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The lights had been dimmed hours ago to reflect the setting of Coruscant’s sun. Outside, the general noise of speeders and other space vehicles had quieted to a low hum as the planet settled down for the night. The room was still and quiet except for the soft blinking of the bio monitors and the rhythmic hiss of machines. It was the same in the Halls beyond, another testament to the lateness of the hour. Vokara Che had entered at some point previously, urging him through pursed lips to again leave and get some rest. But like hundreds of Jedi Masters before him, he had stubbornly refused. Qui-Gon Jinn’s place was at his Padawan’s side and he would not leave until he woke.
He had spent the last few hours in meditation, both to reduce his energy expenditure and to process and release the events of the last two days into the cleansing river of the Force. His mind was awash with unresolved emotion and despite his best efforts, snatches of memories still flashed across his mind.
A surge of warning in the Force, agony permeating their bond. His hands were fresh with blood that was not his own.
Ginger hair streaked with red, framing eyes clouded in pain. Clammy fingers slipping from his grasp.
Shielding his own mind to hide his fear whilst he whispered, promised, that it would be okay. Chills settling into the clenched pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the coldness of space.
He reached out and placed a hand on the crown of Obi-Wan’s head, sending golden warmth across their bond. His face was pale, contrasting starkly with his damp hair which had darkened its usual auburn to brown. Bacta submersion had cleansed away all traces of the sticky crimson that had previously been streaked through it, leaving it soft and loose. His eyes drifted to the lock of hair that rested loosely over Obi-Wan’s right shoulder. The Healers had clearly unwoven the braid his Padawan’s braid when they washed his hair after they had removed him from the tank. It looked almost perverse being out of its usual style, but Qui-Gon far better preferred it clean rather than encrusted with blood.
Red blossomed rapidly on his Padawan’s chest and side. Qui-Gon tugged Obi-Wan’s bloodstained tunics open to get better access to the wounds, swiftly brushing his already crimson-soaked braid out of the way with his own bloody fingers.
He swallowed the memories away. Hard.
The small woven bag was soft in Qui-Gon’s fingers as he opened the drawstrings and let its contents fall into the palm of his hand. He gently touched calloused fingertips to the multitude of beads that glittered a multitude of colors in the dim light. Yellow, green, red, blue, white, and black. The physical accolades of all that his apprentice had achieved.
He thought back over their years together, over all the lessons he had taught, and Obi-Wan had learned. Over all the worlds they had visited and creatures they had met. All the battles they had fought and won and lost. The smiles, the tears, the frustration, the laughter, the companionship. He had watched Obi-Wan grow from a quiet and insecure boy into a confident and capable young man. And soon, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he would become a fully-fledged Knight. To say Qui-Gon was proud was an understatement.
The thought was tinged with some sadness. Obi-Wan had become an integral and close part of Qui-Gon’s life over the past decade, and he would miss their constant companionship and friendship. And, if he were honest with himself, after the events of the past couple of days, he would struggle with the fact that he would no longer be able to protect Obi-Wan from the dangers that he would encounter as a lone Knight. It was not the Jedi way, he knew this. In time, he would meditate these feelings away, but for now, he allowed himself to indulge in his feelings of paternity.
Now the loose lock of unbraided hair looked far too much like he imagined it might look after Obi-Wan was knighted. Gone. A flash of tender, father-like emotion washed through him. He knew it was un-Jedi-like to feel this way, but the Force whispered softly in his ear, asked him to linger here, just for a moment.
He reached out and gently brushed his fingers through the loose lock of hair, then carefully tied the yellow band around it. The Force shimmered around his touch, swirling golden eddies around his fingers as he knotted the band. When he was done, he let his hand rest softly on the top of his head, the gesture a familiar one of comfort he had been offering his Padawan throughout their years together. More often now, he found that he did it for his own comfort as much as he did it for Obi-Wan’s.
Groggy eyelids fluttered open, rolled around for a bit, and settled, unfocused, on him. Qui-Gon reached out to Obi-Wan in the Force and found his mind buzzing with nothingness, dulled by the combined effects of anesthetic, painkillers, and sedatives. Not to mention blood loss and extreme psychological and physical exhaustion. Already his awareness was waning. His Apprentice reached out, though, clumsily groping for him. Qui-Gon’s hand found Obi-Wan’s and the Force hummed around them, pleased and content.
