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Qui-Gon didn’t notice at first. When Obi-Wan took two nutrition bars every morning from the bowl Qui-Gon had left on the counter for that express purpose, he was nothing but pleased. The healers had drilled it into his head that Obi-Wan needed food, and had recommended leaving some out so it could be accessible at all times, and this just seemed to prove that something was working.
Still, the healers had also told him he had to make sure that Obi-Wan did actually eat, so Qui-Gon always asked him to eat one before leaving for his classes, and Obi-Wan always reluctantly complied.
Not the second one, though. Obi-Wan always refused to have even a single bite of that one.
“For later, between my classes,” he would say, tucking the second bar into his bag.
Qui-Gon could not disapprove. Snacks were good, snacks meant more food, and that meant that Obi-Wan would stop being so scarily gaunt and Qui-Gon would stop being so reminded of his own mistakes every time he looked at the boy.
All in all, Obi-Wan’s dietary plan seemed to be going well. He ate the nutrition bar in front of Qui-Gon in the morning, took his specialized lunch in the dining hall and had to turn in an empty plate to the cooks, and then had dinner with Qui-Gon in their quarters every night. At Obi-Wan’s weekly checkups, the healers had stopped giving Qui-Gon such dirty looks when they thought his Padawan was not looking.
Qui-Gon was proud to report all this progress to the mindhealer he’d been assigned.
“He seems much more stable than I had anticipated,” Qui-Gon said, nodding and leaning back in his seat. “All in all, I think this is a success so far.”
Healer Brai looked at him calmly, hands still folded together in his lap over his datapad. “How so?”
Qui-Gon frowned. Hadn’t he just said? Perhaps this was one of those therapeutic techniques that involved repetition. “We all thought Obi-Wan would have issues with food after going through... food insecurity on Melida/Daan.” That sounded more palatable than the word used in Obi-Wan’s medical files — starvation. “But he seems fine. He eats regularly, and even seeks out more food. I put even more prepackaged things out after the success with the nutrition bars, and those stocks have been declining regularly as well. I think we might have dodged a blaster bolt here.”
Healer Brai stayed silent and just watched him. He was probably waiting for Qui-Gon to get uncomfortable with the silence and pitch in more, but Qui-Gon was used to being the most stubborn one in the room and he certainly was not going to break first.
Or that was what he thought. But it only took a few seconds before Qui-Gon’s mouth was blurting out, “Why do you ask? Has Obi-Wan’s mindhealer said something different?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
Qui-Gon huffed slightly out of his nose and argued just for the hell of it. “I’m his Master, don’t I need to know how his treatment is going?”
“Confidentiality still exists,” Healer Brai said wryly, then turned more serious. “And you know there exists a deficit in trust between you and your Padawan. That takes time to heal.”
“I know,” Qui-Gon said quietly.
Your Padawan. The words echoed in his head. After their first session, when Qui-Gon had admitted that he subconsciously had trouble ascertaining what role Obi-Wan played now in his head, Healer Brai had made a point of referring to him as his Padawan at any opportunity. He knew there were tangles in his mind that warped his perception, had been since Xanatos, and they had affected Obi-Wan negatively. He had to do better now. He would do better.
“That doesn’t mean that things are not improving,” Healer Brai said. “I’m glad to hear your reports of Obi-Wan doing well. I would just urge you to not let down your guard. It has only been a month that he has been back at the Temple. Sometimes these things take a little while to manifest. Often, the brain will not process trauma until well after the fact, when they are in a position of safety once more and it is okay to let down their guard. Just because Obi-Wan seems to be doing alright now does not mean he will continue to be in the future, or even that he truly is coping as well as he seems at the moment.”
“I know,” Qui-Gon said again, in an even quieter tone of voice.
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble here, Qui-Gon.” Healer Brai smiled. “I’m glad to hear he’s eating, truly.”
He just nodded.
Healer Brai gave him a few more seconds to process, then switched topics. “Let’s talk about your former apprentices now.”
Force. Qui-Gon hated therapy.
—
When he got back to his quarters an hour later, Qui-Gon felt wrung out and exhausted in a way he normally only was after a hard day in the salles. He was fully prepared to throw some leftovers in the reheater for him and Obi-Wan and call it a day. But when he opened the door, the sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.
