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The moonlight illuminating the area was surprisingly bright.
Qui-Gon tried to focus on the simple beauty of it and push away his fatigue as he dragged himself along, trudging through the narrow, muddy pathways between trees. He breathed deeply of the scent of earth around him, opened himself to the Force, and tried to center his mind. There was at least another full day of travel ahead of them, likely more, and things would gradually become more dangerous as they left the city further behind. It would be unwise to allow weariness to pose a distraction.
They had left the capitol of Malastare early that morning but it was slow going through the dense forests that separated them from their destination: a remote and isolated area near the planet's equator. There lived a group of tribal people, the Te-Gong Dug, who had long been the bane of the Malastarian settlers. All attempts the Gran had made to make peace with them had been greeted with poison arrows and utmost rejection. Still, the temperate woods they inhabited were rich with resources- primarily several plants that had very useful medicinal properties- and the Gran and more civilized Dug wished to access them. Having recently committed further to the Republic, they had requested third party aid in making themselves understood.
The people insisted that they had no desire to harm the natives or to remove them from their environment. They only wished to enter the area without being skewered and harvest enough of the plants to create nurseries closer to the capitol. They were also willing to offer food, medicine, and other modern conveniences to the tribe if they were interested. The Republic considered this a reasonable request. Perhaps the Jedi, with their mysterious ways of making others listen, could get through to the tribal leaders and convince them that a relationship could benefit them as well. This placed Qui-Gon and his still rather new padawan at the forefront of what was sure to be quite an interesting negotiation indeed.
Obi-Wan had been excited when he learned about the mission. It felt intense and purposeful and real, the kind of work that Jedi were meant to do. Qui-Gon had to admit that his delight had been infectious. Alone, such an assignment may have been a trying slog, but everything seemed new and thrilling through Obi-Wan's eyes. He'd contentedly read through the dossier with his padawan and quizzed him on the finer details, answered his endless stream of questions without so much as a hint of exasperation. He surprised himself with how little dread he had for the whole thing when all was said and done.
The two of them geared up the best they could before leaving the Temple, armed with their pocket translators and loaded traveling packs. Qui-Gon had carefully prepped their bags with everything he could think of: bacta patches and ration bars, their standard issue canteens, a navigation device and a standard compass and flimsi map in case that failed them. He'd stashed away a lightweight tarp to shield them from any rain, some purifying tablets, and insect repellent strong enough to knock out a gundark. He'd even managed to acquire a tropic rated tunic for Obi-Wan, even though he would be stuck sweating bullets in his thicker one. It was a bit big on him, but he hoped it would make the boy more comfortable in the unfamiliar humidity and sweltering heat.
His apprentice had done little complaining about the extensive packing list. He did, however, topple over the first time he shouldered his bag. They'd both had a good laugh over it and Qui-Gon reallocated the weight a fair amount after that, taking more on himself. He'd hoped that they would be dropped off within a day's walk of their goal and that his planning would prove excessive, but something had itched at him to be more cautious this time.
That something turned out to be right. With no viable landing zones any nearer to the site, they had been forced to make almost the entire journey on foot. They'd set out aggressively, with intent to cover a massive amount of distance when they were fresh and energized, and had honestly done quite well. The lights and towers of Pixelito had disappeared hours ago. The small amount of cleared grasslands surrounding the city had given way to the thick, forested blanket that would keep them enveloped until they reached the tribe.
It was quieter under the canopy, calmer, almost pleasant, and the hours had passed quickly. But with twilight approaching and Obi-Wan's steps beginning to lose the steadiness of their rhythm behind him, Qui-Gon had made the decision that they stop for the night. He was certain he hadn't imagined the sigh of relief when he told the boy to make camp while he scouted the perimeter for any signs of danger. Obi-Wan would never say that he was tired, but that didn't mean it wasn't so.
He'd just finished a rather generous loop around their chosen resting spot, confident that there was nothing about but the endless trees and a smattering of non-threatening animals. He'd taken advantage of that to stalk and capture one of the native creatures for their evening meal then began to head back in the direction from whence he came. The buzz of the life around him was somewhat overwhelming, but he set his sights on the familiar spot in the distance, his padawan rocking sleepily in the Force like a boat on a calm sea. Obi-Wan glowed like a supernova among a backdrop of muted, distant stars, the other presences on the planet quiet and dim by comparison. He could feel them but only as a background hum, an amalgamation, as opposed to Obi-Wan's intense individual light.
