Apparent Mutations: The Way Out Is Through
Long strides carried the powerful Master Jinn through peaceful temple corridors. Steely blue eyes were fastened straight ahead of him, intimidating even to the strongest of beings he encountered. Though his movements projected a watchful awareness, the Jedi's musings and attention were turned inward.
It was rare for him these days to dwell on thoughts of how his Padawan might have felt in the short time he was captive on Torlo IV, namely because Qui-Gon feared the ache it would cause, the unbearable anger. Though he would never acknowledge it, part of him was glad he had already killed the monster—Benter—in combat. How would he fare now, he wondered, when he had only tapped into a fraction of the wealth of emotion he had gathered over the past two weeks?
He sealed that part of his mind quickly, pushing those thoughts away to be sorted through later, when he was calm. At the moment, Qui-Gon's mind was squirming and alive with questions and self-doubt.
Had it been an error not to bring Obi-Wan to a mind healer right away? Had his judgement been so obscured by confidence that *he* would be the best chance for his student to heal that he had only made things worse?
Impatiently he stabbed the lift's call button with his forefinger and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe while it took all of two long seconds to respond. He stepped inside, grateful it was empty—one more pitying and nosy inquiry into Obi-Wan's progress and he could not be held responsible for whatever ripped past his Jedi calm—and pressed for the education wing. There was a beautiful garden in the center of it where Padawans were often led into group meditation. Traditionally, this practice was held at least three times a week for apprentice classes. Qui-Gon needed no help in finding it—as a Padawan Learner he had attended meditation there countless times.
As he entered the clearing, Qui-Gon first became aware of the large group of youths circled around a tall white haired master with light blue skin. Qui-Gon recognized the Jedi as Master Tif Lo. Relief settled over the humanoid's thin face when he spotted Qui-Gon.
"Jinn!" he called and stepped over a Bothan Padawan to reach the man. "I'm glad you came so quickly."
It had not taken Qui-Gon long to identify his own apprentice, sitting far away from the group. "How could I not? Why didn't you explain anything in the message you sent me? Why is he alone?"
Lo drew himself up to his full two meter height and peered at the other master warily, then allowed his gaze to float back to the lonely Padawan sitting on the grass.
"I'm not completely sure what happened," he admitted with a gusting sigh. "I've spent all this time calming the others. Fortunately, I was able to turn this into a lesson on redirecting pain to the Force."
Qui-Gon threw the other man a sharp glance. "Pain?"
Lo nodded and rubbed his temples for emphasis. "I've still got a raging headache, and those images won't leave my mind for *quite* some time. I haven't had time to deal with them, yet." He looked the other Jedi squarely in the eye, his face and words dripping with suspicion. "You should have felt it, Jinn. You're his Master."
Qui-Gon bristled. The accusing tone of the teacher's voice had not been lost on him. He chose to ignore the insinuation for the moment.
"Felt what?" he pressed.
Tif Lo nearly gawked at the man, but instead swept his gaze back to Obi- Wan. How could Jinn be so oblivious? Lo was well aware of the grisly reasons behind Padawan Kenobi's withdrawn nature, but feared the repercussions of the attack were only getting worse as the days passed. It was so clear to everyone else, why couldn't the man just *see* it?
"Very well," he said. "I believe we had been in meditation for only twenty minutes or so. I was leading the students into the third stage. They were just becoming aware of their peers' consciousness, and were doing quite well, actually." He favored his pupils with an indulgent smile before it creased into a frown. The Padawans were throwing Kenobi curious and, he thought, rather discreet glances. Hushed voices floated back to the Masters.
"Force! How terrible. I don't know how he lives with *that* - He must be going crazy. Couldn't you feel it? - So dark. Frightening. - I won't sleep for a week - "
Lo pressed his lips together into a thin line and found Jinn's eyes. "We saw it, Qui-Gon," he said finally. "Saw it, felt it—any way you want to put it." He hesitated at the way the other man's eyes softened with compassion, still latched onto the slight form of Padawan Kenobi, who still sat all alone. Lo suddenly wished he had taken the time to speak with the boy, to leave the other apprentices alone for a moment. They were not the ones who had been damaged so. What Qui-Gon had thought he had been doing by letting the distraught boy back to classes so soon, Tif did not know.
