Chapter Text
Even with the whole of Anohrah on the lookout, the search takes hours.
Qui-Gon, Tahl, and Bant canvas the Archives, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the North Gardens, and the map room. Everywhere his Padawan liked to go before. Anywhere he might consider safe.
Cin Drallig and the Widenans go through the empty salles and classrooms, the disused parts of Anohrah. Places no one else will be looking, where a young boy might seek to hide from other beings.
The longer it takes, the more distressed Qui-Gon gets. He feels like he can't catch his breath. Where is his Padawan?
It is one of the Widenans that finds him.
“Storage room 0212, level 42, northwest quadrant,” Cin Drallig tells him over the comm.
Qui-Gon is on his way in a flash. He’s not that far, it’s only down a few levels and a ten minute walk, which he traverses in five. He reaches the storage room, keys it open, and steps inside only to freeze in his tracks.
“Feemor?”
His former Padawan looks up from his seat on the floor, and smiles mildly. He’s wearing the robes of the Widenans, the mask on his lap, and Qui-Gon didn’t know that he was a Widenan, why didn’t he know?
“Jaieh Jinn.” Feemor glances down and to his side. “Obi-Wan? Tamah bika Jaieh kat keelel.”
Qui-Gon gets over his surprise quickly and takes a few more steps in, letting the door close behind him. He can’t see Obi-Wan from where he is, but when he reaches out in the Force he can finally feel his Padawan’s presence, faint but near. He sinks to his knees next to Feemor, and at last he spots his Padawan.
Obi-Wan has wedged himself beneath the shelving and is curled up between two boxes. How Feemor found him, Qui-Gon doesn’t know, he has hidden himself well.
“Padawan?” He catches the glint of Obi-Wan’s eyes in the shadows. “Come out, taweju?”
His Padawan doesn’t move.
“I am not angry, I promise. I just want to make sure you’re alright. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Cloth rustles, Obi-Wan shifting, before letting out a barely audible breath and dragging himself out. In the harsh, white light of the storage room he is paler than usual, though his eyes are red and swollen, evidence of prior tears. He looks anywhere but Qui-Gon, curled in on himself at Feemor’s side.
“Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”
He nods, once, more of a jerk of his head than anything.
“We were worried about you.”
Obi-Wan seems to pull into himself more, his shoulders drawn up toward his ears.
Sorry, the boy signs, fist circling his chest. And then he keeps signing it, over and over. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
“It’s alright, Padawan. I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened?”
Hesitation.
Nightmare. Obi-Wan stutters in his signing the way one might stutter during speech, his hands fumbling as they shake. Could not find you.
“I was at my appointment with Healer Wynver. Did you forget?”
His Padawan does not respond.
“That’s alright. Are you ready to go back to our quarters?”
Another jerky nod.
Home, he signs.
“Yes, let’s get you home.”
Qui-Gon stands slowly, and reaches out a hand to his Padawan, relieved when Obi-Wan takes the offered help. The boy’s shoulders are still hunched, his eyes downcast. He’s missing his hearing aid and his knee brace, clothed still in rumpled sleepwear, and he staggers a bit getting up.
Feemor pushes to his feet as well, and Qui-Gon glances at him.
“Thank you for finding him.”
“I’m just glad I was able to. Almost missed him in here.”
Qui-Gon bows his head in thanks. He squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand, and leads him out of the closet. His Padawan limps, clinging to his hand for support. Feemor follows behind him, accompanying then back to Qui-Gon’s quarters, but they don’t talk. They would have to clear the grievances between them first, and though it is something he would like to do, Qui-Gon won’t do that in front of Obi-Wan.
“Thank you again, Feemor,” he says when they reach their quarters.
“Farewell, Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan. I’m glad I was able to find you.”
He begins to walk away, and Qui-Gon has a moment of desperation where he blurts out, “Feemor. Would you like to talk sometime?”
The Widenan turns back to him, surprise in his eyes. He stares at Qui-Gon for a moment, and then bows his head.
