Shock

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/56001556.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-05-18 Words: 5,365 Chapters: 1/1
 Shock
by FatPuppy

Summary

Obi-Wan tries to survive after escaping from capture and landing in the desolate swamps of
the planet, Holm.
~*~

He was still in shock. Hands unable to let go of the gear-control and his breathing ratcheting
to the point where it felt like his heart might explode. Reaching blindly for the Force, there
was only dark, hollow emptiness. Empty and powerless.

He’d lost his lightsaber. No, that wasn’t right, it had been taken from him. Stolen. Violently
ripped from his hands once he’d been stunned and incapacitated. Never lose your lightsaber,
it was instilled into Jedi from the very first lesson.

That lesson hadn’t prepared him for this.

He was here now with only human reflexes and human physical skills. On any other day, it
wasn’t the worst thing in the galaxy, but in these circumstances...

At the moment however, lightsabers and lacking Jedi abilities didn’t top the list of his biggest
concerns. No, that was being lost who knew where, being on the run and being hunted by his
captors. If they did find him, he didn’t stand a chance in his current condition which allowed
him barely the energy to stand, much less the strength to fight back.

All that had happened. The torture. The escape. The running for his life with hands still
cuffed and the speeder bike blown out from under him.

Momentarily, it was quiet. Too quiet. He’d finessed the crippled bike into the swamps,
avoiding his captors. Half clothed, dirty, malnourished, he’d not seen a morsel of food in
three days and prior to that what they’d fed him had been minimal at best. Numerous
abrasions and bruises battered his body - most superficial - but they’d broken something in
his right leg and moving it even inches was excruciating. He was cold, he was hot, he was
shivering, he was sweating.

Worst of all, he was alone. Without the Force, without his master, without the Jedi, without
guidance.

The anxiety-ridden panicky part of his mind doubted that Qui-Gon was even looking for him
at this point. It’s how long he’d been gone. Missing. Taken. Whatever. The exact length of
time he didn’t know. His hair had grown some, no longer spiking up, but laying flat against
his skull. Time wise, he guessed a month or longer.

Prying his fingers from the control grips on the bike, he stared at the wrist cuffs. They were
awkwardly long enough to allow both hands on the handle to gain grip. It’s how he’d
managed to fly the bike to this point until the engine blew. Enemy fire and now he was lost
here in the deep swamps. Without the Force though, his sense of direction had been a mess.
The swamps seemed like a good enough place hide. The only place really. People didn’t
venture into this place voluntarily, even perhaps to hunt their escaped quarry.

Past geographic lessons rolled over in his mind. The southern part of the planet, populated by
bogs and swampland, creatures that could eat him in a single bite and those that could suck
him blood-dry in a matter of days. Nothing he’d ever learned about the bogs was pleasant,
but planet knowledge was something that Qui-Gon instilled into him as a regular part of his
training.

What he wouldn’t give to hear one of those lessons right now.

Thinking about his mentor and friend...

“Master...”

The whisper pushed through bleeding lips and a shiver rushed through him. Obi-Wan Kenobi
rubbed his shackled hands up and down his arms; a weak attempt to regain body warmth.
Then he dragged his useless right leg off the bike and lowered himself into the quagmire
below, feet sinking inches into the thick black muck. A cuppy, sucky sound popped and
plopped when he dragged forward. He got stuck, pulled upright, and then, with the inability
to catch himself, Obi-Wan fell backwards, his head bouncing off a tree root. He yelped once
before berating himself for the clumsiness.

“Come on, Kenobi, you’re better than this.” The boy said to himself aloud. He blinked hard
to clear his mind and wiped at mud on his face. “You’re still inventive and smart and quick
thinking. He’s looking for you. He’ll find you. Qui-Gon would never rest until he found you.
You know that. Trust in that. You have to trust in that. If... Gah! Yeah, sure. If he only knew
where in the stars to even start looking!” Obi-Wan pounded uselessly at the dirty mud all
around him. “Damn it, Kenobi! Ugh... he’s got no idea where you are, you know that too,
don’t you? And you can’t reach him, the Force is gone, the bike is broken... the bike comm, it
took a hit and stopped but... wait... maybe?”

