Chapter 12: Breathing

Qui-Gon! Please, Qui-Gon! Where are you?

Qui-Gon bolted upright, awake in an instant. He'd hadn't been asleep for more than an hour—a flurried glance at the chrono confirmed this. Julune slept on beside him, her back still an obdurate wall warning him to stay away or risk the loss of important limbs. What had wakened him, then?

It was Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's voice, thick and shrill with terror. Qui-Gon was out of bed and down the hall in half a dozen running steps, pulling his sleep pants up tight with one hand, the other reaching out to slap the hall light to provide a little illumination in the common room.

Obi-Wan sat upright on the couch, the covers knotted around his waist, eyes wide and dilated in the diffuse wedge of light from the hall. He was breathing hard, much too fast, his chest heaving rapidly to drag in great gulps of panicked air.

But his hands were jammed over his mouth to suffocate any noise he might have made, tendons standing out, knuckles bent in rigid trembling. A shiver of sorrow passed through Qui-Gon's spirit. This instinctive reaction spoke more eloquently than words of what Obi-Wan had suffered in the weeks before he came here. That the child had trained himself to silence so quickly any outcry against the terror that played out in his mind . . .

But as Qui-Gon approached, the white-knuckled hands eased and lifted, just enough to allow speech.

"Qui-Gon . . ." It was a breathless moan, panted out in broken jerks.

"Shhh, little one, I'm here, I'm here." Two more steps and Qui-Gon was kneeling by the couch, gently untangling the blankets, pulling his hands away and holding them in his own. "Calm down, now. Obi-Wan? I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me? You're hyperventilating. You'll pass out if you don't calm down."

Obi-Wan nodded shakily, obedient as always, but his body was more rebellious. Still the harsh breaths came, sharp and fast, grating against Qui-Gon's ears. Letting out his breath and calming himself forcibly, Qui-Gon did the only thing he could think of. He pulled the boy to his chest, holding him tightly with one arm about his waist, and began to rub his back in slow, firm circles.

"Focus on my hand, Obi-Wan. Think about my hand. Feel its movement." Obi-Wan stilled, listening, his breath struggling to copy the cadence as he concentrated on the motion of Qui-Gon's hand. "That's it. Just my hand, that's all you need to think about right now. Nothing else matters. Just the hand, just the circles. Fall into the pattern, the rhythm. That's it, that's my brave boy."

Qui-Gon nodded in approval. "You're doing very well. Shhh. Quiet. Peace. There is no danger here, no pain, no fear. Each day is a circle. The sun rises and sets, and we follow its movement across the sky. It moves in slow, calm circles, steady and unchanging, as reliable as the Force. That's it, Obi-Wan. Good job. Just a little slower. Just a little . . . There. That's my brave little one, my brave Obi-Wan. All is well. All is well."

Gradually as he spoke Qui-Gon softened his voice and his touch, feeling Obi-Wan's body relax and his heartbeat regain equilibrium, his breathing slow and even out with only the occasional subdued hitch. At last the man released his breath in relief, watching it wander through the soft hair nestled under his chin. Obi-Wan's arms, twined about his waist at some point, tightened slightly.

"It's all right. I'm not going to let you go. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Qui-Gon felt the tiny nod against his chest, and the loosening of tension in the prominent shoulder blades beneath his hand, which was still caressing the boy's back in gentle, leisurely revolutions.

He was quiet for a time, just breathing, letting Obi-Wan breathe. Then he drew in a breath and pressed his hand flat against the boy's knobby spine. "Now, can you tell me what happened?"

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly to speak more clearly, but his voice was still barely audible. "You weren't there."

"I know. I'm so sorry. Did you dream?"

Again the tiny nod, and a short, muffled sniff. "It's bad when you aren't there."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone."

Obi-Wan pulled in a deep breath, still slightly shaky, but much more controlled. "Just . . . just don't do it again. Please?"

"I won't. I won't, Obi-Wan. You have my word."

Again silence, the gentle pulse of calm breathing. After a time Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's breath hitch strongly, and knew he had something more to say.

"I've never been so scared before."

