A/N: Wow, more than five hundred reviews! That's so cool! Thanks to everyone who has ever dropped me a line in this time. I'd like to take the time to thank you all by name, but that would take a long, long time. Thanks!
Just a quick note: I know that a lot of the descriptions in the last chapter of what Obi-Wan was forced to do in the fields were horrible and shocking. But the truth is that much of that was not made up. That was exactly how many slaves in the American South were treated, only even worse, in some cases. For instance, if they beat their quota by a significant amount, it would be raised so that they would have to make that amount from that time forward.
And here's another chapter for you. This was hard to write, and I suspect that the next chapter will be even more difficult.
Chapter 38: All Was Gray
"It was different in the house," Obi-Wan said, almost musingly.
Qui-Gon did his best not to react too strongly to this. Better to take everything matter-of-factly, just let the boy tell his story. They could feel later. "Oh?" he asked, casually twining his fingers through his son's.
Obi-Wan nodded and leaned his temple against Qui-Gon's chest, as peaceful and at rest as he could be. "In some ways it was better. I think that's why my master wanted me to work in the field for a while, though he obviously bought me for a different use. Because I knew how bad it was out there, they could threaten me with it. It worked well. Every time someone ordered me to do something, 'or else go back to the berries,' I did my best to follow the command. But sometimes I couldn't help failing . . ." He stopped, thinking, remembering.
"Did they ever follow through on that threat? Send you back?"
"A few times. If I fought, or was openly defiant. Once because my master said I was being too lazy, and I needed a reminder of what real work was. It would only be for a day or two, and that was enough. Except once."
Obi-Wan shuddered. Qui-Gon held the tea for him to drink again, and looked over at Master Yoda for guidance. He didn't know if he was dealing with this correctly. But the small Jedi sat still and silent, his eyes half-shut as if in contemplation, clawed hands clasped loosely in his lap. Perhaps there really was no correct way to deal with any of this. Perhaps all they could do was make it up as they went along.
Qui-Gon set the tea aside, and Obi-Wan slipped his small, cool hand into the man's large, tan one without prompting, the gesture hidden under the afghans wrapped around them. Qui-Gon's heart gave a little surge of happiness. The small action might not have meant much to somebody else, and it did not mean that this was over—not by a long shot—but it meant more than the galaxy to Qui-Gon.
"What were your duties in the house? They were lighter than fieldwork, I hope."
The boy nodded slowly. "Mostly cleaning, running errands, waiting on my master. It didn't wear me out the way fieldwork did, anyway. But I almost missed that. It was easier to sleep when I was too tired to think. Sometimes in the house I didn't sleep at all, and then the next day I would be tired, and make mistakes."
Qui-Gon knew without asking that making mistakes was never a good thing. Obi-Wan didn't have to go into details. Qui-Gon could imagine. He doubted that anything he could envision would be worse than what had actually happened.
Mentally steeling himself, he asked the next question he dreaded. "You said . . . you said that Belimi bought you for a different use. What did you mean by that?"
For a moment that seemed to stretch into forever, Obi-Wan was silent. Qui-Gon fought to keep his fists from clenching, his entire body from seizing up with tension. The most horrible possibilities whirled through his mind, taunting. The rage threatened to wash over him again, and he fought it back, waiting until he knew just how powerful it ought to be. Yoda slowly raised his head and looked at him, strange, half-lidded eyes piercingly bright, and Qui-Gon could not feel ashamed, though he knew he ought to.
"My master . . . Martin . . ." Obi-Wan shifted slightly, then seemed to fight to hold still, to keep himself from shattering. "M-Martin said that Force-sensitive slaves were more valuable. Master Belimi knew what he wanted me for when he bought me. I don't know how much he paid, but he often told me that I had to earn my keep, had to justify the expenditure. So I had to, I had to . . ."
His breathing quickened. Qui-Gon's arms tightened.
The youngster squeezed his eyes shut and pressed them against his father's chest, refusing to look at Yoda, or anything else for that matter. "I had to use the Force. And it wasn't for defense or enlightenment. I don't know if it was of the Light. Everything was confused, murky, but if, if I fought . . ."
He shivered, his breath coming ragged, but continued before Qui-Gon could reassure him. "When I was young, at the Temple, and even on Bandomeer, everything was clear. I saw choices in black and white—one was right and one was wrong. It wasn't always easy to choose right, but I always knew what it was. Not in the master's house. Never there. It was gray, it was all gray, and so was I."
He squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable, and tried to push himself away from Qui-Gon. The man would not have it, still holding him firmly, but his voice was gentle and open. "What's wrong? I know this is hard for you to talk about, but up to this moment you seemed to appreciate me being near. What has changed?"
Obi-Wan twisted abruptly in Qui-Gon's grasp, but was far too weak to fight him off. The man winced, though, when he caught the glisten of tears on eyes that were murky, more gray than blue, clouded with distress. "Mmph," Obi-Wan grunted, and collapsed against the stalwart chest, clutching his father's tunic. "Sorry," he whispered.
He panted, struggling for words, finding them in fitful bunches, hard-fought and tight-pulled with the effort of searching. "Sorry. I—I'm . . . talking about this . . . I feel . . . feel dirty. I should have fought harder. I shouldn't have let him . . . shouldn't have agreed . . . shouldn't have gone along with, with using the Force like that. It was . . . tarnished. Low. If it wasn't dark, it was . . . heading that way. I should have fought harder."
Qui-Gon fought to keep his voice steady, his breath even, to keep from feeding Obi-Wan's distress with his own. He buried his fingers in the boy's long, silky hair and held on. "What happened when you fought, son?"
