Fever
Qui-Gon Jinn had seen for many years the kind of Knight his Padawan would become, and he kept his pride quiet. He watched his Padawan's growth with delight, tinged only with sadness that the day would soon come for the young Jedi to face the trials and become a Master himself; and then, perhaps, take on a Padawan of his own. Qui-Gon had begun smiling to himself recently at the thought that he would have to get used to being called a Grandmaster, but that was still a few years away, at least...
Obi-Wan's tutors had often said many kind things in his praise. That he was a good and dutiful student, punctual to his lessons, with a clever mind and a quick wit; that he was kind, generous to the point of self-sacrifice; mindful of others; strong with the Force, and, in many ways, wise beyond his years. He was fastidiously neat and ordered, with a discipline to be envied by some who had already attained the rank of Master before him.
It was therefore with some surprise that Qui-Gon had arisen that morning to find no sign of Obi-Wan in their shared living area. His student was normally an early riser and a stickler for his routine when circumstances allowed. Qui-Gon could have programmed a chronometer based on the time Obi-Wan normally awoke, followed by the few minutes it took him to shower, dress, and set the morning tea to brewing. Qui-Gon was used to being awoken by the smell of porridge and the whistling of the tea kettle; this morning there had been none. This in itself set off a tingle of worry, as he placed the pot on to boil himself, and then closed his eyes, sending a gentle nudge down the training bond he shared with his Padawan...
...Obi-Wan groaned, and forced open his eyes, fuzzily wondering what had awoken him so early. Oh, Force, he thought to himself, screwing his eyes closed again with a grimace, what the...?
He groaned, thickly; his mouth had an awful, gluey taste and his throat felt raw; it was so painful that the act of swallowing almost brought tears to his eyes. His head was pounding in unison with his heart, which felt like it wanted to hammer its way out of his chest. His sheets and sleep clothes felt oddly damp, and he realised with some disgust that it was sweat, making the fabrics stick to his body. He tried to sit up, but the room spun around him and with a gasp he slumped back onto the pillows, clutching his head, feeling tremors of weakness flickering through his limbs.
A bleary glance at the chronometer told him he hadn't woken early; he was, in fact, late... very late, by his standards. Confusion assailed him but he could not summon the energy to move. It would have hurt far too much in any case. Then he felt it again; the gentle brush of a familiar presence on the edge of his consciousness, sending a gentle nudge and a query.
Obi-Wan... breakfast is ready. Are you awake, Padawan...?
Suppressing the urge to groan aloud, Obi-Wan tried to gather his thoughts, but they skittered away from him, fleeting and elusive. He concentrated on the bond, trying to call on the Force to lend him strength.
Master, I... I don't feel well...I'm...
He could not complete the thought, clasping both hands to his throbbing temples, moaning aloud in pain. He did not need to say anything further, however. The door to his sleep chamber slid open, and Qui-Gon was at his side in an instant, having clearly sensed his distress through their bond.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sounded shocked at his appearance, "what is it, Padawan? What's wrong?"
"Master..." Obi-Wan barely managed to croak the word; as it turned out, speaking aloud was even more painful than trying to communicate through their bond, and he broke off immediately, shivering miserably.
"Oh, dear one..." Qui-Gon gently laid a hand upon Obi-Wan's brow, and the younger man could not help the groan of relief that escaped him at the coolness of his Master's soft touch, "you're burning up... I will summon a Healer, immediately."
It was a testament to his misery that Obi-Wan could only nod quietly, normally protesting vociferously at any need to visit the Halls of Healing. Qui-Gon swept back into the main room, activating the comm. system emergency channel to the Healers. He was greeted by a young Padawan, who had obviously been left in charge of reception.
"Master Jinn," she greeted him, politely, "are you well?"
"I am fine, Padawan, but Obi-Wan appears to be very ill – he has awoken this morning with a high fever, and-"
"Oh, no, not another one," the Padawan cut him off, with a sigh, "please hold for Master Che; she'll want to speak to you herself."
