Chapter 7: Memories and Revelations
"Qui-Gon, dearheart. It's time to wake up."
Qui-Gon struggled to open his eyes, wondering what had happened. Generally it was he who woke his wife with that sweetly uttered phrase, not the other way around. Had he passed a bad night for some reason?
Suddenly he became aware of the warm body reclining against him, his awkward position jammed in a corner of the couch with one leg dangling off it and the other bent between himself and someone much smaller. At last his recalcitrant eyelids chose to open, and he looked down at a tangled mop of reddish-sandy hair leaning against his chest, slender arms held in the circle of his own, their hands still clasped. Memory finally decided to return, before he could panic.
Qui-Gon looked up, blinking in the early sunlight that streamed in the bay window, cream and citrus yellow. "Julune?"
She smiled wearily, kneeling beside the couch with her dark head bent near his. "I honestly did come out for my turn, but you were both sleeping so nicely that I didn't want to disturb you." Her long fingers passed over Obi-Wan's forehead, brushing back hair now dry, though stiff with the remnants of sweat. "The fever has broken. He'll get better now."
"Oh. Good." Qui-Gon blinked down at the boy in his arms, who hadn't stirred at all. "I should get out from under him before he wakes. I don't think he's used to being touched, though he obviously appreciates it—he'll be embarrassed."
"Aw, c'mon." Julune pouted, very prettily in his opinion. "I want to see his face when he realizes that you held him all night long, like a sweet little baby."
Qui-Gon blushed. "Darling . . . he's a young man. He'll be embarrassed."
She grinned at him suddenly, tilting her head to one side. "Why, my dearest hubby—I do believe that you're embarrassed!"
"Not at all, not at all," he hastened to assure her. He shifted his shoulders a bit, but didn't move otherwise, hoping to keep the boy from waking. "He needed it, and I don't regret it at all. I'm only thinking of Obi-Wan's feelings. He won't want to be seen as a baby, no matter how sweet."
"Well, I think it's precious." That edge of stubbornness had seeped into Julune's voice again. Indeed, they were far too much alike.
"Obi-Wan won't."
Julune opened her mouth to argue again, the familiar glint of battle in her dark eyes. Then abruptly her expression transformed to one of cheerful welcome, her gaze shifting away from Qui-Gon's face and down. "Good morning, Obi-Wan! How are you feeling?"
Qui-Gon felt the head on his chest tilting upward, and looked down to meet the boy's gaze, blue and serene. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then Obi-Wan turned back to face Julune, settling his head more firmly against Qui-Gon's shoulder.
"I'm very tired and sore, and my head hurts."
The boy's voice was raspy and faint, but completely calm. Julune smiled softly and touched his temple, running her fingers down the plane of his cheek. "Only to be expected. You had a rough night. Fever and lack of sleep will make you tired and stiff, and the headache . . . probably dehydration. I'll get you something to drink."
Obi-Wan gulped, eyes widening. "Please, no more muja juice."
She chuckled gently. "Water, then."
Julune left, and Qui-Gon looked down again at their tangled hands, one pair small and pale and thin, the other broad and brown and blunt. He felt no need to move, though his body was knotted and uncomfortable, contorted to cushion a pain-wracked child. Obi-Wan, also, seemed content to remain as he was, his body still utterly limp and relaxed, but that could have been because he was too tired to care about his surroundings. Well, if Obi-Wan didn't want to move, Qui-Gon would not object.
Obi-Wan made a soft sound halfway between a yawn and a sigh. "What happened last night?" he asked sleepily. "I can't really remember."
Qui-Gon frowned lightly. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Mmm . . . I was . . . I was finishing up fertilization of Grain Field 4, just about to head in. It was almost evening, but I was very hot and dizzy . . . having trouble walking. I put away the spreader in the garage. That's the last thing I remember clearly. The rest is images, feelings . . . impressions, really."
