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Qui-Gon was not expecting any visitors tonight. He had finally recovered enough that the healers weren’t checking in on him every few hours (and really, he was a Jedi Master well into middle age. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. That small incident in which he re-opened his wound while trying to fetch tea out of a high cupboard the day after being released by the healers didn’t count. It had only been a minor bleed, really, and young Anakin had proved perfectly capable of getting his new Master back to the Healer’s Hall without outside assistance). None of Qui-Gon’s surviving friends were on world at the moment except Obi-Wan, and the young Knight had not made a habit of visiting Qui-Gon’s quarters since he was assigned his own living space (a fact Qui-Gon had very determinedly not been dwelling on. It was perfectly normal for new Knights to keep their distance from their old Masters for a while, as they established their own life and identity as full members of the Order). And unlike Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon’s new Padawan had not yet had time to make any close friends among his age-mates in the creche, let alone friends that would be wanting to see him this late in the evening.
As such, the sound of a clumsy hand fumbling at the keypad proved more than a little bit startling. The chime of the lock releasing and the door swishing open surprised Qui-Gon even more.
Before he had time to really register the fact that only one other person besides Qui-Gon himself and Qui-Gon’s new apprentice had the code for that door, Obi-Wan came stumbling into the room. His cheeks were flushed; his balance appeared precarious at best; and his eyes seemed to not quite focus on his surroundings. He had, Qui-Gon noted, lost his robe somewhere. But his expression lit up when he saw his old Master, and Qui-Gon could not quite bring himself to reprimand Obi-Wan for the breach in Jedi decorum. He attempted to rise from the couch where he was sitting and reading in order to greet his former Padawan, only to think better of it when the remains of the wound in his torso twinged at the movement.
Obi-Wan seemed not to register Qui-Gon’s difficulties, focusing instead on weaving unsteadily across the room, until he could plunk himself down on the couch next to Qui-Gon. “H’lo, Master. ‘m home. Did’jya miss me?” Obi-Wan slurred, his expression delighted, and more open than Qui-Gon could remember seeing in many years. He breath smelled strongly of cheap brandy. Probably Jagrindian, Qui-Gon noted, as Obi-Wan let out a small burp, and the smell wafted more strongly through the room.
“Hello, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon said, trying to hide his amusement at Obi-Wan’s uncharacteristic lack of dignity. “Not that I’m not always happy to see you, but you do remember that you have quarters of your own now, don’t you?”
Obi-Wan snorted. “Course I do. Bant ‘n Garen left me there when we got back. But it was dark, an’ there’s no one there. ‘S my Knighting celebration. Shouldn’t have to be alone on my Knighting celebration. So I came here. Knew you’ve a couch. Nice couch. Always liked this couch. An’ I won’t be any bother to you.” Obi-Wan’s face fell so suddenly that it would have been comical, had Qui-Gon not seen the hints of a very real sorrow beneath the inebriation. “Or your Padawan. Your new Padawan. Won’t...won’t bother him either.”
“No, of course you won’t.” Qui-Gon reassured him softly. It was very likely true. Anakin, Qui-Gon had learned, slept like the dead most of the time. An entire herd of nerfs stampeding through their quarters probably wouldn’t be enough to wake him, let alone one drunk Jedi Knight who seemed more interested in communing with the furniture than in making any sort of fuss. “But you had best drink some water before you fall asleep, or you’ll feel it in the morning.” Qui-Gon smiled in reminiscence. “Why, I remember the night after my Knighting celebration. I thought my head was going to crack in two and roll right off my neck, and Tahl refused to bring me any painkillers. She said that if Micah and I thought we were ready to be hopping between half the bars on Coruscant, then we were ready to face up to the consequences of our choices.”
“Hmm,” Obi-Wan hummed, in an exaggerated show of contemplation. “That wasn’t very nice of her. I always thought Master Tahl was so nice. Nice, nice Master Tahl…” his voice trailed off, and Qui-Gon could see the shadow of old sorrow slowly filling Obi-Wan’s eyes.
“Oh, I’m sure we deserved it,” Qui-Gon said lightly, trying to change the subject. Obi-Wan didn’t need to face old griefs on tonight of all nights. A Knighting celebration was supposed to be a joyous occasion, and Obi-Wan’s had been delayed far too long in the wake of Qui-Gon’s injury and the aftermath of Naboo. There simply hadn’t been time for frivolities like Knighting celebrations in the first few months after Obi-Wan’s braid was cut. Qui-Gon was glad to see that Obi-Wan’s friends had finally found the time to remedy that fact. “Now, you stay here, while I go fetch you some water, alright?”
