Chapter Two. The Ties That Bind
A team of healers awaited their arrival. They quickly whisked Qui-Gon upstairs to the Healers' Ward, reassuring his worrying padawan that, while he was indeed very sick, he was in absolutely no danger of dying. They reassured him that he had done the right thing by getting Qui-Gon to medical treatment, and commended his initiative.
But Obi-Wan wasn't reassured, for he was both worried about his master, and their future together. Clearly, they had not established the strong master-padawan bond that Obi-Wan so longed for. Qui-Gon tolerated him, was all, and his tolerance was currently quite low.
Obi-Wan was sure that it was not just the fever speaking, for Qui-Gon had too often watched him from hooded eyes and with cautious vigilance. Obi-Wan wasn't sure when he first became aware of this or if his slowly growing awareness of the Force now allowed him to sense what he missed seeing before. It was apparent that the fever had just loosened his master's tongue and let him speak what was in his mind, hidden these two years.
Obi-Wan decided he would ignore his own worries for the moment and only be concerned that his master get well. Maybe then he would learn just how disappointed Qui-Gon was in him, and if he would ever be forgiven – and how he could get back into his master's good graces.
Master Yoda had approved of his actions, but that meant nothing if Qui-Gon withheld his after he recovered. Surely, there must have been other times and ways he had disappointed his master, which was why this had only made this latest transgression so unforgivable.
It wasn't just Qui-Gon's feverish words that so hurt him, for he knew from experience that fever dreams often resulted in strange mumblings and absurd thoughts – he remembered, according to Qui-Gon's retelling, that it was his own mumblings that he had wanted a snuggly T'k'ta stuffed toy to cuddle when he had been so sick himself, a toy he had put aside at age three and not thought of since.
Sick as they both had been, Qui-Gon had made the healers borrow the toy from the crèche, threatening to haul his own sick self after it himself if they would not. Obi-Wan had struggled blearily awake when the toy had been slipped into his arms, and found himself hugging the toy as if he would never let go. He had caught his master's eye on him, and his grin, and even as desperately sick as he had been he had been mortified. Qui-Gon had sent a reassuring wave of the Force to him and calmly told him to enjoy the toy while he had the chance, for a boy of nearly fourteen was never going to get that chance again.
He had blushed, and Qui-Gon gently laughed, not bothering to hide his amusement. And ill as he had been, he had been happy. For he thought his master had finally, fully accepted him, and let go of the faint reservations of doubt that he had continued to harbor. And he had grinned sloppily, and fallen back asleep, the toy still cradled in his arms.
His happiness at achieving the understanding and acceptance with his master he had so longed for slowly began to disintegrate as he had become aware of the silent watchfulness. There was still a part of Qui-Gon he couldn't reach, so he had tried harder to be better, to be worthy of his position as Padawan to Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
He had spent much of his recuperation meditating and studying, for he had been physically weak for a while. Even as he had grown slowly more attuned to the Force, he continued to mature physically and emotionally. Steadied by the guiding hand of his master, the impetuous and slightly reckless boy he had been was steadying down into a more thoughtful and reflective boy.
He thought Qui-Gon approved, but it hadn't affected the Jedi master's attitude towards him. Qui-Gon tended him with just as much care – but no more –than that he lavished on his plants and flowers. He was serene, patient and impersonal.
His padawan might have been content with that, except for the sense of cool aloofness and indefinable distance that had not seemed to decrease with time.
Everything was perfect and perfectly in order – only he wanted more. This longing to be wanted puzzled him, as well. It was not the Jedi way to need approval from another, but to seek it from within.
That was something to ponder at another time, for now, the only thing he wanted to think about was his master getting well.
Qui-Gon's coughing and fever made him sick enough that the healers wanted to keep him under a watchful eye in the healers' ward. He spent most of his time in restless sleep. Grumbling in his rare moments of clarity that he wasn't all that sick, he pestered the healers that he wanted to return to his own quarters if all they were going to do was check in on him every once in a while.
They refused, in part because they also wanted to give his padawan a chance to rest, for they knew if Qui-Gon was allowed to recuperate in his own quarters, his young apprentice would run himself ragged trying to take care of his master. Many padawans, and most masters, would do the same for the other and usually ended up wearying out the other one.
By keeping the sick Jedi in the healers ward, the healers also had a chance to keep an eye on the healthy member of the pair, for the one not sick tended to spend a good deal of time with the other anyway. With Jinn-Kenobi, though, one always seemed to haunt the healers ward when the other was resident up there.
