Qui-Gon actually enjoyed the soup. It was different from anything else he'd ever eaten in all of his varied experience, and he liked trying new things. Yoda had obviously used some spices that Qui-Gon had never encountered before (Did the little Jedi Master carry herbs around with him wherever he went? First the cool-brewed tea, now this!), but he found it quite tasty. Most of the flavors were familiar, the vegetables freshly harvested from their own garden, the meat from the market in downtown Hilara City.
Julune and Yoda ate their meal with apparent relish, seeming very satisfied with their collaborative efforts. As for Obi-Wan . . . well, he ate it. Not enthusiastically, but apparently without pain. It was not strange that he said nothing for the entire meal, even while Yoda chatted kindly about the Temple, giving news of the boy's old friends and teachers. A few days ago this would have disconcerted Qui-Gon, but by now he was almost used to this new, silent Obi-Wan.
Yet that somehow made it all the worse.
After the meal Qui-Gon took care to make sure that Obi-Wan would be all right if his parents went into another room for a time, leaving the Jedi and the boy to clean up. Obi-Wan's hand clenched hard over the pocket where Qui-Gon knew he had placed the river stone, and his forehead wrinkled in that new, familiar worry, but he nodded. It was a sign of progress, the first time the youngster had agreed to even a short separation from his papa. But it pained Qui-Gon almost as much as it pained his boy, and he promised to make it short.
Julune was confused, but followed Qui-Gon's tug on her elbow willingly. And then he told her, speaking rapidly when he could, pausing to choke down his emotions when he could not. She sat on the corner of the bed in their master chamber, very still, watching him pace furiously as he talked. He saw her fists clench, tighter and tighter, the knuckles blanching, watched her eyes grow harder and brighter, face paling as two whitish-red spots stood against her cheeks.
"They dared," she hissed when he paused for a moment to contain himself, her voice a raw tremor of fury. "They dared to do that to an innocent boy, to my innocent boy . . ."
He nodded shortly. "Yes. They dared. And oh, Julune, you haven't even heard the worst of it . . ."
By the end of the story she was weeping, shaking, hard little fists pressed against her mouth to restrain her rage. Qui-Gon sat on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her rigid back, willing some of his hard-fought calm to transfer over to his wife. She was volcanic, longing to erupt, holding herself back only because there was nothing here capable of absorbing so powerful an outburst.
"They used him," she half-whispered, half-wailed into his ear. "Like a toy, they used him, made him do things, made him believe things about himself that are not true. Oh, Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon, they hurt him so badly! Tell me where they are, so I can kill them."
"I don't know, darling. Obi-Wan doesn't know. If I knew, I'd go with you. You know that."
She nodded stiffly against his shoulder, but still her enraged shaking did not ease. "No wonder. No wonder he's afraid. I would probably be catatonic."
Qui-Gon just shook his head in wonder. "Really, he's handling it all extraordinarily well. Thirteen, and so very brave and strong. But he needs us, needs us badly. Even if we knew where to go, we couldn't, not now. We cannot fail him."
"We won't." Julune's voice was a proclamation, channeling all of her intense feeling, her urgent to need to do something, into those two words. She sat back to look into his eyes, reaching out to grab his shoulders, sharp fingers digging into his flesh. "And do you realize, Qui-Gon? He chose us. When he escaped, he could have gone to the galactic authorities, or the Jedi, or anywhere. But he came here. He needed his papa and his mama, and he knew it."
Qui-Gon hesitated, then nodded slowly, warmed by the thought. It was nice to be wanted. But even that made him ache, for he knew that Obi-Wan had felt decidedly the opposite for most of his short life.
After they had had enough time to calm down, they went back to the kitchen, and found their son waiting for them with both hands clenched around his river rock, towel forgotten on the counter behind him. Yoda placidly did the dishes by himself, managing with an ease that was wondrous to see.
Julune went directly to Obi-Wan, wrapping her hands gently around his rigid shoulders. Her eyes were suddenly wet again, but her voice was firm. "Never again, baby. No one will ever treat you that way again. I won't stand for it."
He looked up at her with utter trust, and nodded solemnly. Qui-Gon knew that she longed to pull the boy into an embrace, but she was a sensitive woman, for all her passion. She saw the wariness, the distance, as clearly as her husband did. Not yet. Almost, but not quite yet.
Still, that night it was Julune who spread the antibiotic cream over Obi-Wan's healing wounds, then rubbed in soothing bacta, her fingers deft and careful. The boy lay silent under her ministrations, less tense and shaky than yesterday, but still not completely at ease. It was enough. They were getting there, slowly.
