Phantoms Of A Conscience

"Obi-Wan…"

I blinked open my eyes. The Force swirled in my mind, a ubiquitous river of gale consciousness that was not unlike the mist after a storm. Sleep ebbed from my mind, and with it took the omnipresent auras that swam in my conscience.

"Obi-Wan…"

I rolled over in my bed, squinting against the luminous rays that emanated from the halls. My vision obscured, I blinked again. Shadows took form before my eyes, and I soon found myself blinking at the hazy outline of a shape in front of me.

Qui…Gon…?

The tall form of my Master appeared before me. He looked just as I remembered; his hair soft and brown, dark eyes light with kindness, tanned, chiseled face firm and gentle. I felt my heart weaken as I reached out to him, with both my mind and hand. But my fingers slipped right through him, and the bond I once shared with him remained severed.

Another chimerical apparition of my beloved Master.

And then he disintegrated. His body shattering into pieces before me, leaving only charred ashes and dust. Gone. And once again, I couldn't save him.

"Obi-Wan…?"

I could see more clearly now. A figure, small and frail, presented itself from where, only moments ago, my Master had stood. I could see the burned ashes coil around and twist about his body. A face was revealed. Not dark-haired. Not warm-eyed.

Not Qui-Gon…

"Obi-Wan… are you awake?"

I blinked, and found myself staring into deep crystalline eyes.

"You…" I breathed, exhaling with a shudder. My heart clenched. I could feel the bitterness of cold hatred in my gut. I quickly admonished it. Jedi do not hate. "You are supposed to be sleeping," I said stolidly, fixing a hard stare on the child at my bedside.

"I couldn't sleep," Anakin replied, tentatively twisting his Padawan braid around his finger. He sniffled and scrubbed his nose with the sleeve of his sleep tunic.

I considered ignoring him. "Did you try?" I asked tiredly. I could think of nothing else to say.

Anakin inclined his head. Shadows cast across his pale and weary face. "It's… cold," he said hesitantly, as if wary to admit it. "It's so cold."

I grunted. He had been cold ever since he had left Tatooine. "There are extra blankets in the closet," I told him.

I don't want a blanket…

A small, tenebrous thought whispered through my mind. I pushed it away. "You are going to be very tired tomorrow if you don't get some sleep."

"I know…" he said quietly. "I'm trying to sleep, really. I just…" he trailed off, apprehension and uncertainty lingering in the wake of his words.

I don't feel well…

I sighed, shutting my eyes. I had not slept peacefully in much too long. My mind was hazy from exhaustion, and my usually potent and alert sense of the Force was dull. I did not need a disturbed child with insomnia disrupting my already meager sleep.

"Anakin," I addressed him firmly. I refused to call him my Padawan. He was only my apprentice as by my Master's wish; not as my own. As far as I was concerned, he was but a diminutive hindrance in my life. "I'm exhausted. I have not slept in days. I don't care what you do, as long as you don't bother me."

I could feel the disappointment and shame emanate from him like blood from a wound. I did not have to open my eyes to see the atrabilious look on his face. With a mumble of apology, he silently left the room. I peered at him through one eye and watched him exit into the hall with his shoulders hunched and head bowed.

From within the hall I could hear him struggling to suppress a cough in the sleeve of his tunic. The painful crackling in his chest when he heaved did not go unnoticed. But I did not give it any thought. I rolled over in my bed, and tried to concentrate on the previous halcyon state my mind had been in.

I'm so cold… Obi-Wan…

Anakin's voice drifted through my mind. I quickly blocked it out. A semblance of emotion that I distinguished as guilt manifested within me. When I tried to admonish it, I found it solid. I was guilty. I could not deny that.

What am I doing? I asked myself the same question I seemed to repeat perpetually since my Master's death. What am I thinking? I am not fit to accept a Padawan. I don't want to accept a Padawan. I am a knight. I am not meant to be a master.

