"The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee" and "Nor the Moon by Night"
Repost time! Here are two for the price of one. I wrote the second of these little one-shots first, actually, but they’re a matching set.
WARNING: Contains gen man cuddles. (As I said in a comment elsewhere, it's a curious addiction, but very strong. The Altoids of fic kinks.) Realistic or no? You tell me.
Fandom: Star Wars
Title: The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Gen (Original notes: Angst/Drama . . . oh, who am I kidding. It’s pure unadulterated mush. That’s all it is.)
Rating: PG/K+ (imagery)
Timeframe: Pre-TPM, Jedi Apprentice era. Obi-Wan is 15 or so.
Spoilers: None
Summary: “It had taken the Jedi far too long to effect a rescue-over a week. By that time Obi-Wan was nearly delirious, on the edge of madness from loneliness and fear caused by his inability to touch the Force.” The mission to Glatier.
Word Count: 3786
Disclaimer: Crazily enough, I don’t own these people. So sad. I could really use a good masseuse, and someone to feed me chocolates while I read and write fanfic.
Author’s Note: We had a power outage the other night, which got me to thinking about poor Obi-Wan in “Nor the Moon by Night.” A reviewer asked me for a prequel to that vig, and I have to admit that I was quite willing to write one. So here it is.
The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee
The line of pure white against the blackness struck his eyes like a needle of agony, slicing into his brain, piercing to the center of what little thought he’d been able to manage and shredding it into an incoherent mess.
“No! Please don’t! It hurts it hurts it hurts! Turn it off, please turn it off!”
His voice was a hoarse croak, and he was shocked when someone heard him and answered. But he couldn’t understand the words-everything was a confused jumble, and the light burned behind his tightly shut eyes just as painfully as if they were open. Nothing made sense-things were being moved, strange sounds and feelings struck his benumbed senses, a voice that ought to be familiar murmured nonsense in his ear.
Then someone pulled his arm, tried to move him out of the position he’d been forced into by his tiny cell, and he screamed in protest, his stiff muscles locking up. “No, don’t make me, please don’t make me! It hurts it hurts!”
More words, more urgent voices, strange flashes of light beyond tightly sealed eyelids. Something soft touched his forehead, and the pain diminished, the light lessening.
And all he could think was how cruel it all was. He’d been in the dark for such a long time, and all he had wanted, had longed for all the hopeless desperation of his imprisoned heart, was the tiniest glimpse of light. How cruel, now, to discover that the light hurt more than the darkness had.
X
Qui-Gon had been longing for this moment ever since his Padawan had been captured, made a pawn in this ridiculous political game when all he’d wanted to do was protect Candidate Loyer’s daughter on a visit to a playground. Now the master knelt with a pair of Glatierian soldiers in a white-lit hall in the deepest level of an abandoned bunker, waiting impatiently for the laser-cutter to eat through the little door that held Obi-Wan from him. Purple and blue sparks fled from the edge of the red beam, making the Jedi Master wince even more strongly than the eye-hurting luminescent on the ceiling did.
He tried to contact the boy through the bond, to let him know that help was coming, but Obi-Wan’s thoughts were incoherent and unfocused, and he wasn’t sure that anything had managed to get through. Qui-Gon sensed that Obi-Wan was horribly lonely and terrified, but not in any great physical pain. At least he’d managed to escape injury, for once. But that did not stop the older Jedi from yearning for reunion, to see his boy safe and sound, to press him to his heart and assure him that they had never stopped looking.
He was on the edge of suggesting that the soldiers step aside and let him have a go with his lightsaber when the young woman holding the laser-cutter let out a satisfied, “Ah!” and turned it off. Immediately she reached forward with a gloved hand to grab the steaming edge of metal and wrench it back. “There you go, Master Jinn, we got it just fine . . .”
“. . . please turn it off!” a frantic voice pleaded, so rough and cracked that Qui-Gon barely recognized it as belonging to his dulcet-toned Padawan.
The Glatierian soldier started, then leaned forward as her partner set to work tearing the door off its hinges. “Hey, kid! It’s all right, we’re here with your master. Everything’s going to be all right.” The boy’s only response was a choked whimper.
Qui-Gon pushed forward, wincing at the screech of rending metal in his ears, and stooped further down to look into the knee-high cubicle. His heart wrenched at the sight. Obi-Wan was curled up into a tight ball-it was the only way he would fit into the cruelly small cell, barely more than a box-and his eyes were screwed shut, his head turned as far away from the door as his obviously stiff neck would allow.
Qui-Gon leaned in, as close as he could get to the boy’s sweating face. “Obi-Wan, it’s me. I’m here, Padawan. When the elections went on despite the kidnappers’ demands, they abandoned this place, and the Glatierian army was able to trace an informant back here. We came as quickly as we could, I swear we did. I’m very sorry it took so long. But we’re here-we’re going to get you out of there now.”
The soldier nodded and tugged on Obi-Wan’s arm to drag him out. The boy spasmed, yelling in pain, an agonized shudder possessing his rigid body for a few horrible seconds. “No, don’t make me, please don’t make me! It hurts it hurts!”
The soldier jerked back, her brow furrowing and lips pursing as if she took offense at the youngster’s pain. Qui-Gon quickly laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Lt. Boralis. I can take it from here.” He looked at the other soldier. “Would you call for medical back-up, please? It looks like this isn’t going to be as simple an extraction as we thought.”
The Glatierian man nodded, and Qui-Gon turned back to his Padawan. “Shh, Obi-Wan. I’m here, I’m here. No more of that, now. You don’t have to move a centimeter, I promise. I’ll take care of everything.” With a swift, hard pull, he ripped the sleeve off his robe. He folded it in half lengthwise, then leaned forward and gently wrapped it around Obi-Wan’s head, blindfolding him. “Better? The light down here is harsh even to my eyes. I’m not surprised that it hurts you, after being in dark for such a long time.”
Obi-Wan simply sniffled and fell limp, or as limp as he could with his body still wadded up into a ball. Qui-Gon just looked at him for a moment, a lump rising in his throat, then leaned in a little farther and carefully gathered the stiff body into his arms. He withdrew as gently and slowly as he could, bringing his Padawan with him, but the boy still whimpered in pain, apparently unable to stop himself. A few tears trickled beneath the rough brown fabric tied around his eyes.
Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, cradling the boy to his chest. Obi-Wan was too pale, and shaking like a sapling in a gale. Had they really done all they could? He wondered suddenly. Couldn’t there have been any way for them to get here sooner? But no, Qui-Gon had been part of the search efforts from the very beginning, and he knew that they had done their best.
Still, they should have gotten here sooner. Those . . . people . . . had locked his Padawan up like an animal, abandoned him in the dark, in a space that wasn’t large enough to keep a pet. For more than a week, Obi-Wan had been utterly alone-he obviously hadn’t been able to touch the Force for comfort or help. No wonder he was nearly delirious with isolation and confusion.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon couldn’t stand to be in this building for another second. He glanced around, shuddering, then looked back at the young face that lay tensely against his shoulder. “Come, Padawan,” he murmured, gently wiping away the tears with a large, blunt thumb. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He rose smoothly to his feet, carefully adjusting Obi-Wan’s weight his arms, and Lt. Boralis jumped up to face him. “Aren’t you going to wait for the medical back-up? I mean, you’re not going to carry that kid all the way out of here by yourself, are you?” She wrinkled her nose, eloquently expressing her opinion on that matter. “They obviously didn’t let him out for necessities-he stinks.”
Qui-Gon just looked at the young woman for a moment. He did not doubt that she was a splendid warrior and a good leader and a crack shot with the two blasters that hung on her hips, but none of that mattered right now. “I. Do. Not. Care.”
And he walked away before he said something else.
X
Come on, now, Padawan. Qui-Gon watched two nurses work over his boy, massaging clenched muscles, urging him to uncurl from his fetal ball. I need to see your eyes again, young one, so like a calm Alderaanian sea. I need to see you blush like a sunset when you realize that two young ladies are touching you, and I need to see your shy, lovely smile when I tease you for it. I need to hear you complain about med centers yet again, whining about the food, questioning why you always seem to end up in bacta even on the simplest missions. Come now, my Padawan. Open up. It’s not like you to keep your old master waiting.