Wide, unfocused eyes along with trembling, uncooperative fingers reached to the comm.
Seeing the damage, it appeared beyond repair.

A heavy sigh. “It was worth a thought. So now what? This is a predicament, Kenobi and you
need to find food and water or it won’t matter if Qui-Gon finds you. This is a stupid way to
die. So stupid. I think... No. You can do this. Yes, you can do this... come on... be smart.”

The chant and determination worked - for a time. An hour or two or three passed before
exhaustion overwhelmed him. He had succeeded in getting out of the mud and onto semi-dry
land (for a swamp). He’d also managed not to get eaten or mauled. Small victories. Very,
very small victories.

The effort though had drained him to the point that his body retreated into shock. The stress
and lack of nutrition combined with the disturbing thoughts of slowly rotting alone in a bog
of waste never to be found, dead or alive - it pushed him into the place he’d been working so
hard not to go.

Alternating between squeezing his hands together and rubbing the nape of his neck until it
hurt, nothing helped. Meditation was not possible. Not without the Force as a guide. The
attempted deep breaths only ended in annoying unwanted sobs that he couldn’t control.
“Great, Kenobi.” The boy admonished himself. “Sitting here crying in a giant swamp. How
fitting is that for a Jedi? All those masters who bypassed you for training, all of them were
right, weren’t they? Every last one of them. They saw the real you, not the wannabe-facade
on your outside. Qui-Gon, he was suckered by the Force into training you. It fooled him into
taking you as his apprentice. If he could see me now, I can only imagine how disappointed
he’d be. Giving up, dying here. In a damn swamp. We trained in swamps how many times? I
complained about it constantly, of course. But this, all of this, what’s happened to me... it’s
impossible. And I’m so hungry. Thirsty. It hurts everywhere. I wish.... Master... you can’t
hear me. It’s empty in my head where our connection should be. Just... I’m sorry I’ve failed
you. I’m so sorry...”

—-

The comm unit was mostly destroyed, Obi-Wan saw. After that last collapse into shock, he’d
willed himself to limp his way back to the speeder-bike’s control panel. His abilities were
there - one of the best of his age in mechanics, repair and generally fixing things. Under Qui-
Gon’s training to put him on task when repairs were needed, the boy had excelled. How could
he make that work here?

Obi-Wan tried to think. If there was a way to use a piece of the control panel or engine to fix
the comm...

The metal from the cuffs still trapped his wrists. Yes, they were solid metal; pure steel from
what he could tell. Useful if he could just... there. He scraped them hard against a piece of the
engine, breaking off two small pieces of that engine. From there, he used the pieces to
manipulate the comm unit. With no real concept of time, the process took hours or longer.
There was pinpoint accuracy needed that he found exceedingly difficult. Between the
inability to maintain focus and his violently shaking hands, the hopeful task seemed
unattainable. There were repetitive motions and attempts after attempt to manipulate the inner
workings of the comm. Hands were cramped and bloody, yet by some miracle, the device did
eventually sputter with a feeble crackling noise.

Was it working? Had he done the impossible? Obi-Wan detached the unit from the bike
handle.

“Okay, it’s on, there’s a signal. I can... um... will it reach anywhere, will anyone hear? Will
anyone care? Or am I just a broken fool in a swamp talking to myself and hoping for a
miracle?”

Regardless of the ridiculously high chance of failure, he tried.

“Hello? I need assistance. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am on Holm. In the swamps. I need
assistance. If anyone hears this. Please... this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi. If you hear this,
contact the Jedi Temple, tell them I need help immediately. Please... if someone can help
me... I need help... I'm on Holm. Please.”

