Passion

By LuvEwan

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

G

"You. Are. Ridiculous."

In the darkness, the thin, silver harmony of chirruping carliots and Qui-Gon Jinn's baritone voice were the only sounds to permeate the silence. The woods were crowded with shriveled trunks and topped by a lusterless canopy of leaves, smothering the pale twinkles of far-off stars.

But, as the Master watched from a hollowed log beside the fire, he knew that there was quite enough light, dazzling and soft and shimmering, to illuminate the entire planet…

And it was contained within a single set of jeweled eyes, currently focused on a shabby, beat-in little machine.

Qui-Gon sighed, shaking his head against his palm. "Padawan, in any other circumstance of course I would encourage such…studious persistence. But the time comes when even a Jedi must declare, yes and even accept, defeat."

Obi-Wan did not so much as glance up at his mentor, his tongue caught between twin ivory ridges of teeth.

"Force." The older man grumbled in exasperation. "It's been almost an hour. Your dinner's gone completely cold."

'Dinner', as it were, consisted of a pile of berries and seeds that were never very warm to begin with…but regardless, it was foolish to forego sustenance in favor of, well, foolishness!

"And it was no simple task to gather that food, you know."

"Oh yes." Obi-Wan murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he tugged at a wire. "After all, you very nearly scraped yourself on that baby branch."

Qui-Gon hid his smile by turning to listen to a smooth howl in the distance. "Cheeky apprentice." He looked down at the spiky-haired object of his disdain. "You do know what happens to such a species of Padawan?"

The young Jedi's face split into a decidedly wicked grin. "Of course. They're assigned to overly stoic, humorless Masters as punishment."

"Ha!" Qui-Gon scoffed. "Punishment to the Master perhaps."

Obi-Wan returned his gaze to his task, but he spared a few seconds to shrug his shoulders. "If that's how you choose to perceive it."

His voice had a carefree--cryptic--tone that frustrated Qui-Gon down to his bones. He shifted on the tree husk and furrowed his brow. "How else could one see it? After all, I, the Master, am not the one hunched over a battered piece of trash, playing with scorched wiring."

"I am not playing." Came the indignant reply. "If you'll recall, these self-same skills of mine saved us from certain death on the Rabbla moon. "

"I don't dispute that. But we're not exactly on the edge of oblivion here, Obi-Wan."

The Padawan was forced to talk with the end of a cord clasped between his lips. "Your opinion, Master." He pulled the stringy innards of a wire from its casing and began to connect it with another.

Qui-Gon rested his elbow on his knee, leaning his chin against the heel of a hand. "You know, it's well within my power to order you to halt this right now. You're being ridiculous."

"You said that." Obi-Wan responded absently. Moon glow spilled on his hair, damp from concentration, standing at a more rigid formation.

"And it's nearly midnight. We should get some sleep." Qui-Gon added.

"Be my guest." A spark flew from the contraption and Obi-Wan pulled his hand back, popping a finger in his mouth with a wince. "But if I feel the least bit threatened, I'll smother you with a pillow."

Qui-Gon had to choke down a rumble of laughter rising in his throat. "Now why would you feel threatened, Padawan? I wouldn't dream of doing harm to…that…box."

"'s not a box." The correction was uttered between severe huttese curses.

"That's it, Obi-Wan. I command you to go to bed!"

Obi-Wan craned his neck in horror. "But I've always been allowed to stay up for this! I never miss it! It's my passion!"

"That's what worries me."

At that moment, garbled noise began to jerk from the 'box' 's lone speaker. Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "That's it! Almost got it!"

He turned a dial slowly, with expert attention to the changing volume and pitch of the sounds, his ear pressed against the speaker. "Just a little more…"

But then, the signal winked out. Obi-Wan scrambled to adjust the wires, to reposition the antennae..

Alas, the feed was lost.

Obi-Wan slumped plopping unceremoniously onto the gritty forest floor.

Qui-Gon bit his bottom lip to suppress a grin and set about airing out the sleeping bags.

The youth watched him with severe, jaded eyes. "It was you. I know it was you."

Qui-Gon slipped between the downy layers of the bedroll with a yawn. "Now, why would I attempt to sabotage all your hard work? Do you think me so ruthless?"

"In a word, yes." Obi-Wan deadpanned. He crossed his arms. "You've always hated it. You're jealous of my talent."

"Talent?"

"Talent, yes."

Qui-Gon snorted. "A drunken womp rat could do better."

Obi-Wan put a hand to his heart. "Master, I'm appalled. It's despicable enough that you ruined my hallowed tradition, but now you have the audacity to criticize my Force-given talent!"

"The Force must have a terrific sense of humor." Qui-Gon retorted, closing his eyes.

"But…what….you…" For a few minutes, the Padawan could only sputter, blinded by his outrage. His gaze alternated between the faulty transmitter and his faulty Master---faulty in the sense that well-functioning Masters did not terrorize their innocent Padawans.

Eventually, his vigil grew tiresome, and he began to crawl wearily, disheartened, into his sleeping bag.

Just as his lashes fell to meet his cheeks, he heard music, flowing with clean clarity, in the quiet. Obi-Wan leapt to his feet and rushed to the revived transmitter.

Qui-Gon sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "What the…"

And then, he heard it too. Distinct instruments, joining in a near-discord, horribly jolly and upbeat…In his youth, on the streets of a long-forgotten planet, Qui-Gon had heard the name of the type of music…What was it? Paka? Polo? No…Polka. That was it. Polka.

"Nooo." Qui-Gon groaned.

"HA CHA CHA!" Obi-Wan sang triumphantly, turning the volume to full blast, filling the serene forest with the cheery tune.

Then, to Qui-Gon's dismay, Obi-Wan began to dance. Hopping, kicking out his legs, throwing up his arms.

And there were no words to describe the expression on that young face…except, perhaps, that it was passionate.