A/N: :hugs for all: I love your long, detailed reviews! Here's the one you've been waiting for. (Nope, the story isn't over yet. I think there will be two or three more chapters to wrap up.)
Candles Against the Sea
Chapter 18: Revelation
"Obi-Wan? Please answer me."
The boy uttered a muffled sound of distress and began to rock slightly where he sat. His face was still hidden in hands so tight with anxiety that the slender tendons stood out, the knuckles blanching white against the gold-hued skin. Qui-Gon realized that his grip on the Padawan's shoulder had stiffened to the point that it was probably hurting the boy, and let go at once.
Qui-Gon reached down and pulled the rigid hands away from the pale face, folding them tightly in one of his own. Obi-Wan tried to grip back, his fingers seeming to spasm in pain and need. Qui-Gon's other hand gently curled around a cool, sweat-damp cheek, his thumb brushing over a red mark left by those frantic fingers.
That at last, seemed to elicit a response.
"Can't," Obi-Wan half-gasped, half-whimpered. "Sorry, Master. Please forgive."
Without any other idea of what to do, Qui-Gon continued to stroke the clammy cheek with his thumb, wordlessly trying to encourage that dimpled chin to tip upward, those luminescent eyes to meet his.
"Why?" he murmured. "What made you think that you couldn't share your burden with me, my Padawan? You can tell me anything. Why do you feel that you cannot?"
Obi-Wan gasped for air, choking on the words. "Because—I'm . . . wrong. Wrong, Master! It's wrong inside . . . ."
He turned his head, straining away from the Master's touch, and tried to free his hands with a convulsive jerk. Qui-Gon was not to be so easily dissuaded, though. He released Obi-Wan's hands, but only to lean forward and envelope the young face between his broad palms. "It's doesn't matter," he said earnestly. "It doesn't matter how wrong you feel, Padawan, you can always tell me. I would never turn you away. Please tell me what is causing such suffering in you, my son."
Obi-Wan froze.
Slowly he let Qui-Gon urge his face upward, his eyes wide, features lax in shock. "Wh . . . what did you call me?"
Qui-Gon had to think about it. "I . . . I called you my son," he said slowly, marveling, feeling the words on his tongue and lips, sensing the weight of them in the air between them.
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear coursing down his cheek to wet the Master's fingers. Qui-Gon's heart twinged.
"Would . . . would you rather I didn't say that?" he asked hesitantly. "Did I hurt you?"
"No!" It was a quiet shout, an anguished wail, all the more intense for its near silence. Obi-Wan began to weep in earnest, a hoarse sob ripping from his chest. "Master . . . help me . . . I don't know what to feel anymore . . ."
"Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon leaned forward just a little more and folded the boy into his arms, tucking him under his chin. Obi-Wan did not resist, but actually seemed to relax a little, allowing his master to hold him. "Is that what this is about? Feelings?"
The still-tense young body seemed to flinch at the word, and Qui-Gon felt the tiny nod against his chest.
"Why can't you tell me? Can they be so terrible?"
Again the minute twitch. "Ashamed," Obi-Wan managed, his voice breaking. "Afraid."
"Afraid of me, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon could not keep the dismay from his voice. This was like earlier, when they were walking back after the fist-fight, but ten times worse. "Why? Why would you fear me?"
Obi-Wan's voice hitched as he fought to bury his sobs. "Because . . . about . . . you. All about . . . you."
Well. Now they were getting somewhere. Qui-Gon only realized that he had been unconsciously rocking the boy when surprise caused him to suddenly stop, and an involuntary jerk from his apprentice urged him to start again. So the thing he had sensed buried in Obi-Wan's psyche was a feeling about him.
Could it be that the boy was angry about those early rejections and didn't know how to deal with it? Or, oh, Force, what if it truly was fear? That would be . . . terrible, to have this bright young being fear him. Or . . . could it possibly be even worse, darker? He certainly couldn't blame the boy, whatever it was. He had made enough mistakes in their first few months, hurt the hopeful child enough, to justify any of those.
