If I Needed Someone

A Vignette

Written by LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

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A follow-up to You're Nowhere. The mission to Naboo ended in a bitter severance of the friendship between Master and apprentice. Four years later, a chance for reconciliation arises.

(Okay, this can be viewed as a stand-alone or a sequel. I didn't want to write it, but you know the deal with bunnies. They have fangs. You just don't notice because they're all fuzzy and cute. Don't let your guard down for a second. But speaking of fuzzy and cute…uh, this isn't going to be. The mood's darker in this than in Nowhere. Sorry. )

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If I had some more time to spend

Then I guess it'd be with you my friend

If I needed someone…-George Harrison

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The storm lingered on the leaves. They drooped with the weight; beads of cooling rain collected at the verdant edges before falling to the dark, softened soil. The frail winds whispered along the part of the bearded face not concealed by the hood, telling of the terrible clashes that had so violently lit the sky.

But, even as the moisture streaked down and saturated his cloak, he wasn't aware.

His surroundings had been bled of any color. They stood as pale shadows in the distance. He didn't spare a second to survey the aftermath of the tempest, for his mind was a flurry of long-abandoned days and a throbbing, tingling, all-encompassing fear-and he didn't want to begin to consider what would be left of it, once the intense moments had passed.

Jaliah was a planet of tropical forests and marvelous, spanning oceans. Exceedingly beautiful, and loyally guarded by tribes. Nature reigned over the galaxy-wide expansion of technology, and familial mediation was favored in place of a strong-handed government. Overall, it was quite peaceful, without need of outside influence…like Jedi.

So the Council was startled by the transmission from the tiny world. With the current atmosphere of the Universe, the Masters expected talk of invasion. Instead, an elder informed them that a man had suddenly taken ill near the base of their tribe, a young man who claimed to be a Knight of the Jedi Order.

From the start, the councilors knew it was a grave matter. The people of Jaliah rarely, if ever, communicated with other nations. And it was unheard of for them to request offworlders be sent to the planet. Somberly, they asked the name of the stricken member.

Qui-Gon had not been in the chamber when it was spoken. But within his quarters, as he had sat in some version of serene reflection, the name thundered in his chest. He knew, while knowing nothing else of the situation. He knew, and surged to his feet, sprinting through the sleeping halls of the Temple.

When he arrived, none of the dozen faces were marked by surprise. They knew, too. They knew Qui-Gon would be the one to travel, along with a healer, to Jaliah.

The life of Obi-Wan Kenobi was dependent on it.

The pair came upon a dense tangle of prickled vines. They fell away with a single sweep of resonating jade.

"We're nearly there." Healer Anayo announced quietly, dark eyes looking to the flourish of ivory dawn in the distance. The slender, graceful man glanced at his counterpart. "I sense him."

Qui-Gon compressed his lips. "Is he—"

Anayo briefly touched his arm. "He's still there. And I think he senses us."

The Master turned away. A question throbbed on his lips, but he was too uncertain of the response to chance voicing it. The fear, the hesitant hope, crowded his mind. Beneath it all, and with a thickening in his throat, he wondered, Does he want me here? Since the abrupt end of their partnership, Qui-Gon had attempted to mend the tears, but Obi-Wan was unwilling, to say the least.

Once, Obi-Wan had been his Padawan, and that mere title represented so much. He had been the sole focus of Qui-Gon's life for over a decade, dominating the first and last thoughts of the day, filling the hours in between with hard-won lessons, conversation, and gentle, genuine laughter. He protected Obi-Wan with every ounce of strength within him…and his love for the young man had surpassed all else. Obi-Wan had been his only family.

Now, that family was disjointed, estranged—nonexistent. Qui-Gon had trusted the Force and acted on impulse. He chose the Chosen, while Obi-Wan stood in silent witness. The older man had apologized. It wasn't enough. Obi-Wan's heart was resilient, but not impenetrable. He couldn't forgive. He couldn't let go of how he had always regarded himself. He believed he was incompetent and unworthy.

