The shuttle doors opened and a blast of warm air
rushed inward, blending with the residue of coldness inside. The
lone man took an instinctive deep breath, the freshness a welcome
respite from the stale, recycled air of his long journey. The subtle
fragrance in the wind, all planets seemed to possess their own
distinctive scent, plucked at a long-ago memory in the man's mind.
Taking another deep breath of the bittersweet air, he finally
stepped out of the hold and Obi-Wan set foot on Bandomeer for the
first time in over a decade.
The landing pad was alive with activity as workers from several
species went about their duties. No one greeted him with more than a
quick smile and no one stopped him as he walked through the maze of
cargo and ships to the foreman's office. A few quick questions and
he located the speeder he had been assigned. Only a bare half-hour
since his landing he was on his way, sailing through the landscape.
The Agri-Corps had had a resounding success here, the plains
bristled with vegetation of all kinds, some native to the planet and
some not, but all healthy. He slowed near a small copse of trees,
then stopped, hopping lightly out of the speeder and walking to the
trees. Golden fruit hung heavily from the branches and he plucked
one free, weighed it in his hand for a long moment as he closed his
eyes against another memory.
'What am I doing here,' he wondered.
He'd been allowed some leave time, time to mourn and recover from
his loss before he began training the child who was awaiting him
eagerly at the Academy, the title 'Master' on the child's lips, just
waiting to be spoken. Waiting the two weeks before Jedi Knight
Obi-Wan Kenobi would finally begin his training.
Two weeks.
They had given him all of two standard weeks to find a way to put
aside the loss of his Master and to get on with life. And he had
come to Bandomeer. Three days on the freighter to get here and it
would take three more to get back.
Eleven days left, and he didn't even know how to begin.
How could he begin? There was nothing in the galaxy large enough to
fill the void within him. It hadn't been just one loss but an
infinite number ripped from his hands when he had watched the life
seep from those azure eyes before they closed for the last time. My
teacher, my father, friend, love. Everything. Qui-Gon had been a
world of men, not just one, and Obi-Wan wondered if he could ever
recover.
He opened his eyes to find that he had crushed the small yellow
fruit, juice dripped from his hand and ran down his arm.
Unthinkingly, Obi-Wan raised his hand to his mouth and licked a
trickle of juice away. The taste opened yet another floodgate of
memory in his mind and Obi-Wan sank to his knees, dropping the
pulped fruit.
Si Treemba. When had he last seen the Arconan? He couldn't even
remember. Distance and time had come between them and they had
drifted apart, as friends sometimes do. Another loss, but this one
had crept up on him so quietly that he had been unaware of it until
it had pounced and then it was too late. Arconans were not a
long-lived species, not as long as humans at any rate and Si Treemba
had passed on, surrounded by the loving comfort of his people and
whatever peace they had been able to offer him.
The only peace Qui-Gon had received was from Obi-Wan's sweaty
embrace and his promise, given to the Jedi Master as he was dying on
the filthy floor of a melting pit, surrounded by the reek of
darkness.
He hadn't wept when Qui-Gon died. At the time it had been all he
could do to continue breathing, hitching in great gulps of air
despite the pleas of his heart and lungs that he simply cease and
lie there in death with his Master. Now the pressure of those unshed
tears seemed to be always behind his eyes, waiting for a moment of
weakness to break through.
Obi-Wan simply leaned forward, rested his forehead on the cool
grass, arms clenched tightly around his midsection as if he could
physically hold the pain within, swathing it under layer after layer
of Force enhanced control. He focused his mind away, extended his
senses outward to center on anything else, anything but the roiling
agony within. On the heat of the sun on his back, warming him
through his robes. On a bead of sweat that formed at the nape of his
neck, felt it tickle downward until it was absorbed in his collar.
Just a little longer and he'd have it under control, a few more deep
breaths and he would regain his composure and get up, just a little
longer. One tear seeped past his tightly closed eyes, one salty drop
of liquid escaped, a chink in the dam. Others followed, slipping
through his control, widening the crack until it burst free, the
walls he'd built inside crumbled and it was all he could do not to
scream his pain to the skies.
Instead he just collapsed, all his strength leaving him as he fell
over on his side, curled in a fetal position of complete withdrawal.