Qui-Gon was momentarily taken aback by her abruptness, but he immediately snapped back to his present concern when the hologram morphed itself into the familiar visage of Master Healer Vokara Che.
"Master Jinn," she greeted him, swiftly, "let me guess – Obi-Wan woke up this morning with a high fever, chills, headache, sore throat, muscle pain, blurred vision and fatigue?"
"Well, I can confirm only the sore throat and the high fever," Qui-Gon replied, with a nod, "he is burning up and seems gravely ill... has there been an outbreak, Master Che? Is it serious?"
"It's Rodian Influenza," the Master Healer sighed, "it seems one of the younglings was carrying it when they were brought to the Temple a few days ago. Somehow, it was missed on the routine bio-scan and blood test. It's highly contagious but it only affects youngsters; the older the patient, the more severe the symptoms, I'm afraid. Obi-Wan is the eldest child so far to have been infected, I'm actually surprised he's caught it."
"Obi-Wan has just turned nineteen – he is hardly a child anymore," Qui-Gon could not prevent the slight frown that darkened his face, "should I bring him to the Halls, Master Che? How bad will this get for him?"
"Not at this stage, no," Che shook her head tails emphatically, "I'm trying to contain the outbreak by quarantining each case. You and Obi-Wan must stay in your quarters. There is no immediate cure; like most influenzas, this one simply requires rest, fluids and a little time. The worst of it should pass in the next two to three days. I'll send a Padawan to you with fever reducers and pain suppressors, which should help. Keep him hydrated and cool if you can. If his fever gets too high or if he appears to be suffering from respiratory distress, call me again. I won't lie to you, Qui-Gon, he's in for a rough few days, but there are dozens of cases throughout the Temple. You'll just have to do the best you can."
"I will take care of my Padawan, Master Che."
"Of that I have no doubt, Master Jinn," she spared him a tired but supportive smile, "Good luck. Please call if you need anything."
Qui-Gon ended the call with a sigh, and got to his feet. Heading back into Obi-Wan's sleep chamber, he found the young Jedi had drifted back into a restless slumber, tangled in a mess of damp sheets. His normally soft hair was matted to his brow, his face slightly creased in pain despite his apparent sleep state. For one moment, Qui-Gon considered leaving him like that, because at least he was resting, but his desire to make his Padawan more comfortable won out.
"Obi-Wan..."
The Padawan groaned softly, barely cracking his eyes open, peering up at his Master in quiet askance. Qui-Gon sighed, as he sat down on the edge of the bed, tenderly combing his fingers through Obi-Wan's sweat-dampened hair.
"I am sorry, Obi-Wan," the Jedi Master murmured, softly, "I have spoken to Master Che. You have a rather nasty case of Rodian Flu; there's been an outbreak at the Temple and she has asked us to quarantine ourselves here."
Qui-Gon saw the flash of alarm cross Obi-Wan's face, and he reached out with their bond to see if he could determine the source of his dismay, before he favoured his ailing student with a warm smile.
"Fret not, little one; I will be perfectly safe from infection; Master Che assures me it is an illness that only affects youngsters. She actually seemed a little surprised you caught it."
Obi-Wan pulled a face, then winced, and shivered miserably. Qui-Gon rose, slowly, careful not to jostle his student, as he began to pull back the twisted blankets.
"Come," he said, as he worked, "you will feel much more comfortable after a shower and a change of clothes, and a cool wash might help to lower your temperature. If you can take a shower, I will change these sheets and make you some hot, sweet tea, yes?"
Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan's exhaustion and reluctance to move, but his student was rarely disobedient; with monumental effort, Obi-Wan managed to sit up, but dizziness assailed him and he would have crashed to the floor had it not been for Qui-Gon's strong arms catching him. He murmured wordlessly in distress, one hand clasping his aching head, the other one weakly gripping the front of his Master's robes.
"It is okay, Obi-Wan," his Master's voice was a soft breath in his ear, "never mind. Come. Let me help you..."
