Fic: White Rabbits (Star Wars, 14/?)

[butterfly]

Dude, this story will not let go. Two chapters in one day? Again, dude.

Title: White Rabbits
Chapter: 14/?
Author: Diana Michelle (butterfly)
Warnings: Spoilers for Revenge of the Sith.
Pairing: Eventual Anakin/Obi-Wan.
Rating: PG/PG-13-ish.
Summary: Obi-Wan has a bit of a breakthrough, emotionally speaking.
Disclaimer: Not Lucas, don't own a thing, not making any money.
Chapter Index

Chapter Fourteen -- Isolation

Luke was finally gone – though Obi-Wan was certain that the child was still watching through the Force.

 

Still, for all that Obi-Wan himself could sense, he was alone.

 

He’d never been alone before in his life.

 

Always, the Force had been his companion, his guide, and his refuge.

 

Now, his senses felt both muted and yet rubbed raw. The hard floor below his knees, the recycled air in the hold, and the hum of the ship’s engines, all of it seemed sharper without the protection of the Force.

 

He’d closed his eyes earlier to shield them from the bleak monochrome of the ship, but he could still feel it, pushing in against him, dull and colorless and empty.

 

He’d been trying to find his center, find his inner calm, for some time now, but it was as elusive as the Force. Which made a distressing amount of sense – he’d never had to try to meditate without the Force before.

 

He wasn’t entirely sure where to start. All his knowledge, all his serenity, sprang from that central point.

 

And though he had one hand on his lightsaber, the assurance that its presence normally gave him was missing. Without the Force, it was just a weapon.

 

More than a simple tool, your lightsaber is.

 

His first lightsaber had been green.

 

They’d been taken before what had appeared to be an endless box of handles and had been told to choose the one that felt right. The one he’d picked had been the most beautiful, and even though it hadn’t felt quite right, he’d chosen it anyway.

 

He’d spent over a year with that first lightsaber, always a step or two behind the rest of the class.

 

One day, Master Yoda had asked him to stay behind.

 

The Master hadn’t chided him, hadn’t said a word about the lightsaber, he’d merely told Obi-Wan that need and want were two separate things, and that there was a wisdom in knowing the difference.

 

A week later, Obi-Wan had asked Master Yoda if he could look through the handles again, to see if he’d perhaps chosen a bit too hastily the first time.

 

His second lightsaber had been blue.

 

The instant that he’d activated it, he’d felt something shift inside him, and he’d known that it was the right choice.

 

Perhaps because of that, he’d always found blue to be a soothing color, one that he felt drawn towards. Though he never would have dreamed of indulging himself by adding blue to the traditional Jedi robes, he’d acquired a beautiful dark blue Eyer’luom two months after his knighting and placed it in an inconspicuous location.

 

Anakin had knocked it over, the week after his sixteenth birthday. The pot had smashed, but they’d saved the plant. Anakin had handed him a replacement jug to put it in, and Obi-Wan could remember noticing, for the first time, that Anakin’s eyes were just the same shade as the Eyer’luom’s petals.

 

Obi-Wan pushed away the memory. It wouldn't help. 

 

Perhaps if he thought over how he’d been taught how to meditate, he could discover how to accomplish the task without the aid of the Force.

 

Your greatest flaw is your impatience, youngling.

 

The first time that he’d met Master Windu, face to face, he’d ended up getting a lecture.

 

He’d been a wrigglesome ten, all energy and edges. He’d been playing with another youngling – Hujah Kaling, who hadn’t, as he recalled, ended up being chosen to be a Padawan.

 

They’d been playing Chase, and Obi-Wan had barreled right into Master Windu, nearly knocking him over. He’d gotten a horribly stern lecture, one that left him pale and near terrified that he’d be tossed out in the morning, with the garbage.

 

Then, Master Windu had knelt down, looked in his eyes, and asked if he’d learnt his lesson. When he’d stuttered out a shaking ‘yes’, he’d seen one of Mace Windu’s rare smiles.

 

Master Windu had sought him out, two months later, and shown him a more advanced meditative technique than any that Obi-Wan had done yet.

 

He’d warned Obi-Wan that emotion was its most dangerous when it was unrecognized and in distilling and facing each emotion, one could more readily release them.

 

It was a technique that Obi-Wan had not dared use since Qui-Gon Jinn’s death. Still, he tried it now, clearing out his mind and allowing himself to touch each emotion in turn.

 

Fear.

 

He was horribly, deeply afraid. He was afraid of what he would discover at the Temple, what could be so horrible that Luke could not speak of it but in cryptic warnings. He was afraid of being trapped in this strange, broken future. Of never seeing his Temple, his home, again.

 

He was terrified that this broken connection would not heal. That he would forever face the world only half-aware.

 

Grief.

 

Even as he feared not regaining that connection, he mourned for its loss.

 

Always, there was Qui-Gon’s death, pulling and tugging at his subconscious. This was the reason that he’d feared using this method, because to mourn Qui-Gon would be to release his memory, and Obi-Wan was not yet ready for that.

 

Anakin’s face, after Geonosis. They’d both been recovering from the wounds that Dooku had inflicted, and Anakin had almost shyly confided that his mother was dead. That that was the reason he’d been on Tatooine when Obi-Wan had called for him.

 

And today.