He pressed his face tightly against his knees and gave himself over
to the agony that was boiling out of him faster than he could hope
contain it. Every time he'd start to calm another sob would well
inside him, almost becoming a strangled scream when it reached his
throat.
How was it the universe could still go on as if nothing had
happened? It should collapse into nothingness at this...this
obscenity. That one so full of all that was beautiful should fall to
such ugliness.
He had no concept of time, no idea as to how long he was lying
there, racked with sobs, but when the tears finally tapered off,
becoming instead hoarse gasps for air and he raised his reddened
eyes the shadows were long and the suns were dipping below the
horizon.
He rolled over onto his back, limp as a wrung out dish cloth and
felt...cleansed. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in
a long gust. Definitely much better. He'd been holding his anguish
inside him the past weeks, long enough that there had been a danger
of it becoming a permanent part of him. No wonder the Council had
sent him on a leave of absence.
He took another deep breath and released it. The tightness inside
him had eased somewhat; Qui-Gon would have scolded him for letting
it eat at him like that.
Qui-Gon.
He shut his eyes briefly but that was all, the pain he was expecting
at the thought of his master, his love, was no more than a twinge.
He sat up then and again took in his surroundings.
It had all started here, a reluctant Jedi Master taking on an
overeager Padawan. Obi-Wan smiled at the memory, they had bonded so
quickly, despite Qui-Gon's hesitance, and that bond had only
deepened over the years that passed.
Qui-Gon had told him once, teasingly, that he had known even then
that they were destined, and that was why he had really resisted
taking Obi-Wan as his Padawan for so long. Obi-Wan had replied
tartly it was a shame that -he- hadn't known, and that if he had he
wouldn't have pushed so hard for the older Jedi to accept him.
Qui-Gon's response had been to pull his protesting apprentice into
his arms and kiss him silent.
Unbidden, the memory of their first kiss rose in his mind. It had
been just after a particularly dangerous mission, they had been
supposed to help negotiate peace between warring clans on Tar'heel
and instead had nearly been killed themselves as war broke out.
They had been forced to flee their mission a failure and on their
shuttle after Obi-Wan had left the pilot to his work and sought out
his Master. He'd found the older man in their quarters sitting
cross-legged in apparent mediation but Obi-Wan knew otherwise,
because he could feel it himself. They were still so close to the
planet, the people dying in droves and they could both feel the
backlash of those deaths through the Force.
Obi-Wan had sunk to his knees before his Master, his friend, had
sent a tendril of comfort through their link. Qui-Gon had opened his
eyes, reached out and touched a bruise that had been forming on Obi-Wan's
cheek, proof of their difficult exit. And when Qui-Gon had leaned
forward and gently pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's, it had seemed so
natural, so -right- that words had seemed unnecessary and indeed had
remained unspoken until the next morning.
Other memories came, of other missions, some successful, some not.
Memories of them lying together on sleep couches, beds, pallets
across the galaxy, entwined in passion, in sleep, in companionship.
Lying together after making love, still touching, neither wanting to
move and relinquish their closeness. Lying together when one or the
other of them was injured or sick, soothing each other with the heat
and comfort of their bodies.
Qui-Gon defending their union to the Council, trying to take all the
blame upon himself despite Obi-Wan's protests. Qui-Gon fighting back
laughter at some comment or image the younger man mentally sent when
they were forced to attend boring diplomatic functions, struggling
to turn a stern look to his precocious apprentice and often failing.
Qui-Gon, who, for all his outward calm at the funeral pyre, had been
filled with loss and despair when a Jedi Master who had been a close
friend had died and that night had sought comfort in his Padawan's
embrace, the brief role reversal easily accepted by them both.
The times Qui-Gon had practiced techniques shirtless, Obi-Wan had
been fascinated more than once by the play of muscles under that
lovely skin. Qui-Gon. Passionate and compassionate, shunning the
straight and narrow path of the code and instead forging his own
trail, one that Obi-Wan had followed with him, as best he could.
And he would continue to do so.
The suns had set completely and the grove of trees was cast in
shadow. Obi-Wan stood, stretching muscles that were cramped from
being in the same position so long. There was no death, there was
only the Force, he told himself, had been told time and time again
by countless others, including Qui-Gon.
And he now had only ten more days to convince himself it was true.
With a final stretch Obi-Wan walked over to his speeder, climbed in,
and left, heading towards the city compound where he was staying.
He didn't look back.
-finis-
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