Qui-Gon returned to the main room and sank down on the couch, trying to breathe his way through his fury. Slowly, far too slowly, it ebbed, leaving him exhausted. The boy was terrified. Terrified of him and of everything he represented as a Jedi Master. That awful feeling that the Jedi had failed this boy filled him again, and he had to concentrate to let it go.
He relaxed, his eyes slipping closed as he documented every flash of fear he'd gotten from Obi-Wan through the day. It was staggering, the number of things that could set the boy off in panic or fear, and there were a few he didn't understand. The boy's pain when he'd touched the braid and his definite relief when he found out Qui-Gon was not his Master were both perplexing. The bracelet had evoked strong feelings as well, none of them good. Qui-Gon scowled faintly. He'd have to move slower than he'd originally thought. He retired to his room to report to the Council, and then went to bed.
The morning dawned into his eyes. That was one reason he'd given Obi-Wan the other room; he hoped the boy would sleep as long as he needed to. Qui-Gon got up and knelt in the middle of the floor to meditate on what the Council had said. "Your heart you must follow," Yoda had said. Well, his heart was so twisted up at what had been done to the boy, he was a little wary of it. So, with a deep breath, he set about calming himself.
When he emerged from his room to start breakfast, he found Obi-Wan stretched out on his back on the rug in the main room. He was asleep, the haunted expression on his face eased, showing just how young he really was. He couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen, which meant he'd been apprenticed quite young. Qui-Gon stepped past him to the kitchen, but something caught his eye and he turned back to get a closer look. The boy's under-tunic had ridden up some, exposing a burn across his stomach just above his pants. It was old, maybe two or three weeks, not bad enough to scar. Still, he wondered how a burn - a lightsaber burn, by the shape of it - had caught him there. He turned away to start breakfast with one more question weighing on his mind.
Obi-Wan limped in before it was quite done, a grimace of pain on his face. "May I have a cold pack again?" he asked timidly.
"Of course. Sit down."
As soon as he was seated, Qui-Gon gave him the cold pack then fed him. The boy ate ravenously, like a starving animal, but Qui-Gon said nothing. Theela had said Obi-Wan had been malnourished.
When they finished, Qui-Gon helped his student into the main room, sitting him on the couch and propping up his leg. He sat on the chair to his side, and his hand brushed his own lightsaber. It gave him an idea. "Obi-Wan," he said. "May I see your lightsaber?"
The boy handed it over far too quickly, his expression blank. It was not hard, with the Force, to see that he didn't like it. It was serviceable, but uncomfortable in his hand. Qui-Gon tried various holds, growing more and more frustrated before he'd even activated it. He wouldn't want to use this. Hadn't the boy's Master helped him make it comfortable?
"Do you like it?" he asked after a few pointless moments of trying to make it comfortable.
Obi-Wan hesitated. He didn't look up, but he eventually spoke. "No."
"What do you dislike most?"
"It hurts my hands," he said in a low voice. "And I had to make it to Master Toman's specifications."
Qui-Gon set the lightsaber down. "How so?" he asked quietly, hiding how much more frustrating this was. The picture he was getting from his student was not one he really wanted to see. It only increased the feeling that the Jedi had somehow failed him.
"He told me how it should be made." His voice was flat, unemotional.
Qui-Gon fought to keep his voice steady. He would find out what had been done to this boy and why. "Would you like to start over?"
Obi-Wan was startled, glancing at him in surprise. "Why?"
"It's your lightsaber," he said quietly. "It should feel comfortable in your hand, and you just said it hurt. Your lightsaber is something you should want to keep with you. We can cannibalize this one, or start with fresh components."
"Fresh. Please."
He had guessed - and hoped - that the boy would feel that way. He had one more piece of proof. "Good. The kitchen table should be big enough. You can get started this morning. How's your knee?"
"It hurts."
Qui-Gon leaned forward to catch his eyes. "How does a Jedi handle pain?"
"Accepts it," Obi-Wan said softly, and then the pain that had lined his eyes eased.
"I'll help you into the kitchen, and we'll set up shop."
The morning flew. Qui-Gon did little, busying himself with small tasks (including washing dishes) and observing the boy. His fingers were nimble, sure as he constructed his weapon, and Qui-Gon had to wonder why Toman had insisted that the boy build his weapon to his own specifications.
Lunch was sandwiches. Obi-Wan ate four of them, and Qui-Gon had to laugh softly to himself as he fixed the fourth. It was that or rage at the boy's careless Master.
Afterwards, they moved outside. The tension in Obi-Wan eased as they settled on the grass outside the small house. To Qui-Gon's surprise and relief, it eased further as he led the boy through meditations that, from the look on his face, he'd forgotten. Which was fine. These were basic exercises. He'd needed the reminder himself, before they left.
It was nearing dinnertime before Qui-Gon turned to face Obi-Wan, almost hesitant to take the next step. "You have injuries other than your knee," he said softly. The boy's eyes widened, then he nodded. "Will you show me?"
When the under-tunic came off, Qui-Gon bit back a curse as he circled the boy. Old burns covered his torso, and newer burns laced his back. All of them were from a lightsaber. "I'll be right back," he said a little stiffly, and went into the house.
He returned when he was calmer, forcing his agitation away until he had time to face it, a med-pack in his hands. "How did you get these?" he asked neutrally, applying burn cream to the older burns, bacta to the newer ones.
Obi-Wan started. "I couldn't move very fast because of my knee," he said, sounding as if it should have been obvious.
"But your tunic should have protected you." Qui-Gon was almost sure he knew what he was going to hear next, and he did not want to hear it.
He was silent for a long time. "I wasn't allowed to wear it," he said finally. "Master Toman said I learned so slowly, maybe getting some burns would help me learn faster."
"We will see if you learn slowly," Qui-Gon said neutrally, "but not tonight." He gave Obi-Wan his tunic back, then helped him to his feet. "Ready to fill that bottomless pit?"
Obi-Wan flushed. "I'm sorry."
"It's normal," Qui-Gon said easily. "I probably ate three times what you eat when I was your age. Master Dooku despaired of getting me enough to eat."
"He was your Master?"
Was that interest? There was no pain or fear in the Force at the question. "Yes," Qui-Gon said. "He told me I was his last, after I passed the trials. Someone told me later I must have scared him away."
"Did you?"
Qui-Gon laughed as he opened the door to the kitchen and helped Obi-Wan maneuver in. "Sometimes I think I did. I was... not a model Padawan. I'm not a model Knight according to some, including Yoda I sometimes think. Or a model Master. But I do my best." He let Obi-Wan go, and the boy lowered himself into the chair. "See if you can clean off enough of that table for two plates."
"Did you ask him?" Obi-Wan asked after a few minutes of trying to clear enough room without having to stand up.
Qui-Gon turned from dinner. "Many times. He has never answered me."
"Master Sorin said he'd never take another...." The boy stopped abruptly, and when Qui-Gon turned, Obi- Wan stared up at him, terror in his eyes. It rolled off him in waves.
"Sorin was your Master?"
"The first." It came out a squeak, but the terror seemed to have eased.
Qui-Gon was uncomfortable to realize that this was fear of him, and he tried to think of a way that would ease Obi-Wan's feelings. He turned back to dinner. "That's a heavy burden to carry. I don't believe I have met Sorin. Is he young?"
"Yes."
Whatever had made Obi-Wan open up was gone now. He was quiet through dinner and retired early. With a sigh, Qui-Gon contacted the Council to make his report.
Go on to Next Chapter | Problem Child
Home | Stories | Fun Stuff | Links | Contact me