This was it, then. The last barrier had fallen, spilling its load of pain and grief. Qui-Gon had expected to feel some sort of relief, but instead there was only sadness, deep and dark and endless. He sat there on the couch, holding his frail young son against his chest, stroking his hair, trying to soothe his trembling, and still his limbs felt weighted with his own impotence. There was no balm, no healing—the wounds were open and raw, exposed to his sight, and that of their small Jedi visitor. Had they only made it worse?
Obi-Wan's body was still stiff against him. Qui-Gon continued his calming efforts, hoping to feel a loosening, a relaxation. What was the boy waiting for? It wasn't only pain that held him, but also dread. But surely he could not be afraid now—he had told everything, as he had promised. There was nothing more to fear in the telling he had avoided for so long.
"Little one?" Qui-Gon murmured hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"
The boy's head shook minutely back and forth, a shaky gesture of negation that Qui-Gon didn't believe at all.
"Is there anything else you'd like to tell us? We want to help you, dear boy. That's all we want."
"I told you everything." Obi-Wan's voice was raspy, empty. Hopeless.
Qui-Gon released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He'd half-expected there to be something more, some other horrible abuse that his son had been afraid to reveal earlier. But he sensed now that this was truly all—at least Obi-Wan had been spared some of the more despicable things that sometimes happened to children in slavery. Qui-Gon could be grateful for that small favor, as infinitesimal as it was against all that his boy had suffered.
Still, it was not right. The air ought to be clear now, but it wasn't. Obi-Wan still withheld something, even if it wasn't an actual event. And Qui-Gon couldn't imagine how to convince him to reveal it.
It was then that he understood that this wasn't the last barrier, after all. There was at least one more. And this one would be the most difficult of all to break.
"Yet if nothing is wrong, still there is something that is not quite right."
Qui-Gon glanced at the wizened little Master in surprise. Yoda's eyes were narrowed to thoughtful yellow slits, and one clawed finger rested against his closed lips. He was the very picture of patient expectation, willing to sit there until the mountains were ground down to dust by the friction of the wind before he would stop waiting for an answer to his question.
Obi-Wan shook his head, but it seemed to be more an expression of quiet despair than an actual contradiction. Still, he said nothing.
Qui-Gon breathed a sad little sigh. "Oh, my Obi-Wan. You don't trust me."
The boy flashed him a look of pure pain, and it pierced the man to his core. Then, what was even more agonizing to the older Jinn, he withdrew his arms from around his father's neck and pulled them against his chest. He huddled there within himself, though he still pressed against Qui-Gon's side as if desperately seeking shelter he was not sure of finding.
The man winced. He had not meant to hurt his already aching child. He knew that what he had said was true, though he wasn't sure how, but he obviously should have found a better way of saying it. Perhaps it was time to try a more conciliatory route. Obi-Wan had been pushed and commanded and bullied into revealing his darkest secrets quite enough for one day.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry." All this passed through Qui-Gon's mind in an instant, and he quickly pressed the boy to him and kissed his tangled hair. "I know it was difficult for you to tell us all that you have. Thank you for opening yourself to us. It means a great deal, and I love you even more than I did before. You trusted me with all of your pain, all that you went through, and I am honored. Deeply, profoundly honored. You are amazing, my Obi-Wan, and I cannot be more proud of you.
"But what are you waiting for, little one? Your body is tense with dread, as it is every time you wake. You're expecting something—or someone—to hurt you. Why?"
Obi-Wan shivered all the more, and Qui-Gon drew a breath in pained understanding.
"You're still afraid. Afraid of me? Waiting for me to reject you, to say that you are dark as you believe? It's true that you don't trust me. You don't trust me to continue loving you. Oh, my poor, dear child."
He struggled to breathe. For a time all he could do was hold his shaking son all the tighter, slowly rocking him where they sat, pressing kiss after kiss into his hair, on his wrinkled forehead bent away in hiding. It didn't matter that another man might have found it undignified, that Yoda was watching in silent absorption, that the afternoon was beginning to gray over with gathering storm clouds in the waning of the light. All that mattered was his heartbroken child, and that he didn't understand how much Qui-Gon cared for him, and always would, no matter what.
Eventually he began to find words that expressed this, broken and shaky and desperate to be understood. "I love you. I love you. I'll always love you. I wish you knew that truly. I wish you could trust that. Nothing else matters, my Obi-Wan, my precious son, my sweet little one. It doesn't matter—what you did, what was done to you, the past, the future, any of it. It doesn't change how I feel about you. Nothing can. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I always will."
He repeated this over and over, willing to say it a hundred thousand times, and even more, if that was what it took to convince his boy of this fundamental truth. But it turned out that he didn't need quite that long. For a time Obi-Wan remained stiff and unresponsive under his affectionate outpouring, but gradually the taut muscles began to loosen, and then the thin, shaky arms slid slowly about his waist, and inexorably tightened until the boy's entire body shook with the effort. Then, at last, Qui-Gon felt the rush of relief he had hoped for. It poured over him in a warm wave, and though it passed quickly, it was welcome in its coming.
"I love you. I love you," he found himself still murmuring. "My poor, sweet boy. Do you believe me? I wish you could believe me. Do you?"
Obi-Wan drew a shuddering, shaky breath past the tears he could not shed. "I want to," he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard. "I want to believe. I do."
Qui-Gon sighed, his fingers buried deep in red-gold locks. "That's a start," he murmured tenderly. "That's a good start, sweetheart."
