A/N: Hmm, am I boring you guys? Reviews seemed to have dropped off quite a bit . . . Ah, you WANT be to be evil, don't you:D Thanks to those who have reviewed! Love you bunches! And Estel, feel free to translate this into braille whenever you want. In fact, send me an email and I'll send you a word doc.

Chapter 30: The Beginning

They had gone back to the beginning.

Only it was much, much worse this time.

Qui-Gon tried to halt the downward spiral his thoughts were taking, and managed to distract himself, chatting with Julune and Obi-Wan, focusing on the task of washing the dishes. But the weary litany continued in the back of his mind. Gone back. We've gone all the way back to the start, and further still. How long will it take to return to where we were? Will we ever get there?

Strange how such a simple thing could affect him so deeply. It seemed that many simple things had that power, lately. A word, a look, a gesture. Past and present meshed and clashed in his mind, the edges sharply painful where they met, inflamed, grinding, each trying to take over the other.

Obi-Wan had asked to help clean up after breakfast. At any other time, from any other child, this would have been nothing worthy of note. It might even be something to evoke pleasure or pride—most children were not eager to do chores.

But Qui-Gon had seen it in the boy's eyes. The desperation. The need for acceptance, belonging, to make himself a place where he was not a burden. It was all wrong. All, all wrong. This was the way it had been when they first brought Obi-Wan into their home back on Bandomeer, when he was shaky and uncertain, lonely and afraid. This was the way a guest acted, one who was unsure of his welcome. This was not Obi-Wan as he had been when Andros Martin had taken him away.

Qui-Gon badly wanted to confront the boy on this, but could not find the words. How does one accuse a child of feeling uncomfortable? What words could convey his concern over this regression? If he told the boy that his help was not necessary, he would feel rejected, unwanted. Weak, useless. Lost. All the things that he did not want his boy to feel in this house.

The comm trilled, sharp sound echoing in the spacious kitchen. Obi-Wan started violently and dropped the dish he was holding, but Qui-Gon bent smoothly and plucked it from the air before it struck the floor. He straightened and gently brushed his hand over the boy's messy head, now lowered as he stared at the floor. "It's all right," he murmured.

Obi-Wan did not respond, and Qui-Gon sighed silently as he set the dish on the counter and reached for the comm. He flipped on the audio only, unsure of who was calling. "Jinn residence. This is Qui-Gon speaking."

"Jinn! You old pirate! How's it hanging? Loose and floppy or tight and ready?"

Qui-Gon felt his face relax into a broad, happy grin, and quickly hit the vid button. "Guber Triln! You hit planetside already?"

The face of the old arms-runner, bearded, scarred, weathered with too many parsecs and too much lomin-ale, flickered into existence. "Four hours early. Told you so. You ready to go find your kid?"

Qui-Gon blinked. In the chaotic joy of bringing Obi-Wan home, he'd forgotten about why his old friend was coming to Thyferra. All of the terror and anxiety had been completely forgotten, wiped cleanly away like a smear of dust from a window, letting the sun shine through glorious and bright. "Oh, yeah. About that . . ."

The wrinkles in Guber's face deepened considerably as he frowned. "Two days ago you were so scared for the boy that were practically hyperventilating as you begged me to come as fast as I could, and now it's just 'About that'? What's up, Qui-Gon?"

"Well . . ." Qui-Gon reached out with one long arm and snagged Obi-Wan's shoulder, pulling him gently over in front of the comm. "He found us, Guber. This is Obi-Wan. He came home." And he began to laugh, fully and deeply. "Can you believe it? He's here!"

For a moment Guber just stared at the boy through the comm, taking in the bruises, the shyly down-cast eyes, the way he gripped the fabric of Qui-Gon's shirt in his fist. Then he grinned, gaze flicking back to Qui-Gon. "I can see that there's a story behind this. It can wait 'til you're ready for visitors, though. Since we came all this way, the crew might as well have a little vacation. Thyferra's a nice planet."

"Oh dear." Qui-Gon sobered quickly, looking gravely at his old friend. "I'm not going to hear any stories about trashed cantinas and traumatized security people, am I? Am I going to have to pretend I don't know you yet again?"

"Oh, no. Of course not."

Qui-Gon did not believe that exaggeratedly innocent tone, not in the slightest, but he didn't really want to get into it right now. "Very well, then. I'll give you a comm when things have settled down a bit, and you can come over and visit. It's good to see you, old friend."

