Archive: Um. If you really want to...
Category: Angst
Feedback: C/C appreciated.
Notes: italic denotes thoughts.
Pairing: Q/O
Rating: R
Series: Um. No comment.
Warnings: Angst. Pain. The usual.
The next morning, Qui-Gon awoke to find Obi-Wan gone. He closed his eyes and reached out through the Force, searching for his lover's familiar presence. He found it, not far away, on the balcony off their room. He sensed in it a deep, cutting anguish that cut him as well. He winced in sympathy. Climbing out of bed and pulling on his robe, he started to the balcony, still keeping in contact with Obi-Wan's presence-
And then, abruptly, he felt their connection broken. Not severed, but blocked somehow. Purposely.
He ducked out onto the balcony, glancing around, seeing his apprentice standing at the far end, looking out over the lush, green landscape of Handu. Qui-Gon wished he had not blocked their connection - it would've been easier that way.
"Obi-Wan?" he asked, taking a careful step forward. No reply. "Obi-Wan? What's wrong?"
After a long time, the youth managed a tight reply. "Nothing, Master. I'm fine."
Qui-Gon frowned. The tension in Obi-Wan's voice belied his pain. "Padawan-please." 'You're hurting, please...tell me what's wrong...' he half-prayed.
Obi-Wan turned to face him, gripping hard the balcony's railing to stay his trembling. His eyes were dark with controlled hurt.
"M-master, nothing's wrong." He could not stop the faint tremor of his voice, and knew it. Qui-Gon gave him a sympathetic look, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. For several long moments - too long, for Qui-Gon's tastes - both were silent. Obi-Wan felt his already shaky control breaking under the pressure of his master's gaze.
"Tell me." Not a question. Qui-Gon laid both hands on his Padawan's shoulders, feeling the muscle tremble under the robe's tough cloth.
That did it. Obi-Wan could no longer control the overwhelming feelings of anguish and darkness that were engulfing his mind. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, and all that came out was a thin, pained whimper. He collapsed into his master's arms, much the same as he had the night before, crying fiercely. The block broke as well, and Qui-Gon was faced with almost the full brunt of his young lover's pain. The flickering memories were the same, but their emotions stronger, more certain and defined. Still painful as Sith-hell, though.
"Shh, Padawan. It's all right." So what if he - they - knew that wasn't true? What else could he said. "It's all right." He ran his hands up and down Obi-Wan's back, trying in vain to soothe him.
"N-no, it's n-n-not a-all r-right," Obi-Wan whispered into his master's chest.
Qui-Gon tightened his arms around the young man, holding him as close as he could, kissing the top of his head gently.
"M-m-master..." Obi-Wan moaned softly. The hurt cut like a knife at Qui-Gon's soul, but he blocked it out, concentrating simply on his apprentice.
"Shh. Come on, then." Slowly, Qui-Gon walked back to their room, half-carrying Obi-Wan, setting him down on the edge of their bed. He knelt before him, watching his shoulders shudder as he took a deep breath. He looked up at his master.
The pure torment in those eyes took Qui-Gon by surprise. Yes, he had known Obi-Wan was hurt, but he had certainly not expected this. This was just to much for one person - even a Jedi in training - to bear. Still, even though nearly every part of him - mind and body - ached to take his apprentice in his arms, to hold him close and protect him always, he simply held Obi-Wan by the shoulders and met his gaze.
"It h-hurts." His voice, like his eyes, was full of misery.
Qui-Gon let his own sympathy flow across their link and into Obi-Wan's consciousness. "What hurts, Padawan?"
"I-It..." his voice trailed off, and his eyes seemed to lock on some distant point far beyond Qui-Gon.
The master felt Obi-Wan's Force presence drop away alarmingly. "Padawan?" his said. When he got no response, he shook the youth's shoulders slightly. This time, he did get a reaction. Obi-Wan's mouth moved, as if to form words, but no sound came out. His presence had returned, but it felt cold somehow, tainted.
"Urk..." a low croak came from the young man's throat. Qui-Gon's brow furrowed. They had much to do today - ambassadorial duties and such. But there was no way he could bring Obi-Wan into that when he was in this state, was there? He was jerked from his thoughts as Obi-Wan's young body tensed and convulsed suddenly. He shivered, pulling in on himself, away from Qui-Gon, curling up in a ball on the bed.
Qui-Gon laid a hand on his forehead, gently. He jerked it back when he found it almost burning. He frowned again. Obi-Wan shuddered convulsively. Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head. He could not take Obi-Wan with him, and nor was he going to leave him alone like this. Not even with the Handu, however skilled they might be in healing.
He stood, crossing the room to the com unit on the far wall. He tapped a few keys on it, and the screen blipped to life with an image of a rather feline alien. Long, cocked ears, short, dark fur except for a high red-brown crest on it's forehead, gold eyes and a slightly open muzzle.
"Good morning, Asabe." The prime-minister's assistant nodded her head in greeting, mouth open in a Handu version of a smile.
"A well morrrning to you as well, sssair Jedi." Asabe purred, flicking her ears at him. "May I help you?"
"I wish to speak with the Prime Minister...on the subject of our talks this morning." A soft moan came from behind him, and Qui-Gon glanced nervously back at his protégé, still lying on the bed and shivering.
"Ah...verrrry well, ssssair Jedi." One ear dipped, and Asabe's expression was a mix of unease and curiousity. "If you will wait a minute?"
He nodded courteously. "Of course."
True to her word, in about a minute the Prime Minister appeared on the screen. His fur was a tawny color, his crest a ruddy red-brown. His face was broader than Asabe's, and two sharp fangs peaked from beneath his black upper lip. His ears were notched as well, and his muzzle scarred.
"Ssssair Jedi. Hunt's luck."
"Hunt's luck, Lord Rohan." He nodded again. The minister flicked ears back, then laid them forward. "My assistant tells me you wish to speak with me, about the talks?"
"Yes...Lord Rohan, you see...my apprentice has fallen rather ill, and I don't wish to leave him alone."
"I could appoint a healerrrr, Sssair Jedi." Rohan frowned, laying his ears back, his crest back as well.
"With all due respect, Lord Rohan, and no disrespect to your healers, this is something I'd like to deal with-" he was cut off by a sharp cry from Obi-Wan, and winced involuntarily. "I wish to deal with myself."
Rohan's crest and ears rose in surprise, for he had heard the cry as well. Sympathy played on his features. The Handu were a very compassionate people, very social. "I underrrsstand, sssair Jedi. If he isss well, purrrhaps we sshall sspeak tommorrrow, eh?"
"Yes - if he is well," Qui-Gon nodded.
"Verrry well. I leave you to yourrrr charge." Rohan waved a powerful, talon-like paw, relieving Qui-Gon of any obligation for now.
"Thank you, Lord Rohan." Qui-Gon nodded, and ended the transmission. Qui-Gon turned back to the bed to find Obi-Wan watching him silently, his expression still stricken, his body trembling. Qui-Gon crossed to him, laid an arm across his shoulders.
"I will be here for you, Padawan. Don't be frightened." Obi-Wan nodded slightly, and Qui-Gon bent to kiss him gently on his still-hot forehead. Please, don't ever be frightened.
"It's hot," Obi-Wan whispered softly. And, to him, it was. Qui-Gon noticed that his robe was soaked with sweat, and his close-cropped hair plastered to his scalp. His face was flushed, and Qui-Gon knew all too well that he must have a fever. Carefully, gently, he undressed his Padawan, covering him with a light blanket. Not long after did Obi-Wan slip into an uncomfortable, fevered sleep, watched over carefully by Qui-Gon, true to his word.