by Black Rose (lenoirrose@softhome.net) & Kalia
(criver@cris.com)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Q/O and D/M
Archive: m_a, SWAL, and authors pages
Category: AU, Angst, Drama
Series: The Immortal Jedi Series
Feedback: Please send feedback to us authors.
Notes: I'll be giving a summary at the end of this stuff ... if
you don't want a spoiler then close this and just read the
story, the summary will just ruin it. But before you do, I'd
like to thank BlackRose for co-writing even though she's been
extremely busy lately. I'd also like to thank Kristi for beta
reading this, and returning it to me so quickly. Thank you
people in #TPM on squidge for encouraging me to write this
bunny instead of trying to give it away, and encouraging me to
continue writing when I got stuck.
Disclaimer: Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are owned by George Lucas lucky
bastard. I'm just taking them out to play and not making a cent
off of this, just having some fun. R/PD (whoever they are) own
Duncan and Methos .. another set of lucky bastards.
Warnings: None
Summary: During the mission to protect Queen Amidala, Qui-Gon
gets struck down by the Sith's lightsaber and dies. Or does he?
Realizing that acting out of anger and grief had left him
hanging from a nozzle in the melting pit and at the mercy of
the Sith Lord, Obi-Wan turned to the Force to guide his
actions.
The Sith Lord was above him, waving the half of his lightstaff
he managed to keep hold of, using it to slice at the floor
plating as he gleefully watched Obi-Wan hanging there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Qui-Gon's lightsaber
near the edge of the pit. Using the force as both his guide and
instrument, he leapt over the head of the Sith, telekinetically
calling Qui-Gon's lightsaber to his hands. He sliced the Sith
into two, as the Sith Lord's eyes and mouth opened wide with
shock. Ignoring the body as it began its fall to the bottom of
the pit, he rushed to his Master's side.
Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and cradled his Master's body in
his arms. "Master! Master!" he cried, seeing the near death
pallor of Qui-Gon's face.
"It is too late... It's..." Qui-Gon gasped out, not fearing
death as it crept upon him ... gathering his strength to speak
with his Padawan before becoming one with the Force.
Obi-Wan attempted to begin healing Qui-Gon's wound, but it was
near Qui-Gon's heart. "No!" he cried as tears began forming in
his eyes. Grief, exhaustion and lingering emotions of anger and
fear clouded his mind, keeping him from doing more than
postponing Qui-Gon's inevitable death for a few more breaths.
Grateful to the precious moments his Padawan had given him,
Qui-Gon chose his words carefully. "Obi-Wan, promise...promise
me you'll train the boy..." Each word was harder to speak then
the one before it, as blackness began to envelop him.
As he struggled against it, barely hearing his Padawan reply
"Yes, Master" with grief pouring from every syllable, Qui-Gon
continued "He is the chosen one...he will...bring
balance...train him!"
As he raised his hand up to Obi-Wan's face and brushed his hand
lightly across his cheek, his strength finally failed him. His
next words did not have the strength to pass his lips, "I am
proud of you Padawan." Instead, his hand fell limply to his
side.
Pulling the body to his chest Obi-Wan knelt there weeping for
what seemed like an eternity. Then the years of training that
Qui-Gon had instilled upon him spurred him into reluctant
action. Reaching out with the force he began searching and
found the unique life signature of Queen Amidala, with waves of
calmness and security surrounding her.
The wrongness that had permeated the force when they arrived on
Naboo to guard the Queen was gone. The mission was over; though
they had failed to learn more about the Sith, they did prevent
him from harming the Queen - not a complete victory, but not a
defeat either, except that his Master, Qui-Gon is dead.
Carefully, he lay the body on the ground. Securing his Master's
lightsaber to his belt, he reached out with the force and
carefully cradled it around the body, raising the body as if
the slightest wrong move would injure Qui-Gon irrevocably.
The walk through the laser hall was the longest of his life,
each step dragging at him mercilessly. Reaching out, he placed
his hand lightly on the still chest of the body beside him.
Each step to retrace was a step he could have taken faster -
one which might have saved his Master.
There a blow he could have blocked, there a misstep that could
have saved precious moments; anything, anything at all that
might have changed the outcome. Anything that might have
propelled him faster over the walkways and through the hall to
his Master's side.
It wasn't real yet. He couldn't put his mind around it. Only
the chest beneath his hand lent it any reality at all. Qui-Gon,
dead. His Master... dead. Which left Obi-Wan himself... lost.
Unprepared and hopelessly lost, with emptiness beside him that
he could not begin to grasp.
Or even begin to fill. He could have laughed at his own words,
his promise to his Master, but if he began laughing it would
break into sobs. How could he fulfill that promise? How could
he be anything to anyone else, when his own life was suddenly a
pale shadow of what it had been?
His steps retraced themselves, until he found himself once
again at the entrance to the hanger, the place where it had all
begun.
Picking up Qui-Gon's robe from the ground, Obi-Wan used it to
cover Qui-Gon's body. He then picked up his own robe and put it
on quickly. He continued walking towards the palace medical
center, avoiding the rubble, the broken droid parts and bodies
of fallen guards who had been fighting to liberate their
planet.
Obi-Wan's eyes were set forward as he concentrated on putting
one foot in front of the other. He did not see an electrical
charge emanate from Qui-Gon's body, where the Sith's blade had
pierced through Qui-Gon's chest.
Reaching the medical center, Obi-Wan could see newly freed
doctors and other medical personnel rushing about, helping the
injured and putting the dead in stasis for funeral services
later.
He just stood there, as if entering the room would make it all
the more real. Handing over Qui-Gon - no Qui-Gon's body - would
truly mean he was dead.
Seeing the young man in the door, a woman wearing blue meditech
uniform walked over. "Do you need medical assistance?" She then
spotted the brown robe floating in the air behind him, in the
shape of a body, with boots sticking out from one end.
/This must be one of the Jedi standing before her./ "You can
put him down over here, we will put him in stasis soon," she
said in a consoling manner, seeing the grief-stricken look on
his face.
"Don't," the word came out of Obi-Wan's mouth, barely louder
then a whisper. "There are some rituals I must perform."
He levitated the body over to the indicated empty bed, then
gently laid it down. Afterwards the young Jedi turned around
swiftly and left the room. Concerned more with the living, who
needed medical help, none of the medical personnel noticed the
lightning running across Qui-Gon's body every now and then.
Amidala met him in the corridor outside the throne room; the
stern faced Panaka a step behind her. Her face lit up when she
saw him, a smile warming her eyes. "Jedi Kenobi! Are you all
right? Where's Master Jinn?"
The words made him physically grind to a halt, steps and
thought alike failing him. Only habit kept his face impassive,
his trembling hands tucked into his sleeves and away from
sight. "You are alright, Your Majesty?"
Her smile wavered, as though she felt something of what was
wrong, but her voice was as solid as ever. "Yes. The Viceroy is
in custody, the droid army deactivated." She hesitated.
"Jedi... where is Master Jinn?"
Obi-Wan couldn't seem to draw enough breath in. He heard the
words on his lips as though from a distance. "Dead. Master
Qui-Gon... is dead. The communications... are they up yet?"
Panaka shook his head and Obi-Wan sighed, tightening his arms
across his chest. "When they are, I will need to contact
Coruscant immediately. The Jedi Council must know."
Amidala's face had fallen, the glow of victory replaced by the
expressionless mask of the royal queen. "I'm sorry," she said
quietly, with composure Obi-Wan almost envied. "Your attacker?"
"Dead." The word got easier with repetition. Panaka stepped
away to speak with another man. Amidala stepped closer, hand
reaching out briefly to brush Obi-Wan's sleeve.
"If there is anything we can do...?"
"The communications," Obi-Wan replied numbly. "I have to speak
to the Jedi Council."
"Your Majesty." Panaka turned back to them, nodding to the
Jedi. "We have partial communications. A call has already been
sent through to the Senate."
"Good. I wish to speak to Senator Palpatine as soon as
possible." Amidala brushed his sleeve again, a gesture of
sympathy at odds with her brisk tone. "But before that, see
that Jedi Kenobi has access to what he needs."
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Panaka. Obi-Wan managed a nod of
thanks to the young queen, then turned to follow in Panaka's
wake as the man lead the way to a quieter side room. The
surface of a small dais slid back to reveal a projector and
communicator controls. Obi-Wan nodded wearily, reaching for
them as Panaka turned to leave.
It had never been harder to open the channel to Coruscant, and
the code he added to it was one he had never hoped to use. He
waited, the pressure of his arms across his chest helping to
keep his posture steady, as the projector flickered on.
Master Windu appeared in softly flickering blue, his dark face
somber. Seeing Obi-Wan, his expression turned to stone, a
flicker in his jaw the only betrayal. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Master Windu." Obi-Wan bowed his head and found he didn't have
the strength to lift it again. The words of the report spilled
out of him, abbreviating events to meaningless syllables.
"Naboo is secured. The Viceroy of the Trade Federation is in
the custody of the Naboo militia and the invasion has been
ended." He forced his head back up, meeting the hologram of
Windu's gaze.
"We encountered the Sith again. Master Qui-Gon is dead."
Windu's gaze dropped and he sighed. "And the Sith?"
"Dead." He could almost enjoy saying it then, for the memory of
the shock on that demonic face as it dropped away.
He had killed... he couldn't really feel it, not yet. Numbness
was keeping him upright. Windu's voice came back to him dimly.
"...the Council will join you on Naboo. We need to discover
whatever we can about the Sith that attacked you.
"Do what you can to help Queen Amidala," Windu instructed.
