locomo | (no subject)

[ It turns out, somehow, that locked inside their houses overnight they are safe from the terrors that roam the streets. This sounds like superstition, but enough rotations have passed by now that Obi-Wan is sure it must be some kind of law of this car. He thinks he's the first one up in their household, and he takes care to be quiet before stepping outside into the foggy morning.

Everything is cradled in a muffled, pre-dawn quiet. Obi-Wan can see the edges of cobblestones coming into murky focus as the sun makes an desperate attempt to reach through the overcast, and then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Anakin is right: this world feels like the life is being leeched from it. It isn't just the plague working it's way through the town, it's a plague in the plants and the animals and the very land itself. Obi-Wan reaches out and rests himself carefully within it's aching Force signature, taking tender care not to jostle anything accidentally. He doesn't want to be an invader, he wants to find peace with it. It's difficult, and takes much more concentration than he's used to exerting while moving through katas.

Half an hour later, sweat has dampened the fine hair on the back of his neck and his tunic is clinging between his shoulderblades. Obi-Wan puffs out a breath as he draws himself out of a deep lunge, then reaches over his head and pulls his undertunic off entirely, using the fabric to wipe his face. ]

[ Cal wakes up with a jolt, his heart racing. In the dark, it takes him a moment to orient himself—this isn't the stark space of his Guild housing on Bracca, and there's no rattling hum of the Mantis in hyperspace—and steady his breathing with deep inhales and exhales in a practiced rhythm. There's faint, pre-dawn light filtering in through the window, and though it's a little earlier than he would normally get up, he already knows he's not going back to sleep.

Instead, he pulls on his clothes, sparing a brief glance to BD-1, still powered down next to his bed, before heading to the kitchen as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb his housemates.

But Obi-Wan is already up, as he can see through the window—for a second, he considers going out there too, to speak with the other man, to... just to speak with him, maybe, but he can tell that Obi-Wan is occupied and doesn't want to interrupt. In the meantime, he makes a cup of caf, rubbing sleep from his eyes and weighing old memories.

Old nightmares. Back on Bracca, he would often dream of Master Tapal, with all of his sternness but none of his warmth, stalking the halls of the Albedo Brave, scolding him for his failure, his weakness, his unworthiness. The dream has changed since then, but it still lingers with him uneasily—he wonders if it'll ever go away, or if his dreams will keep morphing and returning to remind him of that day for the rest of his life.

When he looks out the window again, Obi-Wan has straightened, limned by the soft daybreak light, and Cal makes up his mind. After dumping the dregs of his caf, he pulls on his boots and heads outside. ]

Good morning, Master Kenobi.

[ Obi-Wan is used to nightmares. He has witnessed them first hand in more ways than one while battling on the Front Lines. Most every Clone Trooper struggles through the trauma of watching their brothers die almost every day; the Jedi that are out there have them. Anakin has them.

He has them.

For the most part, he doesn't try to coddle either Cal or Anakin, and his own terrible dreams are ones that (thankfully) don't wake him up shouting in the middle of the night. Instead, he offers them tea or caf; warm water with herbs; something to eat; redirects them with something that will ground them in the moment. He knows it has nothing to do with trust, and everything to do with nursing old wounds.

Still. He can't help wondering what Cal must have gone through. It was one thing to be a grown Jedi, and quite another to know every Padawan still alive had to bear witness to the death of their Master.

He turns sidelong, tunic still in his hand at the sound of aforementioned Padawan's voice. ]

Good morning, Cal.

[ A beat, wherein he senses Cal has something he might want to talk to him about; and then he smiles warmly, using his shirt to wipe the back of his neck. ]

I hope I didn't wake you.

[ That warm smile earns a matching one from Cal, if a little more subdued, his expression softening. It's strange, being surrounded by Jedi again—finding people who understand him without him having to explain, who give him this sense of belonging. It's been a long time since he's felt like he belongs anywhere.

If going back to Ilum felt like a farewell, an ending, then coming to this house with Obi-Wan and Anakin inside feels like a homecoming, a small slice of the Jedi Temple on a train. ]

No, not at all.