Qui-Gon found himself bearing most of his Padawan's weight as he half-carried the trembling young man into the en-suite, helping him to remove his robes. Lacking the strength to stand in the shower, Obi-Wan was soon settled into a tub of lukewarm, scented water, allowing him the luxury of lying back and closing his eyes, his head pillowed on a rolled up towel. Qui-Gon disappeared for several minutes, and Obi-Wan had drifted almost into sleep, until he felt a gentle touch on his brow. He cracked open his bleary eyes, trying to blink the blurry figure beside him into focus. Qui-Gon offered him another supportive, sympathetic smile, and before Obi-Wan could form a protest, those strong, gentle hand were cupping water over his hair, careful not to spill it down his face, before gently massaging soap into his scalp, cleansing away the sweat and the grime. The action was so soothing, and so tender, that Obi-Wan felt tears pricking at his eyes, even as he fought the urge to succumb to sleep.
The soap was gently rinsed away, and he found himself being helped out of the tub. A warm towel wrapped comfortingly around him, and he was guided to sit on a small stool, as he tried and failed to suppress his shivers. Qui-Gon stepped out of the room again, leaving Obi-Wan perched on the stool. He could honestly not ever remember feeling so sick, weak and miserable in his entire nineteen years of life. He feebly managed to swipe some of the water from his face and tried to make some effort to dry himself, but even keeping his eyes open was taking a monumental amount of energy. Having managed to dry off, he saw some clean sleep clothes had been left folded on the unit by the door. He reached for them, managing to pull on the underclothes and trousers by himself, keen to avoid over-burdening his Master.
Sitting bare-chested on the stool, shivering with pain and fatigue, Obi-Wan was about to reach out for help through his training bond, but then stopped himself. He was determined that he would not take up too much of Qui-Gon's valuable time; bad enough it was his fault they were effectively confined to their rooms for the next few days. He did not want to be a burden and he did not want to interrupt Qui-Gon's important work, whatever it may be. He just needed a bit of sleep, that was all – just a few hours of sleep, and then he'd feel well enough to take care of himself.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon appeared as the door slid open, "come, dear one; let's get you back to bed..."
The Padawan tried to raise his head, but his Master sounded a million miles away, and his vision was greying alarmingly at the edges. He was only vaguely aware of his Master calling to him again, so he tried to stand. However, his balance wavered, and he felt himself toppling over, pitching forwards. However, instead of cold, hard, flooring tiles, he found himself being enveloped in a warm embrace. Barely conscious, he felt strong arms lifting him up, and he distantly thought to himself; so much for not being a burden...as he was carried back through to his sleeping quarters.
"You are never a burden to me, Obi-Wan," murmured a deep, loving voice.
Oh, kriff... had he said that out loud? Or was he projecting through their bond without realising? His head lolled against Qui-Gon's chest, and he felt his Master hold him a little closer, whispering words of comfort in his ear. Though he was too far gone to understand the meaning, he was nonetheless soothed by the gentle reassurances. He found himself being tenderly laid down upon clean, soft sheets; his head nestled in the pillows, as the thin sheet was drawn up over his bare chest. He was asleep before he even realised how exhausted he truly was.
A few minutes after Qui-Gon had settled his poorly Padawan in his bed, there was a chime at the door. He rose slowly from where he perched on the edge of the mattress, straightened his robe, and went to answer. Opening the door, he managed to raise a small smile.
"Padawan Tu'ulio," he greeted the boy who stood there, "I assume Master Che sent you?"
"Yes, Master Jinn," the young Togruta bowed respectfully, his voice muffled only slightly by the surgical mask he wore, as he held up a small, silver tray, "Master Che instructs that the fever reducers are to be taken twice a day, and the pain relievers a maximum of once every four hours. Please keep the patient hydrated and contact the Halls if there are any complications. I can bring more in a few days if you need it."
"Thank you, Padawan," Qui-Gon accepted the tray from the boy's gloved hands, "you serve your Master well."