After a brief pause he continued with a slight sound of
sympathy in his voice. "We'll be there as soon as we can,
Padawan."
Obi-Wan nodded wearily. "Yes, Master Windu." His hands found
the controls and he switched the communication off. The glow of
the holo disappeared, leaving the room dim and quiet. He let
himself lean against the controls for a moment, then forced
himself upright, straightening. There were things to be done
that couldn't be avoided.
He slowly rose from the chair, scraping it back against the
floor. Funeral preparations, he must begin the preparations.
Qui-Gon's body, it was only a body now, no longer would words
of wisdom leave those lips. No longer would those hands touch
his shoulder in comfort, or help him up after a long sparring
session had ended with him defeated on the ground.
Before he knew it he had retraced his steps back to the medical
center. There were fewer people in there now, the seriously
injured had been sent to hospitals. Some with less extensive
injuries were resting on medical beds. Looking around the room
for where he had left the body, he found the bed empty.
Walking over to the same person he spoke to before he asked,
"Where is Mas..." he stopped, realizing she would not recognize
the name. "Where is the body of the Jedi I brought in?" he
finally stammered out.
"We needed the bed earlier," she answered, "We didn't put him
in stasis, he was put in one of the rooms nearby. Its just two
doors to the left once you leave this room."
Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly, "Thank you." He turned and
headed for the room she spoke of.
As he entered the room he saw Qui-Gon carefully laid out on the
bed, cloak neatly folded at his feet, arms folded against his
chest. To all intents he appeared as though he was just
sleeping except for the black scorch mark on his clothing where
the Sith's lightstaff had pierced through his chest.
After locking the door behind him, he moved the chair so he
could sit right by the bed. Instead of beginning the funeral
preparations, he placed his left hand over Qui-Gon's heart, lay
his head on Qui-Gon's chest and finally allowed himself to cry.
His master was dead, and he had made a promise that he probably
couldn't keep. How was he, a Padawan, supposed to train a boy
whom the Jedi Council wouldn't allow to be trained? Master Yoda
had said it himself, he was not ready for the trials. He had
made an impossible promise, failing his master in his last
wish. He kept sobbing as, in the back of his mind he wondered
why he was moving so much.
He wasn't moving, Qui-Gon's body was. He shot up to his feet,
nearly sending the chair flying across the room. Wiping the
tears from his eyes, he saw Qui-Gon's chest rise and fall ever
so slightly. /I'm seeing things./ He put his hand under
Qui-Gon's tunic looking for the hole he'd find on his master's
chest, to prove to himself that Qui-Gon was dead. Instead his
hand found nothing but the form of an unmarred chest beneath
it.
It was like coming up out of a dark pool, half choked. His
entire body hurt, an ache centered on his chest and pooled in
his limbs. He coughed, feeling the twinge shoot through his
lungs. Opening his eyes took effort but he had to... there was
something he had to do, something urgent, something happening
that nagged at him...
His Padawan's face greeted him, swimming in and out of focus. A
terribly pale face, as the blood rushed away from it. Obi-Wan
made a soft sound and then the face disappeared from Qui-Gon's
view. Qui-Gon forced his protesting body up onto his elbows,
watching blearily as his apprentice stumbled back and down onto
his knees, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
Bed... he was on a bed. That wasn't right. Qui-Gon tried to
piece the scattered fragments of his thoughts together, even as
he pushed himself up. He shouldn't be there. He shouldn't...
Memory flared back with searing vividness. Gasping, Qui-Gon's
hands went to his chest, finding the burnt edges of the jagged
hole in his tunic. And nothing beneath but flesh, whole,
unpierced, healthy flesh.
Obi-Wan's eyes were black dots in seas of bloodshot white. His
mouth moved, the word coming forth reluctantly. "Ma... m...
master?"
Shaking, Qui-Gon caught himself against the edge of the bed.
His body still ached but the ache was fading, pain sloughing
away like a lingering nightmare. "Padawan," he whispered.
Peeling back the layers of his tunic, he stared, dry mouthed,
at the undamaged skin of his chest. "What happened?"
Obi-Wan slowly pushed himself back, hands scrambling on the
tiled floor. "Master... Force... you were dead. I saw
the Sith kill you. You died!"
Qui-Gon slowly swung himself down from the bed, dropping down
to the floor beside his Padawan. "I died," he repeated back
slowly. "We were at a melting pit... the Sith... I did
die. I felt it. How... what did you do?"
"Watched you die," Obi-Wan blurted breathlessly. "Master... you
died in my arms. You were DEAD. And now... Now..." He gestured
helplessly to Qui-Gon, words failing him.
They were not serving Qui-Gon much better. "Now... I do not
know Padawan. I am not dead."
Hesitantly, Obi-Wan reached out. He jerked back slightly, then
visibly steeled himself, placing a trembling hand against his
Master's chest, feeling the beating heart and the chest moving
with each breath. "No," he agreed numbly. "You're not dead."
Qui-Gon laughed slightly, a breathless burst. Sitting back, he
ran a hand across his hair. "I was... and now I'm not.
Obi-Wan... I've never heard of anything like this before.
Padawan, you're certain you didn't..."
"I brought you - your body - to the medical center," Obi-Wan
interrupted. He shook his head, rubbing a hand across his brow.
"I went to speak to the Queen and call the Council. When I
returned, I was told your body was moved here. You were dead
when I came in," his voice cracked as he spoke those last
words, "and then suddenly you weren't."
Qui-Gon's head came up, his eyes focusing on his apprentice
again. "The Queen," he began, already scrambling to his feet.
"The battle...? Anakin? Where..."
Obi-Wan was on his feet faster than his Master, grabbing for
Qui-Gon's arm. "Where do you think you're going? You just
died!"
Qui-Gon paused, giving Obi-Wan the opportunity to push him back
towards the bed. "Padawan," he said quietly, brows pulling
down, "how many people know that I have... died?"
Startled, Obi-Wan stared at his Master for a moment, then
groaned, dropping his head as he leaned against the side of the
bed. "Oh Force... Amidala. Panaka. Some of the medical
personnel. And the Council... Master, I called the Council."
Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon sat one hip against the edge of
the bed, letting the news roll over him. "Obi-Wan," he said
slowly, "maybe you should tell me everything that's happened
while I was... dead."
The telling took a little time, a trail of thought that skipped
and backtracked as Obi-Wan shakily tried to outline what had
happened to his Master. When it was done, Qui-Gon shook his
head slightly, trying to take it all in even as he planned for
what was to come.
"Anakin," he said at last. "Did you tell the boy? Have you
seen the boy?"
"Not since the hangar, Master," Obi-Wan replied wearily. "He
wasn't in there when I walked through it with... with your
body. I'll go find him..."
"Do that," Qui-Gon confirmed. "Don't tell him about this. It's
enough that I'm all right. We don't need to frighten him."
"And the Queen?" Obi-Wan asked. "The Council?"
Qui-Gon hesitated. "Bring the Queen here," he said finally.
"She can keep her secrets. As to the Council... I will speak
with them when they arrive."
Obi-Wan nodded tensely. "I'll bring the Queen here as soon as I
find the boy," he said, walking towards the door.
When the door shut behind his Padawan Qui-Gon got to his feet,
going to lock the door. Leaning his back against it, he tried
to gather his thoughts.
What could he tell people when he himself didn't know what had
occurred? His last memories were of his own death, of feeling
the Force open to gather him in, his body failing. And now...
in truth, he had not felt so good in some time.
His hand went again to his chest, probing. There was nothing,
not even a tender spot to tell him where the Sith's saber had
burned through him. Somehow... somehow it had happened. And he
had no idea at all of how or what.
Sighing, he made his way back to the bed, seating himself on
it. Perhaps the Council, when they arrived, would know
something. Be able to find some obscure piece of Jedi lore that
spoke of something similar, something that might reassure him.
Until then... he had to find something to say to Amidala.
Something believable, for he himself wasn't sure he believed
the truth.
Obi-Wan's presence brushed his mind softly, alerting him that
his Padawan had returned. The door opened a moment later. Not
only did Obi-Wan enter, but a short, tow headed bullet sped
through the entrance making directly for Qui-Gon.
"Master Qui-Gon!" The Jedi Master slid back to the floor,
hefting the boy up onto the bed. Anakin clung to his tunic,
blue eyes wide. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Ani," Qui-Gon said calmly. "And you? Were you
alright?"
"Yes sir," Anakin piped. "I did just what you said, Master
Qui-Gon. I stayed right in that cockpit. Artoo and I are fine."
The blue eyes were the picture of innocence but Obi-Wan shook
his head. "There's a bit more to it than that," he interjected.
His Padawan, Qui-Gon noticed, was beginning to look far more
like the one who had just risen from the dead then Qui-Gon
himself did.
"Welllll..." Anakin ducked his head. "We were alright. Nothing
happened."
Qui-Gon would have questioned that, but footsteps in the
hallway alerted them to another presence. Amidala swept through
the door, then stopped, rocking back on her heels as she stared
at the Jedi Master.
Obi-Wan slapped the door shut behind her. Amidala didn't look
around, her gaze glued to Qui-Gon, dark eyes widening slightly.
Qui-Gon tugged his sleeve from Anakin's grasp, facing her and
bowing slightly. "Your Majesty... I'm pleased to see you well."
After a moment the ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I think
I should be the one saying that, Master Jinn." She hesitated,
glancing at Anakin. "Obi-Wan told me you were feeling...
better."
Qui-Gon managed a smile, helping Anakin back down to the floor.
"Anakin, you can tell me what happened later. I need to speak
to Amidala right now, alright?" The boy nodded, glancing at all
of the adults in turn, then started to go towards the door.