“No!” Obi-Wan reached out in a flash of sudden dexterity, and grabbed Qui-Gon by the wrist. “No, stay here. Stay with me. Don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon reprimanded gently, “I’m just going to the kitchen. There’s no need to…”
“No!” Obi-Wan repeated, more adamantly than before. His fingers remained tightly curled around Qui-Gon’s bony wrist. “No just...just listen Qui.” Obi-Wan sighed, and then looked up to stare Qui-Gon full in the face. “When I...when I thought you died, I was lost, Qui. Master. You were EVERYTHING, and you were dead, and I just...I couldn’t…” Obi-Wan swallowed, and looked down. “You were always so beautiful. Always so strong. Always the center ‘f my world. And I knew that you didn’t...I was just a Padawan, and you were Master Qui-Gon Jinn, so of course you wouldn’t…” Obi-Wan turned his gaze back up to Qui-Gon’s, and the longing in his eyes hit Qui-Gon like another lightsaber to the gut.
He sat frozen in the place. Qui-Gon had known, on some level, that the boy he had taken on as a teenager was a man now. Had, in fact, been a man for many years. He had even known (in spite of all of his attempts to know nothing about his Padawan’s sex life, because that really wasn’t something he needed to be considering, thank you very much) that his Padawan prefered the amorous company of older men. But it has never even occurred to Qui-Gon how that might impact the way Obi-Wan would look at him (until now, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, because who could withstand a beautiful, brilliant young man looking at them like that and not have...thoughts).
And the look in Obi-Wan’s eyes...that went far beyond mere desire or infatuation. There was a real tenderness there, one which Qui-Gon had no idea how to even begin to handle.
“You know you’re probably going to regret saying that in the morning,” Qui-Gon said softly, attempting to gently disengage Obi-Wan’s grip from around his wrist. Obi-Wan made an indistinct noise of dissatisfaction, and clung more tightly.
“Prob’ly. But I regretted not telling you before. Figure this will at least be something different,” Obi-Wan mumbled, bringing Qui-Gon’s captive hand to his cheek. He rubbed his face against it, and Qui-Gon froze again. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d died, Qui. I know I can’t be your Padawan anymore, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his voice growing more quiet. “I will always need you. Ev’n if you never need me again. Even if I wasn’t very hard to replace.”
Qui-Gon cringed at that, because...Force, is that what Obi-Wan thought had happened? That Qui-Gon had simply traded him in a for a newer, more powerful model? Obi-Wan had been ready for his trials; he had! Qui-Gon, in his own reluctance to let go of his apprentice, had delayed them far longer than he should, but when young Anakin needed a teacher, Qui-Gon had not been able to justify letting his own selfishness hold Obi-Wan back any longer. Not when it also meant that Anakin might be lost to the Order entirely. But if Obi-Wan hadn’t known that...if he actually believed he had only been granted his Knighthood because Qui-Gon wanted to get rid of him...Force, after all these years, Qui-Gon had done it again. He had, with his silence, somehow failed in his duty as Obi-Wan’s Master.
As for the rest...well. Clearly, Qui-Gon and his former apprentice needed to have a talk, and soon. About the circumstances around Obi-Wan’s Knighting, and about...and about everything else.
For now, though, Qui-Gon gently pulled his wrist away, and this time, Obi-Wan let him go. “I don’t think this is something we should be discussing while you’re intoxicated, Obi-Wan.” He levered himself to a standing position with a groan, and fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. “Now, drink this, and lie down.”
Obi-Wan sighed petulantly, but obeyed, draining the glass and setting it down on the side table with exaggerated care, before listing over sideways onto the couch’s soft upholstery. Within thirty seconds, he was snoring.
As he had so many times throughout his years as Obi-Wan’s Master, Qui removed his former apprentice’s boots, carefully levered Obi-Wan’s legs up onto the couch (ignoring the twinge in his stomach as he did so), and covered Obi-Wan’s still form with a spare blanket. Then he settled into the chair opposite the couch, letting his thoughts run wild. He stayed like that through the night and into morning, watching Obi-Wan’s peacefully sleeping face, as though it held the answer to all the questions in the universe.