Summary: Short but sweet. Qui-Gon tries to overcome his
feelings for his apprentice.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: George Lucas, blah blah blah.
Inspired by the poem "Atthis, my darling, thou did'st stray" by
"Michael Field" (aka Katharine Bradley and Edith Cooper)
He's only been gone for ten minutes.
This is really ridiculous. I can't possibly be worried about
the boy. Nothing about Obi-Wan even inspires worry, all
loose-limbed confidence that he is. Loose-limbed, fluid,
shining, clear. Boy.
He smiled at me and the light of the suns conspired with his
teeth to make me blink at the brilliance: "I'm just going to go
exploring downstream, Master. Check out the local plant-life.
It shouldn't take long." Plant life, hah. It seems Obi-Wan's
brief stint with the Agri-Corps inundated him with a fervor for
growing things, as if he's still afraid he might end up there
and had best keep up with botany. As if that would happen, as
if I would let that happen. No, Obi-Wan belongs to me, not to
some Force-recalcitrant field.
No. Obi-Wan belongs to himself. Yes. To himself.
Where can he have gone? There should be no danger hereabouts. I
sense nothing out of the ordinary. I could always test our
link, but then he'd feel it, and then he'd know I was checking
up on him. What would that inspire, I wonder? A shrug of the
shoulders--just the old Master keeping tabs on the student? Or
irritation--can't I even let him do the simplest thing by
himself? Or something else?
I lie back down in the grass and let the sun bathe my face,
listening to the sound of the river. It's a large river; I can
hardly see across to the other side. The roar of the water
echoes through my ears. The flood season is just past, as I can
tell from the bloom of plants everywhere. Though no longer
hazardous, the river is still swollen. Possibly dangerous yet.
Easy to let one false step sweep you away--be mindful of the
traction of your boots on wet stone and earth,
Obi-Wan--Obi-Wan-
I am an old fool.
Fifteen minutes now.
Obi-Wan, smiling over me as I lay contentedly on the bank,
announcing his intention to explore. Obi-Wan, striding
purposefully off, transformed by the suns' glare into some kind
of...golden thing. Poetry is a strength of mine, but not when
the heat bakes it out of my brains. Obi-Wan, bending over to
investigate a fern, just out of my sight--Obi-Wan leaning in
too far--(he passed his swimming license at age
twelve)--Obi-Wan, the shining features obscured by a dark, deep
chill--(he's nearly grown now)--Obi-Wan, clothing stripped away
by the rage of the current, honey--limbed body grown blue and
chill and stiff--Goddammit stop yourself Master Jinn--
"Master?"
I feel every limb of my body become rigid in sudden joy. One
does not quite appreciate the absence of panic enough in
everyday life, I muse, and sit up as casually as I can manage.
There is my Obi-Wan, climbing over the hill, still bathed in
golden light, not even damp. Well, except for the toes of his
boots. I squelch all of my fears, as I have been taught and as
I have taught.
He's holding a bouquet in his hands-the local breed of iris, I
realize, in a spurt of brilliant colors. He thrusts them out to
me, and as I take them with a hand that does not tremble, I
receive another beautiful smile. "I found a bed of these,
Master. They'll keep well on the ship, and you can put them in
stasis back in your quarters."
Blue, purple, yellow. Scentless. Green stalks. They barely
register because I am looking into his eyes, now blue-green in
the sunlight. I have a wild urge to fling the flowers away and
tug him down to my chest and tell him that he must never leave
my side again, never, because I am becoming a lovesick fool
over my own padawan and it frightens me to death when he is far
from me. I do a modified version of that; I set the flowers
aside gently, with a smile that I am sure does not reach my
eyes, and I gently pull my surprised apprentice into my arms.
"Master?" he mumbles, voice muffled by my cloak.
"I just wanted to thank you, Obi-Wan," I say. "How long has it
been since I've hugged you, after all? Indulge an old man."
I manage to loosen my grip fractionally and he pulls back,
grinning again. "If you say so, Master. I was wondering...the
temperature of the river is perfect, and a swim would--"
"No," I say immediately. "The current is still far too strong."
He stares at me, faintly surprised. "That's what I meant,
Master. A good exercise in Force-enhanced strength...?"
He's right. And he could certainly handle it. Obi-Wan is the
most remarkable apprentice I've ever had. This would hardly
test his skills at all. But the images I remember, his
beautiful face below the water, oh no, no.
"You could come with me, Master."
The words are softly spoken, and I have to fight to keep from
glancing sharply at him. Force defend me, he knows what is on
my mind, what I most fear. And because I fear I should resist
this compulsion of mine. I should practically order him
into the water, without me. Without me even able to see him.
More of an exercise for me than Obi-Wan.
"Good idea," I say, and we stand up to strip down to our
undertunics. I cannot yet withstand the sight of his nudity
and, to my shame, I think he realizes that and keeps it from
me. Next time, I tell myself, I'll be able to sit on the bank
and watch him swim, and after that I can stay out of sight. I
will cure myself of this damned dependence.
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