It all he could give. Last gasp effort of everything expelled as the boy clutched the comm,
sliding away from the bike and back into the swamps. A weak hand snagged a root before he
went completely under, preventing him from drowning. One final attempt to not be a total
failure.

There, he pulled himself out and over to an enormous Gum tree. While not dry, the ground
was tolerable for a bog. The tree with his giant root system offered a slim window of
protection - a pocket-sized shelter. Obi-Wan laid his head down in the muck, cuffed hands
crossed his chest, knees curled upwards. Anything to keep warm even in the thick humidity
of the swamp. With the adrenalin of the comm repair expended, he was freezing from head to
toe. His body no longer able to regulate any type of normal temperature. If his distress call
hadn’t reached a person of use - anyone who cared - and if they didn't come quickly... rescue
wouldn’t matter. And if his call had been intercepted by the wrong people, well...

Get to the bike. Repair the comm. Send out a signal. It had been his final act, his last hope.

Not the way he’d thought his life would end. As a youngling, Obi-Wan envisioned being part
of great Jedi team as he graduated from Padawan to Knight to Master Jedi. He’d found that
team. Master Qui-Gon and he were formidable, even though he was only sixteen with much
to learn. He had promise. Qui-Gon had told him that. Potential to be a great Jedi Knight.
Surely, he was on his way to achieving that dream and even if he’d been killed in service to
the Jedi, it would’ve been worth it.

But this - Obi-Wan thought - this was all kinds of wrong. This was in service to nothing. This
was a stupid way to go out. It was a horrible way to die.

Hurt. Sick. Starving. Alone. Lost.

Without even the Force to comfort him in final hours.

In his cramped shelter, Obi-Wan huddled within himself, desperate to stay warm. Desperate
to stay alive long enough for his distress call to find... anyone.

Eyes closed, he wished for better days. Dreamed of better days. Wasn’t it just days ago (it
seemed) that Qui-Gon had allowed him to lead
a mission through negotiations from start to finish. Only stepping in
when the fine-tuned experience was needed. It had been such a feeling of accomplishment.
Qui-Gon had been proud of him. He’d been proud of himself. With that success under his
belt, Obi-Wan knew for certain that one day he’d be a skilled negotiator just like his teacher.
It gave him such excitement for the future of his training and his Jedi life. Such promise...

Now there was nothing. Apparently, his destiny was nothing more than to rot alone in a
swamp, lost on the desolate planet of Holm.

And if that wasn’t enough, as his brain floundered in it’s exhaustion, there was this annoying
nagging feeling of failure that kept pecking away at him.

Failure. It had always been his biggest fear. Failing Qui-Gon. Failing his training. Failing the
Jedi. Laying curled in a ball waiting to die - yes, of all the things that pained him the most,
that one, knowing that Qui-Gon would be disappointed in him… that feeling - it was the
worst of all.
More hours ticked by. Days? Who knew. The last of his inner strength sapped, Obi-Wan
surrendered to the effort of keeping the tears at bay. There was so much pain and hurt and
emotion and no Force, what was the point? He was a solitary figure dying slowly in a
deserted swampland on some random planet called Holm where no one ever went voluntarily.
Though he was certain, based on random human-shaped bones sticking out of the
surrounding mud, that some had certainly died here involuntarily.

Shocking again, his body and mind sank further into despair. No longer able to fight. Obi-
Wan lacked any resource to pull himself free of the desolation. There was a deep breathing
exercise he remembered though. One they learned as initiates and one that Qui-Gon often
practiced with him. It told the body to relax, the mind to follow. It would assist in making his
passing as painless as possible. Seemed an impossible chore with the incredible pain coursing
through him, but it was the last tendril of training and comfort to hold close as he slid into
oblivion.

—-

Oblivion was interrupted by a voice. A voice that was crackled and difficult to understand,
but it was there on the bike comm. The comm that was still clutched in Obi-Wan’s hand after
he’d pulled it free. Someone was speaking through it. Someone had heard his call!

