Chapter Text
He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, eyes blurred with tears and hands shaking. Qui-Gon remained cradled in his arms long enough to become cold, long enough for Obi-Wan's sobs to make his throat sore.
The bond was gone, and Obi-Wan was hollow.
He managed to stumble to his feet eventually, gathering his master up in his arms and beginning the trek back to the hangar.
All he could smell was burned flesh.
-
They hadn't stayed anywhere during the invasion long enough for any of Qui-Gon's things to remain, but Obi-Wan still saw reminders of him regardless. He tried not to think of their dormitory back at the Temple, or whether or not Qui-Gon had a will.
He kept the lightsaber. It would be replaced, but it was a momentary comfort against his hip, an attempt at filling in the hole his bond with Qui-Gon had left behind.
-
At the funeral, he was numb.
His hands had continued their shaking, but he kept them hidden in his robe. The only goal was to appear calm and collected - a Jedi doesn't hold on to their grief.
Anakin drags his attention away, and Qui-Gon's last request echoes in his head.
He would have to stay stable - if not for himself, then for this boy. He would not fail.
"I promise," Obi-Wan says.
-
He remains in a state of displacement until he has to cut off his braid.
Anakin is waiting for him in the other room, a piece of synthwool cloth around his shoulders so Obi-Wan could give him a haircut. He'd asked him to wait for a moment, keeping his voice light.
Yoda had offered to have one of the masters cut it off traditionally, but Obi-Wan had denied. He almost regretted that now, with his braid clasped between the forefinger and thumb of one hand and his small belt knife in the other.
He wish he could say it was like ripping off a bacta patch, but it was so much worse. It should have been Qui-Gon, giving him a smile, telling him he was proud. He should be here.
With no other options available, Obi-Wan takes the beads from his braid and returns to Anakin. His Padawan doesn't mention anything about Obi-Wan's glassy eyes further than a concerned glance over his shoulder. Obi-Wan cuts his hair, and the first bead Qui-Gon had put on Obi-Wan's braid was replaced on Anakin's. For new beginnings, new relationships, and, in Obi-Wan's case, new regrets.
He can almost hear his master chastising him for those thoughts.
-
He's not okay when they go to Coruscant, and Anakin is aware of that.
Their quarters are just the same as they had been left. Hints of Qui-Gon are all over, small trinkets and souvenirs because his master had never enjoyed the rule against possessions.
Anakin had long since stopped his quiet attempts at lighthearted small-talk, opting instead to trail a few steps behind Obi-Wan with his eyes on the floor of the Temple.
"This will be your room," Obi-Wan says, standing just in the doorway of his old bedroom. The covers of his bed are still rumpled from when Obi-Wan had woken up a few days prior, wondering whether or not Qui-Gon would be up already, kettle on the stove.
Damn it!
"Was...where are you going to stay?" Anakin asks, dropping his dusty backpack on the floor and trailing his hand over the silk of Obi-Wan's blankets. Tearing his eyes away, Obi-Wan begins to gather up the robes from his closet, trying not to think too hard about the answer.
"In Master Qui-Gon's room."
-
The blankets smell of tea and
burned flesh
earth, so Obi-Wan has them replaced as soon as possible. Despite this, the reminders continue to show up wherever he goes, a scribbled note here or one of the potted plants in the windowsill - none of which are doing any favors for Obi-Wan, but he continues anyway. He manages.
-
In the mornings, before Anakin starts his classes, they attempt to meditate together.
Anakin is no good at it, he's fidgety and far too distracted by my new mouse droid project, master!, but he puts up with it because it's relaxing, and you look like you need to relax, sometimes.
On a particular day, Obi-Wan and Anakin are sitting across each other, the former deep in meditation and the latter anxiously itching for breakfast. It's been a solid forty-five minutes of Obi-Wan trying to contact Qui-Gon through the force.
Please, Master, is met with nothing but a steady silence.
"Master Kenobi, sir," Anakin says timidly, shocking Obi-Wan right out of his frustrationhurtdespairlonging. "Are you okay?"
Obi-Wan attempts to make his smile convincing. "It's nothing, Ani. Let's get you some food."
-
He has nightmares.
Where Anakin's depict his fear and sadness toward his mother, Tatooine, the life he left behind, Obi-Wan's are an endless repeat of Qui-Gon, their bond breaking, endless anger, hatred, flames licking at his master's skin and it's so dark, it's --
but Anakin will wake him, eyes wide, saying "Obi-Wan -- sir, you were shouting again," and Obi-Wan can't exactly tell him it's nothing.
Eventually, Anakin brings him tea, and Obi-Wan explains.
"Attachments are forbidden because when we fear to lose somebody, we will take action to protect them even when it's not the best idea," He says.
"Fear leads to anger, and anger leads to hate," Anakin recites.
"Precisely. That's why it's important you let go of those feelings early on." Obi-Wan is not blind to the ironic hypocrisy of his statement.
"We can't always prevent attachments, Anakin," Obi-Wan continues, "Like a bond between a Master and his Padawan. When you do lose someone you care for, it is vital that you accept their passing. We are all one with the force, and therefore are never without those we lost. Grief is a powerful weapon, one that can control your actions and make you do something you never would otherwise."
His throat has gone dry. He can only hope his words would be understood.