“Master. What happened?” he asked, words whispering past chapped lips.
“We encountered…complications at the end of the mission, Padawan. One of the Senator’s supporters went rogue. You were hit on your shoulder and side. We rushed you back to the Temple, you are in the Halls of Healing now. You’ve lost a lot of blood and have a fair recovery ahead of you, but you’ll be okay,” he explained carefully.
Obi-Wan nodded and closed his eyes briefly.
“Are you okay, Master?” His grogginess rendered him unable to properly wield the Force, but he was still perceptive to his Master. It was a mark of how well he knew him.
“I am now, Padawan. Now that I know you will be.” To prove it, he opened his side of their bond and allowed Obi-Wan to freely feel his emotions, his peace and acceptance now that the worst was over.
It was always hard to watch his Padawan suffer, especially when it was in the name of duty. Throughout their years together, he had nursed Obi-Wan through far more than his fair share of illness and injury. Sometimes they were mild, and sometimes they were life-threatening like today had been. It never got any easier to watch his apprentice in pain, but it was a known part of the life they had both accepted as a Jedi. Despite his feelings for Obi-Wan, he had chosen this life, had accepted those dangers, and Qui-Gon would not disrespect him by being angry about that. As Obi-Wan did with him. Qui-Gon would watch over Obi-Wan for as long as he was able, and even beyond, but he knew one day he would have to accept that he would not always be his little boy. He would not always be able to protect Obi-Wan from everything – the events of the last few days, if anything, were a stark reminder of that.
Obi-Wan smiled with gratitude and Qui-Gon could feel his fuzzy contentment at the feeling of his own. Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around Qui-Gon as the Master continued stroking his Padawan’s hair, fingers working their way down the loose lock of hair that was usually his braid.
“This got a little bit messed up in all the commotion. It will have to be re-braided,” he commented, feeling the softness and individuality of each strand.
“Will you do it now?”
He shook his head despite himself. “Padawan, you are badly injured. You need rest. It can wait until you are well enough-”
“Please?” Obi-Wan’s voice was a little bit stronger now, cerulean eyes searched his.
The Force whispered around him, and Qui-Gon felt the energy in the small beads still enclosed in the palm of his hand. Qui-Gon trusted the Force above all else and had allowed it to guide him for long enough to know when to just do, and not to ask questions. Against all logic, re-plaiting Obi-Wan’s braid right now was the most natural thing to do, just like it did all those years ago when he did it for the first time.
And so, he leaned forward and with gentle fingers picked up the soft hair lying loosely over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His Apprentice tilted his head slightly to one side, closing his eyes. Qui-Gon separated the strands and brought the Force around them, infusing them with his love, protection, and pride. The Force swirled, golden eddies brushing lightly against them, humming softly, contentedly. With practiced and delicate fingers, Qui-Gon wove Obi-Wan’s beads into the hair, heart smiling with satisfaction at the physical reminders of his Padawan’s accomplishments. He tied the plait off with the simple blue band, allowing the long plait to rest softly in his hand before he laid it back on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
He blinked away sudden tears of emotion and looked up.
His Padawan’s eyes were on him, blinking lazily. Golden warmth swirled between them; the Force sang a gentle harmony. He picked up Obi-Wan’s hand, careful of the tubes and wires there, and pressed his lax fingers to his lips.
“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan whispered, sleep weighing heavily in his voice.
Qui-Gon smiled and enveloped Obi-Wan in the Force.
“Rest now, my Padawan. I will be here,” he whispered.
He wrapped Obi-Wan in waves of healing, and his Padawan slipped back away into unconsciousness, a small smile on his face.
Qui-Gon released a breath, letting the Force wash over him, nestling himself into its warmth as it wrapped around him. He tucked his Padawan’s hand back against his side and leaned back in his chair to watch over him until he woke.
Jedi were not meant to have attachments, and both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were Jedi enough to know that. Someday soon, Qui-Gon would sever the braid that he had just re-woven with pride. The Force would tell him when Obi-Wan was ready, and Qui-Gon, ever faithful, would heed its call.
But perhaps, for now, Qui-Gon would like Obi-Wan to be his Padawan for just a little while longer.