As they had done each of the preceding four nights, Qui-Gon and Julune settled down on either side of their sleepy son, listening to his breathing slow and even. He needed both of them, they knew now. Yesterday Julune had been called been back to the corp in the evening because of a complication in one of her experiments, and had been gone for hours. It wasn't until Qui-Gon felt her gentle weight settle on the other side of the bed that Obi-Wan finally slipped into a true, deep slumber, the ragged breaths easing into peace.
It was strange, the way Obi-Wan both needed his mama and shrank from her. Qui-Gon didn't like it. But he knew that Julune liked it even less, and that Obi-Wan felt the worst of the three of them. Ah, if only this boy could learn to stop blaming himself for things that were beyond his control. That would be a very large step toward healing all of this.
They had offered Master Yoda the use of the guest room, but the last Qui-Gon had seen of him, the little green Jedi seemed to be settling down for meditation in the common room. Now when Qui-Gon stretched out with a thin tendril of the Force, just checking, he was met with the strong current of the small Master, greeting and welcoming, and revealing the golden shield that surrounded them all in warm security. There would be no disturbances to mar their rest, no bumps in the night, no faces at the window. Though still that could not protect against internal turmoil, could not push back the shade of evil dreams, Qui-Gon was grateful. He wondered if Yoda would meditate all night, if Jedi could do without sleep.
Well, in any case, ordinary humans usually welcomed sleep with joy. Qui-Gon settled his head back against the pillow with a soft sigh, willing his body into relaxation. Focusing on the breathing of his wife and son, he prepared to follow them into slumber. But he changed his mind when he recognized that Obi-Wan was not asleep, only laying very tense and still, waiting, once again curled up in that protective ball.
"Obi-Wan?" It was a gentle whisper, open, not loud enough to wake Julune. "Is something wrong?"
For a moment the stillness held. Then Obi-Wan seemed to force himself to relax, laying over on his back. "I can't figure it out," he murmured. "Do you . . . do you think you could prove it to me?"
"I'll certainly try, if you let me know what it is." Qui-Gon spoke with gentle humor, carefully skimming his hand over the crumpled blankets toward his boy. He found the warm, smooth cheek and rested his cupped palm there, feeling the fluttering of long eyelashes soft against his callused fingers. After a moment he lifted his arm and laid it stretched out on the pillow above the boy's head, as if adding an extra wall of protection, surrounding the boy completely now, with a parent on each side and the thick quilt over him.
Obi-Wan rolled over to face his father, then scooted closer, and laid his head on the man's broad shoulder with all the confidence and sweetness of a small, sleepy child. A tiny sigh escaped him when Qui-Gon's arm curled instinctively around the slight frame, pressing him close, and he nestled in a little more. "I've been thinking and thinking, and I can't make sense of it. You kept saying it over and over, and I know you believe it to be true, but I just don't understand."
"Hmm. I said quite a few things over and over, and yes, I do believe them all very strongly." Qui-Gon stroked his thumb along the boy's arm. "Which one are you thinking of?"
Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath, then took the plunge. "You said that I wasn't to blame, that none of it was my fault."
"Ah." And Qui-Gon stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to make some kind of order out of the tangle his thoughts had suddenly become.
The boy's voice was very small. "Could you prove it to me?" He shifted uncomfortably, though he did not move away from his father's side. "I mean, I'll understand if you can't. I know some things can't actually be proven, that you just have to believe, and I'm sorry that I can't quite make myself believe this, but I've tried, and I just don't . . ."
"Obi-Wan. Shhh." Qui-Gon tenderly brushed his thumb over those quivering lips, stilling the rush of words. "It's true, sweetheart, and it not just something you have to believe. It's an uncontroversial fact. I would say the same to anyone else who was in your position, who had been mistreated and abused, manipulated and deceived. I was just thinking about how best to put it into words."
"Oh." The boy went very still, and Qui-Gon could feel the brilliant eyes fastened on him in the dark.
Qui-Gon just breathed for a moment, feeling the boy quiver gently with anticipation, hopeful that this could be proved, but fearful that it could not.
"All right, let's try it this way," the elder Jinn said at last, slowly, putting his thoughts in order. "Do you remember in the garden on Bandomeer, when we talked about how a person can change their own future, make decisions, such as whether or not to turn to the Dark Side?"
"I remember." The small voice trembled the worse. "You said that you believed I would never turn. I'm sorry . . . I failed . . ."
"No, no." Qui-Gon pressed him even closer, brought his other arm around to help. It took an effort to keep his voice low—he wanted to shout this. "You didn't turn to the Dark Side, little one. I'll never believe that. But that's a discussion for another time, all right? Listen. We decided that each person makes their own choices, yes?"
"Yes." It was a faint tremor of sound, small and weak.
