A/N: I don't usually do this, but I have to give special thanks to SilentLaurel, who has been going through and systematically reviewing every single freakin' thing I have posted on this site. Much love! You're incredible! Email me so we can talk—I couldn't find your address anywhere, and I have responses to a few of your comments.
Chapter 27: The Lights of Home
"Have you seen a boy? About this high, ginger-brown hair, blue-green eyes, thin, soft-spoken—have you seen him? Do you know where he went?" Qui-Gon's questions to the guard at the entrance of the Hilara City Spaceport tumbled out in a rush, hands gesturing wildly, indicating a height somewhere around his chest, vaguely tracing the image of his lost boy. The rain plastered his hair into his eyes, but he barely noticed, his entire being occupied with his urgent quest.
It had taken far too long to get here, of course. The public transport had been faster than trying to get through the rain-clogged streets in his own speeder, but it had still been slightly delayed, and Qui-Gon chafed at every lost moment. Obi-Wan's soft, half-sobbing words still echoed in his ears: I'm not all right, not at all, but I'm here, I'm here. The first half of that statement filled his heart with agony, but the second overwhelmed it with pure joy. It didn't matter what had happened, how badly he was hurt, not right now—Obi-Wan was on Thyferra, only a short ride away from the home that waited for him, longed for him with held breath. They would heal him as they had before, and soon he would be strong and happy and cheerful again, this precious child who had already brought such amazing light into their lives.
Julune would be very unhappy that he hadn't taken time to tell her that he was leaving, or where he was going. But Qui-Gon wagered that she would forgive him the moment he walked in the door and she saw why he had gone.
The security guard nodded. "Skinny little beggar of a kid? Yeah. He went that way." He pointed disinterestedly down the street, and Qui-Gon was gone, sparing only a moment to throw a hasty word of thanks over his shoulder as he splashed away.
He peered through the gray veil of rain, head jerking this way and that as he searched. Still the bond in his mind was dark and silent, but soon that would be fixed, too. Nothing would be impossible once they were together again. At this moment Qui-Gon felt only confidence that all their troubles would soon be over. And then he saw the object of his search, and his breath deserted him in a rush.
Obi-Wan sat curled up in the corner of a doorway, out of at least part of the rain. Qui-Gon's heart leaped, even as it twinged at the boy's pallor, the new bruises that smudged his face. He began to run, splashing through the puddles, his cloak flying back from his shoulders.
The boy saw him when he was still halfway down the street. He slowly struggled to his feet, using his legs to push his body against the side of the doorway to lever himself up. Then he stood waiting, his heart in his eyes, though he seemed too tired even to smile.
Then, finally, after too many age-long months and weeks of waiting, Qui-Gon was there, trying to do a hundred things at once. He was hugging the boy to his chest, rocking him back and forth, kissing his forehead, brushing the too-long hair away from his face, feeling him for injury and frowning at the prominent bones, caressing his cheek, and hugging him again, all the while pouring out a disconnected string of exclamations and endearments in a frenzy of joy.
"Oh, my poor little one, my precious child, I'm so glad I found you! What happened? Where have you been? Never mind, tell me later. Oh, we've missed you so! My poor Obi-Wan! I can feel your pain—where are you hurt? We'll fix you up, no fear. You're safe now. When was the last time you ate? I'm sorry I took so long to find you. But you're home now! You're home, you're home. I'll never let you out of my sight again!"
Obi-Wan, caught between crying and laughing, hugged him back with all the strength he had left, his voice muffled against Qui-Gon's chest. "Safe with you."
"Safe with me," Qui-Gon murmured, again rocking his lost-and-found boy like a little child, gently rubbing his knotted shoulders. "Always and ever, my precious, precious Obi-Wan. Always and ever."
Obi-Wan drew in a sobbing breath and dug his fingers into the back of Qui-Gon's tunic. "Missed you." He pressed his face against the broad shoulder. "So much."
"Oh, my poor lad. You're freezing cold. What is this you're wearing? Silk? No good at all." Qui-Gon pulled the cloak around the youngster, holding him against his own body to warm him. "Can you walk? I'll carry you. You're done in."
Obi-Wan stirred at that, lifting his head within the shelter of his rescuer's cloak. "I can walk. Please don't . . ."
"Mm. We'll take a groundcab."
He pulled a comlink from an inner pocket, hand trembling slightly with everything that was still rushing through him, and found the frequency of a local cab company. The vehicle arrived in only a few minutes, a time the two spent in silence, just leaning against the wall. Obi-Wan continued to cling to the man's side, though he seemed barely aware of his surroundings, and Qui-Gon held him just as tightly. He didn't know if he would ever be able to let go, if he would ever be able to trust that his boy wouldn't disappear if he relinquished his touch for the smallest moment. It was a gift to have Obi-Wan returned to him, the grandest and most glorious gift the universe had ever afforded him, and he couldn't help a slight skepticism at its reality.
"Nasty storm, this, eh?" the driver said as Qui-Gon ushered Obi-Wan into the groundcab, half-lifting him when the boy seemed too weak to bring himself across the gap between curb and vehicle. "Bet you're glad to be out of the rain."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said absently. They settled down on the pseudo-leather bench as the door whirred quietly shut. He still gazed fixedly at the wet, bedraggled mop of hair that rested on his shoulder, rubbing Obi-Wan's back and arms in an attempt to warm him. "It's a bad storm."
