MUSH
by ardavenport
- - - - Part 1
"Qui-Gon?"
Something is wrong.
He moved his head.
Obi-Wan.
His thoughts circled and settled. White ceiling, gray walls, pictures, pale blue metal. And Obi-Wan. This was not wrong.
"Master? - -ee_- - - --_- - -ee_aee- -_- - - -_-oo_ -ee_ - _ - _- - - - - - - - -." Obi-Wan's voice. He focused on the face; blue eyes, brown hair, braid. So, earnest. . . Obi-Wan moved closer to him. "- - - _ - -an- -_- -oo_ - - - _- -_- - - -."
Obi-Wan was close. A bit of plastic with something damp and soft on it touched his lips. He flinched.
No, no, no . . . The droid . . . the droid . . . did that.
There, behind Obi-Wan's head. All blue steel and curved, slender joints. Little head with big eye sensors shifting positions. He could feel Obi-Wan's breath on his brow. The cool squishiness nudged his lips again. He winced away from it.
"Uuuuhhh . . ." Sound. Not loud. Something down in his throat. He did it again.
"Uuunnnnhh." He stared down at a layer of smooth pale blue. Covering him. The moan came from him, but . . .
Obi-Wan.
The words went to his lips. "Uuuee-aaahhn." They barely moved. He was suddenly aware of how very little he could move.
Something had gone wrong.
The percept of a hand under his chin and on his cheek, his brow, his head turned back again toward Obi-Wan. His numbness melted, his senses returning from beyond his body, through Obi-Wan. With Obi-Wan. He felt warmth on his skin, clarity. His head lying on the soft padded surface, his eyes half closed. Awareness stirred, sharpened.
The Force.
He felt it now. It had been there, but now it mattered . . . like his own body. His head swam with it. He had no strength, but it was all around him. Next to him. In him.
Obi-Wan.
He felt his weakness, the wound in his middle, repaired but still fresh. The numbness in his arms and legs, his head, stale and too full behind his eyes, his stomach and chest tight, and a false prickling on his skin and . . .
Something is quite wrong.
But he had not realized this wrongness a moment before. Something was better. He looked up into Obi-Wan's blue-gray eyes and nodded his head a tiny bit. Obi-Wan's face changed to happiness and he felt that, too, through the Force. Time . . . time . . . he needed time to draw strength from it. But it was there. Obi-Wan's head bowed, below his own.
His body lay, nearly immobile, propped up on a medical couch.
Injury. but that had been expected. The droid . . . we brought the droid. We were ready, but . . . something had gone very, very wrong.
Obi-Wan lifted his head. Tears ran down his cheeks. He could sense a struggle for control. Feel it though their wordless bond.
No, this is not the time for control. That was earlier, that was . . .
He could not reach out and touch Obi-Wan's face. But their eyes met and he nodded, a tiny little gesture that could mean anything. But there was understanding. Obi-Wan wiped his face on the wide sleeve of his tunic. He wore the same clothes he'd worn when . . . when . . . .
He lowered his own gaze. Attached to the medical couch was a white tray, on it a green cloth, a clear shapeless bag with a tube in it and a small plasti-form bowl with a little blue spoon sticking out of the gray blob in it.
Ugh. That came from the droid. Squeezed out of a tube and I would not take it from the machine. That is why Obi-Wan is sitting here.
It was likely medicinal, and necessary, but even his half-aware senses had rejected it. It was revolting. It was even more revolting now that he could smell it. Fruity and faintly sweet. And he did not want it.
Obi-Wan's fingers touched his cheek, his beard. He looked up into those blue-gray eyes again, saw a crinkle of concern between them. Obi-Wan lowered his hands, picked up the bowl and turned to the droid hovering behind him.
"Do you have something else? I don't think he likes it."
I understood that. Good.
"That is the proper nutritional meal. My supplies are limited," the droid's simulated female voice calmly said. But it accepted the bowl.
"Can you change it then? Make it a little more . . . appealing?"
"It can be stirred. And thinned."
"Can you warm it, too?"
"Yes."
"Please," Obi-Wan finished and turned back. His own eyes moved, meeting his Padawan's; lifting his head was too much effort. His lips moved.
Thank you. Obi-Wan.
His mind still had not reformed what had happened, but he knew that Obi-Wan had been with him. His Padawan raised his hand to his cheek, then stroked a stray stand of hair back from his face. His hair was loose, untied, falling down on the shoulders of the white medical gown he wore. He sensed the Force again through that touch. Obi-Wan's healthy living strength . . . he was unhurt, dressed in his Jedi tunic. They had taken their robes off earlier, for . . . for . . .
A whirring from the droid stopped. It beeped and lifted it's head and eye sensors.
"Padawan Kenobi." The droid, Gee-Three-Nine, handed the bowl back. Yes, they had brought the droid with them, from the Temple med-center. It had scanned both his and Obi-Wan's medical histories and had full emergency programming and extra, self-contained supplies. It was quiet and polite but it had long, cool metal fingers and more probes than Qui-Gon liked to think about. And it had added programming for their mission . . . .