Qui-Gon felt a presence at his elbow and glanced over. A healer stood there, looking over several screens of information on a datapad. He felt the Jedi’s eyes on him and met his gaze.
“We have the results of the tox screen back. It’s as you suspected-Obi-Wan’s body has been flooded with drugs. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say that they seem specifically designed to keep his body unstable and his mind incoherent. There are also a few rather nasty side effects with this particular mixture, including muscle spasms, sensitivity to light, and general confusion. I don’t dare give him even a pain reliever or a muscle relaxant, as I’m afraid that one more drug might overload his system completely.”
Qui-Gon swallowed. “What treatment do you prescribe, then?”
The healer shook his head apologetically. “There isn’t much we can do except wait for the drugs to purge. It might take a few hours, or as long as a day. I’m sorry, Master Jinn. I wish we could do more.”
The Jedi sighed. “And otherwise? Is he physically healthy, besides the drugs? No internal injuries or untreated concussions or anything? Does he need to spend time in a bacta tank?”
The healer blinked. “No. No injuries. He does have some rather bad sores, the kind an immobile patient gets without proper nursing. But we can treat those topically. No dunking required.”
A deep groan drew Qui-Gon’s attention back to his Padawan. Obi-Wan was slowly uncurling, though tremors shook his entire body, seeming particularly strong in his hands. His eyes were still screwed shut, though the lights in this room had been dimmed to simulate twilight. The nurses murmured encouragement, but the boy didn’t seem to hear them.
Qui-Gon stepped forward. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
The nurses eyed him with an expression of skepticism that he recognized from Lt. Boralis’s face. It seemed to be his day to get on the bad side of Glatierian women. But they stepped aside graciously enough, and Qui-Gon sat carefully on the bed beside his boy, still half-curled and breathing hard. He laid his palm on the rigid shoulder blade, and ran the fingers of his other hand through the freshly-washed hair, causing it to stand up in the familiar sandy-red spikes.
“Hello there, Padawan,” he said. “Can you open up for me? I want to see your eyes. I’ve been waiting as patiently as I can, but I think it’s been long enough now.”
Obi-Wan shuddered under his hand, then slowly, weakly began to push himself over to lay on his back. Qui-Gon scooted over, giving him room, and in a moment Obi-Wan lay flat, blinking up at him. Tears trickled down his cheeks, probably because even this low light was too much for him, and his forehead was furrowed deeply with pain. But he had responded. At long last, the Padawan had heard his master’s plea and opened his eyes.
Qui-Gon smiled, deep relief pouring through him. “Hello,” he said again, very softly. “I’m very glad to see you, my Padawan.”
The boy shoved himself into a half-sitting position, grunting with effort, and fell into his master’s arms, still shaking, still confused and unstable, but home again at last.
Qui-Gon held him tenderly, feeling a few tears escaping his own eyes, though he could not claim that the light hurt them. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”
And finally, he believed it.
X
The first touch had been comforting. Along with his yearning for the smallest glimpse of light had also been a desperate need to know that he was not alone, to feel another’s warmth beside him. Finally that warmth had come, had wrapped around him in soft waves, and he had sunk into it with the gratitude of a storm-tossed sailor finding safe harbor.
But then the touch had changed. There was more of it, hands on him, pushing, pummeling, trying to make him move, and strange, muffled voices blasted commands he could not understand. He had tried-Force knew he had tried. But it hurt so, even the smallest movements, burning needles sweeping along his limbs, piercing outward from under his skin. His head throbbed and pounded, and he almost longed for the darkness again, if only to escape the endless bewilderment.
Fortunately, the touch changed again before he could even form that longing into a coherent thought-for might not the mere desire, set in the mind-stone of syllables and words, have sent him back to that cell, if his desire to escape had fulfilled itself by that method?-and he knew the new touch ought to be familiar. It would be familiar, once his mind started working again, he knew it would be. He had looked up into stars of deep blue, set in a blur of dusky twilight, and he knew he would recognize them in time. If only that time was now.
Since then there had only been that gentle touch, like the first comforting warmth that had lifted him from darkness. The hand on his back moved in easy patterns, helping him relearn how to be touched, what it felt like not to be alone. He rested in a cocoon of peace and listened to the soft rumbling beneath his cheek, so like the murmur of a rising tide gradually bringing the sea into the land. Though his body still shook with constant tremors, an eternal earthquake that refused to follow the natural order of such things and finally finish its work, he knew that it would be done soon. He was waiting, he understood. Waiting for the confusion to pass, for the shaking to stop, for the dim light around him to stop burning him.
It didn’t happen all at once. The clouds before his eyes drifted away slowly, like the gradual lifting of mists on a warm spring morning. But then came the moment when Obi-Wan blinked, and realized that the bewilderment was gone. He knew who he was and where he was, what had happened and what had brought him to this point.
And the knowing was almost worse than the confusion.
X
Qui-Gon didn’t know how long he sat there on the med-bed, holding the shuddering body of his Padawan, rubbing his back and feeling him slowly relax, talking of everything and nothing to fill in the cracks of the boy’s silence. It was more than one hour, less than ten, he supposed. At first he had tried a number of different positions that would allow him as much contact with Obi-Wan as possible, as it was immediately obvious that the youngster craved human touch, but he soon found that it was easiest simply to draw the boy into his lap and hold him like a little child. Obi-Wan would protest it if he were himself, but in his current state he merely clung to his Master, trembling fingers twisting in the tunic’s fabric, tear-damp face pressed into the hollow of his throat.
“We never stopped looking, Obi-Wan. I wanted to be sure you knew. I felt it through our bond when you were ambushed and overwhelmed, and we sent soldiers out immediately, looking for you. Master Hayde and I were both nearly frantic, despite all our Jedi calm. Don’t tell the Council, please. Every hour that I could not feel your presence in my mind felt like a year. It’s been such a long time, my poor Padawan. But here you are at last, safe and sound. They didn’t hurt you, not physically at least. Is it wrong for me to feel grateful? I do. I am deeply, eternally grateful. I imagined such horrors, young one, such terrible things.”
He laughed softly. “When you are yourself again you’ll rebuke me for that-aren’t I always telling you to live in the moment? Not to dwell on your anxieties? You are wiser than I, my Padawan, for I cannot follow my own commands, yet you do so every day. And always you strive to better yourself. Yes, a wise child, indeed you are.”
Qui-Gon sighed deeply. “And here I am, not living in the moment yet again, because I’m thinking about you coming back to yourself. It will happen soon enough, I know. You’ll open your eyes and look around, and lift up your head and look at me. I will be very glad to see it. But that will be the end of this sweet little interlude of quiet. You’ll be very embarrassed when you realize that I’ve been cradling you for this time. You’re a young man, a young Jedi, and you have a great deal of dignity. I don’t fault you for that. I’ll let you go when you ask me to do so. But for now . . . for now I will sit here. I don’t mind, my Obi-Wan. I don’t mind at all . . . .”
Eventually Qui-Gon realized that the boy had gone still in his arms. The shaking had ceased. But the pattern of Obi-Wan’s breath, soft and uneven, told him that the Padawan did not sleep. Was this it, then? The moment he’d been waiting for?
Qui-Gon paused his ministrations on the boy’s back, catching his breath as he swallowed whatever inane words he’d been about to speak. They meant nothing now. “Obi-Wan?”
The silence held for only a moment. Then Obi-Wan pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. Still he did not move. “What happened to Masia?”
Candidate Loyer’s daughter. Qui-Gon felt almost dizzy with relief. He should have realized that his boy’s first concern as soon he regained lucidity would be for the young girl who had been his charge to protect. “She’s fine, Obi-Wan. They didn’t harm her-she was treated very carefully, though she never saw the kidnappers’ faces, so she can’t witness against them. We found her almost as soon as we entered that abandoned bunker-she was locked in one of the command quarters. I only wish they had treated you with the same tenderness.”
“I fought back,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice still rough and drawn, but once again the sweet, lilting accent the older Jedi remembered. “That was a crime in their eyes.”
Qui-Gon’s arms tightened convulsively around his Padawan, as much to release his own sudden, surging anger as to provide comfort. “And they dared to punish you for it. I’m sorry we did not find you sooner, my Padawan. We never stopped looking, I swear to you that we did not.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You told me. I heard . . . I just didn’t understand the words at first.”