They sat in silent comfort, finally at peace. Nothing was resolved, nothing was finished, but they had come to a resting place in the upward-twining path, an arbor of flowers prepared to shelter a weary traveler for a time of replenishing. Ever so slowly the tension drained away from the boy's weakened body, leaving him limp with exhaustion, his arms still loosely wrapped around his father's solid warmth. Qui-Gon felt him drifting, and was infinitely pleased. His poor, weary little one could do with a rest.
In the fullness of time, Obi-Wan drifted gently into sleep. Still Qui-Gon sat there, content to hold him. And for the first time the boy did not curl up in a protective ball as he slept, unconsciously shielding himself from invisible enemies. He remained loose and relaxed, though the sitting position might have seemed an awkward way to sleep at another time. Qui-Gon wished he had thought of this solution before—it had been so simple, in the end.
Eventually he remembered the tiny Jedi still sitting on the caf table, and looked up to meet his calm citrus gaze. Yoda nodded slowly, acknowledging his regard. Qui-Gon flushed, realizing fully that the Master had seen everything that had just passed, but then he lifted his chin, almost defiantly. He was not the least bit ashamed of anything he had said or done to comfort his son. He knew it was not the Jedi way to be strongly attached, to show emotion openly. But as he had told Obi-Wan, he was not a Jedi. He would not be bound by their rules, and he would feel no embarrassment for being who he was.
Yoda blinked slowly, his expression grave. "Not droids are we, Master Jinn," he said softly. "No shame is there in loving deeply, not for a Jedi, and not for a man. And certainly Obi-Wan needs to know the truth of your heart."
Qui-Gon twisted his lips in an approximation of a smile. Perhaps he would get used to this strange little creature being so knowledgeable about things hidden, eventually. "I think Obi-Wan needs more than that, though," he said softly, unwilling to accept any praise for this. Whatever little good he'd been able to do here was only a small patch of green in a vast barren, it seemed. All that he had to give would not be enough to compensate for this great pain, this yawning emptiness, though he intended to give everything he had, nonetheless.
Yoda nodded gently. "Always cold, is our youngling? Often hungry, is he?"
Again with the knowing things he shouldn't. Qui-Gon blinked, and nodded. "He can never seem to get warm. He's far too thin. And he does eat as much as his stomach will allow at mealtimes, but surely that's normal for a growing boy, especially after three months of want. I thought it was natural—I had hoped that as he grew stronger and healthier, most of that would pass."
"Mostly natural, yes. But think I do now that perhaps it is caused, at least partly, by the loss of the Force. Trying his body is to fill a void that cannot be filled with physical substance. Needs connection to the Light Side, he does. Convince him of this, we must."
"I think he knows that he needs it." Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, his body emptying, feeling Obi-Wan's motionless form shift against him. "He will never be whole without the Force. But he's willing to sacrifice that part of himself, willing to be only half of a person for the rest of his life, just to avoid the mere possibility that he might turn to the Dark." He looked down at the bright head resting on his chest, and smiled sadly, twining his fingers a little deeper into the soft, warm hair. "My brave child," he murmured, as much in wonder as in praise. "You are so incredible, my little one. You have no idea. I am privileged to be allowed to call you mine."
Yoda nodded calmly, his gaze still resting gently on the sleeping boy. They sat in silence, pondering, half-meditating.
As willing as Qui-Gon was to stay here holding his son for the rest of the day, Obi-Wan's too-bony knobs and corners were beginning to dig into his flesh, Even the point of the boy's chin was sharp where it pressed him. Qui-Gon considered this problem for a moment, then carefully shifted himself to a prone position, laying stretched out on the couch with Obi-Wan still on top of him, red-gold head pillowed on his chest. It took some time to get there, and once he had accomplished his goal, Qui-Gon paused, staring down at the boy with bated breath, hoping he hadn't wakened him.
But Obi-Wan breathed a sweet little sigh and unconsciously snuggled down into the more comfortable position, settling himself firmly against his father's warmth. Qui-Gon carefully arranged the afghans over them, using a touch of the Force to spread a corner over his large feet, quite a bit further down than Obi-Wan's. Then he lay with his head on the arm of the couch, one thumb absently stroking his son's upper arm as he stared up at the ceiling, letting his thoughts drift.
Idly Qui-Gon let his mind wander through the details of the boy's long, hard story, wincing at their harshness, their sharp edges, but allowing himself to study and understand. Qui-Gon had been right to expect horrors. Obi-Wan had been manipulated and used from the very beginning, his emotions and perceptions played with, his mind and spirit forced into roles completely alien to him.
Julune was going to be enraged when he told her about it. That her son had been so completely and systematically crushed, over a long period, by several different people . . . She was going to be utterly livid, and would probably need to yell a bit. Perhaps it would be better to take her to another room, if Obi-Wan would be willing to stay with Yoda for an hour or so. And what would Julune think of Yoda? Qui-Gon wondered. He was willing to wager that she would accept him, once she saw how he related with Obi-Wan. The small Jedi certainly had a tenderness for their boy, and Obi-Wan seemed to trust him in return, as least as much as he trusted Qui-Gon. Though not himself, more was the pity.
His poor boy, still living in fear of himself. It wasn't right at all. No child should think such things of himself, least of all this brave, kind, selfless being of light. He wasn't dark; he wasn't! Qui-Gon would never believe so.
They would need time to convince Obi-Wan of this, though, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure how it would be accomplished. Perhaps Yoda would have an idea. He glanced at the little Master, and wasn't surprised to see him utterly still, legs crossed, back straight and eyes closed in classic meditation style. He seemed to be centuries old—surely he had encountered something like this before. If he didn't know, Qui-Gon had no idea what they could do.
No, the last barrier hadn't fallen after all. It had only been identified.