Obi-Wan stared morosely out of the window of the transport. He was curled in a ball of misery. Qui-Gon paced the cockpit, desperately needing to get back to Coruscant. Master Yoda, the one he’d always turned to when his heart was troubled, had nearly been assassinated. And then there was Obi-Wan - he felt so ill at ease around the boy now. Every so often he would glance at Obi-Wan, worry tingeing his features.
Finally, impatience won over reason. Or perhaps it was compassion. The Jedi Master stepped up behind the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Obi-Wan,” he began.
“Please,” said the boy softly. “Go away.” He brushed his hand across his eyes quickly, hoping Qui-Gon had not seen his tears.
Stung by the boy’s words, Qui-Gon turned away. He settled himself into the pilot’s seat and fiddled with the controls, making minor adjustments. Nearly two hours later, he glanced back to the main cabin. Obi-Wan was still staring out the window. His youthful frame was hunched and Qui-Gon could see his reflection, though not his true features. Tears made little rivulets down his face, drying in place, leaving trails of salt on his cheeks as he floundered in quiet grief. Qui-Gon sighed. He wanted to do something, but for all his diplomacy training, for all his compassion, he could think of nothing to say.
The Jedi Master felt the need for a cup of tea. He made himself a pot and drank down two cups. He sat, staring at the pot for several minutes. Then, making a decision, he poured some tea into a fresh mug. He walked out and wordlessly handed it to Obi-Wan.
“Thank you, Mas – Qui-Gon,” he said, accepting it.
The two of them sat in silence, sipping their tea, for some time. Finally, Qui-Gon broke the silence. “Obi-Wan, is there anything you want to talk about?” he asked.
“I… I never told her,” he choked out.
“Who?” Qui-Gon asked, although he knew the answer.
“Cerasi. I never told her how much she meant to me.”
Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “It is a regret that I bear as well, for many, many people.”
“I, uh, I,” Obi-Wan stumbled, not sure of how much to admit to the older Jedi. Taking a deep breath, he blurted, “I never told her I loved her.”
“I know, Obi-Wan. I loved her too.”
“No,” he argued, turning to face the elder Jedi for the first time. “Not like that. I *loved* her, and I never told her.”
Despite his sadness, Qui-Gon fought the urge to smile. Obi-Wan did not need to be told now that it was only a child’s love.
Obi-Wan misunderstood the quirk of Qui-Gon’s mouth. “It’s not funny!” he shouted, angrily.
“Easy, easy, Obi-Wan. I’m not laughing at you, believe me. I was merely remembering my own vehement proposals of love when I was about your age. But believe me, Cerasi knew very well just how much you cared for her. You held her in your arms as she died – there is no greater gift a friend can give.”
“She was more than a friend,” Obi-Wan grunted, turning to face the window again.
Qui-Gon sighed. He wanted to reach out and comfort the boy, but Obi-Wan’s anger stood in the way. He sat in a chair next to the boy, staring out the view port along side him. They sat in silence for a long, long time. Finally, Qui-Gon spoke.
“When I was fifteen, I fell in love as well. My Master and I were on an extended assignment for nearly six months, protecting some political refugees. There… there was a girl, about my age, a little younger, I suppose. We… we were the only two young people in the group, so naturally we did a lot together,” he paused, waiting to see if Obi-Wan would respond, if he would show anything at all. The boy didn’t move, but seemed to sense that Qui-Gon was waiting for a reaction, and eventually he nodded.
“One day, it was my shift at guard duty. I was,” he paused, swallowing painfully at the memory. “I was distracted. It was only for a moment, but it was enough. There was an explosion and troops… the next thing I remember, I was waking up in the Healers’ Ward at the Temple. My Master had survived, obviously, and so had some of the refugees, but not my sweet Eliz’yn.” He broke off, his throat choked, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
Obi-Wan turned to face the elder Jedi again. “And this is supposed to make me feel better how?” he asked, his voice respectful, but with enough sarcasm to make Qui-Gon smile faintly.
“I want you to know, Obi-Wan, that the deaths of those we love often cannot be blamed on anyone, cannot be attributed to a single circumstance. What we go through in torturing ourselves is not healthy. Cerasi’s death was not your fault. It took me many years to realize that *I* didn’t kill Eliz’yn – the enemy troops did. And you will love others besides Cerasi. I grieved for Eliz’yn for a long time, and I know that you will grieve for Cerasi as well. But would she want you to wallow in misery? She told you in her last message that you were not to mourn her overlong. I think that if she were here now, she’d laugh at you and tell you to get off your bottom and start working, wouldn’t she?”
Despite himself, Obi-Wan smiled. “Yeah, she would.”
“You will honor her memory, Obi-Wan, because you carry a piece of her with you. She always wanted to see the Galaxy – you can let her live that dream through you. She made her mark on you - she altered you. Everyone we meet changes us, and we change them. Look at the changes you brought to Cerasi’s planet. You brought them peace – it was you, Obi-Wan. Because of the changes that Cerasi made in your heart, you changed her planet for all time.”
Obi-Wan bit his lip. “Then you’re not mad?”
Qui-Gon could have wept at the anguish in the boy’s voice. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before replying, “No, Obi-Wan. I’m not. You brought peace where there was war. You brought hope where there was despair. *That* is the true path of the Jedi.” He smiled at the boy.
Obi-Wan grinned in relief. He sniffled and wiped his hand over his eyes. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Qui-Gon’s smile broadened. “I think you need some sleep, Padawan,” he said gently. The words were soft, but Obi-Wan’s heart sang at them.
/He called me Padawan!/
He bowed his head in quiet acquiescence. “Yes,
Master.”