“Ah.” Qui-Gon dipped his head to rest on the soft, unruly locks. Then all was well with their universe.
Except . . . “You don’t blame yourself, do you, Obi-Wan?”
Qui-Gon was well-aware of how quick this boy was to assume that everything that could go wrong, would, because of him. It was a misapprehension that he had yet to train out of the boy, and one of the few lessons that he was terribly afraid would never quite get through. Not that he would stop trying.
“It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. I saw a security holo of the fight with your attackers-I cannot criticize a single move you made. You fought to protect the girl above yourself, which was as it should be, and that was the only reason one of the stun bolts finally found its way to you. You could have done nothing else.”
Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge this in words, but the last bit of tension he’d been holding leaked away at this, and that was answer enough. Qui-Gon smiled and pressed him a little tighter, if that were even possible. And the Padawan simply slipped his arms about the Master’s waist and stayed where he was.
They did not move for a long time.
X
“Ready to see the sunlight again, Padawan?”
Obi-Wan hesitated, and looked up into the smiling face of his master, who stood with his hand on the med-center’s door. He was tired of the med-center, true enough, tired of the poking and prodding and blood tests and intensely bright little lights being shined his eyes, and oh, the many, many questions . . . “Does this hurt? How about now? Can you rate that on a scale of one to ten?”
But was he ready to see the sunlight again? It had been such a long time . . .
Obi-Wan blinked, swallowed, and drew himself up straight. The drugs were gone. He was better. The healers had said so. He would just have to take their word for it. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Qui-Gon’s smile was soft and understanding. He gently pushed the door open, giving Obi-Wan time to squint his eyes half-shut. The Padawan waited for the light to pierce into his head, to burn, to hurt.
But it did not. After a moment Obi-Wan blinked, shocked and pleased. It didn’t hurt at all.
In fact, it was beautiful.
“Master Qui-Gon! Obi-Wan!” It was Lindle, Master Nik’lai Hayde’s little Padawan, bouncing up and down right outside the door. “We’ve been waiting for you!”
“I know,” Qui-Gon said warmly as he stepped outside, still holding the door for his apprentice. “You’ve been very patient.”
Obi-Wan slowly emerged from the center, blinking up into the smiling pale green face of Master Hayde, then down at the little Padawan, who was still springing joyfully from foot to foot to prehensile tail. “Little monkey-lizard,” he teased in the old familiar way, and Lindle giggled in his usual delight, pleased even for a friendly insult from the older Padawan he looked up to with bright, starry eyes.
“Welcome back,” Master Hayde said. “We missed you.”
And Obi-Wan lifted his face to the sunlight, letting it soak into his skin, and silently agreed.
(End)
Fandom: Star Wars
Title: Nor the Moon by Night
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Rating: PG/K+ (imagery)
Timeframe: Pre-TPM, Jedi Apprentice era. Obi-Wan is 15 or so.
Spoilers: None
Summary: The night may pass, but sometimes it lingers, hiding out in deep shadows and waiting to pounce on the unwary. Once again Qui-Gon realizes this lesson, and tries to show Obi-Wan how to carry a light.
Word Count: 2704
Disclaimer: Mine mine mine! All mine! Not yours! . . . Whoops, there goes my crazy voice again. Pay no attention to that little fibber.
Author’s Note: I’m stealing bunnies. This was just one in a long list dianethx gave LuvEwan. It wouldn’t leave me alone. Blame the bunny for begging to be snitched. I’m sure LE’s version is quite different, and I’m very much looking forward to reading it. (And I hope she forgives me for writing this first.)
Nor the Moon by Night
Qui-Gon opened his eyes, instantly awake, and stared straight up at the ceiling invisible in the blackness. Something was wrong.
It was a not a shriek of warning, of imminent danger, so much as it was a shiver of unease, fear, terror, of deep dread whispering a dim undercurrent through the Force. Not for Qui-Gon, but for another. The Jedi Master sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, reflexively rubbing at his eyes, causing blobs and blurs of red and orange to burst on his non-existent vision.
It didn’t do a thing to increase his ability to see in this warren. The Judza, the sentient race of Pyritia, lived underground in winding, twisting tunnels sometimes relieved by skylights above, but more often lit only by widely-spaced halogen torches and globes. It was a unique, duskly illuminated culture, adapted to living in enormous family groups, with great closeness and clannishness and much wordless communication between twitching whiskers, ears, and ruffling fur. Qui-Gon rather liked it, even though each clan, being extremely close-knit and turned inward, seemed to have ongoing feuds with every other clan on the planet. That’s why they had called for a Jedi team to negotiate a land treaty between three different factions. Or was it four?
He was aware that Obi-Wan might not like it quite so much. Rather, he’d been keeping an eye on the Padawan ever since their arrival on Pyritia. Their last mission had been very rough on the youth, and Qui-Gon wanted nothing to interfere with his recovery from that bad experience. But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to feel even the slight twinge of claustrophobia that Qui-Gon had felt, and had expected to notice in his apprentice. The young man seemed to be handling it all with amazing aplomb, and the Master was impressed by how quickly and completely he had bounced back. Checking the bond now, he felt only the usual medium shielding Obi-Wan erected before letting sleep take him.
All seemed to be well. So what had wakened him?
Was that a glimmer at the corner of his eye? For a moment Qui-Gon thought his eye-rubbing had actually made a difference in his ability to see. No, it was a very faint light glowing sporadically under the door, probably down the hall in these small guest quarters. It was too dim to see by, but Qui-Gon didn’t need to see in order to get around. The Master let the Force guide him as he rose and padded softly to the door, let it lead him around the sparse, low-built furnishings of his small bed chamber. It had been years since he had stubbed a toe in the dark.
Qui-Gon opened the rounded doorway and peered out, blinking like a large-eyed nightbird in the gloaming light. Only one globe seemed to be lit, around the corner of the gently curving tunnel. The Master walked toward it, then passed it, as well as the door of the refresher, and found Obi-Wan standing at the edge of the sphere of radiance.
The boy had not noticed his approach. He was standing in front of the open doorway to his own chamber, staring into it. It was as black as the mouth of a cave-which it was, come to think of it. Black as the heart of a Sith. Black as the space between the stars, depthless and absolute and very, very cold.
Qui-Gon shook his head distractedly. Why was he thinking such thoughts? He found the warm darkness of the warren rather comforting and interesting, himself, like seeing life from the point of view of a root. Even the slight claustrophobia had been more intriguing than frightening, and simply made him look forward to seeing open sky again.
“Obi-Wan? Is something going on?”
The Padawan did not respond-didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. His eyes remained fixed on the blackness. Still, nothing came through the bond, only the kind of mental static of shielding. But Qui-Gon abruptly realized that the boy was trembling.
“Obi-Wan? Padawan. Talk to me.” Qui-Gon stepped forward, concerned now. “Something’s troubling you. Tell me. Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan shuddered visibly and shook his head, though it did not seem to be in response to the Master’s words, but to something only he could see. Qui-Gon took another step to stand by the boy, who was now shaking violently. He reached out to touch his shoulder, then slid his hand around the nape of his neck, feeling the coolness and rigidity of the shrinking flesh. “Padawan. I’m here. Let me in.”
He reached around to touch his boy’s cheek, and carefully pulled him around to look at him. At first he thought Obi-Wan’s expression was blank, but then he recognized it for what it was. Stark, unyielding terror.
Qui-Gon had never seen this on his brave Padawan’s face. It sent a shudder through his own body.
Determined now, he leaned close and pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan’s. “Please let me in, my Padawan. What’s wrong? Let me see.”
He pushed against the shielding, and was abruptly rewarded for his pains. With the ferocious strength of an undertow, he was sucked into Obi-Wan’s flashback.
. . . dark, cold, alone, can’t move, can’t breathe, it’s dark so dark it’s so very dark, please let me out, let me out, let me out please I can’t stand this anymore, it’s so very very dark and I can’t move and it’s cold and it’s dark and I’m alone and lost in the dark please let me out it’s so very very dark . . .
Qui-Gon gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, craning his head back involuntarily. The mental contact broke as the physical contact did, and then Master and Padawan were blinking at each other. Both felt a kind of horror, and it showed on their faces, but they had wildly different causes for the same expression.
The isolation cell on Glatier, Qui-Gon realized grimly. I just felt what he went through in that awful place.