"Later?" he asked, plaintively.
"In just a little bit," Qui-Gon confirmed. "Can you wait for us
out in the corridor?"
"Yes, sir," Anakin replied. Obi-Wan stepped aside to let him
out, closing the door after him. All three relaxed slightly.
"I didn't want to speak in front of the boy..." Qui-Gon began,
but Amidala shook her head.
"No, I understand." She stepped hesitantly closer, eyes
examining the blackened edges of the tear in his tunic. "An...
explanation... Master Jinn?"
Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawan, meeting eyes that were just as
confused as Amidala's. Swallowing, he nodded slowly. "Yes... I
am sorry, Your Majesty. There is... a healing trance that a
Jedi can use. It does not always work, and in progress it looks
very much like death. My Padawan had never seen it before. He
reported only what he believed to be the truth."
Obi-Wan tensed slightly, eyes darting to Qui-Gon, but after a
moment some of the tension drained from Amidala. "I
understand," she said quietly. The smile touched her again for
a moment. "Or rather, I don't. But I think I understand what
you mean to tell me." Glancing back, she met Obi-Wan's eyes.
"It's... a pleasant surprise, Jedi Kenobi."
Obi-Wan's eyes were burning into him with nearly the force of
the Sith's saber. "Very," he replied shortly. "Very much a
surprise."
Your Majesty," Qui-Gon said hastily, "I would rather not have
report of either my apparent death, or life, broadcast if at
all possible. The thing which attacked us was very dangerous -
I would rather not tempt fate until the Jedi Council arrives.
This is a matter they need to look into."
Obi-Wan was standing in the courtyard full of people with
Anakin at his side. Queen Amidala, still wearing her
battlegarb, was speaking with the Neimoidians, surrounded by
Captain Panaka, her handmaidens and about 20 or so of her
troops. In front of them a large republic cruiser was landing.
"Now, Viceroy, you are going to have to go back to the Senate
and explain all this," stated the queen.
Leading the two Neimoidians towards the main ramp of the
cruiser to turn over the prisoners, Captain Panaka said smugly
"I think you can kiss your trade franchise goodbye."
Senator Palpintine exited the ship, surrounded by several
republic guards. Following behind him were the Jedi Council
wearing unreadable expressions on their faces.
"Congratulations on your election, Chancellor. It is so good to
see you again," said the young Queen.
With a broad smile on his face the Chancellor replies "It's
good to be home. Your boldness has saved our people, Your
Majesty. It is you who should be congratulated. Together we
shall bring peace and prosperity to the Republic."
As their conversation continued Obi-Wan and Anakin bowed their
greeting to the Council. They led the Council members into the
palace and to the rooms that had been set aside for their
visit.
"Anakin, will you please stay here and show the Council the
room that has been set aside for the Council chamber, when they
are ready to go there?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Yes sir" the boy quickly replied, hoping that this small
action would help him when they reconsidered allowing him to
become a Jedi.
"Master Yoda, Master Windu" Obi-Wan continued, "The Queen would
like to speak with you as soon as possible." The young Jedi was
shielding himself as much as possible, hoping the Council would
believe it was out of grief, and wouldn't probe to see what he
was hiding.
The two Jedi Masters quickly put their belongings in the rooms
they had been assigned. Then they followed Obi-Wan as he led
them to a room on the other side of the palace. Neither Master
Windu nor Master Yoda tried to question Obi-Wan about Qui-Gon's
death, knowing he would have to tell the story when he gave his
official report.
Finally the slow walk was over. Obi-Wan opened the door and
politely motioned for the Jedi Masters to enter before him,
then closed the door quietly behind him. A large chair was
facing the window as they entered the room, the back of it so
high that the Queen could not be seen over it.
When the door shut, the chair turned around so the Queen was
facing the Jedi Masters. Except the Queen wasn't sitting in the
chair, Qui-Gon was.
"Qui-Gon" whispered Mace, shocked to his friend alive and well
when Obi-Wan had reported his death.
Yoda remained silent for a few moments then finally said, "Too
stubborn to die, you are."
"I did die." Qui-Gon replied, amused at his Master's response.
"For some reason I just did not remain deae Council would be waiting.
"How will we explain Master Qui-Gon being alive though?"
questioned Obi-Wan. Master Yoda was the only one who knew of
any reason why Qui-Gon was alive and he hadn't even shared it
with them.
"The force will guide us, Padawan" Qui-Gon replied, placing his
hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder reassuringly.
Many hours had passed before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's report was
over. Anakin had been brought in and questioned about his
involvement in stopping the Trade Federation and the Council
had finally decided to train the boy. He would be attending the
Academy alongside the rest of the Jedi students then would be
trained under the supervision of the council.
Yoda sat in his room and activated the communications console
before him. Eventually the hologram of a young man with short
dark hair appeared and grumpily said "What do you want?"
"Speak to MacLeod, I wish," replied the Jedi Master.
"MacLeod, it's for you" yelled the young man before his
hologram disappeared.
A few minutes passed before the face of a dark haired man with
a ponytail appeared. A look of shock appeared on his face.
"Yoda, what has it been old friend, 25-30 years since we last
spoke."
"Long, it has been. A favor of you, I must ask. A Jedi, died,
he has, and lives again. Test him, I ask. If like you he is,
teach him I ask."
"If you think he's an immortal I will test him, Yoda. Have him
meet me at the Jedi Temple on Duregna in 3 days. If he's one of
us I'll find him." MacLeod said. "One more thing, if he has any
unexplainable headaches tell him to stay in a public place till
the feeling goes away."
"Many thanks, my friend," said Yoda, then the hologram
disappeared.
The next morning Yoda herded Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan towards ship
the Queen had assigned to transport the Jedi to Duregna.
All the two had been told was they were to go to the Temple
there and wait, and not to leave the Temple grounds. If no one
approached them by the end of the week they were to return to
Corscuant for further instructions from Master Yoda himself.
If a man approached them they were to confirm his identity as
being Duncan MacLeod, and to follow his instructions. Then
Master Yoda gave strange instructions to Qui-Gon: if at any
time while they were heading to the temple, he got a headache,
he was to remain in a busy public place until the headache
dissipated, and he was not to get into any fights even if
provoked. That and an emphasis he was not to leave the temple
grounds until the week was up.
After saying goodbye to Anakin, and promising to see him at the
temple on Coruscant as soon as possible, they boarded the
transport and set off on the most mysterious journey they could
recall. Never had they been sent off with such little
information as they had.
To be sent off at all, so quickly after all that had happened,
made Qui-Gon nervous. To do so without much briefing made him
tense. Once the transport was underway there was precious
little to be done... and at that point the tension and
nervousness added themselves to a morass of emotion that it
seemed all the quiet time of the galaxy could not sort out.
Obi-Wan could not seem to sit still, fidgeting endlessly with
controls that had already been set and displays that he had
already checked countless times - anything, except looking at
his Master. Qui-Gon sighed, leaning back in his seat.
"Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master?" Still the younger man didn't look at him, body
wound tight and tense, eyes darting away.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighed again, then stopped, beginning again.
"Padawan, I'd like to have a word with you."
Obi-Wan's shoulders jerked back slightly, stiffening. "Of
course, Master," he said, rising at once. Qui-Gon nodded
politely to the pilot, a gesture that his Padawan stiffly
copied, then escorted the younger man from the room.
Once behind a closed door, Obi-Wan was no better. The younger
Jedi couldn't seem to find a place in a chair, pacing
haphazardly around the room. Qui-Gon seated himself, wrapping
his robe around him with a soft sigh. "Obi-Wan, we need to
talk."
Obi-Wan paused, finally turning reluctantly to face him. "Yes
Master," he agreed, swallowing. "Yes, we probably do."
It was the perfect opening... and Qui-Gon had no idea where to
start. They stared at each other, Master to Padawan, for a long
time. Finally, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, looking
away. "This is all... so much."
Qui-Gon could not help but agree with his Padawan... too much,
and nothing that had been spoken yet. He crossed his arms
against his chest, only all too aware of the beat of his own
heart. He still didn't know what he himself felt of that, much
less what Obi-Wan must feel.
The younger man turned away, hugging himself tightly, tension
radiating from his stiff shoulders and back. "What are we
doing?" he asked, voice breaking slightly. "Why would the
Council send us out like this? After everything that's
happened... Everything on Naboo... the boy, the Sith...
You, Master...Why?"
"Padawan." Qui-Gon's measured tone brought Obi-Wan back around
to meet his Master's gaze. The younger man's eyes were rimmed
with white, overbright and harried looking. Qui-Gon sighed,
trying to choose his words.
Qui-Gon flinched slightly from the ragged edge to Obi-Wan's
voice, careful not to show the motion externally. "I know what
I felt," he said, a little harder then he should. "It wasn't
something I chose, Obi-Wan."
"No." Obi-Wan was wound tightly enough to break, hands
trembling where he clenched them against his sides, face tense
and hard. "No, but you chose to make your last command -
your last words! - bind me to that boy! What made you think I
could do that? What made you think the Council would let me?
Without you..." his voice broke, shaking. "Without you..."
Now Qui-Gon did flinch, dropping his gaze. "I was
dying," he said harshly. "There was no time. I
thought... I thought you would understand how important it
was."
They were both silent for some time. Obi-Wan was almost visibly
biting his tongue to silence the words that threatened to spill
forth. "And now?" he ground out at last. "What now? When you
died I thought... I didn't know what to think. I felt as though
I would break. But then, somehow, you live again. So what now?
Will it happen again? Should I stop worrying if I see you hurt?
