A Vignette by LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn is consumed by the anguish of his own limitations.

I was all settled in for bed, lights out, eyes shut. Not shut firmly enough, I guess! An image kept shoving itself to the forefront of my thoughts, and it wasn't even Obi-Wan in a pink towel! (Some of you should be shocked by that. Tee hee.) I actually wrote this a couple months ago, but for some reason, didn't have it posted here.

O

Something more could have been done.

Something more should have been done, but wasn't. There was another route, a better plan, lurking in the fog of my brain. I lacked focus. I was blind to a monumental sign. I pushed, but muscle wasn't enough. My strength was a sputtering breath in a howling tempest.

I stand tall and am drowned in the shadow of giants, with their cold instruments of an advanced age. How primitive I am, wielding a single sword!

I thought civil negotiation would be enough-that I, in my years of meditation and mediation, would be enough. I would laugh at the absurdity, if I didn't think it would seep down into my soul like hot poison, and ravage what little flesh was left there untainted.

I'm considered a Master of the Jedi Arts, warrior and peacekeeper. Above all, a protector.

But there comes a measure of hubris with those titles. I would have denied that…before. Yet, tonight I am frozen at the window, the evidence scorched behind my temples, anything but in my favor.

An entire refuge, for weathered families being sheltered from the consequence of what they past witnessed, was obliterated.

I was not enough. And my incompetence does more than mar reputation; it destroys life. My finger moves and carries destiny, for every mistake, any move no matter how minor, can birth salvation or devastation.

A haughty observation, but damn if it isn't true.

Beyond the polished frame of the windowsill, the pall is still and overwhelming, the black cavern of a gaping mouth. It wants to swallow me as I stare into it. And, for a shuddering, fleeting instant, I want to let it.

How many gone, while I remain? The sum of lives lost crushes the belief that I was fortunate to survive. What survives is only dust.

But I will reform to another version of myself, changed by another deep stab of bitter reality at its base, and forever accompanied by a new set of midnight screams not of my own voice.

I-I could have done something more.

The palate of hyperspace streaks across my vision, and I turn from the brilliance, sitting on the side of the cot. It's a narrow room that smells faintly of stale sweat. The walls are gray.

I'm sitting here. For star's sake, I'm sitting here.

My head falls heavy into my hands and hair leans like a dense blanket across my shoulders. The last functioning ceiling light flickers at random; I wish it would finally blink out and leave me to the soft brace of darkness.

I want, for a moment, not to see, or hear, or remember.

"Master?"

I look up with a start. The face is young, tightened by concern at the eyes…but my eyes find it all distorted. Watered, by tears? "Obi-Wan." The name chokes out of me. I thought he was asleep. I assumeda nasty, and occasionally fatal, habit. I blink rapidly to clear the dilution, not to mention present some semblance of composure in front of my Padawan.

He doesn't smile, but there's a luminosity to his expression that reminds me how dear he is. The light of his spirit can always banish the demons. He has but to brush against my consciousness, or look at me. He's looking at me now, and the demons retreat, leaving me alone to my personal darkness.

Obi-Wan doesn't leave me alone.

I swallow, coming back to myself. "Do you need something? Water? Are you feeling alright?" As I ask, my gaze drifts to the bandage squares packed over his swollen eye, injured in the initial blast.

"No," He whispers, "But I think you need something."

And his arms wind around me. He embraces me with astounding gentleness, pressing his cheek to my neck.

I don't deserve this. I don't deserve him, or this ratty little ship, or my next breath. Gods there were so many…

I close my arms around his waist, pulling him closer, inhaling his presence as though it were the only source of my continued existence. He will go in the unrelieved pattern of mortality. I will lose him, like the rest. And I will be powerless then, too. I only hope that by that time, I will be gone. The burden of living without that brightness is blissfully beyond my comprehension.

I hold him tight and am able to forget the growth of his body and the loom of Knighthood. For now, he is my child. He is enough.

"It's alright, Master," He murmurs against my tunic, "No one can save everyone."

And the hinges break under the pressure of the simple, comforting words.

I cry.

O