Hi! This story was written by myself and a friend (anakinstopyourpanakin on Ao3). We collaborated on the first five chapters, and I've been writing by myself based on our shared outline after that.

Don't be frightened off - this story starts heavy on the angst, ends heavy on the fluff!

tw for mentions of past torture, graphic depictions of injury, PTSD

.*.*.*.

Dr. Fahra Tiaurn heard the nurse's footsteps pause in the doorway behind her and cursed under her breath. This must be about the man in the waiting room again.

"Barlen, tell him the child is in stable condition, and that's the only information we are releasing at the moment."

"I-I already did," Barlen stammered. The foreigner clad in long beige robes had come storming in half an hour ago demanding to see the unidentified patient that Tiaurn was examining.

Tiaurn sighed. Most days she did not miss her time as a field medic one bit – in the county hospital she had a ward of 20 beds to oversee and much less to cope with in terms of violent, young deaths – but at least in the Jacquen Interplanetary Army she'd never had to deal with karking family members.

"Then please tell him again," she said with forced poise. Tiaurn liked Barlen well enough, though he was a bit timid. She almost regretted sending him back to face the belligerent stranger.

The doctor returned her attention to the patient on her exam table. He was a human, male, mid-teens, and given the behavior of the police who brought him in, apparently the victim of some high-profile crime. Long, filthy lacerations scored every inch of the child's back. He'd been in a lot of pain when he arrived, kicking and struggling and sobbing inconsolably. The doctor had sedated him with anger burning in her heart. Tiaurn considered herself fairly unflappable, but this case was testing the limits of her professionalism.

It was hard not to think about how methodically the shallow wounds were placed, clearly not to kill but to torture.

Tiaurn held her revulsion at arm's length and focused on writing an objective report for her records. The child was severely underweight and anemic. The wounds on his wrists suggested that he'd been tied up, and his lungs sounded horrible. She'd ordered scans and bloodwork, but felt sure they would return a diagnosis of pneumonia left untreated for gods knew how long. He'd been kept somewhere damp and foul judging by the conjunctivitis and macerated rashes on his skin. How a humanoid could allow another humanoid to reach this state was beyond her.

Typing into her datapad as she went, Tiaurn carefully checked him over for internal injuries. He was straining to breathe through his congested lungs, though Tiaurn was glad to see that the nasal oxygen treatment was easing his struggle somewhat.

She heard footsteps again, and knew without looking to whom they belonged.

"Barlen, call security if you have to."

"No, he's calmed down…he contacted his home planet, but they can't get him the DNA file right away. Can't we at least let him confirm that this is his kid?"

"Not legally," the doctor sighed. The police chief's instructions had been explicit. For all they knew, this man could be a suspect…or he could be an anxious father, desperate to know whether his child was safe. "But let's get everything prepared for as soon as he has the file."

She set Barlen to work hooking up an IV while she dug out a DNA collection kit and swabbed the inside of the patient's cheek. "Let's hope it's a match," she said quietly to the unconscious child.

Barlen and another nurse prepared to move the patient to a treatment room, where they would clean and dress his wounds. Tiaurn saw them on their way before she steeled herself to face the man who had been terrorizing the nursing staff. She really did loathe talking to family members.

The man in question sat in the corner of the waiting room, his broad shoulders hunched forward with his forearms on his knees. He lifted a grief-stricken face to meet Tiaurn's gaze.

The doctor inhaled steadily. "Mr. Jinn?"

.*.*.*.

Obi-Wan had been on Qui-Gon's mind more than usual all day.

Qui-Gon permitted himself a rueful smile. He knew the Council had hoped Jacquen would be a distraction rather than a reminder, and yet as he trudged through the dim and musty halls, fatigued in muscle and in spirit, he longed more than ever for the comfort of his padawan by his side. Obi-Wan was a phantom pain that had never truly left him.

"Master Jedi," said the exasperated police captain from the doorway. "There will be time to see to the bodies later."

Qui-Gon paid her no mind. He sensed there was something that he did not yet know. Something he trusted would be revealed to him soon.

He knelt beside the corpse of a Mon Cal woman with her hands tied behind her back, the most recent victim in a string of torture and murder cases that had spanned five different systems. He pulled out a small handheld device to check her fingerprints against the list of known victims.