Or is this borrowed time and I'll turn to find you suddenly
gone?"
"I don't know," Qui-Gon snapped, tightening his arms
against his chest. He tried to release the scratch of fear,
thrusting it away from himself, but the feel of the Sith's
lightsaber burning through him haunted him, making him shiver.
"I don't know how it happened, Obi-Wan. I don't know what it
means!"
"Then what do you know?" Obi-Wan snapped back, voice raising as
his frayed nerves gave way. "What should I do, Master?
Should I believe that this," he flung his arms out, indicating
everything around them, "is real? Or should I just start
grieving now?"
"I never was good enough, was I?" he stated lowly. His voice
began rising as he spoke, "You only took me in because you felt
sorry for me. Then you saw him.. that boy, your chosen one and
you wanted to throw me aside. Never mind that I didn't think I
was ready. Never mind that the Council didn't think so either.
The GREAT Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, finest swordsman the Order
has had in the past couple of centuries ... found THE chosen
one, so I am READY for my trials." His hands clenched together
tightly as he finally let his anger and grief out.
His voice dropped down to a barely audible whisper "Why, why
wasn't I good enough?" He turned away so he couldn't see
Qui-Gon's face, not to see the disappointment in his eyes.
"Padawan" came the anguished reply.
"Why did you leave me?" came out in that same almost inaudible
whisper. His hands clenched together so tightly they were
white.
The words cut into him like knives, carving out pieces of him.
Qui-Gon dropped his head, unable to bear watching the man in
front of him. "I didn't..." the words were hollow ashes in his
mouth and he bit them off, swallowing them bitterly as the lies
that they were.
"I didn't mean..." Yes, that was more truthful, though the
words still burned him as he spoke them. "I didn't mean to
leave you, Padawan. I truly thought you would be ready. I
thought..." And there was the lie again, for it was painfully
obvious, laid out in the tense lines of Obi-Wan's clenched
body, that he had not thought nearly enough. Not thought of the
one thing that should have been most important of all, his
Padawan's welfare.
It was a harsh thing to have to acknowledge, leaving him
feeling flayed. Qui-Gon sighed, raising a hand to cover his
eyes and rub his temples. "I'm sorry," he ground out past the
closure of his throat. "Padawan... I am sorry. I was not
thinking. There are... quite a few things I should have done,
or done differently."
Qui-Gon forced his own head up forced his shoulders back, his
muscles tightening unconsciously as though to withstand a blow.
"Obi-Wan... I believed - I still believe - that Anakin is
important. But you are my Padawan. My duty should have
been to you. I failed in that, and I can only beg forgiveness."
"I ... I for ... I need to go meditate on all of this." Obi-Wan
raised his shields at tightly as he could and fled out of the
room, ashamed of his behavior and not being able to forgive his
master right then.
Qui-Gon watched him go, letting out a painful breath He
collapsed back into the chair, arms wrapped against his chest,
eyes closed. It was a reprieve, and it shamed him how much he
needed it. He simply did not know what, or how, to make things
right with Obi-Wan.
"Methos, the quicker we do this the sooner you can have a
couple of beers at that cantina by the hotel." stated Duncan
MacLeod in an amused manner.
Arms crossed over chest, shoulder planted firmly against the
wall, the oldest immortal's wirey body gave no sign of being
willing to move. "Of course," he drawled. "Unless..." he held
up a finger, cutting off Duncan's abortively drawn breath.
"Unless, of course, this Jedi just happens to be one of us...
what then, MacLeod? No, I'll tell you what then. Then there's
not going to be any resolution to this, is there? No, not for
the boyscout."
"What's this old man? Want me to plan for every eventuality? An
old friend asked me to check this guy out. I owe it to him"
replied Duncan.
"No." Methos held up his hand, shaking his head. "No, you
don't. That's the problem. I can see the plan in your eyes,
MacLeod. You're going to end up taking whoever this is under
your wing - again - which disrupts OUR plans
indefinitely. Can't you just..." he grimaced, gesturing
vaguely, "Tell the man what he needs to know and send him back
to them? They'll take care of him. Besides," Methos added,
slumping with real determination back against the wall, "he's a
Jedi. He'll know how to fight. And that damn Temple of theirs
is just that - holyground. Tell him the rules and send him on
his way. I'll be waiting right here."
"You're the one who wanted to come along in the first place. If
you don't come along there's no way I can buy you that beer I
owe you can I?"
"And if I stay here," Methos replied, "then you'll have to come
back. Sometime in the next decade."
"If you stay I just might decide to study Jedi philosophy for a
couple of years," MacLeod said in a teasing manner.
"And the difference between that and a boyscout it?" Methos
asked archly, but a fluid motion peeled his body away from the
wall. "I suppose if I let you go by yourself then you'll get in
even more trouble."
MacLeod slapped Methos on the back and playfully pushed him
ahead. "Then you'll just have to keep me out of trouble, old
man," he smiled.
Qui-Gon sat on a bench in the middle of the temple gardens. The
expression on his face hid what he was feeling as well as his
shields did. He sat there waiting. He had already memorized the
patterns of flowers in the area, so he focused his gaze on his
Padawan. Well, more exactly, his Padawan's back.
Obi-Wan had deliberately sat down with his back to his Master.
He was continuing to work on the construction of a new
lightsaber, to replace the one he had lost during the fight
with the Sith on Naboo. He'd begun the project on the ship, it
had kept him busy and gave him a reasonable excuse to avoid
Qui-Gon. They hadn't spoken a word since he fled from Qui-Gon
on the ship.
One of them was going to have to end this silence soon, but he
didn't want to force the issue, not yet. He stood up to stretch
his legs, when his head started to ache.
It was a buzzing pain that began at the base of his neck and
shot both up and down, crawling across spine and skull. Qui-Gon
winced, raising a hand to his head. Sensing that something was
wrong, Obi-Wan turned his head and frowned. "Master?" he asked,
reluctantly.
Qui-Gon shook his head, trying to drive the feeling away. "It's
nothing," he began, but the sensation would not leave. Obi-Wan
climbed to his feet, his frown darkening.
Footsteps made them both turn. Two men approached them across
the grounds of the garden. The first was dressed in rich toned
civilian clothes. He had dark hair, pulled neatly back, and
walked with a gracefulness to his movements that made Qui-Gon
step back slightly, judging. A fighter, his mind decided
quickly, someone to be watched carefully.
Slightly behind him another man followed, slender of build and
also dressed in civilian clothes. He walked with a sullen pace,
feet almost dragging, and the lean lines of his face set in a
sulk.
The first man stopped some feet from the Jedi, dark eyes
studying them. His voice, when he spoke, held a lilting accent
that gave a musical quality to his words. "My name is Duncan
MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."
Neither Jedi relaxed; if anything, Qui-Gon tensed slightly at
the name. This, was as much as they had known to expect - now
it would rely upon the man before them. "Duncan MacLeod," he
acknowledged, nodding to the man. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn. This is
my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Duncan glanced, briefly, back at his companion. The man's lean
face twisted slightly, a rueful expression, his slender
shoulders shrugging. MacLeod sighed. "This is Methos," he said
firmly, ignoring the flash in the other man's eyes. "Master
Yoda asked us to come."
Methos grimaced and whispered, "Why not paint a target on my
back or put a tracking device on me MacLeod." Duncan heard the
low whisper quite clearly, so did a certain Jedi Master who was
carefully observing the two men.
Narrowing his eyes, Qui-Gon studied the men. He could feel
Obi-Wan draw closer to him, the silence between them forgotten
for the needs of the moment. MacLeod returned the Jedi Master's
gaze with a calm assurance, while behind him Methos continued
to glare at his back.
"The Jedi Council directed us to meet you here," Qui-Gon said
at last. "I presume you have more information on our mission?"
MacLeod smiled, an easy expression that warmed his face. "You
might say that. Quite a bit of information for you." Glancing
back at his companion, he shrugged slightly. "Shall we go
somewhere else to discuss it? The gardens are a little open."
"You promised me a drink MacLeod. I'd like it now. You can talk
with the children when we are home." Methos barely glanced at
either of them, the challenge of his gaze resting on MacLeod.
It wasn't anger so much as a rivalry that arced between them,
the feel of something familiar that they engaged in by habit.
Qui-Gon stepped forward. "There's a place not far from the
Temple. It provides a fairly large selection. Would that suit
you?" He did not glance at Methos at all, deliberately
addressing MacLeod.
Both of the men paused, MacLeod regarding him with some
surprise. "Yes," he said at last. "That would do fine. Please."
Duncan gestured for Qui-Gon to lead the way.
There was a grudging look of wry respect in Methos' gaze as
Qui-Gon stepped past him. The Jedi Master met it fairly, giving
no ground. He heard the man's soft chuckle as he led the way
from the garden, MacLeod and Methos behind him, Obi-Wan
following last where he could continue to watch the two.
They ended up in front of Destina's Place, a respectable
cantina. The place was well lit and had tables spread out
around the room. At the far side there was a bar with stools
spread out around it. Some uniformed waiters and waitresses
wandered the room serving their customers. There was an empty
table in one corner, which Qui-Gon led the group to.
They all sat down at the table. A waitress appeared as soon as
they settled down and inquired, "What would you gentlemen
like?"
"A beer." The words flew out of Methos' mouth just as she had
finished asking.
"I'll have one also," said Duncan with a smile on his face.
"Nothing for us, thank you," said Qui-Gon answering for himself
and Obi-Wan.
The waitress returned with two open beer bottles quickly then
left the foursome alone to converse. Duncan took a sip of his
beer, while Methos drank a quarter of the bottle before resting
it on the table.