[ Then he pauses, a line forming between his eyebrows as he weighs his words. Obi-Wan understands nightmares, and what it's like to live through the Purge—he was there. But it's... not easy to talk about. Even five years later, the grief, the bottomless chasm of loss is still real. Still raw, in a way. Cal doesn't think it ever won't be.

How much harder is it for Obi-Wan, who hasn't had that time and distance yet?

With some obvious trepidation, he continues: ]

Can I join you? [ Meditation, sparring—maybe something will help focus his mind, dispel the remnants of his dreams. ]

[ Obi-Wan can sense his distress, and it doesn't take much to understand that it likely came from his dreams. He knows it isn't exactly... healthy, the finger he has kept on the pulse of both Anakin and Cal. Reaching out to brush against their signatures as though incessantly checking for a fever. The fear still sits close in his heart, even though he thinks more than a month must have passed since they arrived here. Still, the little quizzical smile he gives Cal with his nervous question is endeared and indulgent. ]

Of course you can. Come, come.

[ He gestures Cal closer, tossing his tunic at the bench in front of their gothic home. It lands haphazardly on the seat, but Obi-Wan isn't looking at it — he's readjusting and clearly opening a space for the younger Jedi to join him.

There's a clear delineation between them, as they face one another. Cal is mostly dressed, booted up, ready to take off at a moment's notice. Obi-Wan, by contrast, stands barefoot in his linen slacks, seeming as though he's just stepped into the Temple Gardens for a morning warm up. Obi-Wan studies him for a moment before. ]

Have you been meditating?

[ Going through the motions was a far cry from actually succeeding, after all. ]

[ Sometimes, around Obi-Wan—and even around Anakin too—he feels like a youngling all over again, like he's still the small Padawan he was before the Purge, when all of the fully-fledged Jedi Knights and Masters were so strong and wise and powerful in his eyes. He remembers being impatient for the day when he would be one of them.

Obi-Wan's smile makes him relax a little as he takes a seat next to the older man, angled towards him, though there's still some tension in him, manifested in the line of his eyebrows and the grip of his hands on his knees. ]

Yeah. I'm getting back in the habit.

[ He closes his mouth, as if that would be the end of it, then realizes he's just stalling, avoiding the rest of the story. Opens his mouth again, his gaze falling to his knees. ]

I... after the Purge, I stopped for a while. Meditating. Whenever I did, it felt like I was back in that moment, with my Master, and my connection to the Force was just... broken.

It's better now, but it took a long time.

[ It's cool out here, but that doesn't seem to be bothering either of them at the moment. Obi-Wan's work out means he's still flushed, heat rising from his freckled shoulders like thin steam. He kneels across from Cal, the way he used to kneel across from Anakin when he was just a Padawan and needed all the help he could get centering himself. He puts his hands on his knees, palms open and soft, in opposition to the way Cal grips his own tightly.

He knows that Cal is speaking of more than one thing when he says his connection to the Force was broken, but what Obi-Wan recognizes is his own experience within it. When he lost Qui-Gon, that sudden, violent severing of their training bond had left a bleeding wound in his soul. If it hadn't been for the Order, for Anakin, he isn't sure what might have happened to him. ]

Long before the Clone Wars began, Maul killed my Master in front of me. I... was powerless to stop it, and I was much older than you at the time. The loss of your bond in such a violent way is not an easy thing to recover from. I can understand why meditation would have been difficult for you.

[ Especially when he would have had to go into hiding from the Empire. ]

[ His gaze snaps back to Obi-Wan, surprised by the revelation. ]

Your Master...?

[ It's soft, disbelieving. But then his expression changes, his shoulders lowering as if some great weight was suddenly lifted off them. Finally—finally—someone who understands. Cere had done her best, could sympathize with the manner of his loss even if she couldn't empathize, had supported him and encouraged him to move on, and that was enough.

But Obi-Wan knew exactly what it was like to watch your Master die in front of you, and not be able to do a thing about it. There's power in that shared experience. ]

Me too. I felt... powerless. [ Even now, after making peace with his Master's death, there's still regret weighing his tone. He doesn't think it'll ever go away completely.

