Author: Loryn Wilde ([email protected])
Summary: Qui-Gon struggles to comfort his Padawan after Obi-Wan is assaulted in a vile way.
1 Somewhat Damaged
Despicable was the word.
Qui-Gon Jinn scowled at himself in the mirror.
He loathed, detested, and abhorred the feeling that arose within him each time he looked at his Padawan.
Exiting the refresher, he knew he would have to pass through the den in order to get to their tiny kitchen to start supper and he dreaded it.
Because Obi-Wan was there.
Poor, confused Obi-Wan. Still sitting on the couch—alone. Trying desperately to find some meaning behind the dire actions that had been taken against him—alone. Trying—alone—to reign in the swell of emotions surging through their bond.
Obi-Wan was either unable to garner enough strength to construct mental shields, or he did not have enough presence of mind to do so. His feelings were raw and naked to Qui-Gon, exposed. The older man could nearly taste the bitter residue that the monster had left in his Padawan's mind. It was a tiny seed of uncertainty; an itch of doubt that could not be scratched, everything that could crush the strongest of hearts if indulged.
His Padawan was nurturing these evil buds within and Qui-Gon could feel them spark and grow by the second.
He stopped in the doorway and let his eyes rest on the apprentice.
The youth was curled up on the couch, as if trying to disappear into the soft cushions, and shaking softly. Qui-Gon's heart constricted at the sight. He moved quietly to the couch and pulled a blanket off the back of it. He unfolded it and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders.
"Obi-Wan—" His grief choked off the rest of his words, those meaningless cliches that would not have made a damned bit of difference here.
His hands found and closed around the quivering shoulders, then let go as if burned as he remembered. He silently pleaded for the bowed head to rise. He thought that if only Obi-Wan would raise his head, meet his eyes, Qui- Gon might know what to do.
The Padawan finally did, though, and Qui-Gon found himself drowning in the incredible sorrow and unmistakable loss in the watery blue-green orbs. The depth and strength of his apprentice's pain staggered the powerful Jedi and he felt curiously humbled in its presence.
The bleary, reddened eyes searched his for a moment before the teen spoke.
"You don't know what to do."
It was a blameless accusation, a whisper, but a revelation as well. Qui-Gon knew at that second that he had been revealed, was just as naked and exposed as his Padawan.
Empty protest died on his lips. He shook his head, at a loss.
A deep shudder passed through Obi-Wan and he slid his deadened gaze away.
"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said weakly, unable to account for the lump growing in his throat.
He fought it back fiercely, relieved to be able to focus his floundering energies on something else for a moment, something substantial. Something he could feel in a place other than his aching heart.
Too soon, though, it was gone, and he was faced once more with the hurt boy sitting before him, and the emptiness that threatened to consume his insides.
Obi-Wan had been brutally assaulted in a way neither Jedi had ever been prepared for. There were no serious physical injuries that had not already been taken care of. Indeed, Qui-Gon had washed out and cleaned the wounds on the boy's wrists where he had been bound so thoroughly that he thought for sure, they must be the most immaculate injuries on all the levels of Coruscant.
He had done what he could for the bruises on Obi-Wan's upper arms, where that beast had held him so tightly, clumsily removing their severity and reducing them to faded, yellowing marks.
He had been unable to bring himself to do the same for the ones on the youth's hips and flanks. The true corporeal reminders of what had been taken from his Padawan.
Obi-Wan dropped his head wearily.
"I'll go to my room, Master, if you wish," he said softly.
The young Jedi was not able to control the waver in his voice, and he frantically ordered the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him to recede. Force knew Qui-Gon was uncomfortable enough…
He started to unfold himself from the couch but his Master stopped him.
Qui-Gon touched his Padawan's face and swallowed the insistent lump in his throat.
"No, Obi-Wan." He pulled the teen back down. "I don't want you to have to be alone."
He knew that Obi-Wan craved his comfort, had known it all along but had been unable to give it. He was too afraid of some meaningless gesture or touch being misunderstood, but as he pulled the distraught boy to him he finally knew how misguided his intentions had been.
Obi-Wan shook in his arms and keened softly, knotting his hands in the Master's tunic. Qui-Gon felt the chilly emptiness in his pupil, and began filling it with thoughts of warmth and safety. He folded his arms around the boy and rocked him gently.
Obi-Wan had been hurt quite enough that day, and Qui-Gon was damned if he was going to add any more pain to the trembling figure in his arms. His Padawan trusted him; he should have known that trust was strong enough to survive what it had untainted.
He pressed a light kiss into the ginger hair and soothed Obi-Wan until the tormented boy drifted off into a heavy slumber.
