Chapter 29: Flinching

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, watching the morning light wash over the textured surface and wondering why it looked different than the ceiling in his room. And why he was laying at the very edge of the bed, alone, when he and his wife usually slept completely wrapped around each other in the middle. And why Julune hadn't woken him before she left.

A small, subdued whimper snapped his head around to the side, and he saw the boy sleeping curled up into a protective ball, his face hidden against his knees. Instantly everything rushed back, joy and pain and relief and sorrow. Sometime in the night he must have slipped under the covers, and Obi-Wan had drawn into himself, clasping his arms to his chest as if to protect them. Julune was nowhere in sight, and it was late enough that she had probably left for work already.

Another tiny moan of distress from Obi-Wan had Qui-Gon scrambling to untangle himself from the covers and scoot closer to the boy, reaching out to lay a hand over his head. Obi-Wan flinched at the touch and curled himself tighter, beginning to tremble. Qui-Gon sighed soundlessly. The universe couldn't allow this beleaguered youngster even one undisturbed night, could it? Not even when he was utterly exhausted, when he had finally come home to the only place he felt safe, though obviously not safe enough.

"Obi-Wan," he called softly, smoothing his hand over the unruly reddish locks. "Obi-Wan. Wake now. All is well. You must wake up now. Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan woke with a start, his breathing ragged and loud, then instantly stilled himself, laying frozen, holding his breath. He did not seem aware of his surroundings, of Qui-Gon. Even without a working bond, Qui-Gon could feel his overwhelming terror, his certainty that something terrible was about to happen.

"Obi-Wan," he said sadly. "I won't hurt you. That's past and gone, little one. You're safe now. No one will touch you here."

Obi-Wan lay paralyzed for another moment, then suddenly pulled in a deep, shaky breath, then another one. Slowly, achingly hesitant and uncertain, he raised his face from its hiding place and stared at Qui-Gon with wide, dilated eyes. Gradually they focused, and his face relaxed somewhat in recognition, though he remained quiet and still, just looking at Qui-Gon, waiting for his reaction.

Qui-Gon tentatively caressed his cheek with his fingertips, wanting—needing—to touch the boy, but unwilling to frighten him. Obi-Wan did not flinch this time, but he didn't respond, either. Still, Qui-Gon was encouraged.

"Was it a vision or a dream?" He voiced his question carefully, unsure if the boy would want to answer. But he needed to know what was going on; he was desperate to know, to understand, so he could help the youngster begin his healing.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched, but he seemed relatively calm, only a flicker of a blink revealing any distress. Still, he had not uncurled from his fetal position. "It . . . it was a dream," he said at last, his voice slightly rough and cracked. "I haven't had the visions for a long time."

Qui-Gon waited, but Obi-Wan did not volunteer any more information. "Would you like to tell me about it?" he asked finally, cautiously. "I'd like to know, if you don't mind. If you think it might help."

The boy's gaze shifted uneasily away, and Qui-Gon understood immediately that there would be no answers this morning. Maybe later, when Obi-Wan felt safe and comfortable again, when the worst wounds were healed, maybe then he would be willing to talk. Even now he might respond to an order, but Qui-Gon did not want to walk that path. Too many choices had been denied this child, too much had been asked, demanded, taken from him. Under no circumstances would Qui-Gon ever do anything to remind Obi-Wan of the evil men who had controlled his life, not if he could help it.

"This isn't a dream," Obi-Wan said, looking about the room with slightly more confidence, slowly beginning to uncurl. "I truly thought it was."

"It isn't," Qui-Gon agreed quietly.

"I think . . . I think I'm starting to believe that."

"Good." He dared to touch his boy's cheek again, and was delighted beyond words when Obi-Wan turned his head slightly, leaning into the touch. "Good."

X

It was the smell of food drifting in the open doorway that finally hauled Qui-Gon onto his feet and into the hallway, his stomach beginning to whine with hunger. Before he was two steps away from the door, though, he heard a frantic rustling of cloth in Obi-Wan's bedroom, then quick footsteps, and the boy joined him, looking a little pale around the edges. Qui-Gon paused contritely and put a gentle hand on the slim, trembling shoulder, assuring the youngster of his presence.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn't mean to leave you without a word like that. But I think I smell breakfast. Perhaps Julune left something in the oven for us."

Obi-Wan nodded shakily, but wordlessly reached up to grab Qui-Gon's sleeve in sharp, clenched fingers that revealed just how close to the surface the panic had risen. Qui-Gon could not blame him. But he wondered, a trifle wistfully, how long it would be before the child believed that this was true, that he wasn't going anywhere, that safety was no longer an abstract concept but solid reality.

He pulled the boy up to his side and walked with him toward the kitchen, half of his attention taken with Obi-Wan's reactions to this first look at his new home that wasn't clouded with exhaustion and darkened by a storm. The house was full of light that seemed to all but drift tangibly in the air, floating through the big windows that lined every wall. This half of the house had no flat ceiling, only the high wooden rafters lifting to the point of the roof, which was painted a light, airy white chased with designs of twining branches and leaves in dark green, the rooms separated by solid ten-foot partitions. It had almost the character of a cathedral or temple, combined with the coziness and personality of a home. He could feel Obi-Wan relaxing slightly as he took it in, blinking around in a bit of a daze.

A gentle humming from the kitchen alerted Qui-Gon to the fact that Julune had not gone to work, after all, and they entered to find her putting the last touches on a massive meal, steaming platters on the table, pitchers of juice, bowls of fruit, a pot of tea. Qui-Gon blinked in something like shock. Julune almost never had these fits of domesticity—they usually just took turns preparing simple, easy, familiar meals that they both enjoyed. It was somewhat hit or miss whether these bursts of homeliness would be successful or not, and he was not above being brutally honest about just how awful this or that new recipe had turned out.

