Imperfect

Unwanted Recognition

"Master Qui-Gon?"

"Just Qui-Gon, please," he answered quietly. The padawan did not seem to pick up the subtle undertone of sadness, her thin lips pulling into a soft smile at the offered familiarity.

"I'm glad you came," she whispered as she reached a small, webbed hand out to him. He took it timidly, afraid, on some level, that he would somehow break or further damage the fragile life laid before him. As if sensing his reticence, Bant gave his large hand a squeeze.

"There is no death, remember?"

Qui-Gon looked up at her with a start. Bant held his gaze steadily and Qui-Gon could sense her gentle determination and resignation in the Force around them. She knew precisely what was happening to her body and had accepted it, made peace with it. It was how a Jedi faced death, with courage and serenity and while it caused him no small amount of awe and pride to see it held in someone so young, Bant's strength also shamed him.

"I've been worried about you," she spoke softly. Her whispered words pulled the master out of his own thoughts.

"Me?" the master blurted in surprise. Bant laughed weakly.

"Yes, you. I know it's been hard for you," she replied then she added. "I miss him too."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes tight against the sudden stinging rush of tears. He felt the hand around his tighten once again. She was comforting him. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and found himself looking into slightly clouded, bulbous eyes that held only compassion in their depths. It was a compassion he did not deserve. He wanted to say as much, but he didn't. The words caught in his throat, his recriminations like vicious barbs in the soft tissue.

"It's not your fault, you know."

"If only that were so, Padawan. If only that were so."

"I miss him too, but he left us, remember? He left us."

"No, he didn't," Qui-Gon whispered. Confusion played clearly on Bant's pale brow.

"I don't understand."

"He left me. He left because of me. I... It is... difficult to explain," Qui-Gon said struggling with his words. "Please, don't blame him. Just... trust me when I say your anger in this matter is... misplaced."

"But, I'm not angry with him," Bant whispered her large eyes narrowing slightly as she scrutinized the long haired master. "But you are," she said then she shook her head with sudden understanding. "No, you're angry with yourself."

It wasn't a question and, at that moment, Qui-Gon cursed the young woman's insight. With the same resolve that brought him to this particular room, Qui-Gon answered the unasked question dressed in the simple statement.

"Yes," he intoned hoping, but not believing, he would escape further inquiry. He, of course, was disappointed.

"Why?"

"Obi-Wan left because of me," he replied simply. Though this was the hard truth he lived with, and suffered under, every day of his life, uttering the words never failed to increase the ache that burned as blindingly as it did unceasingly in his soul. He could see the next question in the Mon Cal's eyes, but for once he did not wait for her to voice it.

"I failed him just as," he paused swallowing thickly, "just as surely as I failed Tahl and you. I have cost you your master and your friend and, for that, I am more sorry than you know, but if one day you could forgive me..." his voice trailed off, the words stolen away like dust in a great wind. He lowered his gaze unable and unwilling to look the Jedi in her eyes for fear of what he might find there.