A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I hope this counts for Nilla "chewing Qui-Gon's tushie." (Hee hee. I actually wrote that part before I received that particular review, but thanks for the giggle.) This one's extra long too, in celebration of what today is, you might say. Enjoy!

Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 17: Interrogation

Most Sylelians revered the Jedi. Just their luck that the one assigned to take Obi-Wan's statement was part of the one-half of one percent who didn't.

"Let's go over this one more time." The lieutenant arched one eyebrow at the drooping Padawan, leaning over the table between them with his clasped hands under his chin. "You raced out of the alleyway before a shot was fired because you knew Miss Hindegar was in danger."

Obi-Wan nodded wearily. "I felt the danger in the Force."

"And you led the way directly to where the kidnapped children were hidden, going across a city, through a spaceport, and into one particular room aboard one particular ship without once losing your way . . . how, again?"

Obi-Wan sat up straight at the confrontational tone, firming his shoulders and looking his questioner directly in the eye. "I knew where to go. The Force directed me. I was so tired that I could barely think, much less walk, and I just threw myself entirely over to the Force. That's the only way I could have made it through those hours."

"Mm hmm. I see." The man made some notes on his datapad. "And when you were fighting the five men on the street, you simply knew where the bolts were coming from."

"Yes." Obi-Wan shifted in his seat, almost rocking in agitation. Qui-Gon threw him a concerned glance. "That's how Jedi reflexes work. The Force shows us things before they happen."

"Right." The skeptical eyes flipped up for a second to stare at the youngster, then looked back down at the pad. "If you just know things before they happen, why didn't you know this even earlier? Why couldn't you have saved that homeless child before he was kidnapped?"

Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped suddenly, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I—I should have known. I . . . I felt as I was leaving Nibbi that, that, I needed to get him out of that place, but I shrugged it off . . . . And, and I still might have been able to save him, if I'd fought better. If I had been faster, more in control, aimed better, maybe I could have ended it sooner, gotten back to him . . ." His voice trailed off into a low, miserable whisper. "But I didn't."

Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder. He tried to send comfort and reassurance across their bond, but it was suddenly choked and silent, closed off by the Padawan's self-blame as he instinctively drew in on himself. Not good.

The lieutenant just looked at the young Jedi for a moment. Then he sighed and spread his hands as if in conciliation, though his eyes remained sharp. Exasperation laced his tone. "Look, kid, you'd better not be trying to play me. You knew everything beforehand because you were part of it, weren't you? You were in on it all along."

"Enough!" Qui-Gon jumped to his feet and leaned over the table with both hands braced on the cool surface, his face centimeters from the lieutenant's. He was gratified to see the constable lean back a bit. "Obi-Wan told you what happened. This is a debriefing, not an interrogation. You have no right to treat him like a suspect. We are your allies in this, and I find your attitude toward a young boy who has had very difficult day already distasteful in the extreme."

The man sputtered something, but Qui-Gon ignored him, turning back to pull Obi-Wan to his feet. "We're finished here."

The boy was shaking. He followed Qui-Gon into the hallway and leaned against the wall for a moment with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around his torso, fighting for control. Qui-Gon stood next to him, continuing to pour warmth and support through the narrowed bond.

"I'm proud of you, Obi-Wan," he said quietly. "You acted exactly as a Jedi should. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You trusted the Force, and you saved Nibbi from a horrible life of slavery. I don't have words to tell you just how proud I am."

Obi-Wan's eyes opened to slits, murky and distant. "He was right, though. If I were truly a Jedi, I would have saved Nibbi earlier." The blue-green eyes widened, staring at the Jedi Master. "They touched him. Nibbi told me, while he was crying so hard just after we left the ship. Those . . . creatures . . . laid their hands on him, in places no one should touch. Like buyers inspecting their wares." He shuddered. "It shouldn't have happened."

Qui-Gon grabbed his shoulders, pulling him away from the wall, and bent slightly to look him in the eye. "Padawan, it wasn't your fault," he said fiercely, willing his conviction to transfer over to the boy who shivered beneath his hands. "You did all you could. No one can do more than that."

"But I should have—I should have . . ."

"Should have, shouldn't have—Obi-Wan, listen to me. Look in my eyes." He waited until the blue-green gaze met his, watery and wavering as it was. "Not even a Jedi can see every possibility, prevent every harm. Nibbi is going to survive this. He already proved that he was able to overcome past abuse and trust you, who were a stranger to him two weeks ago. Just now he attached himself to Nilla with the same childlike faith. No, it shouldn't have happened. Nothing like this ever should. But that doesn't mean that you are to blame any more than any other being in the universe."

He drew in a deep breath, continuing to hold the boy's gaze, refusing to let him look away. "By the Force, Obi-Wan, blame me for not being there. Blame Chief Tooks for not clearing this problem away earlier. Blame President Hindegar for failing to control every happenstance on this planet. Or, place the blame where it belongs—on the criminals who dared to hurt your little friend, and in so doing, hurt you as well."