"Thank you, Master," Tu'ulio bowed again, and then hesitated, "um... Master Jinn? Is Padawan Kenobi... uh... is he alright? Master Che looked really worried about him, she said she thought he was too old to catch the Rodian Flu... she said it was bad. Like, really bad... that he got it, I mean. So, I was... uh... just wondering... is he okay?"
Qui-Gon hesitated, looking into the boy's worried brown eyes, and realised that Obi-Wan's popularity with his peers extended further than he had initially realised.
"He is... very ill," the Master admitted, "He is currently sleeping. I have no doubt that with plenty of rest and your Master's excellent medications, he will make a full recovery. I will send him your regards, but you must hurry back to your Master; I have no doubt she has need of you."
"Thank you, Master," the boy bowed low, and then trotted off back down the hallway
Qui-Gon waved the door closed, and carried the medication through to Obi-Wan's room. He was relieved to see Master Che had prescribed the medication in the form of single dose hypospray syringes. He doubted Obi-Wan would be able swallow tablets; he had been sensing the pain and distress from his Padawan ever since he had discovered his illness less than an hour ago. He immediately administered a dose of each. Obi-Wan did not even stir.
Realising it would be some time until his Padawan awakened, Qui-Gon went back through to the kitchen, and cleared away the untouched breakfast things, disposing of the cold tea and uneaten porridge, putting the kettle back on to boil for a fresh brew. He had work to do; there were reports to be written for the Council and assessments to be completed, but that could wait. He briefly logged on to the comm. system, sending messages cancelling all of his appointments for the next few days, noting several of the other Masters had already contacted him to cancel as well, their own Padawan students having succumbed to the Rodian Flu. He sent them all messages of support, as he drank his tea and kept a close watch on Obi-Wan through their training bond. The young Jedi seemed to be sleeping peacefully, for now. Reassured by this, Qui-Gon turned back to his computer, and called up everything he could find about Rodian Influenza in Human patients.
Some hours later, Qui-Gon was halfway through an in-depth medical article when he paused mid-sentence, feeling a shudder run through the Force. He quickly identified the source; the training bond. Obi-Wan. Abandoning his desk, he crossed the room with a few quick, long strides, opening the sleep chamber door and entering the room, moving swiftly to the bed side. Obi-Wan looked worse than before. His face was whiter than the pillows he lay upon, hair plastered down with sweat, a feverish red tinge the only colour on his pallid cheeks. He coughed and wheezed weakly, fretting quietly, his right hand curled into a fist over his chest, scrunching up the thin blanket that covered him as he moaned and whimpered softly.
"Oh, Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon laid an open palm over the young Jedi's forehead, alarmed at the heat that seemed to radiate from his skin, "my poor Padawan... let me fetch something that may help you."
The Jedi Master rose to his feet, quickly gathering up a large bowl, filling it with ice and cold water, before grabbing a wash cloth. He soaked the cloth in the water and, returning to his Padawan's room, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl on the bedside cabinet. He wrung out the cloth, and began gently sponging the sweat from Obi-Wan's head, face and bare chest. At first Obi-Wan gasped in shock and tried to pull away, but a simple feeling of calm and reassurance projected down their training bond immediately soothed the younger man, and he relaxed into Qui-Gon's caring ministrations.
Without really realising what he was doing, Qui-Gon called the Force around them as he worked, slowly and methodically, reinforcing their bond, while sending calming waves of healing and peace towards his young charge. He began murmuring softly, an ancient lullaby, often sung by Crèche Masters to Younglings to help them learn meditation and soothe them to sleep. It had been years since he had recited it – not since Obi-Wan was a small child – but in that moment it just felt right, and he allowed the Force to lead him. As he reached the end of his incantation, he dipped and wrung out the cloth yet again, folded it, and placed it gently on Obi-Wan's brow. As he sat back, he saw fever-bright grey eyes, peering at him through heavy lids.