“I will consider it.”
That is the most he could ask for, he supposes.
He nods, and ushers Obi-Wan back into the safety of their quarters.
After the fiasco of this morning, Qui-Gon calls Healer Wynver for an emergency session for Obi-Wan. He lets the Mind Healer in, and Wynver gives him a nod and heads straight to Obi-Wan’s room, where his Padawan has holed himself up under the bed again with a freezepak for his knee. He is in there for hours, and Qui-Gon waits semi-patiently on his chair with a cup of tea, unable to help the way his foot taps on the floor to release the anxiety lodged behind his ribs.
When Wynver finally reemerges, Obi-Wan is following at his heels, head tucked down, arms wrapped around his waist. The Healer takes a seat on the sofa, and Obi-Wan drops in front of Qui-Gon, wriggling back between his legs, his back pressed firmly against the padded cushion of the chair.
Qui-Gon lays a hand on his hair, cautiously, but Obi-Wan leans into the touch and allows him to scratch his scalp. Some of the anxiety in Qui-Gon trickles away.
“What would you like to speak about?” He asks Wynver.
“Obi-Wan and I have discussed what happened today, and the support he would like moving forward. He had a nightmare while you were gone, and ran, believing that he was still on Melida/Daan. And with no one to pull him out of it, he was unable to tell what was real or not. He needs someone who can be with him at all times and can bring him out of panic attacks and flashbacks. Someone who can assist with his everyday needs and can help build his confidence around the Temple.”
Qui-Gon feels his stomach drop. He does his best but…
“I can’t,” he confesses heavily, his fingers tightening around each other until they were pale from the strain.
“I am not suggesting that you two must be separated.” Qui-Gon lifts his head, searching Wynver’s furry face for an explanation. “Obi-Wan needs your help, but he also needs more help than you can give him. I believe he might benefit from a service animal.”
“A service animal?” He asks.
“A service animal could assist Obi-Wan in many ways. Grounding him during flashbacks, nightmares, and panic attacks. Soothing him when he is in distress. Shielding him or alerting him to strangers. Counterbalance him when he is walking, sitting, or standing. Alerting him when he doesn’t have his hearing aid. Even reminding him to take his medications. Not to mention that caring for a service animal would raise his confidence and sense of responsibility, possibly allowing him to leave your quarters on his own, as well as provide companionship and comfort.”
Qui-Gon glances down at Obi-Wan, who is stiff and tense, knees drawn up to his chest and head ducked.
“That sounds… almost too good to be true.”
“It will take a month or so to match him to a suitable animal in training, and it will take some training together before they become a true team, but it is doable,” Wynver replies. His hands are folded neatly in his lap, assuredness in the set of his shoulders.
“You’re certain this will help?”
“If it works out, it will greatly improve Obi-Wan’s functioning, and may even allow him to become a Jehxah in some capacity.”
“Truly?”
The Healer nods.
“In that case, I think it’s worth trying. Obi-Wan, how do you feel about this?”
His Padawan shrugs, gaze still on the floor.
“Obi-Wan,” Healer Wynver says gently. “You have expressed to me your wish to become a Jehxah. I believe this to be your best chance at achieving that goal. Is that still your wish?”
Obi-Wan looks up at him and nods fervently.
“Then I will contact service animal institutes, and see if they have any suggestions for you. Are you okay if I discuss your situation with them?”
Another nod, far more hesitant.
“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Wynver smiles at the Padawan. “I will see you at our next session.”
He stands and bows to them before swishing out the door.
Qui-Gon strokes his Padawan’s hair again and Obi-Wan curls into him.
“It will be alright, Padawan,” he says. Obi-Wan is quiet, but he presses his forehead against Qui-Gon’s knee. Qui-Gon cannot tell what the gesture means.
The door buzzer sounds and Qui-Gon goes to greet their visitor, strangely nervous. The Togruta smiles brightly at him. At their heels is a juvenile varactyl, scales gleaming a brilliant blue-green. It’s wearing a bright red vest that reads “Service Animal in Training.”