"And what if . . ." He drew in a breath in pain. This hurt to think about. "What if Knight Dooku did decide to turn? That would be his choice, wouldn't it?"
"Yes." This was a bit more certain.
"Would I be to blame for that choice? Would his Master be to blame, or any of his friends at the Temple?"
"No." Obi-Wan's hand lifted slowly, then curled in the fabric of his sleep-tunic, and Qui-Gon realized with bemusement, and a flash of sharp, blinding love, that the boy was offering comfort to him against this harsh possibility of his Jedi friend turning.
"It would hurt me, though," Qui-Gon whispered. "It would hurt all of the Jedi."
Obi-Wan nodded against his shoulder, faint but certain. "Yes. It would hurt you a lot." And his fingers tightened.
Qui-Gon smiled. Perhaps pure logic would work. "Then we would be suffering for something that wasn't our fault, wouldn't we?"
For a moment the boy was silent. Then: "Yes."
"Do you see where this is going?"
The youngster was sharp—he would never try to deny that. Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably again, unable to agree or disagree. Qui-Gon's logical was obvious, but Obi-Wan could not accept his conclusion. "But, Papa . . . I made choices, too. And they were bad. Like not meditating, not paying attention to the moment. And they led to . . . those choices were mine, my fault!"
"Mistakes, sweetheart. They were mistakes. You did not deliberately choose to do wrong. There's a difference. No one should have to suffer so for an innocent mistake, especially not someone like you, small and inexperienced and completely faultless. I don't say that to make you feel weak—that's not my point. But you are young, and young people deserve to be protected by those older and stronger than themselves. The failure was not yours, son. It was mine." He trembled, but went on, his voice strident. "Mine, and that of every adult who entered your life and did not take adequate pains to care for you—your teachers at the Temple, Knight Xanatos, the Agri-Corps workers. We all had a share in the responsibility of protecting you, and we all failed you."
"No, Papa." Again the slender fingers tightened, though the soft voice lowered to a tight murmur. "You never failed me. Never. Don't think that. If it wasn't a choice I made then, maybe it was something earlier, something very, very bad, so I had to be . . . I had . . ." He trailed off, struggling to breathe. "It must have been me. You just don't see it."
"You feel you had to be punished, my Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked sadly. "Such a terrible burden to bear, to believe something so awful of yourself. No, I do not believe that. Nothing you could ever do could ever, ever be terrible enough to deserve such torment."
"But it must have been . . ."
"Why? Why do you insist on taking this blame on your own shoulders?"
The boy began to shake violently, his voice wet with tears in the starless dark. "It had to be. It had to be me. It just . . . it doesn't make sense otherwise. It doesn't make sense . . ."
Qui-Gon pressed him even closer, tucking the trembling head under his chin where he could feel the stifled tears warm on the sensitive skin of his throat. He was beginning to catch a glimmer of understanding. "Doesn't make sense, you say . . ." he murmured. "Oh, my dear child. You believe in justice, don't you? You believe in a justice that rules everything, from the smallest creature to the brightest star."
Confusion rippled through Obi-Wan like a cold current in a troubled sea, but he nodded shakily. "That's what the Force is . . . that's what the Jedi work to uphold . . ."
"Justice, yes." He rubbed the thin, knotted shoulders. "And so you believe that there must be a reason for everything that happens. Good is a reward for good behavior, evil a punishment for faults."
It was the reasoning of a child, pure and clear and absolute. Only black and white, no shades of gray, everything fair and balanced. Every little one thought this of the world, Qui-Gon knew, remembering his own boyhood. Such a shock it was to discover the truth, to cry in outrage, "But that isn't fair!" and to hear the cold answer, "Life isn't fair." No youngster wanted to believe that terrible truth, and learning it was like falling unprepared from a great height to an unyielding surface. It was a breaking experience, harsh and traumatic.
No doubt the simple moralistic teaching younglings in the Temple received had strengthened this pure right-and-wrong reasoning, and Obi-Wan had not been old enough for deep philosophy before he was sent away. How horrible that he had had to learn in this most extreme of ways, and that he had not had the depth of knowledge to process it. Perhaps Qui-Gon could fill in the gaps now.
"How lovely the universe would be if that were true, my Obi-Wan. I'm sorry to tell you that it is not so."
Obi-Wan shivered against him, unwilling or unable to grasp this. "What . . . what are you saying?"
"I'm so sorry, little one. Life isn't fair. The universe is not just. Bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people. You did not deserve to be abused. Your master did not deserve his power over you. You were not to blame. You never were. Sometimes we are dealt bad cards, and we have to play what is in our hand."
Obi-Wan shook his head in instinctive protest, his fingers digging yet deeper. "I don't . . . I don't understand."
