#luvewan fanfic
Note
promptsssssss!!!
13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️
Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.
—
The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.
Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.
“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”
Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.
“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.
“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”
Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.
He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.
He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.
“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”
Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.
Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.
The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.
Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.
Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.
From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.
“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”
He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.
“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.
Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.
“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.
Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.
And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”
“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”
He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?
Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”
“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”
Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“
“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”
Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.
Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.
In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.
Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”
“Nuh, Evvi.”
“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”
Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.
My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.
“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”
Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.
Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”
“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”
They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”
Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”
“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”
“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”
“Oh yes. That was it.”
Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.
Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.
“Nearly done,” Evvi said.
Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”
“M-Master…”
“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”
“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”
Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”
For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”
Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”
“It’s out, Master Jedi.”
“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”
His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.
—
Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.
They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.
But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.
He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.
Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.
—
When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.
Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.
“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.
Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.
—
Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.
Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.
Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.
He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.
Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.
“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.
Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”
Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”
Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”
“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”
“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”
“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”
“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.
Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”
—
They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.
#star wars#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#obi-wan#qui-gon#writing prompts#obi wan and qui gon#obi wan whump#luvewan fanfic
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WIP Wednesday
Qui-Gon had never been to the custodial wing of the Jedi Temple in his life, until a few months ago. He passed by cleaning droids and a few docents, who nodded politely at him. The halls were just as serene as the rest of the Temple, but plain. There were no graceful statues or bronzium busts of legendary Masters here. It smelled faintly like disinfectant and window cleaner.
He walked to the end of the corridor and came to a door without a nameplate. His hand ghosted over the chime, hesitating. Coward, he thought to himself.
The door hissed open before he could tap the chime. Obi-Wan stood before him, a beige blanket draped over his shoulders. He did not speak.
Qui-Gon bowed. He never knew how formal to be with his former (former? current? estranged?) apprentice, how wide the berth needed to be for Obi-Wan’s comfort. “Good morning, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan looked him over, then turned and limped stiffly back into the small quarters.
It was as much an invitation as he would get. Qui-Gon followed him inside. The room (no, it was a closet) was spare; Obi-Wan sat on the cot pushed into the corner and glanced at the other item of furniture, a plasteel chair Qui-Gon had taken from custodial storage.
Qui-Gon drew his robes around him and sat on the hard seat. The air was stifling, yet Obi-Wan clasped the blanket around him as if warding off a chill. Qui-Gon ignored the brief pain in his chest. “Did you sleep well?”
Obi-Wan stared at him. The shadows under his eyes suggested his insomnia had not improved.
“I see,” Qui-Gon murmured. The tension was as uncomfortable as the heat--both made it difficult to breathe. He felt sweat run down his brow. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Docent M’trill tells me you haven’t touched your last several meals. She brings them specifically for you from the food hall, yet you do not eat.”
There was a shade of faint rebuke in his voice. Once, Obi-Wan would have dropped his eyes in shame. He would have given his Master an earnest apology.
Now he just looked at Qui-Gon blankly.
Healer Vokara Che had counseled Qui-Gon about anger in this situation. He was not angry, not at Obi-Wan. He couldn’t be angry at Obi-Wan. He was just frustrated. “How much longer will you live like this, Obi-Wan?” It was not the correct or compassionate thing to say. Regret immediately prickled behind his temples, yet he could not stop himself. He leaned forward, as if moving closer would make Obi-Wan hear him and react. “You do not belong here.”
A flicker moved across Obi-Wan’s face. “I know I don’t.”
Qui-Gon rubbed his face, quelling his irritation. “That’s not what I meant, I--you do not belong up here, alone. You belong in your real quarters. Your real bed. It’s all waiting for you.” He struggled to reconcile the boy who had fought so hard to claim those quarters, that life as Qui-Gon’s Padawan, with this listless and unmoved person sitting on the cot. Sudden pain clenched around his heart, not just for that lost boy, but for himself. “I have been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. There is nothing I want more than to have you back.”
Obi-Wan pulled the blanket tighter around his narrow shoulders. His hair was long grown out of the regulation Padawan haircut, loose and uncombed. His braid was gone. He had not told Qui-Gon what happened to it. Qui-Gon could not remember all the markers from the braid--what colors had they been? “I don’t know what you want.” Obi-Wan replied, his voice hollow, accent muddled. Only the distrust was clear.
Qui-Gon bowed his head.
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WIP Wednesday
Dosing him with the draught is difficult; Obi-Wan gags and shivers and turns his face away. He is far less coherent than the night before, reaching for Qui-Gon with wordless moans, too sick to be concerned with Jedi decorum.
Ooni must hear his struggles because she comes in quickly, wiping her small, brown hands on her skirts. “Poor thing. It’s terrible going down. Here,” she sits and gently guides Obi-Wan’s head onto her lap, holding him still.
Obi-Wan mumbles and groans, trying to wrench himself free, but he is weak. Ooni leans forward and shushes him softly, rocking a little. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Be brave and it will help. Shhh, shhh, you’ll be alright, darling.”