I knew it to be true. I was not qualified to be a Master any more than Anakin was to be a Jedi. What Qui-Gon was thinking when he asked me to train the boy, I could not fathom.

Qui-Gon…

I shut out the stream of pain that rippled through my heart. I would never be able to cope with his passing away if I kept mourning over him. I would have to bury him in my mind, just as I buried his ashes. I had to step away from the past; not traipse aimlessly in it.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the pale, shadowed ceiling of my room. I had not slept in here in a long time. Memories of the many nights I spent sleeping and dreaming in this bed flashed through my mind. I struggled to block them out.

He's dead. He's gone. He doesn't exist anymore. Get over it. I berated myself. My eyes flickered over the walls, and suddenly it seemed that every painting, every gift, and every item in my room was a memento of Qui-Gon. No. They must disappear. I must get rid of them.

My conscious spun with thoughts and memories that I found I could not silence. I squeezed my eyes shut. I could indistinctly hear Anakin in the common space; repressing another soppy cough. I tried to focus on him; on every noise he made or labored inhalation he drew.

I must get rid of him. I thought frenetically. I could hear my heart thrum against my chest. I can't let him do this to me. I have to get rid of him. He's dead. He doesn't exist anymore. He's gone. He doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't care.

-Why are you so ambitious to eradicate me, Obi-Wan?-

I froze. My heart stopped suddenly. I could not breathe. I could not think. That thought reverberated in my mind completely clear; as if someone had whispered it in my ear. I distinguished the grave, gentle voice instantly, and my blood turned to ice.

"Qui…?" No. No. It couldn't be. He was dead. I held him as he died. I saw the Force leave his body. I felt his bond sever from mine. No. It couldn't be. It wasn't…

-But it is. It's me, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon.-

How saccharine his voice sounded. I had ached to hear it for so long. I basked in it like warmth emanating from the sun. No! My conscience screamed. It is chimerical! It's not the real-Qui-Gon. It is another artificial your mind conjured. Qui-Gon is dead

-You are too stolid, my Padawan.- The voice carried an indistinct note of affectionate reprimanding as it spoke; one which I realized once belonged to Qui-Gon. –If I am dead, how is it I am speaking to you?-

I screamed at myself to ignore him. My heart cried in protest as I tried to extirpate the voice. It is not real, it is not real, I repeated to myself over again.

-Obi-Wan, listen to me. No, listen to me.-

I tried to concentrate on everything but the thoughts that echoed in my mind. If I ignored it, it would dissipate. My eyes flitted over the room, dancing across everything I saw in a haze of shapes and colors.

-Obi-Wan.- I could hear an apparitional version of a heavy sigh in my mind. –I did not think one as strong as you would be reduced to such a state.-

Well, what do you expect? My heart sang out before I could stop it. I had to stand there and watch you die in my arms. I tried my hardest and I still could not save you.

-It was my time, Padawan. It was no fault of yours.-

I wasn't fast enough to save you. I let you die. I let you die…

-Obi-Wan.- I felt what could have been distinguished as a mental swat. –Stop this nonsense. You know that you did all you could. I died with honor. It's time to move on and stop beating yourself up over this.-

I could feel my mind broil with irate thoughts that I refused to siphon to the voice. It did not deserve to fuel off my anger.

-Obi-Wan, you know very well that suppressing my death will only worsen things.- The asomatous articulation felt like it was dripping venom. –Why is it so hard for you to accept that? I am dead, Obi-Wan, and there is nothing you can do to change that.-

Shut-up. I snapped. You know nothing. You are not Qui-Gon. I went to proceed, but was interrupted when a cacophony of sickly coughs momentarily jolted me from my mind. I paused, listening intently to the heaving spasms that emitted from outside my room until they slowly diminished.

-He is sick,- The voice said in a gentle tone. –If you aren't attentive of him he will grow very ill.-

I told you to shut-up, I growled.

