Undone

The Silent Dark

Day – 102

A compact tornado of movement tore silently through the solemn halls of the Jedi Temple. The flurry of movement so fast it could easily be dismissed as a trick of light or shadow, the presence so quiet the mover was more wraith than man. None stood in purposeful opposition to his progress, the unfortunate few caught in his tornadic path were saved from collision and injury only by the grace of refined Jedi reflexes.

From the moment Mace had stood at his threshold and uttered those momentous and long-awaited words, Qui-Gon Jinn was in motion, tearing out of the apartment without a second or even a first thought, only propelled by raw need and piercing desire to find his padawan. Mace held his tongue rather than reminding the master of the prohibition and general inappropriateness of running down the corridors like a crazed youngling, but given the circumstances he allowed the moment to pass without rebuke. That, at least, was the main reason. A second, far less compassionate reason might have been that the Korun Councilor was hard pressed just keeping up with the man.

The three masters reached the Healer's Ward in record time; a record the Councilor hoped would remain private and not evolve into a challenge posed to roaming and restless bands of junior padawans and initiates.

Qui-Gon didn't bother stopping at the reception desk. He burst through the double doors, his eyes settling on the flurry of activity down the hall leading to a room on the left. Without further hesitation he barreled down the small, white corridor and charged into the room. A bevy of healers and their apprentices bustled about the small space, some spouted commands, others serenely sought to their execution, all wore slightly grim expressions, but there... deep in the center of the throng and press of physicians laid both the wellspring of his heart and the fount of his despair.

The old man pushed his way forward uncaringly displacing healers as he made his way to the figure on the medical couch. The small body appeared to be stripped in every way possible. The healers had removed the boy's clothing, save for his small clothes, in preparation for what looked, to the master's eyes, to be a lengthy stint in a bacta tank for the boy was riddled with hideous injury. Welts, cuts, slashes, and burns streaked across the pale body in shades of vibrant crimson, purple, and pink, the skin around it sallow, taut, and sunken. The body was very small, underweight, emaciated, skeletal. Bones protrude where muscle had atrophied. Dark craters rested under closed eyes standing as mute sentinels over hollowed cheeks devoid of their natural pallor.

Qui-Gon carefully lifted a small, bony hand holding it lightly in his large, calloused one. A hand touched the master's shoulder.

"Why can I not feel him?" the master asked quietly as if he were afraid his voice alone was enough to shatter the brittle frame below.

"He still has a lot of Force suppressant drugs in his system," the healer replied then paused. "Which means we cannot effect any significant Force healing. We must place him in bacta immediately."

Qui-Gon nodded, but was unable to release the hand or his gaze. It was not until Tahl stepped forward that the healers were able to gently disengage the pair and whisk their patient away.

For many moments, Qui-Gon was silent, standing stock still, rooted to his present space in the universe. A plethora of unbridled, unbalanced, and unnamed emotions coursed through the master's mind, his soul. The unexpected weight of it temporarily overwhelmed him. His knees buckled, but quick and steady hands caught him, their support unwavering as they led him to a seat. Tahl sat beside him. Mace knelt before him. It took several breaths, but eventually the placid presence of the other masters allowed Qui-Gon to re-center himself; a long exhalation into the Force relieved some of the twisted tension knotted painfully in his chest.