They had been sent to Glatier with another Jedi team to protect the candidates in the election for Governor as the long-monarchical planet moved toward a democratic rule. Qui-Gon and the other Master had been overseeing at a meeting when one of the candidates asked for a Jedi to accompany his daughter to a local playground. Obi-Wan readily volunteered, and Qui-Gon let him go. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
But of course the candidate’s main rival-or someone in favor of him, Qui-Gon never found out which-seized the opportunity to gain a bargaining chip. Obi-Wan was ambushed and overwhelmed. The girl was treated very carefully, but they punished the young Jedi for the crime of fighting back, locking him in a tiny cell barely large enough to sit in and pumping him full of drugs that kept his mind incoherent and his body unstable.
It had taken the Jedi far too long to effect a rescue-over a week. By that time Obi-Wan was nearly delirious, on the edge of madness from loneliness and fear caused by his inability to touch the Force. It had been hours before he was able to uncurl from the enforced fetal position, and then he had only clung to his Master, shaking, unable to speak. Qui-Gon remembered holding him, rubbing his back, just waiting for the drugs to purge. He also remembered being grateful that they hadn’t physically harmed his Padawan, that they had “only” locked him away.
What a fool he had been.
“Master . . .” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled as badly as his body had. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You need your rest. Please, go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.” Qui-Gon offered a sad, sideways smile, and tightened his grip on the boy’s neck. “What happened just now? Please tell me.”
Obi-Wan was silent, staring wide-eyed at the black hole that was his chamber.
“My Padawan, you are burdened. Please share it with me so I can ease it.”
“I’m fine.” It was a soft murmur, faint and absent and somehow childlike.
Qui-Gon realized that the boy’s mind was slipping back again. He had to prevent that. “No, you aren’t.” He slid his arm around the slender shoulders, again shaking softly, and pulled Obi-Wan around to look at him instead of the lightless depths of the darkened room. “Padawan. Tell me what happened.”
Obi-Wan blinked. “I . . . I went to sleep with a candle.”
Qui-Gon nodded. He didn’t know where this was going, but at the least the boy was talking. He was willing to let him get there in his own way. “Yes, I remember Teral giving you one. He said that young ones often like a little light to sleep by.”
“Not young Judza. They feel safe and at home in the darkness of these tunnels. It was kind of Teral to give me the light. But, Master, I woke in the dark. It must have guttered while I slept.”
“Yes. Candles do that.”
“I . . . I got up to use the ‘fresher. The globe in the hall lit, and I was all right. But, but when I came back . . .”
Obi-Wan started shaking hard again. Qui-Gon wrapped his arms more tightly around him, and pulled them both back to lean against the curving wall when the young man’s knees started to buckle. “Stay with me, Padawan. What happened?”
“I . . . I couldn’t go in.” Obi-Wan’s fingers dug into his Master’s flesh, desperate, yet somehow weak. “I’m sorry. I can’t go in. I’m sorry. I’m afraid! Master, I’m afraid of the dark!”
“Oh, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon pressed the boy close and let them slide down the wall to sit on the floor. “Shhh. It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” Obi-Wan’s voice was muffled against the Master’s shoulder. “It isn’t all right at all. I’m too old to be scared of the dark, far too old to be acting like such a baby. I’m sorry.”
Qui-Gon sighed, gently rubbing the boy’s back. “I don’t think you ever get too old to be afraid of the dark, young one. You aren’t acting like a baby. You had a very traumatic experience, and your mind is wounded. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Obi-Wan turned his head to speak more clearly, though he still leaned heavily against his master. “Jedi aren’t supposed to be afraid.”
“But all Jedi are, of one thing or another. We just learn to release the fear, and to go on despite it.”
“I tried to release it, and I couldn’t. It was too big. And when I tried again, it pulled me in. I’m sorry. I failed you, failed your teachings.”
Qui-Gon shook his head, running his hand through the boy’s soft, spiky hair. “You have never failed me. And I don’t think you ever will. It’s no wonder you had trouble releasing this. As I said, your mind is wounded. We will deal with this together. I just wish you had mentioned it to me earlier.”
“It’s never fully dark on Coruscant. I never had a problem before. But now . . .” Obi-Wan glanced at the doorway of his chamber, looming like a mouth open to bite, to swallow, to consume. Another strong shudder passed through his wiry frame. “It’s just so very dark . . .”
“Yes. And the last time you were in the dark, you were alone, in terrible pain. Of course you fear it now.” Qui-Gon looked down and gently tipped Obi-Wan’s chin upward in order to look into his eyes. “But I need you to understand something. You are never alone.”
A brief spark lit in the blue-green eyes, warming the Master’s heart. “Never?”
“Never. Never, my Padawan. Even when you are in the dark, you carry the light with you. Even when you can’t feel the Force, when you can’t feel our bond, it is still there. Always there, always with you. Shall I tell you an old verse that may remind you of this?”
“Please.” Obi-Wan leaned his head on his master’s shoulder like a child waiting for storytime.
Qui-Gon smiled, pulling his boy a little closer. “It may help you to memorize this and recite it when you feel alone. It helped me, when I was very young, and my master had to leave me behind in the Temple for a dangerous mission. I’ve never forgotten it.” He leaned his head back against the wall, feeling his own mind slip back slightly, not to a place of darkness, but one of warmth and light.
“I’m listening,” Obi-Wan said softly.
Qui-Gon could feel the waiting in him, the intense focus Obi-Wan brought to every lesson, great or small. He laid his cheek against the soft hair that glinted with ginger highlights in the gentle light. “‘Fear not, for the Force is with thee. Fear not the pestilence in the morning nor the arrow at midday. The sun shall not smite thee by day nor the moon by night. Walk through the waters, and thou shalt not be drowned. Walk through the fire, and thou shalt not be burned. Fear not, for thou art never alone.’”
“‘Nor the moon by night,’” Obi-Wan murmured, almost sleepily. He shifted slightly. “But I like the moon.”
Qui-Gon chuckled, very softly. “I know. But you understand the intent. Say it back to me.”
Obi-Wan dutifully repeated the old verse, Jedi mind techniques allowing him to memorize it with a single hearing. “‘. . . for thou art never alone,’” he finished, and fell silent for a moment. “I like that. Thank you, Master.”
“You’re welcome. And here, let me show you another way that you carry the light with you.” Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around his boy, Qui-Gon lifted his free hand, the palm cupped as if to shelter a small treasure. Slowly, gently, a ball of light began to glow there, spreading soft yellow warmth through the air, painting the walls and illuminating their faces.
“It’s a simple manipulation, though very fine,” Qui-Gon explained. “Speed up the air molecules in a contained space, and they grow warmer and begin to shine. Try it.”
“Not try,” Obi-Wan murmured, sounding closer to sleep now. “Do.” He lifted one hand and concentrated, and soon held a matching ball of light, smaller than Qui-Gon’s but quite a bit brighter, almost white in its brilliance. “Ouch. That’s hot.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. “Yes, you need to be careful not to burn yourself.” He could smell the scent of burning, clean and clear, mingled with the rich earth scent all around them. It was as if sunlight had come to live beneath the ground.
Obi-Wan moved his hand away, letting the ball of light hang in the air like a tiny star. “That’s nice.”
“It’s beautiful,” Qui-Gon corrected. “It’s absolutely beautiful. You grasped the idea very quickly.” He gently let his own light fade away. “It will consume oxygen, so you must take care when using this technique. But I trust you to use it wisely.”
“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan again turned his head to lean on Qui-Gon’s chest, letting his eyes drift shut. “You always make it better. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” Qui-Gon murmured. He watched Obi-Wan’s little star begin to fade as the boy slipped into a true, deep slumber.
Gradually the radiant globe softened and dissipated, and Qui-Gon looked down at his sleeping apprentice, considering whether to carry him back to his bed or just sit here all night long. The latter option definitely had its appeal . . . but no. They both needed a good night of rest to prepare for the talks tomorrow.
Qui-Gon shifted the boy into his arms and climbed to his feet. He hesitated for a moment, then walked back toward his own chamber, cradling Obi-Wan’s head against his shoulder. No, his Padawan, his son, was not too old to be afraid of the dark. And he was not too old to need his Master’s presence now and then. Qui-Gon’s bed was plenty big enough for two.