Qui-Gon let his eyes close for a moment as he gathered himself. He knew what the other Master was thinking. He had been asking himself the same question ever since Obi-Wan had confronted him in their home. He knew the youth was not ready, but was still reluctant to force anything on his apprentice. Despair seized his heart suddenly and guilt crashed through him. Obi-Wan hugged himself miserably and ducked his head down so his chin rested on his collarbone. If he was aware of the stares of his peers or teachers, he made no sign of it. Qui-Gon realized that he was to be blamed if this torture continued for much longer.
"I'm almost positive he didn't mean to," Lo assured, "In fact, I *know* he didn't. It was an accident. There was too much in his head; it needed release. I'm assuming he relaxed his guard while meditating and one of the students—" He swept his arm over the circle of apprentices. "One of the students must have been curious. I'm sure it didn't take much more than a nudge for all that to spill out." His voice softened. "It was just too much for him to handle. I can't understand why he's keeping all that inside of him, why he'd want to. It's just too much for someone his age to handle. Gave us all headaches." He smiled wanly.
Qui-Gon's nod was almost impalpable. "Thank you," he said tightly, and moved to go to his Padawan. Lo's hand on his arm made him pause.
"This is serious, Jinn," the man said solemnly. "He's been hurt—you need to do something."
Qui-Gon's answering look was so full of incredible anguish at the accusation—didn't Lo understand that he was doing all he could? — that Tif let go immediately in surprise. He tucked his long fingered hands into his robe sleeves to retain some of his dignity and nodded an apology.
Qui-Gon said nothing and moved across the lush lawn to Obi-Wan. He needed to get the boy away from this place.
* * *
The long walk back to their quarters had been miserable and filled with a thick and brooding silence. When the master finally herded the doleful apprentice inside he was struck by the eerie familiarity this new situation held with the events of their grim return two weeks prior. Only after the door swished shut behind them did Obi-Wan seem comfortable enough to let down some of his façade. His breath left him in a rush and he brought a trembling hand to his face.
"I can't believe I did that," he said, his voice a hollow whisper.
Qui-Gon said nothing and did not move, only listened. He could feel echoes of his Padawan's thoughts and feelings as they skittered against the tightly shielded walls of his mind.
"They all saw it," Obi-Wan said, his eyes widening before he clamped them firmly shut. "Not everything, but—enough." A huge sigh built in his chest and he was disturbed but not surprised when it came out as a half sob. He clenched his hand into a fist. "I can't believe I did that," he said again slowly, voice quivering with anger.
He felt so frustrated! Each time he tried to forget—there it was again. Whispering to him in the shadows of his mind. Reminding him. Replaying the horrifying sequence of events. Telling him what he could have done differently to avoid the thing altogether. A shiver shot down his spine and he fought back tears. All this emotion! Confusion and shame and fear. All this emotion. All of it bad. Oh, how he *hated* it…
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said his name softly and it swept over the Padawan's senses like a soothing caress. Blue-green eyes tracked a path up to the master's face and Obi-Wan found that he could not look away. Qui-Gon's gentle gaze left him somewhat shaken as it drove the anger away. It grounded him and Obi-Wan relaxed in response. Tightly coiled muscles began to unwind, and knots of tension began to make themselves known to him, no longer blurred by the frightening focus he had turned toward his bitter thoughts: burning between his shoulder blades, at the base of his neck, at his lower back.
Soon Obi-Wan was left with nothing but the barest of his emotions and a slight unsteadiness in his legs. Qui-Gon said nothing more but the apprentice felt as if the older man was urging him to continue all the same. Where should he begin? The hatred that lay dormant inside of him, boiling away until the steam came out in irregular, raging bursts? Or the shame he could not even begin to understand? The fear he had. The utter loneliness that engulfed him, where was one to start? He realized that they were still standing in the entrance of their apartment.