Pressing trembling fingers onto the call button, he summoned the energy to plead with the
voice on the other end. “Hello? A-anyone there? Help me, please. I am Obi...Wan... K-
Kenobi. On Holm. S-swamps. Please...”

“Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, do you hear me?”

Straining to hear past the static… that voice, so familiar. So... No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be,
right? But it was. It had to be. How? What...

“M-master?” With that one word, relief washed through the boy like a tidal wave, but his
words were hard to find as the violent shivers began again. Obi-Wan fought desperately to
not succumb.

Qui-Gon sounded once more on the comm. Clearer now. “Yes, Padawan. I’m coming for you.
Can you stay with me?”

“M’ser... try... hard. Hurts. C-cold.”

“I know. But I want you to keep fighting. That’s an order. You fight until I get there. You stay
on this comm with me. You follow that order, understand?”

An order. He couldn’t refuse an order from his Master. Or any Jedi Master. It was born into
him, trained into him. He had to hold on... couldn’t fail again...

“T-trying... help... please...”

“We’re on the ship now, Obi-Wan. On our way. But you need to stay with me until I get there.
Can you do that?”
“Dunno...”

Obi-Wan lost the comm unit long enough to scratch at a leech that had suckered onto his arm.
There were more now that he noticed. His neck. Legs. But his reach was limited to inches
and the effort to detach that one leech... His mind floated. Qui-Gon talking to him on the
comm. Shouting at him. Why was he yelling? Why wasn’t he here? His stomach groaned,
craving something, anything to fill it. The swamp around him went fuzzy and he was
hungry... so hungry... so tired. Ready to allow darkness to take him and for the misery to end.

The yelling stopped. Qui-Gon’s voice no longer loud, but instead soft and controlled. Obi-
Wan listened. Obi-Wan heard. He understood.

“Obi-Wan, I promise we will find you, but I want you to talk to me. Tell me what you see
around you, how you feel, anything. Talk to me.”

Talk. He could do that. His master was there with him... in a way. At least when he died it
wouldn’t be completely alone. Someone would be there to make it easier.

Talk. Okay, yes he could do that. It would take every ounce of anything he had left inside, but
he wouldn’t fail Qui-Gon, not again. Not right before the end.

“Swamp. M’sr. Hot. Cold. S’cold... mud... um... leeches on m’arm.” His voice slurred badly
now no matter how hard he focused on forming words.

“Leeches? Oh I know how much you hate those. Remember last year on that mission to the
Outer Rim when they suckered to your chest and we had cut off your tunic to detach them? I
didn’t have a single leech on me, but you were covered in them. The healers spent hours
scrubbing your skin to remove them.”

Leeches, Obi-Wan thought. Why was his master talking about leeches? Disgusting and blood
sucking and all over him. His arms itched. His chest too. The red marks trailing blood. Yes,
he remembered. They’d taken a week to heal. Leeches...

“M’sr... leeches? I don...”

“Keeping your mind moving, Obi-Wan. You’re listening, that’s what I want. What else do
you see around you, can you tell me? I want to find you quickly when we land.”

“Um. Bike s’broken. T-trees. Swamp... n’hungry... s’hungry.... M’ser please...”

“I know, Padawan. I know. Keep talking to me.”

Tears stung Obi-Wan’s eyes as he felt himself slipping from his master’s voice. It was
impossible to breathe here. Impossible to stay warm. Impossible to focus. Impossible to hold
on.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Hmm.” Words were gone now.

Qui-Gon knew what was happening and took up the conversation to keep the boy focused on
something other than dying. His voice. His incoming presence. Anything to center his fading
spirit.

“You know that last mission we were on, the one where you did all the negotiating? I
reported to the Council how well you executed every part of it. I was so proud of what you
did, Obi-Wan. So proud of what you’ve become. Every day I look forward to working with
you, training you, watching you become a Jedi that will be so important to the future of the
Order. I am grateful to have you as my apprentice, Padawan. I need you to stay with me until
I’m there at your side. We’re not far. And I promise our next mission won’t have any swamps
or leeches. Perhaps we can get the Council to put us on a sabbatical mission like that time we
learned how to carve stone with the Force. Do you remember? I don’t know which of us was
more amazed at what we’d achieved together. We can request that again, the two of us. Fight
just a bit longer, all right?”