Qui-Gon looks away and swallows. For a moment the room blurs. He blinks and refocuses, bringing the small cup to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Here, drink,” he instructs his apprentice hoarsely.
Obi-Wan surprises him by obeying, taking the full dose, only a little sliding out of the corners of his mouth. Ooni dabs the wet spots with her apron. His head slumps in her lap as sleep claims him.
His hand is clutching Qui-Gon’s hand. Qui-Gon rubs his thumb along the fine knuckles and soft skin.
Ooni is studying Qui-Gon with her dark eyes.
“I must go back,” he tells her, as if he is confessing a terrible sin. “Right now, in fact.”
“Isn’t it sad, Master Jedi? The universe never stops, even when our young ones need us.” She responds knowingly. “Even when they aren’t children anymore, it hurts the heart just the same.” She straightens out Obi-Wan’s braid, touching the colored bands with vague curiosity.
Qui-Gon feels Obi-Wan’s hand twitch where it lays in Qui-Gon’s palm. He gives it a gentle squeeze.
“My eldest is thirty-two standard,” Ooni offers. “How old is yours?”
“Twenty. But he is not mine.”
It sounds cruel. He does not have time to make her understand. Qui-Gon rests Obi-Wan’s hand on the bed and stands, readying himself for the bitterly cold trip ahead. He is zipping up his outermost layer when Ooni speaks again.
“He asked only for you, Master Jedi,” she smiles at him. “Let that be a comfort to you, while you are away.”
—a prompt-fill-in-progress
#star wars#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#obi-wan#qui-gon#obi wan and qui gon#hurt/comfort#prompts#luvewan fanfic
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SUMMARY: For years, Qui-Gon has wanted nothing more than to have his lost apprentice, Obi-Wan, returned to him. When he finally gets his wish, he finds the reality is much harder than he could have imagined. Or, Obi-Wan lives in a custodial closet in the Temple while Qui-Gon broods. Gen. Drama, Angst, Mental Trauma.
-
Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked up at Qui-Gon, gray eyes gleaming in the dim light. “But I know you didn’t want me. He said things that would confuse me, told me stories that I could not prove or disprove in my heart. When he told me you didn’t want me as your apprentice, I felt the truth of it. Not only in my heart, but in the Force itself.”
The vibroblade twisted between his ribs. There it was, one of the deepest regrets of Qui-Gon’s life, still living and breathing and causing pain for the person he was meant to protect. He had often thought, especially after Obi-Wan’s disappearance, that his mistakes would be his legacy. “I…thought I didn’t want to train you. I was afraid, Obi-Wan. Not of you, but of what I might do to you. I had misstepped so badly with—“ His throat dried out before he could say the name. “I didn’t want to fail you. You were such a bright and innocent child.”
And I’ve failed you many times over.
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Some Amount of Sentences Sunday
True to his word, Qui-Gon had not spoken to him about the ill-fated Nevarro mission. In fact, Qui-Gon had rarely spoken to Obi-Wan at all, and when he did it was usually a clipped order, like “rest your eyes” or “don’t strain yourself”. His Master mostly sat in the chair beside Obi-Wan’s bed, arms crossed. He often meditated; Obi-Wan had yet to see him sleep but then, Obi-Wan slept a good deal of the time. Qui-Gon probably slept when his Padawan did.
He had not kept track of the days. Obi-Wan thought maybe it had been four or five since he regained consciousness. Daylight shone throughout the window blinds, and he had just woken from an uncomfortable nap. His hand ghosted over the right side of his lower belly. He felt the bandages under the medical gown, and his questing touch stirred a dull pain there.
“What is it?”
Qui-Gon emerged from his meditation and leaned forward instantly.
Obi-Wan looked at his Master, surprised. He had grown accustomed to the quiet, inexplicable tension of the room, and Qui-Gon’s near-constant silence. He didn’t understand the worried currents rippling in the Force.
“N-Nothing,” Obi-Wan replied clumsily. He could see in Qui-Gon’s keen blue eyes that it wouldn’t be enough of an explanation. “I’m only sore, Master.”
Qui-Gon stared at him for so long Obi-Wan had the childish urge to sink under the covers and hide his face. Then Qui-Gon rose from his chair and strode purposefully out of the room.
Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. He kept watching the door, panting, unbidden moisture welling in his eyes. The pain in his head was acute, that was the only reason. Well, and also his belly, and his shoulder. He didn’t know what he had done to cause this distance between himself and his Master. He breathed harder, which made everything hurt worse. By the time Qui-Gon returned, two healers in tow, Obi-Wan was weeping and clutching at his bandaged abdomen.
He could see Qui-Gon, just beyond the healers’ shoulders. The man’s face was hard, his mouth a deep, straight line.
And then he remembered. Remembered what he had done on Nevarro. Looking into his Master’s eyes, Obi-Wan saw the cost of his mistakes. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” he told Qui-Gon through his chattering teeth.