“Hello, I’m Boga’s trainer,” they say. “We’re here to meet Obi-Wan.”
“Wait here.” He slips inside and makes his way to Obi-Wan's room. He knocks and opens the door, finding his Padawan sitting on the bed, reading on a datapad. “Padawan, someone is here to see you.”
Obi-Wan follows him out into the common room, but Qui-Gon can feel his wariness and fear. He opens the door and allows the Togruta to enter, the varactyl following. Its head just about reaches Obi-Wan's shoulders, and Qui-Gon is pretty sure it's not fully grown yet.
If this works out, they may need larger quarters.
“Hi, I’m Ami. Are you Obi-Wan?” They ask the Padawan.
He nods cautiously.
“I’ve brought someone for you. Her name is Boga. Do you want to pet her?” He nods again. They click their tongue. “Boga, greet.”
The varactyl edges closer, voicing a soft trill.
Obi-Wan's eyes are wide and his raised hand trembles as he reaches forward. He is incredibly gentle when he lays a hand on Boga's armored head and hesitantly strokes a face plate, staring into intelligent amber eyes. The varactyl stares back.
Then Boga squawks, the noise making Obi-Wan flinch and step back, but his knee suddenly gives out and he tumbles to the ground. Qui-Gon tries to catch him but he's standing too far away.
“Get her out of here,” he demands, rushing to his Padawan’s side.
“N-no,” Obi-Wan says. Qui-Gon stares at him, his eyes wide. It’s the first word he’s heard from Obi-Wan in five months. His gaze hasn't left the varactyl for a moment. “B-bo-ga.” He stretches towards her again.
Still wary, Qui-Gon nods to the handler and they release Boga. She creeps forward, her head lowered to Obi-Wan's level, and he curls around her, pressing his forehead to hers.
Even though there are tears in his eyes, there's a smile on his face, a soft, genuine thing unlike the polite grimaces Qui-Gon has gotten used to. His Force signature is awash with joy, rays of sun breaking through the clouds. He lets out a sound that could almost be a laugh, burying his fingers in the varactyl's feathery crest.
“G-g-good g-irl, Boga.”
She chirps and Obi-Wan's smile widens.
Qui-Gon glances at Ami and sees them surreptitiously wipe tears from their eyes.
“Thank you,” he tells them.
“This is the part that makes it all worth it,” they reply. “She will take good care of him.”
Watching the hundred-kilogram varactyl try and crawl into Obi-Wan’s lap, Qui-Gon can see the bond between them already forming.
“They’ll take good care of each other.”
Obi-Wan is getting better. Qui-Gon can see it, each day, and can't help but feel relief and a deep sense of gratitude toward this creature that has entered their life. Boga never leaves Obi-Wan’s side; she is there to lick his face to bring him out of his flashbacks, and rest her head on his lap when he is anxious, and protect him while he is sleeping. He still doesn't sleep on his bed, but at least he's not under it, the varactyl doesn’t fit. They curl up around each other on the floor, where Boga has been given a blanket, and Boga rumbles at Qui-Gon if he disturbs them.
She had been wary of him, at first. Healer Wynver has told him she is responding to Obi-Wan’s emotional state, and since he is struggling with trust, she is too. He does his best to earn it, giving Obi-Wan space, but still trying to make it clear that his Padawan can come to him for comfort or a listening ear whenever he needs it.
Obi-Wan rarely takes it, but sometimes after a nightmare—not the worst ones, after those he hides under his bed for hours and not even Boga can reach him—but sometimes he comes to Qui-Gon's room and Boga wakes him, and they make tea and sit on opposite ends of the couch until his Padawan feels safe enough to go back to sleep.
Boga never leaves Obi-Wan’s side. An eight-foot-long, reptile-shaped shadow. Qui-Gon is slowly getting used to her being there and the chaos that comes from having her around. Obi-Wan adores her, even on his worst days, no matter how much he struggles, he feeds her, walks her, plays with her, and trains her.
