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Qui-Gon possessed a natural hatred for all forms of torture, but the idea that any government—no matter how corrupt—would torment someone so young, for the sake of a few scraps of political information, chafed against Qui-Gon’s conscience on every level. The guards leading the way to Obi-Wan’s cell chatted casually with one another, as if they had not spent the last few days employed in torturing his young Padawan. The depths to which these people had sunk appalled him.
One guard scanned his security card. A heavy door slid open, revealing a dank cavity in the wall that might generously be referred to as a cell. There was a single rude cot in the unlit room, shoved against one of the stone walls, but it was untouched. The occupant of the cell lay huddled in the corner, curled up in a ball, his hands clutching his head. The sight of him sent a chill down Qui-Gon’s spine.
A dark bruise stood out above Obi-Wan’s left eyebrow. It contrasted with the ghastly paleness of his skin. His hands, which trembled continuously, were marked with long, red scratches; made by the boy’s own fingernails or another’s, Qui-Gon could not guess. Small spots of blood showed through the pale sleeve of his tattered tunic, indicating more injuries hidden beneath the fabric.
The life of a Jedi brought one in contact with all types of scoundrels, but Qui-Gon would never cease to be horrified by the atrocities some were capable of committing. This was a child, for goodness sake. He should never have allowed Obi-Wan out of his sight.
“Obi-Wan,” he said, his boots clumping heavily on the floor as he crossed the room. “The governor has agreed to your release. There is a transport waiting for us outside.”
He had expected Obi-Wan to be glad to see him, but Obi-Wan did not move. He remained where he was, curled in on himself and huddled against the wall. Qui-Gon endeavored to suppress his impatience for them to leave. It was critical he and Obi-Wan departed before the governor had time to change his mind. The man was not likely to be sympathetic to them for long, especially since Qui-Gon had accomplished most of the ‘negotiations’ regarding Obi-Wan with one hand resting visibly on his lightsaber hilt.
“Obi-Wan,” he said again. “Padawan. We must make haste.”
“Kid’s still drugged up,” one of the guards drawled. “He’s not the most cooperative little thing. Give you a black eye if you’re not careful. You’ll want a hand with him.” He and his partner stepped forward, apparently intending to grab Obi-Wan and haul him to his feet, but Qui-Gon stopped them with an outstretched hand and a severe look.
“No,” he commanded. “Do not touch him. I will handle this.”
“Hey, it’s your kid,” the guard replied, raising his hands and backing off. “But I’m telling you, he’s been real difficult.”
Qui-Gon ignored them, crouching beside Obi-Wan and speaking to him in softened tones. “Obi-Wan. It’s alright now. Look up at me, Padawan.”
Slowly, hesitantly, the boy obeyed. His eyes focused and unfocused on Qui-Gon’s form crouched in front of him. “Master?” he asked, his voice thin and shaky.
“Yes.”
“Are you here?”
“Yes, young one. I’m here.”
Obi-Wan shut his eyes again. “I can’t tell you anything,” he whispered. “You might be another dream.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Padawan. But you must come with me. Quickly. Can you walk?”
“I mustn’t tell anything.” Obi-Wan covered his face and began to tremble.
“Oh, Padawan.” Qui-Gon laid a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
Obi-Wan shrieked in response, startling Qui-Gon, who jerked his hand back. He had not been prepared for such a violent reaction. Obi-Wan began to moan, shaking his head and muttering “no no no” in a voice that pierced Qui-Gon’s heart.
Behind him, the guards shifted impatiently. One crossed his arms. “I did warn ya,” he grumbled. “Kid gets annoying that way real quick.” The other guard chuckled.
Qui-Gon made a conscious decision not to draw his lightsaber and cut them both down where they stood. That was the calling of the dark side. The actions of his anger would bring about no good. They would serve only to further traumatize Obi-Wan, who was currently rocking back and forth and repeating the words “please, no, please” to himself.
“Hush, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon soothed. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“You’re not real,” Obi-Wan moaned.
Qui-Gon reached out to him with the Force, but Obi-Wan sucked in a hissing breath and choked over a stifled sob, as if the gentle touch of their bond burned him. What blasted drugs had they given this child?
This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.
Qui-Gon’s motions were calculated now. He carefully watched Obi-Wan for any signs of a reaction as he shifted closer and reached slowly, slowly for the short learner’s braid and, ever so gently, ran it through is fingers.
Obi-Wan did not yelp. He did not even flinch.
He allowed his Master to tug lightly on the braid.
That was good, Qui-Gon thought. He was not averse to all touch.
Next Qui-Gon worked his hand up the braid, still whispering reassurances, and feeling each colored thread in turn, until his fingers reached the base of the braid and brushed against Obi-Wan’s ear. Obi-Wan made a soft noise that sounded like the mew of an abandoned Tooka kitten. Qui-Gon did not know what that meant. He paused.
Obi-Wan lay completely motionless. He did not appear bothered by Qui-Gon’s presence. Simply confused, and afraid.
Qui-Gon began to massage Obi-Wan’s scalp, and, to his relief, the boy seemed to lean into the touch. Then Qui-Gon carded a hand through the spiky brown hair, using the motion as an opportunity to feel for lumps along his apprentice’s skull. He didn’t find any. One small blessing to be grateful for.
He felt the light touch of a trembling hand on his arm, and glanced down. Obi-Wan had opened his eyes and was staring at him. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I can’t tell…” He trailed off.
Qui-Gon dismissed the sentence fragment, still tenderly stroking the boy’s hair. “It is no matter. Our ship is not far. I will take you there.”
“Don’t believe…can’t…tell… Won’t…” Obi-Wan shook his head.