His child trembled. "They . . . punished me. Beat me."
"It was not your choice, little one. You were given no choice, and there is no blame in this for you."
"But I still could have . . . could have . . ."
"Could have what? Kept fighting? Provoked them to kill you? That's what would have happened, my precious boy. Belimi obviously didn't want you in the field—he only had you work there so he had something to hold over you. Defiance would only have given him a reason to hurt you more, and eventually kill you. I am not sorry at all that you obeyed, because that meant that you survived, and you were able to come back to me. I'm glad, Obi-Wan."
He shook the boy slightly in his arms to emphasize this, his voice fierce. "I'm glad you obeyed. You did what you had to in order to get through this, I could not be more happy. I'm proud of you. You endured everything they did, and forced you to do, all the abuse and privation you suffered. I'm couldn't be more proud, and more happy to have you as my son. You are not dirty, and you are not tainted. You shine with light. You are my Obi-Wan. I could not be more proud of you."
"How can you be proud of me?" Obi-Wan half-whispered, half-wailed. "You don't even know what I did! Not only in my master's study, but after . . ."
"It doesn't matter," Qui-Gon proclaimed recklessly. "I don't care what you had to do. You came back. Nothing you did in those terrible weeks could change how much I love you, and admire your strength and your light. You're here now, and that doesn't matter."
Far from reassuring the child, this seemed only to make him shake harder. "But you don't know," he whispered, "you don't know what you're saying . . . It does matter! It does! It must! You don't know . . ."
"Tell us what you speak of," Yoda countered calmly. "Then, let us judge whether it is worth your fear, will you?"
Obi-Wan relaxed abruptly, leaning bonelessly against his father. He nodded wearily, sweat-damp face rubbing Qui-Gon's tunic. "Yes. I can do that."
Qui-Gon gave Yoda an appreciative glance, grateful for the peace the Jedi's quiet order had brought, but he still did not let go of the back of Obi-Wan's head. "I meant what I said, though," he said quietly, lowering his face to murmur into his boy's ear. "I don't care what you had to do. I can only love you more, be even more proud of you. Never less."
Obi-Wan nodded uncertainly. He obviously wanted to believe that, but couldn't quite make the leap. Qui-Gon was content. He would prove himself to this precious boy if it took the rest of his life.
"Now," he said as calmly as he could, considering what he was about to ask. "Tell us what you had to do in your master's study."
The boy released a muffled whimper, completely involuntary. "The first time . . . the first time he took me in there, and removed the collar from my neck . . . I couldn't believe it. I thought he was letting me escape. But I couldn't . . . couldn't . . . nothing I did worked. So the next time, I just stood there and waited. I used . . . I had to use the Force like, like a weapon. My master had me stand in the corner whenever one of his business associates came to visit. He had a lot of those. If they wanted refreshments or something it was my job to take care of them, but that was just a cover. Really I was there to, to spy on my master's visitors, look into their minds, watch for dishonesty, duplicity, and—and use the Force against anyone who showed himself to be an enemy. It was so . . . so hard, and sometimes I didn't succeed, and I always felt awful. It made me sick, sometimes. I wouldn't be able to eat afterward, not that they gave me all that much to eat, anyway. It went against everything I learned in the Temple about using the Force for defense, about respecting life, and only invading another's mind in the most extreme of circumstances. I couldn't pretend it wasn't happening, but I wanted to."
He pulled in a hard, shuddering breath and fell silent, hiding his face against his father's chest. Qui-Gon stroked his hair, letting a small amount of relief trickle through him like a refreshing stream through a parched palin. He had expected something much, much worse. But this obviously still caused his son a great deal of distress. Obi-Wan felt that he had violated some sort of Jedi code, and even though the Jedi had rejected him, he had obviously never rejected their teachings.
Then he realized that the boy was looking up at him, fearfully, expectantly, and he smiled and kissed the wrinkled forehead. "Still proud. Still love you."
Yoda nodded thoughtfully. "Hear your own words, did you? 'In the most extreme of circumstances,' you said. Think these circumstances were not extreme, do you?"
Obi-Wan brow furrowed again, this time in thought, a small frown tugging at his mouth. "Well . . . I suppose they were. Perhaps. Do you think so?"
The small green head bobbed slowly. "That I do. But matter my opinion does not, not as much as yours. This you must decide for yourself, if the circumstances warranted your actions. Think so I do, as does your father. But you must also forgive yourself for being young and small and forced into a situation that was too much for you. Say I do that it was no fault of yours, but this you must decide to believe."
The boy stared away, his eyes distant. The older beings gave him some time to absorb these new thoughts, Yoda departing to brew more tea, Qui-Gon simply continuing his calming touch his son's head and back. When the Jedi returned and sat on the table, waiting, Obi-Wan looked at him, and slowly nodded. Then he looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes, and the man could have melted right there. He held himself together through supreme will, aware that they had much more to discuss.
"Better?" he murmured.
"Mm hmm." Obi-Wan made an affirmative noise, sniffing almost silently, then raised one hand as if in supplication, pausing a whisper away from touching the big man's face.
Qui-Gon did not hesitate. He caught the small, thin hand in his and again clasped it to his cheek, with only a slight hesitation to press a kiss against the chilly palm. "Are you ready to go on?"
The boy trembled, but his eyes did not waver. "Y-yes. I, I want you to know everything. But, Papa Qui-Gon, I have a lot more to tell you . . ."
"That's all right. I want to hear everything you have to say."
Obi-Wan nodded, drew a deep breath, and went on.