Qui-Gon was roused from a light doze by the faint sense that he was being watched. The feeling was not unpleasant, neither sharp nor hostile. It was a gentle regard, curious and intent, with a touch of wonder.
He let his eyes flutter open, and found Obi-Wan laying there with his arms folded on the big man's chest, pointed chin resting on his forearms as he stared down into his father's face. The boy blinked slowly, his face solemn, still bearing the traces of spent tears and the marks of deep weariness, but no longer constricted in an agony of grief that denied words, denied release. He did not look away when he noticed the man looking back at him, and Qui-Gon smiled, greatly pleased by this small sign of returning confidence.
"Good afternoon, Obi-Wan," he said softly. "I love you. How are you feeling?"
The boy managed a tiny shrug, even as awkward as it was in his current position, his shoulder blades shifting slightly under Qui-Gon's arm still draped loosely over him. "I'm all right, I guess. Just . . . thinking."
"Care to share?"
Obi-Wan pulled in a breath, his back again shifting under Qui-Gon's arm, then lowered his head to rest his cheek over the man's heart. For a time he was silent, apparently listening, though it took Qui-Gon a long moment to realize that it was his own heartbeat that held the boy's rapt attention. He said nothing, just wrapped his arm more securely around his youngster, letting his fingers wander into the soft, red-gold mop again. He would not push Obi-Wan to talk, not now. Enough demands had been made for one day. Now was the time to rest, to recuperate and reconnect, remind the child that he was safe here and had nothing to fear.
Eventually Obi-Wan spoke, though, his voice soft and far-away.
"I dreamed of this."
"Did you?" Qui-Gon pressed the boy a little closer, continuing to stroke his hair.
"Mm-hmm." Obi-Wan rolled his face upward to look at Qui-Gon, large blue-green eyes blinking dreamily in his too-pale, too-hollow face. "Sometimes it was all I could do, the only thing that helped, when things got very bad. To dream. I dreamed a lot."
Qui-Gon was a bit surprised to realize that he could still ache just a little more. He'd thought that he must have reached the limit long ago, but now he learned again that that was not so. "Do you mean you dreamed awake, little one?"
"Yes. I dreamed awake." Obi-Wan shifted slightly, but only to press himself more fully against the man's side, half-leaning on the back of the couch. "Whenever I could, I remembered the good things, the great kindness you and Mama Julune showed to me. Thank you for giving me so many good memories. They helped a lot."
"I'm glad, Obi-Wan. Very glad. I wish I could have given you more." I wish you never needed them so badly.
"It was enough," the boy assured him softly. His voice still seemed detached, but quite serious. "Sometimes I wasn't sure if certain things had truly happened or if I just made them up, but both helped me. Still do, sometimes." He buried his nose in Qui-Gon's tunic, muffling his words slightly, though the man still understood each syllable with a terrible, pin-point clarity. "A lot of times. I needed this. Maybe I still do."
Qui-Gon wrapped his other arm around his little one, rubbing his back gently. "Anytime you need this, I'll be here. You don't even have to say a word. Just come."
"I will," Obi-Wan promised.
It seemed he had nothing else to say, then. They just rested there in silence, enjoying the sweetness and warmth of the afternoon.
Just about when Qui-Gon realized that it was almost time for Julune to come home, Obi-Wan suddenly lifted his head, three little wrinkles appearing between his eyebrows.
"Where is Master Yoda?" he asked, young voice urgent, worried.
Qui-Gon blinked, then glanced around the common room, realizing that he hadn't seen the small Jedi for quite some time. "I don't know, sweetheart. I must have dozed off for a bit, and didn't see where he went." Though he didn't understand the reason for Obi-Wan's sudden panic, he was anxious to soothe it. "I'm sure he's all right. He's a Jedi Master."
Obi-Wan's eyes seemed to get even wider at that, a small shudder passing through his slight frame. He twisted his fingers in Qui-Gon's tunic and pulled sharply, emphasizing his concern. "Well, is he in the kitchen? Don't let him muck about in the kitchen! We cannot have him cooking!"
Qui-Gon froze for a moment, utterly nonplussed. Then, quite to his own surprise, a deep laugh rumbled up through his belly, shook his chest, and roared out of his mouth in a sharp blast of merriment. Obi-Wan started at the sound, then stared at him in perplexity—this was obviously a very serious matter to him.
Qui-Gon got himself under control with some difficulty, lacing his fingers over Obi-Wan's back in reassurance. "I'm sorry, dear one. I didn't mean to, to . . ." He choked back his laughter and tried again. "I take it that you've . . . ahem . . ." He cleared his throat, fighting away a squeak. ". . . you've tasted the results of Master Yoda's culinary expertise before?"