One step, then another, and another. His thoughts hazed, blurring with the song of the forest, and he was in meditation on his feet before he realized it. He drifted mindlessly around obstacles, the Force guiding him with a sure, steady hand. Soon, his only tether to the world was Obi-Wan, a beacon in the dark. His subtle awareness of the boy's presence grew stronger and stronger as he neared their camp.
Obi-Wan. He seemed like a good thing to meditate on. He pressed lightly against the connection between them, but there was no response. Their bond was still nascent, thin. They could not yet communicate so much as feel, allowing them each to pick up on the other's most intensive thoughts or emotions. Even that was limited severely by the slightest distance or a bit of over-shielding on either of their part.
Chosen late, Obi-Wan was nervous and guarded, forever frightened of being perceived as insufficient and abandoned to a worse fate. Qui-Gon had been slow to warm himself, the pain of a padawan lost never far from his memory. He had loved Xanatos deeply but he had been younger then, had made his choices more flippantly. Every one he made with Obi-Wan was careful, deliberate, and a touch haunted by the ghosts of the past. Matched with the boy's insecurities, they more danced around one another than anything else.
Qui-Gon had to admit that it seemed cruel and ironic; Xanatos hadn't had the least interest in a strong bond, yet they'd knotted together so thoroughly that it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Qui-Gon had adored him and had been open with his affections for him, choosing to double down when he was criticized for it. He had sworn that it would only make them stronger, make his padawan stronger, in the end. In retrospect, he had been a fool. Xanatos had not returned any of those feelings. While Qui-Gon had viewed him as a son, Xanatos had seen him only as a tool and means to achieve his goals. Their relationship and its dissolution had left Qui-Gon with a wound that would never heal, proving to be his greatest failure and one true, enduring weakness.
In stark contrast, Obi-Wan wanted to be close to him so badly that it hurt. His desire to bond with him was genuine and desperate, seeking only to understand and connect and love. While he played hide-and-seek on occasion, Qui-Gon found the boy reaching for him frequently in his quiet way, tentative but true. And yet Qui-Gon had felt no choice but to hold him at an arm's length for fear of repeating whatever fatal mistake led to Xan's fall. He was not certain where he misstepped, but perhaps he could avoid it by avoiding...well, everything.
Even so, the few moments that they'd found themselves actually open to each other had been shocking in their all-consuming sense of rightness. Neither of the others had fit quite like Obi-Wan. He hadn't had to carve out a place for him at all; despite his resistance, it was as if one had always been there, waiting for him to fill it. He fell into it so naturally, so perfectly, that Qui-Gon had felt himself wavering for months. He had begun to take down the walls around his heart and mind, one brick at a time. And every bit of ground Obi-Wan gained, inch by tiny, hesitant inch, Qui-Gon allowed him to keep. The bond started to bloom, so very slowly, and he couldn't pretend it didn't feel like home.
And he was agonizing over it. Had he been doing right by him, standing at a distance? Was he doing right by him now? Had he been punishing this boy for the failures of his last? Everyone said that he had loved Xan too much, but what if he wasn't loving Obi-Wan enough? Would he drive him into the arms of the dark side as well? Was he doing anything right?
Qui-Gon startled, just barely managing not to yelp as he was ripped from his thoughts by the sudden absence of ground beneath his feet. He seemed to have caught his foot on a stray rock or log and was crashing forward, barreling down a small incline. He frantically balled up and called on the Force to cushion him as he slid and tumbled. When he finally rolled to a stop, he groaned, staring up at the whirling smattering of stars visible through the trees.
Distracted. He had known not to get distracted. How many times had he reminded others to stay in the present, to not be derailed by concerns of the future or over analysis of the past? Everything throbbed as he caught his breath. He forced himself to sit up and assess for injuries, finding only a rather annoying rip in his leggings and a scraped and bloody knee. He cursed and coerced himself back to his feet.
A small mercy was that he could feel that familiar light just beyond a thicket to his left. Grumbling and discontent, he emerged gratefully into the small clearing they'd selected before sundown. There he found Obi-Wan, right where he'd left him, quietly stoking a now well-established fire. Their bedrolls were laid out neatly on opposite sides of it and Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on his own, humming to himself as he prodded the roaring logs with a stick.