Qui-Gon could sense his former apprentice through the rain-slicked forest, but it was like catching sight of a wraith. It was the weakest feeling, and it lasted no longer than a breath. But his skin was inexplicably chilled.

"The natives are approaching." Anayo said. His expression eased to disarm the reclusive beings.

Three men walked to them, bare feet smudged by the soils, hair long and tied in silken knots at the base of their necks. The eldest, with stray flaxen tendrils hanging around a finely boned face, stepped closer to the Jedi.

"You have…come for…him?" The man inquired in broken Basic.

"Yes," Anayo affirmed, "I am Healer Anayo and this is Master Qui-Gon Jinn. We are the Jedi from Coruscant."

"Jedi, like him, yes?"

"Y-Yes," Qui-Gon had been staring at a tent of D'iamili skin, but a small prod from Anayo brought him back. "We are Jedi, like him."

"Good." The man smiled, a watery light present in his crystal eyes, "He says Jedi have…Force? And Force heals all, yes? You heal him?"

"That's why we're here." The Healing Master nodded towards the tent. "May we see him now?"

"Yes. You see him now." The elder bowed, and bracketed by the other tribal members, started to the humble tent.

And the journey was a daze for Qui-Gon, whose heart was thundering and overwhelmed, terrified and stupefied that his dear friend lay beyond the broad cover of animal hide.

A trembling, liver-spotted hand swept the flap aside, allowing the two Jedi entrance. They ducked their heads, for the pitch had been low.

The morning light ceased to be, swallowed in the gray, motionless air. On the ground, Obi-Wan was wrapped in several layers of coarse, earth-toned material. His cheek was turned to the side; his forehead glistened.

Qui-Gon's stomach lurched. "Obi-Wan." He whispered.

Anayo crouched next to the still form, resting his hand along the smooth curve of a heated temple. Slowly, his eyes slipped closed.

Qui-Gon watched as the healer probed through the Force. His entire life was suspended, fixed on the words that would come, the diagnosis that would dictate the future. He openly stared at the tanned face of Anayo. He couldn't look at Obi-Wan. His aura was strung like a minstrel along the atmosphere, but Qui-Gon didn't want to hear it. His eyes bore into the solemn countenance, as though he could will the examination to end with salvation.

Anayo opened his eyes. "Qui-Gon," He swallowed and shook his head, "I'm sorry…"

"What?" Qui-Gon snapped, "What do you mean? What is it?"

"He—He's very ill. The Belio fever. And he's gone untreated. They didn't attempt any sort of healing. I think," He sighed, "I think they truly believe that for a Jedi, the Force heals all."

"But can't you do anything?"

Anayo's features were grimly set. "It's progressed too far. He's nearly comatose."

"But you said he sensed us."

"He does, but he's unable to reach us." Anayo gripped his shoulder, "That's why the Council wanted it to be you, Qui-Gon. They knew if a problem were encountered like this, you'd be most likely to get to him."

Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes. "He, uh…he won't respond to me. I know he won't." He had immediately forced the grief into a place of isolation. He wouldn't acknowledge it. He wouldn't give in to the torment of reality. Obi-Wan wasn't…he was going to be fine. "I've tried. I've tried, over and over. He just won't let me in anymore."

"Try again. Don't you owe it to him to try again?"

Qui-Gon put his face in his hands. His insides were clenching and shivering. I owe him…gods…more than you know. He looked at Anayo. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything that can help him."

Anayo nodded. "Get into his mind. Help him wake up. If he can't," His black eyes were trained intently on Qui-Gon, "Then we've lost him already."

Qui-Gon felt the weight of all existence settle on his shoulders. He would have said it aloud, but his voice was bled out. I can't lose him.