Dread tightened Qui-Gon's chest, and his arms about the shivering body that lay against him. "If you can't tell me, do you think you could show me?"
Obi-Wan's hands had been laying still, curled up and crushed between the press of their two bodies. Now they turned and twisted in Qui-Gon's tunic, and the boy's breath came faster, his shoulders rock-hard with tension beneath Qui-Gon's arm. "All . . . all right."
The bond blazed between them, bright with trust and dark with pain, the two mingled in weeping sparks of pure power. If they could purge this bond of the things that choked it, it would be incredible indeed, far stronger than any bond Qui-Gon had shared before, perhaps even than any he'd heard of in the current age.
As Obi-Wan focused entirely inward, trying to open himself as much as possible, Qui-Gon leaned back into the couch and pulled him fully into his lap, holding him as the boy had held Nibbi. It would be easier to meld this way, and would prevent any mishaps while they were unaware of their physical bodies. Obi-Wan didn't seem to notice the shift—his head lay limply against Qui-Gon's shoulder and neck, the tension in his body easing slightly as all of his failing energy turned inward.
Qui-Gon drew his awareness into a thin thread and carefully poured himself down the bond, ready to slow or draw back if Obi-Wan panicked at the mental invasion. But the Padawan let him in, not quite with eagerness, but at least with acceptance. He knew that this was the best—and perhaps only—way to free himself of the chains that bound his spirit.
Here, Master.
Obi-Wan led the way deeper, past surface thoughts, past memories and burdens and griefs, down into deep-seated desires. They were desires to please, to make his teacher proud, to be a good Jedi and strong man. And here, at last, they reached the problem, the thing that had been sucking Obi-Wan's strength away like a spacer guzzling a drink, weakening him, crippling him, demanding more and more as it burgeoned with the passing of every hour.
It was a box. Obi-Wan had made it himself, Qui-Gon saw—the youngster's Force-signature shone there, inexperienced and pure. The box had begun a decent size, and had bloated since, straining against the powerful control that suppressed it. And it contained . . .
Something huge, Qui-Gon knew. Something with the ability to blow him away, out of Obi-Wan's mind and into a netherworld of forgetfulness. It would have to be handled with great care.
Feelings, my Obi-Wan? Did no one ever teach you how to release them to the Force?
It was an irrelevant question, uttered out of a stunned awe at just how big this problem was. But Obi-Wan answered, his mental voice small and ashamed.
I—I never could figure it out. I always tried to release my emotions, especially the anger that was always tripping me up, but I never quite managed. I finally found a way to make them go away, but now I see that it wasn't release. I was just hiding them from myself. They're all still here.
Let me show you how, Qui-Gon said gently, trying to soothe the boy's crushing sense of failure. No one ever showed you, did they?
No.
The overwhelming relief flooding from the apprentice pricked the older Jedi's heart. That something so small could make such a difference for his poor Padawan . . . No more neglect, he vowed. Obi-Wan would not suffer for lack of such simple guidance any longer.
Together then, my Obi-Wan. This is too much to deal with all at once. Release your control very gradually, do you understand? Let out only a little bit at a time. Too much could cause permanent damage, not only to your mind, but also to mine.
A shiver rocked the inward space as Obi-Wan trembled at the magnitude of this task. I . . . I understand. I'll do my best.
That's my Padawan. That's my brave boy. I'll help you. Everything will be all right.
Together they touched the chained box, held it firmly in an envelope of Force power. Carefully, slowly, Obi-Wan loosened the chains, just a fraction. He pried up the lid just enough to let out an ephemeral wisp of smoke, dark gray, shining red within.
Pain. Terrible, gut-wrenching pain, caused by whatever else was in that box. Qui-Gon captured the wisp in a mental hand before it could expand to fill this place, immobilizing the boy. He molded it into a small, quiescent ball, holding it firmly.
Feel it, Padawan. Allow yourself to feel it. You must acknowledge and understand yourself, and this is part of you, as hard as it is.
Obi-Wan reached out and touched the ball with a mental finger, shuddering as the pain passed over and through him.
That's it, my Obi-Wan. Now you know what it is, and you don't need it any longer.