"You expected me to be there, and I wasn't. But that will never be a problem again. You don't have to bear it by yourself anymore."

Again the faint nod, childlike and trusting, believing without question that Qui-Gon would never leave him alone, would do everything in his power to protect him. Dear Force, don't let me fail this child, Qui-Gon prayed suddenly, fervently.

He knelt there, holding the boy, until his knees began to ache and he felt the head against his chest becoming heavy with the weight of sleep, the slender arms about his torso beginning to loosen and slide downward. Carefully, he nudged the boy, shifting his body toward the couch. "All right, Obi-Wan. Let me up. I'll sit next to you."

Obi-Wan shook himself slightly more awake and reluctantly let his arms slide away, straightening his back and blinking at the man in sleepy curiosity. Qui-Gon boosted himself up to sit on the couch beside the boy, patting his thigh in invitation. Obi-Wan blinked at him again, just once, then willingingly slid down under the covers to lay his head on Qui-Gon's leg, a soft sigh whispering through parted lips.

Qui-Gon adjusted the blankets around the narrow shoulders as Obi-Wan settled, wriggling slightly to find a comfortable position. The boy stilled himself quickly, though, as if afraid that too much movement would scare Qui-Gon off. The man smiled sadly, threading his fingers through soft reddish locks. "It's all right. I'm not going anywhere."

Obi-Wan nodded gently, already drifting. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force to switch off the light in the hall. He sat in the darkness and let his eyes adjust, repetitively sliding his fingers through the boy's hair, encouraging calm, giving tangible evidence of his continued presence . . . and his growing affection. Force knew the child needed it.

When he knew that Obi-Wan was sleeping—though too lightly for his liking—he raised his head to look at the shadowy figure in the corner, half-hidden behind the potted plant Qui-Gon kept there. "I thought you said you were leaving."

Dooku's shrug was almost invisible in the dimness, the room lit by the flickering yellow street lamp outside the bay window. "I said that I had accommodations near the spaceport. I didn't necessarily say that I was going there."

Qui-Gon huffed a silent sigh. He was well aware of how easy it would be to fall into an argument of semantics with this man, one that he would not win. "I didn't sense you. And neither did Obi-Wan."

"It's not that hard to mask one's presence in the Force." The Jedi's voice turned thoughtful. "Though I don't think I ever taught you that particular skill, come to think of it . . ."

Qui-Gon refrained from shaking his head in prim disapproval. For a moment only they sat in silence, and then he could not contain himself any longer. "Why did you stay?" He spoke in a fierce murmur, mindful of the youngster who slept shallowly beside him.

Dooku released a short sigh. And the Dooku Qui-Gon knew never sighed. It was far too childish and transparent a method of expressing himself. "I suppose you might say I was fascinated. Enthralled, even."

Qui-Gon could hear the iciness of his own tone, an involuntary echo of another self-appointed protector under this roof who had perceived a threat to her charge. "By what?"

"By the Force, naturally. Surely you have perceived it? The currents around that boy swirl in the most intriguing whorls and eddies . . . I have never encountered such in all my days. Destiny fairly clings to him—new paths are being laid and as quickly discarded with every word he speaks, every move he makes. Truly, Qui-Gon, I don't see how you could have failed to notice."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying."

The Jedi was silent for a moment. Then he drew in a quick, sharp breath. "It's connected to you, as well."

Qui-Gon's fingers paused in the boy's hair, then continued. "You speak in riddles."

A soft, wry chuckle. "Ah, and what is the Force but a riddle to be solved, one that even the wisest has never fully penetrated?"

The younger man shook his head in irritation. "Stop it."

"Not even a 'please,' my old student?" Dooku was silent for a moment. Then he spoke more softly, the sarcasm carefully wiped away from his tone and manner. "I apologize. It was not my intent to abuse your hospitality or violate your trust. I mean no harm to you, nor to the child."

Qui-Gon relaxed marginally, but it was not enough.