He bent beside Obi-Wan, and thought for a fleeting moment that the entire scene had retreated back to the realm of nightmares, that perhaps he was rousing them from a twisted version of their lives. But Obi-Wan remained bleached of color, and didn't respond when a callused hand brushed along his cheekbone. He was bundled in the rough cocoon, seemingly unaware of the concerned attention centered on him.

Qui-Gon forced down a sour lump of emotion. "Obi-Wan," He murmured, "Obi-Wan, can you hear me?"

The sweaty face remained lax.

Qui-Gon lowered his head against Obi-Wan's. He knew that spoken words were beyond the ill Knight's mental absorption, and that the only connection possible would be one within the Force. He also knew that Obi-Wan had taken careful precaution so that Qui-Gon was unable to touch upon his mind again. It was the barest method of self-protection.

But it was harming Obi-Wan now.

Qui-Gon didn't notice his eyes shut. His entire cognizance was devoted to pushing past the intricate webbing of old and renewed hurt, to grasp onto Obi-Wan's battered spirit.

It felt like both hours and milliseconds before he was met with resistance.

It was feeble, but the beauty of hearing it, of hearing his one-time apprentice at all, was incredible, despite the breathless anger contained within that voice. Leave me. Please…

The anguish threatened to end it there, but Qui-Gon galvanized his resolve, and reached out for Obi-Wan again. I can't leave you. You're ill, Obi-Wan. You need to wake up.

It was a well-honed skill of Obi-Wan's—to evade his former Master. He began to retreat, further into the darkness. I don't want it to hurt anymore.

Oh, Obi-Wan. He stretched out to him, I don't want you to hurt either. Come to me. A healer is waiting to make it better.

It won't be. It won't stop hurting. I didn't know it would hurt this long. This badly. I don't want to be like this.

Qui-Gon had to register it and move on. He couldn't linger. He couldn't let it set in. We can start again. Everything can change. It doesn't have to hurt anymore.

But Obi-Wan was sliding away.

No, Qui-Gon grasped onto him, Obi-Wan, this is NOT worth losing you over.

And the sweet, beautiful spirit was fading more and more.

NO. A hidden power was tapped then, in Qui-Gon Jinn. I won't let this happen. It WON'T happen.

"Qui-Gon."

He blinked. His vision was swarmed, and it took a minute for him to regain clarity, and recognize Anayo's voice. "What?"

The Healer was looking at him with a slightly brightened face. "Good work."

Qui-Gon sat up, and saw another face, enlivened to a frail flush. The cerulean eyes were glazed, but alert…and they penetrated him with silent accusation.

Not unkindly, Anayo nudged Qui-Gon aside, and began his ministrations.

Qui-Gon watched with fervent concentration. At the back of his mind, he thought that perhaps he should have given Obi-Wan the time to reconcile with consciousness on his own, but quickly dashed the notion. Obi-Wan needed him.

They would always need each other. Obi-Wan just had to learn to understand that.

"Alright. I've given him a very potent antibiotic," Anayo moved back and ran fingers through his hair, "If it's possible for him to beat it, he will."

Qui-Gon's relief dimmed. "If?"

"At this stage, I just can't rule out anything." He stood as straight as he could in the low tent, "I'm going to try to gather some warm water."

Qui-Gon nodded numbly, waiting for the other man to leave before laying his lips on the hot flesh of Obi-Wan's forehead.

Obi-Wan loosed a heavy breath. "You…You forced me."

"I did what had to be done to save you." Qui-Gon caressed the side of his face almost reverently.

"But what if I didn't want to be saved?" Obi-Wan rasped, the tears refusing to fall from his eyes constricting his throat.

The Master shook his head. "No, Obi-Wan. Don't say that. You are a gift of the Force. It needs you here."

With the little energy fueling his stricken body, Obi-Wan lifted a hand to cover his eyes. "I was happy. So far away from everything…it was…I was…" And the tears did come then, "But you came…and you took it away. You always take it away."

Qui-Gon inhaled sharply, unheeding of the misery coursing down his cheeks. "That wasn't happiness, Obi-Wan. It was running away."

