The Blind Betrayal
Summary: Qui-Gon's new medication is causing him to act strangely…and abuse his Padawan.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Abuse.
This fic was formerly known as 'Side Effects'.
I decided to resurrect this fic. Why I am still stuck on Star Wars fics when I should have outgrown Star Wars years ago is beyond me. Also, whether I have any Star Wars fan base left is also unknown, and whether anyone remembers 'Side Effects' is also unknown, but please enjoy either way.
-TRS-
-
The First Betrayal
-
Obi-Wan's fingers twitched as he tried to stay absolutely still, balancing on one hand with a wooden beam resting on one foot and a metal crate balancing precariously on the other. He was attempting to use the Force to keep himself balanced, while at the same time using it to keep his hand suspended in the air.
He was trying to calm his irritated spirit, which was currently very annoyed at Master Qui-Gon Jinn for making him do these exercises in the first place, and it wasn't going very well.
He was thinking of several things he would like to do to Master Jinn involving these heavy beams and crates and the Force, none of which were pleasant or, surely, Jedi-like.
"Thank you, Obi-Wan, but I would rather not be stuffed into that crate and then be beaten repeatedly with that beam," Qui-Gon's serene voice floated into Obi-Wan's consciousness, and the Padawan silently cursed himself for allowing his thoughts to become thus untamed.
"Language, Padawan." Obi-Wan was sure Qui-Gon was laughing at him, but he dared not take his concentration from the task at hand to check.
"Sorry, Master," he gritted out, and squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly, blocking out all extraneous noise and light.
Finally, after what seemed at least two eternities later, Obi-Wan felt the gentle presence of his Master glide into his mind, releasing him from the strenuous exercise.
"You may cease," Qui-Gon directed, and Obi-Wan slowly and gracefully lowered his feet to the floor, and with them the instruments. He desired nothing more than to remain collapsed on the floor to rest, but knew it was strictly against protocol not to rise again after such a difficult task had been completed.
Gracefully he rose to his feet and made a low bow to his master, who nodded once in approval.
"You are losing that boyish impatience," Qui-Gon told him. The compliment, spoken in his master's warm voice, washed over Obi-Wan like a ray of sunshine. He fought to keep the pleased grin from his face. Compliments from Qui-Gon, while less rare than rain on Tatooine, were not entirely usual and thus Obi-Wan always knew they were spoken in sincerity.
"Thank you, Master," he replied respectfully, straightening from the bow. "I am pleased to know that I am growing closer to maturity and my childishness is lessening."
Qui-Gon barely resisted a smile. Fine words, but he knew that inside Obi-Wan was currently itching to get outside and join his friends in the Temple gardens. Yet it was a good sign of his maturity that he was managing to stand still and wait gracefully for his master's permission.
A long moment passed in which Qui-Gon waited, Obi-Wan mentally fidgeted, and Qui-Gon nearly raised an amused eyebrow. He could feel Obi-Wan's impatience growing through their bond.
Finally, just when Qui-Gon felt the boy's impatience nearly manifest itself with words, the Jedi Master gave a wry chuckle.
"Go on, Padawan," he said, his deep voice amused. "You may have the rest of the day for yourself. Please return shortly before supper; there are some new Alderaanian truffles I would like for you to try…"
Before he realized it Obi-Wan had let loose a muffled groan. He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth and muttered an apology, and Qui-Gon nearly lost it right there. He knew Obi-Wan was extremely leery of any foreign foods that had captured Qui-Gon's fancy, ever since the incident with Qui-Gon's Keganese Fireballs containing the best Kessel pepper, which Qui-Gon found mildly spicy but which Obi-Wan had had a severe reaction to involving all the veins in his eyes turning red and his being sent to the hospital wing for three days. Qui-Gon had a thing for strange foreign foods and Obi-Wan now hated the words "I want you to try…" He preferred to stick with Temple food and Coruscant cafés—the food from the latter which Qui-Gon often referred to as 'grease patties' but which Obi-Wan enjoyed.
"Yes, Master," he murmured hurriedly, and quickly exited the room before Qui-Gon could say anything else.
"Do not fear, Padawan!" Qui-Gon called after him. "I promise that these do not contain even a trace of Kessel spice!"