Now it was Obi-Wan Kenobi haunting the place; he had taken up residence in a chair at his master's bedside, only leaving for his classes, and then reluctantly. At least Padawan Kenobi had the sense to stay out of the healers' way and stay quietly in the background, often taking care of his master's needs before the healers themselves knew of them.
When he wasn't complaining, or asking for liquids, or his covers to be pulled up or pulled off, Qui-Gon spent his waking moments in dazed contemplation. Often, his eyes rested on his padawan without comment, for even in his moments of clarity he found himself confused and only half aware. Sometimes he blinked uncertainly, thinking he had a need to say something, anything, to the sad-eyed boy always at his side, but his mind would grow dull and he would drift off into fitful sleep until the next time he roused.
"Master. Master?" a soft whisper reached him, once, when he thought he was both awake and dreaming. He turned his eyes to the side, and weakly shook his head. Obi-Wan should be in class…studying…with his age mates. He should not be worrying. A young boy fast growing into a young man should not be glued to the bedside of a sick man, with hopeful eyes that his master was getting better because the feverish eyes actually seemed to focus on him.
Obi-Wan. Jedi initiates and padawans were never just children. They left their childhood behind them and faced things no child should face, because they were Jedi – their Force sensitivity a curse and a blessing both. Qui-Gon had never felt deprived, and was sure that Obi-Wan didn't either, but with the hindsight of long years of adulthood behind him, he rather regretted that Obi-Wan would never have a chance to be just a kid.
He sighed at the thought, for far too many of the galaxy's children faced bleak lives and uncertain futures. Being young was no guarantee of a happy carefree childhood, either.
But while his young apprentice was a Jedi Padawan, and therefore would never have an average childhood, he was still a boy, and a boy should leave the nursing to the healers. Obi-Wan had too little time to himself anyway. He never relaxed and let himself just be Obi-Wan; he always was studying, sparring, or trying too hard to be the perfect padawan. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon wished he had known the boy when he had been young and far more carefree, before he turned into this intense and serious boy.
Not that the boy didn't have a sense of humor – far from it. He was one of the jokesters of the Temple, and one of the first to be suspected when something was afoot. As he matured, his pranks had matured into jokes, and then into dry witticisms. Qui-Gon had approved, for a padawan should take his training seriously and Obi-Wan had thrown himself into it with all the intense effort he had put into everything else.
That had been why he had been so amused when his sick little apprentice had thrown himself into that ridiculous stuffed toy from the crèche. Obi-Wan only seemed to be that little boy when he was sick.
Sick! Merciful Force, he never wanted to be so worried again. He had seen the healers hovering over his padawan, their mutterings and constant attendance as the fever took its toll on his padawan's young and strong body, trying to shut his organs down…trying to send that precious life into the Force forever.
He had grown watchful, concerned and if he was honest – fearful. He now knew the hurt that would eat the life from him should something happen to Obi-Wan. He needed to protect him from harm, for that was the only way to protect himself.
Force, he couldn't bear it, to see the life again slowly leaching from those bright eyes, the vibrant soul shriveling and dying and - . What if Obi-Wan caught this from him? What if this time – Qui-Gon half rose up on one elbow and looked his padawan in the eye.
"Go," he muttered with all the sternness he could summon. "Go….away. Go…st..stay away." The effort exhausted him; he lay down and closed his eyes, falling back asleep.
"Master!"
A hurt whisper almost reached him, almost roused him from his thoughts. Had he said something – he didn't remember, and why did he feel like he had just exerted himself?
"Please…don't send me away, Master. Not now. Let me stay here with you. I worry more if I am not at your side."
"For now…." His words drifted off as he fell back asleep, not knowing how his last words gladdened a boy's heart.
Obi-Wan stayed at his side, only leaving when necessary for his classes, sleeping in a chair at his master's side, always solicitous, and always tending to his master.
The healers weren't surprised when constant worry began to weary the young Jedi, though they assured him his master was merely sick and would shortly recover. When Obi-Wan's eyes grew red and heavy with his vigil, they decided to step in.
"Get some rest of your own," the healers urged him, seeking to dislodge him from Qui-Gon's side, but the young Jedi stubbornly refused. It wasn't until a Jedi Master gave him a direct order to both eat regularly and to sleep in his own quarters that Obi-Wan obeyed, a look of hurt protest stilled at the command.