"No," The stress was beginning to show its strain, in the tight lines around crimson-threaded eyes, "I was…I was tired of running. It felt right. This…it feels right."

"Stop that!" Qui-Gon was on the verge of shouting. The rage and sadness were punching up in his lungs—and he knew he was the cause of it all. "My Obi-Wan doesn't give up." He wiped a tear from the deathly porcelain face, "He's stubborn. He fights. He doesn't…" He grappled for air, "He doesn't die on the ground of an alien world, a bystander to his own demise."

"But I'm not your Obi-Wan," The purpled mouth corrected with trembling calm, "You decided that a long time ago."

Qui-Gon was about to argue, but Anayo reentered the tiny tent, carrying a clay bowl with a cloth hung over his forearm. His eyes went from Master to Knight a bit curiously, but he didn't question the bleary-eyed state of them. Instead, he handed the items to Qui-Gon while he checked his patient's vitals.

"No tangible improvement yet," The healer told them, "I don't want to move him until he's stronger. But at least he's maintained consciousness.."

Qui-Gon clung to that, and did his best not to dwell on the rest.

The jungle darkened as the hours passed. The air harbored a cool taste, and though it was refreshing to the elder Jedi as they sat huddled in their private, primitive sickbay, for Obi-Wan it aggravated a severely ailing system. His limbs quivered; his teeth had begun to chatter as the moon achieved full ascension.

Talk was limited to observations of his condition or the subtle changes in the weather. Obi-Wan never spoke at all.

Finally, when a sharp twist of the breeze couldn't be distinguished over the ill man's shuddering gasp, Qui-Gon took charge once more, and lifted Obi-Wan, still packed securely within the coverings, into his arms. He cradled the head against his chest, and was assaulted by the barrage of blunt memory. They hit him hard where there were already bruises to be counted…Qui-Gon had never forgotten the moments, good and bad, that united and wounded them both.

He had been the guard against pain. He took Obi-Wan into the shelter of his arms, when injury or illness struck. It had been a lovely harmony between them, because Obi-Wan was safe in the knowledge that he would be cared for, and Qui-Gon was assured that he would have someone, at last, to care for. Maybe things could have been different, if Obi-Wan had ever been made aware of the balm he had been to a weathered soul. If that soul had been brave enough-trusting enough-to allow such an intimate thought to be shared.

Qui-Gon returned, reluctantly, to the present. Obi-Wan was staring at him, but not with eyes of innocence and awed love. The eyes on him were bereft of something precious; they were jaded, rimed with clouded desolation.

"This feels right," He whispered, near Obi-Wan's ear.

Obi-Wan closed those eyes, though not threatened by sleep.

With the Force, the Jedi were able to radiate added warmth throughout the tent, and the water from early morning was still a comfort to chilled skin. Qui-Gon dabbed a damp corner of the cloth against Obi-Wan's temple, brushing auburn strands off his brow with a tender hand.

Anayo was submerged in meditation, confident that his colleague would monitor Obi-Wan carefully.

And Qui-Gon did, noting each uneven breath or grimace. He studied that visage that had been his life…and saw that really, nothing had changed. The features had matured, the radiance was lessened, but this was still his purpose.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon's chest tightened. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"Why…why did you do it?"

Qui-Gon stroked the beloved face, fingers quaking. "I didn't do it to hurt you. I didn't do it to get you out of the way, or out of my life. I did it because the Force was screaming. Anakin—he had to be rescued. He had to be trained."

"And you," Obi-Wan struggled to swallow, "You h-had to train him?"

"If there had been any other way, I wouldn't have. But the Council wasn't going to allow it."

"You thought they were wrong to doubt you. You had to defy them…and do what you wanted."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "It was what the Force wanted."

Obi-Wan smirked. "What the Force wanted. And what you…" He was cut off by his own guttural moan.