She’s probably the most well-behaved varactyl in the galaxy.
But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t cause trouble.
“Boga! No!”
There’s a crash from the other room and Qui-Gon pauses in his reading.
“Obi-Wan?” He calls. There is no response. He sighs and sets his book aside.
When he gets closer to Obi-Wan’s door, he hears, “B-bog-a st-stop movi-ing, lem-me—”
Qui-Gon knocks and the Padawan falls silent.
“Can I come in, Obi-Wan?”
There is no verbal response, but the door slides open anyway.
The first thing he sees is Boga. She stretches from one side of the room to the other, wiggling around on her belly as her tail swishes back and forth. Datapads lay scattered about on the floor, and the desk chair has been knocked over, evidently victims of the varactyl’s squirming. Obi-Wan sits at her head, a brush in his hands as he tries to groom her crest. He looks up at Qui-Gon with wide eyes.
Boga rumbles and nudges at him, trying to get him to start brushing her again.
Qui-Gon takes it in and raises an eyebrow.
“I think it’s time we got bigger rooms.”
The expression on Obi-Wan’s face turns sheepish.
The move to bigger quarters goes surprisingly well. Obi-Wan is on edge while they pack up their things, Boga hovering at his side, nudging and licking his hand every so often when he starts to get a vacant look on his face. He startles and looks down at her every time, and his lips quirk in a gentle smile.
Good girl, he signs, and strokes her faceplate, before getting back to work.
Qui-Gon watches from a distance and feels himself relax as well.
It is good to see his Padawan healing.
He pushes his chair into the correct position and looks around at the boxes that still need to be unpacked. It’s not too bad, Jedi do not have many possessions, after all, and there is plenty of room for all of it. The bulk of the stuff is Qui-Gon’s plants, which he sets about placing in their proper homes for adequate sunlight.
Obi-Wan takes his box into his new room to begin setting up his space, Boga going with him as always.
Hours later, Qui-Gon stretches, feeling his spine pop, and looks around at the completed quarters. Obi-Wan has not reappeared from his room, so Qui-Gon goes to check on him, knocking softly on the door. There is no response from Obi-Wan, but Boga gives a quiet chirp, so Qui-Gon opens the door and peers in.
Boga and Obi-Wan are curled up on Boga’s new bed together, the Padawan fast asleep, curled up against the varactyl’s side, Boga’s head on his lap, her tail lashed around his ankle. She eyes Qui-Gon, tawny irises gleaming.
They look comfortable enough, so Qui-Gon leaves them to it, after a glance around shows everything unpacked and in its place. He smiles at Boga, and closes the door gently.
Qui-Gon makes himself a cup of tea, and sends a message to Tahl, asking if she and Bant would like to visit. She answers in the affirmative, and he sends her the number for their new quarters.
They visit, and Obi-Wan and Boga emerge from his room to join them, and the conversation is pleasant and makes Obi-Wan laugh.
Everything is good.
When Qui-Gon leaves Obi-Wan alone now, it is with much less anxiety for the both of them than it was before. Now, Boga is there to keep him safe.
He reaches the agreed upon meditation room and sits on one of the cushions, crossing his legs. For a few minutes, he closes his eyes in the peace and quiet and prepares himself for the upcoming conversation.
The door opens, and Qui-Gon looks up.
“Feemor,” he greets with a tentative smile. His former Padawan is wearing regular Jedi robes instead of the robes of the Widenans.
“Qui-Gon.” Feemor bows his head respectfully and finds his seat. “It is good to see you. How is Obi-Wan?”
“He is doing better now,” Qui-Gon says, his shoulders relaxing a bit as the easy opening Feemor has given him. “He has a service varactyl, Boga, who has helped him tremendously. How is yourself?”
“I am well. I am considering taking a Padawan soon. I have my eye on a girl from the Thranta Clan. It would mean leaving the Widenans, but I think it is time for that anyway.”
A Padawan. A Tonpadawan. If Feemor accepts his apology, that is. It’s been four years since they last talked, and Qui-Gon is not quite sure of who the man in front of him is anymore.