Even then, he did not leave.
Summary: Qui-Gon struggles to comfort his Padawan after Obi-Wan is assaulted in a vile way.
1 Somewhat Damaged
Despicable was the word.
Qui-Gon Jinn scowled at himself in the mirror.
He loathed, detested, and abhorred the feeling that arose within him each time he looked at his Padawan.
Exiting the refresher, he knew he would have to pass through the den in order to get to their tiny kitchen to start supper and he dreaded it.
Because Obi-Wan was there.
Poor, confused Obi-Wan. Still sitting on the couch—alone. Trying desperately to find some meaning behind the dire actions that had been taken against him—alone. Trying—alone—to reign in the swell of emotions surging through their bond.
Obi-Wan was either unable to garner enough strength to construct mental shields, or he did not have enough presence of mind to do so. His feelings were raw and naked to Qui-Gon, exposed. The older man could nearly taste the bitter residue that the monster had left in his Padawan's mind. It was a tiny seed of uncertainty; an itch of doubt that could not be scratched, everything that could crush the strongest of hearts if indulged.
His Padawan was nurturing these evil buds within and Qui-Gon could feel them spark and grow by the second.
He stopped in the doorway and let his eyes rest on the apprentice.
The youth was curled up on the couch, as if trying to disappear into the soft cushions, and shaking softly. Qui-Gon's heart constricted at the sight. He moved quietly to the couch and pulled a blanket off the back of it. He unfolded it and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders.
"Obi-Wan—" His grief choked off the rest of his words, those meaningless cliches that would not have made a damned bit of difference here.
His hands found and closed around the quivering shoulders, then let go as if burned as he remembered. He silently pleaded for the bowed head to rise. He thought that if only Obi-Wan would raise his head, meet his eyes, Qui- Gon might know what to do.
The Padawan finally did, though, and Qui-Gon found himself drowning in the incredible sorrow and unmistakable loss in the watery blue-green orbs. The depth and strength of his apprentice's pain staggered the powerful Jedi and he felt curiously humbled in its presence.
The bleary, reddened eyes searched his for a moment before the teen spoke.
"You don't know what to do."
It was a blameless accusation, a whisper, but a revelation as well. Qui-Gon knew at that second that he had been revealed, was just as naked and exposed as his Padawan.
Empty protest died on his lips. He shook his head, at a loss.
A deep shudder passed through Obi-Wan and he slid his deadened gaze away.
"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said weakly, unable to account for the lump growing in his throat.
He fought it back fiercely, relieved to be able to focus his floundering energies on something else for a moment, something substantial. Something he could feel in a place other than his aching heart.
Too soon, though, it was gone, and he was faced once more with the hurt boy sitting before him, and the emptiness that threatened to consume his insides.
Obi-Wan had been brutally assaulted in a way neither Jedi had ever been prepared for. There were no serious physical injuries that had not already been taken care of. Indeed, Qui-Gon had washed out and cleaned the wounds on the boy's wrists where he had been bound so thoroughly that he thought for sure, they must be the most immaculate injuries on all the levels of Coruscant.
He had done what he could for the bruises on Obi-Wan's upper arms, where that beast had held him so tightly, clumsily removing their severity and reducing them to faded, yellowing marks.
He had been unable to bring himself to do the same for the ones on the youth's hips and flanks. The true corporeal reminders of what had been taken from his Padawan.
Obi-Wan dropped his head wearily.
"I'll go to my room, Master, if you wish," he said softly.
The young Jedi was not able to control the waver in his voice, and he frantically ordered the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him to recede. Force knew Qui-Gon was uncomfortable enough…
He started to unfold himself from the couch but his Master stopped him.
Qui-Gon touched his Padawan's face and swallowed the insistent lump in his throat.
"No, Obi-Wan." He pulled the teen back down. "I don't want you to have to be alone."
He knew that Obi-Wan craved his comfort, had known it all along but had been unable to give it. He was too afraid of some meaningless gesture or touch being misunderstood, but as he pulled the distraught boy to him he finally knew how misguided his intentions had been.
Obi-Wan shook in his arms and keened softly, knotting his hands in the Master's tunic. Qui-Gon felt the chilly emptiness in his pupil, and began filling it with thoughts of warmth and safety. He folded his arms around the boy and rocked him gently.
Obi-Wan had been hurt quite enough that day, and Qui-Gon was damned if he was going to add any more pain to the trembling figure in his arms. His Padawan trusted him; he should have known that trust was strong enough to survive what it had untainted.
He pressed a light kiss into the ginger hair and soothed Obi-Wan until the tormented boy drifted off into a heavy slumber.
Even then, he did not leave.