"Master Jedi," the captain repeated, leaning against the doorframe. Her department had been grateful for the Jedi Order's offer of help, but she wasn't sure the agent they'd sent understood the amount of painstaking legwork that had gone into this capture.

Qui-Gon's scanner pinged as it found the matching police report. The victim was a Mon Cala native who had gone missing six months ago. She had not been affiliated with the Jedi, but she had been strong in the Force. So far, all the victims had been Force-sensitive in some way, which was why the Jedi Order had taken an interest. There was emergency contact information in the report. Qui-Gon was relieved. Her family deserved to know what had happened to her.

The Force was behaving strangely in this decrepit den. The officers had explained that centuries ago this had been a state prison, but the wood had grown up around it and engulfed it until the neighboring towns all but forgot it had existed. Why had the Force lead him here? What was he meant to see?

The truth was, the promptings of the Living Force were not as easily decipherable to Qui-Gon as they had once been. His vision was often clouded by the impatience and anger he kept near to his heart. He had never quite forgiven the Jedi Council for closing the case of Obi-Wan's apparent murder and holding a memorial. There was no denying that the circumstances had looked grim. Obi-Wan had been involved in a violent skirmish on Vanquor several years ago, and no trace of him alive or otherwise had ever been found. His Force bond with his master had gone silent within weeks, and the search teams' leads had run out within months. Even Qui-Gon could not pretend there was much hope.

Still, it was easier to resent the Council than confront the truth.

"If the suspect gets wind of our presence, he will flee. It may take us months to track him down again," the captain reminded him testily.

Qui-Gon rose, stoic and silent. A tiny green light on the captain's earpiece lit up, and Qui-Gon knew she was receiving a transmission from one of the teams outside. "They have all exits covered," she relayed. "Now is our best shot."

Qui-Gon stowed the scanner in his pocket and lay one hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. "Then let us move quickly."

He ignored the officer's exasperated huff and followed her deeper into the prison.

They were relatively certain that the suspect had been living in the guard's barracks in the southern end of the building. There were two hallways which connected these to the main corridor. The captain sent Qui-Gon and a young cadet down one side and took the other for herself. She would enter and approach the man first, but they were to be ready to provide backup if necessary.

"Remember," she said as their paths diverged. "Our first priority is to stop this man, at all costs."

"The Jedi Council wants him alive," Qui-Gon reminded her. They were keen to discover what his particular interest in Force users was, and whether he was acting alone.

"That's best case scenario, yes," the captain asserted, in a tone that let Qui-Gon know how much she cared that the Jedi Council got what they wanted.

Qui-Gon frowned in acceptance and turned down the dark hallway. This section of the building looked slightly less liable to cave in on top of them, but it was still saturated with the reek of rust and decay.

After a short distance, the boy piped up, "This isn't the way." Qui-Gon thought his name was Alten or something of that sort.

Qui-Gon realized with a jolt that Alten was right. He blinked as he studied their shadowy surroundings. They stood not the passageway to the barracks, but in another hallway lined with cells. Qui-Gon smiled. It was not in his nature to question the guidance of the Force – not then, and not now.

"Master Jedi?" Alten protested.

Qui-Gon ignored him. He placed his palm against a heavy metal door, and that felt right, strangely. He was making progress. With careful application of the Force, he slid the door aside.

The cell was windowless and even darker than the corridor. Qui-Gon could barely make out a small form propped up against the wall. His gut twisted. He had seen enough brutalized corpses already today.

As Qui-Gon drew closer, he realized that this victim had been a human child, stark naked and bound just as the Mon Cal woman had been. The restraints only afforded them a few inches of movement, not even enough slack to lie down properly. Qui-Gon guessed that their death had not been a quick one.

As Qui-Gon knelt and reached for his scanner, he heard a tiny cough.

[Jinn, confirm your location,] said the captain's voice in his ear. Qui-Gon thought about answering it, but the child before him coughed again, a weak, gasping sound. Qui-Gon hurriedly pressed two fingers to the inside of their wrist. Despite the utter lack of a Force presence, the child had a pulse.

"Force," Qui-Gon cursed, shedding his cloak and wrapping it around the child's bony shoulders. None of the previous victims had been found alive. Now that Qui-Gon listened, he could just barely hear their shallow breaths.

"Hello, can you hear me?" urged Qui-Gon as he pulled a small knife from his boot and reached for the ties that bound the child's wrists. They flinched violently away from his outstretched hand.