He looked up at his Master, a question forming on his lips, but Qui-Gon smiled gently and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Easy, Padawan. We have so much time together. Rest on the couch a while and sort through your thoughts. I'll bring you something to drink."
Obi-Wan was relieved. "Thank you." He went into the den and shucked off his robe. He moved to toss it over the back of the couch, but thought better of it and hugged it close as he sat. It created the flimsiest of barriers between he and the rest of the apartment, but it was something. He was not ready to feel safe just yet. The warm lights of the room and the soft cushions of the sofa made him edgy. He found himself craving his Master's presence.
His heart leapt suddenly as he realized that the time he so dreaded had come. As soon as Qui-Gon returned, he would need to tell him everything. He longed for release from this turmoil inside him, yet wondered how in all the Hells he was supposed to achieve it. What was he to say? A wave of repugnance washed over him as he once again felt the frustration at his inability to cope with his dilemma.
He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, urging his stress to go with it.
*Qui-Gon wants to help.*
A tremulous smile formed even as he felt extraordinarily exposed in his forced willingness to accept assistance. It was easy to think about, but now that he was to actually *do* it…! His stomach tightened as Qui-Gon stepped into the room, a steaming cup of something—tea, most likely—in hand.
The master folded his Padawan's cold hands around the warm cup and sat beside him. Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised to see that it was not tea at all, but a hot, spicy-sweet drink he was extremely fond of called pok'ra. He sipped at it tentatively and was pleased at the effect it had, creating a path of warmth he could feel as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach. He did not notice the smile that touched his lips until he felt Qui-Gon smooth his large hand affectionately over the bristly, reddish-gold hairs of Obi-Wan's head and then tug lightly on the braid behind his ear.
"Now," the man said, his voice quiet and smooth, a mere suggestion of a lilt reaching the boy's ears. He dropped his hand supportively on the apprentice's shoulder. "Talk to me. We cannot let this continue."
Obi-Wan took another sip of drink, but the delay was short. His torn gaze found his Master's and he bobbed his head down once in quiescence. He breathed deeply and began the arduous task of attempting to explain his troubled thoughts.
* * *
Qui-Gon looked down at the youth, and wondered how it was that sleep could change the appearance of a person so completely. In his slumber the boy looked relaxed, almost content. The glistening tear tracks had long since dried and the eyes were no longer red and swollen with weeping. The pinched, guarded look that had been so much a part of the last two weeks had all but disappeared from the Padawan's face.
"I'm scared," the boy had said, and frowned.
Qui-Gon only nodded in response, not even daring to speak, so that the teenager might continue.
"I'm scared," Obi-Wan said again, his words slow and measured. His gaze had been cast to the side and it seemed as if he had forgotten everything around him. "Still. I'm still scared and now…" His gaze traveled in the direction of the door. "Now they all know," he whispered finally.
Obi-Wan had fought the tears valiantly enough, long enough, but the battle soon interrupted his confessions and he let them come. It was a near silent cry, no moans, no sobs. Just the tears, and somehow that made everything seem so much worse. It proved to the master that Obi-Wan had accepted what had been done to him long ago, and now the after effects caused the only confusion within him. Obi-Wan had been left to wonder about the reasons *why* he had so brutally molested.
And wonder was all he could do. Qui-Gon could no more give the boy answers than give him wings with which to fly.
Qui-Gon's stomach had churned as Obi-Wan related to him everything that he had gone through. The boy had given such vivid description of the raging emotions inside him. He had apologized for the way he had acted to his Master, over and over. He had roughly explained the way the darkness at the edges of his thoughts felt, and together they worked to rid him of it. They had achieved some peace, though Qui-Gon knew they had a long road of healing ahead. He was not entirely sure the darkness would ever be completely gone. The rape was now a part of Obi-Wan, and it would never truly leave him. The Padawan could certainly move on, but there would always be something, some residue of it, a stubborn stain that refused to be washed away.
Presently, Qui-Gon had decided to be as gentle as possible with the teenager, prove to the boy that he could be comfortable once more with his life. A broad smile was on him before he could stop it, as he recalled how Obi-Wan had not pulled away from his touch. Qui-Gon had been overjoyed when he had been able to give the boy a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and not be rejected. He had not realized how much he depended on such trifle deeds.
