Red. I never had any reason to dislike the color before. It used to remind me of the soft glow of sunsets, the slightly parted lips of a woman, the rosy blush of an innocent child. It was beauty and fire flaming the human soul. Isn't it funny how one's perception can change in a few seconds? The few seconds it takes for a smile to blossom, for a teardrop to fall.
The time it took the Sith to plunge his saber into my Master's chest.
Now, the color no longer represents light but the dark. Each night, I dream, my sleep colored with a bloody hue of crimson. The red tinged force fields cycling on and off, trapping me on the other side as I watched the battle rage on. The flash of red as the Sith expertly whirls his two-sided saber with a hideous grin, knowing that he was stronger, faster than my Master. The hideous red tattoos decorating the face of one who walks on the Dark Side.
My dreams are full of blood and screams, smoke and terror. Of my Master falling to the ground, my shout of denial. Of death. And failure.
Abandonment.
Naboo. Oh, to be able to turn back the hands of time, to erase what has become a reality. It was there that my world as I knew it shattered into a million fragments, never to be made whole again. I picked myself up only because of duty, shutting away the crippling emotions that would have rendered me useless to stop my fall into the pits of despair.
Once, when we were trying to put behind the sorrow that was Melida/Daan, Qui-Gon told me of a planet called Aurea and shattered glass pieced together so flawlessly, none would know the difference. The glass, he would say, was like a phoenix, even more beautiful after being broken.
I wish I could say I believe I can be like the mythical bird of fire, which rose from the ashes to soar once again. It's all very well to repair a glass when the fragments are still there to be put back like a fragile puzzle, but can one fix the broken spirit of the human soul?
As I sit here watching you, dear Master, I wonder at the strangeness of it all. Here in the aftermath of the battle, our roles are reversed. In the normal course of events, I would be the injured party while you sat by my side, holding my hand, not letting go. And I would let sleep gently take me away because I know you'd be keeping vigil during the hours to come, guarding my dreams.
Instead I find myself cradling yours, feeling the reassuring pulse of your heartbeat throbbing beneath my fingers. Your strong hands that used to soothe my brow, squeeze my shoulder and held me up when I was too weak to stand; your hands whose touch chased away my demons, whose warmth kept away the chill and whose strength sheltered me, keeping me safe from the horrors of the world. Now, in the embrace of my hands, they only manage to look fragile, ready to break at the slightest touch.
Shh, Master, don't you fret; I won't leave you alone with the chill of loneliness in this sterile room. Not like you did to me.
I'm jealous, Master. I'm jealous of a nine year old boy you called The Chosen One, who has somehow stolen your affection, your love away from me. Isn't it amazing how such a childish sentiment could come from me, a grown man of twenty-five? If you could hear my thoughts as they are now, you'd probably shake your head; tell me that I'm being overly sensitive and that nothing could ever break our bond.
Am I right, Master? Am I right? Then you'll have to forgive me, Master. Forgive me for being unable to control this tide of jealousy, this green-eyed monster clawing within me.
But can you blame me for conjuring such notions, however ridiculous it may sound? How can a young stranger displace one who has been by your side for so long in a few hours?
Truth is often stranger than fiction, and none more than this. Ever since the child stumbled into our lives, your every action and thought has been with him; from the fiasco in the Council Chamber where you publicly disowned me in front of the Council Members to when death was ready to snatch you away from me.
Train the boy.
Those were your exact words; would have been the last you'd have uttered if I had allowed it. Even at the very end, you remembered Anakin. Only him. If you had passed into the Force, our last few hours together would have been marred by anger and my memories tainted by this sense of abandonment, of betrayal. So, am I truly wrong to feel this way, my Master? There is no emotion, there is only peace. Jealousy is an unbecoming emotion for a Jedi. Master, a Jedi I might be but I am also human. All too human.
My Knighting ceremony is tomorrow. You'll still be too weak to attend, of course. After all, you've just been removed from the bacta tank just a day ago. Has it only been twenty-four hours? It feels like a lifetime has passed. No doubt the Council would have postponed the ceremony until you've sufficiently recovered but I don't think I could bear it. Let me put it this way, you cut me off before I was ready, without any prior warning. No advice, no pat on the shoulder, nothing. I would much prefer if I went through the ceremony without you by my side, knowing that you were going through it only because you wanted a new apprentice and needed to get rid of the old. If there is to be a first step to dissolving the bond, let me take the jump ahead of you. It will hurt me a lot less.
I wonder if the Council will consider sending me off on a mission before you wake. The last thing I want to do is to look into your eyes and see regret there. Regret that took me as your Padawan when you obviously hadn't wanted one. I will always wonder if you've ever cared for me or was it all duty? Forgive me if I don't show up to your Padawan ceremony with young Anakin. Seeing him with you will only serve as a reminder how my life as your Padawan began and ended.
Petty, I know. Selfish even. But I've been hurt so badly I doubt even dying could ever erase the pain. And so angry that it has left me with a swirling mass of raw and confused emotions. The embers burst into flames with you when you decided you no longer wanted me in your life. The anger burnt when you took off to fight the Sith alone and you nearly died because of your pigheadedness. It was white hot when I fought to bring you back. Most of all, I am angry because you've turned me back into the thirteen year old boy you took as your Padawan so many years ago. The scared, angry, rejected and insecure boy who had no one whom nobody wanted.
I am angry at you, Master. But I also love you. With love comes forgiveness and I willingly give you that. You will always have my respect and love. Do not hesitate to call me if you need me, I will always come but don't expect me to seek you out. Is this goodbye? I honestly do not know. You have my forgiveness Master, only I cannot forget. It'll be a long time before the nightmares in red are banished.
Be well Master. Please don't pity me. I'm wallowing in enough self-pity as it is.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan was aware of another presence in the medical bay. He raised his eyes from the figure on the bed and stormy green eyes met with sky blue ones. Man and boy stared wordlessly at each other, neither one moving until the taller of the two held out his arm.
"Come."
Anakin hesitated at the command but moved obediently towards the Knight. His heart sank down to his shoes when he caught a glimpse of Qui-Gon. He looked so pale and still.
"Is-is Master Qui-Gon all right, Master Obi-Wan sir?"
Instead of answering the question, Obi-Wan simply nodded and then gazed intently at the boy, long and hard until Anakin flushed, wondering if he had done anything wrong. He ducked his eyes, looking down and noticed for the first time that Jedi Master's hand was tightly clasped in Obi-Wan's.
"Look at me, Anakin." Reluctantly, the boy raised his eyes to meet those of the young man. Qui-Gon tossed restlessly in his sleep as Obi-Wan gently removed his hand from the older man's but Obi-Wan did not pause to soothe the older man. Taking Anakin's hand, he placed the larger one in the younger boy's grasp, and then let go.
"Take care of him. You're his Padawan now."
Taking one last look at his Master - no, former Master - he stood up, turned his back to the man he worshiped like no other and with a swirl of his robes, walked out of the only life he knew. He no longer belonged at Qui-Gon's side. That honor was no longer his to claim.
He did not look back.