WARNINGS: A/U-Angst and more coming - takes off immediately
post Darth Maul being cut in two...spoilers if you haven't seen
TPM yet, otherwise no.
SERIES: This is the second story in my WEIRD UNIVERSE series;
sequel to CHOICE.
DISCLAIMERS: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, etc., belong to George Lucas,
I'm just playing with them. No harm intended. The blue-clad
figure and Master M'Pel belong to the author.
SUMMARY: Qui-Gon's POV. Obi-Wan has accepted a choice that
allows Qui-Gon to survive the battle with Darth Maul. But all
such choices come with price tags. Given the ultimate second
chance, Qui-Gon awakens to find he has just begun to pay...
FEEDBACK: All feedback, either pos or neg gratefully accepted
and acknowledged.
He is lying on a surface that is cold, very cold. The freezing
heat of it sears through his back, making it difficult to
concentrate on moving or thinking or anything else. Dimly,
through the cold burning, he hears voices. They are indistinct,
but nearby. One is familiar, one is not. He cracks an eyelid
and sees only shimmering sparkles, so bright a blue they should
hurt his eyes, but do not. Abruptly, the light vanishes and he
sinks back into welcome oblivion.
When awareness returns, he identifies the object in his mouth
as a breathing unit; the air around him is squishy, gelatinous.
He drifts on its currents and then a thought comes to him - it
is not air that encases him. Another word struggles to the
forefront of his brain: Bacta. Qui-Gon knows he has suffered
many an injury in his career; this is only the second time he's
been in a bacta tank. Briefly, he wonders what happened to
bring him here, but before he can register anything else, he is
unconscious again.
The next time he swims to the surface, he is lying on something
soft and warm. There are hands on him, not familiar, but
soothing. Dimly he tries to recall what happened and can only
access a memory of intense pain followed by floating in silvery
blackness, then voices and an intense blue shimmer. He
struggles to open his eyes, to speak. The same soothing hands
bring a cold object to his neck; it makes a hissing sound next
to his ear. Exhaustion floods him, body and mind and he sinks
back into sleep. Whatever it is he should be trying to remember
can wait.
And then comes a day when his eyes open easily, without
conscious effort. He looks at his surroundings and realizes he
is in a med bay; not the one on Coruscant, but there is a dull
sameness to all medical treatment areas that tells him this is
where he is. The smell of disinfectants and pain is pervasive.
He moves his legs and arms experimentally and finds he can do
so with ease, though even these small efforts tire him. He
instinctively calls on The Force to aid him in sitting up
against the pillows piled around him, and realizes after this
act is done what he feels is relief. Somewhere, deep down,
there had been a fear that his command of The Force would be
gone too...and then he wonders why his mind chose to phrase
things this way.
"Better, you are doing, Qui-Gon, that I am glad to see." This
voice is old and profoundly weary. He turns his head to look at
its owner, a diminutive green figure, dressed in plain brown
robes, perched on a stool by his bedside.
"How long have you been here, Master?" His voice sounds
regrettably weak, even to his own ears. Then he realizes it
does not matter - this is Yoda, his own Master; there is no
pretending about anything with Yoda.
The old Jedi shakes his head. "Many days now. What do you
remember, Qui-Gon?"
"Very little. Obi-Wan and I fought a Sith, Master. I...remember
our being separated and then..." He stops, horror washing
through him as memories come rushing back. "I died."
Yoda nods his head. "Yes, Padawan."
"But...why am I here?" "Pulled you back from the brink, did
Obi-Wan. Poured his energy into you to keep you here until help
could arrive."
This does not surprise him; his Padawan is special - more often
than he cares to admit, Qui-Gon has released into The Force
unseemly feelings of pride in Obi-Wan. He has had to release
other unseemly feelings for his Padawan as well, but he pushes
that realization aside now.
There is something else here, something that feels
wrong...automatically he reaches through the bond he shares
with Obi-Wan and finds...nothing. This shakes him as being
injured has not. He has been hurt before; it seems as if he has
never been without Obi-Wan. Until now. "Where is he?"
