Warning 1: Mush alert! If you hate romantic, sentimental,
heartbreakers: flee! If you love such stuff: this if for you!
Enjoy!
Warning 2: post-TPM, what never happened, happened.
Feedback: Please!
Thanks: to Caroline K. Carbis for proofreading
Disclaimer: As always the Jedi belong to George Lucas. The rest
is ours.
Notes: This story was first published in the zine "Living
Force". And there is an illustration going with it, uploaded in
the file section:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/master_apprentice/files/ComingBack.jpg
The night fell over Coruscant, bringing with it a sudden,
unexpected coldness in its never sleeping winds. The breeze
found its way to Obi-Wan's skin, tunneling up his wide sleeves,
bathing him in its icy embrace. He shivered, but coldness
didn't really bother him; it had become strangely welcome over
the last years, a suitable and even soothing match for the cold
he felt inside.
His clammy fingers closed loosely around the metal rail of the
outside walkway as he stared blankly into the sky to the lights
of uncountable shuttles lightening the darkness. The city never
slept, and even in this, Coruscant brought him comfort, for
sleep was nothing that found him easily anymore.
The wind surging up the mountain-high facade of the Temple was
tousling his hair, working it loose, and single strands escaped
his pony-tail to whisper like spiderwebs over his cheeks.
Mildly annoyed, Obi-Wan removed the leather clip and let the
hair fall freely over his shoulders--and found a small,
unexpected pleasure in the way the fresh air danced through its
normally tightly-bound neatness.
He stroked tenderly over the hair-clip's carved surface, while
his eyes still followed unseeingly the endless strings of
moving lights above him. He had no need to look at it to see
what his fingers mapped for him. The engraved sixteenth
rune--warning of arrogance and vanity and pride in one's outer
appearance--speaking to his fingertips of a man who liked his
long hair too much and saw that as a fault.
He felt over the smooth leather--always cared for like a
treasure--knowing how it had darkened slightly over the years
as life had left its mark on it--as it had on its second owner.
No, not owner. He had only borrowed it. It was not his. Always
Qui-Gon's.
A wave of loneliness and loss assailed him, but it was all
right. After all, this was what he was here for: to seek and
relive memories.
Obi-Wan turned away from the city and followed the broad
walkway, his steps measured and devoid of the boundless energy
that had always made his walk more a prowling cat's sauntering
than a serene Jedi student's stride. He was acutely aware of
its lack and knew how sapphire eyes would look at him now. With
disapproval. With sadness. As well they could not see him. Or
could they?
Obi-Wan had always found comfort in the knowledge that Jedi
were in a way immortal and that their spirits would continue to
live and exist somewhere inside the Force after their physical
bodies died. It was said that Jedi who became one with the
Force could be seen by people they had a very strong connection
to--and what had he had with his master if not a strong
connection? Boundless it had seemed. Growing into something
immeasurably beautiful. It had felt to him as if they had been
on the edge of mingling their souls.
In his life he had known disappointment and inexpressible
pain, but the cruelest, the most hurtful of all had been the
shattering of the long nurtured hope that his master would
appear to him.
How desperately he had waited for that moment! That moment
that never came. He had begged, cried and demanded, asked and
ordered, yelled and pleaded, waited patiently--and finally
stopped believing.
Obi-Wan again paused and leaned against the weather-worried
wall. The cold wind whipped at him, suddenly so much stronger
now, pulling at him as if trying to haul him over the edge of
the world. The storm tugged at his physical self as much as the
great wind of sadness tore through his inner self. It was
almost more than he could decently bear. Plastered to the wall
he felt crippled, by his own thoughts, by the emptiness in his
soul that throbbed with phantom pain.
That emptiness told him more than anything else that he was
completely and utterly alone. Alone in the world, alone in his
mind.
Yet, he had never stopped talking to Qui-Gon. Sometimes
tenderly, sometimes with the sad voice of a man who had lost
his soul for good. In dreams, in flashes, maybe visions he
could still find him. Only there, did time seem to stop,
sometimes to regress, and he felt himself going backwards,
beyond years, back to the short time they had together--
Yes, he had known love. And during those most precious nights,
when he allowed himself to seek comfort in his own touch, he
still whispered Qui-Gon's name into the darkness. Afterwards,
he sometimes disappeared in dreams so painfully realistic that
he awakened with Qui-Gon's name on his lips and a shudder in
his very heart, instinctively reaching to his right for the
reassuring warmth of his beloved-- touching nothingness
instead.