Obi-Wan held the spoon to his lips again. His eyes found his Padawan's again. In that little pause he thought he must look quite pathetic to Obi-Wan, there was so much sympathy in the young man's expression, such need for a response.
He opened his mouth a little, accepting the spoon. The edge of it hit his teeth.
Obi-Wan grimaced and slid it in further and then turned it and took it out, leaving the contents behind. Instead of cold, pasty fruity mush, it was now warm, whipped fruity mush. Qui-Gon had to think about how to swallow before he did. Obi-Wan gently put his hand under his chin, on his throat to make sure he finally got it down.
The next spoonful of mush went down better, with no clashes between spoon and teeth. And unconscious memory seemed to take over for swallowing. Obi-Wan wiped a bit of it from his mustache afterward. Then he put the cloth down and gave him water.
The droid had given him water. Earlier. He was sure of it. It now busied itself with sensor screens nearby, one eye occasionally rising to observe another spoonful or sip of water. It could move astonishingly fast when it needed to. Qui-Gon remembered it poised over him, metal hands ripping open his tunic, needles plunging into his exposed chest, a tube snaked down his throat to keep his airway open . . . .
He coughed over the water tube as he remembered that and Obi-Wan hastily pulled it away, dribbling water in his beard. Qui-Gon felt drops on his neck. His arms twitched and moved. His strength was returning. A little. But he felt drained of it when the coughing fit was done.
Obi-Wan's concerned eyes looked into his and one eye sensor studied him carefully over his Padawan's shoulder. He nodded and managed a tiny smile. Obi-Wan dabbed at the wetness on his chin and raised the water tube to his mouth again. He laid his hand on his cheek to steady him. It went down better this time. Then came another spoonful of mush, another wipe of his mouth.
Yes, they had brought the droid with them. He had been expecting to be impaled. For the ceremonial trading of blows. The Ulheedi had scoffed at a Jedi accepting the challenge in the name of the Republic. They had known that a Jedi could dodge or deflect any weapon. They had not expected Qui-Gon Jinn to take the blow. And then calmly pick up his own lance to take his turn. The Monarch-Presumptive Rladar had fled the field, taking her claim to political power with her.
But they had not expected his opponent's lance to be poisoned.
Aaaah. Poison. That is what went wrong.
He had sensed it. Obi-Wan had sensed it. Something had been wrong. Something very wrong had been coming. But disturbances in the Force were notoriously lacking in specifics. So, they had gone forward, knowing that the unknown danger was great, and unknown. A Jedi Master could subtly move, so that even a penetrating blow would miss all internal organs. He had admonished his Padawan to calm himself and observe. Obi-Wan did not have that skill; he was barely twenty years old and still a Padawan.
Had only Rladar's lance been poisoned? He remembered outraged shouts from the official observers around them as he'd fallen, Obi-Wan and Gee-Three-Nine catching him. Surely such a dishonorable act would make Rladar's fall more severe. Qui-Gon wanted to ask, but he did not have his voice back. And Obi-Wan had just spooned in more mush. His tongue pushed it around and he swallowed. The motion was much easier now, familiar, more automatic. The mush was not nearly so bad if he did not look at it.
He breathed in deeply. He felt wellness returning to his body, his limbs. The food seemed to revive him. He closed his eyes, feeling the Living Force around him, within him, his body righting itself from within. Slowly. His senses expanded beyond his body and the healing meditation came upon him easily. The Living Force spoke to him and he listened.
oooo(((oooooo(((oooo)))oooooo)))oooo
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###### JEDI ORDER ##### Temple-Med-Center ######
_(Goos,yllm,M33,voz) = [Cmm;PPPiii /// VoER)_
%%%_&Tzzm(*:*:*)-{Ere,H,KNOKHHonoyg ?? = BB ==
.... Internal_Diagnostics ...... Internal_Diagnostics ....
.......... Power Minimum ..::::... Power Monitor = On;Blue ...;;;...
....... Treesearch .... Umask ..::::.. Orem .... Zuk, Tem ...,,,,......
*************** UNIT GEE-THREE-NINE **************
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_ _ _ _ _ _ ________ POWER UP ________ _ _ _ _ _ _
%%%% STATUS: ___ Qui-Gon Jinn - - - Master - - - - Injured
# %%%% Archive#RefN: Jedi - Icf44.823(Qvee775) %%%% #
()()() ======= Puncture wound: sector A7.x90 === ()()() =========
=== Abdominal intrusion: severe ===== ()()()() ======= ()() ===
==== ()()() ===== Internal organs: minimal injury ========= ()()()()()
==== Infection: none - preventative measures in effect ==== ()()() ==
== ()() ======== patient active, conscious healing: unimpaired; in progress == ()()
STATS:
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- - - - End Part 1