Yoda's ear tips have folded down, a signal that whatever he is
going to say isn't'going to be good.
Qui-Gon knows what the old Jedi is going to tell him, but also
knows that he won't believe it, cannot believe it.
"Poured his life force into you, Qui-Gon. Force signature he
left and clear it is that he did so gladly. One with The Force
he is now."
That is what he cannot believe, will not believe. Not without
seeing for himself. "Take me there."
Yoda does not ask where he is referring to. He debates the
request, then nods. "I will take you."
Accepting Yoda's help and with support from the Force, he is
able to rise and dress. With his former Master on his
shoulders, Qui-Gon walks, slowly, but without tiring too much,
from the medical center to a speeder, which takes them to the
Theed Generator Building. Once inside the large tower, he pays
little attention to how they arrive at their destination, only
looking up when he recognizes the pattern of the tiles beneath
his feet. Yoda slips from his shoulders and waits, watching
with half-lidded eyes, sad eyes.
Quietly, using the Force as a guide, Qui-Gon approaches the
spot where he died at the Sith's blade. He feels the last
resonance of that darkness, overlaid with a bright, sparkling
signature which belongs, indelibly, to his apprentice. Eyes
closed, reaching out, he feels the outpouring of love and
energy that Obi-Wan emptied into him, feels the open-handedness
of the gesture, and knows that impossible as it is to believe,
Yoda is right. Obi-Wan is gone.
"Found only his clothing, they did." Yoda says from a great
distance. "Young Skywalker made them leave all as they found
it, until arrive the Council did. He sensed what had happened.
Wrong, I think, we were about the boy. Trained he will be."
Unable to speak, Qui-Gon nods, not caring at this moment that,
at last, the Council is agreeing with him. He opens his eyes,
deliberately scanning every inch of space around him, as though
he expects to find Obi-Wan hiding under a tile.
Then, at the very edge of the generator pit, his eyes see what
he has been instinctively searching for, what has been calling
him through The Force. A bright crystal bead, purple - shot
through with shimmering silver, it glints in the harsh
lighting. Moving carefully, noiselessly, toward this object, as
though it is a wild animal that might startle away at the
slightest sound, he kneels down and realizes that this bead is
only the end tie of Obi-Wan's braid; Obi-Wan's long Padawan
braid is as familiar to him as his own body. Now, looking
forlorn, the bulk of it rests on a small shelf that juts out
just below the lip of the generator pit. Slowly, Qui-Gon pulls
the braid into one large hand. He notices with detached
precision that it has been neatly cauterized at the other end,
as though sliced free with a lightsabre. As it would have been
at Obi-Wan's Knighting.
"You missed this." Qui-Gon doesn't look up; he is amazed at how
calm he sounds. Hasn't serenity, the Perfect Mask of a Jedi,
always been his prop and refuge? The habit serves him well now.
Deep down, hidden far away inside him, muffled, so at this
moment he can sense only dim echoes, is roiling anger, love
unspoken, and grief. Emotions that are twining, gaining
substance; unleashed their power would scour Theed and its
Generator Tower from existence as easily as a man flicking a
troublesome fly from his hand.
He knows these emotions are wrong, they flout the Jedi Code and
he will release them to The Force.
Later. Their release will come later.
Now his thoughts are focused on the young man who has been at
his side for 12 years; Obi-Wan's light and warmth have been his
only constants for all that time. Obi-Wan is the one person he
never thought to be separated from...and Qui-Gone tastes the
bitterness that comes from realization made too late.
Qui-Gon rises to his feet, still staring at the russet and gold
braid coiled in his hand. Memories of his Padawan flicker and
play against his mind's eye like leaves blowing in a gentle
wind. The roiling emotions are still there, but now they are
overwhelmed and humbled by Obi-Wan's sacrifice of self, so
lovingly and willing made. He knows there is only one thing he
has to do to merit the gift he has been given. This second
chance handed him so freely and at infinite cost.
He must go forward. He must earn the right to own what he has
been given.
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