---

Qui-Gon stirred the soup, the foamy skin that boiled at the top breaking with every swirl of the ladle.

The rich scent spread finely in the air, carrying into the other rooms of the apartment and-hopefully- whetting Obi-Wan's scarce appetite.

Well, it's certainly getting to mine. The Master mused, taking a small spoonful of the vegetable and Parialli meat mixture. The low-key, but distinct, stew filled his mouth and teased his own neglected taste buds.

There was the minor worry that the food would still be too strong. Obi-Wan had never favored overly spicy or rich, heavy dishes; his recovering body especially wouldn't tolerate anything beyond limited flavor.

But he also required more nutrients as his system re-energized. Thin soup and bland, crumbly biscuits wouldn't satisfy those mounting demands.

Qui-Gon poured a glass of ice water and grabbed a few strips of baked Gardis potato--Obi-Wan's favorite.

He carried the meal into the room, the space drenched in a glowing mélange of soft twilight colors. Obi-Wan was flipping through a dusty holo album, snugly fit in a nest of pillows and a thick, velvet duvet.

He chuckled quietly at a photo, then looked up at the entering man, smiling.

That bright expression faded when his eyes moved from the rugged, bearded face to the loaded tray.

"Maybe I should go back to the healers." He deadpanned, though the lingering fear was definitely real, an outlying tinge in his voice.

Qui-Gon laughed, lowering the tray to the bedside table. "I hope that wasn't an endorsement for what passes as food in that Force-awful place."

Obi-Wan shrugged with a mischievous sigh.

"I would hardly compare this to that…slop." Qui-Gon scoffed.

"Hey," Obi-Wan countered with a jerked brow, "I've eaten more of that 'slop' than I'd care to remember. So watch it."

"That you have." The elder Jedi ruffled his already mussed hair. He handed him the chilly, clear beverage, which was received without objection.

Obi-Wan took a deep drink, swallowing with grateful gulps, ending with a low "Mmm."

Qui-Gon watched him for a moment, then reached for the bowl. "I think you'll like this, Obi-Wan."

The Knight studied it critically. He saw small chunks within the brown brew and swallowed. His stomach twisted in reaction. "I'm glad someone thinks so."

"You can't live on broth forever." Qui-Gon admonished, his tone bordering on a rebuke.

Obi-Wan caught the change in attitude. A flush blossomed on his cheeks. "I'm sorry if I'm being difficult."

Qui-Gon dipped the spoon into the broth. He gazed at the weary face and smiled. "You're not. And I hope you know I'm only pushing this on you because I care."

The ginger-haired man's tendency to readily accept any guilt, if he was deserving of it or otherwise, took over. Force. He shouldn't need to explain himself to me. Clenching his eyes shut and galvanizing his protesting belly, Obi-Wan pulled the spoon from the wide, callused hand and took a steaming mouthful.

His newly ingrained instincts told him to reject the food, whispered that it was tainted. Memories of curling in on himself, sweat beading on his forehead and pain erupting throughout his body surfaced. Obi-Wan took a wobbly breath. I can do this. I'm past all that. I can do this…

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, but said nothing. The struggle in the young man was palpable.

I can do this. Obi-Wan repeated to himself. The weakly seasoned warmth slid down his throat, and he pawed blindly for Qui-Gon's hand as the full taste became known to him.

/I'm here for you./ The Master sent mentally, in a whisper.

It was a simple message, but it rang with the truth that had always been the base of their friendship.

Obi-Wan didn't need to know any more than that. Weaving their fingers together, eyes open and brimming with a tearful trust, he took another bite.

---

Qui-Gon ran his fingers through strands of cinnamon hair, letting them drift to the pillow, shining like silk threads against bleached linen.

Midnight spilled from a window, the gentle effulgence sinking into his soul so that, as he studied his slumbering friend, every shadowed emotion was exposed within him.

Concern. Lasting traces of fear.

And the largest, brightest, most unforgiving beams fell to that hungry demon pacing at his heart's core.

Hatred.

Bitter, acrid, blazing enmity. Sizzling in the corners of his mind

He had pushed the feelings there, concealing them in distant, murky catacombs.

It was a Master's ritual, of sorts. Unspoken, even unthinkable, but rampant just the same.

A Jedi was trained from a tender age to endure tragedy, to collect all the natural human reaction and release it to the Force. To let it absorb darker passions and cleanse the aura of contamination.

But some evils couldn't be erased from memory, some anguish became more than a faint stain on the soul.

Qui-Gon sighed, digging his chin in the heel of a hand--a hand that trembled helplessly, as though overcome with palsy.