Qui-Gon unsuccessfully stifled a yawn and turned away from the Padawan, walking softly into his own room. He left his door open a crack after a moment of indecision and looked askance to the bedside table. In the single drawer lay Obi-Wan's lightsaber. Qui-Gon was still not prepared to return it to the youth. The incident, as he had come to think of it, had been too disturbing. Had hit a little too close to home.
They had made progress tonight. It was a large first step that would precede many more, but it was headed in the right direction. There was still much anger in the boy, rightfully so, Qui-Gon thought, but in the life they led, such feelings were not acceptable. Perhaps in the next week or so he would be ready to return the instrument to his student. Yes. He felt positive it would be soon. Things were going to be so much better, now. Qui-Gon prepared himself for sleep.
* * *
Obi-Wan was dreaming.
On some level he knew this, yet did not make any attempts to rouse himself as the familiar specter moved closer. It was too dark to make out any features, but he knew who the shadow was.
He was lying in bed, watching as Benter moved closer. Obi-Wan was becoming increasingly aware of the uncomfortable heat that thickened the air around him, accompanying the ghost's approach, and tried to pin the figure where it was with his eyes.
But it moved closer still, the warmth grew, and Obi-Wan kicked off his heavy sheets to lessen his discomfort—and to leave him free to run, if necessary.
"You can't touch me," he whispered to the deepening silence, hoping to soothe the frantic pounding of his heart. He desperately tried to keep words Qui-Gon had said to him before he went to his room for the night at the front of his mind, picturing his master's face, his eyes, his smile. That might keep him brave. Keep him strong.
The phantom did not reply. Obi-Wan was met only with a gust of hot air. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck.
"Qui-Gon is in the next room," he warned, louder.
The specter hovered over him, silent as ever.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, shutting his watering eyes against the dry and scorching air.
The silence terrified him. He could not let Benter take him again. He could not. Not after everything that had happened today, not when he was starting to feel like a person again—!
It was all too much, all too soon.
"You're dead," he said, frowning at the waver in his voice. Banishing the uncertainty from his words he went on. "He killed you. Why are you here?"
He heard the creaking of springs in his sleep couch, felt the mattress dip under someone else's weight. Panic choked him. Obi-Wan turned his face away, painfully aware of the tears of fright leaking past his tightly closed eyelids.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered fearfully, unable to bring himself to open his eyes. "Qui-Gon killed you."
He felt hot breath burn his cheek, then the brush of a hand, soothing the reddened flesh. Obi-Wan's stomach rolled and he shuddered, pressing his body even more firmly against the sleep couch. He wished it would open up from under him, let him drop out and away from the violating touch.
He remembered the first time so clearly; the terrible moment when he realized what was happening; the overly hot hands holding him down, bruising him; the searing pain from behind; the very second when he knew he did not belong to himself anymore, would never again. The empty black chasm that filled him.
Obi-Wan began to weep bitterly. Feelings he had thought exiled in his discussion with Qui-Gon returned. He knew he had been defeated. Broken. That experience would be the one thing to keep him from ever being great; it would stunt his growth as a Jedi. Everything he did in the future would be lacking.
The fiery anger that sparked inside of him at that realization burned him like no real flame could. Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists. Benter had taken something that was not his, and Obi-Wan could never get it back.
Hands closed around his wrists.
Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, still sobbing with dismay and anger.
"I hate you," he said, and stared up in shock at the surprised face of his Master.
* * *
Note: I apologize. I know I said that I had this all worked out, but it was just too short.I'm in the process of making it longer, and I'm afraid the quality of the story is deteriorating. I'm tempted to stop it right now and wait until I know I can make it good. This chapter especially is where I'm noticing problems. Please tell me if things aren't tying together well. Things have changed for this story at least ten times since I started it, and now I don't know where I'm going. I'm flying blind. If I ever again post a new story that is not completely, absolutely, totally finished, please slap my face.