Obi-Wan mumbled something in reply, which Qui-Gon did not fully catch, but it sounded something like, "And what about Wampa paws? Rancor tongue?"
He chuckled and settled down onto the couch, propping his feet up on the cushions, when a sudden headache hit him. He groaned slightly. This was the fourth time this week that this had happened. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, massaging his temples. The pain had been sudden, and grew worse by the moment. Now it was throbbing and pounding. Several moments later the migraine was accompanied by sharp, stabbing cramps in his midsection. He wondered briefly if he should call Obi-Wan back to fetch him some medicine from the healers, then decided against it. He didn't want the boy to worry about him, and if he thought his Master was sick the boy would insist on mothering him for the rest of the day. He'd managed to hide the headaches previously by sending the Padawan on various errands before.
He hated taking medicine, really—it made him feel weak and that irked him. But now, after the fourth time, he knew it was probably time to get some medication. He certainly couldn't continue this, and if they were on a mission having a migraine at the wrong time could prove fatal.
Groaning softly under his breath he swung his long legs off the couch and stumbled out the door, trying not to let the cramps stoop him and trying to ignore the dizzying pain in his head.
He managed to reach the apothecary with relatively little attention or distress. He could hide his pain well enough from the students, as they were not yet as strong in the Force as he, and he encountered no Knights or Masters.
The healer in charge asked him several questions and then, frowning slightly, instructed her young apprentice to fetch a certain medicine.
"Who is that?" Qui-Gon queried mildly, gesturing to the young man of perhaps eighteen or twenty who had just strode into the back to fetch it.
The healer shrugged. "His name's Tyron. He's new here. Off the streets, actually, I believe. Master Yoda spoke with him, and apparently he's not bad at healing. Knows a lot about herbs and such. I don't know where Yoda found him, but he's been a decent lad." She shrugged again as Tyron returned, handing her a crystal vial filled with a pale blue liquid.
"Only a few drops at a time," the healer warned. "This should last you several months. By that time your symptoms should have disappeared entirely."
Qui-Gon thanked her and, tucking the glass vial into an interior pocket, set off back to his and Obi-Wan's quarters.
Upon his return he entered his own room and set the glass into a private cabinet. He and Obi-Wan each had their own rooms, for privacy's sake, and a few things inside. He debated putting the medicine in the refresher unit's medicine cabinet, but quickly decided against it in light of the fact that he was trying to hide his apparent illness from his Padawan.
"A few drops," he murmured. He carefully shook the dosage into a teaspoon and downed it. It was tasteless, but sent an odd shiver down his spine.
He corked the phial once again and set it on the shelf in the cabinet. He turned to look for a dish in which to place the used spoon and suddenly, was overcome by a nauseating, overwhelming desire to drop down and sleep.
His head felt fuzzy and clouded. Woozily he wondered why the nurse had said nothing about this apparent side effect. He stumbled to his bed, flopped down and, barely managing to kick off his boots, fell into a deep sleep.
-
Obi-Wan was thoroughly enjoying his day off. Free days were unusual, free days with such perfect weather even more so, and free days with perfect weather when his friends were also free were just very rare.
"Bant, please!" Obi-Wan gasped, doubling over as his friend tickled him mercilessly. They had been playing a hide and seek sort of game in the gardens, with a twist—if you didn't get to the designated base within ten minutes, and were found, you were tickled until you pled for mercy. Obi-Wan was the only one not to make it to base, this time.
"Say it!" Bant said gleefully. "Admit you're beat, Obi-Wan!"
"N-n-auuuuuugh!!" Obi-Wan's protest died into a scream of laughter as, upon his refusal, Bant attacked his chest even more viciously than before. Her inhuman hands seemed to be able to penetrate his tickle-nerves even more than human hands.
"He does scream rather like a girl when he is tickled," Siri said, in her usual superior tone, with a hint of thoughtfulness. She had only been watching up until now, but seemed to suddenly make up her mind and pounced suddenly on Obi-Wan. Sitting matter-of-factly on the boy's left leg and thus securely pinning it to the ground, she ripped off his boot and sock, and lightly feathered her fingers over the bottom of his feet.
Obi-Wan moaned in agony, squirming, but with both females sitting on him he didn't have much of a chance. Siri tickled his bare foot with fervor now, grinning gleefully at her helpless captive.