Obi-Wan winced and tore his gaze away, unable to bear the weight of his master's eyes for another moment. His hands were wadded into trembling fists. "I . . . I'm not going to be able to sleep now," he whispered. "Not for a while. Master . . . I need to . . . be excused, please."

Qui-Gon released his shoulders gently, straightening to his full height again. "Very well. I saw a refresher just round that corner at the end of the hall."

Obi-Wan nodded and walked shakily away, holding himself upright by force of will alone. Qui-Gon watched him go, feeling weary himself, as he had just a fought a battle or run a race and still did not know the outcome. Had he won or lost?

"He's hiding something from you."

Qui-Gon turned to face the Sylelian woman. She stood looking at him with her head cocked to one side, Nibbi propped on one hip. The child looked more alert now, eyeing the Jedi with dark eyes both solemn and bright, tousled head still leaning on the clinic worker's shoulder.

"I knew it the moment I saw him," Nilla continued. "Something in that child is closed off, silent and sad. At first I thought he was being mistreated." Humor lightened her voice. "I think I even asked him if it was an uncle."

"Silly Nilla," Nibbi said around a yawn, lifting his head to look at her. "Uncle Quig'd never hurt our Obi."

Nilla laughed softly and turned her head to rub her nose against the little boy's. "I know that now, my Nibbi-kins."

He grinned back, then laid his head on her shoulder again, one small hand touching the warm skin of her throat as if to assure himself of her continued presence. Nilla's sharp gaze found the Jedi again. "Something's wrong," she said seriously.

"I know," Qui-Gon said, and was unsurprised to hear the waver in his voice. "I've known for some time, now. He won't speak of it to me, no matter how many times I ask. I've just now decided that I'm going to have to order him to tell me. He'll obey. I just hope it doesn't destroy the trust we've begun to build."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Sometimes you have to hurt in order to help." A warm grin spread across her friendly features. "Not too often, though, we hope."

Qui-Gon sighed, glancing at the door he had exited in as close to a fury as he'd been for many, many years. "Is Nibbi going to give his statement now?"

At the woman's nod he drew himself together, carefully packing his concern away, though not very deeply. "I'll sit with you. I want to make sure that lieutenant treats Nibbi kindly."

Nilla's forehead wrinkled inquisitively, but she accepted with grace. The lieutenant's eyes widened slightly as the big Jedi darkened his door once more, and his questions were very gentle and non-intrusive. Still, Nibbi clutched Nilla more and more tightly as the debriefing continued, both his voice and his body trembling. Nilla held him close and murmured comforting nonsense in his ear, and the little one told his story bravely despite it all.

At one point Qui-Gon thought he felt a muffled spike of distress through the choked bond, and he jerked slightly, but decided not to intrude on his Padawan's privacy just yet. Knowing Obi-Wan, he had probably lost what little he'd been able to eat in the past few hours. Better to let him regain his composure a bit before Qui-Gon pressed another confrontation on the exhausted boy. But it could not wait much longer. He knew that.

When the tale was told, Qui-Gon walked them to a back room, one meant for counseling sessions, and left Nilla to settle Nibbi on the couch with several blankets and a stuffed toy she had produced from somewhere. The child asked after "his Obi," innocent face suddenly taut with concern, and before he went Qui-Gon told him gently that Obi needed some time alone, but he would be back to see him soon.

Before chasing down his apprentice, Qui-Gon made his way slowly to the kitchen room where Tooks and Hindegar still sat with cups of tea, trying to coordinate constables all over the city by means of a dozen or so communicators. They really ought to relocate to a new base, and they probably would within an hour or so, once the children were taken care of. Already parents and guardians had been contacted, and even as Qui-Gon stood there one pair arrived, frantic to see their little girl, barely listening to assurances that she was safe and unharmed.

He stood there, knowing that he was putting off finding Obi-Wan, and he shouldn't do it much longer. He was loathe to break the fragile equilibrium they had found, loathe to demand more from a boy who had given more than anyone could rightfully expect in this long, treacherous day. But this could no longer be ignored.

Then came the urgent cry over a bond that was abruptly wide open once more, though it transmitted only pain and distress. Master! I need you!

Qui-Gon stood quickly from where he'd been leaning against the wall. Obi-Wan? What is it?

Bring President Hindegar with you! Please, Master!

I'm coming, Obi-Wan.

Without a word, he grabbed Hindegar's elbow and hustled him out. And the president let him, after a startled glance.

It was not hard to find the Padawan. His presence was a beacon in Qui-Gon's mind, a deceptively tiny candle-flame that shone with the power of a neutron star. He was nothing but Light, this boy, Light brimming over to spill in generous waves over everything he touched. At the moment, Obi-Wan was intensely focused on someone else, and his pain was sympathy. No, even deeper—it was empathy.