Obi-Wan pressed his hands over his eyes, shutting out the
painful visions his thoughts had conjured. Shuddering once, the
young Jedi released the most searing of his feelings into the
Force, then straightened to his full height and turned away
from the wall to face the brunt of the wind. But as if it had
realized its chance had gone by, the storm died down as
suddenly as it had begun.
When he reached the softly lit meditation garden he was
relieved to find it empty.
Slowly he followed the small path that wound through tall
grass before it vanished under the deep hanging branches of a
small wild grove of trees. His outstretched hands whispered
over the tops of the grasses before he ducked under the large,
fingered leaves and stepped into the deep shadows under the
trees. The footpath led to a large stone hidden among
night-blooming bushes and strongly scented flowers that
murmured greetings to him like long absent friends.
Even after three years, small traces of Qui-Gon still lingered
here in the Force. This had been his place where he had used to
come to seek solitude, solace and strength. And the place where
they had shared their first gentle kiss--and for a second it
was like yesterday.
Obi-Wan felt his heart foundering in a surge of pain and joy
as he laid trembling hands on the rock, closed his eyes and
allowed himself to slip deeply into meditation, opening his
thoughts as wide as he could, inviting the faintest familiar
signature of Qui-Gon that would get fainter the more he
concentrated on it.
Deeply he breathed, allowed himself to drift with his
thoughts, his shields down, all his senses exposed and alive
with the sharpness and the sensitivity of a soul laid bare.
Just to have one precious moment where he would be able to feel
him again.
Qui-Gon...can you hear me?
Master Yoda had once told him--that one time when the pain had
become too great to bear alone and he had sought out the one
being who would understand the magnitude of his loss--that
Qui-Gon would hear him, would be with him.
But the old Jedi had never cared to tell him why he was so
sure about it. Had not answered when Obi-Wan demanded to know
if Qui-Gon spoke with him. But still it had given him hope in
the passing months. And especially on this one day in the
course of the coruscantian year, he had always hoped the most--
regardless of where the Council had deemed to send him and
Anakin, he managed to come back for this one day. To this one
place in the whole galaxy where he still could feel Qui-Gon,
even when it was only in the memory of stones and trees.
If you are with me, my Master, why don't you come back for
me? Why aren't you here when I need you so much?
This was their special night, their anniversary. The night
when they had finally crossed the invisible line between
affectionate friendship and love--barely a week before they had
been sent to Naboo where Qui-Gon had died in his arms, his last
words exacting a promise from him he would regret giving as
long as he existed. Taking on a role he could not fill--but
then he would have done everything for him--would have died for
him without second thought. But his master had asked him to
live.
And so he did. Did his best to live, to train an unwanted
padawan, to be the teacher and friend his master had been to
him, but knowing it was not enough, never enough. His padawan
needed not only a teacher, he needed a parent, needed
desperately a heart to call his own, someone who loved him more
than anyone else. And he needed this to be he, Obi-Wan
Kenobi.
But Obi-Wan had no heart to give.
It had burned to ashes along with its mate on a pyre on small,
unimportant Naboo, the sudden hub of destiny's wheel, forever
synonym for pain and unbearable loneliness.
Obi-Wan let out a quivering breath and bent forward until his
forehead rested between his hands, the cold stone a brand on
his feverish skin.
Will we at least meet in the Force someday? Will you wait
for me there? Or am I just forgotten?
"Obi-Wan. Padawan..."
Pronounced in his most special and sacred tone, served for his
ears only.
Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open. His heart stopped. This couldn't
be true! He must be hallucinating.
Qui-Gon was standing right beside him, his figure surrounded
by blue glittering light.
"Master?!--Master, oh Master!" He half-moaned, half-sobbed
through trembling lips as he fell to his knees and soft yet
terrible, protracted sobs coming from the depths of his soul
flowed out of him.
"You thought I would leave you? You thought I would just
forget?"
That voice, oh, how he had missed that deep, caressing
voice--
"It's been three years, three years!" Weeping helplessly he
reached out for Qui-Gon, then shrank back in horror as his hand
glided through the blue shimmering body.