'My boy.' Qui-Gon smiled. The fall had done a number on any serenity he had managed to achieve in the last minutes of his walk- which had been nil to begin with, thanks to his train of thought- but he thought he had a very good chance of finding his peace there instead. The fire looked inviting and Obi-Wan's fatigue had worn down the sharp spikes of his youthful exuberance. He was placid in the Force, tranquil. “Good job, Padawan,” he praised. “This will do nicely.”
Obi-Wan startled at his master's sudden reappearance, looking up at him and straightening his posture. Still, Qui-Gon felt a tiny pulse of pride between them. He stoked that a little himself, hoping to encourage his often diffident apprentice's burgeoning self-esteem. What Obi-Wan lacked in confidence, he made up for with diligence but Qui-Gon wouldn't mind seeing him a bit more at ease with himself.
Obi-Wan's eyes trailed over him, taking in the mud marring his tunic and the bleeding gash on his knee. His brows knitted in concern. “Did you fight something? I didn't sense anything in the area.”
“Ah, this? I seem to have encountered a rather aggressive hill.”
“A...hill, Master?” Amusement cracked through Obi-Wan's look of unease. “Well, I'm afraid it looks to have won.”
“Yes, I'm ashamed to say that I was soundly bested.” Qui-Gon grinned with a sheepish shrug, brushing some hitchhiking leaves from his hair. “I'm all right, Padawan. Comfortable?”
“Yes, well enough. But I'm afraid my datapad's battery is dead.” He set down the stick to pick up the pad from beside him instead, fruitlessly pressing the power button. The screen remained dark. “I don't suppose I'll be doing any more classwork on this mission.”
“Hm, pity. But perhaps that's for the best. Now I'll have your full attention. You were so engrossed on the journey, I'm not sure I heard you speak for four days.”
Obi-Wan smiled apologetically, cheeks flushing. “I'm sorry-”
“Not necessary,” Qui-Gon cut him off dismissively, lowering his pack to the ground. He raised his arms above his head and stretched side to side before twisting in an attempt to crack his lower back. He winced at the twinge that radiated up his spine, fervently reminding him that he was not as young as he used to be. “I actually appreciated the extra meditation time. But I can both enjoy the quiet and miss your rather lively conversations. Perhaps we can actually discuss some real world applications of your lessons.”
“I...” Obi-Wan's expression settled into something less embarrassed and more complacent. “I'd like that very much.”
“As would I. But, first, we need to think about food.” Qui-Gon slipped out of his cloak, letting it puddle on his sleeping mat. He then grabbed the fat, furry something that was draped across the top of his pack and carried it to the fireside. He felt Obi-Wan's curious gaze on him as he stepped out of the shadows.
“What's that?”
Qui-Gon held the animal up so that Obi-Wan could see it more clearly. “It's a Malastarian Lapine. It's a type of rabbit. A bit of a challenge to catch, but safe to eat. I thought I would roast it for dinner.”
Obi-Wan eyed its limp form warily. “Did you kill it?”
“I did.” Qui-Gon stroked the three long, soft ears, silently thanking it for its sacrifice. “We don't have much in the way of ration bars, and I'm not sure what will happen once we approach our target. Best to utilize what the planet offers us for now. It's all right, as long as we're properly grateful.” Obi-Wan said no more as Qui-Gon removed his knife from his belt and began the work of butchering the rabbit. He engrossed himself in the work, making certain it was prepared properly before skewering the animal on a long stick and wedging it over the flames.
Over an hour had passed since his return, and he was busy turning the rabbit this way and that to ensure even cooking when he finally looked up again at his padawan. He half expected to find Obi-Wan asleep but the boy was gazing off into the inky blackness of the night, seeming contemplative and a bit melancholy. Teenagers were naturally broody things, Qui-Gon told himself, and the boy had recently joined their ranks. Obi-Wan hadn't seemed to be one to dwell in adolescent angst but he did tend to get lost in the maze of his own thoughts when allotted the time. Whether that was a symptom of his age or merely his personality was mostly irrelevant for the time being; the result was the same. “Everything all right,” he asked, turning the rabbit once more. He removed it from the heat, examining it to be certain that it had cooked through.
“Mm?” Obi-Wan seemed to have emerged from a trance, shaking his head to clear it. He looked over at his master before swallowing painfully hard and lowering his eyes to his lap. “Oh, yes. Yes.”
