Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 7: Hesitation

Qui-Gon returned to café to find Obi-Wan and Nibbi sitting on the edge of the duracrete stoop, playing Rock, Flimsy, Cutters with sparkling eyes, loud, childlike giggles, and hands flying in animated gestures, fisted or flat or forked in the third symbol. He paused a few paces away, just watching them, how wonderful they were, how beautifully they shone in the Force. Nibbi's presence shone green and youthful in the Living Force, like any young, growing thing, but Obi-Wan signature, as always, was all but blinding in its brilliance, a pure, gleaming white that never seemed to dim in the Master's eye of the mind. But it was the outer vision that struck Qui-Gon most powerfully.

Neither was a truly a child anymore—Nibbi was aged by pain and loss far beyond his years, Obi-Wan by the path he had followed with grave intensity from infancy—but in this moment both were young and pure and glowing with innocent joy, taking delight in a simple childhood game. Both boys were dirty and scratched, faces and hands a bit battered, clothes rumpled and showing signs of hard wear. Though Nibbi definitely looked worse off, they truly could have been mistaken for brothers, even with the sharp contrast of their coloring: deep brown hair and eyes, fair reddish spikes and sea-colored lumas.

Qui-Gon was surprised by the image of his Padawan as a grubby child of the streets, and it bothered him deep in a hidden part of his psyche—he did not like how the boy seemed neglected and forsaken, despite the cheerful energy in his stance and expression. The man shook it off and took a step forward, clearing his throat. The boys looked up with wide eyes, immediately torn away from their fun, wariness surfacing on open, vulnerable faces. Qui-Gon regretted startling them so badly, and a doubt wormed into his mind. Nibbi's reaction was understandable, but why had Obi-Wan stiffened so abruptly? Surely he was not afraid?

Obi-Wan relaxed at once, flashing a friendly, welcoming smile. Nibbi gradually followed suit and gave the man a hesitant wave. "Hi, Quig."

"Hello, Nibbi." Qui-Gon smiled warmly. "It's time to head back, Obi."

"Yes, M-my uncle." Obi-Wan grinned sheepishly, then turned back to his little friend, eyes and voice softening instantly. "Did you think about what I said? Nilla is a really nice lady, and she would love to meet you."

Nibbi's lips pursed defiantly. "'M fine. Like my box."

"I bet you'd like a warm bed even better," Obi-Wan coaxed.

The child shook his head firmly. "Warm enough." He crossed his arms across his small chest, glaring at the older boy with a vehemence that did not quite mask his insecurity. He wanted Obi-Wan's approval, longed for it with the intensity of a little one left alone and lonely for far too long, but on this issue he would not budge. He was afraid.

Obi-Wan sighed and ruffled the dark, tangled hair. "All right. I understand. Keep thinking about it, though." A sudden flash of mischief glinted in blue-green eyes, and Obi-Wan reverted to a very childish trick. He pinched Nibbi's nose between his index and middle fingers and pulled back his fist with the thumb poking out slightly between them. "I've got your nose!"

"Give it back!" Nibbi's mouth dropped open in utter dismay and genuine shock.

Qui-Gon did not resist the laugh that rumbled powerfully from the bottom of his lungs to burst out of his mouth. "By the stars, Obi, he truly does believe you can do anything."

The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth twitched in chagrin, and he quickly touched the tip of his thumb to the little boy's nose, then displayed his hand open, fingers spread, proving that he held nothing. "Sorry, Nibbi," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Nibbi reached up and felt his nose with both hands, patting it tenderly in obvious relief. He grinned at the Padawan, eyes shining. "'Sall right. Just startled me, you did."

Qui-Gon would have shaken his head at the hero-worship that gleamed so brightly in those dark young eyes, but the purity of it prevented him. This little one saw Obi-Wan as the embodiment of all that was good in the galaxy, a tower of strength and comfort and delight. It didn't matter that he was only thirteen years old, a Padawan learner, half-trained, inexperienced and prone to error—to Nibbi he was a Knight. And Qui-Gon could not fault the child for feeling so.

"Obi, we really must be getting back," he said, surprising himself with the gentleness of his tone. His emotions had been taking far too much control lately, especially when he hadn't intended them to. He would need to work on that.

"Yes, Uncle Quig." Obi-Wan rose reluctantly from the stoop, pulling Nibbi up with him.

The Jedi escorted the street vrelt back to his box in the alley, and Qui-Gon understood Obi-Wan's unwillingness to leave the child there. But for now this was Nibbi's choice, and he was in no immediate danger, thanks to the Padawan's fight this afternoon. It would do more harm than good to force the boy into care. Perhaps with a little more persuasion . . .

"I'll try to see you tomorrow, Nibbi," Obi-Wan said, leaning down to tuck his own robe around the little one. He glanced at Qui-Gon, and the Master nodded.

