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Chapter 18 - Apologies
Something was wrong. When Anakin had opened the door at Alia’s voice, she’d walked in limping; with startled eyes, he'd seen bruises on one side of her face and blood spilling from a split in her bottom lip.
“What happened, Alia?” he asked, alarm written plainly across his young face.
When an hour had passed without her returning to their room, Anakin had grown worried, even though Jar Jar had said that she was like that sometimes; excited one moment, moody the next, sometimes happy to be around people, sometimes going off on her own. Well, not those exact words. Looking at her now, he suddenly realized what some of her injuries meant.
“You were fighting, weren’t you?’
“Sparring," was Alia's quick reply, "In a practice room near the Council chamber. Don’t worry, Anakin, I’ll just need a few minutes before I’m back to the ravishing beauty you saw at the hospital.”
Anakin watched as she limped over to the center of the room, looked on as she lowered herself to a seating position, grimacing slightly. Hunkering down to her level, he asked softly, “Who hurt you, Alia?”
Touched by his concern, Alia shook her head.
“No one, Anakin; I really was sparring in the practice room,” she assured him, “It’s been so long since I last practiced, it’s a miracle I don’t have more bruises. This’ll teach me to pick a fight with a Jedi. At least without knowing my own weaknesses.”
She laughed, but Anakin didn't think it was meant to be funny.
“Alright,” he replied, not completely convinced but getting there.
Giving him a small smile, she folded her knees beneath her, crisscrossing her legs. Softly, deftly, Alia stretched out a mental hand to the energies around her...within her...asking quietly for the strength to Heal herself as the High Priestess had taught her. Just as softly, she felt an answering Call, and with practiced ease, she eased her mind into the familiar warmth of the Goddess Womb...the Force...its power flowing around her and within her, pouring into her cuts and bruises, eager to fill them with strength and Healing.
Sitting quietly, Alia lowered her mental shields, all of them except one to retain the privacy of her mind; the Force...Goddess Womb...surrounded her, filling the holes inside her heart and soothing the bruises of her body. At last, though, her need was met, and she let go of her bond, rebuilding her shields carefully.
“How did you do that?” Anakin asked, his eyes wild at seeing the bruising miraculously disappear.
Alia opened her eyes, the usual afterglow of her communion with the Goddess returning her skin to its normal healthy color.
“It’s a gift given to me by my mother’s people,” she answered, testing her muscles by shrugging.
“But how?” Anakin persisted, sitting back on his heels.
“I asked the Force...Goddess Womb...for strength. For Healing.”
“You asked it.”
Alia sighed at his skepticism, knowing where this was going.
“I can take it by force, but taking without asking demands a higher price. Most of the time I use my own power anyway, not the Goddess W...the Force.”
“What about now?”
“I needed more than just physical healing, Anakin.”
She wouldn’t say anymore than that, and stood abruptly, walking quickly to the refresher. At the sound of water being switched on, Anakin turned his head toward the fresher, incredulous. She was taking a shower again?
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Switching on the water unit, the brunette stripped and stood beneath the warm spray, allowing it to rush over her body, scalding her skin with its heat. Holding up her hands, Alia wasn’t surprised to find them shaking; she was lucky to be alive. The look in Obi-wan’s eyes had been…terrifying; his eyes had been so cold, as if they were dead to anything else except what drove him. And by Goddess, she knew what had driven him. Leaning backward so the spray would hit her chest, Alia inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm steam to calm her lungs and heart rate. She gave a short, near-hysterical bark of laughter as her mind began to automatically review the last few days.
She’d been on a routine visit to Naboo, looking forward to spending time with her Gungan friends, and then everything went to Malachor. It had all begun nicely enough; without even realizing it, she’d found the one thing she thought impossible: her father. And even then, she’d had to keep her identity a secret, afraid of what he might do once he found out. Then he saved Jar Jar, and Alia knew that she’d never be able to repay him for her friend’s life.
