Slash, parry. Sweep. The delicate dance of the fight was on, two lithe figures sidestepping, advancing, twirling aside and the lethal weapons in their hands always in motion.
The movement of one became awkward and the graceful turn became a sideways jerking motion.
A lightsaber came sweeping up, and the emerald blade barely missed singeing a hand as the young man flinched and his fingers rose to rub the side of his neck. His rhythm was off, and he barely ducked away from the blade. Automatically, his right hand came sweeping around and blocked another stroke, and again, the young man's fingers crept to his neck and he scratched again.
Nothing concerning his padawan escaped the vigilant eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn. He couldn't recall ever seeing Obi-Wan so, well, fidgety before. Especially not when sparring. Qui-Gon Jinn let his lightsaber hang loosely in one hand as he stared quizzically at his young apprentice.
"Obi-Wan. Stop that. Stop that scratching before you scrape your skin raw," he scolded. "What has gotten into you? You have no focus."
Obi-Wan merely shrugged, but his hands obediently dropped to his side and he resumed a defensive stance, but the next minute his finger was back under his collar, rubbing absently.
"Padawan, come here," Qui-Gon said sternly. He peered at Obi-Wan's neck; it was raw and red, covered with shredded welts. His eyes narrowed. He loosened Obi-Wan's tunic and looked at his chest, his upper back. "Obi-Wan, you're tearing your skin to pieces, you need to stop that scratching."
"Yes, Master," the boy said, and promptly lifted his hand – and froze with it in place, eyes shocked at his disobedience. Qui-Gon wanted to laugh at the comical expression on his padawan's face; then Qui-Gon saw that his hand was shaking as he fought to keep his hand away from his neck. This was no ordinary itch he realized.
Come, we'll have the healers take a look at that," he advised, more brusquely than he meant, but he was suddenly worried, for Obi-Wan seemed almost compelled to scratch. He powered down his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt, as did Obi-Wan. He put a hand on his padawan's shoulder and studied him, and noticed that Obi-Wan seemed to be perspiring more than the sparring warranted.
The hand lifted again, and Qui-Gon caught it in his own. "No, Obi-Wan," he said more gently. "Try to resist. I know you're not disobeying me, don't worry about that, but I'm concerned about what you're doing to your skin. Come."
Obi-Wan sat on an examination table, his tunic off. Red welts covered his skin. Where his nails had been able to reach, the welts showed deep scoring and were twice as inflamed as the more protected areas in the center of his chest and back. Where clothing seams and his belt had rubbed, the skin was almost raw. Qui-Gon caught his breath at the sight.
"Why didn't you tell me before this got so bad?" he demanded, and Obi-Wan grimaced and looked at the healer and rolled his eyes. Obi-Wan would go to almost any lengths to avoid a trip to the healers ward.
"It wouldn't be so bad if he kept his hands away from his skin," Healer Harold said disapprovingly.
Indeed, Obi-Wan was again industriously scratching away, half oblivious to the conversation around him. He looked up and scowled piteously.
"Self-discipline, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, trying to hide a pained smile. Obi-Wan just stared at him, still scratching. He finally spoke.
"You try and stop this scratching, Master," he snapped, and sent a quick wave through the Force. Qui-Gon winced. Obi-Wan was really miserable, too miserable, in fact, to try to control his discomfort.
"First we'll give you a bath to wash off any toxins that we can," Healer Harold declared.
Obi-Wan blanched. "Can't I bathe myself?" he practically begged. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. His padawan needed to get over this un-Jedi-like modesty. What would he do if he ever found himself sent to mediate some dispute or other where partial disrobement, or worse, was a cultural custom?
Without a word, the healer handed Obi-Wan a gown and pointed, and the two Jedi waited for Obi-Wan. He shortly showed up, hair damp and flushing as he clutched the gown shut. He avoided Qui-Gon's amused eyes as the healer made him sit on a bed and drop the gown to his waist, and slathered cooling gel over his chest and back. Obi-Wan jumped at the touch of the salve over the wheals and welts.
"Now it both itches and burns," he complained, fingers clenching and unclenching as he tried to keep from scratching, but he just couldn't control his fingers and they were soon back at his chest and digging into his ribs. Qui-Gon grabbed his hands and held them tight as Obi-Wan tried to pull his hands free.
"No, Obi-Wan," he said quietly, eyes no longer amused, but pitying. "It'll just make it worse." He held onto his hands as the healer deftly wound gauze around Obi-Wan's chest and back where the irritation was most severe. Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan's eyes as he passed Obi-Wan's hands over to the healer's so they, too, could be wrapped.
The healer took pity on the boy. Glaring at Qui-Gon, he spoke to Obi-Wan, though master and padawan continued to look at each other as if silently communicating through their bond.
"I'm going to give you a sedative, Obi-Wan. That'll give you the chance to escape that itching for a while and give your skin a chance to heal." He administered the shot and eased Obi-Wan back onto the bed, and as it took effect, used Obi-Wan's drowsiness to tend his legs.
Qui-Gon sat by his padawan's side, watching him with a worried frown as the sedative gradually took effect. Obi-Wan didn't even seem to notice when the healer checked the rest of his body for the skin irritation, his Force sense seemed content and unconcerned.
