Chapter 34: Frail Barriers

Qui-Gon was hopeful that a breakthrough had been made with Obi-Wan's soft, embarrassed confession. The youngster had begun to speak of what he had been through, though it obviously brought him pain. Qui-Gon only hoped that he and Julune had reacted correctly. Had they been too shocked? Not enough? They had been glad to finally learn something of the time they had spent apart, but had it brought any relief to their son, or only hurt him more?

It was with some trepidation that Qui-Gon sat down to breakfast the next morning, offering his family a hesitant smile. Julune seemed to be trying to settle them into normality as quickly as possible—breakfast was the usual scrambled girok eggs and toast with fruit spread, not the incredible feast she had made yesterday, that day of celebration and heartache and terrible understanding mixed with unbearable confusion.

Obi-Wan ate heartily, Qui-Gon was glad to see. But he still did not join in his parents' light-hearted conversation, only listened with quiet concentration. Julune would have more to do at work, today—her trainee had missed her. And Qui-Gon was aware that the garden was in desperate need of attention. They still hadn't staked those fior bean plants, and the task could wait no longer.

"Would you like to go outside today, Obi-Wan?" he asked, gently turning his attention to the boy. The garden on Bandomeer had always been a haven for Obi-Wan, and it was there that he had first begun to reach back to Qui-Gon, making his own connections, sharing his thoughts voluntarily. Hopefully the garden here would have the same effect.

But Obi-Wan seemed to shrink in his seat, his eyes falling, and quickly shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Are you sure? The sunlight will do you good. You could help me stake the beans."

Obi-Wan seemed to waver, but still did not look up. His shoulders hunched, rising slightly as if to protect his ears. "Please . . . I'd rather not. Could I stay inside?" He glanced up anxiously, then stared back down again. "I won't make a mess. I won't be any trouble. I'll clean up, if you want."

"That won't be necessary."

Qui-Gon reached out to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. He hesitated when his son flinched, jerking back slightly, then holding himself carefully still. Qui-Gon felt his mouth depress into a grim line, but determinedly continued the motion, resting his palm lightly on the thin shoulder.

"It's all right, son. You aren't any trouble, and I couldn't care less if you made a hundred messes. In fact, feel free. It will give Julune something to do when she comes home besides complain about her boss."

Julune made an exasperated sound and smacked him playfully across the table, though regret instantly flashed across her face when Obi-Wan flinched at the movement. "That's right," she hastened to agree, her voice aggressively cheerful. "I like cleaning up messes made by my fine, handsome men." She made a face at Qui-Gon, though, and stuck out her tongue, though her eyes still flicked anxiously to Obi-Wan.

"Is there a reason that you don't want to go outside?" Qui-Gon asked, making his voice as gentle as he could. "Is there anything you'd like to tell us? Anything at all?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, then shook his head, bright reddish locks all but brushing the tablecloth, his head was bent so low.

Qui-Gon held his breath for a moment, then let it out in a sigh. "There's something that we need to tell you, though."

Julune looked at him curiously, but Obi-Wan remained still, a small statue of frozen stone, lined with worry and dark with hidden pain.

The man swallowed. "You remember how I said that we would get a Jedi if we had to? Well, Master Yoda agreed to send someone, for your protection. He'll be here in a couple of days."

Julune's forehead just wrinkled—they had already discussed this while the boy slept. She had not been happy, and had threatened to move out while the Jedi was here, though they both knew she would not be able to bear being so far away from their Obi-Wan. It had taken some thought and adjustment for her to accept the idea, but she had done so.

But now, Obi-Wan suddenly jerked to his feet, tearing his shoulder out of his father's grasp, and walked to the window. He stood beside it instead of in front, not exposed to the outside, and looked out obliquely, his entire body shaking. His arms wrapped tightly around his middle, a frail barrier of protection that didn't seem to reassure him at all.

His parents exchanged a concerned glance, and Qui-Gon rose cautiously, absently wiping his fingers on his napkin and dumping it on his chair. He stepped closer to the boy, making sure that his steps were loud, so the youngster would know he was coming. "Obi-Wan?"

The boy's shoulders hunched up even more, and he visibly drew into himself, huddling even as he stood leaning against the wall. "Sweetheart, what's the matter? Are you angry? I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you. I just wanted to make sure you would be as safe as possible. I know the Jedi have not been good to you. Should I call the Temple and tell Master Yoda to forget it?"

For a moment it seemed that the boy would not respond. But then his head shook, jerkily, once from side to side. He leaned more heavily against the wall, his knees bending under his weight.