Long strides carried the powerful Master Jinn through peaceful temple corridors. Steely blue eyes were fastened straight ahead of him, intimidating even to the strongest of beings he encountered. Though his movements projected a watchful awareness, the Jedi's musings and attention were turned inward.
It was rare for him these days to dwell on thoughts of how his Padawan might have felt in the short time he was captive on Torlo IV, namely because Qui-Gon feared the ache it would cause, the unbearable anger. Though he would never acknowledge it, part of him was glad he had already killed the monster—Benter—in combat. How would he fare now, he wondered, when he had only tapped into a fraction of the wealth of emotion he had gathered over the past two weeks?
He sealed that part of his mind quickly, pushing those thoughts away to be sorted through later, when he was calm. At the moment, Qui-Gon's mind was squirming and alive with questions and self-doubt.
Had it been an error not to bring Obi-Wan to a mind healer right away? Had his judgement been so obscured by confidence that *he* would be the best chance for his student to heal that he had only made things worse?
Impatiently he stabbed the lift's call button with his forefinger and tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe while it took all of two long seconds to respond. He stepped inside, grateful it was empty—one more pitying and nosy inquiry into Obi-Wan's progress and he could not be held responsible for whatever ripped past his Jedi calm—and pressed for the education wing. There was a beautiful garden in the center of it where Padawans were often led into group meditation. Traditionally, this practice was held at least three times a week for apprentice classes. Qui-Gon needed no help in finding it—as a Padawan Learner he had attended meditation there countless times.
As he entered the clearing, Qui-Gon first became aware of the large group of youths circled around a tall white haired master with light blue skin. Qui-Gon recognized the Jedi as Master Tif Lo. Relief settled over the humanoid's thin face when he spotted Qui-Gon.
"Jinn!" he called and stepped over a Bothan Padawan to reach the man. "I'm glad you came so quickly."
It had not taken Qui-Gon long to identify his own apprentice, sitting far away from the group. "How could I not? Why didn't you explain anything in the message you sent me? Why is he alone?"
Lo drew himself up to his full two meter height and peered at the other master warily, then allowed his gaze to float back to the lonely Padawan sitting on the grass.
"I'm not completely sure what happened," he admitted with a gusting sigh. "I've spent all this time calming the others. Fortunately, I was able to turn this into a lesson on redirecting pain to the Force."
Qui-Gon threw the other man a sharp glance. "Pain?"
Lo nodded and rubbed his temples for emphasis. "I've still got a raging headache, and those images won't leave my mind for *quite* some time. I haven't had time to deal with them, yet." He looked the other Jedi squarely in the eye, his face and words dripping with suspicion. "You should have felt it, Jinn. You're his Master."
Qui-Gon bristled. The accusing tone of the teacher's voice had not been lost on him. He chose to ignore the insinuation for the moment.
"Felt what?" he pressed.
Tif Lo nearly gawked at the man, but instead swept his gaze back to Obi- Wan. How could Jinn be so oblivious? Lo was well aware of the grisly reasons behind Padawan Kenobi's withdrawn nature, but feared the repercussions of the attack were only getting worse as the days passed. It was so clear to everyone else, why couldn't the man just *see* it?
"Very well," he said. "I believe we had been in meditation for only twenty minutes or so. I was leading the students into the third stage. They were just becoming aware of their peers' consciousness, and were doing quite well, actually." He favored his pupils with an indulgent smile before it creased into a frown. The Padawans were throwing Kenobi curious and, he thought, rather discreet glances. Hushed voices floated back to the Masters.
"Force! How terrible. I don't know how he lives with *that* - He must be going crazy. Couldn't you feel it? - So dark. Frightening. - I won't sleep for a week - "
Lo pressed his lips together into a thin line and found Jinn's eyes. "We saw it, Qui-Gon," he said finally. "Saw it, felt it—any way you want to put it." He hesitated at the way the other man's eyes softened with compassion, still latched onto the slight form of Padawan Kenobi, who still sat all alone. Lo suddenly wished he had taken the time to speak with the boy, to leave the other apprentices alone for a moment. They were not the ones who had been damaged so. What Qui-Gon had thought he had been doing by letting the distraught boy back to classes so soon, Tif did not know.