(End)
WARNING: Contains gen man cuddles. (As I said in a comment elsewhere, it's a curious addiction, but very strong. The Altoids of fic kinks.) Realistic or no? You tell me.
Fandom: Star Wars
Title: The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Gen (Original notes: Angst/Drama . . . oh, who am I kidding. It’s pure unadulterated mush. That’s all it is.)
Rating: PG/K+ (imagery)
Timeframe: Pre-TPM, Jedi Apprentice era. Obi-Wan is 15 or so.
Spoilers: None
Summary: “It had taken the Jedi far too long to effect a rescue-over a week. By that time Obi-Wan was nearly delirious, on the edge of madness from loneliness and fear caused by his inability to touch the Force.” The mission to Glatier.
Word Count: 3786
Disclaimer: Crazily enough, I don’t own these people. So sad. I could really use a good masseuse, and someone to feed me chocolates while I read and write fanfic.
Author’s Note: We had a power outage the other night, which got me to thinking about poor Obi-Wan in “Nor the Moon by Night.” A reviewer asked me for a prequel to that vig, and I have to admit that I was quite willing to write one. So here it is.
The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee
The line of pure white against the blackness struck his eyes like a needle of agony, slicing into his brain, piercing to the center of what little thought he’d been able to manage and shredding it into an incoherent mess.
“No! Please don’t! It hurts it hurts it hurts! Turn it off, please turn it off!”
His voice was a hoarse croak, and he was shocked when someone heard him and answered. But he couldn’t understand the words-everything was a confused jumble, and the light burned behind his tightly shut eyes just as painfully as if they were open. Nothing made sense-things were being moved, strange sounds and feelings struck his benumbed senses, a voice that ought to be familiar murmured nonsense in his ear.
Then someone pulled his arm, tried to move him out of the position he’d been forced into by his tiny cell, and he screamed in protest, his stiff muscles locking up. “No, don’t make me, please don’t make me! It hurts it hurts!”
More words, more urgent voices, strange flashes of light beyond tightly sealed eyelids. Something soft touched his forehead, and the pain diminished, the light lessening.
And all he could think was how cruel it all was. He’d been in the dark for such a long time, and all he had wanted, had longed for all the hopeless desperation of his imprisoned heart, was the tiniest glimpse of light. How cruel, now, to discover that the light hurt more than the darkness had.
X
Qui-Gon had been longing for this moment ever since his Padawan had been captured, made a pawn in this ridiculous political game when all he’d wanted to do was protect Candidate Loyer’s daughter on a visit to a playground. Now the master knelt with a pair of Glatierian soldiers in a white-lit hall in the deepest level of an abandoned bunker, waiting impatiently for the laser-cutter to eat through the little door that held Obi-Wan from him. Purple and blue sparks fled from the edge of the red beam, making the Jedi Master wince even more strongly than the eye-hurting luminescent on the ceiling did.
He tried to contact the boy through the bond, to let him know that help was coming, but Obi-Wan’s thoughts were incoherent and unfocused, and he wasn’t sure that anything had managed to get through. Qui-Gon sensed that Obi-Wan was horribly lonely and terrified, but not in any great physical pain. At least he’d managed to escape injury, for once. But that did not stop the older Jedi from yearning for reunion, to see his boy safe and sound, to press him to his heart and assure him that they had never stopped looking.
He was on the edge of suggesting that the soldiers step aside and let him have a go with his lightsaber when the young woman holding the laser-cutter let out a satisfied, “Ah!” and turned it off. Immediately she reached forward with a gloved hand to grab the steaming edge of metal and wrench it back. “There you go, Master Jinn, we got it just fine . . .”
“. . . please turn it off!” a frantic voice pleaded, so rough and cracked that Qui-Gon barely recognized it as belonging to his dulcet-toned Padawan.
The Glatierian soldier started, then leaned forward as her partner set to work tearing the door off its hinges. “Hey, kid! It’s all right, we’re here with your master. Everything’s going to be all right.” The boy’s only response was a choked whimper.
Qui-Gon pushed forward, wincing at the screech of rending metal in his ears, and stooped further down to look into the knee-high cubicle. His heart wrenched at the sight. Obi-Wan was curled up into a tight ball-it was the only way he would fit into the cruelly small cell, barely more than a box-and his eyes were screwed shut, his head turned as far away from the door as his obviously stiff neck would allow.
Qui-Gon leaned in, as close as he could get to the boy’s sweating face. “Obi-Wan, it’s me. I’m here, Padawan. When the elections went on despite the kidnappers’ demands, they abandoned this place, and the Glatierian army was able to trace an informant back here. We came as quickly as we could, I swear we did. I’m very sorry it took so long. But we’re here-we’re going to get you out of there now.”
The soldier nodded and tugged on Obi-Wan’s arm to drag him out. The boy spasmed, yelling in pain, an agonized shudder possessing his rigid body for a few horrible seconds. “No, don’t make me, please don’t make me! It hurts it hurts!”
The soldier jerked back, her brow furrowing and lips pursing as if she took offense at the youngster’s pain. Qui-Gon quickly laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Lt. Boralis. I can take it from here.” He looked at the other soldier. “Would you call for medical back-up, please? It looks like this isn’t going to be as simple an extraction as we thought.”
The Glatierian man nodded, and Qui-Gon turned back to his Padawan. “Shh, Obi-Wan. I’m here, I’m here. No more of that, now. You don’t have to move a centimeter, I promise. I’ll take care of everything.” With a swift, hard pull, he ripped the sleeve off his robe. He folded it in half lengthwise, then leaned forward and gently wrapped it around Obi-Wan’s head, blindfolding him. “Better? The light down here is harsh even to my eyes. I’m not surprised that it hurts you, after being in dark for such a long time.”
Obi-Wan simply sniffled and fell limp, or as limp as he could with his body still wadded up into a ball. Qui-Gon just looked at him for a moment, a lump rising in his throat, then leaned in a little farther and carefully gathered the stiff body into his arms. He withdrew as gently and slowly as he could, bringing his Padawan with him, but the boy still whimpered in pain, apparently unable to stop himself. A few tears trickled beneath the rough brown fabric tied around his eyes.
Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, cradling the boy to his chest. Obi-Wan was too pale, and shaking like a sapling in a gale. Had they really done all they could? He wondered suddenly. Couldn’t there have been any way for them to get here sooner? But no, Qui-Gon had been part of the search efforts from the very beginning, and he knew that they had done their best.
Still, they should have gotten here sooner. Those . . . people . . . had locked his Padawan up like an animal, abandoned him in the dark, in a space that wasn’t large enough to keep a pet. For more than a week, Obi-Wan had been utterly alone-he obviously hadn’t been able to touch the Force for comfort or help. No wonder he was nearly delirious with isolation and confusion.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon couldn’t stand to be in this building for another second. He glanced around, shuddering, then looked back at the young face that lay tensely against his shoulder. “Come, Padawan,” he murmured, gently wiping away the tears with a large, blunt thumb. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He rose smoothly to his feet, carefully adjusting Obi-Wan’s weight his arms, and Lt. Boralis jumped up to face him. “Aren’t you going to wait for the medical back-up? I mean, you’re not going to carry that kid all the way out of here by yourself, are you?” She wrinkled her nose, eloquently expressing her opinion on that matter. “They obviously didn’t let him out for necessities-he stinks.”
Qui-Gon just looked at the young woman for a moment. He did not doubt that she was a splendid warrior and a good leader and a crack shot with the two blasters that hung on her hips, but none of that mattered right now. “I. Do. Not. Care.”
And he walked away before he said something else.
X
Come on, now, Padawan. Qui-Gon watched two nurses work over his boy, massaging clenched muscles, urging him to uncurl from his fetal ball. I need to see your eyes again, young one, so like a calm Alderaanian sea. I need to see you blush like a sunset when you realize that two young ladies are touching you, and I need to see your shy, lovely smile when I tease you for it. I need to hear you complain about med centers yet again, whining about the food, questioning why you always seem to end up in bacta even on the simplest missions. Come now, my Padawan. Open up. It’s not like you to keep your old master waiting.
Qui-Gon felt a presence at his elbow and glanced over. A healer stood there, looking over several screens of information on a datapad. He felt the Jedi’s eyes on him and met his gaze.