The boy had begun to tremble. Qui-Gon gently released the slender hands and slid his arms up to fold the too-thin body into a careful embrace. Julune had returned sometime during the short narration with a glass of water and more medicine, and had waited patiently for the boy to finish. Now she helped him drink it, letting him pause between sips but insisting that he down it all.
Exhausted by that small effort, Obi-Wan turned his head back to rest in the cleft between Qui-Gon's shoulder and neck, his temple leaning on the bearded jaw. Qui-Gon pressed him a little closer, touched by the gesture of childlike trust.
"Obi-Wan? What are these impressions you remember?"
The boy was silent for so long that Qui-Gon thought he would not answer at all. He could feel the tension flowing back into the slight frame, and was sorry he'd asked. But he needed to know, if only to be able to protect the youngster. Both adults said nothing, giving their young charge as much time as he needed.
"I remember . . . fear. I was trapped. Someone was talking to me, holding my face in his hand to make me listen, but I can't remember the words. The world was burning. I . . . I fell? I rolled on the ground, in the dirt and rocks. I dreamed, the same dreams as always, but worse because I was so tired and hot. Then . . . you came." He leaned his head more heavily against Qui-Gon's. "The dreams went away for a while. They came back, but you were always there, helping me." He looked curiously at the woman who still sat by the couch, quietly listening. "Is . . . is your name . . . Julune?"
She smiled. "That's right. I'm pleased to meet you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Pleased," he echoed, and yawned, jaw cracking. "Sorry. Still tired."
"I know. You'll need a lot of sleep in the next few days. Just relax and let us take care of you."
"You're ver' kind," Obi-Wan slurred, eyelids drooping. "Can't thank you 'nough."
"Don't bother," Qui-Gon murmured. "If you just get well and happy, that's all the thanks we need."
"All righ' . . ."
Qui-Gon turned his head very carefully to look at the young profile, sweetly peaceful now in healing slumber. "I guess he wasn't embarrassed after all."
"I think he was too tired to care," Julune said. "Next time he wakes he'll be a little stronger, and more aware of his surroundings. And he'll probably want to use the refresher." She wrinkled her nose. This was one reason she'd given up nursing, Qui-Gon remembered.
"Well, I'd like to use it now," Qui-Gon said. "Will you help me get out from under him? I wouldn't mind so much, as he's obviously quite comfortable, but I can't feel my leg . . . ."
She laughed, very softly. "Have I told you recently that I love your smushy big heart? I'll help you. Gently now."
They eased the boy down on the couch and covered him warmly, each pausing to run a hand through the stiffly dried mop of reddish hair. Then they departed, the one to clean up, the other to work.
X
Qui-Gon was not used to having a youngster in the house, in his responsibility. It made him a little nervous. Sure, he had taken care of stray and injured creatures for a day or two, but this was . . . different. Very different.
The next time Obi-Wan woke he was more like himself, which meant that the painful confusion and gratitude was back, along with a mixture of embarrassment. Apparently he remembered now how Qui-Gon had calmed him the night before, though he did not mention it. Julune was also right in another way—he wanted to use the refresher.
Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon hold his arm on the short walk down the hall, but that was all the help he would accept, though his legs were trembling beneath him and the man was always ready to catch him as soon as he fell, certain that it would happen any moment now. Qui-Gon wanted to wait by the door until he came out, listening for any sounds of distress within the little room. But he made himself go and strip the sweaty linens from the couch and start a load of laundry, then searched out one of his smaller tunics for the boy to wear, always keeping his senses alert for any noise from his young guest.
Qui-Gon met the child when he finally exited the 'fresher, much exhausted by the task but looking more himself, face clean and clear despite the ugly bruises and dark curves under his eyes, reddish hair again bright and sticking up in spikes. He shyly accepted the tunic Qui-Gon held out for him, but had trouble lifting it over his head, his arms shaking, his face tightening in frustration. Finally Qui-Gon simply reached over and helped him into it, without saying a word or giving Obi-Wan the chance to refuse his help. The tunic fit the boy more like a gown than a tunic, seeming to accent the fact that the boy properly belonged in a med center. Too bad Bandor didn't have any worth the name.