“I am certain you will do well by her.” He tries for polite but genuine, testing the waters of Feemor’s openness to him.
“Thank you.” Feemor smiles for the first time. It is strikingly familiar. “What did you wish to talk about?”
Everything Qui-Gon had prepared to say erases from his mind. He had never been very good at apologies. Jaieh Dooku hadn’t been either, and the two of them are more alike than Qui-Gon wants to admit.
He also hasn’t talked to his Jaieh in years.
He shakes the thought away and takes a breath to still his mind.
“I wanted to… apologize for my behavior years ago. After Xanatos. It was cruel to you and I regret it deeply.”
“It is forgotten.”
Qui-Gon sighs.
“If it was forgotten, we would not be so distant now.”
“You made it clear that you no longer wished to associate as my Jaieh, or at all. I have accepted that,” Feemor says, and there is a painful twinge in Qui-Gon’s chest.
“No, Feemor, that’s not it. You are an incredible Jedi, and the blame here lies with me. After Xanatos Fell, I was wounded. I believed I had failed him and was not fit to be a teacher. It is why I rescinded my claim on you and refused to teach Obi-Wan at first. I was a blind fool who could not see past my own mistakes to the people I was hurting with my actions.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Perhaps sensing Qui-Gon has more to say, Feemor remains silent. “But Obi-Wan becoming my apprentice has taught me much, and made me reckon with my past and current self. I am aware that what I did was wrong. And I wish to make amends for it. Even if you would like to never speak to me again, I must apologize for what I did to you.”
Feemor is still quiet, but Qui-Gon has said his piece now and it’s up to his former apprentice to either accept his apology or reject it.
“Can you imagine what it’s like to be repudiated, Qui-Gon?” He says, and Qui-Gon’s feels a pit open in his stomach. “To lose such a massive part of your support system in an instant? To be discarded as though the years you spent at your Jaieh’s side meant nothing? After you had already lost one Jaieh to the Force?”
Qui-Gon bows his head. All at once, he realizes the full scope of what he has done to his former Padawan. The wounds he has left. If Feemor never forgives him, he would be right to.
“I cannot.”
“You broke my heart and yet… I still care for you. Deeply. I missed you.” He gives Qui-Gon a sorrowful smile. “I never thought the day would come when Qui-Gon Jinn would admit to his mistakes. I do not know if I am ready to forgive you,” Qui-Gon’s heart sinks even further, but Feemor continues, “but I would like to. I would like to rebuild my relationship with you, and with my Jaibreian. And have my own Padawan know her Rahkadai.”
“I would like that, too,” Qui-Gon says, sincerely, and it’s a relief to know that he hasn’t ruined things irreparably between himself and at least two of his Padawans. For so long, he let Xanatos and his own fear control his life, but no longer. Obi-Wan and Feemor deserve better, and that means it’s up to Qui-Gon to do better.
“Come with me,” Qui-Gon says. Obi-Wan looks up from his drawing and tilts his head at him. The drawing is something Healer Wynver had suggested to give Obi-Wan something to focus on.
Where? he signs.
“The gardens, there's something I want to show you.”
He can see the flash of anxiety cross the Padawan's face, but Obi-Wan gets up anyway. He snaps his fingers to alert Boga, and she lifts her head with a sleepy chirp.
“V-vest,” Obi-Wan commands. The varactyl skitters off to his room and comes back with the red service vest clutched in her beak. She holds still while Obi-Wan straps it on.
Qui-Gon leads them out through the halls of the Temple, Obi-Wan a step behind and to the left. Boga walks on Obi-Wan’s left side, protecting his deaf ear. He is wearing his hearing aid, but it doesn't pick up everything and he is easily startled when people approach him from that direction.
With how anxious Obi-Wan is, Qui-Gon tries to keep to the less crowded hallways. People tend to watch them as they go by, their attention drawn by the massive varactyl.