"You said you have information? Something pertaining to our
assignment?" questioned Qui-Gon.
"We can't discuss it here. We'll take you to our place where
it's safer. Just have to let the old man have his drink first."
replied Duncan.
"Why isn't it safe to talk here?" asked Obi-Wan.
"We'll explain when we're someplace safer." said Methos,
finally breathing after taking another long gulp of beer.
Methos started mumbling some calculations, then waved a
waitress over. "How much beer do you have on hand?"
"Well, the stuff doesn't sell much in here, most of our patrons
like wine or some other types of drinks." said the young
waitress.
"Can you send over the owner of this place, or whoever's in
charge?" stated Methos with a gleam in his eye.
"Ohh no, Methos think of our budget," begged Duncan.
"Now MacLeod, you woke me up early this morning and dragged me
down to this planet. I think I should at least be able to bring
home some souvenirs." stated Methos, his grin growing larger by
the minute.
A couple of minutes later a lovely lady wearing black pants and
a shimmering blue shirt walked over to the table. "Hello, I'm
Destina. Do you gentlemen have a problem?"
Methos grinned at her and replied, "No, just a business
proposition. I heard you don't sell too much beer here. I'd
like to buy some of your stock."
Duncan groaned feeling his credstick loose quite a bit of
weight in his pocket already.
Methos and Destina negotiated for a while, he wasn't exactly
trying to get the lowest price possible enjoying making Duncan
squirm in his seat. Eventually he purchased several crates of
the stuff, and made arrangements to have them delivered to
their ship immediately. Duncan settled the bill with the owner
then said, "Alright, lets get going."
"Exactly where are we going?" asked Qui-Gon.
"The moon. Our place is there. It's very secluded and we won't
be interrupted there. Hmmm, you might want to stop by the
temple and gather your things first. You'll be there for at
least a couple of days." replied Duncan.
Obi-Wan was quietly simmering, but neither Jedi said anything
as they went to gather up their bags that had yet to be
unpacked. At least, nothing was said aloud, but the stiff line
of his Padawan's back and clenched jaw spoke volumes to
Qui-Gon. The older man sighed, but left the matter alone.
Neither of their guides seemed inclined to small talk, Methos
exchanging sullen quiet one of smug air, while MacLeod was
steadfastly ignoring his companion.
The men's ship itself was a small but sturdy vessel, one with
the wear of the years on its exterior but with a more than
adequate engine and parts throughout the interior. It was
comfortable, something Qui-Gon had expected after observing the
two, but also quite functional. "We've had the Dawson for
years," MacLeod told him, when the Jedi Master politely
inquired. "She's a good enough ship, does what we need."
The short trip to the moon was uncomfortable at best, MacLeod's
attention absorbed in piloting. Methos was no sort of
conversationalist, seeming to hold the two Jedi in some small
contempt, an attitude which endeared him not at all to the
sulking Obi-Wan and left Qui-Gon at loose ends.
The moon itself, tucked into the shadow of the planet, offered
little to look at beyond quiet landscape. MacLeod gave them no
time to get their bearings, ushering them into the modest
dwelling that the two other men made their home in. Despite
MacLeod's no-nonsense attitude in finding rooms for the two
Jedi and giving them a whirlwind tour of the building, there
seemed to be less tension in the man - and in Methos - than
there had been on the planet.
Their bags tucked away, Obi-Wan seated himself stiffly in a
chair in the main room, across from and in direct contrast to
Methos' boneless sprawl across a couch on the other side, one
of his precious beers cradled in his hand. Qui-Gon seated
himself near his Padawan, refusing the drink that MacLeod
offered and waited until the other man had taken a seat
himself.
"I imagine you have a lot of questions," MacLeod said before
Qui-Gon could draw breath to ask. Methos grimaced, the picture
of disinterest as he lay with closed eyes.
"Oh yes," he drawled softly, earning a frustrated look from
MacLeod. "Ask anything you want. Mac certainly has the answers.
He always does."
"Methos," Duncan sighed, "either make your contributions
useful, or keep them to yourself."
Methos twisted the top from his beer, tossing it irritably at
Duncan, who made no move to avoid it as it bounced off his
chest. Settling himself back on the couch, Methos gestured with
the bottle. "Go on," he urged. "I won't say anything."
Qui-Gon sighed softly to himself. Tension emanated from
Obi-Wan, grating at the Jedi Master's nerves as much as the
strangeness of their surroundings, the men before them and the
entire situation from Naboo on had. "I would be most interested
to hear anything you have to tell me," he said firmly.
MacLeod also sighed. "This never gets any easier, does it?" he
asked softly of the room at large. Methos raised one dark brow,
then drew his fingertip across his sealed lips, keeping them
firmly closed. MacLeod looked at him sourly, then back to
Qui-Gon.
The two men regarded each other for a moment, until MacLeod
shrugged slightly. "You died," he stated flatly. "And came back
to life."
Qui-Gon froze, eyeing the man warily. Beside him, Obi-Wan had
half risen to his feet, eyes wide. The Jedi Master put out a
hand to restrain his Padawan from any hasty movements. "This
would be what Master Yoda sent you to us for?" he inquired
softly.
A small noise escaped Methos but none of the other three paid
it any mind. "Yes," MacLeod acknowledged. "I have known Master
Yoda for some years. When he learned what had happened to you,
he contacted me."
At his Master's urging Obi-Wan reluctantly sat back, though he
was nearly vibrating with suppressed emotion. Qui-Gon himself
was not much better; he folded his hands within the sleeves of
his robe, where the slight tremble of them could not be seen.
"You sound as though you have a better idea of what happened
then I do," he admitted, forcing a small smile.
"You might say that," MacLeod said with a small, tense smile.
Reaching up, he ran a hand across his dark hair, smoothing back
loose strands. "I've had a few hundred years worth of
experience with it." When neither Jedi blinked an eye at that
pronouncement his smile turned wry. "Not that saying that draws
the reaction it used to - not when Yoda is over 800."
"There are a number of long lived species," Qui-Gon replied
mildly. "But I have yet to hear of a species that comes back
from the dead." He spread his hands slightly. "And as I am
quite certain that if they did exist I am not one of them..."
"That's where you're wrong," MacLeod said firmly, cutting him
off.
Qui-Gon blinked slightly, startled. MacLeod stepped into the
lapse, his words steady in their solemnness. "You're immortal.
You can not die. Not unless someone takes your head."
Silence descended in the room, broken only as Methos raised his
bottle in a wordless toast and downed half of it. Qui-Gon
forced himself to swallow, frowning. MacLeod utterly believed
his words, that much was obvious. But... "Immortal?" he asked
hesitantly. The man couldn't possibly mean that.
"You can't die," MacLeod repeated. "Not permanently. Wounds of
any sort will heal. Unless," he held up one hand, forestalling
Qui-Gon's words, "unless someone takes your head." He ran his
thumb across his throat in a gesture that was only too
descriptive. "And with it, your life, your knowledge and your
power. That's your only weakness now."
"That's impossible," Obi-Wan said flatly, his voice breaking
into the silence that followed MacLeod's pronouncement.
"No, it's not," MacLeod said firmly, his eyes never leaving
Qui-Gon. "You died. You felt it, you know what it was like.
You'll do it again, many times. But you won't ever stay that
way."
"You're saying..." Qui-Gon began, then had to stop and swallow,
letting the enormity of what MacLeod had said fully wash over
him. "You are saying I can't die. Ever. Unless..." He
paused, looking at the two men. "You're like this? As well?"
"Yes," MacLeod confirmed. "Immortal."
Qui-Gon took a deep breath. The information simply would not
seep in, there was nothing he could relate it to. "How?" he
asked at last, floundering. "Why?"
"No one knows how," MacLeod admitted quietly. "Or why. We just
are. And now, so are you."
"This is impossible," Qui-Gon whispered, echoing Obi-Wan. "This
isn't... I can't believe this. I've never heard..."
Methos broke his silence at last, voice cutting sharply across
the Jedi Master's but without the sarcasm evident before. "It
doesn't matter whether you believe it or not. It's real. And
the faster you accept that, the better your chances."
"Chances against what?" Obi-Wan demanded, but Qui-Gon held up a
hand to silence him.
MacLeod rose to his feet, shaking his head. "Everyone has a
hard time accepting it at first," he assured the Jedi. "But
Methos is right. The sooner you can, the better." He walked
into the next room, his voice floating back to them. "There's a
lot of things you're going to have to learn. You already know
the saber and that's good, but there's more to it than that."
MacLeod returned, holding a small blade between his teeth as he
rolled up one sleeve. Taking the blade in hand, he sat back
down. "I assume you can tell I'm not lying," he said mildly,
not waiting for Qui-Gon's jerked nod. "But the best evidence is
still that of your own eyes."
Before either of the Jedi could react or stop him, MacLeod held
out his hand and sank the tip of the knife deep into his wrist,
slicing upwards as the blood welled red across his skin.
Qui-Gon gasped, reaching out automatically to try to wrest the
knife away from the man, to try to staunch the flow of blood.
MacLeod pulled back, out of reach, face set as he watched the
cut. Methos barely even glanced up, polishing off his beer and
setting the bottle on the floor.
Before the Jedi's' eyes, small, infinitesimal sparks of blue
flashed and flared, skittering like wildfire across the wound.
In a second, the cut was gone, healed completely. MacLeod wiped
the blood away, revealing not so much as a scar on his tanned
skin.
Qui-Gon couldn't help it - he reached out, barely skimming his
fingertips across the skin where the cut had been. There was
nothing, no lingering sense of ripples in the Force, nothing
but smooth skin and the perfectly healthy beat of the pulse.
