Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 16: Relaxation
"You look uncomfortable."
Obi-Wan looked up, his head wobbling slightly, and stared Amora in shell-shocked surprise, too weary to question her presence. He sat cross-legged on a couch in the lounge at the clinic, Nibbi a warm little bundle in his lap.
The child's legs still straddled the Padawan's waist, small hands loosely gripping his tunic, dark brown head a soft weight on Obi-Wan's neck and shoulder. At Amora's voice the little one made a distressed sound in his sleep, twitching in reflexive fear, and the Padawan wrapped his arms more tightly about the little frame.
"As long as Nibbi is comfortable, I'm fine."
The corner of Amora's mouth twitched. "No offense meant," she half-muttered, half-apologized. She shifted from foot to foot, and he glanced away, not wanting to embarrass her further. He didn't know what to say to her. Apparently she had the same problem.
"I brought you this."
Obi-Wan looked up, staring at the blanket Amora held tightly in both hands. It was thick, dark blue, fuzzy, slightly worn. His confused gaze flicked to her face, and she shrugged.
"It's from the shelter part of the clinic a level down. Nobody is there right now, except the kids Chief Tooks brought back. Not sure why you aren't down there, too. It looks like it might be awhile until the constables can take your statement and you look really tired, so . . ."
She cut herself off with a grimace, looking slightly nauseated by her own babbling.
"Nibbi didn't like the basement," Obi-Wan said, though he didn't know why he felt any need to explain his actions to her. "I think he might be a little claustrophobic—bad memories or something. He was starting to panic again, so I brought him up here. The couches aren't as uncomfortable as they look."
Amora nodded and wordlessly held up the blanket, asking permission with her eyes. Obi-Wan nodded, and she carefully draped it over the two boys. After a slight hesitation, she adjusted it around them, tucking warm folds of fabric between Obi-Wan's shoulders and the back of the couch, moving it so that Nibbi's mouth was not covered.
"Thanks," the young Jedi said softly as she stood back, eyeing her handiwork critically.
Amora offered a halfway smile, then turned to go. Before she moved deeper into the clinic, she paused at the doorway and looked back. "Thanks," she echoed, just as softly. Then she slipped away.
Obi-Wan rested his cheek against Nibbi's hair. It still smelled faintly of the cleanser from the hotel, clean and gently herbal. He drifted, not sleeping but not fully alert, either, relaxed now and much warmer with the weight of the thick blanket. The murmured conversation of the guards at the outside door—a constable and an IS man—wove through his awareness but did not register. Something about the watch on the streets and the search of the spaceports, nothing else turning up . . .
He felt himself tipping slowly to the right, the ever-present weariness increasing the pull of gravity until he was no longer able to resist it. He ought to catch himself, he supposed muzzily, but could not dredge up the energy to do so, nor even to care about his inability, his weakness. All the world was this warmth, this heaviness, the pull of the earth and the murmur of the sea, this longing to succumb to the peaceful gray of sleep.
Then his shoulder caught up against something warm and solid, halting his slow downward slump. A sleepy protest—or apology—lumbered from uncooperative lips, and Obi-Wan felt a large arm circle his shoulders. A huge, warm palm covered his forehead and eyes, stilling the restless movements of eyelids struggling to open, too weak to overcome inertia.
"Shh, Padawan. All is well. You can sleep if you like."
Obi-Wan subsided, letting his body fall back into loose-limbed submission to his weariness. He felt himself being shifted, the big hands careful and gentle, so that his back was against Qui-Gon's side, his head sheltered in the slight dip between chest and shoulder. A long, slow sigh slid away from him, emptying him further of any need to protest.
"That's it." A blunt, callused thumb brushed his cheek. "Rest now. I'll watch over you and your little friend."
Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Nibbi, which had been slightly jostled in the maneuvering, but it was an instinctive act. He knew he was safe, and so was Nibbi. Nothing bad could ever happen to them here.
X
Qui-Gon sat with his sleeping apprentice curled against his side, gazing unseeing at a painting on the opposite wall as he pondered these new feelings and impulses surging within him. He looked down at the tousled reddish mop that rested peacefully just below his chin, at the dark little head tucked just a little lower, beneath a smaller chin. His eyes trailed across the length of his arm, which passed gently around a narrow shoulder to brace an even smaller back beneath the thick blanket, and knew that beneath the warm blue folds little hands clutched Obi-Wan's tunic, and the young Jedi's arms held the little body secure.
The Jedi Master's eyes lingered on his forearm for a time, remembering young fingers that twisted desperately there. And like the dream of a dream he remembered again the tiny fingers that had clutched his Padawan's sleeve, seeking comfort and protection.
Parallels. Qui-Gon's gaze returned to the opposite wall. Nibbi had fallen asleep in Obi-Wan's arms, at last feeling safe, protected by his Jedi friend. And here was Obi-Wan asleep in the circle of Qui-Gon's arm, allowing himself finally to rest after struggling desperately to stay awake in the hours since they had rescued the children from the kidnappers' ship.