"I can't understand." He whispered. He touched Obi-Wan's face, not allowing himself to flinch away from the ghosts of bruises, a great love welling, moist and shimmering, in his eyes. "How could anyone see you, see the goodness and innocence and light…and do anything but strive to protect you? Love you?"

The still countenance didn't offer a response to his pained desperation, couldn't sate the cold maw widening within him. So it grew while the luminescence of stars beyond the window dwindled to a dim, grayish haze.

He had lived the vigil before, spent countless nights in a state of steady sleeplessness, watching, guarding, holding Obi-Wan when ailments, injury, or something more sinister loomed.

Qui-Gon had encountered the blackest evils that dwelled in the Universe.

He had seen, so many, many times, the effect such greed and malevolence, such sheer cruelty had on Obi-Wan's gentle spirit. The wounds that marked his body. The memories and gritty images embedded beneath shallow layers of skin, seeping further in the youth's own realms than blood or bone.

Qui-Gon watched the dismal shifting in the sky, Obi-Wan's hand limp and cool in his. Slivers of yellow moon slashed across the Master's forehead and grizzled cheek, pooling into the creases, lines drawn by years of this selfsame torment.

He wondered how often the horrors Obi-Wan witnessed fell from his soul without changing that which they had touched, what tortures he was able to withstand while shielded strongly enough to walk away unscathed.

Perhaps some could pull it off. Some could watch lives and worlds crumble with both eyes open, clear and indifferently tolerant.

But Obi-Wan couldn't, for all his wondrous gifts, perform those miracles. Each tear snaking down a child's face became a razor to his tender heart. Every injustice left another weight for him to carry.

"Your very being weeps for the suffering of others, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon murmured. He trailed a finger along the crease between the parted lips and whiskered chin. "For so long, I've been made to stand by while you mourn strangers, comfort victims, and seal your own pain from everyone.

"Including me." He added softly.

A lump formed in his throat, and Qui-Gon swallowed. "I waited for the time to come when you couldn't handle it alone. I thought that--maybe--the, uh, circumstances of your Knighting would be the ignition. But you kept that separate from me. I should've known you would.

"But then the moment came for you, didn't it, my Padawan? When all the hurt and agony just…snapped something inside you.

"And I wasn't there." His voice had become doleful, hollow. "When you were at your very worst, and needed me the most…I was oblivious, so far from you. And…" Another choking boulder lodged in his esophagus. He clenched a droop of cold, worn blanket in his hand. "You faced the onslaught, locked in loneliness.

"Isn't that the way you spend your life? Waiting for someone to stand beside you. Waiting…only to walk these roads in isolation. While I---While I---" He tore his watery eyes from the piercingly innocent, beautiful face, phantoms of a precious childhood filling the home. His periphery was wrapped in ribbons of luminous, carefree smiles and spurts of youthful energy, the boy sprinting, gliding ahead in a grassy, dew-kissed field, turning to call out to his lagging Master, feet hopping in a playful dance and buoyed with grace, the sun creating a glowing halo at the top of his ginger head. Harmonious notes of laughter sweet in the air.

The inborn trust always present in sea-washed eyes, surviving shredded hopes and those moments when his Master turned an uncertain, doubting, suspicious gaze toward him, searching fervently for a waver in dedication that could never be found in one of steadfast purity.

And then there was the love. Even as he grew, exhibiting normal teenage behaviors and his own mild forms of rebellion, Obi-Wan never denied his adoration, wouldn't bury his affection beneath adolescent pride.

Tears. Shy, unbidden trickles or miserable rivers flooding his golden cheeks. Qui-Gon remembered each glimmering droplet.

Now, as he galvanized his quivering heart and looked back to the resting form, he knew that, before this atrocity, Obi-Wan had never cried for himself. The tears had always been reserved for exterior reaction.

Qui-Gon leaned forward, laying his forehead very lightly upon Obi-Wan's, beads of warm moisture dripping from his lashes. "Waiting for someone who would cry for you--as you cried for everyone else." He finished huskily, his hand stroking the curve of the face.

Obi-Wan moved his head minutely, the sheets making a quiet rustling noise. When one lid rose with sleepy confusion, instead of backing away, Qui-Gon simply stared down into the red-veined eye, permitting the tears to be released in a copious, unashamed flow.

"Master?" Came the single, soft utterance.

And Qui-Gon smiled at the unique tinges in that pronunciation, how the professional meaning drained away, the word ringing with love beyond the bounds of tutelage, laced with natural respect. In his mind, it became 'father'.

He smoothly took perch on the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Obi-Wan quirked his lips in a timid sort of smile. "That's okay. I…wasn't getting much peace anyway."