"I... I can't touch you--"
Qui-Gon gazed down at him with infinite tenderness in his eyes
as he sadly shook his head. "No. I am one with the Force now. I
can't physically return to the land of the living. This
appearance is only possible because the Force has decided it is
necessary for the future," he explained softly while stepping a
little bit closer.
"I miss you, my Obi-Wan," he half whispered in his raw intense
voice, snaring the young Jedi's eyes to his own, sapphire
irises shining as though lit from the inside. "You don't know
how much I miss you. I have wanted to come back to you. All the
time. The Force is a lonely place when you leave your heart
behind in the world of the living."
"Then take me with you, Qui-Gon, please, let me..."
"No, no, Obi-Wan, no!" The older man sat down on his haunches,
bringing himself eye to eye with his padawan.
But Obi-Wan was beyond any rational thought now.
His eyes ran hungrily over the beloved features, took in all
the details that made this man Qui-Gon Jinn: his crooked nose,
his neat beard, his kissable mouth, his long flowing hair, his
unforgettable eyes.
"Obi-Wan, snap out of it, you must listen to me." It was pure
instinct, the obedience to his teacher's voice and Obi-Wan's
eyes snapped into focus, his mind taking in the words with
their actual meaning, not just listening to their beautiful
sound.
"You must listen, Padawan. And very carefully. You have to
continue to train Anakin. Remember the prophecy!"
Qui-Gon forestalled Obi-Wan's rising protest with his upheld
hands. "I said, listen to me. He is the Chosen One, he will be
the Jedi's champion in the war to come-- but only, Obi-Wan, if
you can hold him in the Light. If not, darkness will descend
over all we have known. You remember your own premonitions? The
ones I didn't want to listen to?"
Qui-Gon lowered his head as if in shame. "You are suffering
now for my foolishness. But there is still time to end it here,
with us being the only victims. If not, if Anakin turns, the
suffering for all will be immeasurable."
Qui-Gon looked up again and met the younger man's eyes. The
sadness was back. "I was only allowed to return because the
Force decided it is absolutely necessary now." He stretched out
a hand as if to grip Obi-Wan's shoulder but aborted the gesture
and pulled his hand back before it could connect with living
flesh.
Obi-Wan's heart constricted anew, his eyes on the long
fingers, wanting so much to feel them, the yearning a flaming
agony.
His master's urgent voice drew his eyes to the speaker's
again. "The future lies in your hands. There are things you
cannot change, but you will be needed in the times that lie
ahead. You must open yourself to Anakin."
Obi-Wan shook his head miserably. "I cannot. I've tried. I
really have tried, Master. This thing in here," and he thumped
his fist on his own chest," it feels too much or too little. I
have tried. I'm frozen up inside. Master, forgive me--"
"--No, Obi-Wan. I am to blame for the state you're in."
"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan laughed with an edge of hysteria, "of
course you are. You owned my heart. My soul. When you
died you took them with you--"
"I know, Obi-Wan. I know. You feel the absence of our bond.
You feel as if you've lost me." Qui-Gon leaned in, his nose
almost touching Obi-Wan's and there was a tingle on the tip of
his own nose, an itch... "But you did not lose me. I'm with you
always. Every day, every hour I have been with you. You must
know this, believe this. You are never alone, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon
implored.
Obi-Wan looked into the eyes so near to his, almost feeling
the warmth of breath, almost feeling the heat of life radiating
from that shimmering skin, and definitely, very definitely
feeling his aura--and he believed. He believed!
Without thought he leaned closer, tipped his face sideways,
touched those sculptured lips...and felt that tingle again,
that brushing of Force-auras.
Something ghosted across his own lips, almost like true
breath, and really, in his mind there was no difference
anymore. The nerves of his skin reacted as if touched and for
the mind that just meant touch. Touch of velvet lips on his. A
touch of a wet point of tongue running along the cleft in his
chin. The wetness of breath, fanning along his cheeks, over his
eyes, causing lids to close in reflex. A soft kiss onto the
crease between his eyes.
"I am with you, beloved," Qui-Gon whispered, each word a puff
of air against his eyes.
Obi-Wan's eyes sprang open again and sought the gaze of the
other, but all he saw was a blue blur, over him, surrounding
him.
He wanted to touch Qui-Gon, too, desperately; his fingers
trembled in need to connect, to feel, but his whole body shook
with tiny tremors, utterly in shock, no nerve responding
anymore to the contradicting orders of his gibbering
mind.