-Obi-Wan…-

You don't exist, I thought firmly, my voice heavy with hatred. So stay dead.

The voice was gone. I exhaled shakily and relaxed my body, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. I blinked, my vision clearing, and I found myself staring fixatedly at an old photograph on my wall. It was a black-and-white picture, the edges of which were worn and the corners frayed. In the photograph stood I, as a young initiate; my face lit up brilliantly as I clutched my activated lightsaber in my hands. My Master stood at my side, his arm slung over my shoulder affectionately, and his tanned features adamant, but soft.

I stared at the photo for a long time, and then forced my gaze to avert. I considered making another endeavor to return to my previous unconsciousness, but thought it to be futile. Despite my prior exhaustion, I was completely devoid of it now. I knew I would obtain little more sleep tonight.

I heaved a sigh, turning over to slip my legs from under the coverings of my bed. I stiffly sat up, threading my fingers through my disheveled hair. I made to reach for my braid, but remembered that it was no longer there. I pressed my hands against my forehead and leaned on my palms.

A sensation of unadulterated numbness filled me. I felt devoid of all emotion; as if that part of my brain had been severed. Somehow, I felt a strange emptiness within me.

I exhaled heavily and hauled myself to my feet. My limbs felt thick as lead. I walked over to the wall and faced the photograph that I had previously been staring at. Reaching up, I tore it off the wall and held it in my hand, staring angrily at the two beings imprisoned in it. I began to squeeze it and crumble it beneath my fingers, until all that remained was a tightly rumpled ball.

I let it drop from my hand. I reached over and claimed my cloak from the chair I'd abandoned it on and slipped my arms into it. I turned and made toward the door, gesturing just slightly with my hand to wave it open. I stepped out of the room, and felt a slight chill rush over me.

I walked slowly down the hallway. The floor felt like ice beneath my bare feet. Darkness and tension hung in the air. The atmosphere made the apartment feel as though it had been abandoned for a long time. All the warmth that had once given it such an amiable ambiance had been locked away.

A shudder ran through me as I entered the common space. I could feel the Force twist and sing in pain, and it seemed to blanket the entire area. My eyes flickered over to the couch, from which the Force was emanating in strong waves.

Anakin was sitting with his legs drawn to his chest and his head resting in his arms. He seemed completely obvious to the fact that the Force was practically palpitating from him. He was shivering fiercely, and made no attempt to warm himself with one of few blankets draped across the sofa.

I felt a pang of guilt stab through me. I had not wanted to surrender Qui-Gon's room to Anakin. I had feared that whatever remnants remaining of my Master would be disturbed, and I wanted only to savor whatever I could. I had locked Qui-Gon's door, intending to keep it locked forever, and left Anakin to sleep on the sofa.

As if sensing that my thoughts were focused on him, Anakin lifted his head and peered up at me. His skin was slightly pale and painted with a light flush. His crystalline eyes, which I found I could not look directly into, were glossy and sparked with fever.

The boy regarded me for only a second, then sniffled a few times and leaned his head back in his arms.

I blinked, staring rather obtusely at the child before me, pondering what I should do next. Remorse and melancholy nibbled at my conscience, but I still felt an overbearing sense of apathy grip me. My mind, previously thrumming with thoughts, seemed to have dulled.

I exhaled slowly, my eyes flittering over the common space, capturing every bit of décor or piece of furniture occupying the area. The paintings strung from the wall looked subfusc, as if the color had faded from them. The furniture, an old sofa-turned-bed, a recliner and a rusted old rocking chair, stood listlessly on a grey floor.

I found myself staring fixatedly at the rocking chair. Once, it had belonged to Qui-Gon. It was an antique old thing with noisy rockers and rough, worn-out arms. Qui-Gon spent many days, whether alone or not, meditating and gently rocking back and forth on it.