He was returned to the white tube, only now he could not stay still, his legs writhing and his feet rubbing together in the woven socks.
“This will feel warm and a bit strange,” a soft voice explained, followed by a prick in his arm. Heat spread from the top of his head down the rest of his body, making him feel nauseous again, and like he would lose control of his bladder.
He closed his eyes against the unbearable tightness of the tube, a perfect white coffin. The tube whirred and clicked and droned. The Force, however, was merciful, and Obi-Wan went with it, far away.
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Six Sentence Sunday
Through the darkness, his Master spoke: “You have made great improvements since you arrived here. This has tested you as much as anything out in the field.”
Obi-Wan nodded, despite the fact he didn’t agree. His injuries were his own fault, so how could they be a proper test of anything? He started to respond when Qui-Gon continued.
“It’s tested me as well. I’ve found myself cursing my lack of healing finesse. It seems…unnatural, that I should not be able to save you in every sort of circumstance, that I must stand aside and allow others to do what is my responsibility.”
The lump formed in Obi-Wan’s throat just as Qui-Gon handed him his water glass. Though he was desperately thirsty, he didn’t try to drink. He had disobeyed his Master and then made him feel powerless. And how much longer would Qui-Gon be stuck here with him, doing nothing but taking care of him and staring at the white walls?
-H/C prompt fic that wants to keep going and going
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EEEE can you do 11?? Obi wan and qui gon JA time period? :D
Thank you very much for the prompt, @general-flame ! ❤️ I realized after writing this blurb that you specified Jedi Apprentice and this actually follows new canon/Master and Apprentice. I hope you enjoy it anyway but feel free to send send another JA prompt and I’ll try to be more observant! 😬
11. “I need you to breathe for me. Slowly – in and out.”
—
(then)
When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the bleary afternoon sky above him, sullen and swollen with dark clouds. He immediately vomited, and his confused head thought it must be rain water, this tepid liquid rushing up from his guts.
He tried to take a deep breath, but made a clumsy gulping sound instead. Warm pressure settled on the nape of his neck, and he felt the Force, suffused with healing, yet strained.
Panicked.
He tried to wrench away from the touch. His fingers dug into the grainy earth. He tasted the grain—no, sand—in the back of his throat. It was going to fill his lungs, but he wretched again. He could not stop, overtaken by great, shuddering heaves, the Force more shadowed than the sky, dark with fear.
I should not be afraid to die.
I am Jedi.
Hands beat on his back, while another clutched his arm, keeping him upright, although he was very tired and his vision had dissolved along the edges. A vice squeezed his lungs, the hand squeezed his arm. Voices drifted down from the clouds.
“Obi-Wan—“
“Steady now. Breathe, kid.”
Two voices; he didn’t recognize the second. He tried to obey it anyway, letting the order override his body’s twitchy, mindless reactions. Obi-Wan spit out wet sand, but didn’t vomit, which allowed a thin stream of air through. Then more. The sharp pinch in his chest eased. He wanted to suck in the clean, sweet air, glut himself on it. He sputtered instead, and the hand moved along his spine, wide palm stroking up and down.
“Easy,” A different voice, lower, closer. “Focus on calming your heart.”
Master. He was suddenly shaking, even though it was the opposite of what Qui-Gon wanted, and there was a skittering flurry in the Force, and he realized his heart was pounding as if it wanted to burst out of him. He was going to puke, ohhh—-
“Qui-Gon, he’s—“
“I know.”
Despite the cacophony in his ears, Obi-Wan could hear the disappointment there. He blinked up, forcing his eyes to center on the vague face-shape hovering above him. Water dripped onto him, this time from the ends of Qui-Gon’s long hair. He was looking at Obi-Wan.
Blue eyes striated with grey. Like the sea.
Obi-Wan coughed and shivered. “What,” he started to say, but was unconscious before he could finish the question.
What do you know?
—-
(now)
“N-N…”
“I need you to breathe for me.”
Obi-Wan choked and sputtered.
“Slowly-in and out,” Qui-Gon braced his Padawan’s shoulders in an attempt to ground him. Though instinctively he wanted to draw the trembling young man closer, Qui-Gon remained at the edge of the sofa, giving Obi-Wan space. In the chaos of the moment, it was difficult to remember the healer’s suggestions, but he was getting better at it.
Unfortunately, Qui-Gon had already been provided several opportunities to practice.
The Force energy surrounding Obi-Wan pulsed with rapid, unfiltered emotion—confusion, panic, fear. Qui-Gon felt the echoes of terror, as clearly as he could still hear the desperate gasps from that day, weeks ago. When the attacks came, Obi-Wan sounded like he was struggling for air.
Drowning.
“Do you want the lights on?” Qui-Gon asked softly.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were screwed shut; after a few seconds he nodded.