BEEEEEP!
Obi-Wan almost cried with relief.
"You have to get off now," he said, grinning fiercely through the tears of laughter streaming down his face. "My master's trying to page me—ha!"
Siri and Bant slid off, disappointed. Siri was throwing pointedly evil glares in the direction of his comlink.
Obi-Wan cleared his throat and answered politely, trying not to sound at all like he'd just been engaging in a juvenile roughhousing game.
"Yes, Master?"
"Obi-Wan." His master's voice sounded different somehow, but he couldn't place how, and just accredited it to the gravelly noise human voices sometimes took on over comlink conversations.
"You will return to our quarters now." It was a command, not a suggestion, and Obi-Wan was startled by the tone.
"Master?" he said cautiously. "I—did I misunderstand? I believed I had been given the day off."
"Return," was the short reply. "You will be here in two minutes."
Then the conversation was cut off. Obi-Wan looked, bewildered, at his two friends who stared back in equal uncertainty.
"Guess you'd better go," said Bant, looking disappointed.
"He sounds upset," Obi-Wan said worriedly. "I thought he said—"
"Whatever he said," Siri cut him off. "He sounds serious now. Better go, Obi-Wan. It's okay. We understand—another day, ok?"
Obi-Wan nodded, smiling slightly gratefully at them. He yanked his boot on clumsily. Then he set off at a run towards the turbolift which would take him to the Jinn/Kenobi quarters.
-
Obi-Wan arrived as quickly as he could. He had not stopped in the hallways to chat with anyone, he had not lingered to admire a new piece of art. He had not paused to watch the younglings in their training with the Masters. He had gone straight from the gardens to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon.
He arrived and took a few seconds to toss his braid so it hung over his shoulder appropriately, and to straighten his tunic. Taking a deep breath so as to appear composed, he knocked once to let his master know he was entering before pushing open the door.
And stopped short at the sight of Qui-Gon standing there, arms folded over his chest, staring stonily at the Padawan. It was though an enormous damp blanket had been thrown over the room; the sun shone brightly outside but inside the Jinn/Kenobi residence was dark and ominous.
Obi-Wan licked his lips nervously and shut the door. "M-master?" he asked tentatively, but would never have expected what came next.
Striding forward Qui-Gon closed the gap between them and backhanded Obi-Wan hard across the face. Hardly expecting the violence, Obi-Wan stumbled backward, a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock.
"M-master?" he whispered. He was absolutely stunned. He looked down slowly and saw blood on his fingertips.
"Wh-what have I done?" he said, his voice almost cracking. Qui-Gon had been upset with him before, but he had never, ever hit the Padawan. Discipline had been harsh but not unreasonable. And now, for the life of him Obi-Wan could not understand what he had done to deserve it.
"Four minutes." Qui-Gon spoke and his voice was harsh and lacking emotion. "It has been four minutes since you were summoned. I told you to be here in two. You were late."
Disbelievingly Obi-Wan stared at him. Master Qui-Gon had slapped him for being two minutes late? What was wrong?
"I—I'm sorry, Master," he said hesitantly, and flinched as Qui-Gon's hand again struck him across the mouth.
"Sorry is not good enough!" Qui-Gon barked. He stepped closer to Obi-Wan and the Padawan tensed slightly, unsure what his Master would do in this frame of mind.
"To your room," said Qui-Gon. "You will stay there without meals for a full day. Perhaps you will then learn that you should never be late when I have summoned you."
Numbly Obi-Wan stepped slowly towards the direction of his room. A sharp shove from behind made him stumble forward.
"Faster!" Qui-Gon snarled. Obi-Wan stumbled into his room as fast as he could. Qui-Gon grabbed the back of his tunic and shoved him forward, then slammed the door behind him, leaving him in the dark.
Obi-Wan collapsed onto his bed, shoulders shaking. The tiniest sob broke from his lips. What he done? Why was his master so angry? Qui-Gon had never acted like this before. He had always been calm, stern, yet kind, and like a father to Obi-Wan. Now he was furious because Obi-Wan was two minutes late to an unscheduled engagement.
The Padawan drew his knees to his chest and bowed his head upon them, sobbing quietly, just wondering how he had made his beloved Master so angry, and what he could do to fix things.
-
Review please!
-