Halfway there, Obi-Wan has a panic attack, his breathing suddenly going shallow and strained, his shoulders shaking as he ducks his head and tries to make himself as small as possible. Boga huffs and butts her head against his chest. He sinks to the ground, tangling his fingers in her crest and she licks his face.
With Boga’s steadying presence, it doesn’t take him long to come out of it. Qui-Gon waits, shielding from the others in the hall, until he stands back up and looks at him before he asks, “Do you want to go back?”
Obi-Wan hesitates, but shakes his head.
“Okay, not too much farther, then.”
They make it to the gardens without another incident. It’s not Qui-Gon’s usual one, more out of the way and less populated, but it’s the one he comes to when he needs to work through the big things.
It’s nice, filled with trees and flowers and grass, and a stream that splits it in half. Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide as he takes it all in.
Qui-Gon leads them to a patch of grass at the bank of the water.
Obi-Wan signals for Boga to lay down, still staring about them in wonder.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, arranging himself in a half lotus on the grass. “Meditate with me.”
His Padawan freezes fearfully. Qui-Gon waits. They haven’t meditated together since Telos, but he knows they both need this.
Finally, Obi-Wan sits by Boga’s head, watching Qui-Gon with wary eyes. His hand grips Boga’s feathers.
“Close your eyes.” Obi-Wan obeys, shifting anxiously. Qui-Gon examines him for a moment before closing his own. “Relax your shoulders, breathe deeply. Let the air flow through you, feel it as it enters in through your nose and fills your lungs and exits through your mouth.” He keeps his voice calm and even. “When you are ready, turn your focus outwards. Reach out with your senses, feel the life around you. Hold it in your mind; the way the grass feels underneath you, the sound of the stream bubbling, and the breeze through the leaves.”
He can tell Obi-Wan is struggling to follow along, he feels sharp in the Force, unable to release his tension. All at once he goes soft and settled and Qui-Gon cracks open an eyelid to see Boga resting her head on Obi-Wan’s lap and his fingers brushing over her crest. He smiles.
“Now, open yourself up to the Force.”
Qui-Gon sinks into the Force, the energy of the universe welcoming him, but Obi-Wan’s presence doesn’t go more than surface level, almost as though he’s afraid. Qui-Gon focuses on their bond, a thin, fragile wisp that links their minds. He reaches along it, feeling it strengthen with even that simple action, and extends a hand to his Padawan. Obi-Wan hesitates, deciding whether or not to trust his Jaieh, and then he accepts it, allowing Qui-Gon to guide him deeper into the currents of the Force.
He projects his pride at his Padawan and it nearly startles the boy out of his meditative state, but with a bit of encouragement, he settles back down.
Together, they breathe, finding their calm centers in the Force and connecting to each other in a way they haven’t for months. Possibly since their partnership began.
Things get better after that, some barrier between them has been broken down, leaving their bond even stronger than before.
One day, Obi-Wan comes out of his room, Boga at his side as always, and his cheeks are wet with tears. Qui-Gon is in his chair, and his Padawan heads straight for him. He startles when Obi-Wan climbs onto his lap and buries his head in his chest.
“Obi-Wan?” Obi-Wan sobs. “What’s wrong, little one?”
Boga whines and nudges at Obi-Wan’s leg, stamping her feet. Qui-Gon puts his arms around his Padawan and rubs his back, sending waves of peaceful energy at him through the Force.
“Shh, it’s okay.”
“I-I m-mi-ss he-her,” Obi-Wan cries.
Qui-Gon can only think of one person he might be referring to.
“Cerasi? It's okay to grieve her, Obi-Wan.”
“No-t s’ppo-osed to. Bad. ‘m bad.”
“Who told you that?”
“Ever-y-ybod-dy. Angry. T-too e-emotion-tion-al. No-bod-dy wan-ts.”
It seems Qui-Gon's mistakes are still catching up to him.
“You have a good heart, Obi-Wan. A caring heart. That’s not a bad thing. Your compassion and sense of justice are what make you a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head in denial.
“What's wrong with that?”