The boy nodded with grave solemnity.
"Is it that bad, my little one?"
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "Maybe not bad . . . I don't know how to explain it. It's . . . it's weird. Really weird. I don't know what he puts in that stuff, but I don't think he gets it at the regular markets."
Try as he might, Qui-Gon could not prevent another chuckle from rumbling through his abdomen, shaking the slight body that rested atop him. "My dear child. For someone with such an enormous appetite, you certainly have a very narrow palate."
The wrinkles on the boy's forehead only deepened.
Qui-Gon continued to grin up at him. "Would you disagree?"
"Papa, I don't even know what that means!"
Laughing again, Qui-Gon pressed the boy tightly to him, reveling in the fact that he was allowed to do so, that Obi-Wan didn't stiffen or pull away. And he was suddenly glad—fiercely, fiercely glad. Glad that Obi-Wan didn't know what that meant, that there were still words he didn't understand, that there were some things he didn't know, hadn't yet learned. That he was still a child. That Qui-Gon and Julune still had time to teach him about being young, about family, about belonging.
About love unconditional and unchanging.
He sobered slightly and pulled back. Obi-Wan propped himself up on his father's chest again, and Qui-Gon kissed him in the middle of his wrinkled forehead. "Thank you, Obi-Wan."
It didn't seem possible, but the boy's confusion increased. "Whatever for?"
"For being who you are. My brave, selfless, honest, always-hungry little one." He grinned, then let it fade, looking Obi-Wan seriously in the eye. "You must know that it was very brave, what you did. Telling me and Master Yoda everything you went through, even though you were frightened to share these hard things. Your courage continually astonishes me."
Obi-Wan shook his head, his cheeks flushing gently in the softening light, but his eyes remained steady. "I didn't feel brave. I felt desperate, and lost, and very, very scared."
"My dear boy, you must know that courage is not a lack of fear. That is just foolishness. True courage is going on despite fear, to do what you know is right despite every obstacle that stands in your way, including your own healthy, completely-understandable-and-justifiable fear."
The youngster blinked once, slowly. "No, Papa. I don't know that at all."
This time Qui-Gon's smile was somewhat sad, though still genuine and warm. "Then you'll just have to take my word for it, all right? You are the bravest boy I've ever met. Never doubt it." He stroked his thumb over the boy's smooth cheek, gently rubbing away the tracks of dried tears. "By your own courage and grit and plain, stubborn tenacity, you passed through your fear, through all the trials you suffered, and you've come out the other side. You made it, Obi-Wan. You're safe now."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes with a tiny heave of a sigh and leaned into the touch, trusting, content.
Qui-Gon echoed his sigh, and nudged the tip of the pert little nose with the pad of one finger. "You deserve a rest, now. But I'm afraid that I have to ask you to be brave in yet another matter."
The boy's eyes fluttered reluctantly open, looking back at him gravely. He seemed to firm his shoulders, then, as if determined to be as brave as Qui-Gon thought he was. "What is it?"
Qui-Gon kept his voice gentle, unsure of how his son would react to this. "You know that your mother will be coming home from work soon. She's been just as worried for you as I have been. I'd like to . . . I'd like to tell her what you told us, if you don't feel up to repeating the story again. If you don't mind that, if you trust me, and trust her. But if you don't want me to, I won't."
Again the youngster blinked. "Oh, that? That's easy. I want Mama Julune to know, truly. I was going to ask you to tell her for me, actually."
"Oh. Well, that's settled then."
Qui-Gon chuckled in relief. It felt wonderful to be able to laugh, even if it was for the strangest reasons. And even more wonderful to see his boy's faint, hesitant smile, and to be hopeful that soon this would be a full-grown grin, and that in time the boy's own sweet, lovely laugh would return. In time.
"I'm really not brave, though." Obi-Wan seemed unable to let go of this idea. "You know I'm not. I'm scared to be alone. I'm scared to go outside—I, I'm even scared to talk, most of the time. And worst of all, I'm . . ." His voice lowered to bare a whisper, soft and ashamed. "I'm afraid of my mama. I don't want to be. I—I don't want any of that. But I can't—I can't help it. I don't want this, Papa. I don't want this at all." Gradually his voice rose as he spoke, until this last statement was strident, just short of an exclamation. "I don't want it. I don't want it. How can I get rid of it? I don't know how—I want to know!"
He pushed himself up, away from Qui-Gon, sitting as upright as he could with his legs still tangled with his father's. The afghans fell away and he pushed them off his lap, his hands shaking, his chest heaving. Qui-Gon sat up as well, anxious to soothe this sudden sorrow. But he didn't know what to do. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms, but wasn't sure if that was wise. He wanted to brush all of these fears away with wise words, but didn't know what to say. Instead they just sat there, the one struggling to breathe, the other struggling to find words.