Unconvinced, Qui-Gon worriedly observed the pallor clinging to his apprentice. Maybe the heavy activity of the day was catching up to him. Neither of them were used to ten hour walks and Obi-Wan had been blissfully compliant the entire trek, keeping pace. Now that he was finally still, he was likely feeling his discomfort for the first time. Food and sleep would surely do him good. “You eat first, Padawan,” he implored softly, slicing into the roasted rabbit and offering a bit to him.
Obi-Wan blanched further and shook his head. “N-No thank you, Master. I'm not hungry.” He tucked his knees under his chin, balling up closer to the warmth of the fire.
“No?” Qui-Gon popped the meat into his mouth before it grew cold and watched his padawan closely as he chewed. When Obi-Wan didn't elaborate further, he rested the cooked rabbit safely atop his pack and circled the fire to the other side of their small camp. There, he dropped to his knees in front of Obi-Wan and pressed the back of his wrist to the boy's forehead. “That shouldn't be. We've been walking since before sunrise and you haven't eaten anything since breakfast. Do you feel unwell?”
“No.” He wriggled away from the tender touch, burrowing further into himself. “You don't have to worry. I'm fine, I promise. I'm just tired.”
“You aren't warm,” Qui-Gon mumbled, mostly to himself. He settled his hand between the boy's shoulder blades instead, rubbing soothing circles through the thickness of his traveling cloak. “Perhaps your exhaustion is simply more pressing. I know it's been a long day. Why don't you-” Obi-Wan's stomach growled fiercely and he winced in response, every muscle suddenly taut and still. Qui-Gon frowned heavily at him. “Obi-Wan,” he chastised, sounding more disappointed than anything.
“I'm not sick.”
“No, you don't seem to be. I'm not questioning that any longer. But you are hungry, very much so.” He lightly tapped the underside of Obi-Wan's chin, encouraging him to look up, but the boy refused to lift his gaze. Qui-Gon sighed. “Won't you talk to me, Padawan-mine,” he coaxed gently. “What troubles you?”
The wind picked up and leaves suddenly tumbled and swirled around them. Something hissed and crackled in the fire, fluttering embers drifting up into the night. Obi-Wan opened his mouth but shut it again with a snap and a deliberate shake of his head. “It's nothing. It's...it's nothing.”
He could concede. They could fall back into the pattern they'd struck up in the beginning, satellites in orbit around the same bright star, twin souls bound to never touch. He could rebuild the walls, the ones he had worked so hard on for so long. He could back away, let it go. Obi-Wan wanted him to let it go. Didn't he?
No, the Force whispered. He's been wavering too, don't you see? You aren't the only one with fears, with walls. Speak a little kinder. Move a little closer. He's ready to let you in, wants to trust you. He's just frightened, that's all.
“It's clearly a little more than nothing.” Qui-Gon sat down beside him, arm pressed warmly against his. He could feel subtle tremors wracking his padawan's frame, though it was impossible for him to tell whether it was the cold, his hunger, or his nerves. He didn't care for the thought of any of them. “Tell me,” he pleaded. “I'm listening.”
Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment more before taking a steadying breath. “It's just that I...I can't eat the animals.”
“You can't?” Qui-Gon searched his memory frantically for that information, suddenly terrified that he had failed to properly prepare for a weakness in the boy's biology. Had Obi-Wan really been so polite as to refrain from reminding him about a food allergy so pervasive? Had he forgotten to ask Master Che about something?
But no, he had looked over Obi-Wan's medical history thoroughly after cementing their partnership. He had seen everything; he was sure of it. Obi-Wan was in possession of a thrice broken nose that bled a bit too easily. Any exposure to hoi fish would send him into anaphylactic shock; he carried an epi-pen in his mission bag and knew what to do with it. He had intense, frequent visions, a tendency toward Force exhaustion, and the nasty habit of sleepwalking when he was stressed (and occasionally hovering large objects while doing it, which had been quite a thing when that object happened to be the sleeping master next door). All of that, Qui-Gon remembered. But when it came to this, he came up empty.
“I don't recall anything from your medical files other than your hoi allergy. I assure you, there are no hoi fish anywhere around here.”
“I'm not allergic, Master. I just...I can't do it. Please don't make me do it.”
Qui-Gon blinked several times in shocked silence. Obi-Wan wasn't allergic. His body would let him eat the meat but his heart, his soul would not. This was not a physical prohibition but an emotional one, a moral one.
Was his padawan really a vegetarian?