"What's wrong?" Qui-Gon took his hand, and was quietly grateful that fingers returned the pressure.

Obi-Wan rested his face against the worn tunic. "It's…not…working."

Immediately, Anayo was alert and at Qui-Gon's side. "He's getting worse. I think we need to risk the winds and make the jump to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan. I would risk anything.

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The wind shredded the placidity of midnight, and Qui-Gon held his former apprentice close. He had to be firm when Obi-Wan was seized up in fits of uproarious coughing, because they couldn't stop. The ship was at the very outskirts of the drenched forest.

Anayo led the way, clearing paths to quicken their pace.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan cried out in pure pain.

The healer wheeled around, a towering figure in the darkness. "Is he alright?"

Qui-Gon cupped the back of the bowed head, and forced himself to reveal the hardest of truths. "No." He inhaled and shook his head. "He's not."

Qui-Gon gingerly sat beneath a willow tree, placing Obi-Wan more comfortably in the crook of his arm.

Obi-Wan's cough had weakened to a sputter. He lay, spent and colorless, against the Master, panting shallowly.

"We need to keep moving," Anayo said loudly, to be heard amid the blasting wind.

"No," Obi-Wan grunted, "Please…I can't…"

Anayo dropped down beside them and flattened a palm against the blazing temple. Then he looked at Qui-Gon, who had been waiting, staring. "He doesn't have to go any further."

Qui-Gon wanted to shake the man by his shoulders until the prognosis changed. He wanted to shake himself, until his world made sense again, and Obi-Wan was with him again, the chasm that had been between them shrunk to nothing, and the fever cooled.

Qui-Gon traced his trembling fingertip along a cheek. "Obi-Wan," He battled the tears with more ferocity than he would an enemy of flesh, "Why were you here? The Council said there weren't any missions scheduled for Jaliah."

Obi-Wan wet his chapped, wind-blistered lips. "I wanted to be alone. I just…wanted to be alone…for awhile."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard. "But you have been alone, Obi-Wan. You wouldn't let me in. And now I-I've done this to you." He smoothed the ginger hair, "You can't leave, Obi-Wan. You have everything ahead of you. Your life is meant for more than this." He pressed their foreheads together, on the verge of sobbing, "This can't be my fault. I can't lose you like this. I can't lose you."

Moisture stood sharply in Obi-Wan's eyes. "This…is…what I'm meant for."

"No, it's not," Qui-Gon swore, "Don't you know what you are, Obi-Wan? D-Don't you know that you're better than all of us?"

"N-No I…couldn't get past…what happened. I should have been able to…get past it."

"I'm to blame for that. I shouldn't have let you go," Qui-Gon pressed kisses along his brow, "I never told you," The tears crashed in a smearing deluge, "I never told you how I felt."

Obi-Wan coughed harshly, and Qui-Gon peeled the layers of coarse fabric away, replacing the source of warmth with another: he wrapped his arms and robe around the shaking body. "I never told you that I cared about you. I didn't tell you that you were my son…and my heart."

"Y-You don't have to…"

Qui-Gon embraced him tighter, "It's the truth, Obi-Wan. I was just afraid of it. I didn't want to care that much. But I couldn't help it. And now we've lost the time," He pulled away, to gaze into the agony-polished eyes, "I love you."

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, "I love you too. But it's…it's too late. It's all…all been too much. It hurts." He whispered.

In the Force a unique, untainted Light was sinking. In Qui-Gon, his hope was deteriorating.

And the years of separation dwindled to dust. At the base of everything, his Obi-Wan was hurting. He let his instincts take over, and he rocked the body bundled against him, stroking the tensed back. "I love you, Obi-Wan. I love you, my Padawan."

He said it, again and again, voice crumbling and falling softer.

He said the words Obi-Wan Kenobi had waited his short lifetime to hear…and they were the last words to ever reach him.

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Thanks to those that reviewed Nowhere. I will possiblybe adding an alternate to this, but I'm not sure.