Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 13: Conversation
Obi-Wan still looked much too tired, Qui-Gon decided, surreptitiously studying his apprentice as they sat eating a quiet dinner together in their rooms. For once there wasn't an evening banquet or reception or symposium that they needed to attend, so they had a few hours just to enjoy the Sylelian culinary arts.
Maybe the boy was going through a growth spurt. Qui-Gon had heard that teenagers were often exhausted by the rapid physical changes in their bodies, and needed more sleep than most adults could fathom. Obi-Wan was a bit on the small side right now. Perhaps that was the answer. It would probably be a good idea to have him get a full physical once they returned to the Temple.
Qui-Gon was more concerned by the hidden troubles he sensed when he looked at his apprentice. The boy wasn't shielding particularly strongly, and he saw nothing to justify this instinct that something was deeply wrong. Yet he could not dismiss it.
His words to President Hindegar about how to encourage his daughter to open up came back to him. Did Obi-Wan feel safe and secure with his master? Qui-Gon wondered. How often did they just talk? Not very.
"Did your visit at the clinic proceed well?" he asked, and had to still a grimace. Very smooth, Jinn. Could you possibly be a little more formal? Why not just turn this into a Council inquisition?
But Obi-Wan smiled pleasantly, looking up from his forkful of thick, chewy noodles in some kind of creamy sauce that they could not identify, but found very delicious. "It went well, once I got Nibbi inside. It was a bit of a struggle."
"How so?"
Briefly, the boy explained. "I hope I said the right things," he finished with a slight frown. "Sometimes I'm not sure. I don't have your wisdom, Master—I wish I did. I told him that all the dirt was on the outside, but I'm not sure he understood me. Or believed me."
"It sounds like you handled it very well, Padawan. You've made amazing progress with the child in only four days."
Obi-Wan looked startled. "Is that all? It seems like so much longer . . . ."
"The days have been very full, I know." Qui-Gon chuckled. "We have done a great deal in a short time. Perhaps now the mission will calm down a bit."
The apprentice shrugged, turning back his food. "And how did your day go?"
See, Jinn? That's the way you casually start a conversation. "We discussed matters of security." He wished he could say more, share freely as the boy had done, but Tooks was right—this information should not burden the young.
Obi-Wan unconsciously drew back a little, and Qui-Gon silently rebuked himself. This had to go both ways—he could not close himself off and expect the boy to reveal everything. "Did I ever tell you, my master and I once had a run-in with a street child, too? It was not quite the same as your experience though."
The boy looked up, eyes wide and bright, a quick smile playing on his lips. "No, Master, you never mentioned that." Of course he hadn't. Qui-Gon had never voluntarily shared any of his past with his Padawan before, not even these innocuous adventures from his own apprenticeship.
Qui-Gon smiled and settled back in his chair, falling easily into the story. The story of a small con-man and two gullible Jedi. "Afterward, Master Dooku always insisted that he knew all along that something wasn't quite right, but I knew better . . . ."
It was a humorous story, with as many twists and turns and reversals as any good holo-show. Obi-Wan frowned in thought, laughed in delight, and even teased his Master for his lack of insight. Qui-Gon grinned affably and bore it, content in the easing between them, in the glow of pleasure that illuminated his young student. Talking wasn't so very hard, after all—why hadn't he done it before?
They cleared the dishes aside for the hotel service to pick up and meditated together, having missed their evening sessions for the past few nights. It was good to calm the mind and the spirit in tandem, to listen to the peaceful currents of their shared connection and bathe in the living power of the Force. Obi-Wan almost dropped off to sleep in the middle of it, so weary was he, but he held himself partially alert with a tenacity that impressed the older Jedi.
Still, Qui-Gon ended the meditation earlier than he might have, entirely willing for the boy to get a few extra hours abed. Obi-Wan immediately slumped out of his straight-backed pose, pressing his fingers to his eyes as if to tear away the sleep weighting them by sheer force of will. Qui-Gon touched his shoulder, and the boy looked up, chagrined.
"No shame, Padawan," the Master said gently. "You have been unusually weary lately, but I don't see how it could be your fault. Are you ready to sleep?"
Obi-Wan nodded slowly and struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. Qui-Gon rose with him, a supporting hand still on his shoulder.
The man frowned to himself. He would not force this issue, would not endanger the trust that was growing between them, but it was time to speak straightforwardly. "Something has been troubling you for some time, my Padawan. Will you share this burden with me? It is my duty—and my pleasure—to assist you in any matter that I can."
Obi-Wan's eyes sought the floor. He hesitated, but finally shook his head. "I . . . I'm sorry," he whispered. "It—it's not something you can resolve for me." He looked up momentarily, his face drawn with regret. "But thank you for offering, Master."