MacLeod allowed the inspection, then proffered the said firmly, putting a touch of the Force behind the words, "I
have to do this."
Obi-Wan said nothing. After a moment he released Qui-Gon,
standing abruptly and turning away. The Jedi Master let out his
breath, hearing his Padawan's footsteps echo as the younger man
stomped to a corner of the room.
MacLeod's expression was nothing but sympathetic. "It's harder
for those around you," he said quietly.
Setting his lips, Qui-Gon said nothing. He stared at the knife
in his hand, then slowly pushed back the sleeve of his tunic to
bare his wrist. Duncan was right. A shallow cut, done quickly -
he could heal it easily with the Force.
It was best to do it before he thought too much about it.
Steeling himself, he put the blade to the heel of his hand,
gritting his teeth as the sharp edge easily parted the skin. A
quick jerk upwards, blood flowing before the pain registered,
nerves belatedly crying over the treatment.
He swallowed, realizing as he watched the blood stain his skin
that the sight of it nearly made him ill. It wasn't a reaction
he normally had to blood but something about having inflicted
it himself... he clenched his teeth, forcing the pain away,
forcing himself to watch without knowing what he was watching
for.
It began as a sensation, trickling down his arm, scratching
lightly like a shiver that one couldn't pinpoint. It flared
like fire when it reached the cut, making him hiss softly. He
could feel it, feel the flesh coming together, the cells
reforming, feel the flickers of sensation as the cut sealed
itself without any assistance from him. In a heartbeat it was
gone, as thoroughly as though it had never been. Just as the
Sith inflicted wound through his chest had been.
"Force," Qui-Gon whispered, the knife dropping from his
nerveless hand.
"It's real," MacLeod assured him. "This is what you are now."
Trembling, Qui-Gon wiped the blood away. Nothing about his
wrist felt at all different than it would have several minutes
before.
"Force," he repeated again, stunned. There was nothing else he
could think of to say.
MacLeod took the knife from him, setting it on the low table.
"You'll get used to it," he said.
Sitting up, Methos stretched, a careless motion of flung out
arms and muscle. "Eventually," he added with a grin, then rose
to his feet to leave the room.
Qui-Gon blinked, swallowed, then blinked again. Regarding
MacLeod, he sighed. "There's more, isn't there?"
"Yes," Duncan admitted. "But we don't need to cover it all
right this instant if you need time."
Time... time to consider, to meditate, to try to reconcile the
stranger his body had abruptly become. Qui-Gon shivered, hands
clenching. "That might be for the best," he agreed. Standing,
he looked helplessly at the blood on his hands. "I'll... I'll
be in my room."
"Fine," MacLeod agreed. "Think on it, Master Qui-Gon. We'll
speak more tomorrow."
Qui-Gon nodded, distractedly, and left.
Obi-Wan stood in the room until everyone had left. He had not
moved or uttered a word, since Qui-Gon had last silenced him.
He needed to go outside, needed the connection to the living
force to help him make sense of everything.
He wandered around outside until he found a tree that reminded
him of in the temple gardens. On impulse, he climbed up into
the branches of the tree and sat there, he could always think
when he was up in a tree as a child, maybe it would help him
now.
/Qui-Gon is immortal. He would never die. Wouldn't grow
older from now on, if he was to believe what MacLeod said. He
should believe MacLeod, Yoda sent them here because he knew
him. Qui-Gon believed him. Qui-Gon would never die. I will grow
old, I will die, Qui-Gon won't./
/Now there's no chance that he'd want ... he wouldn't want
someone who's going to grow old and die. All the hopes he had
were destroyed when the Sith's saber slid through his flesh,
the hopes that came back when Qui-Gon began breathing again
were gone. He could never want me now. At least I know he won't
die, except for one way./
He sat in the tree for hours, losing all track of time. The sky
grew dark but he didn't notice, not until he heard Qui-Gon's
voice in his head. "Padawan, you should get some sleep."
Obi-Wan quickly tightened his shields so there was as little
chance that Qui-Gon would not see what he had been thinking. He
climbed down from the tree and headed for the house. When he
arrived, he nodded to his host, headed straight for his room
and lay awake half the night before finally drifting into a
restless sleep.
While he was sleeping Obi-Wan had nightmares about Qui-Gon
rejecting him. Qui-Gon taking Anakin as his Padawan learner
instead, and telling the Council it would be best just to send
him back to Agri-Corps. He saw Qui-Gon falling beneath the
Sith's lightstaff, but this time the blow severed the head from
Qui-Gon's body. This time he wouldn't awaken.
Obi-Wan awoke with a start. It was early morning and he decided
to get out of bed now, instead of tossing and turning for
another hour or so. He got dressed in his workout attire, and
left his room planning on doing his morning workout, then
working on his lightsaber after breakfast.
He stepped out of his room quietly so not to wake the others.
As he headed to the front entrance he noticed the door to
Qui-Gon's room was slightly open. He reached out to close the
door, but instead opened it.
/It would not hurt to check on him./ Obi-Wan tip-toed into the
room. Qui-Gon was sprawled across the bed as he slept, his
sheets laying about his feet. He was half naked wearing only a
pair of shorts. His brown hair lay across the pillow, the
silver flecks barely noticeable.
/Force, he's beautiful./ Obi-Wan stood there staring at him,
memorizing the sight. He was about to leave when he saw Qui-Gon
shiver. He silently walked to the bed and picked up the sheets
at Qui-Gon's feet. He covered Qui-Gon with the sheets and stood
there watching his face as he slept. He knelt down, mesmerized
by the way the dawn light was playing on Qui-Gon's face - on
his lips.
Obi-Wan leaned closer - and then he realized what he was about
to do. Quietly, but quickly, he walked out of the room,
shutting the door firmly behind him. He took a deep breath to
collect himself and then went to make breakfast.
He was halfway done with breakfast when MacLeod appeared and
asked "Is there enough for me?"
"Yes, though if your friend is going to join us, I will have to
make a bit more."
"No, he won't be up until noon at the earliest." replied
Duncan.
Obi-Wan continued cooking, while Duncan set the table. When he
noticed that MacLeod was only setting it for two and he stated,
"Master Qui-Gon will be down shortly, you might want to add
another setting."
Just as breakfast was done and being served, Qui-Gon joined
them.
So began a silent breakfast, everyone lost in his own world.
Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon trying to cope with Qui-Gon's immortality,
and Duncan MacLeod trying to figure out how best to explain
"the game" to the Jedi Master.
Pushing some food around his plate, Duncan watched the Jedi
Master. Qui-Gon appeared calm, almost serene, as he ate, but
there was a fine line drawn between his brow and though he had
thanked Obi-Wan for making breakfast, it had been in a very
automatic voice. Duncan was willing to place odds that, asked
later, the Jedi would be unable to remember what he had eaten.
"Qui-Gon," he said at last, putting down his own fork. The Jedi
Master looked up briefly, acknowledging him. "Have you thought
over what we spoke of last night?"
Qui-Gon paused, with his fork in the air, then slowly laid it
back down. "If you mean, have I had a chance to think over and
accept what you told me," he said quietly, meeting MacLeod's
eyes, "the answer is no. Have I had a chance to think on it?
Yes. But I am not comfortable with it."
MacLeod pulled forth a somewhat tired smile. "Well, I'm not
going to ask for a miracle. It will take some time." He paused,
then shrugged slightly. "You have the time, now."
Obi-Wan flinched, then rose, grabbing his plate and retreating
from the table to clean it with quite a bit of rough
clattering. Qui-Gon glanced at his Padawan, the line on his
brow growing longer. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion
elsewhere?" he suggested, pushing his own plate away.
"Of course," MacLeod agreed mildly. He gathered up the plates
automatically, carrying them over to where Obi-Wan was
cleaning. The young man scowled at him, lips tight as he took
the utensils from MacLeod and added them to his pile.
MacLeod sighed. It was hardest not for a new immortal but for
those closest to them. He tried to give the young man a
reassuring look, but Obi-Wan would not meet his eyes and the
immortal had to turn away, going back to the waiting Qui-Gon.
The other man's eyes were troubled, watching his Padawan.
Shifting his gaze to MacLeod, he jerked his head slightly,
indicating the door. The immortal nodded, leading the way back
to the room they had talked in the night before.
Qui-Gon seated himself stiffly in a chair, waiting for MacLeod
to take the other before speaking. "You have more to tell me
about all of this?"
MacLeod took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Yes," he
admitted. "You need to know about the Game."
The Jedi Master's expression spoke entire volumes. His tone was
dry, but there was an edge to it. "What about this would
qualify as a 'game'?"
Duncan had to smile, appreciating the man's attempt at humor in
the face of what he was learning. "None of it," he admitted.
"It's just what we call it. There are rules, and we 'play' by
them."
Qui-Gon's eyebrows climbed slightly. "Rules? For immortality?"
"Rules for the interaction of immortals together," MacLeod
clarified. He waited for the Jedi's reluctant nod before
continuing. "Do you recall the sensation you felt when Methos
and I entered the garden at the Temple?"
"That feeling will tell you when another immortal is
approaching you," he told the Jedi. "Pay attention to it,
always. Even if you know who it is. You're safest if you're on
guard when you feel it, regardless."
Qui-Gon's expression darkened. "Which implies that other
immortals are a threat," he pointed out gruffly.
"And you'd be right," MacLeod agreed. Qui-Gon's expression
hardened another notch, the set of his lips tight and grim.
Raising his hand, Duncan traced a line across his own throat.
"The goal of the Game is simple - there can be only one."