Something within me told me to look away, but I disregarded it. I walked over to the old chair and slowly sat down on it, potently blocking out whatever memories threatened to invade my mind. I leaned back against the chair, feeling the hard, sculptured wood against me. My motives I was uncertain of, but I knew that despairing over the past was not it.

I sighed softly. "Anakin," I said quietly. The boy raised his head to send me an inquisitive look. "Come here," I made a gentle gesture with my hand.

Anakin face contorted in confusion, but he seemed too weak to argue with me. He rose unsteadily to his feet and stumbled toward me, his movements maladroit and shaky. He halted in front of me, fixing me with a dubious look.

I reached over and picked him up, gently drawing him to rest in my lap. He tensed visibly and shuddered at the propinquity. I siphoned pulses of solace through the Force in an attempt to comfort him. He seemed to surrender and soon relaxed against me.

I tucked him against my chest, holding him in a position reminiscent to that of a mother comforting a grieving child. I wrapped my arm over him protectively, and brought my other hand up to gently sift through his unruly sandy hair. He leaned back, resting his head against my chest.

Why are you doing this? I could sense him question mentally. I gave no reply; just continued to rock him back and forth, back and forth. Unconsciously, I began to hum softly to the soothing motion of the rocking.

I stared at the wall opposite of me, my face blank. I felt my conscience grow calm; the Force surrounding me beginning to settle. Back and forth, back and forth; the rocking became an involuntary act. I could feel Anakin's body go flaccid. His breathing, albeit clattery, became steady.

Back and forth, back and forth.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the tranquility surrounding me. My gentle humming became softer.

Back and forth, back and forth…

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I pushed open the door, quietly and tentatively. Streams of light stretched into the room like a hand, casting shadows in the corners and dancing across the walls. I stepped into the room and deeply inhaled the scents that greeted me, must, bitterness and emptiness.

Everything was just as it had been. Not an item out of place or a knick-knack disturbed. I walked in slowly, shuffling the bundle in my arms. I went toward the bed, which was straightened and cleaned. The covers tucked evenly and the pillows devoid of any wrinkles. It was as if it had never been used.

I looked down at the child in my arms. He was sleeping peacefully, his face set in a calm expression. I gently laid him down on the bed, and pulled the coverings up to reach his shoulders. As I leaned over him, a familiar, haunting scent filled me. It was a mixed aroma of sweat and tears and life. My breath hitched only momentarily.

I knelt down on the floor, pressing my face against the coverings. Memories swam around me, but I shielded them from my mind. No more, I told myself. No more. I looked over at Anakin, resting contently on my Master's bed. Light cast a brilliant glow over his pale face, illuminating it.

Involuntarily, I reached out, brushing strands of sandy hair from his face and ghosting my fingertips over his soft cheeks. He leaned into my touch, a faint smile gracing his lips. I drew back gently, watching as the boy's mouth arched at my absence.

I sat there for a little longer, kneeling on the floor with my head in my arms, watching the little child sleep. My own exhaustion began to grip me, and I slowly stood up, my limbs stiff from remaining so long in such an awkward position.

I walked to the door and stepped out, pausing only once to turn and cast one last look at Anakin's peaceful face, before gently shutting the door and turning to return to my own room.

I knew Qui-Gon's ghost would not haunt me anymore.

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I'd like to informally thank my two accomplices, coffee and sugar, for assisting me in writing this one-shot. For without them, I would have keeled over thirty paragraphs ago. You see what the mind conjures when under the influence of three cups of Nescafe and a plate of oreos.

Now, I'm quite neoteric when it comes to writing angsty fanfiction. This was the first one I felt comfortable enough to submit. So, yanno, a good ol' virtual clap on the back or something equivalent of that would be very much appreciated.

(Note: Qui-Gon's rocking chair; © me & my unhealthy fetish with rocking chairs. Seriously, I could sit in one for hours on end, just staring blankly and rocking back and forth, back and forth…)