Qui-Gon waved on a glow lamp. The common area of his quarters looked aggressively normal, unaffected, their tea cups from earlier in the evening still sitting on the end table. It was only the blanket, thrown onto the floor, that spoke of any unease.
He picked it up, shook it out and draped it over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “That’s it. You’re doing better. In and out.”
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked at Qui-Gon. His chest was still fluttering spastically, but as the minutes passed, he took more and more control, until at last the wild-bright panic faded. Obi-Wan sagged against the sofa.
“Well done.” He held Obi-Wan’s gaze, something that had been hard to do, as of late. He wondered when he would be able to look in those gray eyes again without remembering how they had widened with terror, silently pleading for help. Qui-Gon had failed his Padawan that day.
And now Obi-Wan was staying with him, rather than in the apprentice dorms. Obi-Wan had insisted it was unnecessary, embarrassed by Qui-Gon’s offer. But he was not sleeping, and Qui-Gon could not sleep either, imagining his Padawan in the throes of these ruthless attacks, alone.
He had made enough mistakes with this young man. He would do what he could to fix it.
Obi-Wan was glancing around the room, as if discreetly scanning for danger.
Qui-Gon understood that it was a side effect of the anxiety and trauma. As the soul healer explained it, Obi-Wan’s close call triggered primitive responses in his brain. His body currently perceived threats even in safe places, like his Master’s rooms in the Temple.
Or perhaps he is right to sense danger here, a niggling voice in the back of his head pointed out. After all, you did not protect him. Far from it.
He gingerly squeezed Obi-Wan’s knee. “I’ll get you some water.”
Obi-Wan blinked. In the weak amber light, he looked younger than his twenty years. “Alright. Thanks.”
Qui-Gon glanced at the chrono when he walked into the small kitchen. Close to daybreak. So it would be another early morning. He returned with a glass of cool water.
Obi-Wan took it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and sipped. His hair was flattened on one side of his head, the other half standing in riotous spikes. Qui-Gon had begun to believe the regulation Padawan cut in human males existed to endear them to their teachers. He smiled and smoothed the sweaty hair with his palm.
He noticed Obi-Wan’s mouth tense and his eyes dropped to the glass in his hands.
“You have no reason to be ashamed, young one.”
Obi-Wan snorted. “No, of course not. All senior apprentices lose their minds and have to sleep on their Master’s couch.”
It was meant partially in jest, but the words twisted Qui-Gon’s heart nonetheless. He set the glass on the table and leaned back on the sofa, crossing his arms over his sleep robe. “You have not lost your mind. Healer Che said this is not uncommon after a traumatic event.”
“Nor is it common.” Obi-Wan started to fiddle with his braid, then caught himself. “I don’t see how it’s especially traumatic,” he confessed, looking at Qui-Gon with bloodshot eyes. “I just need to learn how to swim.”
—
They were Temple-bound while Obi-Wan recovered. Unlike a physical injury, the parameters for mental recovery were ill-defined. Obi-Wan went to appointments with a soul healer; he rarely spoke of what was discussed in the sessions. Qui-Gon got the impression that his Padawan firmly wanted to move on, and was both irritated and discouraged by the attacks.
Qui-Gon wanted to move on too, of course. He and Obi-Wan had only just begun to mend their relationship after the fateful mission to Pijal, and Qui-Gon’s near-acceptance of the Council seat.
He sat on a bench in a less-traveled area of the Gardens. His eyes burned from interrupted sleep. The episodes were becoming much more frequent, nearly every night. He worried for Obi-Wan, who was currently sitting in a lecture, undoubtedly exhausted.
If he was a more experienced Master, would this all be easier? Over and over, he grappled with the idea that Obi-Wan needed someone like Mace, or even Yoda. The boy was so different from him. He never knew if he was providing Obi-Wan with the tools he needed to thrive, as a Jedi or as a person. Pijal had proved to Qui-Gon he could not give Obi-Wan up, nor were their problems insurmountable. He had returned to Coruscant with hope, and turned the Council’s offer down.
And then, on their very next mission following Pijal, Obi-Wan almost drowned.
Since then, Qui-Gon’s thoughts dwelled on a conversation he’d had with Obi-Wan, back when he still intended to join the Council.
“I’ve never taught you to swim, have I, Obi-Wan?”
“No, Master. But I know how—well, a little bit.”
“We’ll practice. Every Jedi should be able to swim like a Mon Calamari.” *
He could forgive some mistakes he had made as Obi-Wan’s mentor. Obi-Wan was his first Padawan, assigned to him by Master Yoda, and there were bound to be stumbling blocks. In this case, Qui-Gon had no excuse. For years, it had not occurred to him to ask Obi-Wan if he knew how to swim.
He had assumed, as with so much else in this relationship—assumed somewhere along the way, Obi-Wan had learned how to swim. He should have taken Obi-Wan to the Temple pools as soon as they returned from Pijal, as he had pledged to do.
Their lives were busy. He had forgotten.