Methos woke up abnormally early, uncomfortable with the thought
of the Jedi immortal and his apprentice in the house. He turned
over one last time, feeling the lingering warmth where
MacLeod's body had been laying during the night.
Climbing out of bed he quickly threw on a comfortable pair of
black slacks and a light green shirt. Sitting on the edge of
the bed he then pulled on his boots and headed out towards the
kitchen.
As he walked into the room, he saw Obi-Wan sitting at the
table, holding his head in his hands. His body taut with
stresses what little expression evident on his face was one of
anguish and sorrow.
The young man composed himself quickly when he realized that
Methos was there. He sat up straight in his chair, his
chameleon eyes were the color of a stormy sea.
Methos walked over to the table and grabbed a ripe jar'don
fruit the size of his fist from the fruit-basket on the
counter. The orange and blue fruit was a known delicacy
throughout the Republic. He then walked over to the cold crate
in the room, and pulled out the last beer that he had carried
off the ship day before.
Methos opened the bottle and drank some of it down, not too
much as it would have to last until he got the crates off the
Dawson. He then bit into the jar'don fruit, chewing it slowly
to savor the delicious juices.
Through the walls he could hear Duncan and Qui-Gon talking.
Turning to the boy seated at the table he said, "If you're not
doing anything I could use your help to unload the Dawson."
Obi-Wan stood up shrugging and said "I can work on my
lightsaber later. I'd be glad to help," in a toneless voice.
"Lets go then," said Methos and he led the way out the backdoor
to the storage shed. Powering up a repulsorlift cart he pushed
it towards the small landing dock where the Dawson was
residing.
The walk towards the hanger took only a few minutes, but the
silence made it seem much longer. The look on Obi-Wan's face
made the immortal feel sorry for him. A war began inside his
mind, one part of him wanted to help get that look off of the
boy's face, the other part of him didn't want to become
involved. "Damn boyscout's influence," he mumbled under his
breath.
When they reached the ship, they began unloading the crates, or
rather Obi-Wan unloaded them onto the repulsorlift cart using
the force, while Methos leaned against the ship and watched.
As he watched the young Jedi carefully stacked his crates on
the cart, the war in Methos' mind continued. Finally, he was
able to resolve it. He would help the young man, but in helping
him he'd see if he could crack that stoic Jedi veneer. And he
knew just how to do it too.
"So," he began, casually, as the Jedi secured the last crate.
"I imagine this is quite a shock to you. Have you spoken with
your Master about it?"
Obi-Wan stiffened, shoulders tight, expression shuttered. "I
thought you were supposed to talk to him. Isn't that why we're
here?" There was a bitter bite to the young man's tone, a note
Methos made mark of.
"Me?" the immortal returned. "Hardly. I'm no teacher. Leave
that to Macleod." Pushing himself up, he took the handle of the
cart, putting his weight into it's slow glide as he walked.
Obi-Wan's face was set, lips pressed thin, but he fell into
step beside Methos all the same.
"You should talk to him," Methos suggested mildly, as though he
remarked on nothing more than the morning weather around them.
"He's not going to have an easy time of it." He knew he had
scored a point when Obi-Wan's shoulders tightened another
notch, the young man strung bow tight, arms crossed almost
defensively over his chest.
"Of course," Methos continued, glancing sidelong at the Jedi,
"I don't imagine you are either. You were with him when he
died, weren't you?"
The immortal thought he could hear the Jedi's teeth grinding,
his jaw was set so tensely. "I killed the Sith who struck him."
There was pride in the words and not an insignificant amount of
tightly reigned anger. Methos nodded slightly.
"A Sith? Well, that's a complicated way to die your first
time." Methos let them walk a little farther in silence, then
prodded again. "You don't really believe in immortality, do
you?"
"It happened," Obi-Wan snapped sharply. "Whether I believe in
it or not won't change that. And since it did, I have to
believe it."
"Smart boy," Methos approved. "So... if you can't change it,
what are you going to do about it?"
The Jedi glared at him, sidelong, anger flashing in his eyes.
"What am I supposed to do about it? There's nothing that can be
done, is there?"
"Not in the sense you mean," Methos replied. "There's nothing
that can be done to reverse it. And even if we could... what
then? He'd be dead. Do you want that?"
Shocked, Obi-Wan turned to look at him fully, eyes wide. "Dead?
No, of course not! I... when he..." The Jedi broke off, turning
away.
Methos smiled to himself, though he was careful not to let the
expression touch his face. "Then why are you angry that he's
immortal?"
"I'm not angry!" Obi-Wan protested, his cheeks flushed. "I..."
he paused, glaring at the immortal. "Why are you doing this?"
Methos shook his head slightly. "I'm not doing anything," he
denied smoothly.
Obi-Wan eyed him, obviously unconvinced, but at last looked
away again. "What do you think I should do?" he asked stiffly.
"You could start," Methos drawled, "by cutting out that."
Obi-Wan frowned. "What?"
"That," Methos replied. Drawing himself up, he tensed,
mimicking the Jedi's taut posture. "Do you really think that's
going to help him any?"
The flush was high on Obi-Wan's cheeks. "What of it? I'm no
part of this. Whatever I do or don't do isn't going to make any
difference."
"Isn't it? You're his Padawan, last I heard," Methos shot back.
"That makes you a part of it, more than I am, more than
MacLeod. We're just here to teach him what he needs to know -
you've been with him for years. Which counts for more?"
Obi-Wan said nothing and Methos pressed the advantage. "Do you
really think it's helping him for you to be wound up like a
spring? You haven't spoken a word to him beyond 'yes Master'
and 'no Master'. It'd take a blind man to see you're not angry.
What do you think that's doing to him, now, when he needs your
support?"
The Jedi glared, eyes narrowed. "What support of mine does he
need? He's immortal, or so you keep telling us."
"Immortal in body. That doesn't make him impervious here,"
Methos tapped a finger against his forehead, "or here," and
tapped his finger above his heart. "He's your Master. You're
supposed to be close. Is there anyone else he should turn to?"
Obi-Wan looked away, not meeting the older man's eyes. "What
should I do?" he muttered.
"What I said," Methos returned. "Stop shutting him out. Stop
shutting yourself out! You Jedi wouldn't know an honest emotion
if it bit you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Obi-Wan snapped, turning back
to face the immortal.
"It means," Methos drawled, "that you're some of the most
repressed people in the galaxy. You all have this serene calm
about you, part of your 'Jedi mystique'. Not one of you have
the sense to actually live." He snorted. "Immortality is
wasted on a Jedi. None of you live life. You just exist in it."
Stung, Obi-Wan stiffened, pausing in mid-stride. Methos
continued to nonchalantly walk, slowing only slightly as he
waited for the younger man to begin moving again. He could feel
the Jedi's eyes on him, a little stunned, and counted it a
point in cracking the Obi-Wan's facade.
Obi-Wan caught up to him after a few steps, dropping into place
beside him once more. The younger man kept his gaze down, a
line creasing his brow, teeth biting slightly at his lower lip.
He didn't seem inclined to say anything and Methos let him mull
in his silence for a time. The Jedi wordlessly helped him
situate the cart and began unloading the beer.
Bluntness seemed the only way to get through to the man. "Have
you ever told him what you feel? No, erase that... have you
ever told yourself what you feel?"
Obi-Wan stiffened again, then very deliberately dropped the
crate he was carrying ungently on top of the stack of others.
Methos winced as he heard the clank of the glass inside. "What
business is it of yours?" the Jedi snapped.
"None," Methos agreed, shouldering the Jedi out of the way as
he carefully placed his own crate with the others. "None at
all. But you might try asking it of yourself, some day." He
glanced, sidelong, at the younger man. "Sooner, rather than
later, if you want to keep him," he added beneath his breath.
Obi-Wan glared, his mouth set in a thin line. Whirling, he
snatched up another crate, lifting it easily. "If you break
that," Methos said pleasantly, "I will personally wring your
neck."
The Jedi spared him an angry glance, but set the crate down
gently nonetheless. Methos had to admit, the younger man had a
certain attractiveness to him, eyes flashing as he shook back
the tail of his braid. "I don't know why Master Yoda sent us to
you," he snapped. "We don't need you."
"Don't be foolish," Methos snapped back. "There's young and
then there's stupid - I'll forgive you one but not the other.
Your Master needs to know the rules, the same as any other.
After that, it's up to the both of you."
For a moment, Methos wondered if the younger man would actually
be fool enough to assault him. Obi-Wan spun away from him,
after a pause, continuing their task with rough speed. "It's
nothing to you."
"I already said it wasn't," Methos replied, leaning back
against the repulsorcart.
"Then why are you doing this?" the Jedi demanded.
Methos shrugged slightly. "To see if there's a person under
those damn Jedi robes of yours. To see if, somewhere under all
of that 'yes Master' 'no Master' training there's a man who's
willing to take the risk of living or not."
"Not all of us live the way you do," Obi-Wan hissed.
"The Jedi order..."
"Is noble and righteous and selfless and everything good,"
Methos finished smoothly. "Of course, there is no anger, is
there?" he asked innocently, watching the younger man's
thunderous expression. "No strong emotion... no passion..."
"So we should all be hedonistic meddlers like you?" the Jedi
shot back.
"Oh, you don't want to be like me," Methos assured him, a small
humorless smile tugging at his lips. "But you might try being
human occasionally."
"I am human," Obi-Wan returned coldly. "My life is my own. I
see nothing wrong with it."
"No?" Methos turned suddenly, leaning forward to confront the
younger man, their faces only inches apart. "Then think on
this, boy. You only live once. Everyone does. But... his
life is going, luck willing, to continue for a very long time.