The apprentice was feeling the pain of another. It was a rare quality for one so young, and Qui-Gon marveled. But it was also dangerous—an empathetic Jedi could get lost in the constant sorrow that could be found on every planet in the galaxy. This would have to be dealt with, too, and Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh. My poor Padawan. Didn't you have enough to contend with already?

They had entered the medical portion of the clinic. Most of it was dark and silent now, patients and personnel departed for the night. But not far ahead, the Jedi and the president could see warm yellow light spilling from a half-open door.

A young boy's voice, taut with worry, sharp with urgency, gentle with pleading; "You have to talk to somebody. You can't keep doing this."

A young woman's voice, high, angry: "What makes you think you can tell me what I can and can't do? You don't know anything about it! You couldn't possibly understand! There's no way you could ever understand!"

The two men reached the door and stepped inside, but the young people didn't even glance up They were completely embroiled in their private battle, Amora sitting on the exam table, Obi-Wan standing beside her. Obi-Wan held Amora's wrist in his left hand, a blood-stained cloth in his right. Hindegar's breath caught at the sight of long cuts littering the girl's inner forearm, perhaps a dozen of them in various stages of healing. Qui-Gon leaned heavily against the doorway, knees suddenly weak.

Obi-Wan blotted at the two new cuts near Amora's wrist, his hand trembling delicately. "But I do understand," he whispered. "I do."

Fractured thoughts whirled through Qui-Gon's mind. Obviously, when Obi-Wan went to the refresher, he had discovered Amora harming herself. The boy had been right all along. But what did he mean, that he understood how she felt? He truly did—Qui-Gon could feel it. Obi-Wan understood. Qui-Gon did not, and neither did the man beside him, judging by the confused horror and pain that spun out from his presence in the Force.

"It's like pressure building up inside you," Obi-Wan said. His voice was very quiet and still, yet every word seemed to ring in the small exam room. "You stare at the wall, or look up at the sky, and all you feel is the pain under your skin, trying to get out. It doesn't go away. It just gets worse and worse, every day. So you think, 'If I just had a little hole in me to let it out, that would help.' You fight it for a long time, but one day you just get so very, very tired. You cut. And it helps. That pain is on the outside. You can see it. It has a shape and a color and a smell. It distracts you, and you think that everything will be all right now. But the pressure inside is still there. It doesn't take long to come back.

"So you cut again. And again. It helps. But only for a little while. And it just keeps coming back."

Carefully, he bent back to cleaning Amora's cuts, then reached for the bacta strips set on the counter beside them. The girl stared at him with watery blue eyes, her mouth slightly open in shock and comprehension.

"Did you . . . did you ever . . ."

"No." He glanced up, then quickly down again. "But I thought about it."

"But you're so young . . ."

Obi-Wan smiled mirthlessly and shook his head. "It's not only about your mother, is it? But it's connected to her."

Amora drew a deep breath and nodded slowly, her eyes on the bandage the young Jedi gently wrapped around her wrist. "She was the only one who knew . . . knew about Korbin. She told me to tell Father, but I was afraid. Before she died, she made me promise to tell. But I couldn't. And now Korbin is dead—dead on the street with a blaster bolt through his head."

"Korbin?" The name lurched from Hindegar's lips in a soft groan, and he stumbled forward to stand by his daughter, his shoulders bent and head bowed. "Your chief guard . . . for five years I trusted him . . . . What did he do to you, Amora?"

Her golden head drooped and she pulled her bandaged wrist from Obi-Wan's loosened grip, hugging it to her chest. "Oh, Daddy . . . I saw him die. I thought it would die with him. But it didn't. It's still there!"

The last statement was almost a scream. Rothis reached out for her slowly, and when she didn't jerk away at the first tentative touch to her shoulder, he pulled her firmly against his chest. "Oh, my darling, my darling," he whispered, his lips against her hair. "Tell me. Please, tell me."

The man's actions seemed to break Qui-Gon's shell of paralysis. He stepped forward to grab Obi-Wan's arm, drawing him away and out of the room. Though he felt strongly that the two Hindegars needed to be alone, another urge drove him. He pulled Obi-Wan back toward the counseling section of the clinic, and the boy followed without a word, though he stumbled slightly as Qui-Gon's haste proved too much for his weary feet.

The Jedi Master barely noticed. Another room, like the one he'd left Nibbi and Nilla in, a big, comfortable couch. He sat, dragging Obi-Wan down with him, and held the thin, shaking shoulders in his big hands, more firmly than gently. "Tell me," he demanded softly.

"What?"

"Tell me. Please, Obi-Wan. The fact that you even thought about . . ." He trailed off with a shudder. "Please. Tell me what is causing you such dreadful pain. I can't stand it any longer, my Padawan. Neither can you. You can't deal with this alone. Tell me. Please."

Obi-Wan stared at him for a brief, trembling moment, then dropped his head into his hands.