He returned to his quarters that first night and shivered, for the place seemed cold and unwelcoming. Obi-Wan looked around uneasily, for something seemed wrong and yet everything was in its place. Not enough time had passed to lay more than a fine sheen of dust over things. The cut flowers in Qui-Gon's room were drooping from lack of water, but hadn't lost their petals; the leaves of the living plants seemed to curl towards him, asking for his attention in his master's absence.
Then he realized: his master was not there, and the warm comfort that seemed to fill the very air in Qui-Gon's presence was absent. He wandered around absently, unable to sit still, unable to meditate and unable to study, so he dusted and watered the plants and tidied up. When he was done, he was still restless. Sleep eluded him, though he was tired.
After several long and restless hours in bed, he got up with no clear sense of what he planned to do to occupy the longer, silent hours of the night. The open door to his master's room seemed to beckon him.
He hesitated, then walked into Qui-Gon's room, where an essence of his master seemed to linger, and curled up on the foot of the bed. It gave him comfort, and he soon fell asleep.
He had to blink when he first awoke, for he wasn't in his own room. He lifted his head and looked around, and found he had curled up with a pillow that Qui-Gon's head had rested on, only a few nights back. As a Jedi Padawan of nearly fifteen, he felt a bit embarrassed, but admitted to himself with a sigh that he would probably sleep there each night until his master reclaimed his bed for himself. When Qui-Gon was well, and things were back to normal.
That is, if things ever returned to normal. He still didn't know if his master would forgive him his disobedience, for there just had been too many looks and too many hidden thoughts preceding this incident. He couldn't forget Qui-Gon's careful observances of him, the shaking of his head or a pursing of his lips. This last incident was not an isolated and easily forgotten event: he could not place the blame for the words at the fever's workings.
He vowed to work twice as hard to be worthy of his master's care and teachings. He owed the Jedi master no less than his best, for it had been Qui-Gon who had rescued him from a life in service to the Agri-Corps. It was Qui-Gon who had saved a young boy's dream, and thereby claimed his heart and loyalty.
He owed everything to Qui-Gon: his master deserved the best from him. But perhaps…his best would never be good enough. The Jedi deserved not just the best from him – but the best. Would he ever live up to his master's expectations?
Such thoughts were – well, pitiful – he thought gloomily. The expectations were ones he placed on himself, and he knew it was not fair to place the burden on his master – the very thought of doing so made him uncomfortable. He had never – at least until recently – actually thought that Qui-Gon might regret accepting a near-reject sent to the Agri-Corps, for his master had never expressed any remorse or second thoughts. Not that he had expressed any real words of praise, either. Obi-Wan wasn't really sure where he stood with his master, but found reassuring the half smile or gleam of approval he sometimes saw in his eyes.
But always, behind his eyes, there was that cool watchfulness.
He always had wanted to do well, throwing himself full force into anything and everything, only this wish to succeed had turned into a need to excel, for maybe then his master might actually come to care for him, rather than tending him with his somewhat aloof and impersonal care rather than with real warmth and affection.
I'm just a padawan learner to him, he thought, tended with as much care as a leaf as he had seen Qui-Gon nurture into a rooted plant, or the various strays he tended to pick up. Worthy of his attention, for all things were worthy of his attention.
Obi-Wan wished that he were worthy of his love, not just his care. Perhaps that was why he didn't mind too much when he was sick or totally exhausted, for those were the times he felt his master actually cared about him, not just for him. Grumble as he might at the time, he was content when Qui-Gon would put his arms around him and pull him into a hug, for there was no place as comfortable as in his master's arms.
Dismissing these unproductive and, well, childish thoughts as unbecoming for a Jedi, Obi-Wan grabbed a quick bite of breakfast and hurried upstairs at first light to check on his master.
When it was time for classes, he reluctantly left Qui-Gon's side and trudged to class, smiling absently at his friends as they fell into step with him.
"He'll be all right," his friend Ban Eerin said consolingly, guessing what made her lively friend so unusually quiet. She was already showing a talent for taking care of her friends, and many of her friends expected she would someday turn to healing. Her quiet voice and soft concern for others would translate well into a healer's skills.
As usual, Bant made Obi-Wan smile, for Bant always kept his spirits up. Beside her, his friend Garen was quick to tease him.
"You're too attached to him," his friend Garen accused him, laughing as Obi-Wan flushed. It wasn't too far from the truth, but Obi-Wan knew the Jedi stand on attachments. He wasn't attached to his master; he rightly appreciated and honored him, but attached - ?
He had to admit, though, that Garen was right. Qui-Gon was supposed to be just his master and his mentor, but he was far more to him. He was a welcome fixture in his heart. He just wished the reverse were true.