Obi-Wan offered no further words. He listened though. As long as he could. Tears still
brimming, breaths still sluggish. Qui-Gon’s soothing voice stayed with him until a blanket of
blackness finally descended and stole him away.

—-

Air was being forced into his lungs. First by man, then by machine. The air forced him to
breath. Forced his lungs to burn. There was a chill around him. Hands on him. Cold. Moving.
Voices were there too. Three. Four. Impossible to know.

His hands were free. The wrist cuffs gone. Blood red scars left in their wake. Arms were
bare. Legs too. Oval shaped blotches all around.
Eyes wouldn't stay open long enough to understand, but a warm hand on his own came and
stayed.

Obi-Wan’s lips moved without sound as he saw a familiar face. A face he trusted.

Qui-Gon.

“Padawan. We’re on a ship home. Healer Terran is here. We’ve gotten the mud and leeches
off your skin. It was an effort to get you breathing. Your right leg is broken. It’s protected
now, but Terran will set it at the Temple hospital. Nutrients and fluids are intravenous. Should
help some of the hunger pains, but you’re a bit of a mess. We’ll be home soon enough.” An
emotional pause came and went before the Jedi could continue. Then finally, “Obi-Wan. It’s
been over a month since you were taken. Holm was never on our radar until Dexter Jettser
intercepted your distress call. Our old friend has eyes and ears all over the galaxy and he
looks after his friends. I know you are hurting and you cannot reach the Force. Terran says
there’s a drug in your system causing that disconnect. It will return once the drug clears. You
need to rest.” Qui-Gon held securely to the boy’s fingers. “I’ve missed you, Padawan.
Squeeze my hand if you understand.”

It took a moment of comprehension, but the young Jedi managed a light pressure on Qui-
Gon’s hand. More than anything he wanted to squeeze as hard as he could, never let go, give
in to every emotion and let it all out - the horror of the past month.
The best he could do was cry. Not really what he wanted, but this past month was nothing
he’d wanted either. The emotion was what he’d needed.

Qui-Gon’s free hand moved to his forehead and as much as Obi-Wan couldn’t feel the Force
within himself, he could feel it used on him. The power behind Qui-Gon’s touch was intense.
It was everything.

Another someone approached Obi-Wan’s bedside. Gray hair. Kind face. Gentle eyes. Healer
Terran Va’lor.

“You’ve been through an ordeal, Obi-Wan, and we really don’t know the details. Just
guessing from your injuries. Only you know the full extent. It’s all right to feel the emotions,
especially since you can’t project anything into the Force. As Qui-Gon said, that will return.
I’ve already identified the drug causing the block. I promise you will make a full recovery.”

Promise. Promise from a man that Obi-Wan trusted almost as much as he did his own master.
He tried for a small grin, but it only caused more tears. Terran patted his arm.

“We’ll be home soon.”

An approving glance from Terran and Qui-Gon set his apprentice into a Force-induced sleep
before they landed on Coruscant, offering him a desperately needed respite from his extended
suffering.

Intentionally, that sleep lasted three days. The healer’s idea to allow body and mind to
recover.

—-

Mid-morning of the fourth day, a worn and torn Obi-Wan sat on the side of his hospital bed
when Qui-Gon stepped into the room. The boy was still very gaunt and underweight, but
awake and vertical.

“Padawan. Welcome back.”

“Master,” Obi-Wan began suddenly, with a desperate plea in his voice, “That place. I was... I
didn’t think...” He broke off leaving the rest unsaid, knowing his master would understand.