"...Master...?" Obi-Wan managed a pained, hoarse croak.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon favoured him with a tender smile, "I know you are feeling miserably ill, but you should recover within a few short days. You just need to rest. Stay here; I will make some sweet tea to help soothe your throat and keep you hydrated."
Obi-Wan's left hand had somehow grasped the sleeve of Qui-Gon's robe, and a slight, insistent tug seemed to be asking the older Jedi to stay. He smiled again, carefully extricating himself from the grasp, patting the hand kindly.
"I will be right back," he promised, "close your eyes and try to meditate. Focus on the Force, young one."
Heading back to the kitchen, Qui-Gon boiled the water and set some tea to brewing; preparing two mugs, he poured a generous amount of honey into one of them, knowing it would help to soothe Obi-Wan's tortured throat. The whole time he worked, he kept a strong focus on his bond with Obi-Wan. The fever had utterly demolished the young Jedi's mental shields; he was radiating his pain and distress like a beacon. Qui-Gon responded by projecting back calm reassurance, but he could feel it was having little effect. He added some cold water to Obi-Wan's tea to make it easier to drink immediately while the Padawan was still awake, and then carried both mugs through. His student was shivering and gasping under his breath as he writhed beneath the thin sheet that covered him.
Qui-Gon plucked the damp cloth from his forehead, depositing it back in the bowl of ice water, before helping Obi-Wan to sit up a little. The Padawan lacked even the strength to hold himself up, so Qui-Gon gathered a few pillows behind him, easing him back into a semi-reclined position. Obi-Wan managed to mumble his thanks, as Qui-Gon pressed the mug of tea into his shaking hands.
"It is cool enough to drink," he said, reassuringly, "sip it carefully, though – it will hurt, at first, but it will help."
Obi-Wan managed a mute nod of acceptance and did as he was bid. Qui-Gon swallowed reflexively as he felt a spike of pain from Obi-Wan as he drank, not missing the visible grimace that passed across his pallid features. Qui-Gon placed his hand upon Obi-Wan's knee, gripping it gently beneath the sheet, quietly offering his support and comfort as best he could. Obi-Wan took another wary mouthful of the thick, sweet tea, giving a pained shudder.
"M...Master," he whispered, painfully, wincing over every word, "Wh... what's... wrong... with me?"
Qui-Gon suppressed his dismay as he realised that, in his fever-addled state, Obi-Wan could not recall their earlier conversation.
"You are ill, Obi-Wan," he replied, gently, "you have Rodian Flu. It causes headaches, sore throat, muscle aches and fatigue, and, worst of all, you have an extremely high fever. But you will be well again in just a few days, I promise."
"I'm sorry... Master... don't want to be... be a burden..."
"You are no burden to me, Obi-Wan, and you never will be. Now, finish your tea, and then you can try to get some sleep."
Obi-Wan's eyes were already slipping closed as he obediently finished his drink, and Qui-Gon helped him to lie back down. He removed the sweat-dampened sheet that served as a blanket, unwilling to use anything warmer and risk his Padawan overheating further in his fevered state. He fetched another clean sheet, while making a mental note to have more fresh bedding sent up from the Temple laundry. He once again sponged down Obi-Wan's face, neck and chest, though he could feel the heat permeating the younger man's tortured body. He checked the chronometer and gave him another dose of painkillers, wishing it was time for more of the fever-reducers, but not wanting to risk an overdose.
Worriedly, he placed his palm on Obi-Wan's chest, closing his eyes, feeling the slightly-too-fast but regular heartbeat as he mentally assessed the young Jedi's condition. The fever was worryingly high, and he considered calling Master Che again; his reading had told him that the fever would ebb and flow as the virus ran its force. He shook out the clean sheet and tucked it around Obi-Wan, running his hand soothingly through damp, spiky hair, sending a strong sleep suggestion down their bond. Obi-Wan accepted it, gratefully, and quickly drifted off. With a sigh, Qui-Gon placed the folded damp cloth on his Padawan's forehead, and then stood. Better safe than sorry, he decided, and went to call the Master Healer.