Qui-Gon sat back. Neither was I. "We need to talk about this, Obi-Wan."

The Knight braced himself on his elbows, the constant paleness of his skin leaving him with a sickly sheen of sweat covering his body. "I…"

But the weak reply died, shriveling like a bloom that shrinks in fear from the sunlight.

Qui-Gon clasped his shoulder. "You don't have to worry. I'm here to listen."

"But," Obi-Wan began to protest, his chest aching and tight. Then he saw the dampness of that noble visage--and collapsed into arms waiting to receive him.

Harsh sobs were torn from Obi-Wan, his legs twisting in the blankets, his heart wrenching in the tenacious pull of memories from his captivity.

Qui-Gon cradled the head against his broad chest. "Tell me what happened…so you can let it go."

Obi-Wan wanted to disappear into the safety of the embrace, to be able to live without this struggle, without needing to speak a word of that wretched past. Yet, he knew it was a fantasy that withered, as reality and the relentless trudge of time pushed him forward.

So I can let go.

He settled into the comfort, tucking in his bare, cold legs and huddling against Qui-Gon's chest. His eyes, unfocused to the present, looked into the darkness. "I was stupid. I walked into a trap--aware of my distrust toward the faction. I--I didn't want to alienate them. I didn't want them to kn-know I was questioning them. I sh-should have approached it better…I…"

Qui-Gon tipped his chin up, so that their eyes met. "Even Jedi cannot predict everything."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Their presence in the Force was elusive. I couldn't--I couldn't detect very much of their intent. It was so foggy and then---" He shuddered. "All I knew was pain.

"The floor was just stone. Like hard, cracking ice. And I had nothing. No warmth. N-None. Except when I bled."

Qui-Gon fought the urge to shut the mouth, to prevent the horrific recollections from being known to the him.

"And I couldn't escape, not even in sleep. I can't describe…I knew I was going to die. And it would be slow, and it would be the embodiment of agony, and I would leave my life… knowing I had failed."

If ever anyone believed you a failure…what chance of victory do the rest of us have? Qui-Gon rubbed his arm encouragingly.

"I wasn't going to let them take me without giving all I had to fighting them. I spit out the rancid and tainted food, I wouldn't respond to their taunts. I--I thought of the Temple, and sanity, and you.

"But it wasn't lasting. I wasn't able to hold out against what they did. After a time, I just surrendered to the fear. I abandoned Jedi serenity.. I--I--"

Qui-Gon hugged him close. "Go on, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan inhaled, nodded. "I went into myself. And I didn't really exist then. Apart from the pain, I didn't feel. My thoughts were frozen. My only motivation was this…raw, primitive need to survive. So anytime I was touched, I screamed. I fought without knowing my enemy anymore.

"When Master Windu came, I just did what I had become accustomed to doing. I thrashed against threat. It wasn't until I was on the ship, and knew I wasn't in such immediate danger of dying, that I realized all that had happened. That those…creatures found pleasure in harming me. That they never considered that I had a mind, and friends, " He lifted weepy eyes to Qui-Gon, "Family.

"I was still wary of everything around me. But I couldn't find the strength to scream anymore. I relived the imprisonment, still fighting, wanting to be alone, s-separate from the pain. Because I knew the pain wouldn't go away easily, and I knew I couldn't deal with it either.

"So it felt better not to feel. To just be numb to it." He sniffled. "I guess that didn't work, did it?"

"Oh Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon sighed sadly. "I understand why you did it. No man--Jedi or not--could resist the aftereffects of such abuse. You continue to be an inspiration to this Order, and to me. You can't be blamed for trying to defend yourself."

Obi-Wan stared wide-eyed into the shadows. "Then why do I blame myself?" He rasped, and it had all the shivering shock of a revelation.

Qui-Gon calmly stroked the ends of his hair. "You shouldn't blame yourself. It's natural to blame your captors. Hell, even the Universe. But to place the fault on one so irrevocably faultless is wrong.

"And harmful."

Obi-Wan had gone rigid with the last words, the unceasing apprehension stiff in his spine. "I…hate…them…" He ground out, and the dank edges of those nightmare nights were sharp in his tone, hurting him as no crude instrument ever could. He bit down on his bottom lip, knifing into the flesh…but knew he must say it again. "I hate them."

Qui-Gon caught the first runnels of tears with his finger, but soon saw that the purged woe couldn't be wiped away. Not by his hand.

No.

From this moment forward, it was in Obi-Wan's ultimate control.

In his hands.

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Ugh. Real life so often interferes! I'll try to get an update up quicker next time, but I can' t promise anything. I hate school!

LuvEwan

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