After that had been their oh-so-memorable freeing of the Queen and their fight to the royal transport, where she’d been selected for the dubious honor of being infected with a drakar. Things had gotten better though, once they were on their way to Tatooine, and she’d been able to spend some time talking with Qui-Gon while Obi-wan was fiddling with some complicated piece of machinery.
She remembered how she’d wheedled Obi-wan into playing deji with her. Pulling her face into a grimace, she recalled the lovely feeling of the drakar’s first movements, and the pain that had caused her to slip into unconsciousness and apparently freak everyone out. Waking up in the medical bay hadn’t been pleasant either, until she’d become friends with Anakin, who had been waiting for her to tell him a story.
Then Qui-Gon’s wonderful...well, not interrogation...Alia rolled her eyes before dipping her head beneath the shower nozzle. That had been pleasant. Then the meeting with the Council…finally being able to tell someone her secret…being able to tell him. And after that had been the emotional dumping of a lifetime, for both her and Obi-wan.
Obi-wan.
Even now, despite everything, the thought of him still made Alia's knees unsteady. Swearing at her weakness, she slammed her fist against the wall, her mouth spewing expletives as the resulting pain set her nerves on fire, tears falling from her eyes.
/ Why? / Why did every moment in her life have to be cursed with both joy and pain? Both happiness and suffering? /Why can I always understand why someone hates me, but I can't hate them back? / Instead of screaming her frustration, quiet sobs tore at Alia's throat as she curled up in the corner of the fresher unit, her naked body leaning against the tiled wall, as she wept at the unfairness of it all.
After awhile, the water began to cool, sending a chill through her already tired body. Raising her weary head, Alia stood, leaning her body into the tepid spray, trying to relax her tired muscles. Healing could only do so much, after all.
Sensing a presence beyond the door, she called out, “Who is it?”
“Alia, Qui-Gon and Obi-wan are here,” Anakin whispered loudly into the door.
She froze under the water, then swore softly. The shower had done what it was intended to do: her strength was back to normal and even though her heart still ached from the bruises that had formed from Obi-wan’s cruel words, it would heal. From bitter experience, Alia knew that pain of any kind would fade, if not entirely heal, once given enough time.
“I’ll be just a moment,” she called out, quickly shutting off the water.
Reaching for a towel, she hurriedly stepped out of the shower, drying her hair and body vigorously. / Why, Goddess, are they here? Now? / was the only thing she could think as she threw on her shell necklace, and a plain white tunic-dress that reached the floor, hiding her toes. Reaching for a white sash, she belted the roomy dress at her waist. Giving her wet hair one last squeeze, she looked around for her brush. Checking herself in the mirror one last time, she unfastened the locking bar and threw open the door.
Qui-Gon looked up at the loud bang in time to see Alia cringe slightly, then begin to hurriedly brush her long hair. She smiled to Anakin who had retreated to a far window to play with a datapad he’d found lying around, who nodded and stood, poking at the Gungan snoring next to him. Jar Jar woke immediately and followed Anakin into the adjoining room. Rising to his feet, the words he’d rehearsed in his head suddenly stuck in his throat as she turned her blue eyes on to him. This was his daughter.
His daughter. A child of his spirit made flesh. The enormity of it all suddenly crashed into him, and he felt dizzy with the sudden onslaught of emotions he could feel: anger, betrayal, shame, happiness, resentment...and love. An intense, powerful love that shocked Qui-Gon to his core.
A cool touch to his face brought Qui-Gon back to reality, and he looked into the pair of blue eyes that had haunted his sleep for years. Alia had laid aside her hairbrush, bringing a hand to his cheek, and smiled sweetly, carefully rebuilding her shields the way she had been taught by the High Priestess. Qui-Gon felt her cool hand begin to slip away, and caught it in his own, bringing it between them.
“Alia,” Qui-Gon said in wonder. He had felt the construction of her shields, and was suddenly filled with questions. Before he could begin however, Alia raised a hand to stop him.
“Don’t,” she said.
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow in query.