Qui-Gon let his eyes close for a moment as he gathered himself. He knew what the other Master was thinking. He had been asking himself the same question ever since Obi-Wan had confronted him in their home. He knew the youth was not ready, but was still reluctant to force anything on his apprentice. Despair seized his heart suddenly and guilt crashed through him. Obi-Wan hugged himself miserably and ducked his head down so his chin rested on his collarbone. If he was aware of the stares of his peers or teachers, he made no sign of it. Qui-Gon realized that he was to be blamed if this torture continued for much longer.
"I'm almost positive he didn't mean to," Lo assured, "In fact, I *know* he didn't. It was an accident. There was too much in his head; it needed release. I'm assuming he relaxed his guard while meditating and one of the students—" He swept his arm over the circle of apprentices. "One of the students must have been curious. I'm sure it didn't take much more than a nudge for all that to spill out." His voice softened. "It was just too much for him to handle. I can't understand why he's keeping all that inside of him, why he'd want to. It's just too much for someone his age to handle. Gave us all headaches." He smiled wanly.
Qui-Gon's nod was almost impalpable. "Thank you," he said tightly, and moved to go to his Padawan. Lo's hand on his arm made him pause.
"This is serious, Jinn," the man said solemnly. "He's been hurt—you need to do something."
Qui-Gon's answering look was so full of incredible anguish at the accusation—didn't Lo understand that he was doing all he could? — that Tif let go immediately in surprise. He tucked his long fingered hands into his robe sleeves to retain some of his dignity and nodded an apology.
Qui-Gon said nothing and moved across the lush lawn to Obi-Wan. He needed to get the boy away from this place.
* * *
The long walk back to their quarters had been miserable and filled with a thick and brooding silence. When the master finally herded the doleful apprentice inside he was struck by the eerie familiarity this new situation held with the events of their grim return two weeks prior. Only after the door swished shut behind them did Obi-Wan seem comfortable enough to let down some of his façade. His breath left him in a rush and he brought a trembling hand to his face.
"I can't believe I did that," he said, his voice a hollow whisper.
Qui-Gon said nothing and did not move, only listened. He could feel echoes of his Padawan's thoughts and feelings as they skittered against the tightly shielded walls of his mind.
"They all saw it," Obi-Wan said, his eyes widening before he clamped them firmly shut. "Not everything, but—enough." A huge sigh built in his chest and he was disturbed but not surprised when it came out as a half sob. He clenched his hand into a fist. "I can't believe I did that," he said again slowly, voice quivering with anger.
He felt so frustrated! Each time he tried to forget—there it was again. Whispering to him in the shadows of his mind. Reminding him. Replaying the horrifying sequence of events. Telling him what he could have done differently to avoid the thing altogether. A shiver shot down his spine and he fought back tears. All this emotion! Confusion and shame and fear. All this emotion. All of it bad. Oh, how he *hated* it…
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said his name softly and it swept over the Padawan's senses like a soothing caress. Blue-green eyes tracked a path up to the master's face and Obi-Wan found that he could not look away. Qui-Gon's gentle gaze left him somewhat shaken as it drove the anger away. It grounded him and Obi-Wan relaxed in response. Tightly coiled muscles began to unwind, and knots of tension began to make themselves known to him, no longer blurred by the frightening focus he had turned toward his bitter thoughts: burning between his shoulder blades, at the base of his neck, at his lower back.
Soon Obi-Wan was left with nothing but the barest of his emotions and a slight unsteadiness in his legs. Qui-Gon said nothing more but the apprentice felt as if the older man was urging him to continue all the same. Where should he begin? The hatred that lay dormant inside of him, boiling away until the steam came out in irregular, raging bursts? Or the shame he could not even begin to understand? The fear he had. The utter loneliness that engulfed him, where was one to start? He realized that they were still standing in the entrance of their apartment.