Qui-Gon redirected him. “The repair you did on the comm was quite inventive. I spoked to
our ship mechanics about it. They said you should have never been able to achieve that type
of repair without this ridiculously long list of tools they read off to me. That you manipulated
it with pieces of a bike engine while your hands were cuffed and you were deep in shock.
Obi-Wan, that was quite the accomplished improvisation.”

The boy shrugged, his emotions once more in check. “I was desperate.
I knew that I was going to die there. Alone in a swamp, covered in leeches. It would not have
been my finest moment.”

Qui-Gon smiled and sat down. “No, it would not have been. But the comm repair may have
been. It saved your life. Be proud of that. But tell me, do you feel anything yet? Any sense of
the Force around you?” Qui-Gon asked, his own connection with the boy remaining empty.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped. “Not yet. Terran said it could be any time. He told me to be
patient. That’s hard for me, Master.”

“Patience? You?” A large hand set on Obi-Wan’s bandaged one and squeezed gently, making
sure to convey the humor of the statement.

“I am better than I used to be.”

“This... is true. Do you think you’re ready to discuss the details of what happened? The more
we know the faster we can track down your captors. There are rumors of a child-mill type
situation, where they are only taking the young. Only rumors thus far, but your recollections
might be most valuable.”

“I’ll have to go before the Council?”

Eyes wide, Obi-Wan felt his anxiety rising. The thought of being interrogated by the entire
High Council in his current condition, without the Force and with just having woken from a
four-day induced coma. And after being held captive and abused for weeks. He gulped. Past
training would have him reaching for the Force to rely on it for calm and clarity. Without it...

“Master. I... ”

Qui-Gon soothed the worry. “Not the entire Council. I would never force that on you, though
a few of them suggested it. Nevertheless, Yoda and Plo Kloon will come here. Terran and I
will be present. The investigating security team will be present for information-taking only.
Whatever you remember. Additional details can always be added later. They understand that
your Force abilities are blocked, but this should not be delayed. There may be other children
or young people at risk.”

Again, Obi-Wan reigned in his emotions, settling the nerves. He was a Jedi. He could do this.
“I’m ready.”

—-

The meeting to question the apprentice went smoothly. Obi-Wan recalled everything he
could. Where he’d originally been taken on Holm, he couldn't say. Holm had a wide variety
of climates, the swamps being only one of many. The place where he’d been kept had been
dark, underground, cold, dry. Almost ice-like in texture. They’d moved him several times and
the place from where he’d managed to escape was mostly made up of rocks and hills. He had
no guess how far that was from the swamps. All he remembered was being on the bike,
terrified, desperate, and flying as fast as he could without any real sense of direction or plan.

They’d cuffed him at the start and had not once removed the bindings. There was little food.
No bathroom. No change of clothes. No water, save for the small flask they gave him once a
week. He’d been hung upside down, right side up, beaten, berated, shocked, hurled across
rooms, used for target practice... just about anything and everything. The leg had been broken
during one of their many interrogations. The leg that was now in a splint, set and healing the
healer’s care; gentle hands of healing after vicious hands of torture. They’d injected him with
various things during his capture, including the drug that was apparently responsible for
blocking him from the Force. Obi-Wan told the Masters about the emptiness he felt then, cut
off from all he knew.

The faces of his captors he saw rarely, but with the utilization of Jedi memory training, he
could recall helpful details. He identified them as a Chagrain with a missing top horn; a
Clawdite or changeling that mutated form, but tended to favor some type of unknown
snaggle-toothed lizard creature with green scales; a Klatooinian, and then a large gray-
skinned female humanoid with dark hair that trailed to her lower-back.

No names came to mind, though he knew he’d heard several. These people - creatures - that
had horrified him for weeks, their names were locked somewhere in his mind, working hard
to stay trapped.

He relayed his escape, repair of the comm and call for help. The tree-shelter and preparing
himself for death... and then Qui-Gon’s voice.

“Strong you were, Padawan Kenobi. Fault or failure of yours this was not. If more details
there are, report them immediately you must. Understand do you?”