“He’s a tough one to get anything out of,” the other guard remarked, offering more of his unwanted commentary. “I’ll give him that. You Jedi don’t crack easily.”
Qui-Gon forcefully reminded himself that, as a Jedi, he was responsible for controlling his emotions. Besides, snapping at the man was liable to upset Obi-Wan, who was still in a delicate state of mind. A harsh voice tone might be enough to send him over the edge. It was not worth the risk.
Qui-Gon slid his hand down the back of Obi-Wan’s head and allowed his palm to come to rest between the boy’s shoulder blades. Obi-Wan lay still. Again, he did not object to the touch, and Qui-Gon rubbed slow, soothing circles on his back.
He could sense the rising impatience of the guards behind him, and he knew it would not be long before the governor repented of his decision to release such a valuable prisoner. Time was of the essence. Qui-Gon slipped an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and another beneath his knees, preparing to lift him off the cell floor.
This time Obi-Wan did object. He had not expected to be moved. He cried out and thrashed in Qui-Gon’s arms, kicking feebly with his legs, although he was too weak to put up any real resistance. A guard stepped forward. “Need a hand there, pal?”
“No.” Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan tightly to his chest, determined not to drop him. “Relax, Padawan. You are in no danger now.”
“Master!” Obi-Wan wailed, as if calling to someone far away. “Help me!” He pushed against Qui-Gon with trembling arms.
“Shhh,” Qui-Gon hushed. “It’s alright, Obi-Wan. I have you.” Obi-Wan continued to try to twist out of his grip. “Relax,” Qui-Gon said. “Relax.” It was difficult to resist the temptation of employing a Force suggestion, but Obi-Wan had not reacted well to his last use of the Force, and he was not eager to try it again.
“Don’t let them take me…”
“I won’t.”
Frightened blue-gray eyes met his. Obi-Wan stopped fighting so violently. He began to go limp. “Are you really here?”
“Yes, young one.” Qui-Gon adjusted his hold so that Obi-Wan’s head came to rest against his shoulder. “You are safe with me.”
“You…said that…said that the last time too.” Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted closed.
“We’d best be getting back to the ship.” There would be time to discuss who and what was real later. For now, departure was their first priority. Qui-Gon turned towards the doorway, his trembling burden cradled protectively in his arms.
A squad of guards came running into the hangar just as Qui-Gon stepped aboard his and Obi-Wan’s transport. They shouted at him to stop, by order of the governor.
A most predictable situation.
Qui-Gon hastily settled Obi-Wan in the copilot’s seat and initiated their takeoff. A few weapons fired in their direction, but none did any serious damage to the ship. Before long, they were safely on the return journey to Coruscant.
Qui-Gon set the controls and then rose from his seat. Obi-Wan had rolled back the sleeve of his tunic and was fidgeting with something taped to the inside of his arm. A catheter, Qui-Gon realized, inserted into the vein and carelessly left there by those responsible for administering the drugs. Qui-Gon sighed. Yet another visible reminder of the suffering his young apprentice had endured while Qui-Gon struggled with the bureaucracy.
He brushed his hand over Obi-Wan’s fingers, distracting him from pulling at the tape. “I will remove it, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “Give me a moment to fetch something.” He retrieved a gauze patch from the medpac. Obi-Wan watched him blearily from where he remained slumped in the copilot’s seat. He was tugging at the catheter again when Qui-Gon returned.
“Allow me,” Qui-Gon said, once more shooing Obi-Wan’s hand away from the device. He tenderly peeled back the tape, which had been sloppily used to secure it, and then, pressing the gauze patch over the spot with one hand, slipped the catheter free of Obi-Wan’s vein. Qui-Gon continued to press down on the gauze, stemming the flow of blood. Obi-Wan frowned at the pressure on his arm. Then he laid his hand on top of Qui-Gon’s, applying a light pressure of his own, as if trying to help his Master with the task. Or perhaps he only wanted reassurance that Qui-Gon was truly there.
Qui-Gon gave him a sad smile. “I am sorry I could not come sooner,” he apologized. “It took some time to convince them I should be allowed to see the governor about your case. You have been very brave, my young Padawan.”
“I don’t know anything about the senator,” Obi-Wan said, as if Qui-Gon had asked him a question.
That must have been the subject of the interrogations. Obi-Wan, in fact, knew quite a lot about the senator in question, but Qui-Gon knew he was far too strong—and stubborn—to reveal that, even in the face of such torture. He was a very remarkable Padawan. Qui-Gon was constantly being reminded of that.
“I don’t know about him,” Obi-Wan repeated, still answering imagined questions.
“That is perfectly alright,” Qui-Gon said. “I don’t want to hear about him.”
“You don’t?” Obi-Wan looked bewildered.
“No, my young Padawan. I am far more concerned about you.”
Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Master?”
“Yes, young one?”
“You’re really you now, aren’t you?”
“Quite so.” Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan’s cheek with his thumb, rubbing away a smudge of dirt. “And you are quite safe, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon slipped out of his cloak and folded it around Obi-Wan.
“Am I allowed to fall asleep now, Master?”
What a heartbreaking question. How long had it been since the boy had had a moment’s peace? “Yes, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon told him. “I will carry you to your bunk. You may rest there as long as you need.” Qui-Gon scooped his cloak-swathed apprentice up in both arms. This time Obi-Wan did not protest. He made a soft sound of contentment and nestled into his Master’s embrace.
This Qui-Gon was different from the other ones: he did not care about the senator. He did not ask angry questions. This Qui-Gon was warm and kind. This Qui-Gon was real. That was all he needed to know.
Obi-Wan was asleep before his Master ever laid him down on the bunk.