He thought back over all the meals he had shared with Obi-Wan in the refectory. He had never paid much attention to what was on the boy's plate, his only concern being that he spotted a fruit or a vegetable, preferably both. Now that he drew on those memories, he recalled plenty of rice and lentils, a taste for muja that never seemed satiated, an amount of greens that had always been more than enough to satisfy Qui-Gon's paternalism...but he could not remember ever spotting a piece of meat on Obi-Wan's tray. Now, with the rabbit so clearly turning his padawan's stomach, he was quite certain it had never been there.
Their missions had been to rather urban areas up until that point, diplomatic negotiations that were all relatively low risk and offered Qui-Gon a safe place for his padawan to wet his feet. He'd requested a slow start for his quiet, anxious boy, knowing that Obi-Wan far preferred using his mind to his saber, and it had been granted. But this also meant food had been readily available, with options different but no less varied than those at the Temple. Obi-Wan had continued eating, had even grown a little, and Qui-Gon had remained none the wiser.
'Six months. Six months, he's been in your care, and you didn't even notice. Have you been paying attention at all? What else have you missed? Things that were important and right under your nose?'
“They're alive,” Obi-Wan continued to explain, oblivious to the maelstrom of guilt that had swept Qui-Gon up. He glanced across their camp at what remained of the rabbit, eyes filled with a deep sadness. “I can feel them, so closely. They speak to me and I...I just can't do it. So I only eat the plants instead.”
“But the plants are alive too, aren't they?” Qui-Gon had spoken off the cuff and he instantly wanted to take his query back. The look of dawning horror in Obi-Wan's eyes implied that he hadn't thought through this part of the scenario. For a moment, he feared his boy may never eat anything ever again and simply waste away. “Now, now, I was only joking,” he backpedaled with a nervous laugh. “It's all right. You have to eat something, after all. And they do feel very different in the Force, yes?”
“Yes.” Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully, drawing in the dirt with his index finger. “The plants don't speak, not the same way that the animals do. They just...glow, pulse. Like little stars. Sometimes brighter or dimmer but never with the colors.”
“Colors?”
“The colors,” Obi-Wan repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “You know what I mean.”
“Ah.” Qui-Gon absolutely did not. He shelved that for a moment, though, intent on pursuing their first topic. “The difference. You're talking about sentience.” Obi-Wan mouthed the word carefully, testing how it felt on his tongue, the way he always did when he was introduced to a new one. “The animals seem different because they have the ability to think, to feel. The Living Force moves through them in the same way it moves through you. You can sense that, can connect with it in ways that simply aren't possible with the plants. Plants are vessels that carry life but they do not have feelings. Not for the most part, anyway.” He studied the rather meticulous snail doodle that Obi-Wan was currently adding antennae to. “But you must know that everything has the same value in the Force. Nothing is greater or lesser. The plants, the animals, even you and I.”
“Well, I certainly don't plan on eating you either, Master,” Obi-Wan countered. His tone was matter-of-fact but a mischievous spark danced around him. Qui-Gon chuckled, forever appreciative of his boy's quick wit. He would be a force to be reckoned with at the negotiation table one day, with his razor sharp intelligence and that silver tongue. It could be a frustrating trait, true, but Qui-Gon was intent upon nurturing and honing it rather than dulling it. It very well may save Obi-Wan's life and perhaps even thousands of others.
“Brat,” he murmured affectionately, lightly tugging on the short length of braid that barely cradled Obi-Wan's chin. It was a glaring representation of how young he really was, of how little time they'd shared together. As strong as he seemed, as brave and intelligent and staggeringly capable as he was, he was barely thirteen. The bond between them was so wispy, a gossamer thread that felt precious and fragile. And yet, a life without him already seemed distant, foreign, like a memory assembled from stories told rather than one's own recollections. “I suppose I should appreciate that.”
Obi-Wan smiled weakly at him and began to draw a friend for his snail. “It does beat the alternative.” His stomach rumbled noisily again and he wriggled in discomfort, causing something to twist in Qui-Gon's chest. He tried to quell it by inching closer to him. He looked over Obi-Wan's artwork before he reached out and added swirls and polka dots to the first drawing's shell. Obi-Wan examined it appraisingly and seemed to deem it an acceptable addition. His new snail was given a matching paint job.
“Tell me about the colors.”
“You know the colors. The ones that cling to the edges, that tell you what someone is feeling. There's the sad blues and the scared yellows and the angry reds. And then everyone has their color too, the one that's just...them.”
Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow. “I see.” That must be how Obi-Wan read the Force in others, how he felt his way through the world. Oh, his brilliant boy. How he loved getting to see how his precious mind worked. It only grew more fascinating, more wonderful, with every detail. He smiled fondly at him. “And what color am I, little one?”
Obi-Wan tilted his head softly, a look of bemusement on his face. “Don't be silly, Master. Those colors don't have names.” He blinked slowly, sleepily, for a moment before realization seemed to creep in. His eyes widened. “You don't see them,” he whispered.
“No, I'm afraid not. And what a shame indeed. How bright and beautiful your world must be. I must admit, I'm a bit jealous.”
Obi-Wan didn't seem to hear the praise in his tone. Instead, his brow creased, a frown overtaking his face. His lower lip trembled. “But...But I thought all of the Jedi could see them.”
Qui-Gon shook his head. “I'm not sure any of the other Jedi can see them. I think this very special thing might belong only to you.”
“I don't like being special,” Obi-Wan whined, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He curled further into himself, his very presence in the Force dimming, as if he wished to disappear. Qui-Gon reached for him there but he slipped between his fingers like grains of sand. “I don't want to be different. I'm always different.”
“Are you talking about your visions? You're young, yes, but you're certainly not the only Jedi to-”
“I'm talking about everything,” he nearly wailed, exasperated, exhausted, hurt. “I see things differently, feel things differently. Everyone else seems to just understand each other, but no one understands me. My friends don't even understand me. No one wants to.”
Now, that Qui-Gon could relate to. He thought of his own youth, of the long days he spent curled up under the gingko tree in the main garden with the buzz of the Living Force heavy in his ears. He remembered trying not to weep as he hid from the classes he understood little of and the younglings he understood less. He knew what it felt like to not fit in, forever pulled along by the whispers no one else could hear, chasing the glowing beacon that flitted to and fro in his life and demanded where he turn next. Be patient, he was told. Be still. But patience and stillness were for planning and futures and his entire being was commanded by the now.
He recalled the sharpness of Master Dooku's voice, the desperate need in his heart for his master to accept him, want him, love him that was only ever met with durasteel shields and closed doors. Qui-Gon learned to be a strong negotiator in hopes of simply being able to talk to him properly. He wanted to understand him, to be understood. It was unsurprising when he ran out of ways to ask for what he needed by the time he turned fourteen. He was much older before he realized that, to Dooku, there was only one way to do everything; one appropriate answer to every question, one correct meditation style, one proper saber form.
He'd mastered Ataru out of spite. The more advanced katas still tasted like victory.
And adulthood, knighthood, they had brought no relief from it all. With the few friends he had managed scattered to the winds on missions from the Core Worlds to wild space, he was more alone than ever. He became master to a brokenhearted boy who'd lost the one who had chosen him, muddled his way through their reluctant half-bond until Feemor reached knighthood. He hand-picked the next, determined to do right by him at all costs. He remembered the nights he laid awake after Xanatos had fallen, wondering how he had failed so spectacularly and how he would ever, ever feel whole again.
But then there was Obi-Wan, sunshine bright and kind and passionate and so very, very gentle, looking up at him like he'd hung every single star in the sky. No one, not even his other padawans, had ever looked at him that way, with such devotion that it made him want to be everything that this child thought he was. The boy who'd crushed him in a fierce hug and burst into tears when he'd chosen him, who still never seemed to understand just how incredible he was...
Obi-Wan was too young to understand that being unique made him capable, powerful, wonderful. They were different- Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both- different from their peers and different from each other, so much so that Qui-Gon had sometimes feared they would not find their equilibrium. But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe they could be different together.
Now, the Force pushed.
Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around his padawan's slim shoulders, tugging him firmly to his side. “I want to,” he whispered. Obi-Wan's breath hitched as he tugged against the embrace. “I know it isn't quite the same as one of your friends, but I do. I want to understand you. I'll learn as much about you as you're willing to share with me.” He paused briefly when he felt Obi-Wan stop resisting. “Padawan, I like that you're different.”
All at once, Obi-Wan turned and buried his face in the folds of Qui-Gon's tunic. He shook with silent sobs, clinging to his master like the child he was rather than the adult he so often tried to be. Qui-Gon held him tightly, pushing a sense of warmth and safety and love- all the love he had to give, everything he'd ever needed and more- into that sacred place between them. His padawan curled against him, ear pressed to the comforting thump of his master's heartbeat. The stars moved above them, the steady hum of the life of the planet resonating from below. Despite Obi-Wan's distress, there was an odd and somehow perfect peace between the two of them.