“We have the results of the tox screen back. It’s as you suspected-Obi-Wan’s body has been flooded with drugs. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say that they seem specifically designed to keep his body unstable and his mind incoherent. There are also a few rather nasty side effects with this particular mixture, including muscle spasms, sensitivity to light, and general confusion. I don’t dare give him even a pain reliever or a muscle relaxant, as I’m afraid that one more drug might overload his system completely.”
Qui-Gon swallowed. “What treatment do you prescribe, then?”
The healer shook his head apologetically. “There isn’t much we can do except wait for the drugs to purge. It might take a few hours, or as long as a day. I’m sorry, Master Jinn. I wish we could do more.”
The Jedi sighed. “And otherwise? Is he physically healthy, besides the drugs? No internal injuries or untreated concussions or anything? Does he need to spend time in a bacta tank?”
The healer blinked. “No. No injuries. He does have some rather bad sores, the kind an immobile patient gets without proper nursing. But we can treat those topically. No dunking required.”
A deep groan drew Qui-Gon’s attention back to his Padawan. Obi-Wan was slowly uncurling, though tremors shook his entire body, seeming particularly strong in his hands. His eyes were still screwed shut, though the lights in this room had been dimmed to simulate twilight. The nurses murmured encouragement, but the boy didn’t seem to hear them.
Qui-Gon stepped forward. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
The nurses eyed him with an expression of skepticism that he recognized from Lt. Boralis’s face. It seemed to be his day to get on the bad side of Glatierian women. But they stepped aside graciously enough, and Qui-Gon sat carefully on the bed beside his boy, still half-curled and breathing hard. He laid his palm on the rigid shoulder blade, and ran the fingers of his other hand through the freshly-washed hair, causing it to stand up in the familiar sandy-red spikes.
“Hello there, Padawan,” he said. “Can you open up for me? I want to see your eyes. I’ve been waiting as patiently as I can, but I think it’s been long enough now.”
Obi-Wan shuddered under his hand, then slowly, weakly began to push himself over to lay on his back. Qui-Gon scooted over, giving him room, and in a moment Obi-Wan lay flat, blinking up at him. Tears trickled down his cheeks, probably because even this low light was too much for him, and his forehead was furrowed deeply with pain. But he had responded. At long last, the Padawan had heard his master’s plea and opened his eyes.
Qui-Gon smiled, deep relief pouring through him. “Hello,” he said again, very softly. “I’m very glad to see you, my Padawan.”
The boy shoved himself into a half-sitting position, grunting with effort, and fell into his master’s arms, still shaking, still confused and unstable, but home again at last.
Qui-Gon held him tenderly, feeling a few tears escaping his own eyes, though he could not claim that the light hurt them. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”
And finally, he believed it.
X
The first touch had been comforting. Along with his yearning for the smallest glimpse of light had also been a desperate need to know that he was not alone, to feel another’s warmth beside him. Finally that warmth had come, had wrapped around him in soft waves, and he had sunk into it with the gratitude of a storm-tossed sailor finding safe harbor.
But then the touch had changed. There was more of it, hands on him, pushing, pummeling, trying to make him move, and strange, muffled voices blasted commands he could not understand. He had tried-Force knew he had tried. But it hurt so, even the smallest movements, burning needles sweeping along his limbs, piercing outward from under his skin. His head throbbed and pounded, and he almost longed for the darkness again, if only to escape the endless bewilderment.
Fortunately, the touch changed again before he could even form that longing into a coherent thought-for might not the mere desire, set in the mind-stone of syllables and words, have sent him back to that cell, if his desire to escape had fulfilled itself by that method?-and he knew the new touch ought to be familiar. It would be familiar, once his mind started working again, he knew it would be. He had looked up into stars of deep blue, set in a blur of dusky twilight, and he knew he would recognize them in time. If only that time was now.
Since then there had only been that gentle touch, like the first comforting warmth that had lifted him from darkness. The hand on his back moved in easy patterns, helping him relearn how to be touched, what it felt like not to be alone. He rested in a cocoon of peace and listened to the soft rumbling beneath his cheek, so like the murmur of a rising tide gradually bringing the sea into the land. Though his body still shook with constant tremors, an eternal earthquake that refused to follow the natural order of such things and finally finish its work, he knew that it would be done soon. He was waiting, he understood. Waiting for the confusion to pass, for the shaking to stop, for the dim light around him to stop burning him.
It didn’t happen all at once. The clouds before his eyes drifted away slowly, like the gradual lifting of mists on a warm spring morning. But then came the moment when Obi-Wan blinked, and realized that the bewilderment was gone. He knew who he was and where he was, what had happened and what had brought him to this point.
And the knowing was almost worse than the confusion.
X
Qui-Gon didn’t know how long he sat there on the med-bed, holding the shuddering body of his Padawan, rubbing his back and feeling him slowly relax, talking of everything and nothing to fill in the cracks of the boy’s silence. It was more than one hour, less than ten, he supposed. At first he had tried a number of different positions that would allow him as much contact with Obi-Wan as possible, as it was immediately obvious that the youngster craved human touch, but he soon found that it was easiest simply to draw the boy into his lap and hold him like a little child. Obi-Wan would protest it if he were himself, but in his current state he merely clung to his Master, trembling fingers twisting in the tunic’s fabric, tear-damp face pressed into the hollow of his throat.
“We never stopped looking, Obi-Wan. I wanted to be sure you knew. I felt it through our bond when you were ambushed and overwhelmed, and we sent soldiers out immediately, looking for you. Master Hayde and I were both nearly frantic, despite all our Jedi calm. Don’t tell the Council, please. Every hour that I could not feel your presence in my mind felt like a year. It’s been such a long time, my poor Padawan. But here you are at last, safe and sound. They didn’t hurt you, not physically at least. Is it wrong for me to feel grateful? I do. I am deeply, eternally grateful. I imagined such horrors, young one, such terrible things.”
He laughed softly. “When you are yourself again you’ll rebuke me for that-aren’t I always telling you to live in the moment? Not to dwell on your anxieties? You are wiser than I, my Padawan, for I cannot follow my own commands, yet you do so every day. And always you strive to better yourself. Yes, a wise child, indeed you are.”
Qui-Gon sighed deeply. “And here I am, not living in the moment yet again, because I’m thinking about you coming back to yourself. It will happen soon enough, I know. You’ll open your eyes and look around, and lift up your head and look at me. I will be very glad to see it. But that will be the end of this sweet little interlude of quiet. You’ll be very embarrassed when you realize that I’ve been cradling you for this time. You’re a young man, a young Jedi, and you have a great deal of dignity. I don’t fault you for that. I’ll let you go when you ask me to do so. But for now . . . for now I will sit here. I don’t mind, my Obi-Wan. I don’t mind at all . . . .”
Eventually Qui-Gon realized that the boy had gone still in his arms. The shaking had ceased. But the pattern of Obi-Wan’s breath, soft and uneven, told him that the Padawan did not sleep. Was this it, then? The moment he’d been waiting for?
Qui-Gon paused his ministrations on the boy’s back, catching his breath as he swallowed whatever inane words he’d been about to speak. They meant nothing now. “Obi-Wan?”
The silence held for only a moment. Then Obi-Wan pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. Still he did not move. “What happened to Masia?”
Candidate Loyer’s daughter. Qui-Gon felt almost dizzy with relief. He should have realized that his boy’s first concern as soon he regained lucidity would be for the young girl who had been his charge to protect. “She’s fine, Obi-Wan. They didn’t harm her-she was treated very carefully, though she never saw the kidnappers’ faces, so she can’t witness against them. We found her almost as soon as we entered that abandoned bunker-she was locked in one of the command quarters. I only wish they had treated you with the same tenderness.”
“I fought back,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice still rough and drawn, but once again the sweet, lilting accent the older Jedi remembered. “That was a crime in their eyes.”
Qui-Gon’s arms tightened convulsively around his Padawan, as much to release his own sudden, surging anger as to provide comfort. “And they dared to punish you for it. I’m sorry we did not find you sooner, my Padawan. We never stopped looking, I swear to you that we did not.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You told me. I heard . . . I just didn’t understand the words at first.”
“Ah.” Qui-Gon dipped his head to rest on the soft, unruly locks. Then all was well with their universe.