Qui-Gon dared to take another step closer. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing." It was a bare whisper, almost expressionless, though sadness laced it like the scent of incense in a house of mourning.

"I don't believe that." Qui-Gon took one more doubtful step.

He didn't want to push the child, didn't want to force him into talking, but he was beginning to wonder if that was the best course. It certainly wouldn't do Obi-Wan any good to let him simply hide all this away, burying it in his heart. This kind of pain would only congeal, harden, fester, if not aired, sorted out, and allowed to drift away. Would it be better to confront the boy, make him talk about what was hurting him?

Qui-Gon ached at the images of that hypothetical conversation. It would hurt the boy enormously, and it would be Qui-Gon who had caused it. He could barely handle the thought, shifting it gingerly in mental hands like a rock that had been sitting too near a fire, imprudently lifted and handled. Could he stand to do it, to cause his child such agony, even to help him?

"I don't believe that," he said again, a little stronger, and took the last step, standing just behind his shaking son. He laid his hand on the skinny shoulder, glad when Obi-Wan didn't jerk away at the touch, and slid it down his upper arm, trying to rub some life back into the chilled, rigid flesh.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched, and began to quicken. Qui-Gon could feel the struggle in him, even without a connection in the Force. Slowly, he slipped his other arm around the boy's chest, hugging him back against himself. "Tell me," he whispered against the tangled hair. "Are you angry?"

For a moment the silence held, shivering and fragile. Then Obi-Wan swallowed and shook his head. Suddenly he spun around in Qui-Gon's arms and latched onto him, holding with all the ferocity of despair. Qui-Gon held him just as tightly.

"I'm sorry, Papa! I'm sorry! You called me your brave boy once, but I'm not, I'm not at all! I'm afraid! I'm afraid all the time! Sometimes I don't even know why, but I'm always afraid. I don't want to go outside—I don't want to see the garden—I don't want to visit more of Thyferra. I don't want to see anyone or talk to anyone, because I'm afraid. I don't know why I'm so sure that Andros Martin is going to come, but I am. I am so, so frightened, and it's silly and stupid and I'm a horrible coward! I'm always afraid, always, even of the Jedi, the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy. I'm such a coward! Even if the Jedi wanted me, I could never be one, not anymore. I'm a silly, stupid, useless weakling and I'll never amount to anything! I'm sorry! You deserve a better son. You should get rid of me just as soon as you can."

"Never," Qui-Gon whispered, his throat almost too tight for speech. He glanced over at Julune, and she nodded, her eyes sorrowful. After Obi-Wan's revelation of last night, she knew she would not be much help with this. It was up to Qui-Gon to do what he could for their wounded little one.

"Let's go to the common room," Qui-Gon said quietly. "We have a lot to talk about."

This seemed to be the pattern with Obi-Wan now—silence fraught with tension until another barrier broke and pain spilled out like chipped and broken obsidian, black and gleaming wet with tears in the pale radiance of moonlit dark. One by one the walls were falling, and each spilled a load greater and more painful than the last. How many were there? It didn't matter, Qui-Gon decided. They would keep going until all were gone, no matter how long it took, how much it hurt all three of them.

Obi-Wan nodded, but seemed too drained to move. Qui-Gon wordlessly scooped him up and carried him out, the frail body no burden at all in his great arms. The boy shivered, as he did almost constantly now. If he had been too thin before Martin took him away, he was seriously underweight now, and it was a continuous struggle to keep him warm.

In the common room Qui-Gon sat in a corner of the couch, still holding his son on his lap. He grabbed the blue and white afghan with one hand, the one Obi-Wan had seemed to take a liking to, and wrapped it around them both.

"Now," he said with infinite tenderness, pressing the child to his heart. "It seems that there are some things I need to make clear to you."

It took a long time, and Qui-Gon was not entirely sure that the boy believed what he said. But he pressed on, determined to continue, to repeat these very basic truths a hundred million times if that was what it took to convince his precious child that he was not a coward, or a weakling, that he was wonderful and precious, that the Jinns would never find a better son anywhere in the universe, and that taking everything into consideration, fear was perfectly reasonable at this point. And that it would get better eventually, no matter how long it took.

"You have to hold on to that, my little one," Qui-Gon said firmly, squeezing the boy a little tighter to emphasize this point. "I know it's hard to believe right now, but I want you to try. You won't always feel like this. There's nothing wrong with feeling like you do, and I don't blame you one tiny bit. But it won't always be like this. You're going to be all right. Everything will get better with time. I need you to believe that."