He looked up at his Master, a question forming on his lips, but Qui-Gon smiled gently and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Easy, Padawan. We have so much time together. Rest on the couch a while and sort through your thoughts. I'll bring you something to drink."
Obi-Wan was relieved. "Thank you." He went into the den and shucked off his robe. He moved to toss it over the back of the couch, but thought better of it and hugged it close as he sat. It created the flimsiest of barriers between he and the rest of the apartment, but it was something. He was not ready to feel safe just yet. The warm lights of the room and the soft cushions of the sofa made him edgy. He found himself craving his Master's presence.
His heart leapt suddenly as he realized that the time he so dreaded had come. As soon as Qui-Gon returned, he would need to tell him everything. He longed for release from this turmoil inside him, yet wondered how in all the Hells he was supposed to achieve it. What was he to say? A wave of repugnance washed over him as he once again felt the frustration at his inability to cope with his dilemma.
He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, urging his stress to go with it.
*Qui-Gon wants to help.*
A tremulous smile formed even as he felt extraordinarily exposed in his forced willingness to accept assistance. It was easy to think about, but now that he was to actually *do* it…! His stomach tightened as Qui-Gon stepped into the room, a steaming cup of something—tea, most likely—in hand.
The master folded his Padawan's cold hands around the warm cup and sat beside him. Obi-Wan was pleasantly surprised to see that it was not tea at all, but a hot, spicy-sweet drink he was extremely fond of called pok'ra. He sipped at it tentatively and was pleased at the effect it had, creating a path of warmth he could feel as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach. He did not notice the smile that touched his lips until he felt Qui-Gon smooth his large hand affectionately over the bristly, reddish-gold hairs of Obi-Wan's head and then tug lightly on the braid behind his ear.
"Now," the man said, his voice quiet and smooth, a mere suggestion of a lilt reaching the boy's ears. He dropped his hand supportively on the apprentice's shoulder. "Talk to me. We cannot let this continue."
Obi-Wan took another sip of drink, but the delay was short. His torn gaze found his Master's and he bobbed his head down once in quiescence. He breathed deeply and began the arduous task of attempting to explain his troubled thoughts.
* * *
Qui-Gon looked down at the youth, and wondered how it was that sleep could change the appearance of a person so completely. In his slumber the boy looked relaxed, almost content. The glistening tear tracks had long since dried and the eyes were no longer red and swollen with weeping. The pinched, guarded look that had been so much a part of the last two weeks had all but disappeared from the Padawan's face.
"I'm scared," the boy had said, and frowned.
Qui-Gon only nodded in response, not even daring to speak, so that the teenager might continue.
"I'm scared," Obi-Wan said again, his words slow and measured. His gaze had been cast to the side and it seemed as if he had forgotten everything around him. "Still. I'm still scared and now…" His gaze traveled in the direction of the door. "Now they all know," he whispered finally.
Obi-Wan had fought the tears valiantly enough, long enough, but the battle soon interrupted his confessions and he let them come. It was a near silent cry, no moans, no sobs. Just the tears, and somehow that made everything seem so much worse. It proved to the master that Obi-Wan had accepted what had been done to him long ago, and now the after effects caused the only confusion within him. Obi-Wan had been left to wonder about the reasons *why* he had so brutally molested.
And wonder was all he could do. Qui-Gon could no more give the boy answers than give him wings with which to fly.
Qui-Gon's stomach had churned as Obi-Wan related to him everything that he had gone through. The boy had given such vivid description of the raging emotions inside him. He had apologized for the way he had acted to his Master, over and over. He had roughly explained the way the darkness at the edges of his thoughts felt, and together they worked to rid him of it. They had achieved some peace, though Qui-Gon knew they had a long road of healing ahead. He was not entirely sure the darkness would ever be completely gone. The rape was now a part of Obi-Wan, and it would never truly leave him. The Padawan could certainly move on, but there would always be something, some residue of it, a stubborn stain that refused to be washed away.
Presently, Qui-Gon had decided to be as gentle as possible with the teenager, prove to the boy that he could be comfortable once more with his life. A broad smile was on him before he could stop it, as he recalled how Obi-Wan had not pulled away from his touch. Qui-Gon had been overjoyed when he had been able to give the boy a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and not be rejected. He had not realized how much he depended on such trifle deeds.