Dooku hesitated, then tilted his head toward the sleeping Obi-Wan. "His dreams were terrible, whatever they were. The Force about him seemed to be weeping, but at the same time, it was firm and unyielding. Perhaps they were visions, horrors from the future or the past, things that need to be seen and understood, and perhaps prevented or made right." His voice quieted in thought. "Still, he was silent. Even in the worst throes of it, the boy made no sound."

Qui-Gon was surprised to recognize respect in the older man's voice. Respect for a young boy. He hadn't expected that.

Dooku nodded slowly, as if acknowledging this. "I tried to wake him, but he only panicked more at the sight of me, so I backed off. It's obvious that he knows and trusts you, and expects you to have some kind of power over his terrors. How long have you known each other?"

"Two days. No, not even that. A day and a half."

"A day and a half," the Jedi repeated in a monotone murmur.

Obi-Wan stirred in his slumber, an inarticulate utterance crawling from uncooperative lips, the flesh around his eyes twitching as if to ward off pain. Qui-Gon looked down at him, cupping a hand around the young cheek that seemed to glow with golden undertones in the sallow light of the street lamp, the curve of a new-born moon, smooth and unmarked. A plain of possibilities, of secrets, but so very lonely hanging isolated in space. The boy calmed at the touch, unconsciously shifting to press against the man's callused palm, and Qui-Gon was carefully still, just being there.

"You have a bond," Dooku said, his voice utterly serious. "I felt it flare to life just before you ran out here like a man on fire. It must have been dormant before, shut down by some kind of shock or trauma. But in his fear he reached out to you, and you answered. It must be very strong indeed, to accomplish this after being a part of you for such a small space of time."

Qui-Gon made a non-committal noise, still watching the boy's silent features. "I know nothing about bonds, or what they can do. I didn't even know that was the name for it until Obi-Wan told me."

"It was never necessary for me to teach you. But that has changed." Dooku's voice neared, as earnest as Qui-Gon had ever heard it. "As powerful as this bond is, it's possible that it may be true, what Obi-Wan believes—you may actually be able to influence his dreams. Or you may be able to learn how, with a little training. Do you wish it?"

Still Qui-Gon's eyes were fixed on the young face below him, guarding against anything that would dare to disturb his Obi-Wan's rest. The question required no thought at all. "Yes. Yes, I wish it. What is required?"

"Only the presence of the bond itself. Willingness to learn. Trust. And that is there. He relates to you with the pure innocence of a very small child, believing that you can make anything better."

"It's amazing," Qui-Gon murmured. "Absolutely amazing. I have done nothing to merit such unshakable faith. And so many others have failed him. I almost expected him to apologize for disturbing me, which would have torn my heart yet again. But he didn't. He just asked me to be there."

"As I said, the innocence and faith of a very small child. It is perhaps the only way in which this boy is not already far too old for his years."

Qui-Gon nodded. He stroked his thumb along the prominent cheekbone, feeling the boy slide into a deeper, more peaceful sleep as the contact continued. He was quickly learning what Obi-Wan needed, and how to provide it. It was good.

"Only one more thing," Dooku continued, very quietly. "This trust . . . you need to have it in the one teaching you, as well. I cannot gauge for myself—is it there?"

Qui-Gon looked up, staring deeply into the eyes of his old friend, his teacher and mentor, dark and soft in this strange light as they never were in daylight. He understood what the man was asking, and what he was offering. It was a serious question and deserved consideration.

"I . . . I hope so," he said at last, after several moments of uncomfortable silence had chasmed between them. He chuckled suddenly, careful to keep his hand steady on Obi-Wan's cheek, only his chest moving. "You're fortunate that it is I and not Julune who has a bond with Obi-Wan. She might have done murder if she came out to comfort her frightened cubling and found you sitting in the common room."

Dooku chuckled, too, but it really wasn't very funny.

Qui-Gon exhaled a breath. "Come back tomorrow, and we'll discuss it. Everything will look more clear in the morning. It always does."

Dooku nodded in acceptance, then quietly stood, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. "Good night, Qui-Gon."

"Good night."

This time Qui-Gon watched as the Jedi Master crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. He did not take his eyes off the entrance to his home for the smallest fraction of time.