He wondered, suddenly, if Obi-Wan might have some of the same needs as his little friend. And having made the resolution never to neglect his Padawan if he could help it, Qui-Gon wondered if he ought to be doing more to fulfill those needs.
And he wondered what they were. Wondered if this new ache in his chest, so strange and sweet, might have a companion within his Padawan.
"Why are you so weary, my apprentice?" he whispered. "What a heavy burden you must bear, to tire you so, though you are strong in body and spirit. I wish you would let me help you carry it, or take it from you altogether."
Obi-Wan slept on. Their bond had been more vibrant and strong than ever since their extraordinary communication earlier this evening, and Qui-Gon sent a gentle probe trailing along it, faint enough that it would not the disturb the young one's slumber. He sensed contentment and peace, the healing that sleep was beginning to accomplish for the worn young body.
Yet with this new openness, he could sense something else below that, something buried deep and constrained with a powerful control that was almost awe-inspiring in one so young. Qui-Gon could not get a sense of what it was, however, only a clear conviction that it was very strong, and growing stronger. Soon it would be too much for the Padawan to contain, even with this amazing discipline.
Qui-Gon withdrew, troubled and un-enlightened. This could not be allowed to continue. Obi-Wan was exhausting himself trying to control something that could not—and probably should not—be controlled. It was dangerous and unhealthy. If he did not share this the next time Qui-Gon asked, he would have to order him to reveal it. The Master did not want to do that, but he could not allow the youngster to continue on a course that was only going to harm him, if it hadn't already. Even disregarding his masterly duty to care for his Padawan's safety, a part of him just really, really disliked the idea.
He couldn't articulate his feelings beyond that. He simply really hated the notion of Obi-Wan being hurt. In any way.
"Master Jedi?"
Qui-Gon forced his eyes to focus, and turned toward the quiet voice. "Captain Anjize."
The constable officer still stood military-straight, though this many hours into the crisis, many were beginning to relax into the stance of soldiers under siege. Even Tooks had shed his heavy official coat and taken to reclining against the counter in the back room where the temporary communications base was set up, drinking a cup of strongly brewed tea. When Qui-Gon had realized that his presence was no longer needed for the coordination of the continued search efforts, he had quietly left to find his Padawan. Just in time, too.
"We're ready to debrief your apprentice, and the little one there," Anjize said quietly, his eyes gently touching the two boys curled up asleep like a basketful of pups. "We apologize for the wait. Chief Tooks wanted to take care of the children who had parents first so they could go home."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I understand. I'd rather not disturb them—they desperately need this rest—but better to get it over with. Will it have to be done separately?"
"I'm afraid so. But they needn't be alone during the debriefing—Miss Crolin has volunteered to sit with Nibbi, and you are welcome to join your boy."
Miss Crolin . . . ? Ah, Nilla. She caught the Jedi's attention with a quick step forward from where she'd been standing in the doorway, smiling tenderly at the sleeping children.
"I wish we didn't have to wake them. Such a lovely sight they are. Too bad I don't have a holo-camera on me."
Qui-Gon grinned lightly, imagining Obi-Wan's mortification if such a holo were to be taken, and he came across it later by some mischance of destiny or the Force.
Shaking off the image, he turned to gently wake his Padawan, brushing his hand over the soft, sandy-red spikes. "Obi-Wan. Up now. Just for a little while, and then you can sleep again." He sent the lightest of nudges along their bond, lacing it with his own strength to bolster the boy's failing resources.
Obi-Wan stirred, craning his head back against Qui-Gon's chest as he strained to open his eyes, the lids fluttering erratically. Do I have to?
I'm sorry, Padawan. But yes, you have to. Just for a short time, young one.
The boy woke with a jerk, face flushing with embarrassment. He hadn't realized that Qui-Gon could hear his thoughts. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"No need," the Master said softly. "I wish you didn't have to wake up, either. You're not the only one who is entirely comfortable in this position."
Obi-Wan seemed to realize then where he was, lounging against his master's solid warmth. He looked up briefly, cheeks flaming yet more hotly, and struggled to sit up, putting some distance between them. Qui-Gon supported his shoulders until he rested against the back of the couch, and Obi-Wan deliberately didn't look at him again, instead turning to wake Nibbi with the same gentle techniques Qui-Gon had used. Of course he had seen Anjize standing there and instantly understood why they were being wakened.
If it were possible, Nibbi woke even more reluctantly than his thirteen-year-old friend had. He didn't seem to wake completely, but allowed himself to be passed into Nilla's ready arms and quickly nuzzled his face into her throat, little arms twining trustingly about her neck. Nilla smiled tenderly down at him, running her fingers through the dark, over-long hair, and accepted the blanket Obi-Wan held out for her to wrap around the little one.
Obi-Wan wobbled a bit as he stood, and Qui-Gon was quick to rise with him and pass an arm about his shoulders. The Master looked to the captain, inclining his head slightly.
"Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Anjize nodded. "It shouldn't take long." He offered Obi-Wan a rueful smile. "You'll be able to go back to sleep soon."
But as with many pat answers easily given, that statement turned out to be quite, quite wrong.