Obi-Wan nodded, the movement small and faint against Qui-Gon's chest, and twisted his hands a little more tightly in his father's tunic. But Qui-Gon was not sure that he actually believed it.

Come to that, he wasn't sure that he himself entirely believed it, either. Of course he had realized that his boy could not have escaped his sufferings unscathed, but he had not realized how deep and wide the damage ran. Every further glimpse shocked him anew, driving great spikes of sadness into his heart. What else was there to discover? He didn't know if he could stand any more.

"It's all right," Obi-Wan said at last, his voice small but firm. He lifted his eyes slightly to look at his father from under eyelashes that were crusted with dried tears. "The Jedi coming, I mean. I'll be all right. Just don't leave me alone, please."

"Never," Qui-Gon promised. He was a little surprised by this sudden reversal, but willing to accept it as yet another sign of this child's incredible inner courage, no matter what he thought of it himself. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

"I do." Obi-Wan laid his cheek back against Qui-Gon's chest and closed his eyes. "I do."

And for now, that had to be enough.

X

Over the next couple of days it was the small things, the incidental little everyday habits, the unconscious gestures and signs, that showed Qui-Gon just how terribly Obi-Wan had been changed. He had known that there would be some, of course, but he hadn't realized how many, how all-pervasive this new order of things was. There were the big things, yes, like the discomfort around Julune, but it was so much more than that . . .

The boy had never been loud and rambunctious, but in the last few days they'd had together on Bandomeer, he'd begun to open up, and his brilliant smile had frequently lit the room. He had talked with both adults easily and without reservation, giggling at their gentle teasing and little jokes, sharing whatever came to mind. Now he was nearly always silent, unnervingly so. Sometimes Qui-Gon could almost have forgotten the boy was in the room, were he not constantly aware of him anyway because of his irrational but persistent fear that he would somehow disappear without Qui-Gon's eye constantly on him.

Obi-Wan always slept curled up in a ball, now, pressed into a corner of his bed. When sitting on the couch, he drew his knees up and kept his arms close to his body, diminishing his already slight presence. At the dinner table he seemed almost to sink into his chair, minimizing the clatter of utensil on dish, eating slowly and quietly. It wasn't so much that he was afraid of the Jinns—he had simply learned to make himself as small as invisible as possible to avoid attention, for attention brought only evil. Now he continued these measures of self-protection without thinking.

He still flinched from casual touch, though he always looked ashamed immediately afterward, as if it was his fault that Qui-Gon felt a twinge of pain every time he saw fear flash through those blue-gray eyes. If the man approached him slowly, letting him see what was coming, he accepted the hand on the shoulder or the gentle hair-ruffle with a heart-wrenching stoicism, as if it didn't comfort him at all, but he bore it for Qui-Gon's sake. He rarely responded, not even so much as a blink, or a loosening of tension in his perpetually guarded shoulders.

And there was the way he didn't want to go outside, not even to visit the garden, to feel the sun. The way he watched the windows fearfully from as great a distance as was possible, waiting for someone to come after him. The way he followed Qui-Gon silently from room to room, and nearly panicked if he momentarily lost sight of him. The way he still shook his head regretfully, eyes downcast, whenever either adult dared broach the subject of whether he was able yet to talk about what had happened to him.

Every time Qui-Gon noticed one of these small changes, he hurt a little more. Terrible things had happened to this boy, his beloved son, and he could not fix it, could not erase and blow it away from the memory of the galaxy as he longed to do with every fiber of his being. It seemed that nothing he could offer would ever be enough to assuage this pain, to balm these soul-deep wounds. He wanted to understand, yearned to know everything his Obi-Wan had suffered and endured, but at the same time, he was afraid to find out. The events must have been beyond horrible, and Qui-Gon didn't know if he would be able to stand knowing exactly what had been done to his son, his child. Would he not fly to pieces in rage and grief? He was on the edge of doing so now, with almost no knowledge at all.

They had fallen into another pattern of stasis, none of them willing to make another move for fear of causing yet more pain. Qui-Gon knew that the next barrier would have to be broken soon, and he dreaded it. Surely this outpouring would be too much for any of them to handle. But neither could they stay here. Obi-Wan was not healing, and Qui-Gon and Julune could no more bear to leave him in pain than they could bear to cause him more.

It was a vicious dilemma, and Qui-Gon could see no solution for it. Down each path lay suffering, and felt himself to be as guilty of cowardice as Obi-Wan had been afraid he was. It seemed that their idea of trying to handle things on their own was not working out as well as they had hoped.

And then the Jedi from the Temple finally arrived.