"What do you think caused this?" he asked Healer Harold, who merely shrugged. The healers were running tests, checking the team's recent contacts, but so far they had no idea what was behind it. Since Jinn-Kenobi had recently returned from a mission, they had a small suspicion it could be a reaction to a bug of some type. Occasionally, a Jedi had an adverse reaction to something that few people did, such as mossqeetos.
"He never mentioned being bit by anything, and I don't recall there being any annoying insects where we were, despite all the greenery and flowering shrubs. Before we left, we took a quick tour through the gardens. Ah, such beautiful plants they had there," Qui-Gon sighed reminiscently.
"They kindly offered us a plant to bring back as a small token of their esteem. I would have refused, of course," at that the healer snorted and Qui-Gon turned a wounded look on him. "Obi-Wan accepted on our behalf and I could not naysay him, not without offending them."
Under the healer's prodding, the Jedi master admitted it was a plant native to the planet they were on. Qui-Gon caught the drift of the healer's thoughts and protested.
"It can't be the plant. Obi-Wan carried it for me and he had no reaction at the time. It's a perfectly nice plant. Very pretty."
"Bring it up here," Healer Harold insisted. "Look at your poor padawan. If that's what's doing that to him, don't you want to find out?" He crossed his arms and glowered at the Jedi master, who stared sadly at Obi-Wan, who merely gazed back at him mournfully and tried to scratch himself.
"I suppose," he said reluctantly, and went for the plant. While the healers ran their tests on it, Qui-Gon returned to sit by Obi-Wan's side. The boy was only sedated enough to keep him calm and quiet, not enough to put him totally to sleep, and he had been silently listening to the conversation.
"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered sleepily. "I hope it's something else. I know how much you like it, and it is rather pretty."
"Well, I like you, too, and I don't want to see you in such misery as this," Qui-Gon reassured him. "We'll hope it turns out to be something else, eh? Do you feel better now?"
"Mmm. Not itchy, just kind of tingly," Obi-Wan admitted, hiding a yawn. "Wow, I could really fall asleep right now. That stuff he gave me is strong."
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Qui-Gon asked softly.
Obi-Wan dragged his eyes open and looked confused for a minute. "I didn't want to worry you?" he offered. Qui-Gon only sighed. He probably wouldn't get a straight answer from Obi-Wan at this time as the sedative was clearly affecting him.
"S'okay, Master," he said worriedly, as he saw his master close his eyes as he shook his head. "Control it…can."
The Jedi almost laughed aloud at that. His apprentice had a lot to learn about control if he thought he was controlling it. "S'okay," he agreed, patting Obi-Wan's bound hand. "S'okay." His laughter could no longer be contained as Obi-Wan stared at him uncertainly, then his face smoothed out and he laid his head back down on the pillow.
"It's the sap in that plant, Qui-Gon," Healer Harold said regretfully, as he entered the room. "It's warmer here on Coruscant and the plant's been dripping sap. Every time you touch it, you get sap on your hand. It's not noticeable so it's easy to spread. We checked, and there are traces all over your quarters."
He waited for Qui-Gon's response, for there was only one real solution and he knew Qui-Gon would not like it. With his attunement to the Living Force, he would take it especially hard.
"You have to give that plant up," he advised, when Qui-Gon made no response. The Jedi master turned a pitiful eye on him. "It's either the plant or your padawan. Every time you touch that plant, the sap stays on your hand and gets to him. You see how miserable he is."
"Can't I just wash my hands after touching it?" Qui-Gon asked plaintively. "I don't want to give that plant up."
"No." The healer crossed his arms, and looked at the half-asleep boy. "You can't do that to Obi-Wan. It's your padawan or the plant. Which is it?"
"Do I have to give one up?"
"Master!" Obi-Wan spoke up suddenly, shocked and hurt. His eyes flew open and they looked wounded. He was more awake than either of them thought. "Would you choose a plant over me?"
"Well, I'd rather not make that choice," Qui-Gon snapped back. "I want to keep you both, okay?"
For some reason, his curt response brought a smile to his padawan's lips and he settled back in the bed, closing his eyes. "Fine, Master. Tell Master Yoda he'd better start looking for a new master for me. I'll move as soon as possible into my new master's quarters."
Healer Harold was staring disapprovingly at both of them – Qui-Gon for making such a simple decision hard, and Obi-Wan for accepting his master's indecision so easily. Obi-Wan's lips twitched as the silence grew.
"I wouldn't trust any other Jedi to properly guide you, my padawan," Qui-Gon finally broke the silence. He sighed. "I suppose I will have to keep you rather than the plant."
"If you insist, Master," Obi-Wan yawned and rolled over, ignoring his master's mournful tone. "If you change your mind, just let me know." He drifted off to sleep with a gentle smile as the sedative finally put him to sleep. Qui-Gon's face softened; he smiled, and gently stroked his padawan's cheekbone with a gentle finger.
"You know I wouldn't give you up over a plant," he said fondly. "Nothing could induce me to part with you, my young scamp. It's best that you don't know how you've got me wrapped around one scratchy finger of yours. My sleepy-head padawan, mine."
He bent over and kissed Obi-Wan's forehead, then sat down to wait for him to wake.