He cleared his throat, looking out at the vibrant greenery. He remembered swimming with Master Dooku. Qui-Gon could swim, and swim well, before his first proper mission as a Padawan. Why had he let so many things slip with Obi-Wan? Admittedly, in the beginning, Qui-Gon had felt shades of resentment towards the boy, foisted upon him when he had not asked for such a sudden and complete change. Yet he had grown to care deeply for Obi-Wan, despite their differences. He thought he had done his best.
Pijal had opened his eyes. But not enough, or else he would have corrected the vital lapse in Obi-Wan’s skills as soon as he was made aware.
“We’ll practice.”
There were nightmares of his own, in which he was too late, and Obi-Wan did not…he refused to give the image life or dimension now, in the Gardens, amid other Jedi and the optimistic light of day. Yoda would tell him not to dwell on what-ifs. Certainly Qui-Gon had been reminded recently enough that dreams were easily misinterpreted.
He would bring up the swimming lesson with Obi-Wan, he decided. It was a start.
—
*dialogue excerpts taken from the novel Master and Apprentice by Claudia Gray
#star wars#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#obi-wan#master and apprentice#qui-gon and obi-wan fanfic#prompts#luvewan fanfic
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“people lie all the time.” gen or slash. Your choice
Thanks for the prompt, anon. This one felt very mysterious and was tricky until it suddenly fit. Here is the excerpt from the larger story these prompt fills inspired:
“I would not lie to you, Obi-Wan.”
“People lie all the time,” Obi-Wan replied. “I never know what to believe.”
The simple admission struck Qui-Gon like a vibroblade. He sensed they had come to a very delicate moment, but Obi-Wan had never spoken this much about his ordeal, and Qui-Gon could not let the opportunity pass him by.. “I cannot imagine what it was like for you, Obi-Wan. Nor can I convince you of what is true, or real. All I can say is that I have known you since you were a child. In many ways, I raised you and--”
“You didn’t want me, though. He...told me you didn’t want me.”
Unbidden, Qui-Gon saw Xanatos’s laughing, mocking face. He breathed in and out. “He told you things meant to hurt you and warp your view of the Jedi. And me.”
Obi-Wan slowly tucked his legs under him, still touching the blanket with something like reverence. “That’s what the healers say. But who are the healers? Perhaps they mean well. Or perhaps they are part of…”
Qui-Gon frowned. “Part of what?”
I really enjoyed working this one into the story. It ended up fitting very well and made a big impact. Thank you again! <3 I'm so excited whenever I get a prompt or ask. Story is here.
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SUMMARY: "Qui-Gon did not want to claim Obi-Wan like an animal. He could stave off those urges easily enough. It was the protective instincts that were overwhelming him, clouding his judgement, because keeping Obi-Wan safe was his sworn duty as a teacher and an alpha."Injured Padawan, Worried Master, but make it omegaverse.
He had not often considered his alpha identity; it hardly seemed important. Yet he knew in their current situation, the hormones he naturally gave off would comfort his Padawan. And himself, if he was being honest. But would he be doing a disservice to Obi-Wan, the level-headed young man he really was, and would be again, once he had recovered? Could they indulge aspects of their alpha and omega natures without irrevocably changing their future and becoming too reliant on one another?
He was woefully uncertain. Already he wanted to cradle Obi-Wan in his arms and hold him to his chest, kiss his fevered brow, keep him close. The alpha-wired part of his brain manufactured different threats that might endanger his omega Padawan, clamoring to shield Obi-Wan from anything and everything. He had dosed Obi-Wan with generic antibiotics and tried to purge the poison from his system with the Force. A Jedi’s immune system was hardy. He shuddered to think what would befall another victim of the darts, and sent his gratitude to the Force for its protection.
Qui-Gon gazed up at the sky. Pale blue gave way to burnished orange. Soon it would be dark.
Written for and inspired by @firondoiel <3 <3 <3 for the dialogue prompt fill “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of it.”
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Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn is conflicted. He has been offered a seat on the Jedi Council but if he accepts, it will mean severing ties with Obi-Wan Kenobi, his apprentice of six years. Despite their tumultuous partnership, he is not sure what to do. While on a mission to Pijal, Qui-Gon seeks out of the advice of his old friend and Dooku's first Padawan, Rael Aveross.
When he goes to Rael's quarters, he is shocked at what he finds there. An AU of a scene in Claudia Gray's novel, "Master and Apprentice". Explicit.
(This is a repost, edited and expanded, of a story I originally posted in April 2019 on a now-deleted ao3 account. Don’t impulsively delete your accounts, kids.)
#star wars#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#obi-wan and qui-gon#rael aveross#master and apprentice#master and apprentice au#obi-wan and qui-gon fanfic#luvewan fanfic
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Some recent fic links
Trying: During recovery from his devastating injuries on Naboo, Obi-Wan has trouble eating. Qui-Gon is worried and wants to help. Part 14 of the Recovery series.