He must have made some sound of surprise, for she turned to greet them with a brilliant, sunny smile, opening her arms in welcome. "Good morning, my fine, handsome men! I hope you're hungry!"

Obi-Wan nodded readily, and Qui-Gon turned to squint down at him. "You are?"

"Yes, very," the boy said, nonplussed, blinking up at him innocently. Then he blushed. "Oh, you mean like before . . . No, it was different this time. I was very grateful for any food I got. Guerra and Paxxi did feed me yesterday, but that was yesterday."

Qui-Gon couldn't help but grin broadly at this evidence of a typical teenage boy asserting himself, the normal bottomless pit they all were at this age.

Julune was no less delighted. "Good, then, perhaps you'll do justice to my handiwork! I tell you, it's harder than it looks. Come now, sit down, sit down."

They sat willingly, and observed a moment of silence before beginning, Qui-Gon inwardly thanking the Force with overwhelming gratitude for the gift of having Obi-Wan sitting here with them. For a moment the emotion was almost too much, and he might have started weeping right there at the table. But then Obi-Wan's stomach squeaked insistently, and Julune made a noise that was half exasperation, half pure joy, and started serving him.

Both adults spent more time filling Obi-Wan's plate then attending to their own, and the boy was soon digging in to an enormous pile of food, his small, satisfied noises assuring Julune that her hard work was well-appreciated. For a time there was only contented silence as Obi-Wan concentrated on the serious business of eating as much as he could as quickly as he could. The Jinns ate, too, but barely noticed, finding much more pleasure in watching their lost-and-found boy enjoy his meal.

Eventually Obi-Wan realized that they were both looking at him fixedly, and glanced up, his eyes wide, hand frozen halfway to his mouth with another buttered roll. His gaze flicked nervously between them, and Qui-Gon quickly cleared his throat and looked to his wife, urging her to break off her scrutiny. "So, Julune, are you not going to work today?"

"I called in and requested some time off for family matters," she said easily, quickly following his lead. "I have free time laid up waiting, so it's no trouble. I might go in this afternoon for a couple of hours to do paperwork, though, while you're occupied elsewhere."

Out of the corner of his eye Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan resume his enthusiastic food-shoveling, and continued their conversation, talking easily about mundane matters. Eventually Obi-Wan sat back with a satisfied sigh, one hand falling into his lap while the other held his juice cup, and he gently turned his attention back to the boy. It was time to ask a few question, hopefully easy ones this time. It was still up to Obi-Wan to answer or not as he chose, but he hoped that the boy would feel more comfortable and open now.

"Who are Guerra and Paxxi?" he asked. "You've mentioned them twice now. Were they kind to you?"

The boy nodded readily. "Oh, yes, very kind. They took me away from . . . from . . . well, I don't remember the name of the planet." His brow furrowed momentarily, but quickly cleared. He seemed to be avoiding the bad memories purposely. Not particularly surprising, but not exactly a good sign, either. "Anyway, I escaped and ran into the spaceport. I was lucky to find them, Guerra and Paxxi Derrida, brothers from Phindar. They went out of their way to take me here, and Guerra tended my back, too, and talked to me a lot so I wouldn't be frightened."

Qui-Gon nodded encouragingly, suppressing his frown. Obi-Wan had spoken of "luck," which he knew was not a Jedi concept. Was the boy avoiding thinking of the Force, too? He would be wise to test these waters very carefully.

"Did they remove the Force-collar for you, too?" He tentatively reached out to touch the fading welt on Obi-Wan's neck.

He had heard stories of these abominations used by unscrupulous slavers, even encountered one in his days as a wanderer. It had been in a curiosities shop on an Outer Rim planet, and he had felt the discordant buzzing of its presence in the Force as soon as he entered the door. It had made him feel ill, cold, on edge, even before he touched it. He had bought the horrible thing and destroyed it, ensuring that it could never be used against another Force-sensitive.

Obi-Wan was strong in the Force, and Andros Martin knew it. The red line that circled Obi-Wan's neck now could have been caused by a regular slave-collar, or a thin rope, or any number of other nasty items. But Qui-Gon did not need extraordinary instincts to know that this was not the case.

The boy flinched away from Qui-Gon's finger before it touched the raised mark on his neck, then immediately stilled himself, his gaze on the table in front of him. "No," he murmured. "It wasn't Guerra and Paxxi."

Qui-Gon shifted his hand's momentum without pause, and let it rest on the boy's shoulder. At least Obi-Wan didn't cringe from that, not yet anyway. But the man could see that any more questioning along this line would soon have the boy retreating into himself again, closing up, flinching at every movement, waiting for punishment. Forgetting that he was safe now and no one would hurt him. It would not take much to push Obi-Wan over that thin edge, back into the self-protective behaviors he had learned as a slave. And Qui-Gon did not want that. Not at all.

So, for now, he backed away. He started talking about the garden, the various strange and interesting species he and Julune had gathered from all over the galaxy. Julune joined in, and they fell into their usual easy pattern of teasing and planning and reminiscing. Qui-Gon did not remove his hand from Obi-Wan's shoulder, and eventually, the boy raised his juice to his lips and took another sip. As if that was the signal for a return to normality, or at least what passed for normality now, the boy instantly relaxed and went back to swinging his legs as he had before, listening to the Jinns' conversation with wide-eyed interest.

Qui-Gon knew that he was only putting off the inevitable. All of this would have to be discussed, more for Obi-Wan's well-being than to satisfy his own curiosity. But surely it could wait for a few hours while the boy began to feel safe and at home.

This was only the beginning.