DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
The stark whiteness of the sheets around his young body blinds your eyes. Around you the hustle and bustle of the crowds of healers and droids is nothing but extra noise. The chair under you holds you up as you feel weightless and groundless. Your hand trails down the softness of his cheek, to cup his chin. Sweat has dried on his countenance and makes the skin slightly clammy to the touch.
“So, what can be done for him?” you ask, your eyes not leaving Obi-Wan’s face. Your child lies on the bed, shaking and incoherent.
Mace’s hand lands on your shoulder with a reassuring weight. “That is why you were summoned, Tira.” His mouth forms a thin line as he follows your gaze to lock on Obi’s face. So pale, so taut….the illness that afflicts him is tearing him up from the inside. It is changing his genetic makeup slowly. Ever so slowly, but insidiously.
“I can help?” you ask, almost not hearing your own voice.
“We need genetic material from the boy’s mother or father or indeed both to be able to stop this illness. If we can stop it…we should be able to reverse it. Right now, if something is not done in the next few hours, his lungs and digestive organs will be changed.” The healer meets your eyes, sparing you no quarter. Blunt and to the point, the honesty almost hurts, but it is necessary.
You fidget for a moment and tilt your head back to look at Mace as he stands by your shoulder. He arrived on your doorstep a couple of hours previously, agitated and angry. You left so quickly that you had to change your clothes on the transport. The only information that you were told was that Qui and Obi-Wan had been involved in a problem on their last mission and had met with a deadly virus. It wasn’t until you were placed here next to Obi-Wan’s bed that you had the full information in your hands.
“Anything you need from me is yours to take,” you say, swallowing around your tears. Mace’s hand tightens on your shoulder and you gaze back up at him. Since Qui-Gon took, albeit rather grudgingly, Obi-Wan as his Padawan, Mace had been keeping you informed of their doings and well being. Yoda had imparted the information to Mace about Obi-Wan’s parentage as a precautionary measure to ensure the boy’s safety and your sanity.
“He will fare better if they get material from the father also, Tira,” he whispers, barely heard over the noise around you. Mace bends his knees to kneel in front of you. His hand is gentle as he tilts back your chin to meet his eyes. His face is open and warm, covered by smooth skin and a mask of serenity. His eyes, heavy and dark, sweep over yours with intent.
You sigh and close your eyes. With a shaky hand, you rub your eyes. And here you thought that problems would diminish when Qui-Gon took Obi as his apprentice…you had hoped for a happy ending. And indeed, this last year had been peaceful and happy…watching father and son bond. Mace places his hand on your head, rubbing gently. “I know, Tira…. but…it is life and death…”
You search his eyes. In them you see the depths of his friendship with Qui-Gon, and the need not to cause him pain. “I know,” you whisper, a shade louder than silence. You can feel your heart beating like a wild bird and your hands shake. “Tell him, Mace…and get what you need….he will not deny you…or Obi-Wan.”
“You should tell him.”
“Let me deal with the situation after we do what we must for Obi-Wan. I will go and get what is needed from me…please…” you plead with the Council member who hangs his head momentarily and then nods.
The comfort of the bed is lost to you as you sink into the sheets with a sigh. The medic droid swipes at your arm with a cold moisture laden swab and you brace yourself for the prick. They need blood and after that a sampling of your bone marrow. Finally, an extraction of a couple of your ovum will complete the procedure. This is only the first step. As the pain spreads from your arm where the sample is being taken, you eye the bed in the next room. Only a separated from the next room by a clear thin wall, you can see Obi-Wan lying in the bed. It is a bed that would normally be used for a knight or a Master, and the young boy looks dwarfed by it. His golden auburn hair lies against the pillow, and looks like streaks of emblazoned sunlight. Oh your little boy, whatever brought you to this…lying on a bed, wasting away?
For years you have watched him, ached for him and prayed to whatever deity that would listen to keep him safe. Yoda has told you of his accomplishments, of his temper being slowly brought to heel, and of his excelling in piloting and sabre. He appeared to be well-adjusted and well-taken care of that is until his father took him out into the galaxy. The one thing that you had wished for- Qui-Gon to take his son as his apprentice- had caused the boy the most harm.
Damn him! What was he thinking? Obi-Wan is barely 14, barely over the age of self-awareness, and Qui-Gon drags him into life threatening situations? Has the man no brains? He is a Jedi Master with all the talents and skills that that position afford, Obi-Wan is not…he is simply a boy.
You can hear your lover’s voice in your head as if he were standing right next to you. He is a Jedi, Tira. And as a Jedi, he must know how to react and act at an early age.
You wince as the medic droid places a circular disc against your leg and begins the process to remove a core of your bone marrow. The pain shoots from your thigh through the core of your body to tingle in the base of your brain. Ouch! That hurts!
Suddenly the door in the next room slides open. Mace stalks through hurriedly only to be almost angrily pushed out of the way as Qui-Gon presses in behind him. You cease to feel anything…including the pain. Everything falls to the background- the noise, the tangible feeling of atmosphere, your own existence. All you see is the fire in his eyes. Eyes that have burned with passion these last fifteen years, eyes that smile with laughter. They burn differently now.
He walks to the bed, the loud clank of his boots audible even in your room. Bending over, he looks at Obi-Wan with a tenderness that melts your heart, and brings tears to your eyes. A large hand shakes off the robe and presses against your son’s forehead. You can see the shaking of the hand from here. He hangs his head for a moment and nods quietly to whatever Mace whispers to him. Then you hear his voice, muffled but plaintive. “I will do whatever is needed, Mace.”
You take a deep breath and hang your head in thankfulness. The cool air of the medicward burns at your nostrils for a moment, bring in the smells of bactaskin and various remedies. A tear falls as you smile gently. Your boy will be fine. You and Qui-Gon will do what is needed. You raise your head again, only to see those sapphire fire blazed eyes staring at you. Drilling through you. Paralyzing you.
You cannot catalogue the emotion you see there. All you know is that your heart has stopped beating and you are fighting for breath. He knows. Knows all of it. You gasp as you see Mace lay a hand on his shoulder to turn him away.
As the droid presses on your shoulder to get you to lie on the bed, you realize the one thing that you did not see in his eyes. Love.
It is the last thought that you have before the darkness of Force induced sleep takes over your senses.