Having spoken to Master Che, she had promised to come and visit as soon as she was able, but the Temple Healers were overrun. It seemed over half of the Temple Padawans and virtually all of the younglings in the crèche had been infected with the flu. Those that were not infected were being vaccinated against the worse of the symptoms, but it meant that the Healers were in high demand. A droid came and delivered more clean sheets, taking away the soiled bedding, while Qui-Gon was in the middle of a holo-conference with Master Tyr-Son Dray.
"Then little K'tinga has caught it as well?" the Master asked, concerned.
"I'm afraid so," Dray nodded his head, slowly, "fortunately, she is barely more than a youngling, so she just seems tired, a little achy and extremely clingy."
"So I see," Qui-Gon smiled at the sight of the young Devaronian curled up in her Master's arms, snuggled into his robe, "I hope she makes a speedy recovery."
"Thank you, Qui-Gon," Tyr-Son offered him a sad smile, "tell me, how is young Kenobi faring? Master Ki-Adi-Mundi told me he is gravely ill."
"To be perfectly honest, Tyr-Son, I have never seen a Padawan so sick and not confined to the Halls of Healing," Qui-Gon replied, allowing some of his worry to seep into his tone as he spoke with his old friend, "he is almost delirious with fever and the pain I sense from him is overwhelming. I wish there was more I could do for him, but I cannot even get him into a healing trance; his illness seems to have cut him off from the Force almost entirely. He cannot eat, though at least he is drinking sweet tea and iced water. All I can do is try to cool him when the fever spikes, and send him sleep suggestions when he becomes too restless."
"I know you are giving him the very best of care," Dray nodded, approvingly, "I am sorry to hear of his suffering, Qui-Gon... I wish there was something I could do to help."
"I think you have your hands full already," Qui-Gon gestured to the sleeping child cradled in Tyr-Son's arms, "I will trust in the Force, and I am sure Obi-Wan will recover soon."
"As it should be. May the Force be with you."
"And with you."
Qui-Gon closed the comm. channel, turning back to his computer. He saw several messages from other Masters – and a few of the Senior Padawans – enquiring after Obi-Wan's well being. He sent them all the same message, thanking them for their concern and assuring them the young Jedi should begin to recover within the next few days. At a shiver of pain through their bond, Qui-Gon reflected that, nonetheless, it was going to be a very long few days for both of them. He was about to head through to the sleep chamber once more, when the door chimed. He checked the monitor and was relieved to see Master Vokara Che in the hallway. Without a further moment of hesitation, he keyed open the door, and she slipped inside, quickly.
"How is he?" she asked, without preamble, looking more tired than Qui-Gon had ever seen the Master Healer.
"See for yourself," Qui-Gon gestured her through to the sleep chambers.
She quickly crossed over and sat on the bed, concern written on her blue features as she took in Obi-Wan's pale, perspiring form, head rolling listlessly from side to side as he twitched and mumbled, caught up in a feverish nightmare. She placed her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, scanning the Padawan with the Force, just as Qui-Gon had done several times already that day.
"By the Living Force..." she breathed out, slowly, "I should have brought more healing crystals with me... Qui-Gon, I'm sorry, there's no time for me to go and fetch a crystal to draw out some of the fever; we need to bring his temperature down, immediately. I'm going to risk giving him an extra dose of the fever reducers. Summon a droid to fetch a bucket of ice, and fill the tub with cold water."
"Right away, Master Che," Qui-Gon did as she requested, before returning to stand beside her.
"Obi-Wan," she called, to the young Jedi, "Obi-Wan, can you hear me?"
There was no coherent response, and Vokara shook her head tails sadly; "He's delirious... I had a feeling it might get like this."
"Is there anything else we can do?"
"He's too far out of his mind for a healing trance to work," Che replied, glancing towards the en-suite, "the ice bath should help bring the fever down to a more manageable level; it's not going to be pleasant and it will be quite a shock to his system, but leaving him as he is will be more dangerous."
