Chapter Text
Qui-Gon feels as though he’s waking up from a long and exhausting nightmare. Again and again, he sees those vile yellow eyes, the red marks that flicker in and out his vision, and the horrible red blade that ring like the bells of hell. From the moment he regains consciousness, his muscles were stiff. Racked with pain, his body was seizing by convulsions. Whispers flooded his ears before he felt into another deep sleep.
The second time, it was night. And cold. A terrible cold. His mind was too agitated to understand what was happening, otherwise he could sense the rumbling of the engines.
The third time, his body was wrapped in this sticky substance that he deeply hated. The slow warmth spreading through his body became appreciable at some point. Thousands of pins and needles pricked the sensitive skin of his chest. Slowly, Qui-Gon regained awareness of his surroudings. He didn’t open his eyes; his eyelids were too tired to fight against the heavy bacta. He could breathe through the tube attached to his face. Then, two strong arms lifted him from the gelatinous healing cuve and laid him down a more comfortable bed.
“He’s coming to, Master!”
“Finally…” murmured a familiar voice.
His eyes still refused to open; the Force was too far away from him to use it. His mind was empty and hazy at the same time. He sensed the healers moving around him.
“Get the kid out of here, Master Yoda!”
Yoda. He was here. His grand master. Qui-Gon hadn’t sent his presence. He hadn’t sent the presence of the “kid”, except for the cold on his hand when he was being taken away. He heard cry, and a door closed.
The healers gathered around the bed. Then, just one person remained.
“I know you’re awake, Qui-Gon. Open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, the Jedi finally regained consciousness. And the first face he saw was the upset frown of the blue-skinned Twi’lek. She gave him a straw of water; he accepted with great pleasure.
“Master Che, it’s been a long time,” he said with a rough voice.
“Four months to bring you out of the coma-that was long enough for me.”
She did not let him meditate on the four months of absence; she completed the medical exam with care. She examinated him thoroughly, with movement that might have seemed rough, but he knew there were no healer more qualified or talented than Master Vokara Che. If she was constantly thinking about the injured Jedi who walked into the clinic, it was for her peace of mind. She didn’t like seeing so many Jedi come here again ang again, always displaying more wounds.
“Your body seems to have fully recovered. The scar is fine, but you’ll always have a mark.”
Scar? What was she talking about?
“You’re on analgesics. You probably feel like you’re in top shape, so be careful over the next few weeks. Your muscles are significantly weakened; it’s going to take a long time to rebuild them.”
“What happened?”
Vokara looked up from the datapad, surprised.
“You don’t remember anything?”
She furrowed her brow, using the Force to check for a concussion or anything she might have missed during the exam.
“I… I don’t remember… I know something happened, but everything is a blur.”
“No concussion,” she muttered. “Focus on the Force. Do you perceive anything?”
Vokara stretched her hands above the Jedi Master’s body. Qui-Gon sensed the gentle warmth of the Force moving into his body, but he couldn’t handle it. It moved like a Jakku sandworm during a sandstorm. Sensing his efforts, the healer withdrew her hands with a sigh.
“It must come back. I will include it in your reeducation.”
“Vokara. Please, tell me.”
The bacta may have healed his wounds, but he felt tired. His head was heavy; the break in his connection to the Force was exhausting, more than he could have imagined.
“You were on a mission on Naboo with your Padawan. You faced an enemy too powerful to defeat, the kind of men that nearly caused you to merge with the Force,” she winces.
Unconsciously, Qui-Gon touched his abdomen. She nodded her head.
“A lightsaber in the stomach. You have your padawan to thank for that; without him, you would be dead.”
Despite of the tunic and the thick sheet, he could feel the bandage beneath his fingers. He had no sensation, but he knew that once the drugs wore off, he would suffer much more.
“What I heard was that you spent a few days on Naboo, with the healers of the palace and Kenobi. Then, Master Yoda brought you to the Temple, on Coruscant. Here, you spent another four others months in a coma, submerged in bacta.”
“Obi-Wan? Is he okay?”
The Twi’lek gave him a strange look of… compassion.
“He stayed with you the entire time during the transport from Naboo to Coruscant. He was exhausted when we put you in the bacta. Master Windu take him away. I only saw him one time after that. He was dropping off something for you.” She pointed to a small package on the bedside table.
Immediately, Qui-Gon picked up the small bag, ignoring the twinges in his chest. Slightly out of breath–the rehabilitation would be very long–he loosened his tie.
The door opened, and a little blond child ran to the bed.
“Qui-Gon!”
“Anakin! Young men, wait you must!” muttered the little green gnome who was following the child.
“Master Yoda, Anakin…”
“Glad to see you’re good, Qui-Gon.”
Anakin had already bypassed the bed to pull the heavy chair over under Master Che’s furious gaze. Qui-Gon couldn’t feel relieved seeing this boy without thinking about the other boy who might be present too.
“Where’s Obi-Wan?”
“He’s on a mission.” Anakin said as he climbed in the seat with all the energy of a nine-years-old boy. “But he’ll be home soon, he promises.”
“On a mission? Master Yoda, what is my Padawan doing on mission?”
“Kenobi, a Jedi Knight he became, after defeating a Sith Lord on Naboo. His braid, he gave to you.” Yoda declared, staring at the small pouch on his knees.
Lowering his eyes, Qui-Gon discovered the contents of the bag. In the center of the fabric, a dozen of small colored beads rolled against one another. But there was no trace of the thin, ginger-colored hair braid.