Carefully, Qui-Gon breathed on the gray-red thing, changing it into a weightless puff subject to the winds and currents. And he let it go, floating away on the Force that flowed through Obi-Wan, as it flowed through everything.
These are only images to help you understand what is happening within you, just as these bodies we wear in this place are only projections, not reality. Eventually you'll be able to feel and release your emotions with a passing thought. But for now, we will go through this process slowly, step by step, to let you get used to it.
Again that overwhelming relief, a warm shining in the boy that spread a gentle smile through Qui-Gon's spirit. Yes, Master. Thank you. Thank you so much.
You're welcome, my Obi-Wan. That wasn't so very hard, was it? Let's continue.
Shame came next, so powerful that it licked over Qui-Gon as well, turning his innards to stone and his mind to a burning, spinning spark. They dealt with it as quickly as possible. Then guilt, partially wrapped up in the shame, a deep, dark blue that wanted to sink to the floor. It took quite a lot of effort to transmute that weight, enable it to float away.
Then came questions and doubts like a horde of stinging, buzzing insects. "It's all wrong, isn't it?" "I'm violating the Code." "Jedi don't have this feeling." "Will I ever be rid of it?" "This can't be right." "Why can't I control myself?" "I'm a failure!"
For a moment both Master and Padawan were entirely occupied with simply slapping the big, dark things away before they landed and stung. Then Qui-Gon gathered in a great breath and blew them away with a powerful wave of the Force, banishing them. Obi-Wan didn't need to feel those fully, he decided, frowning darkly. They had already done enough damage to the tender psyche.
Yet the box did not seem much diminished. Only one emotion remained, Qui-Gon knew. This was the heart of it, the feeling that had caused all the others, that had started Obi-Wan on this downward spiral and had been troubling him for weeks. It was incredibly powerful, and growing stronger every day. It could not be ignored for another heartbeat.
Obi-Wan hesitated with his hand on the latch, his heart in his eyes as he stared at his master. Another stinging doubt flickered into existence, and Qui-Gon blew it away immediately, before it could touch his Padawan.
All is well, my Obi-Wan. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together.
Obi-Wan nodded shakily. In the physical world, his arms slipped around the Master's neck, tightening desperately as hot tears surged and fell. He thought Qui-Gon would push him away once he saw what was within that box. Qui-Gon pressed him closer, firmly denying that fear.
Hurts.
I know. Let it go, my son. Let it go.
That was the push Obi-Wan needed. He only lifted the lid by the slightest margin, but this last emotion was too powerful to be constrained. It burst out, bright and pure and blazing white, forever obliterating that tiny box in a flash of heat, and flooded instantly through every corner of Obi-Wan's mind.
But it did not expel Qui-Gon presence. It enveloped him, folding around him in liquid waves of warmth and welcome, rejoicing in the fact of his existence. Admiring him. Cherishing him.
At last Qui-Gon understood what it was, and the realization drove him gasping to his knees. It was love. Pure, blinding, complete. The love of a student for a much-respected teacher, of a child for a parent.
Of a son for a father.
Qui-Gon's first reaction was awe. His second was humility. This boundless devotion, this depthless admiration . . . What could he have ever done to deserve this?
Oh, Obi-Wan.
Even in the ether, the blue-green eyes were watery with tears. I'm sorry, Master.
Whatever for, my Padawan?
Obi-Wan sank slowly to his knees, exhaustion creasing his features in deep, ragged lines. This wrongness in me. My failure to control my emotions. I'm sorry.
Qui-Gon shook his head in stunned disbelief. My Obi-Wan, look around you. How could something so beautiful be wrong?
Jedi aren't supposed to . . . supposed to . . . The boy lowered his head into his hands, huddling in himself even within the shelter of his own mind with the beauty of a thousand stars gleaming around him. Can we release this, too?
No. it's much too powerful. And it's constantly being renewed. You would tire yourself out trying to be rid of it as much as you have trying to hide it.
I'm sorry, Master. If it were possible, the Padawan sank even lower, his voice a mere wisp.