Incapable: Qui-Gon is badly injured on a mission, but forbids Obi-Wan from leaving his side to get help. Obi-Wan is conflicted, caught between the duty to obey his Master and the need to save his life. (tumblr prompt)
Breathe: A brief look at the troubles Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan face after Qui-Gon turns down the Council seat and Obi-Wan suffers a near-death experience. (tumblr prompt)
A Particular Sort of Luck: Padawan Obi-Wan has a run-in with a rare creature that leaves him fighting for his life. Qui-Gon is Worried. (tumblr prompt)
Ask box is still open if you have any prompts: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, gen or slash or somewhere in between. ETA: Taking prompts from the hurt/comfort dialogue list or just a random prompt you’d like to see!
#star wars#obi-wan#qui-gon#obi-wan and qui-gon#luvewan fanfic#obi-wan fanfic#obi-wan and qui-gon fanfic
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H/c prompt #2: "I hate to see you hurt like this" - Obi-Whump 😁
Well, this one got away from me. Here it is in full on ao3 and here's a snippet:
The day falls apart. The pain in his leg is only a distant nuisance and though he is grateful to be spared, the numbness comes at the price of lucidity. Hours blur together. He wakes and notices his blankets have been changed, or there are fresh biscuits and fruit on the little table next to his bed. Normally this would be a distressing feeling, to lay inert and bleary while faceless people come and go, but Obi-Wan is too tired to care. While he is awake the doctor checks his leg and a thermometer is slipped between Obi-Wan’s lips; instinctively he bites down on the cool glass.
The name of the planet floats among the sludge in his brain. Somewhere very cold, hence the sharp air and layers of thick blankets. No droids, no monitors. Basic instruments like glass thermometers.
He searches his memory. Nothing.
He falls asleep again while someone (the doctor?) is speaking.
—
The chill seeps into his bones and he turns his head and groans, clutching for the blankets. He is wearing thermals under his sleep clothes but they are soaked through with sweat, which doesn’t make sense because he is shivering.
A hand settles on his forehead, steady and warm. Obi-Wan forces his eyes open.
“I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I was able.”
--
Thank you so much for the prompt! Ask box is always open!
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#15 for the writing prompts? Gen, please! :)
I always enjoy and appreciate your comments on my fic. I was so excited to see a prompt from you! 15: "Is it okay to hug you?". This is part of what became a larger story, so here is the passage with this specific prompt:
Qui-Gon moved closer, until he was standing right beside the bed. Obi-Wan jerked and reared back into the pillows, as though in surprise, or recoil. “It’s alright. I’m nervous too,” Qu-Gon said. Che had also gone over the mental impact of prolonged captivity with him, prior to granting him visitor status. Qui-Gon knew to be calm and announce intentions rather than make sudden moves with Obi-Wan. She mentioned stress disorders, anxiety, panic attacks.
He was struck again by the painful truth. He had no idea what Obi-Wan had endured, or what the future held.
He could only start here, at the beginning. Qui-Gon pulled up a chair and sat beside him. His heart felt unbearably soft and broken looking at this boy, this man. For years, he had imagined what it would be like to see Obi-Wan again. Everything felt fragile--if he made one wrong move, it would all shatter in front of him. “Is it alright if I hug you?” He asked, just as Che had instructed.
Obi-Wan stared at him. Even in the darkness, his eyes looked strained and bloodshot. His face had been shaved during his initial sedation but red fuzz had already crept back onto his jaw.
Qui-Gon tried to recall if Obi-Wan had started shaving yet, if he had ever seen him standing in their shared fresher with a razor before he disappeared on Teth. He couldn’t remember.
“Can I hug you?” He repeated, not sure if his question had penetrated Obi-Wan’s haze.
Obi-Wan continued staring, unblinking. His eyes watered.
Slowly, Qui-Gon leaned across the bed and embraced his Padawan. As soon as Obi-Wan’s head touched Qui-Gon’s chest, Qui-Gon let out a choked gasp, and pressed his lips to the mussed, auburn hair. “Obi-Wan…Padawan…I-I’m so sorry—“ A cold, sharp pain bloomed under his armpit. He was confused but ignored it, still cradling Obi-Wan to him.
Thank you so much! <3 Rest of the fic (part 1) is here.
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Oh there was a prompt list! Ignore my last ask, how about: JA Qui and Obi and 8?
Thank you so much for the prompt! 8: "If you don't tell me what happened, I can't help you!". This became part of a larger story, so here's the passage including your prompt:
He passed familiar benches and sitting stones, choosing instead to settle cross-legged in the grass. He had tried to bring Obi-Wan back here, when Qui-Gon was still blinded by the rush of optimism that came with having him home, at last. Obi-Wan had panicked and twisted away from Qui-Gon, pulling out a bush of rare velanies in the process, dirt smeared on his clothes and crusted in his fingernails. Qui-Gon had not attempted another visit to the Meditation Gardens with Obi-Wan.