Qui-Gon unsuccessfully stifled a yawn and turned away from the Padawan, walking softly into his own room. He left his door open a crack after a moment of indecision and looked askance to the bedside table. In the single drawer lay Obi-Wan's lightsaber. Qui-Gon was still not prepared to return it to the youth. The incident, as he had come to think of it, had been too disturbing. Had hit a little too close to home.
They had made progress tonight. It was a large first step that would precede many more, but it was headed in the right direction. There was still much anger in the boy, rightfully so, Qui-Gon thought, but in the life they led, such feelings were not acceptable. Perhaps in the next week or so he would be ready to return the instrument to his student. Yes. He felt positive it would be soon. Things were going to be so much better, now. Qui-Gon prepared himself for sleep.
* * *
Obi-Wan was dreaming.
On some level he knew this, yet did not make any attempts to rouse himself as the familiar specter moved closer. It was too dark to make out any features, but he knew who the shadow was.
He was lying in bed, watching as Benter moved closer. Obi-Wan was becoming increasingly aware of the uncomfortable heat that thickened the air around him, accompanying the ghost's approach, and tried to pin the figure where it was with his eyes.
But it moved closer still, the warmth grew, and Obi-Wan kicked off his heavy sheets to lessen his discomfort—and to leave him free to run, if necessary.
"You can't touch me," he whispered to the deepening silence, hoping to soothe the frantic pounding of his heart. He desperately tried to keep words Qui-Gon had said to him before he went to his room for the night at the front of his mind, picturing his master's face, his eyes, his smile. That might keep him brave. Keep him strong.
The phantom did not reply. Obi-Wan was met only with a gust of hot air. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck.
"Qui-Gon is in the next room," he warned, louder.
The specter hovered over him, silent as ever.
"Why are you here?" he demanded, shutting his watering eyes against the dry and scorching air.
The silence terrified him. He could not let Benter take him again. He could not. Not after everything that had happened today, not when he was starting to feel like a person again—!
It was all too much, all too soon.
"You're dead," he said, frowning at the waver in his voice. Banishing the uncertainty from his words he went on. "He killed you. Why are you here?"
He heard the creaking of springs in his sleep couch, felt the mattress dip under someone else's weight. Panic choked him. Obi-Wan turned his face away, painfully aware of the tears of fright leaking past his tightly closed eyelids.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered fearfully, unable to bring himself to open his eyes. "Qui-Gon killed you."
He felt hot breath burn his cheek, then the brush of a hand, soothing the reddened flesh. Obi-Wan's stomach rolled and he shuddered, pressing his body even more firmly against the sleep couch. He wished it would open up from under him, let him drop out and away from the violating touch.
He remembered the first time so clearly; the terrible moment when he realized what was happening; the overly hot hands holding him down, bruising him; the searing pain from behind; the very second when he knew he did not belong to himself anymore, would never again. The empty black chasm that filled him.
Obi-Wan began to weep bitterly. Feelings he had thought exiled in his discussion with Qui-Gon returned. He knew he had been defeated. Broken. That experience would be the one thing to keep him from ever being great; it would stunt his growth as a Jedi. Everything he did in the future would be lacking.
The fiery anger that sparked inside of him at that realization burned him like no real flame could. Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists. Benter had taken something that was not his, and Obi-Wan could never get it back.
Hands closed around his wrists.
Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, still sobbing with dismay and anger.
"I hate you," he said, and stared up in shock at the surprised face of his Master.
* * *
Note: I apologize. I know I said that I had this all worked out, but it was just too short.I'm in the process of making it longer, and I'm afraid the quality of the story is deteriorating. I'm tempted to stop it right now and wait until I know I can make it good. This chapter especially is where I'm noticing problems. Please tell me if things aren't tying together well. Things have changed for this story at least ten times since I started it, and now I don't know where I'm going. I'm flying blind. If I ever again post a new story that is not completely, absolutely, totally finished, please slap my face.