"We all need help sometimes," Qui-Gon finally said, very softly. "There's no shame in it. We all have to learn how to deal with things outside of our experience. You . . . you've had a great shock. These past months have been horrible—absolutely horrible. And now you will need to learn how to deal with the consequences of that time to your body, mind, and spirit. It's unfair, completely and utterly unfair, because you didn't deserve any of that, and you don't deserve having to deal with the consequences now.
"But you'll never be alone, son. I swear it. I will never leave you to deal with this by yourself, and neither will your mother. We'll do everything we can to help you. And if we need to get others to help—like Master Yoda—we'll do that, too. You don't have to be alone, little one. You never have to be alone."
Obi-Wan just stared at him, wide-eyed, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth as if to suppress anything more he might have revealed. It was obvious that he wanted to believe this, but couldn't quite find the strength to do so. He had been much too alone for far too long.
Qui-Gon cast about for some way to help him make this leap, his gaze flicking wildly about the room as if searching for assistance. Then, finally, he had the glimmer of an idea. He held up one finger, indicating that Obi-Wan should be patient, and awkwardly climbed to his feet, shifting the afghans back over the boy's lap.
He stepped carefully over to that shelf full of knick-knacks by the front door, his eye caught and held by one particular item, small and ordinary and unassuming. Briefly he remembered what he had thought when his gaze fell on it when they returned home from Bandomeer, and he realized that he had been right. It was meant to be a gift for a thirteenth nameday. It was a little late for that now, as it was late for many things, but he prayed that the time could be made up.
Quick steps brought he back to the couch, and he sat beside his shivering son and placed the warm rock in his chilly palm. "I found this in the River of Light on my home planet. For years I carried it in my breast pocket, over my heart. It reminded of my home, my family. When Julune and I married I thought about giving it to her as a token, but it didn't feel right. She bears a ring, instead, with a small, perfect green gem. And now I see why this was not meant for her. It is yours. It should have been yours three months ago, but here it is now."
Obi-Wan looked up him in confusion, and dashed away the tears that threatened to fall. "A rock?" Still, his fingers curled protectively around the small token.
Qui-Gon gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and tapped the smooth surface with one finger. "Look closer."
The youngster obliged, casually at first, but then his gaze seemed to deepen, and he stared long and hard. Qui-Gon looked down on him, this slight young boy gazing so intently at a smooth river rock, marking each red line buried in the matrix of black as if memorizing a treasure map. He had to resist the urge to ruffle that red-gold hair, already mussed from sleeping, knowing that such an action would only earn him an irritated glare. But then, Obi-Wan was so lost in his concentration that he might not even notice.
He could feel a surging in the Force around them, like a storm about to break, and wondered if it might be Obi-Wan's inherent gifts instinctively attempting to reach out, to study the river rock through the Force despite this strange lock-down. The feeling was almost familiar. Qui-Gon had once come across a fallen nest in a forest, and when he lifted one small, still-warm egg, he felt this same sort of anticipation, a struggling to be free. The egg had seemed to shiver in his hand, and he felt a tiny scratching and chipping from within. It was hatching—the baby bird inside was beginning to fight its way out. For a long moment he had stood there, mesmerized, feeling the flow of young, growing life in that miraculous little egg. Then he had swiftly replaced the nest and the eggs, knowing that the youngsters would need to imprint on their parents when they emerged.
This . . . it felt similar, though fundamentally different. Was Obi-Wan ready to break free of his prison? Even subconsciously, was he trying to find a way out?
Whenever it happened, Qui-Gon vowed, he would be there to catch his son when he emerged.
After a time the boy looked up, his face calm, blue-green eyes alight within. "It's beautiful. I'll treasure it always."
"How does it . . . how does it feel?" Qui-Gon caught his lip against his teeth, waiting, hoping. Had Obi-Wan sensed something through the Force?
The youngster gave him a quizzical look, then regarded the river stone again, thoughtfully. "It feels . . . it feels warm. It feels . . . safe. Home." He looked up swiftly, flashing a quick, brilliant smile, true and bright, as he released a happy sigh. "It feels like . . . you. As long I have this stone, I'll know that you are with me."
Qui-Gon smiled, firmly denying the tears that pricked behind his eyelids. Surely there had been enough weeping for one day. But he could not deny the surge of happiness that rushed through him, deep, wide, and overpowering. With or without the Force, Obi-Wan had found the answer.
"That's right, son. You'll never be alone. Never."
Someday I hope you know that truly.