Except . . . “You don’t blame yourself, do you, Obi-Wan?”
Qui-Gon was well-aware of how quick this boy was to assume that everything that could go wrong, would, because of him. It was a misapprehension that he had yet to train out of the boy, and one of the few lessons that he was terribly afraid would never quite get through. Not that he would stop trying.
“It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. I saw a security holo of the fight with your attackers-I cannot criticize a single move you made. You fought to protect the girl above yourself, which was as it should be, and that was the only reason one of the stun bolts finally found its way to you. You could have done nothing else.”
Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge this in words, but the last bit of tension he’d been holding leaked away at this, and that was answer enough. Qui-Gon smiled and pressed him a little tighter, if that were even possible. And the Padawan simply slipped his arms about the Master’s waist and stayed where he was.
They did not move for a long time.
X
“Ready to see the sunlight again, Padawan?”
Obi-Wan hesitated, and looked up into the smiling face of his master, who stood with his hand on the med-center’s door. He was tired of the med-center, true enough, tired of the poking and prodding and blood tests and intensely bright little lights being shined his eyes, and oh, the many, many questions . . . “Does this hurt? How about now? Can you rate that on a scale of one to ten?”
But was he ready to see the sunlight again? It had been such a long time . . .
Obi-Wan blinked, swallowed, and drew himself up straight. The drugs were gone. He was better. The healers had said so. He would just have to take their word for it. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Qui-Gon’s smile was soft and understanding. He gently pushed the door open, giving Obi-Wan time to squint his eyes half-shut. The Padawan waited for the light to pierce into his head, to burn, to hurt.
But it did not. After a moment Obi-Wan blinked, shocked and pleased. It didn’t hurt at all.
In fact, it was beautiful.
“Master Qui-Gon! Obi-Wan!” It was Lindle, Master Nik’lai Hayde’s little Padawan, bouncing up and down right outside the door. “We’ve been waiting for you!”
“I know,” Qui-Gon said warmly as he stepped outside, still holding the door for his apprentice. “You’ve been very patient.”
Obi-Wan slowly emerged from the center, blinking up into the smiling pale green face of Master Hayde, then down at the little Padawan, who was still springing joyfully from foot to foot to prehensile tail. “Little monkey-lizard,” he teased in the old familiar way, and Lindle giggled in his usual delight, pleased even for a friendly insult from the older Padawan he looked up to with bright, starry eyes.
“Welcome back,” Master Hayde said. “We missed you.”
And Obi-Wan lifted his face to the sunlight, letting it soak into his skin, and silently agreed.
(End)
Fandom: Star Wars
Title: Nor the Moon by Night
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Rating: PG/K+ (imagery)
Timeframe: Pre-TPM, Jedi Apprentice era. Obi-Wan is 15 or so.
Spoilers: None
Summary: The night may pass, but sometimes it lingers, hiding out in deep shadows and waiting to pounce on the unwary. Once again Qui-Gon realizes this lesson, and tries to show Obi-Wan how to carry a light.
Word Count: 2704
Disclaimer: Mine mine mine! All mine! Not yours! . . . Whoops, there goes my crazy voice again. Pay no attention to that little fibber.
Author’s Note: I’m stealing bunnies. This was just one in a long list dianethx gave LuvEwan. It wouldn’t leave me alone. Blame the bunny for begging to be snitched. I’m sure LE’s version is quite different, and I’m very much looking forward to reading it. (And I hope she forgives me for writing this first.)
Nor the Moon by Night
Qui-Gon opened his eyes, instantly awake, and stared straight up at the ceiling invisible in the blackness. Something was wrong.
It was a not a shriek of warning, of imminent danger, so much as it was a shiver of unease, fear, terror, of deep dread whispering a dim undercurrent through the Force. Not for Qui-Gon, but for another. The Jedi Master sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, reflexively rubbing at his eyes, causing blobs and blurs of red and orange to burst on his non-existent vision.
It didn’t do a thing to increase his ability to see in this warren. The Judza, the sentient race of Pyritia, lived underground in winding, twisting tunnels sometimes relieved by skylights above, but more often lit only by widely-spaced halogen torches and globes. It was a unique, duskly illuminated culture, adapted to living in enormous family groups, with great closeness and clannishness and much wordless communication between twitching whiskers, ears, and ruffling fur. Qui-Gon rather liked it, even though each clan, being extremely close-knit and turned inward, seemed to have ongoing feuds with every other clan on the planet. That’s why they had called for a Jedi team to negotiate a land treaty between three different factions. Or was it four?
He was aware that Obi-Wan might not like it quite so much. Rather, he’d been keeping an eye on the Padawan ever since their arrival on Pyritia. Their last mission had been very rough on the youth, and Qui-Gon wanted nothing to interfere with his recovery from that bad experience. But Obi-Wan didn’t seem to feel even the slight twinge of claustrophobia that Qui-Gon had felt, and had expected to notice in his apprentice. The young man seemed to be handling it all with amazing aplomb, and the Master was impressed by how quickly and completely he had bounced back. Checking the bond now, he felt only the usual medium shielding Obi-Wan erected before letting sleep take him.
All seemed to be well. So what had wakened him?
Was that a glimmer at the corner of his eye? For a moment Qui-Gon thought his eye-rubbing had actually made a difference in his ability to see. No, it was a very faint light glowing sporadically under the door, probably down the hall in these small guest quarters. It was too dim to see by, but Qui-Gon didn’t need to see in order to get around. The Master let the Force guide him as he rose and padded softly to the door, let it lead him around the sparse, low-built furnishings of his small bed chamber. It had been years since he had stubbed a toe in the dark.
Qui-Gon opened the rounded doorway and peered out, blinking like a large-eyed nightbird in the gloaming light. Only one globe seemed to be lit, around the corner of the gently curving tunnel. The Master walked toward it, then passed it, as well as the door of the refresher, and found Obi-Wan standing at the edge of the sphere of radiance.
The boy had not noticed his approach. He was standing in front of the open doorway to his own chamber, staring into it. It was as black as the mouth of a cave-which it was, come to think of it. Black as the heart of a Sith. Black as the space between the stars, depthless and absolute and very, very cold.
Qui-Gon shook his head distractedly. Why was he thinking such thoughts? He found the warm darkness of the warren rather comforting and interesting, himself, like seeing life from the point of view of a root. Even the slight claustrophobia had been more intriguing than frightening, and simply made him look forward to seeing open sky again.
“Obi-Wan? Is something going on?”
The Padawan did not respond-didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. His eyes remained fixed on the blackness. Still, nothing came through the bond, only the kind of mental static of shielding. But Qui-Gon abruptly realized that the boy was trembling.
“Obi-Wan? Padawan. Talk to me.” Qui-Gon stepped forward, concerned now. “Something’s troubling you. Tell me. Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan shuddered visibly and shook his head, though it did not seem to be in response to the Master’s words, but to something only he could see. Qui-Gon took another step to stand by the boy, who was now shaking violently. He reached out to touch his shoulder, then slid his hand around the nape of his neck, feeling the coolness and rigidity of the shrinking flesh. “Padawan. I’m here. Let me in.”
He reached around to touch his boy’s cheek, and carefully pulled him around to look at him. At first he thought Obi-Wan’s expression was blank, but then he recognized it for what it was. Stark, unyielding terror.
Qui-Gon had never seen this on his brave Padawan’s face. It sent a shudder through his own body.
Determined now, he leaned close and pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan’s. “Please let me in, my Padawan. What’s wrong? Let me see.”
He pushed against the shielding, and was abruptly rewarded for his pains. With the ferocious strength of an undertow, he was sucked into Obi-Wan’s flashback.
. . . dark, cold, alone, can’t move, can’t breathe, it’s dark so dark it’s so very dark, please let me out, let me out, let me out please I can’t stand this anymore, it’s so very very dark and I can’t move and it’s cold and it’s dark and I’m alone and lost in the dark please let me out it’s so very very dark . . .
Qui-Gon gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, craning his head back involuntarily. The mental contact broke as the physical contact did, and then Master and Padawan were blinking at each other. Both felt a kind of horror, and it showed on their faces, but they had wildly different causes for the same expression.
The isolation cell on Glatier, Qui-Gon realized grimly. I just felt what he went through in that awful place.
