Undone

Withdrawal

I neither own these characters or the literary universe in which they live, though there are a few new faces and places that are of my own design. I neither make nor intend to make any profit off of this writing, but indeed I expect to die poor, clutching a legal pad and pen to my chest, a half written chapter scribbled on the fading yellow page.

Some spoilers from Jedi Apprentice.
No betas, therefore the mistakes are all mine.

Day – 99

(the present)

Ripped.

Snatched.

Stolen.

He was stolen from him. Taken away from right under him. This is why he never wanted another padawan. It was because of what he feels now that he had purposefully hardened his heart, encased it in durasteel, and allowed it to freeze over as he hid it away from the world. But in time he had relented. He had allowed the boy to sneak his way past his defenses, past his stubbornness and touch the dark hole of his grief. And slowly, piece by piece the boy had put an old man back together, his heart scarred, but healing.

Now, the boy gone, his work came undone. The old wound tore open. The pieces collapsed in on themselves falling into a jumbled, disjointed heap. He was broken again. The fracture, he knew, was far worse than before. The fragments were too small, the cracks too numerous. He knew the longer the boy was lost to him, the more irreparable the damage and should he never return... the thought alone was nearly enough to end him.

Qui-Gon sat on his sleeping couch, his elbows rested on his knees, the heels of his palms pressed hard into his eyes trying to hold back the torrent that, if released, would certainly drown him.

He had tried to be strong. For twenty weeks, nearly three standard months, he had held his doubts at bay and clung tenaciously to hope. He followed every lead, investigated every avenue only to be led around blind turns that revealed only dead ends. Everyday he asked the Force for guidance. He begged it for some comfort some reassurance that his padawan lived; that his padawan would return to him. But the Force remained aloof, distant. It provided no answers, no light, no peace. That, by itself, had begun to wear on the old man, but it wasn't until yesterday that Qui-Gon Jinn lost his faith. It was the day when the Force he had loved and served his entire life turned cruel. For weeks he had pleaded to the Force to send him a sign to let him know that his apprentice still lived on the other side of their silent bond. Yesterday the Force finally answered.

Qui-Gon had been meditating with Master Yoda in the Grand Master's private chambers when the bond shared between he and his padawan flared to life. In a sudden rush, Qui-Gon was slammed by one hundred emotions at once, but one feeling stood out amongst the chorus-- pain. His padawan was in pain. He was being tortured and with their now open bond, his master felt every lash, every burn, every cut inflicted upon the boy. The agony was unyielding and merciless. Qui-Gon fell off his floor cushion, curling into a ball. The pain was unbearable and yet he and his apprentice were forced to bear it because there was nowhere to hide from it. The promise of unconsciousness kept out of reach by the multitude of drugs Qui-Gon could feel coursing through the boy's system.

A clawed, green hand tried to calm the Jedi. It urged him to close the bond, but he could not for if the sensation of his padawan's suffering was overwhelming, the next sensation was devastating. The boy's screams carried over the bond; first incoherent, then pleading, begging to any who would listen to make the pain stop. But the pain did not stop. It continued to hammer away without mercy, without compassion, without compromise until nothing remained. Then came the moment that shattered the older Jedi. It was the moment he felt his padawan break.

The bond closed. The Force had given its answer. To know that his padawan lived the Force allowed Qui-Gon to feel the moment his apprentice longed for death. The answer was as clear as it was brutal.

How he made it to his quarters, the old master did not know, but he had not left since. What once was full laid empty. What once was a home now was like foreign soil. What once was a sanctuary was now a tomb. Here, in the darkness, Qui-Gon ceased his struggles and allowed himself to sink down into his inner depths. Down past his thoughts. Down past his pain. Down past himself. What he was doing is not the way of the Jedi, but it didn't matter because he was not a Jedi at the moment. He was not a master. He was not a man. He was a collection of failures, an amorphous mass of sorrow and guilt. And so he permitted himself to fall carelessly, effortlessly into the gaping maw of inky blackness where once his soul resided.

Tahl was the first to try and the first to fail. In the past, she had always been able to talk to him. She had always provided him the safe harbor he sought when he was adrift in the violent seas of his inner turmoil. When he lost Xanatos to the Dark, Tahl found her ministrations lacking. She could not heal so deep a wound as the wayward padawan had left, but she had tended it, cleaned it, and kept it from festering.

Now this hurt she found to be beyond her care. She could not reach him. Without moving, he had pulled far away from her, from everyone, from the galaxy—far away, far enough where none could touch him, where none could hurt him. She knelt before him and forced dark blue eyes to meet green and gold stripped ones. Her eyes reflected concern. His eyes reflected emptiness. It was a feeling heavier than mere nothingness. It was a deathly void as powerful as a black hole. He was a hollowed man.

Masters Yoda and Windu were next to try, but they too fail. He had withdrawn so far into himself that even the ancient master could not touch him. It was cold, where Qui-Gon was, cold and blessedly numb.

Master Windu knelt beside the Grand Master as they both hovered in the doorway.

"I've never seen him quite like this before. Even after Xanatos..." the Korun Master started, but his voice trailed off as the words he needed escaped him. "Perhaps we should call a Soul Healer."

"Help it would not," Master Yoda sighed. His voice sank lower as if physically weighted by the sadness in his heart as he looked upon his former pupil. "Pulled away he has. Choose to return to us he must," the wizened Master answered. Windu shook his head.

"I don't believe he will choose to unless we find Obi-Wan."

"Find him we must or two lives we will lose."

"It has been three months with no leads and He has sent no further messages," Master Windu responded grimly. Master Yoda closed his eyes, his chin resting peaceably on small hands atop his gimer stick. Mace recognized the expression on the old master's face, so he waited patiently for his mentor to finish his communion with the Force. After several silent moments, green ears twitched and green lids rose to disclose golden orbs that seemed to reflect both sorrow and hope simultaneously.

"Search for Kenobi we need not," Yoda said as he looked confidently at his fellow council member. "Find us the lost padawan will."