Every cupboard door was open, revealed newly bare shelves, and the entire counter and table space in the kitchen was covered with food. Dried pasta, canned beans, half-opened snack bags, bottled water, even the surely-stale bag of sweets that Qui-Gon was pretty sure he’d gotten as a gag gift years ago. Everything they had stored away, even items long forgotten, were now on display and categorized in neat little rows.
Qui-Gon stepped into the room, bewildered, and was prepared to call out Obi-Wan’s name when he saw him crouched on the floor in between the counter and the open conservator door. The florescent lights glowed on his face as he muttered under his breath.
“Two cases of ground nerf, that could probably last a week... The blue milk would go bad first, but we’d have to portion it carefully so everyone got their fair share... These drink cans don’t need to be in the conservator, that’s just to keep them cold, so they could last a while...”
Obi-Wan nodded to himself, brows furrowed, and rose to his feet, fingers scratching unconsciously against the still healing burn on the side of his neck. He had a tendency to do things like that when he was stressed. His mindhealer called it self-harm, but that couldn’t be what that was, could it? Still, Qui-Gon cleared his throat before that could go too far, and winced when Obi-Wan practically jumped in surprise.
“Master!” He exclaimed, face almost white with shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would be back already. I’m — I’m just, uh—”
“Making a feast for yourself?” Qui-Gon smiled, eyebrow raised in amusement.
Obi-Wan shook his head quickly, almost offended. “No, not for me, for—” He almost visibly gulped. “Uh. No one.”
“No one?” Qui-Gon asked, voice steeped in doubt.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan nodded frantically. “I’ll put all this away right now, I’m sorry.” He sprung into motion, grabbing items off the counter and placing them back in the cupboards with practiced ease and swiftness. He seemed to know exactly where each thing should go, down to the way a jar was oriented and which direction a box label was facing.
“Have you...” Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed. “Have you done this before?”
Obi-Wan froze, hand clutching a box of pasta halfway to the nearest shelf. He stared straight ahead and did not look in his Master’s direction.
“I just...” Obi-Wan was trying so hard to keep his voice even that it ended up shaking regardless. “I just need to make sure.”
“Make sure of what, Padawan?”
But Obi-Wan shook his head quickly, almost more of a jerk or a shiver, then went back to tidying up and refused to speak any more of the matter, and Qui-Gon did not want to push.
—
It was never screaming that woke him in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan never yelled, or cried, or accidentally threw things with the Force. He didn’t thrash around in his bed, or sob so loudly that it disturbed their neighbors. Instead, he lay so quiet and still that any outside observer could be forgiven for thinking that he was sleeping peacefully.
Any non-Force-sensitive outsider, that was. Because in the Force, Obi-Wan screamed, a wail of despair so thick that it was choking. That was what got Qui-Gon out of bed every night without fail. That night was no different.
The chrono at his bedside said it was just past three in the morning, but Qui-Gon did not dawdle. He slammed his hand against the door control to Obi-Wan’s bedroom and rushed inside. But instead of finding Obi-Wan lying under his sheets, he was sitting on the floor right next to his bed, staring at something on the floor and gripping his hair with tight fists, rocking back and forth slightly.
“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, raising the lights slightly so they were no longer in pitch darkness. “Are you alright?”
Obi-Wan did not answer. Concerned, Qui-Gon made to kneel beside him, but Obi-Wan startled and shifted instantly into a more guarded position, eyes wild.
“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon said, raising his hands and backing up slightly. “I won’t come any closer, I promise.”
“Get back to your stronghold, Elder,” Obi-Wan snarled. “Leave the Young alone.”
Realization shot through Qui-Gon like a bolt of lightning. “Obi-Wan,” he said softly. “It’s Master Qui-Gon. You’re back in the Temple, not on Melida/Daan.”
Obi-Wan’s hands clenched and unclenched shakily. He swallowed and blinked a few times. “Master?”
Qui-Gon could have melted in relief. Sometimes it took many minutes to convince Obi-Wan he was not still stuck on that war-torn planet. “Yes. It’s okay. You’re safe in the Temple.”