There was a chime at the door and Qui-Gon immediately went, finding a waiting service droid carrying a large bucket of ice. He took it, tipping it into the tub, and turning off the running cold water supply.
"It's ready," he told Master Che, even as she peeled back the damp sheets.
"Can you lift him into the tub?"
"Of course."
Qui-Gon quickly shrugged out of his tunic, sliding his arms under Obi-Wan's knees and shoulders. He gently lifted the Padawan, holding him against his chest, dismayed when Obi-Wan's head simply slumped back, his arm trailing limply downwards. They did not bother to undress the Padawan, leaving him in his lightweight sleep trousers. Qui-Gon crossed through to the en-suite, where he stood over the tub; Master Che went to the other side, gently supporting Obi-Wan's head as Qui-Gon lowered him into the icy water. As his body was suddenly immersed, Obi-Wan let out a shocked, agonised gasp, his eyes snapping open and darting wildly around the room as he began to panic, but lacking the strength to lash out or fight back.
"Easy, Obi-Wan," Che said, soothingly, "it's alright, Padawan, it's alright; it's for your own good."
"Calm yourself, young one," Qui-Gon told him, gently, placing his hand on Obi-Wan's forehead, instantly calming him through their bond, "I know it is unpleasant, but you must trust me."
I trust you, Master...
Qui-Gon blinked rapidly, feeling the unadulterated love and faith his apprentice had for him through their bond, and immediately reciprocating the feelings. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, a whimper escaping him, as his limbs shook and shuddered. Master Che eased him further down in the tub until the water was lapping around his neck. She snagged a washcloth from near the basin, soaking it and gently patting it over his hair and face, desperate to reduce the blazing fever. After several minutes, the Healer nodded to Qui-Gon.
"His temperature has come down significantly. If you can get him dried off and into some clean clothes, I will put fresh sheets on the bed for you."
"Thank you, Master Che," Qui-Gon said, gratefully.
She slipped out of the room, as Qui-Gon carefully helped Obi-Wan out of the tub, wrapping him in a soft, dry towel, before encouraging him to remove his sodden clothes. Qui-Gon managed to get the Padawan dried and dressed, once again foregoing a shirt to help him keep cooler. Lacking the strength to stand, but not wanting to be carried, Obi-Wan allowed Qui-Gon to loop a supportive arm around his waist, and the Master helped him through to the adjoining room. Even though it was only a few steps, Obi-Wan was soon sagging heavily against his Master, who gently eased him down to sit on the edge of the freshly made bed. Master Che supported his head and shoulders as Qui-Gon bent down and lifted his legs, laying him down flat on his back, once again supported by a few pillows. Obi-Wan's hand went to his throat, and he looked beseechingly at the two Masters. Qui-Gon smiled, nodding his head.
"I understand, Padawan mine," he said, "I will make some more tea. Master Che, do you have time for a cup?"
"I have several more Padawans to visit, but I am not done yet with Obi-Wan," she inclined her head, glancing back at her patient, "yes, I would be grateful for some tea, Master Jinn."
Qui-Gon immediately went to make the brew. When he returned with three mugs, he saw Che removing a hypospray syringe from Obi-Wan's neck, gently cupping his cheek with her hand.
"I know you feel awful, Padawan, but this shall pass. Do try to rest as much as you can, and do not resist the sleep suggestions I am sure your Master is giving you."
Obi-Wan simply nodded; too exhausted, and his throat too raw, to attempt to speak. Qui-Gon placed the mug of tea into his palms; the Padawan had to use both hands to cradle the mug to sip at it, his trembling worsening as the bone-deep fatigue ate away at him. When he had almost finished, Qui-Gon could see his eyelids getting heavier, head nodding down as sleep beckoned. The Master plucked the empty mug from unresisting fingers, setting it aside and helping his student to lie back down, tucking the sheet around his waist and brushing his unruly, still-damp hair out of his eyes.
"Sleep, young one," he mumbled, tenderly, "I will be here when you awake."