They had been sent to Glatier with another Jedi team to protect the candidates in the election for Governor as the long-monarchical planet moved toward a democratic rule. Qui-Gon and the other Master had been overseeing at a meeting when one of the candidates asked for a Jedi to accompany his daughter to a local playground. Obi-Wan readily volunteered, and Qui-Gon let him go. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
But of course the candidate’s main rival-or someone in favor of him, Qui-Gon never found out which-seized the opportunity to gain a bargaining chip. Obi-Wan was ambushed and overwhelmed. The girl was treated very carefully, but they punished the young Jedi for the crime of fighting back, locking him in a tiny cell barely large enough to sit in and pumping him full of drugs that kept his mind incoherent and his body unstable.
It had taken the Jedi far too long to effect a rescue-over a week. By that time Obi-Wan was nearly delirious, on the edge of madness from loneliness and fear caused by his inability to touch the Force. It had been hours before he was able to uncurl from the enforced fetal position, and then he had only clung to his Master, shaking, unable to speak. Qui-Gon remembered holding him, rubbing his back, just waiting for the drugs to purge. He also remembered being grateful that they hadn’t physically harmed his Padawan, that they had “only” locked him away.
What a fool he had been.
“Master . . .” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled as badly as his body had. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You need your rest. Please, go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.” Qui-Gon offered a sad, sideways smile, and tightened his grip on the boy’s neck. “What happened just now? Please tell me.”
Obi-Wan was silent, staring wide-eyed at the black hole that was his chamber.
“My Padawan, you are burdened. Please share it with me so I can ease it.”
“I’m fine.” It was a soft murmur, faint and absent and somehow childlike.
Qui-Gon realized that the boy’s mind was slipping back again. He had to prevent that. “No, you aren’t.” He slid his arm around the slender shoulders, again shaking softly, and pulled Obi-Wan around to look at him instead of the lightless depths of the darkened room. “Padawan. Tell me what happened.”
Obi-Wan blinked. “I . . . I went to sleep with a candle.”
Qui-Gon nodded. He didn’t know where this was going, but at the least the boy was talking. He was willing to let him get there in his own way. “Yes, I remember Teral giving you one. He said that young ones often like a little light to sleep by.”
“Not young Judza. They feel safe and at home in the darkness of these tunnels. It was kind of Teral to give me the light. But, Master, I woke in the dark. It must have guttered while I slept.”
“Yes. Candles do that.”
“I . . . I got up to use the ‘fresher. The globe in the hall lit, and I was all right. But, but when I came back . . .”
Obi-Wan started shaking hard again. Qui-Gon wrapped his arms more tightly around him, and pulled them both back to lean against the curving wall when the young man’s knees started to buckle. “Stay with me, Padawan. What happened?”
“I . . . I couldn’t go in.” Obi-Wan’s fingers dug into his Master’s flesh, desperate, yet somehow weak. “I’m sorry. I can’t go in. I’m sorry. I’m afraid! Master, I’m afraid of the dark!”
“Oh, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon pressed the boy close and let them slide down the wall to sit on the floor. “Shhh. It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t.” Obi-Wan’s voice was muffled against the Master’s shoulder. “It isn’t all right at all. I’m too old to be scared of the dark, far too old to be acting like such a baby. I’m sorry.”
Qui-Gon sighed, gently rubbing the boy’s back. “I don’t think you ever get too old to be afraid of the dark, young one. You aren’t acting like a baby. You had a very traumatic experience, and your mind is wounded. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Obi-Wan turned his head to speak more clearly, though he still leaned heavily against his master. “Jedi aren’t supposed to be afraid.”
“But all Jedi are, of one thing or another. We just learn to release the fear, and to go on despite it.”
“I tried to release it, and I couldn’t. It was too big. And when I tried again, it pulled me in. I’m sorry. I failed you, failed your teachings.”
Qui-Gon shook his head, running his hand through the boy’s soft, spiky hair. “You have never failed me. And I don’t think you ever will. It’s no wonder you had trouble releasing this. As I said, your mind is wounded. We will deal with this together. I just wish you had mentioned it to me earlier.”
“It’s never fully dark on Coruscant. I never had a problem before. But now . . .” Obi-Wan glanced at the doorway of his chamber, looming like a mouth open to bite, to swallow, to consume. Another strong shudder passed through his wiry frame. “It’s just so very dark . . .”
“Yes. And the last time you were in the dark, you were alone, in terrible pain. Of course you fear it now.” Qui-Gon looked down and gently tipped Obi-Wan’s chin upward in order to look into his eyes. “But I need you to understand something. You are never alone.”
A brief spark lit in the blue-green eyes, warming the Master’s heart. “Never?”
“Never. Never, my Padawan. Even when you are in the dark, you carry the light with you. Even when you can’t feel the Force, when you can’t feel our bond, it is still there. Always there, always with you. Shall I tell you an old verse that may remind you of this?”
“Please.” Obi-Wan leaned his head on his master’s shoulder like a child waiting for storytime.
Qui-Gon smiled, pulling his boy a little closer. “It may help you to memorize this and recite it when you feel alone. It helped me, when I was very young, and my master had to leave me behind in the Temple for a dangerous mission. I’ve never forgotten it.” He leaned his head back against the wall, feeling his own mind slip back slightly, not to a place of darkness, but one of warmth and light.
“I’m listening,” Obi-Wan said softly.
Qui-Gon could feel the waiting in him, the intense focus Obi-Wan brought to every lesson, great or small. He laid his cheek against the soft hair that glinted with ginger highlights in the gentle light. “‘Fear not, for the Force is with thee. Fear not the pestilence in the morning nor the arrow at midday. The sun shall not smite thee by day nor the moon by night. Walk through the waters, and thou shalt not be drowned. Walk through the fire, and thou shalt not be burned. Fear not, for thou art never alone.’”
“‘Nor the moon by night,’” Obi-Wan murmured, almost sleepily. He shifted slightly. “But I like the moon.”
Qui-Gon chuckled, very softly. “I know. But you understand the intent. Say it back to me.”
Obi-Wan dutifully repeated the old verse, Jedi mind techniques allowing him to memorize it with a single hearing. “‘. . . for thou art never alone,’” he finished, and fell silent for a moment. “I like that. Thank you, Master.”
“You’re welcome. And here, let me show you another way that you carry the light with you.” Keeping one arm wrapped firmly around his boy, Qui-Gon lifted his free hand, the palm cupped as if to shelter a small treasure. Slowly, gently, a ball of light began to glow there, spreading soft yellow warmth through the air, painting the walls and illuminating their faces.
“It’s a simple manipulation, though very fine,” Qui-Gon explained. “Speed up the air molecules in a contained space, and they grow warmer and begin to shine. Try it.”
“Not try,” Obi-Wan murmured, sounding closer to sleep now. “Do.” He lifted one hand and concentrated, and soon held a matching ball of light, smaller than Qui-Gon’s but quite a bit brighter, almost white in its brilliance. “Ouch. That’s hot.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. “Yes, you need to be careful not to burn yourself.” He could smell the scent of burning, clean and clear, mingled with the rich earth scent all around them. It was as if sunlight had come to live beneath the ground.
Obi-Wan moved his hand away, letting the ball of light hang in the air like a tiny star. “That’s nice.”
“It’s beautiful,” Qui-Gon corrected. “It’s absolutely beautiful. You grasped the idea very quickly.” He gently let his own light fade away. “It will consume oxygen, so you must take care when using this technique. But I trust you to use it wisely.”
“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan again turned his head to lean on Qui-Gon’s chest, letting his eyes drift shut. “You always make it better. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” Qui-Gon murmured. He watched Obi-Wan’s little star begin to fade as the boy slipped into a true, deep slumber.
Gradually the radiant globe softened and dissipated, and Qui-Gon looked down at his sleeping apprentice, considering whether to carry him back to his bed or just sit here all night long. The latter option definitely had its appeal . . . but no. They both needed a good night of rest to prepare for the talks tomorrow.
Qui-Gon shifted the boy into his arms and climbed to his feet. He hesitated for a moment, then walked back toward his own chamber, cradling Obi-Wan’s head against his shoulder. No, his Padawan, his son, was not too old to be afraid of the dark. And he was not too old to need his Master’s presence now and then. Qui-Gon’s bed was plenty big enough for two.
(End)