Then he shifts, takes a breath—lets it out slowly. ] For a long time, I thought if I'd just been stronger, or braver, or a better apprentice, then I could've... saved him.

[ It will always be a bruise, but enough time has passed now that Obi-Wan no longer feels like just mentioning the man rips his heart open. He lets the ache wash over him, lets it ebb in the Force between them without taking root, empathizing with Cal's much closer injury. He hears himself in Cal's voice, and knows that there are many Jedi that experienced the same thing during the Clone Wars.

But there was something unique and awful about being trapped behind a wall, helpless. The memory lingers in him, washed in the red of the plasma shield, the red light saber, the tattoos on Maul's red skin. He does not know how Jaro died, or what the circumstances were: but he knows Cal was only a youngling when it happened. Believing he could have, should have, done more to save a fully fledged Jedi Master was ridiculous.

Obi-Wan does not voice that thought. Perhaps it is only something someone can see from the other side of having a Padawan themselves. ]

I felt the same. [ He gentles. ] But you have shown such strength and bravery to survive this long, Cal. He would be very proud of you.

[ There's something deeply comforting about hearing Obi-Wan say he felt the same way. Feeling the ache of his loss, so incredibly similar to his own, flow through the Force between them. It makes Cal feel less alone, less damaged.

And then there's something deeply affecting about Obi-Wan saying that Master Tapal would be proud of him, because he'll never actually hear the words from his Master himself. And it haunted him for so long, what his Master would think of his Padawan now, with all his mistakes and shortcomings and doubts.

But he felt it, during his last vision of Master Tapal. The warmth in him, through the Force, there in his Master's final lesson to him. Was there pride too?

Cal bows his head, emotion lodged in his throat. He's quiet for a moment, breathing in and out with intent, letting his feelings flow through him and out into the Force. ]

That's what I want to do. Make him proud. [ Even if he doesn't feel very strong or brave. Even if he doesn't really know how now that the holocron is destroyed. ]

I just wish he was still here. To teach me, to show me what to do. [ He'd felt so lost—still does, in many ways. Then he smiles ruefully, short-lived. ] That doesn't go away, does it?

[ There is such a rawness to the admission that Obi-Wan cannot help the way everything in him softens around him. He wonders at what the next generation of Jedi might have been, if such open displays of affection and loss, would have been where they were headed. Looking back on it, he can't help but feel an uncomfortable sense of pride for the way those like Barris and Ahsoka and Anakin had spoken up, even if the results were not always... ideal. How much of that was the Council refusing to listen? How much of that was them desperately cleaving to ideals that were being smashed apart by Sidious? ]

No. [ He agrees kindly, because it is true. ] It only becomes easier to live with.

[ A beat: ]

I know it is not the same, but so long as I am able, I will be glad to offer you what guidance I can.

[ He nods wordlessly. Easier to live with... he already knows the truth of that. It has become easier to live with, with time, with acceptance. Not easy, just easier. And he can live with that. He's already lived through worse. ]

Really?

[ Why the offer surprises him, he doesn't know. Maybe it shouldn't. But as it sinks in, he can't help but feel... grateful. Relieved. Moved, in a way. He's spent so long relying only on himself and learning on his own that the idea of having a fully-fledged Jedi Master to teach him is just... ]

I feel like there's so much I never got a chance to learn. Or had to figure out on my own.

[ He pauses, his expression relaxing into the first semblance of a smile. ] Thank you, Master Kenobi.

[ Not just for the offer, but for the pep talk too. ]

Edited 2021-11-06 04:45 (UTC)

[ He smiles, warm, and nods. Even though Cal has been knighted, it doesn't mean he doesn't have anything to learn. If his lessons in essence stopped when he was thirteen, then Obi-Wan believes he might be able to do something to pass some of their teachings on — even if all of them won't fit the future Cal lives in. ]

Now, would you like to try meditating with me?

[ Whatever the answer, he reorganizes himself into a cross legged position, settling in to do just that. ]

(no subject)

pick a time, any time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject