me. Will you see it then, Obi-Wan? What do I have to do?

I don't know what to say to him. I've been keeping him awake again. I've failed him in so many ways I can't begin to count them all. I can never make up for them.

He reaches out and threads his fingers through my hair, presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head. I want to shatter, and I can't. Not in front of him. He's breaking me and keeping me together all at once. He does that to me day after day until I'm dizzy. Master, please. Please. Leave me.

Padawan, I can wait here, can wait forever, if it takes that long.

I will remain here, before him, until he can look into my eyes and see what I see. He looks up, as I know he must eventually, because as afraid of looking at me as he might be, he is far more afraid of disappointing me. He meets my eyes.

Confusion, at first. Then anger. He wants to look away, but can't. He doesn't want to see what I'm showing him. I keep my eyes focused on his, and it occurs to me that I could say any number of things now, and perhaps he'd finally be able to listen.

I meant to be reasonable. I meant to be patient. But kneeling in front of him is breaking my resolve. I can only think of one thing to tell him, one thing I want to give him.

He doesn't mean it.

He can't mean it.

I wanted this, but not this way.

I kneel on the floor, my eyes on him, my shoulders straight, waiting for him to turn back to look at me.

His eyes close.

Mistake. All this time I've wanted him, but I've never stopped to ask myself if he wants me. I thought he'd see what I see in him if I told him. I calculated poorly. I've disgusted him to the point where he won't even look at me.

My heart twists, and I know I must get up, must get out of his room before he has to say something, before this entire evening becomes real. I have to go, now, while we can still pretend.

I am poised to move. He stops me with a word.

"Stay."

"Don't move. Don't look at me. I can't do this if you look at me."

My heart slowly twists back. I wasn't wrong... I was only early. But time has begun to lose meaning now. The moments are only measured in breaths -- his breaths, long and slow, and then short and fast, as he takes me in with his eyes.

I knew doing this would shatter me. I did not realize it would shatter him.

I feel his hand touch my chin, feel him tilt my head up. He leans forward, and his lips brush across mine. He's gentle beyond words.

How long have I wanted this? Long enough that his touch has me trembling, that I am so affected I can't open my eyes for fear of scaring him. I can't cover how much I want him anymore.

He wants too much, believes in me too much. I can't do this. I can't be this for him. He must know that. How hard has he trained me? How can he not know the limits of my abilities?

No. I let him go, and my heart breaks, doing it. He deserves better.

He turns away from me, and I can hear his thoughts: He deserves better. I have taught him nothing. I've failed, and I am helpless against the despair that takes me. I grasp his wrist, and I am helpless against the rage that consumes me.

If this is not your way, my heart, then what is?

He moves so swiftly I don't know what's happening to me. He pulls me from the bed, the sheet tangling around my waist, and bears me down to the floor. His teeth are sharp on my neck. I tremble at the first touch, and I am lost, trapped. How long have I wanted this? Needed this?

Master, please. I can't... I don't know what to do. I don't know what he wants me to do. I'm not ready for this lesson. I don't want to see what he wants to show me.

I fight him.

In another five years we will be evenly matched for this fight. Today, we're not. My teeth are at his neck and he flinches away from them. I have him pinned to the carpet before he can struggle and push me away. I flatten him with the weight of my body, push his arms above his head so I can hold both wrists in one of my hands.

His wrists seem so small, so fragile. They aren't, and I can't underestimate them.

There is a faint ripping sound, fabric, and he struggles to push me aside. I am too close, though, and he can't stop me.

I am begging him now, my voice soft and my body rigid. It doesn't matter. I don't think he hears me. I fall limp, and let him mount me. It hurts. It doesn't matter.

He's gone silent. I am too close, already, and I can't stop myself.

It's over. It can't be over so fast. I wanted... I needed...

His teeth are still sharp on my neck.

I taste blood, and the first thing I feel is enclosure. I am trapped in his arms, trapped in his body, and he won't let me go.

Was this enough? Do you believe me now?

I feel broken, shattered, lost, fallen. I've failed, again. He's trying to get up, trying to leave me, now that he's proven this, too, is beyond my abilities. I can't accept him the way we both wanted me to accept him. I can't fight him off when he wants to teach me something I'm not ready to learn.

Oh...

Do you believe me now?

I see it, this time.

Perfect.