"Likewise." Guber flipped an insolent little salute and signed off.

Obi-Wan slipped out from under Qui-Gon's arm and returned to the sink, taking a freshly-washed dish from Julune's hand and beginning to dry it without a word. Qui-Gon looked at him with a small frown for a moment, then moved back to resume his previous position, putting the dishes away in the cupboards as Obi-Wan finished drying them. Eventually he and Julune might buy a droid to take care of these small household tasks, but for now there was comfort and peace, even pleasure, in working together in easy silence, their combined efforts making the time pass quickly. The pleasure was thrice-multiplied with Obi-Wan joining them, as well. Everything would be that way, Qui-Gon knew, and he was glad.

After a few moments, though, he finally realized what the conversation with Guber Triln signified. He paused, set down the latest dish, and turned to look at his wife over Obi-Wan's head.

"You know, they don't know yet that Obi-Wan is safe."

Her eyes glinted with amusement, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. "I wondered how long it would take for that to occur to you. This was actually sooner that I expected."

He nodded decisively. "I should call Master Yoda at the Temple."

Qui-Gon stepped back over to the comm and began to stretch his hand toward the numpad.

"No! Please don't!"

The sharp cry startled Qui-Gon, and he turned back. Obi-Wan stood trembling, facing him, eyes wide and panicked, the towel drooping in his nerveless fingers. Julune looked back at him, her eyes frightened and confused.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Please don't call the Temple, Qui-Gon. Please don't. Don't . . . Please, Qui-Gon!"

Qui-Gon heart wrenched at the terror on his boy's face. Though he did not understand, he quickly stood back from the comm, hands open and out-stretched in conciliation. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. It's all right." He tried to make his voice as quiet and soothing as possible. "Why don't you just tell me why you're upset?"

"I . . . I . . ."

The boy's knees began to buckle, and Qui-Gon was there before he sank to the floor, catching him in his arms, kneeling on one knee to be on level with him. "Tell me, Obi-Wan," he encouraged softly, guiding the quivering head to rest on his shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I . . . I don't want to go back. Please, Qui-Gon! I don't want to be a Jedi. I don't want to go to the Agri-Corps. Please don't send me away." The boy was babbling now, the words tumbling out in a frightened rush and building rapidly toward hysteria. "I'll be good, I promise. I'll do whatever you want, be whatever you want, but please, please don't send me away. I don't want to be a Jedi. I don't want . . . don't want . . . please! Don't call the Temple!"

"Shh, Obi-Wan, shhhhh." It was a gentle whisper, strained with tears. He stroked the tangled red-gold locks with trembling fingers, swaying back and forth. Suddenly it all made sense, and it hurt incredibly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, little one. I don't want you to go away, either. I'd never send you away. Never. You belong to me now, Obi-Wan. You belong to me, and you're not going anywhere."

He repeated the mantra over and over again, rocking the shaking child in his arms. "You belong to me. You belong to me. I'll never send you away."

Gradually Obi-Wan's shaking began to ease. His arms rose, tentatively, then slipped around Qui-Gon's neck and tightened with all the strength of his fear, the side of his face crushed against the man's scratchy beard. "Do you mean it?" he whispered. "Do you really, truly mean it?"

"Yes. Yes, I mean it." Qui-Gon looked up, still keeping his temple pressed against the boy's, and met Julune's anguished eyes staring at them from her position frozen beside the sink. She understood the message in his gaze and nodded once, firmly, then quietly left the kitchen.

Obi-Wan still trembled, though not as violently. "You—you truly do? You aren't just saying that so I'll be quiet?"

"No, Obi-Wan. I don't want you to be quiet. I want you to tell me what you're feeling. I want you tell me when you're hurt or afraid or even just lonely, so I can help you as much as I can. I want you to yell, if you need to, scream and cry and sob."

"But you really mean it?" Obi-Wan's mind was obviously stuck on one subject right now. "I belong to you? You don't want me to go to the Temple or the Agri-Corps?"

"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon held the boy even tighter, aware of the wounds on his back but certain that this was more important right now. "I don't want to ever let you out of my sight again. You're my boy now, mine and Julune's. The Jedi can't have you, and that certainly counts for the Agri-Corps, too. You belong to me."

Still the boy shook, arms so tight about Qui-Gon's neck that he began to wheeze for breath, though he tried desperately not to be obvious about it. He didn't want Obi-Wan to let go.