He thought of the cramped room Obi-Wan preferred, windowless, with its thin mattress and durasteel sink.
He thought of the early fights, clasping Obi-Wan’s thin wrists and shouting in his face: “If you don’t tell me what happened, I can’t help you!”. He had never yelled at his Padawan that way before. The shame burned in him for days afterward.
It isn’t his fault. None of this is his fault. Qui-Gon laid his hands on his knees and dropped his head back, gazing up at the ceiling of domed glass. Clouds shifted in the grey sky beyond. Your expectations are not his obligation.
"Found" can be found here . Thank you for the prompt! These dialogue snippets really shaped where I went with the story and it was a lot of fun.
#okaynextcrisis#star wars#obi-wan#qui-gon#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#obi-wan and qui-gon#luvewan fanfic
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i wrote today
Qui-Gon sees Obi-Wan naked, as he has before, but this time it is different. He’s not sure why. And he’s not comfortable with it.
When he thinks of his Padawan, he does want a glimpse of creamy skin to be the first thing he sees.
Meditate. Meditate.
…….
Obi-Wan is sent on a long solo mission. He’s so close to Knighthood, after all.
The time apart has made Qui-Gon see how different Obi-Wan looks upon his return. Strong. Capable. He missed his apprentice—his voice, his company, the minute details of his face.
Freckle. Dimple. The smallest flesh-colored scar.
The night Obi-Wan comes home they sit together on the couch and Obi-Wan regales him with stories from this long mission. But he’s also exhausted, and when the conversation mellows, Obi-Wan falls asleep against Qui-Gon’s shoulder.
Obi-Wan wakes up the next morning and apologizes when he realizes he’s spent the night drooling on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Padawan. I was loath to disturb you when you were obviously tired.” But if he’s being honest with himself, he enjoyed the closeness too much. Obi-Wan laments what must have been an uncomfortable night for Qui-Gon (oh but it wasn’t at all, and that’s the problem) and says he surely needs a shower.
“I must reek. There wasn’t a shower on the transport. My poor Master.” He leans over and kisses Qui-Gon on the cheek before heading into the fresher.
Qui-Gon falls back on the couch. His face burns. It was a chaste kiss. Of course it was. What else could it be?
He spends the next few days trying not to think of the kiss, failing. He is trying to remember other times Obi-Wan has kissed him.
It’s just his luck that amidst his silent tussling, Obi-Wan asks him to spar, and when he enters the dojo Obi-Wan is already removing his tunic. It’s an intense spar. Obi-Wan has been harder to best lately, and soon they have crossed the entire dojo, matching blow for blow, sweat dripping from Qui-Gon’s brow and gleaming in rivulets along the hard lines of Obi-Wan’s chest.
Qui-Gon struggles. Obi-Wan is young and focused. Qui-Gon is neither of those things.
Obi-Wan notices the gap in his defenses, and then Qui-Gon is being knocked onto his back, Obi-Wan standing above him.
In too many ways, Qui-Gon feels like he’s losing.
And failing. Failing Obi-Wan. Looking at his own Padawan and seeing what he shouldn’t.
…….
Their next mission is difficult. Limited accommodations.
“I can take the floor,” Qui-Gon insists. “My old back would probably be better for it.”
But Obi-Wan refuses, of course. How many times have they shared a bed out of necessity? And Obi-Wan is an easy bedmate. He tends to find a position and remain there for the night, usually tucked on his side. Qui-Gon knows it’s at least partially because he himself is a large man, and Obi-Wan wants to give him space.
The planet is uncomfortably warm. Their tunics stuck to their skin during that day’s negotiations. So they peel down to their small clothes to sleep.
Still, Qui-Gon feels a chilled rush when Obi-Wan’s bare skin brushes his own.
*You foolish man. A leg against a leg.*
Obi-Wan’s brain will work a mission over again and again, taking hold of it like a puzzle, moving the pieces, even when he should be sleeping. This is why they’ve spent many nights of his apprenticeship laying awake, talking through details, theories, inevitably wandering off on philosophical tangents until Qui-Gon begs for mercy. This time, he wants to beg for mercy because Obi-Wan has kicked off his side of the thin blanket, and lays nearly nude, restless.
He remembers that kiss. Only a kiss on the cheek.
A chaste kiss, so what harm is there in returning the sentiment? Qui-Gon presses his lips softly to the worried space between Obi-Wan’s brows. “Obi-Wan.” Why do the syllables feel different in his mouth, more delicate, “Be at peace, my Padawan.” He whispers.
Obi-Wan’s eyes open in the dark. “How can I?”
Qui-Gon realizes he is hovering too close, and pulls back slightly. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “The Force,” he replies, because it is the only answer worth giving.
But Obi-Wan does not look at all appeased. “Has it taken this trouble from you? Do you sleep well, my Master?”
