Chapter Text
Qui-Gon cannot find his padawan.
Obi-Wan is not in his rooms, or occupying any of his usual places; the salles, the corner of the Archives where he can often be found when he is looking for quiet. In truth, Qui-Gon had not quite expected to find him so easily. Obi-Wan has been...elusive, of late.
Since their return from New Apsolon.
Qui-Gon quiets the quiet, insistent hum of discordance in his mind, until he can reach out into the Force and seek his padawan out. It is difficult work, to find the peace he requires. There is the white-bright brilliance, never far out of his awareness these days, that must be her. He wants to chase that white-bright sensation and let it overwhelm him - that seems to be all he wants to do, lately, but he pulls away regretfully instead. There will be time enough for that, he tells himself, time to explore where that brightness might take him. But now, he must look for someone else. There, the Force seems to point out, one beacon of light almost hidden underneath so much other life. The gardens, then, where Obi-Wan can hide in plain sight. Qui-Gon holds back a sigh.
He finds his padawan in the meditation gardens, deep in the heart of a courtyard, behind a crumbling stone wall grown over with blossoming ly-ly vines. Obi-Wan is sitting cross-legged on the soft springy groundcover, a meditation posture. But instead of sitting with his back straight, he is leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He is rubbing his leg absently.
Obi-Wan looks up when Qui-Gon approaches. He offers his master a half-hearted smile.
“You’ve come to tell me, then,” Obi-Wan says.
Qui-Gon lowers himself until he is leaning up against the stone wall by his padawan’s side. Ly-ly blossoms brush up against his ear. He deliberately keeps his voice light.
“Oh, have you had a vision of the future? What have I come to tell you, my padawan?”
Obi-Wan’s face flushes. “You’ve come to tell me that you’re leaving the Order.”
There is no recrimination in his voice, only a heavy resignation. Qui-Gon feels his heart sink. So his padawan has noticed, then. Well, Obi-Wan has always been observant. He should have expected nothing less. He has been so occupied, lately. He is ashamed. I should have paid more attention to him, he thinks unhappily. He has needed me, too. I should have known that.
He hesitates, unwilling to confirm Obi-Wan’s prediction. But his apprentice is right. “I am sorry, padawan,” he offers, as gently as he can.
He does not ask his master Why. He must know why, already, even though Qui-Gon has not given voice to his own emotional turmoil over the past few weeks. Instead, Obi-Wan drops his head into his arms.
His voice, when it finally emerges, is plaintive. “Must you?”
How can he make this choice? How can he break his padawan’s heart, and part of his own - the separate, distinct part of his heart where Obi-Wan has lived and slept and breathed for five years.
And yet he must. It is the only path forward that he can see.
Don’t leave me, Tahl had whispered on their return to Coruscant, and how could he refuse whatever she requested of him?
“I must,” Qui-Gon acknowledges. He does not quite know where to look. He senses that Obi-Wan would rather not be seen too closely, in this moment, so he turns his gaze to his own hands. He tries to find the right words, to explain his reasons. Obi-Wan surely deserves that. The truth is the least of what Qui-Gon owes him. Only there is no reasonable explanation to offer. Qui-Gon is following his heart in this matter.
“You are young, Obi-Wan,” he says softly, “and I know you may not understand. But - it is as though a door has opened, one that I never had thought that I would open for me - and having stepped through it, I cannot turn back. I have changed, padawan, over these past years, in no small part because of you, and all you have taught me. And what I have learned about myself, I cannot unknow.”
“Aren’t Jedi supposed to let things go?”
Qui-Gon considers his words carefully. “I am afraid, my padawan, that I cannot, in this case.”
“You mean you won’t,” says Obi-Wan, finally lifting his head out from under his arms. “It's not that you can’t - you just won’t .”
Qui-Gon folds his fingers together. “If I could have let this go, I would have,” Qui-Gon says. “For your sake, if nothing else. And for Bant’s, for my other responsibilities. Neither of us have made this choice lightly.”
Obi-Wan makes a small, choked-off noise, terrible in its very quietness, and it wrenches Qui-Gon’s heart like nothing else could have. How can I do this to him? Qui-Gon wonders again. How can I do this to my padawan, who depends on me so? I made a promise to him that I can no longer keep.
“I do not deserve your forgiveness, Obi-Wan,” he says quietly. “But I will ask for it, nonetheless. I am - I am so very sorry for the grief I have brought you.”
Obi-Wan does not say anything in reply to this. He simply sits with his head in his arms, silent and unmoving. Qui-Gon places his broad hand on the back of the boy’s head. Obi-Wan does not move away from his touch, but neither does he acknowledge it. Qui-Gon carefully strokes his thumb across the nape of his neck, smoothing the fine, close-cropped hair there.
When Obi-Wan finally speaks, his voice is quite composed.
“I know I could never change your mind. I’m not - I could never be enough to keep you here, if you are determined to go. But please. Take me with you.”
It is the Please that brings Qui-Gon nearer to breaking than he had anticpated. He has never known his padawan to ask for anything from him. Obi-Wan is not begging - his dignified padawan would never beg him for anything, Qui-Gon knows. But he also senses that Obi-Wan is as close to begging as he has perhaps ever come. He settles his hand in a solid grip on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and wills himself to be firm.
“I cannot,” Qui-Gon says. “Obi-Wan, you do not know what you are asking for. Becoming a knight, that is all you have ever wanted. I cannot take that from you. You have your entire life ahead of you. You should not give it up for this.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head, his chin squared with stubbornness. “I don’t want it anymore. Being a Jedi doesn’t mean anything. Not without you.”
Shocked, Qui-Gon protests, “You can’t mean that.”
“I did. I do.”
He softens, despite himself. “It wouldn’t be right, padawan.”
“It would be right for me,” Obi-Wan argues. "I know it would. I'd go with you anywhere."
Qui-Gon shakes his head. He cannot allow this, for Obi-Wan’s sake. The boy does not know what is best for him, he tells himself. “You must stay. You will have a new master, you will become a great Jedi. I know this is the right path for you.”
Neither of them say anything for a while. Obi-Wan plucks at the starry grassflowers by his boot. “That’s what you want for me.”
He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Yes."
Obi-Wan takes a breath, then releases it. “You’ll say goodbye, before you go?”
“I promise you, I won’t leave without saying goodbye,” Qui-Gon answers. He feels at a loss, suddenly. There ought to be something else to say, some words to convey his own sense of loss, his own grief for all that he is preparing to leave behind. But all he can think to say is You’ll be all right without me, meaningless to Obi-Wan, who will see through his words and know that Qui-Gon is only comforting himself with that thought.
He settles instead for saying, “I never meant to cause you pain, padawan. That was not my intention.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan says. If he had not been looking, Qui-Gon might have missed the way the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth is not steady. But he is looking, and he sees the way his padawan’s chin is trembling. “But you always do anyway.”