Star Wars; 08:00; Freedom
Theme: 08:00
Title: Freedom
Fandom: Star Wars
Character/Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn, Tahl Vashl, Clee Rhara (mentioned)
Category: Character
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: some torture.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
Summary: It wasn’t as bad as the scrapes and gouges along the tight muscles of her stomach that Qui-Gon could see through the rags of her tunic.
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“You, are the most infuriating Jedi I have ever known.” Tahl declared, as she stared at him with exasperation. A wicked scratch ran from below her left eye to her chin, and it was oozing blood.
It wasn’t as bad as the scrapes and gouges along the tight muscles of her stomach that Qui-Gon could see through the rags of her tunic. Or the lashes that were stiff with congealed blood, sticking her tunic to her back.
But still, the eyes that looked at him and the expression her face bore was pure Tahl, as were her words- exasperation, friendly affection, wry humor…
“You know very well you shouldn’t be wandering around in that tunic.” Qui-Gon said reasonably. He’d shed his robe, and tossed it through the bars of the cell to Tahl, and now, he was gauging the slot he would need to cut in the bars. “Are you able to walk?”
Apparently, Tahl wasn’t hurting too badly if she was still capable of humor. She gave him a slight grimace as she pulled his robe over her clothing, struggling to stand up, but keeping away from the bars.
Carefully, Qui-Gon slashed through them with his lightsaber.
The broken bars glowed a sullen, jagged orange from the heat of his lightsaber, and too late, he realised he’d forgotten to muffle the sound from the fallen-
Tahl had held the bars with the Force, and now she quietly lowered them to the ground of the cell. “Some rescue.” She said, scoffing. “You wouldn’t have gotten away.”
Qui-Gon smiled. He knew better than to rise up to that statement. Tahl was obviously in pain, if she was somewhat grumpy. Or maybe it was just because it was 0800 hours. “Indeed.” He said. “Which is why you are here. Do you need any help?”
Tahl limped out through the hole, and he reached out to help her, but she gripped the surrounding bars with her fingers to clamber out. “I think my left leg is broken.” She finally admitted, gritting her teeth. With a quick stroke of his lightsaber, Qui-Gon severed two durasteel bars.
“Hold still,” He warned Tahl, as he gripped her leg. In the Force, he could vaguely sense it, the threads of light and life glowing brightly, undimmed, although they were snagged- it was broken in three places. She would not be walking for a time. He quickly tore part of his sleeve off and wrapped the bar to her leg, strapping the makeshift splint, and giving her the other bar as a makeshift crutch.
Tahl was fiercely independent, he knew, and it was a testament to how much it must have hurt that she did not scorn the use of the bar as a crutch.
“My lightsaber,” She began, before Qui-Gon cut her off by tossing it to her.
Tahl caught it with the hand that wasn’t gripping the crutch, and clipped it to her belt.
“Now, we must go.” Qui-Gon said.
-
Blaster fire pinged off Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. He twisted it about to deflect the bolts back at the sentry droids, all the while retreating. Tahl’s sapphire lightsaber waved through the air. She wielded it with her usual grace, but was hampered by the crutch- she was hobbling.
He would have to protect her.
He leapt in front of her, green lightsaber whirling to intercept the bolts and send them careening away in various directions. One got him in the shoulder, and he flexed it, winced, and began wielding his lightsaber one-handed. Bolts flashed all around him, but he did not stop- he had to cover Tahl’s escape.
Finally, as another bolt scraped by his side, he heard Tahl yell for him over the sound of the arriving guards, frustration in her voice, and he beat a hasty retreat, swinging the lightsaber as best as he could, and onto Clee Rhara’s waiting transport.
The scarlet packets of energy streamed all around him, he batted away one that was just centimetres from his nose.
And then they were taking off, amidst a flurry of blaster shots.
-
“Are you better?” Qui-Gon asked Tahl. They’d taken off the crude splint, and now a boneknitter was bound next to her bandaged leg. Clee Rhara had seen to Tahl’s injuries, advising Qui-Gon to patch up his blaster wounds.
Blaster wounds could be tricky things, especially if the wound hadn’t knitted, and wasn’t cleaned. So Qui-Gon had cleaned them, sprinkled bacta, and bandaged them.
She nodded stiffly. She waited, before she spoke. “You are the most infuriating Jedi I have ever known.”
“I believe you said that in the prison.” Qui-Gon said, mildly. He sat down on the sleepcouch, next to her, feeling the mattress sink from his weight.
“I meant it.” Tahl said. “I don’t like to be coddled, Qui-Gon. And I certainly didn’t ask you to come courting blaster wounds during the retreat just to protect me, because I was capable of defending myself, even if I had a crutch!”
He knew that too, even though Tahl’s mobility would have been limited.
“It seemed reasonable then.” He said, by way of apology. “You would have made faster progress towards the transport than had we both retreated. Or so I thought.”
Tahl made a disgruntled sound, but said nothing.
He laid his hand on hers. “If it helps,” He said quietly, “I promise to remember you like to be independent.”
A smile.
“Thank you.” She said. She hesitated, and then her cool fingers wrapped around his own. “And I promise that I will ask for help, should I need it.”
-
A/N: A Qui-Gon and Tahl moment, where Tahl tries to change, being too independent for her own good, and Qui-Gon tries to change, being too over-protective that Tahl gets annoyed. The prompt, ‘personal change aimed towards the conscious mind.
-Cymru