“Don’t,” Alia repeated firmly, letting go of his hand and sitting down on a couch, “If you came here to apologize for Obi-wan, just don’t. He did nothing wrong.”
The other eyebrow rose, and even Obi-wan, standing at the door, was surprised. Glancing quickly in his direction, Alia's gaze darted back to Qui-Gon, and she gestured for him to sit. Lowering his tall form to the couch opposite her, Qui-Gon waited expectantly for her to continue. Alia looked again at Obi-wan, unable to read his expression, then breathed in deeply and turned back to Qui-Gon. Even now, she was still unable to look him in the eye, now that he knew who she was.
“Ever since Naboo, you’ve been interested in me. I guess I wasn’t very good at hiding my eyes. I knew you’d figure it out eventually, I just didn’t want it to end so soon,” Alia explained, placing her brush upon the small table between them.
“I think he was beginning to warm up to me on Tatooine, then I had to go all mental because of a stupid eater-droid. I guess that’s where you picked up Anakin. You...You have a way about you, Qui-Gon,” she said hesitantly, suddenly shy of explaining the desperation Obi-wan had felt to him, “A way that makes people trust you...care about you. An-and it’s very easy for that trust, that caring, to become more.
"I know Anakin’s important, somehow," she said quietly, "In your grand scheme of things, but with you saying what you did in front of the Council, and me claiming you to be my biological father, Obi-wan felt as if he was losing you, and when he confronted me, he lost control.”
She looked up to see him glancing at his Padawan, and turned to Obi-wan as well, surprising him.
“Believe it or not, I know what you’re feeling, Obi-wan,” Alia said quietly, her gaze beseeching, “I’ve felt it everyday of my life; you saw the mirrorpool."
Watching as the Padawan nodded uncertainly, she continued, "There was a permanent one on my mother’s moon; every day we would go down to it and see what Father was doing that day. Mother could feel, but never understand, my jealousy of his Padawan. What right did he have to love him? I was his child...his blood-child...but everyday I'd watch Qui-Gon love him in my place. On bad days, I'd get angry and throw whatever I could at them, hating that he could be so happy without me."
Alia shrugged, her gaze forlorn and aching.
"But nothing I did could ever change the love my own father felt for his Padawan and not for me, and I hated myself for being what I was. For being incomplete."
All of them remembered the last time Alia had used that phrase, and only now did the two Jedi begin to understand what her childhood had been like.
“Don’t you see?” Alia asked suddenly, surprising Obi-wan by looking deeply into his eyes, “I could never take your place with him, no matter how hard I tried; neither could Anakin. He will never care for me the way he cares for you.”
Obi-wan stared at her in surprise, her heartfelt words moving him more than he would care to admit; somehow, Alia had reversed their roles: she was the one begging him, pleading with him to understand. He studied her face, unable to bring himself to look into her eyes, and noticed with sudden shame that her lip was still split. Uncrossing his arms, the Jedi Padawan took a hesitant step forward, then another, then another, until he was able to seat himself beside her.
“I am sorry for my actions and my words,” Obi-wan said wholeheartedly, then asked softly, “Why did you not Heal yourself?”
Shy about his closeness, Alia laughed nervously, running a hand through her damp hair, before tapping a finger at the split in her bottom lip.
“I did. This I just decided to keep, to remember you by. Like it?”
Obi-wan did his best not to blush at her teasing, but a quick look at his Master confirmed his embarrassment. Alia noticed the look pass between them, and laughed again. Alia stood, the Jedi rising to their feet as well.
“Now that we’ve dealt with that, I need to get ready for the party tonight,” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste, “Apparently the Federation representative was able to bind the Queen to one last hurrah before she left. Slimy bastard.”
Qui-Gon merely raised an eyebrow at the expletive, and she smiled brightly at him.
“We will take our leave then,” he said, bowing to her.
He turned toward to the door, his Padawan at his heels; as his cloak whipped past the motion sensor and out of sight, Alia collapsed against the couch, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
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