“Not at all,” Qui-Gon admits. He can hardly recognize his own husk of a voice.
“You could.”
Qui-Gon swallows carefully. He doesn’t move. “You cannot say more, Padawan. If you do, I won’t have the power in me to refuse you.”
Obi-Wan reaches up and cups the back of Qui-Gon’s head in his hand. The skin above his lip glistens with perspiration. “*More*.”
Qui-Gon‘s heart is beating too quickly to be measured. And then he meets Obi-Wan’s waiting mouth with his own. There is an initial hesitance, just an awkward half-moment before they sink together.
Obi-Wan’s hand remains on Qui-Gon’s head, his fingers gingerly curling through long, humid-damp hair. His shields are down. Everything emanating from him is Light and contentment.
Qui-Gon breaks the kiss long enough to say “You see? Powerless.”
The eyes watching him shift between grey and blue, love and fire. This is Obi-Wan.
He falls into the waiting embrace. It really is too warm, but he’s not in any kind of state to care. He needs Obi-Wan closer, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. He needs to feel the swell of the buttocks in his hands, not just a forbidden image.
Obi-Wan gasps into his mouth, obviously surprised. But soon he’s pressing back into the exploratory grasp.
“Beautiful,” Qui-Gon manages. Obi-Wan’s rear is firm but ample, and Qui-Gon traces its crease over the top of the thin sleep shorts.
The rest could be forgiven, albeit not forgotten, if he pulls away before that. He doesn’t. He can only go further, like they both want.
Obi-Wan lays his hand against Qui-Gon’s bearded cheek. “I never told anyone. I thought maybe it would go away with time. But it’s for you. If you want me—“
“Of course I want you.” Comes the instant assurance, “Little Gods, with my last moment, I would take you, if that was my only chance.”
Obi-Wan laughs, and Qui-Gon feels the gust of breath on his face. They have never been so close, felt each other this way. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to *that*.”
It won’t. No, Qui-Gon is already sitting back and pulling Obi-Wan onto his lap, to continue their kiss. Obi-Wan grinds himself against Qui-Gon. They are both fully hard.
TBC!
Thanks to @firondoiel and my sweet peeps at the Qui Obi Writing Discord for the inspiration and encouragement. Let’s see if I can write the rest!
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WIP Wednesday
She heard a soft cough and looked over her shoulder. Qui-Gon was sitting at the kitchen table. More precisely, hunched over it, elbows spread and hair hanging loose around his shoulders.
Between his fingers, smoke drifted from a rolled cigarette.
Tahl swallowed a bubble of surprised laughter. “I suppose I should’ve told you I was coming.”
Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair. “I always know when you’re coming,” he replied.
She let any other meanings of his words go unremarked upon. “Apparently. You even cleaned up for me.” She walked over and peered inside the tin sitting on the table. Tahl lifted a brow. “Master Jinn, what would the Council say?”
A smirk twitched the corner of his mouth. “If the Council didn’t say so much, I wouldn’t need them to begin with.”
Tahl laughed. “Too true. Well then, what would your Padawan say?”
She had spoken without thought, and watched the mirth dissipate from his eyes, faster than the smoke in the air. Standing closer, she noticed the creases in his tunics and the ragged, overgrown edges of his beard.
Tahl’s chest tightened. A mostly empty liquor bottle sat on the table beside a glass. “Qui-Gon, I...” she said quietly. The question would hang over them if she didn’t just come out with it. “How is he?”
Qui-Gon took a long drag, then dropped the joint into the glass. He rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s in the bedroom just now. Sleeping.”
“Oh.” Tahl said. “So he’s staying here?”
“He tried a night in his dorm. It was...obvious that he required other arrangements.”
She nodded, feeling awkward, arms crossed over her chest in the near-dark. “I suppose that’s why the place looks so tidy.”
Qui-Gon smoothed his moustache, looking past her at the living room. “It’s one of,” he paused to clear his throat, “it’s, ah, one of the suggestions from the specialists. Keeping rooms neat, with limited obstacles.”
Tahl swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Obstacles?” From Qui-Gon’s messages, she gathered Obi-Wan suffered injuries during his captivity, but Qui-Gon had never mentioned mobility issues. She closed the lid of the box. “Come sit with me,” she said, pointing her head gently towards the couch.
She knew he would follow. They settled in the familiar grooves, knees touching. Tahl laid a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. The Force seemed almost strained in the apartment, a place she had long considered a haven, her warmest touchstone in the Jedi temple.
After a moment, Qui-Gon placed his broad hand over hers.
Tahl could feel her heart pounding in her ears. “Tell me.”
Qui-Gon stared at the floor. “I apologize for being less than specific in our communications. I suppose I,” he sighed, “It was a difficult time, and I suppose I thought if I wrote it down, it would make it permanent. For awhile, he and I were living in this shared denial. He didn’t want it to be real. And Force, Tahl, I didn’t want it to be real for him.” His hand tightened its grip, trembling.
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