“I do, Master Yoda. Thank you.”

They’d departed and a relieved Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

“Perhaps not as bad as you thought?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I did just as you said, Master.”

“You did well. And you understand that Yoda speaks in truth. You hold no fault. No failure. I
know what’s inside you, Obi-Wan. How your negative emotions get the best of you. You did
not fail me, you did not fail your training. Accept that, move on from it, and focus on your
recovery.”

Obi-Wan had been holding tight to the idea of failure; one of his final thoughts before
accepting death. Now these supporting words from
Qui-Gon… It relieved him in a way he could never have imagined.

“I understand. I was... worried.”

“More than worried, I’m sure. But none of that. You will rest and eat and once you are
healthy, our lives return to normal.”

“Maybe we can carve stone again.” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly. Remembering one of those
memories Qui-Gon had used through the comm to keep him fighting. In his young life, that
one ranked high on his list of best moments.

The big man smiled. “You know, I would enjoy another sabbatical mission. In fact, I’ve
already requested it from the Council.”
Qui-Gon had, and the Council - Yoda specifically - agreed without question. The ancient Jedi
Master fully intending to keep Qui-Gon off of any investigation as it concerned the
apprentice’s abduction. Jinn was far too close to the matter and would be counterproductive
to the cause. Qui-Gon accepted that rule. As much as he wanted those responsible to pay for
their crimes, his first priority was to Obi-Wan.

A few days later, with a fresh haircut, tunic and robe, along with a welcoming reconnection
to the Force, Obi-Wan felt ready. His body still showed signs of faded wounds and bruises,
aided by days of bacta treatment but his leg was mostly healed with healer orders to not do
anything stupid. Still underweight and he was lacking in his usual stamina, he stood
straightening himself in the bathroom mirror, content to be a true Jedi again.

In the doorway, Qui-Gon handed him a silver cylindrical object.

“It’s not yours, but this is the first lightsaber I ever built. I’ve recharged it with a new kyber
crystal. I want you to make it your own until we find the one stolen from you or build you a
new one.”

A press of the button revealed a glowing green blade, the same color as Qui-Gon’s current
lightsaber. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes shone bright in the stunning glow. The final piece of him set
back into place.

He deactivated it and pressed the hilt to his chest.

“Master. I am honored. Thank you. I will keep it safe.”

“I know you will. Shall we go?”

With a deep breath and a touch to their renewed Force bond, Obi-Wan walked towards Qui-
Gon’s guiding hand that comfortably set around his shoulders.

“Our sabbatical awaits, Padawan.”

“As long as there are no swamps, bogs or mud involved. I am ready to put all of this behind
me and focus ahead to my future.”

“That’s your strength and stubborn determination talking. It’s what kept you alive on Holm.”

There was a glance upwards from apprentice to master as they walked out of their quarters
and toward the lift. “That, and you talking to me. Even before you reached me on the comm,
your voice was in my head, when my own wasn’t getting in the way. You kept me alive too.”

“You survived, that’s most important. After all, I’d hate to have to break in a new
apprentice.”

The joke. A rare one from Qui-Gon Jinn. A needed one.

With a broad smile, Obi-Wan nudged toward his master and accepted a shoulder tugging half
hug. “As long as it’s not that initiate Khanish. She’s only ten, but she got a hold of me one
day and I felt like I was being interrogated by the entire Jedi Council at once.”
“Hmm. You too?” The pair stepped into the lift. “She is certainly one to steer clear of. Even I
felt intimidated. Probably best if I keep you around a while longer then.”

Another joke. Qui-Gon was in an unusually joyful mood and it was contagious.

They exited the lift toward the landing platform to find their ride patiently waiting. As was
their custom now, the younger Jedi took to the pilot’s chair. Next to him, Qui-Gon
programmed their destination.

Heads turned toward each other, a shared warmth.

“The next step on our journey awaits. Padawan, take us out.”

“Yes, Master. I look forward to it.”

~*~
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