"Will you at least tell me what it is?" Qui-Gon pressed gently.
Again the blue-green gaze dropped to the thick carpet, dull with weariness and inner pain. "I—I'd rather not. Please?"
Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, breathing out a small sigh. "Very well. But know that I am always here for you."
Obi-Wan nodded, but Qui-Gon was not sure if he truly understood. Or believed him.
X
The days passed like that, comforting in their routine, even on this far outer world on a mission that Qui-Gon soon discovered was much more complicated than they had suspected. They rose early and performed familiar katas, ate a light breakfast, attended meetings or observed in increasingly strange and distant corners of Sylelius, then had luncheon with some group or organization interested in meeting the Jedi. In the afternoon they often parted ways for a time, Obi-Wan going to Onorda Street for a few hours, Qui-Gon sitting on strategy meetings and planning sessions that disquieted him more each day.
The best part of the day, for the Master at least, were these quiet evening talks. As Obi-Wan grew accustomed to the routine, he spoke more and more freely, telling the tale of their time apart with all the vim and animation of an eager youngster. Soon Qui-Gon didn't even have to ask how his day was—the boy began to speak spontaneously, out of the outpouring of his heart. Like another burdened person Qui-Gon knew, it seemed that he had only been waiting for someone who was willing to listen. And he had found that person in the tall Jedi Master.
"Nibbi talked to Nilla for the first time today—I mean truly talked, not just whispered hello or good-bye. Nilla started it, and at first Nibbi seemed scared, and he sat close to me, you know? But then she started calling him a pet name, and he relaxed. I don't know, I wouldn't have liked it, but it made him smile. 'Nibbi-kins.' What kind of name is that? He even told me once that 'Nibbi' isn't his actual name, so that's like a nickname already, isn't it? But Nilla . . . Anyway, he seemed to like it. I don't understand it, but that's all right. Maybe he'll keep going there after we have to leave, if he feels comfortable with Nilla. She's really sweet, Master. I bet you would get along well. . . ."
Another day he started talking almost before they were in the room, so confused and unsettled was he by the day's events. "Amora Hindegar was at the clinic today. She's volunteering, too. It's very strange, Master. I could see her sort of freeze in place when she saw me. Her eyes grew very large. But she didn't say anything, and I didn't have a chance. She's working in a different part of the clinic, organizing files or some such, though Nilla said that at first she had said that she wanted to help with the children, as I am. She must have changed her mind because of me. That makes me feel good about myself. What should I do?"
Qui-Gon didn't have any definite answers. The best thing, he strongly suspected, would be for Obi-Wan to continue being the caring, sweetly clumsy young man he was. He did not see how anyone could resist this boy's guileless charm, least of all a hurting girl. "Be persistent, but careful," he said at last, unsure of how to communicate this intuition, or if he even should. "You have learned much from your interactions with Nibbi. Listen to the Force, and your own heart."
In return for these confidences, Qui-Gon told stories. Some from his apprenticeship and young knighthood, some from the creche, pranks and adventures, lessons learned and insights found. Obi-Wan listened with the same wide, bright stare as the first night, his expressive face encouraging the Master to continue.
Then they meditated, sinking deeply into the river of power. Qui-Gon led his apprentice on paths he had yet to tread, and Obi-Wan's fresh gaze leant new power to the sight, amazing the Master anew with each journey. It was always calming and exciting, cementing their bond and sharpening their perception of each other and the Force that guided them.
At the end of every night Qui-Gon asked, very gently, "Will you tell me?"
Every night, Obi-Wan sadly shook his head.
Qui-Gon could have ordered him to reveal this burden, and every night, he had to refrain himself from doing so. Obi-Wan would have obeyed. But that was not the way Qui-Gon wanted it to happen. He knew that it would only destroy all the good done in these quiet evenings.
Obi-Wan's weariness continued, indeed, may even have increased. Every night he staggered to bed and tumbled immediately into sleep, gathering several more hours than Qui-Gon himself needed. Yet every morning he rose bleary with fatigue, struggling to conceal his yawns, reviving only slightly as the day continued.
He was beginning to falter on the katas, missing the mark as exhaustion weighed his limbs. He did his very best, always, but his body betrayed him, and his best was less than he used to reach with barely an effort. It frustrated and shamed the boy and worried the Master. Something else had to be done, he knew, but he did not know what it was.
A full week ambled by, both too quickly and too slowly for the two Jedi. In three days they would depart from Sylelius, and they had much yet to accomplish.
Then the separate focuses of their afternoons crashed together in a single hour of horror and pain.