"I saw a little park a couple of blocks from here," Qui-Gon said. "Perhaps you two could have fun there. After our business tomorrow is completed, of course."

Nibbi nodded, small white teeth gleaming in the dimness of his "home" as he snuggled into the robe. "I'll be waiting for you."

Obi-Wan straightened slowly, reluctantly, and followed Qui-Gon down the alley toward the street. They walked back silently, each Jedi lost in his own thoughts. Qui-Gon was aware of the anxious glances Obi-Wan kept tossing him, and he waited patiently for the boy to speak. Perhaps now he would finally find out what had been troubling his Padawan so deeply over the last couple of weeks.

But Obi-Wan said nothing, and at last Qui-Gon broke the quiet himself. "Your little friend seems quite enamored with you."

Obi-Wan snorted gently. "I wish he had chosen someone else to trust so exclusively and whole-heartedly. Like Nilla at the Onorda Street clinic, for example."

"I take your observations there went well, then?"

"Yes, but I don't think we should stop by right now. With my fresh bruises and your hulking figure, she'll be certain that you're abusing me, 'Uncle Quig.'"

Qui-Gon stopped walking at the boy's quiet snigger, turning a teasing glare on his Padawan. "Are you mocking my choice of name and relation to you? I could have said you were my clerk, you know. Or my servant boy. Then I would be perfectly justified in teaching you a physical lesson."

"Slavery's illegal on Sylelius, Uncle Quig." Obi-Wan covered his mouth with his hand, but could not hide the shimmer of playfulness in bright blue-green eyes. "And yes, I'm definitely mocking you. I have street cred now, you know. Roughs on Onorda Street respect me. Not much you can do to me now."

"Oh, no?" Qui-Gon half-growled, half-laughed, stalking toward his impish apprentice. "You're really asking for it now, boy. I'm still a lot stronger than you!"

Alarm flashed through those expressive eyes, and Obi-Wan backed up a step, then fell to the pavement, hard, as his knee buckled beneath him. Qui-Gon halted instantly, stiffening a bit in surprise and consternation. "Obi-Wan?" No more teasing now. This was serious. "Is something wrong?"

"I . . . I forgot about my knee." Obi-Wan touched it cautiously, then hissed and drew back his hand. "Tronak kicked it. Spiked boot. Must have stepped wrong, there. Hurts a little."

Qui-Gon knelt at the boy's side, not caring about the spectacle they were making for the pedestrians hurrying about them as sunset approached. He hovered one hand carefully over the injured knee, probing it with the Force. "Just bruised and swollen," he decided with relief. "I'm sure it hurts quite a bit, though. You were limping this whole time, weren't you? Why didn't you say something?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, watching as Qui-Gon poured in healing waves. He seemed withdrawn and subdued, suddenly. Qui-Gon was bit disturbed by these abrupt mood-swings. Something was definitely going on with his apprentice, and he wanted to know what it was.

He looked at the boy's face, and was again bothered to see those deep shadows of fatigue ringing his eyes. Today had been tiring, certainly, as had the day before, but Obi-Wan should not be so exhausted, should he? He turned back to the knee.

"Master?" The boy's voice was tentative. "I did not mean to be so disrespectful. I guess my mind thought I was still playing with Nibbi . . . silly of me."

Qui-Gon looked up again, in surprise this time. "Padawan, we were teasing. I teased you back. You were not disrespectful. I think I startled you, though, and for that I apologize. It was not my intent to frighten you. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Oh." Again the boy stared at his knee as if fascinated. "I'm not afraid of you, Master. You just . . . surprised me. Turning toward me like that. Jedi reflexes. And I know you're a lot stronger than I am."

For the second time that evening, Qui-Gon felt regret. He had enjoyed that playful interlude, as brief as it had been. Now the quiet, troubled Obi-Wan was back, and Qui-Gon had made it happen, as much as he hadn't meant to.

"There," the older Jedi said with satisfaction, as he felt the swelling in the knee subside. "You should be able to stand now." He helped the boy to his feet, steadying him, watching carefully for any signs of distress. "Can you walk? I will carry you, if need be. I'm certainly strong enough for that."

He tried a joking smile, wanting to recapture that cheery mood of a few moments ago, but Obi-Wan only shook his head quickly, eyes wide. "No, you don't have to! I'm fine." He took a few steps forward in proof, showing only a slight hint of a limp, and turned back to look at his Master. "See? I'm all right. Truly."

Qui-Gon acquiesced, but kept a scrupulous eye on the Padawan for the remainder of the walk. He should have noticed the boy's limp the moment they left the café, but had been lost in his own mind, which was very unlike him. Wasn't he always admonishing his student to focus on the here and now?

It troubled him deeply to think that perhaps that image of Obi-Wan as a neglected street child bore some truth in it. Had he been negligent with this precious life, even in the most trivial way? Obi-Wan deserved better.

Qui-Gon did not like this feeling at all. He would do his best to ensure that it would never have a basis in reality.