Long minutes passed before Obi-Wan took a deep, rattling breath, having fully cried himself out. “I'm hungry,” he whimpered, voice muffled against his master's clothing.
Qui-Gon pulled him closer, resting his chin atop the boy's head. “I know,” he sympathized. “I'm sorry.”
Obi-Wan huffed a miserable sigh. “This was never a problem at the Temple.”
Qui-Gon nodded solemnly against the softness of his copper hair. “You will find that is true of many things, I'm afraid. The world outside of the Temple walls is not always kind.”
“That's okay,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “Neither was the one inside.”
“No, I suppose it really wasn't, was it?”
“And you're here.”
"Yes." Obi-Wan's head was heavy against Qui-Gon's chest. He could feel the heat of his boy's cheek through the fabric as he idly traced the root of his braid. “I am.”
“Always?” There was a delicate hope in Obi-Wan's voice. It stole the words from Qui-Gon's throat and forced him to swallow hard to regain them. How he wished he could lie for his boy's sake, offer him the empty comfort that other father figures had the luxury of bestowing upon their children. But he was not Obi-Wan's father and Jedi did not lie, even when it was painful to be truthful.
“No,” he admitted reluctantly. He stroked his thumb soothingly along Obi-Wan's upper arm, hoping he could ease the sting of his honesty. “No, not always. One day, you will be a knight, on your own. One day, you will be a master with your own apprentice to guide and teach. And one day, I will join the Force and be no more. But as long as there's life in me, I will be there when you call for me, in whatever capacity I am able.” He pulled back, making pointed eye contact with him. “I swear,” he promised. “That is the most I can offer you, all I have to give anyone in the entire universe. And I know it will never be enough. But it's yours, Padawan-mine. I swear.”
Obi-Wan hummed, accepting, his head settling against Qui-Gon's chest once again. They stayed there in the wrap of their own thoughts, the silence punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional grumbling of Obi-Wan's stomach. Qui-Gon could feel his padawan dozing, lulled by the steadiness of his breathing and his warmth, tired enough to forgo his need for food in lieu of rest. Qui-Gon thought about letting him sleep, even of laying down right there beside him, but his heart wouldn't let him.
'He's so good. His own needs are always last to the ones of those he serves, those of his friends, yours. He loves and he gives and he takes care of everyone and everything, to his own detriment. He's a good boy and he's going to be a good knight, a good master, one day. But right now, he's still your padawan, still your baby. And your baby's hungry.'
He ran his fingers through the endearing spikes of his boy's short hair. “Okay,” he said assertively, patting Obi-Wan gently on the cheek to rouse him. Obi-Wan jerked back to awareness and blinked up at him curiously. “I'll go look for something. But if I can't find anything or what I manage isn't to your liking, you have to promise me that you'll eat. One way or another.”
“You...You don't have to-”
“One way or another. Promise me, Padawan,” he demanded, giving him a stern, pointed look. Obi-Wan nodded rapidly. “Good. Stay here, stay sharp. If something seems amiss, you call for me. Show me your comm; I want to confirm the frequency.”
Obi-Wan dug in his bag and held the device out obediently. Qui-Gon took it and checked the screen, adjusted one of the tiny dials. He gave him a nod of acknowledgment as he set it lightly back in his hands. He then grabbed his satchel and clipped his saber to his belt, preparing to venture into the now dark wood behind them.
Berries, maybe. He might be able to spot those in the moonlight. Mushrooms could be dangerous; his memory for them wasn't particularly good. It sure wouldn't do to poison him. Which other plants were edible on Malastare? He'd seen a river about two kliks to the south; would his boy eat a fish? Did that count as an animal? He'd certainly never connected properly with a fish himself, but-
“Master?” Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder. Obi-Wan was staring after him, something unreadable painted on his face. The freckles across his nose seemed to dance in the shadows of the flames, his blue-gray eyes alight with something Qui-Gon hadn't seen there before. He looked even younger, even smaller somehow, and something brutally protective surged in Qui-Gon's chest.
“Yes, little light?”
After a moment more, Obi-Wan shook his head, beaming. Their bond, new and delicate as it was, pulsed with something tender and sweet that made Qui-Gon's heart do a funny little flip. “May the Force be with you.”
Qui-Gon smiled back. “And with you. Always.”