Obi-Wan kept his head down, unable to look Qui-Gon in the eye. "Thank you," he whispered.
"There's no shame in it," Qui-Gon said gently. "I'm happy to be of assistance."
"I know. I can never thank you enough. I don't understand why you're being so kind to me, but it truly does mean more than I can say. I've been . . ."
The boy fell silent. Qui-Gon waited patiently, though he had an idea of what his temporary ward wanted to say.
"Alone," Obi-Wan finished quietly. His gaze flashed up for a brief, lovely moment to look the man squarely in the eye with all the courage and inner strength Qui-Gon had known all along was there. "For such a very long time, I've been alone. And now, I feel—feel in you, in your wife, in this place . . ." He gestured from side to side with slender fingers, trying to find the words. "I feel . . . home. I know this is not really my home, but thank you. Thank you for letting me feel safe. Safe and . . . and . . ." His voice dropped to a frail whisper. "And welcomed—wanted. I don't understand it, but I'm very grateful."
Qui-Gon yearned to grab the youngster in a firm embrace, to assure him that this truly was his home and he would always be wanted here. But he didn't want to scare him off, and he had no right to say such things. Instead he engulfed the thin shoulder in his wide palm, squeezing warmly. "You're welcome." He hesitated, looking away for a moment, then gave the boy a gentle tug. "Come to the kitchen and have some breakfast. There's something I need to tell you."
"Breakfast" was a bowl of bland-looking porridge that Julune had said was best for the recovering boy. Qui-Gon grimaced just looking at it, and Obi-Wan gulped to quell his nausea at the sight of so much food, shooting his caretaker a pleading look.
"Please, Qui-Gon, I can't . . ."
"You can," Qui-Gon said, carefully pressing the boy into a chair. "There's sweetener and milk right there. Add as much as you like. You need food to regain your strength. You don't want another fever, do you?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. He slowly picked up the spoon and poked it at the porridge, then lifted a spoonful and watched it drip off in thick white clumps. His hand shook slightly, but Qui-Gon knew that he would never want to be helped with this simplest of tasks, so he said nothing. Obi-Wan lowered the utensil back into the bowl and just looked at Qui-Gon, who now sat across from him with his hands folded on the table. "What . . . what did you want to tell me?"
Qui-Gon was not to be distracted. He picked up the syrup pitcher and poured a generous dollop into Obi-Wan's bowl. "Stir. You eat, and I'll talk." He didn't specifically say that this was conditional, but Obi-Wan took the hint.
The boy exhaled slowly and stirred. He lifted the spoon to his mouth to taste the stuff, revealing a flicker of pink tongue, then picked up the syrup pitcher and added more. He tasted again, then added yet more, and looked expectantly across the table. Qui-Gon had watched this process with amusement, but now nodded and began, making sure that Obi-Wan ate while he talked.
"Yesterday you said that you felt somebody touch you, and you followed the feeling back and found me. I didn't understand what had happened then, but I think I do now. Have you ever heard of two people being connected through the Force?"
Obi-Wan nodded. He ate more willingly now, though slowly, his elbow on the table and his head propped on the heel of his hand. "Masters and Padawans often have bonds. Sometimes others, too. I've never had anything like that. So you know about the Force, then?" Suddenly he looked up, spoon-hand drooping, blue-green eyes wide and incredulous. "You . . . you're Force-sensitive, aren't you? That little stream of light in my mind—it's you." He sat back in the chair. The spoon clattered to the table. "It's you. Qui-Gon Jinn. The Force bound us together. It's you."
Suddenly, the man had no words. His tongue felt stiff and dry in his mouth, the syllables clogging at the back of his throat. Until this very moment, he had not considered the implications of this staggering fact. They dizzied him.
Obi-Wan's voice faltered. "Isn't it? It—it is, isn't it?"
Qui-Gon could only nod.
For a long time they just stared at each other, neither able to speak.