 

Obi-Wan shied away from that thought as well.

 

Master Qui-Gon had reminded Obi-Wan again and again to keep his mind on the moment, on the living Force, but that was hardly helpful advice right now.

 

He didn’t have the Force to guide him now, and without it, every emotion hit him like a tsunami, blasting straight to the core, leaving him open and defenseless.

 

Without the Force, he couldn’t push his emotions away.

Perhaps, then, it was finally time to allow himself to think those things that he’d considered more than forbidden.

 

Because every emotion that he could name eventually returned to the one thing that he couldn’t avoid, because it permeated every aspect of his life.

 

So, Obi-Wan returned to the distillation meditation, and started over.

 

Fear.

 

Fear was the orange glow of an energy screen and the near-silent gasp of surprise from Qui-Gon as he was killed before Obi-Wan's eyes. Fear was kneeling in front of Master Yoda and saying that he would train Anakin, whether or not the Council approved.

 

Fear was every day of his life with Anakin, a constant aching fear of losing him. At first, because he was Obi-Wan’s last connection to a Master that he’d respected.

A man that he'd admired.
 

Later, but far sooner than he would ever have predicted, it was simply because losing Anakin would mean losing everything that mattered.

 

Grief.

 

He could remember holding Qui-Gon’s dying body and then, later, watching as his body burned to ash. Though Obi-Wan had been well aware that Qui-Gon had become part of the Force, he’d still felt cheated and alone. He’d wanted to cry, but hadn’t let himself, not once. He hadn't dared.

 

Three years later, Anakin had asked if he could visit his mother. Obi-Wan had passed Anakin’s request along to the Council, and then it had been Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan alone, who had explained to Anakin just why that wasn’t possible. It had been Obi-Wan who had watched Anakin cry, and hadn’t been able to think of any way to comfort him that would not contradict what Obi-Wan had just said about forming attachments.

 

And just today, Obi-Wan had discovered that Anakin loved Padmé Amidala enough to have children with her.

 

But he still wasn’t quite sure that he could face up to the truth in that pain, so he moved on.

 

Anger.

 

He’d touched the dark side in his fight with his Master’s killer. He’d known that at the time and later, when all the Masters were praising him for being able to defeat a Sith where Qui-Gon had failed, he'd wondered how the Council had become so blind.

 

Master Windu had clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he should be proud of himself, that Qui-Gon was proud of him.

 

Obi-Wan had never had a harder time thanking anyone in his life.

 

Two years ago, Count Dooku had implied that Qui-Gon would have betrayed the Republic to join Dooku’s side, and that that should be reason enough for Obi-Wan to do the same.

 

Obi-Wan had itched to place his hand on his lightsaber at that moment, to slice Dooku in two.

 

Nothing Dooku had done after that had endeared him to Obi-Wan.

 

Jealousy.

 

He’d been intensely jealous of young Anakin Skywalker, who’d so easily and quickly won Qui-Gon’s affection in a way that Obi-Wan, himself, never had.

 

One day, when Anakin was fifteen, and upset about some petty limitation, he’d told Obi-Wan that he wanted a new Master.

 

The words had stung, burrowed deep under Obi-Wan’s skin, and though Anakin had never repeated them, the thought of them still held an unexpected amount of pain.

 

At the time, he’d wondered what Master it was that Anakin might have been thinking of. He’d spent countless hours that month, going through lists of names in his mind, yet denying to himself that it mattered at all. Telling himself that he was only concerned about Anakin’s headstrong nature getting him into trouble.

 

Obi-Wan had quite a lot of practice in lying to himself.

 

Love.

 

He’d loved Qui-Gon Jinn. He could admit that now, with the distance of years. Qui-Gon had been his mentor, had been, as Anakin might say, the closest thing that he’d had to a father.

 

Qui-Gon, then, could serve as a study of the downfalls of love. Because of his love for Qui-Gon, he’d experienced jealousy, grief, and fear. Because of his love for Qui-Gon, he’d very nearly fallen to the dark side.

 

His reaction to Qui-Gon’s death was a perfect example of why a Jedi could not love, could not form attachments.

 

And yet, looking back, Obi-Wan could not see how he could have avoided forming a bond with Anakin.

 

And in the years following Qui-Gon’s death, Anakin had become more than a duty, more than a Padawan, and more than a friend.

 

He had become the whole of Obi-Wan’s world.

 

Finally admitting that, even just to himself, brought on equal shares of relief and fear.

 

A part of him had always known this truth – that once he allowed himself access to his true feelings, he would never be able to ignore them, never be able to push them away.

 

He would forgive Anakin for loving Padmé, as he always forgave Anakin. If they managed to get home, he already knew that he would not be capable of telling the Council of Anakin’s indiscretion.

 

Because under the jealousy and anger and grief, Obi-Wan loved.

 

Facing that truth made everything simple – he wanted Anakin to smile, to always look on Obi-Wan with affection and caring. If that meant lying to the Council, he was already painfully aware that he would pay that price. For years, he’d hidden knowledge of what he’d thought had just been an adolescent crush. Covering up Anakin and Padmé's love was… just a matter of degree.

 

And though the Force remained beyond his reach, there was a certain kind of serenity here, in this new knowledge of self.

 

Perhaps, in time, that would be enough.

~end chapter fourteen~