Qui-Gon sorrowed for this. His son had already lost so much, and now he had to let go of yet more, let a piece of his understanding of the most fundamental structures of the universe slip away from his grasping fingers. But perhaps the learning would be good, would bring release. Truth could only heal, even if the healing hurt.
He decided to try yet another tack with this large and unwieldy problem. "Tell me something, Obi-Wan. Do you have any friends at the Jedi Temple?"
The boy tilted his head slightly at this sudden shift of conversation, but he followed willingly enough. "Yes. I had a few close friends."
"Master Yoda mentioned them at the table this evening. Garen, Reeft . . . Bant?"
Qui-Gon could almost feel Obi-Wan's smile in the darkness, and he certainly felt the boy relax against him. "Yes. They were my best friends."
"Tell me about them. Tell me about Bant."
Obi-Wan settled against him, relaxing into the tale, his voice soft and nostalgic. "Bant is a Mon Calamarian, the best swimmer I know. Her eyes are silver. She's a year younger than me, but she's still pretty good with a lightsaber. She is the gentlest of all my friends, always trying to make us get along, letting us know that she cares about us. We used to talk like Master Yoda when we spoke to each other, just being silly."
"She sounds like a good friend." Qui-Gon gentled his voice, glad to find such soothing memories here. He should have asked the child about his life sooner. It was good to learn about him, what he had experienced.
"She's the best," Obi-Wan agreed complacently, certain, with a youngster's confidence, and his best friend was the definitely the best in the galaxy, bar none.
"Of course she was. But, Obi-Wan, what if no Master picked her, and she got sent to the Agri-Corps?"
The boy's body stiffened suddenly in alarm. "That wouldn't happen! She's a wonderful student! A Master has probably chosen her already."
"Yes, yes, of course," Qui-Gon soothed. "But just suppose."
Obi-Wan relaxed, marginally, and bobbed a stiff little nod.
"And what if, while she was at the Agri-Corps, one of the older workers started picking on her? Suppose that he threatened her, said that she would get in trouble if she told someone, or he would hurt one of her friends. Suppose this went on for quite a long time. And then this bully took advantage of her, hurt her badly. Suppose she was confused and frightened, and could not fight back, afraid that he would hurt her friends, or even kill her. Suppose this went on for quite a long time, and no one knew."
The boy shook with fury. "That's horrible! That's the most awful thing I've ever heard!"
"Oh, but, Obi-Wan, she didn't tell anyone. Shouldn't she have told someone?"
"Well, maybe, but she's afraid! Bant is a such a sweet, gentle being—she wouldn't be able to stand it!"
"But shouldn't she fight back? Shouldn't she at least try?"
"How? He'll just hurt her worse! What could she do?"
"Well, she could have prevented being sent to the Agri-Corps in this first place. She must have been a terrible student, if no Master noticed her."
"No, no, no. Bant is a wonderful Jedi. She could never deserve being sent away."
"All right, all right." Qui-Gon brushed his hand over Obi-Wan's head, trying to soothe his agitated trembling. "Suppose that she finally gathered her courage and went to Heim Shilbey and told him what was happening. Master Shilbey put a stop to it immediately, of course, and the bully was sent away. But Bant still felt terribly guilty, and her heart was very sore. She thought that it was her own fault that it had happened, that she must have done something very, very bad to deserve that. If you learned about it and were able to talk to her, what would you say?"
By this point Obi-Wan was crying, shaking hard, his voice cracked with pain for his friend and passion against her supposed persecutor. "I w-would . . . I would t-tell her that none of it w-was her fault, that she didn't d-deserve any of that. And I would want to b-be with her and hug her and promise that no one would ev-ever hurt her again, because I w-would protect her alw-ways. That's so terrible, Papa Qui-Gon! How could anyone do that to Bant?"
"I don't know, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered, hugging the boy tightly to him, stroking his hair, trying to dry his tears while blind in the dark. "I don't know how anyone could do that to her. And I don't understand how anyone could do what Andros Martin and Miko Belimi did you, my sweet, precious child. I don't understand at all. It's not fair. It's not fair at all."
The boy clung to his father, still shaking and weeping. But, finally, he seemed to understand. His voice came small and rough, weakly daring to believe. "It w-wasn't her fault. It w-wasn't . . . it wasn't my fault?"
"No, sweetheart." Qui-Gon pressed a kiss to that beloved, wrinkled little forehead, and then another one. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."
And he began to hope that perhaps he had finally succeeded in proving it to this dear boy. Not through logic or philosophy or any of the most reasonable arguments that existed, but through the youngster's tender heart, his love for an absent friend. Qui-Gon might have known it would be so