His Padawan let out a choked little gasp at that and sat back on the floor, running his hands through his hair again but thankfully not gripping quite so hard this time.
Now that he could see a little better, what Obi-Wan had been staring at became more clear. Lined up in front of him were nutrition bars, packaged nuts, bottled water, dried fruit — all the things that had been lying around their quarters for the past few weeks.
“Is this...?”
Qui-Gon did not know exactly what he was asking, and he received no answer, not immediately. But then Obi-Wan let out a tiny, desperate “I’m sorry!” and all of a sudden the room was filled with sobs.
“Oh,” said Qui-Gon, who had never quite been sure what to do with any crying younglings, let alone crying traumatizedyounglings that were under his direct care. He’d seen crèchemasters gently rub the backs of their tiny charges, but the mindhealers had all told him to be very careful with touch around Obi-Wan, since he might startle badly. This was probably not the time to test that. So all he could do was exude peace and safety through the Force and his words.
“It’s okay, Obi-Wan. Whatever it is, it’s okay. You’re here in the Temple. You’re safe.”
“I — I know,” Obi-Wan said, raising his head. “But th-they’re not.”
“Who?”
Obi-Wan looked absolutely wrecked, eyes red and puffy already. “The other children.”
The human heart was a soft, pliable muscle, not anywhere near as fragile as it looked, and yet Qui-Gon felt like his had shattered in his chest.
“That’s why I have all this,” he continued, gesturing pitifully at the stockpile of food next to him. There were tears still trailing silently down his cheeks, dripping onto the front of his tunic. “I know it’s — I know it’s irrational, but I’m saving it for them. Why is it fair that I should get all this food and they should not?”
He sniffled and wiped at his face. The words, when they came, were quiet. “On Melida/Daan, I was in charge of making sure all the Young were fed. It was easier in the beginning, when there were still settlements around that hadn’t been picked through yet. But as time went on, things got more and more scarce, especially the specialty items. A few — a few of the youngest died, because I couldn’t find any milk or formula to feed them. The rest of us were down to quarter rations for the last few weeks. We all fainted a few times from the hunger. I had to stop some of the younglings from licking wrappers they found in a dumpster, just to get some nutrients.”
Obi-Wan was silent for a moment and played with a nutrition bar, twisting it between his fingers and staring at it like it brought him pain and salvation all at once. “It started with the nutrition bars. They were just — always there, and I knew it made you happy when I took more than one, so I just started saving them, and then you put out more things, and I could save those too and so I did and I just — it just makes me feel better. To know this stuff is here. In case we need it.”
In another universe, the worst thing Qui-Gon would have had to deal with from his Padawan was growth spurts and eye rolls. But here, in this universe, Obi-Wan had been left in war far too young and for far too long, and now they were both paying the price.
“The Temple is secure and has plenty of food,” Qui-Gon said, trying to appeal to logic. “You don’t need to worry.”
Obi-Wan’s gaze grew haunted. “I have seen the Temple in disarray. Burning from the inside out. Awash with the corpses of our siblings. You can never be sure.”
A chill ran down Qui-Gon’s back, but he pushed it aside. Dreams or visions? There was no way of knowing, so it was best not to dwell on them. They both needed to focus on the here and now, and what Obi-Wan needed in the here and now was more help.
“I think we need to bring this up to your mindhealer, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly.
“I know,” Obi-Wan said miserably. He looked down, like he could not bear to meet Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Are you... Are you mad?”
“No.” Qui-Gon was relieved at how instant his response was. “Obi-Wan, let me make something clear.” He waited until Obi-Wan had raised his eyes again to continue. “My top priority right now is making sure that you not only are safe, but feel safe. Anything that helps you do that is vitally important to me.”
A few seconds of silence passed, and for a moment Qui-Gon was worried he had done something wrong again, but then Obi-Wan’s lower lip trembled and he found his arms full of a sobbing Padawan.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes and clutching Obi-Wan’s head into his shoulder. Obi-Wan shook and trembled in his arms, but Qui-Gon did not let go. And there in that moment, he swore to himself he never would again.