Yours won't. You won't have this chance forever. Are you
going to just throw it away? Bury it under that Jedi calm until
all chances are gone and you've lost it?"
He knew he had scored when the Jedi's face blanched pale, eyes
wide. Obi-Wan jerked back, arms wrapped tight around himself.
Methos let him go, watching the blue eyes cloud over, a shiver
slipped through the younger man's form.
The boy was probably going to hate him, Methos mused, but it
just might be worth it. It was certainly more entertainment
then he'd had in some time.
Obi-Wan drew a slow breath, letting it out, then drew another.
Methos sighed, wondering if the younger man was going to
meditate away all of the work the immortal had put into his
current state. But when the Jedi looked up it was not with calm
serenity but shaken vulnerability in his eyes. Oh, there was
still anger there as well, all of it directed straight at
Methos. "You're cold," Obi-Wan told him levelly. "Are all of
you like this? So... careless of life?" He swallowed. "Will...
will he be like this?"
Methos shook his head. "Jedi, I am older than you can imagine.
I'm not careless of life. But seen from my years... there's
little left that's not a joke." He met the younger man's eyes.
"I'm not joking about this, though. Life is full of chances,
but some of them you don't get often, no matter how long you
live. And if you think you can throw away something like what
you could have with him... and get it back later, or find it
again with..."
"You have no right," Obi-Wan snarled. "And you have no
idea what you're talking about."
"Maybe," Methos replied. "And maybe it's long past time someone
said it to you."
The Jedi hesitated, seeming on the verge of snapping back
again, then slowly looked away. "He doesn't need me," he said
at last, bitterly.
"So you'll take that choice from him?" the immortal asked.
"Make the decision for both of you?"
"There isn't any decision," Obi-Wan insisted, but some of the
force had left his voice.
There was, Methos decided with a sigh, only so much pushing
that could be done. "Have it your way, then," he said. "If
you're frightened..."
"Stop it," Obi-Wan said, almost mildly. Blue eyes glared at
him. "I know what you're doing. Stop it." The Jedi looked away,
raking a hand through his short cropped hair. He took another
deep breath. "I was terrified of loosing him," he admitted
quietly. "And now... I wonder if I have already. He's..."
"Immortal," Methos finished. "But that doesn't change who he
is." He paused, then dug deeper. "The only thing it changes is
how much more time he will have to regret the chances you both
never take."
Obi-Wan flinched again. His reply was long moments in coming,
and Methos could almost feel the younger man crumbling. When
the Jedi looked back, the anger had faded before the almost
helplessly confused look in his eyes. "What would you do?" he
asked at last, the words whispered as though the soft volume
might somehow make their transgression on his championed way of
life less noticeable.
Methos shook his head, smiling. "This isn't about what I would
do," he said. "It's about what you're going to do."
The younger man looked lost enough that Methos took pity on
him. "Here," he offered, leaning forward to sling a
companionable arm around the Jedi's shoulders, feeling the
other man tense and edge slightly away. "Let me give you some
advice..."
It was mid-afternoon by the time Methos finished giving him
advice. Now to go out and confront his Master, but first he had
to find him. Obi-Wan began searching the house and found a note
on the table where they had eaten breakfast house before. It
read:
Went out to do some sparring in the clearing. -MacLeod
He placed the note back on the table so Methos would be able to
find it when he finally came inside. Obi-Wan walked out the
door, shutting it quietly behind him. He walked, letting the
force guide him, and after a couple of minutes heard the hum
and clashing of vibrosabers. As he approached the clearing he
saw an amazing sight before him.
Qui-Gon and Duncan were sparring in a frenzied pace. Attacking,
blocking and parrying almost as if they were performing a
two-person kata that they had practiced together for years.
From the edge of the clearing Obi-Wan could see that both his
Master's and Duncan's clothing were torn and bloody, yet both
were fighting as if they had no injuries. The quick paced fight
came to an abrupt halt. Qui-Gon managed to cut Duncan across
the chest - a debilitating blow. Qui-Gon froze as he finished
the strike, Duncan's vibrosaber was at his neck.
Duncan pulled his blade away from Qui-Gon's neck and brought
the humming blade up in a salute. "You're an excellent
swordsman Master Jinn," he said while shutting off his
vibrosaber, "but when it your fighting an immortal, you are
going to need to change your tactics a bit."
Qui-Gon neatly returned the salute with the vibrosaber in his
hands then turned it off. "I see that I do. Perhaps we can do
this again tomorrow."
The two men walked to a duffel bag lying near them in the
clearing. Duncan pulled out two towels from the bag and tossed
one to Qui-Gon, using the other to wipe some of the sweat off
of his face. Duncan placed the vibrosabers in the bag and then
both men turned and began walking to the house. When they were
halfway to the path they finally noticed Obi-Wan standing at
the edge of the clearing watching them.
Obi-Wan gave a respectful bow to Qui-Gon when he approached and
then walked with them back to the house. Qui-Gon noticed a
change in Obi-Wan as they walked. He appeared a bit calmer and
less remote then he had been in the last couple of days. Though
his Padawan was still shielding himself heavily, he seemed more
at peace with the events that had transpired recently.
When they arrived at the house they found Methos sprawled back
in a chair sipping from a half-empty bottle of beer. He took
one look at Duncan and Qui-Gon's appearance and said, "If you
get blood on anything in here, you're the one cleaning it up."
Duncan grinned at the comment. "I'm going to take a shower," he
stated, while giving Methos a look, which asked, "Would you
like to join me?" He then left the room, duffel bag in hand,
and headed towards the master bedroom. Methos quickly followed,
abandoning his beer.
Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon into his room. Qui-Gon pulled the torn
and bloody tunic off of himself. While his master's sight was
blocked, Obi-Wan studied Qui-Gon's chest. He tore his gaze away
and said in calm voice. "I'm ready to continue our talk,
Master."
"All right Padawan, let me take a shower first," stated Qui-Gon
as he walked into the bathroom.
The pulsing waves of the sonic shower were quickly removing all
signs of his workout. It was a good sign that Obi-Wan wanted to
talk, but his cooperation wouldn't do much good if he fled from
the discussion. Turning off the shower, he quickly got dressed
and left the bathroom.
He found Obi-Wan sitting on the chair that had been by the
window, but now had been moved so it was facing the bed.
Sitting down on the bed, Qui-Gon remarked, "Padawan, before we
leave this room we will resolve all the issues, you brought up
on the ship. There can be no running away from anything, for
either of us."
"I understand Master. I think I am... no, I am ready to do
this," said Obi-Wan calmly. There are so many things to say. I
don't know where to start."
"Let the force guide you then Obi-Wan," replied Qui-Gon leaned
forward and squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder reassuringly. When
Obi-Wan nodded, he let go and sat back again.
"I want to start by apologizing. I shouldn't have questioned
you, about the promise you had me give you. With the time I've
had to think about it, I know you must have believed that it
was the only way for him to be trained. But what I don't
understand is why, why you thought I was ready for the
responsibility. Why not have me tell Master Yoda, or Master
Windu that you wanted one of them to train him?" Obi-Wan
questioned.
"Because Obi-Wan, despite whatever blow to your self-confidence
these events have given you, I believe, I still believe that if
I had to pick one person to train Anakin, then the best choice
is you. I told you that I that you would become a great Knight.
I also believe you would be an even better Master," stated
Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan blushed as he heard the words of praise. "That's all
then, I spoke with Methos about your immortality. It's going to
take a while to get use to it, but basically you are the same
person, just with a longer life-span," he said as he stood up
and started to leave the room.
He was stopped however by Qui-Gon, who had grabbed his arm and
showed no sign of letting go. " There is still something we
haven't resolved. You agreed to the terms of this conversation,
Obi-Wan. I don't know what it is, but I sense there is
something you are not telling me," he responded with a slight
tone of disappointment in his voice.
Obi-Wan turned, if he took a step forward he would be touching
Qui-Gon, pressed against his body. He hadn't wanted to discuss
this now, but he had agreed to Qui-Gon's terms. "It's just..."
he began and then stopped, trying to find a way to talk about
how he felt for Qui-Gon, and why Qui-Gon's death had hurt so
much.
Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan tried to find the words. Minutes
passed and so Qui-Gon finally prompted, "What? What is it that
you find so hard to talk about?"
Obi-Wan didn't respond. He still couldn't find the words to
describe what he felt, so he decided to heed Methos' advice.
"This," he said quietly as he stepped forward.
He brought his arms up, grabbed Qui-Gon's waist with one hand
and pulled his head down closer with the other. Tilting his
head back he pressed his lips against Qui-Gon's. His tongue
reached out and parted Qui-Gon's lips, reaching into his mouth
to explore. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, yet was
still far too short. When they finally separated. Obi-Wan began
speaking before Qui-Gon recovered say a thing.
"When you died. I lost everything I had ever hoped for. I
regretted never telling you. Then, suddenly, you were alive.
And I had a second chance. Then to find out you... you are
immortal. I thought I would never have a chance. I didn't think
you'd want someone who would grow old, who wasn't like you."
Taking a breath Obi-Wan continued, "Methos helped me see that
my attitude these past few days, has been pushing you away more
then your immortality."
"Obi-Wan, I had no idea you felt this way..." Qui-Gon began.
"But you don't feel the same way I do, right," Obi-Wan replied
resigned.
"No. As I was saying," Qui-Gon continued, giving his Padawan a
reminder about interrupting. "I had no idea how you felt, but
I'd like to do it again sometime, my love," With that Qui-Gon
grabbed Obi-Wan, pulled both of them onto the bed and proceeded
to kiss him again.
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