But Qui-Gon would never be irritated by storms again, he was sure. He would always bless their coming from this moment on, for this one time when a storm rolled in from the north, it had brought Obi-Wan with it. That was all the reason he needed to love the rain forever after.
Obi-Wan started slightly as Qui-Gon's hand pressed against his back again, a small moan jerking free of his lips, and the man froze in mid-motion. "Obi-Wan?" He spoke quietly, aware that the boy would not want attention drawn to himself, not even that of a friendly driver. "What's wrong, son?"
"Hurts," the boy said meekly. "It's all right. Nothing to worry about."
Qui-Gon softened his touch on the boy's back to the most gentle of caresses, tracing his fingers over the bony spine and ribs. And he felt it, through the scandalously thin tunic, felt the wounds that marked his boy. He shuddered with sorrow and pain. "Oh, Obi-Wan. My poor Obi-Wan. What did Andros Martin do to you?"
"Andros Martin?" The name was spoken dreamily, as if Obi-Wan barely remembered it, as if it hardly mattered. "He . . . he sold me into slavery. That's all."
For a moment Qui-Gon could not breathe. "Then who . . . who beat you?"
Obi-Wan snuggled a little closer, shivering under the thick cloak, warm despite its dampness but obviously not warm enough. His voice was still dreamy, absent. "Belimi. Miko Belimi was my master. He didn't usually beat me himself, though . . . he had one of the guards do it. It was worse when he took a personal hand—that meant he was very, very angry. Those were the really bad ones, the ones that made me sick for a few days afterward." He shuddered convulsively and turned his face into Qui-Gon's chest, rubbing like a little child ridding his face of tears, though none were in evidence.
Qui-Gon's arms slowly, inexorably wound themselves around the chilled youngster and pressed him close, so close that he eventually realized that he needed to let up a bit to allow Obi-Wan room to breathe. "This happened often, my little one?"
The boy suddenly went very still, and Qui-Gon realized that he was aware of himself again. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please, Qui-Gon, don't make me talk about it."
"All right, all right," Qui-Gon soothed gently. "You're tired and cold and wet. It can wait. Just rest now. We'll be home soon."
Obi-Wan relaxed, and by the time they reached the house he was dozing. But Qui-Gon didn't like how shallow and light his breathing was, the slightly laboring sound of it, as if the boy had to struggle for air. He hoped Obi-Wan wasn't developing another fever, though he supposed that it shouldn't be any surprise. Obi-Wan had obviously suffered a great deal more than he had the first time he came to the Jinns so ill and run-down. And this time it wasn't visions and heartache that had oppressed him, but the cruelty of sentient beings.
They pulled up at the front walk, and Qui-Gon peered doubtfully up at the house for a moment. The lights were blazing, warm and yellow through the rain, a candle that banished every shadow. He could see Julune pacing, fists clenching and unclenching, and it finally occurred to him, much too late, that he could have used his comlink to leave her a message. But his every thought had been focused on Obi-Wan.
The driver had been mercifully silent, sensing, with the sagacity of most sentients who daily served dozens and scores of beings, that his passengers preferred silence. Now he glanced back at the man and boy, and followed Qui-Gon's gaze to the lighted windows. "She gonna be mad at you, buddy?"
The corner of Qui-Gon's mouth quirked upward. "Probably. But it won't last. We've been waiting for this day for a long, long time."
"Yeah." The bright eyes briefly touched on Obi-Wan, at least the sliver of his face visible through the opening of Qui-Gon's cloak. "You'd better get your kid inside and warmed up. My wife swears by nerf-noodle soup—it shouldn't hurt him, anyway."
"Thank you for the advice." Qui-Gon offered him a genuine smile, handed over the necessary credits, then carefully gathered the boy into his arms to carry him into the house.
"Hold on just a moment," the driver said suddenly. He jumped out of the cab, leaving the engine idling, and hurried around to the door nearest Qui-Gon, opening an umbrella as he moved. "You're wet enough as it is," he said by way of explanation, and quietly escorted them up the walk, holding the umbrella to shield Obi-Wan's face.
But on the stoop the boy stirred in Qui-Gon's arms and opened his eyes, instantly wide-eyed and aware. "Put me down, please," he said clearly.
"It's all right," Qui-Gon said gently. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You're no burden."
"No, Qui-Gon, please . . . I want to walk inside."
Qui-Gon looked into his eyes, and understood. Obi-Wan was coming home, and he knew it. He wanted to enter on his own legs, as himself, not a helpless child in Qui-Gon's arms. It was an assertion of individuality, however small, and Qui-Gon marveled at the courage and strength it must have taken to voice this quiet request after months of having his young will continually crushed and subdued.
He gently set the boy on his feet, letting him slip outside of the cloak, just for the moment. The driver silently excused himself with a respectful nod and a quick salute that would have been humorous if it weren't so obviously heartfelt and sincere. Through the window Qui-Gon saw Julune suddenly whirl around at the sound of the groundcab leaving, her eyes wide.
Then the boy set his hand on the door, and it opened to his touch.
They were home. It was much later than it should have happened, but the sweet, sharp clarity of it still roared through Qui-Gon, dizzying him with its power. Every member of his family was finally here. No matter what problems arose, they would deal with them together, and they would be closer for their shared grief and their shared strength, bound more solidly together with every passing day. Nothing was impossible now.
Obi-Wan was home.