"Obi-Wan, sweetheart, would you like me to prove it to you?"

The boy froze momentarily in astonishment, obviously not believing that this was possible, then nodded against Qui-Gon's neck. "Please," he rasped.

Qui-Gon glanced up, saw Julune waiting for them. "Come now," he said with infinite tenderness, carefully tugging the boy up. "Come sit at the table."

He helped the boy up with his hands about his waist, one slender young arm still wrapped around his neck, and half-carried him over to Julune. Gently he eased him into the chair, kneeling beside him, still stroking his hair. Julune silently spread the duraplast documents out on the table in front of them, then sat and put her hand on Obi-Wan's knee, squeezing gently to remind him of her presence and her love.

Obi-Wan stared at the spread documents, his mouth hanging slightly open, lips quivering, obviously unable to take it in. "What . . . what is this?"

"These are adoption documents, my little one," Qui-Gon said softly, sliding his hand downward to clasp the chilled skin at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck. "Master Heim Shilbey prepared them for us before we left Bandomeer. We were going to talk to you about them, but we never had a chance."

"Adop-adoption documents? But . . . why? Who?"

"You, sweetie," Julune said. "We want to adopt you. We want you to be our son."

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, then slowly raised one hand to cover his mouth, his other arm again tightening about Qui-Gon's neck.

"It's all ready," the man explained. "Heim Shilbey set the process in motion for the Jedi Temple to relinquish guardianship of you. That part was surprisingly easy. Julune and I already signed it where our signatures are necessary. We did that before . . . before Martin came. Then we . . . we put them away, kept them in a box. We thought we would never need them. But now . . ."

He had to pause to breathe. Force, this was hard to say. "We never stopped wanting you, Obi-Wan. We let you go, but we see now that we shouldn't have. I'm sorry we failed you so badly. This is your choice, not ours. Do you want this? Do you want to be our son?"

Obi-Wan turned his head slightly, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You . . . you're asking me this?"

Qui-Gon sighed through his nose. He should have known that this was too soon. It was too much, too overwhelming. It was too much to ask from a boy who had suffered far too much in the past few months. But he had to answer truthfully. "Yes . . . I'm asking you this. I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't be pushing this on you now . . ."

"No." The firmness in Obi-Wan's voice startled him, and he looked up to find those blue-green eyes steady, the dimpled chin firm. "What I meant was . . . You thought you had to ask?" The young head shook slowly. "Where do I sign?"

Julune produced a stylus and carefully laid it on the table, then pointed to an empty line on the first page, another on the third, a last on the sixth. Obi-Wan picked up the stylus. His hand was shaking, and he stared at it until it stopped, then set it against the first line.

"Wait." Qui-Gon gently laid a his hand over the small one against the duraplast, and turned to look the boy fully in the eyes. "Are you sure you want this? This is forever, little one." Like our bond was supposed to be, he thought with old, familiar pain. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" A dozen emotions were poured into that one shouted word, pain and joy, love and grief, fear and relief, and most of all, frustration. "I want this, Qui-Gon. I want to belong to you. Forever!"

Reassured, Qui-Gon gently released his hand and leaned back, smiling through his tears. "All right, all right. I just wanted to make sure."

Obi-Wan nodded firmly, and signed his name once, twice, a third time. Then he tossed the stylus down and fell off the chair into Qui-Gon's ready embrace, sobbing uncontrollably. Julune joined them in only a moment, wrapping her arms around her men with a contented sigh.

They sat there on the floor for a long time, finally the family they should have been from the beginning. Time had no meaning—they were in a place beyond it, aware only of each other, of the feelings that flowed freely between them. There were questions to be asked, decisions to be made, people to be commed, documents to be registered, but none of that mattered. There was only the Jinn family sitting on the cool kitchen floor in the brilliant light of morning, so supremely happy that it did not seem possible that less than twenty-four hours ago all three of them had been desperately miserable.

"Are you my papa now?" Obi-Wan asked eventually, his voice soft and amazed. "And my mama?"

"That's right, son. That's right. And soon you're going to be a big brother."

Obi-Wan just a took another breath of joy and burrowed deeper into their arms.

"And is it all right if I comm the Temple now?" What a joy it was, to dare to tease this precious boy, and to feel him smiling.

"I suppose. As long as it's quick."

Qui-Gon laughed in delight, and pressed him a little tighter.