Then the blue moved and he found himself prisoner again of the
softest eyes imaginable.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan breathed almost inaudible, mesmerized by
the tenderness he found in the other's gaze, by the love that
flooded his heart and his mind. He felt how the empty spots in
his soul filled again, how his heart healed and stopped its
constant dull aching.
Unable to convey his overwhelming feelings, Obi-Wan pressed
both his hands over his racing heart. "I believe," he rasped. A
smile crawled out of his heart, stretching his lips and he saw
the answer bloom on Qui-Gon's face, saw the eyes sparkle back
at him with utter joy and contentment.
"Then all will be well, my love," the older Jedi said, bowing
his head once before Obi-Wan. "You make me proud, my
Padawan."
Obi-Wan bowed low from his waist. "I will make you proud, my
Master," he intoned seriously. A touch on the side of his face
made him look up again. He knew what would happen now and
through all the joy he felt panic rising once more.
"Shhh," Qui-Gon hushed. "All will be well. Even if you do not
see me again before the Force calls you to it, remember, I'll
be right here, beside you. And I do hear you," Qui-Gon's finger
tingled against the tip of his padawan's nose, "so don't forget
to talk to me once in a while."
Obi-Wan could not help but laugh. "I will." His smile became
wistful. "Before you go, will you--will you kiss me
again?"
As an answer Qui-Gon leaned down and their lips met.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and just felt, forgetting all thought
and losing himself in the soft, tender brush of the other's
mouth, the loving caress in his mind.
And then Qui-Gon was gone.
Even with all that he knew now, Obi-Wan could not help himself
but toppled over onto the grass and sobbed once, his heart
breaking anew.
But inside a dozen breaths the pain dulled and ebbed away as
if being just an old memory, a pain remembered, not lived in
the now. Deep calmness settled in the bottom of his chest, long
missed, telling him there were nothing to agonize over, never
was, never would be again.
Bemused Obi-Wan sat up and leaned against the large stone, its
coldness like a comforting hand on his forehead, helping him to
calm his mind along with his heart, bringing him the awareness
of the rock's presence in the Force, like a low hum, just
saying: I am here. And further on all the living things
surrounding him, a deep steady pulse. And in a slightly
different rhythm, easy to distinguish, now, amazingly easy now
to find, to feel, a lingering Force-aura, his lingering
Force aura. Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan bathed for a while longer in the rhythms of this
special place, than he stood up and gathered his heavy robe
tightly around him. One last touch to the stone, a good-bye,
and he was off out of the grove and again in the gloom of
Coruscant's never-night.
As he left the sheltered garden he found he had all but
forgotten about the wind. It was instantly there to gather him
into its embrace as he stepped out onto the walkway and Obi-Wan
tugged his hood up and buried himself deeper into his robe,
prepared to ward off the expected cold.
His thoughts were silent as he walked, his steps long and
even, his breath deep and calm, his heartbeat steady and
slow.
All was peace within him.
Obi-Wan marveled at this, as he had not known this kind of
calm and inner stillness since the day he had had to step out
into the cold world alone.
But he was not alone anymore. He touched the tiny light in his
mind, felt its warmth, felt him and Obi-Wan could do
nothing but laugh out loud in sudden relief, as if he had just
awakened from a long, long sleep.
He threw his head back as he laughed and the wind caught in
his cowl and dragged it from his head, leaving him again
exposed to the breeze, his longish hair whipping around him
like a living thing. Obi-Wan halted and leaned against the rail
and the warm upcurrents caught his robe from the underside,
flinging it away from his body like a banner.
But he didn't care, just stood there, letting the wind play
with his clothes.
Lifting his hands he stroked the strands of unbound hair off
his face and gathered them together in his nape, holding the
tail with one hand as he got the old hair-clip out of his belt
pocket. He snapped it into place, giving his hair into
Qui-Gon's care as he had given him his soul again.
He could sense every cell in his body throb with life,
perceived the steady warmth in the center of his mind, so
serene, so peaceful, so endlessly Qui-Gon; he felt the
connection with the Force strong and true and he realized what
kind of a half-life he had led. But no longer. He had a promise
to keep.
"I will make you proud, Master," he vowed once more and he
felt the Force around him hum comfortingly as if agreeing that,
indeed, he would.
The End
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