Qui-Gon crept forward and wrapped himself around the boy mentally as he had physically. I'm not. I'm deeply honored. And humbled. Amazed, awed, happy to the core of my being . . . but not sorry.
Obi-Wan didn't seem quite to hear him. That's very kind of you to say. I know that you are a true Jedi and could never care for me as I've been longing you to. It's too much to expect and I would never ask for that. I didn't want you to know—I didn't want to offend you. I'm sorry for that, sorry that I couldn't . . . couldn't . . .
Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon interrupted with infinite tenderness. The boy stilled immediately, quivering like a small, trapped animal, his face hidden against Qui-Gon's chest. Oh, my Obi-Wan, my precious Obi-Wan. Would it shock you very much to learn that I already care for you in that way?
Even the trembling stopped as Obi-Wan froze, rigid in Qui-Gon's arms. Silence spun out between them, fathomless, fraught with unspoken questions.
What?
That one word, barely audible, seemed to contain all of the questions, all of the boy's hopes and fears, his darkest dreams and brightest aspirations.
I love you, Obi-Wan.
Still the stunned silence. The Padawan seemed entirely unable to move or speak.
Here, let me show you.
Qui-Gon had only allowed a corner of his mind to enter his Padawan's, to minimize the inherent risk in such an encounter. Now he took the time to deliberately widen his end of the bond, as the boy had already done, opening his mind as much as he could, lowering well-kept shields that had stood untouched for what must have been endless ages, so crusted they were with time and bitter loss. Yet they fell easily enough, once Qui-Gon put his mind to it. They had been slowly crumbling for months, the cracked, frozen blocks of stubbornness melted and perforated by the boyish warmth that had steadiliy beat against them.
But Obi-Wan did not move to explore the wide-open bond, perhaps still too shocked, perhaps too weary to perform even that simple mental exercise. So Qui-Gon picked him up and carried him there, with the ease of a river carrying a leaf. Qui-Gon held him secure and showed him something that had been hidden from himself, unsought and unrecognized, until the boy's revelation had made him realize what he carried in his own spirit.
It was just as deep and boundless as Obi-Wan's, though steadier, anchored, slow to develop and slow to ignite, though it had finally managed to do so. It had been building for weeks or months now, steadily and inexorably, without Qui-Gon noticing. That strange, sweet ache in his chest, the foolish, unthinking desire to shield the Padawan from all hurt, to heal even the tiniest wounds the moment they appeared—it all added up to exactly the thing Obi-Wan had been longing for with all the quiet desperation of his lonely young heart. The fathomless love of a father for a son.
You see, my Padawan? We are perfectly matched. Do not doubt the ways of the Force.
Obi-Wan responded with overwhelming relief and joy, an outpouring of love that spread a grin across Qui-Gon's face and made his heart ache at the same time. Then a sudden hitch, a hesitation, doubt rising once again. But . . . attachment . . . the Code . . .
We will discuss that more tomorrow, Qui-Gon deflected gently. But right now, my Obi-Wan, my son, you are too tired even to think clearly, as you told that lieutenant. This has been a very long and hard day for you. Sleep.
He didn't have to use a Force-suggestion. Just the mention of sleep was enough to send Obi-Wan tumbling into the restful, peaceful depths of a healing slumber. Free at last of that draining box within him, this sleep would finally begin to restore the weary boy.
Qui-Gon carefully untangled their minds, keeping the bond open between them, and left Obi-Wan to his rest, rising carefully out of the formless world of mind and spirit to blink with gritty, sleep-worn eyes. Obi-Wan slept in his arms, his damp face still pressed against the Master's neck, thin arms still twined about him. He was completely limp now, at last, every last bit of tension drained away.
It took a bit of tricky maneuvering, but Qui-Gon managed to get out of his robe without moving the boy and wrapped it around his Padawan, still shivering slightly in his Sylelian garments. Obi-Wan made a small, contented noise in his sleep and nestled into the warmth, settling even closer to his master, if that were possible. Qui-Gon smiled gently down at him, firming his grip around the slight form.
Before long, he, too, was fast asleep and dreaming of pleasant things.