[identity profile] emila-wan.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] tpm_flashback
Title: Noumena
Author: Writestuff & Moonshine
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Q/O
Warnings: None

Author's e-mail: writestufflee@mindspring.com moonshine71@juno.com
Link to story: NOTE - PDF: http://home.mindspring.com/~writestufflee/Images/Noumena.pdf (You can email Writestuff for a text version. The PDF version is a pain to read online.)

Reasons for recommending: This is a tremendously good hurt/comfort fic, with lots of layers that are slowly pulled back, through flashbacks and correspondence and current crises, to reveal the origins of Obi-Wan's trauma which are both complex and simple. The chararacterizations are lovely: Despite being almost overwhelmed by his pain and his certainty that he has lost everything, Obi-Wan remains strong and behaves as I feel a Jedi would -- this is no weepy adolescent, despite his occasional tears. Qui-Gon also, despite hurting for his lover and himself, is Jedi to the core. The descriptions near the end of how Obi-Wan perceives both the Unifying and Living Force are simply magnificent. This is a story of love, learning, and redemption, and it works on many different levels.

Quote from story:

“I remember the three of us splitting up, returning to the ship, my Master to draw the pursuers off as we made our way back to the docking bays.” Obi-Wan paused and breathed deeply, as though preparing for a deep dive. He continued, but his voice faded with each word. “We were near the river . . . I remember being wet. Cold water. There was blaster fire. I couldn’t—” Obi-Wan’s voice faltered. “I should have—” For a moment his voice failed him, then Obi-Wan choked, “It’s my fault!”

Qui-Gon was as startled as anyone else when his padawan slid to his knees and smacked his head against the stone floor in gross parody of a ritual bow of contrition. Instead of a graceful obeisance, Obi-Wan’s movements were like two huge ships in deep space smashing inexorably and majestically into one another, Duty and Failure colliding. His shields disintegrated at the same time and Qui-Gon—and the rest of the Council—were hit with a poisonous flood of guilt and self-loathing. Worst of all, he could do nothing. It was his padawan’s choice to make such a gesture and he would not willing detract from it.

“Forgive me, my Masters,” Obi-Wan choked, shaking, hands flat on the floor before him. “I have failed in my duties.”

“Failed how, Padawan?” Mace said not unkindly, glancing up at Qui-Gon with guarded concern.

“I let—I couldn’t—Oh gods. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. . . .” The words turned into a high, unintelligible keening, a terrible cross between a sob and a howl. His masters watched in horror as Obi-Wan began to rock on his knees, forehead banging hard into the cold stone over and over before Qui-Gon could stop him.
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