His Padawan lets out an awful, wounded noise and presses harder against him.
“Obi-Wan? You can tell me, it's alright. I won't be mad.”
Obi-wan leans back and makes a sharp sign that Qui-Gon doesn't recognize.
“I don't know what that means, Obi-Wan, I'm sorry.”
Obi-wan stares at him, desperation in his eyes, and repeats the gesture.
“I don't know what you're trying to say.”
With a frustrated huff, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and curls in on himself. Boga trills and licks at his hand, but he doesn't even seem to notice. Either that or he's ignoring her for some reason. She's getting worked up, her tail swishing back and forth and her head bobbing.
“Calm, Boga,” Qui-Gon tries to soothe, giving her the silent command to lay down. She does, because she's well trained, but he can tell she's not happy about it, low, worried sounds echoing in her throat. “I've got him,” he tells her.
Obi-Wan has started to shake, his mouth opening and closing like it does when he’s trying to speak and can’t. Qui-Gon waits, running his fingers up and down the knobs of Obi-Wan's spine because physical contact seems to help.
After a minute, or longer, Qui-Gon's not sure, Obi-Wan finally gets out a single stammering word.
“Imkairu.”
“Who killed? Or was killed?”
Obi-Wan points at himself. Qui-Gon knows his Padawan may have killed on Melida/Daan, but he doubts it was senselessly.
“And who did you kill?”
Elders on Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan signs. Then, Cerasi.
Qui-Gon debates the best way to address this and decides to start with what he thinks is going to be easier, as he does in his negotiations.
“With the Elders, was it self-defense?” The Padawan tilts his head with a grimace. “Was it in defense of others?” Obi-Wan hesitates, but then nods. “Sometimes protecting others means killing those who are doing them harm. As Jedi, it is a last resort, but it is not always avoidable. I have taken lives before and will likely do it again.”
Wanted to, Obi-Wan signs.
“Because you enjoyed it?”
“No!” Obi-Wan shouts, startled out of his muteness.
“What made you want to?”
His Padawan stares at him, his stormy blue eyes searching Qui-Gon’s face for the right answer. He looks so lost and confused that it’s hard to keep his expression neutral and open.
They were hurting us. I wanted to make them stop. I wanted to make sure they would never hurt anyone again.
“Then it sounds to me that you were acting as a Jedi would. Pai’imkairu. You are right in that a Jedi should not want to kill, but, Padawan, wanting to defend life is not the same as wanting to kill. It sounds as though your motivations were closer to the latter than the former.” Obi-Wan’s brow furrows as he thinks it over. “Do you understand?”
How do I know which is which?
“If you didn't have to protect anyone, would you still have done it?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head.
“Then your guilt is unfounded.” His Padawan lays his head against his chest and he strokes his hair, holding him close. “Do not blame yourself for this or Cerasi’s death.”
Obi-Wan yanks himself away.
It was my fault, he signs furiously. A tear slips down his cheek, more gathering in his eyes.
“Did you fire the shot that killed her? Did you hold the blaster and intend to take her life?”
I couldn't save her. I should have seen it coming.
“Oh, Obi-Wan. One of the hardest lessons a Jedi must learn is that we cannot save everyone. We are not all powerful, sometimes there is nothing we can do, or sometimes we make a mistake, but we must accept those limitations. You carry the weight of the universe on your shoulders, my Padawan, but you do not have to. One person cannot solve all the galaxy's problems. You are much too hard on yourself.”
He fingers the Padawan braid, rubbing the beads and tracing the strands with his thumb, and Obi-Wan relaxes under his touch, leaning into his chest again. He hears a soft sob and feels his tunics begin to dampen.
“D-does i-it-t ev-er st-stop hur-rti-ing?”
“With time, it will hurt less. These wounds will heal over just like any scar.”
“I-I d-don’t wa-ant t-to f-f-forge-t her.”
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
Pained eyes look up at him in surprise. And slowly, wary that Qui-Gon will change his mind, Obi-Wan does.