"Easy now, I want to help you. I'm a Jedi—"

"No 'm not," the child cried, squeezing his eyes shut. "Jus' a padawan, I don't know—please—"

The voice slammed into Qui-Gon like a hovertrain. It sounded like…but it couldn't be…the face was distorted with swollen bruises, but that chin, the mole on his brow…

"Obi-Wan?" It came out as a strangled whisper.

The child didn't react to the name, and simply mouthed 'Please' again.

[JINN!] hollered the voice from the earpiece, but Qui-Gon did not hear it.

Qui-Gon cut the bonds and gathered Obi-Wan to his chest, cradling his head. All he could choke out was, "I've got you. Dear Force, I've got you now."

Obi-Wan appeared to have passed out. Qui-Gon shook him again, as hard as he dared, but the padawan would not rouse.

Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan carefully with one arm around his waist and the other through the crooks of his knees.

The young officer was distraught when Qui-Gon rushed back into the hallway. "Master Jedi, they're in pursuit, they need our help to—"

"He needs medical attention now," Qui-Gon interrupted.

"He…" the boy gaped at the bundle in Qui-Gon's arms. "He's alive?"

"Obviously," Qui-Gon roared.

Shouts echoed further down the hallway.

[Jinn, you better have that karking exit covered]

The shouts and heavy footfalls were growing closer. Qui-Gon made a split-second decision. He turned and transferred Obi-Wan into Alten's arms, the boy automatically reaching out to receive the burden before he had the chance to realize what was happening.

"Run," Qui-Gon told him with a clap on the shoulder. "Get out of here, whatever it takes."

"But—"

"RUN!" Qui-Gon didn't pause to watch the young man go. He turned in the opposite direction and ignited his lightsaber.

The suspect burst into the corridor with something in his fist – perhaps a small blaster? He hesitated when he spotted Qui-Gon, but two police officers were on his heels. Then Qui-Gon's ears popped and the world turned white-hot.

Qui-Gon became aware of a sharp pain in his ears. He calmly began to take stock of himself. He determined that he was able to roll onto his back and sit up without issue. No broken bones, evidently. There seemed to be some blood dripping from his chin. All in all, not too serious.

No sooner had Qui-Gon finished that assessment than he began to remember how he had gotten here. The mission, the botched arrest. The kidnapper blowing himself to bits rather than be taken into custody. The tortured boy in the cell who had sounded exactly like…

Qui-Gon pushed himself to his feet, ignoring how his head pounded.

"Hey!" someone called to him. They beckoned from across the wreckage by the main highway, where some police speeders were gathered.

Qui-Gon stumbled down to them, climbing through rubble and undergrowth. "The boy," he blurted out when he reached the responders who were still searching for survivors. "Where is he?"

"Jinn, what the hell?" the captain demanded when she saw him. She was seated on the edge of one of the speeders while a medic cleaned a gash on her shoulder. "Make sure you let your precious Council know why we don't have a suspect for them to interrogate," she continued.

"But…the boy, did Alten—"

"Alten already left for the medcenter, if that's what you're trying to ask."

"Where's the medcenter?" Qui-Gon pressed. "Never mind!" He spotted an airtaxi passing by and flagged it down, barking directions at the driver.

Qui-Gon staggered into the atrium of the medcenter, and panted, "Is he alive?"

He vaguely heard the receptionist respond affirmatively, but his mind was reeling. The child had sounded exactly like Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon had not gotten a proper look in the dusky light.

Qui-Gon searched his feelings for any sign of Obi-Wan's presence, but their bond was as silent as always. Could it have been a mistake? He had to look again, in broad light, and assure himself that the child's face was one he did not recognize. But they wouldn't let him in, they wouldn't tell him anything. He was pretty sure he had said something rude, but it seemed detached from the confusion he felt. How was he supposed to let go of this ridiculous hope if they wouldn't let him see the child?

He had tried to contact Coruscant, and that had been a nightmare. What if he really were delusional? Qui-Gon's head felt light and he realized he was sweating. He sank down into an uncomfortable chair and inhaled deeply. The Force had guided him to that particular cell and this particular mission, and it would guide him wherever this path led next.

Just as Qui-Gon felt he could stand it no longer, a voice beckoned to him.

"Mr. Jinn?"

.*.*.*.

Thanks for reading!