This time, no Force suggestion was necessary, as Obi-Wan tumbled back into a deep slumber. Master Che patted his hand gently, as she finished the last of her tea.
"You are doing well with him, Qui-Gon," she said, scrubbing a hand across her tired features, "give him more fever reducers in six hours, but don't be afraid to give him another ice bath if his temperature gets that high again. I know he's drinking, but he's losing fluids faster than you can replace them orally... I'm going to send up an aide to fit him with an intravenous line so we can ensure he stays hydrated, and to get some nutrients into him."
"Thank you, Master Che," Qui-Gon bowed to her, deeply, "your efforts and your care are greatly appreciated, by all of us. I wish all of your young patients a speedy recovery."
"Thank you, Qui-Gon. May the Force be with you."
With that, she took her leave, and Qui-Gon Jinn reassumed his bedside vigil.
Master Vokara Che was true to her word – within the hour, an aide from the Halls of Healing had come to their quarters and fitted an intravenous line; two bags of fluids were suspended from a tall stand beside the bed; one containing saline for rehydration, the other containing liquid nutrients. Qui-Gon had stood back as a respectful distance as the aide worked, and paid close attention as he was shown how to flush the lines and change the bags as necessary. It disturbed him more than he cared to admit that Obi-Wan had not even stirred as the needle had been inserted into his arm. With the lines running into him and the sheets wrapped around his waist, the Padawan looked so frail and helpless that Qui-Gon found it almost unbearable. The Jedi Master consciously released his fears into the Force, focussing only on the moment. In that moment, Obi-Wan was sleeping peacefully, and receiving the very best of medical care. The rest was up to the Force.
Qui-Gon had given up any pretence at work, and had brought an armchair through into Obi-Wan's sleep chamber; he maintained his bedside vigil for long hours, day into night and into the day again, the fever showing no signs of relenting. Qui-Gon did not rest, alternating between reading, meditating, and trying to soothe Obi-Wan's fever with cold compresses every time it climbed.
The day faded into night yet again, and then, in the early hours of the morning, Obi-Wan began to stir; Qui-Gon immediately snapped out of his meditation as the Force ripplied in distress. Obi-Wan groaned, sickly, and Qui-Gon moved swiftly from the chair to perch on the bedside, hovering worriedly, waving his hands to activate the lights at their lowest setting.
"Obi-Wan?"
"Master," the response was a weak, dry croak, and Qui-Gon immediately reached for the glass of water on the bedside cabinet, helping his Padawan to take a drink.
Obi-Wan sagged back onto the pillows, his face deathly pale in the dim light, as Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the mattress. The Master placed his right hand over his Padawan's left hand, where it lay limply by his side, the intravenous lines snaking into his forearm. Obi-Wan shivered beneath the thin sheet, gazing at his Master through half-lidded eyes.
You don't have to stay, Master... you look tired. You should rest...
Qui-Gon suppressed his dismay at how weak Obi-Wan sounded, even through their training bond; his Padawan's normally brightly glowing Force presence was completely muted, barely a flicker, and he closed his eyes, breathing out his worry and sending a wave of healing energy and strength to the younger Jedi; it felt like tipping a glass of water into a canyon and hoping for a river to form, for all the good it did.
"My place is here, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, softly, "I would not be anywhere else. Can I fetch you anything? Some tea, perhaps, or something to eat?"
Obi-Wan managed a minute shake of his head, so Qui-Gon reached for the damp cloth, wringing it out and gently pressing it to his Padawan's fevered brow, his expression creasing in concern as Obi-Wan let out a low, inadvertant whimper, flinching away from the cold touch.
"Shh," Qui-Gon murmured, soothingly, "this will pass, dear one. You will feel better soon, I promise. Try to sleep..."
The Jedi Master watched as his Padawan's eyes slowly drifted closed; whether asleep or simply succumbing to unconsciousness he could not tell. He waited a heartbeat longer, and then went back through to the living area. Heedless of the hideously early hour of the morning, he activated the communications system, patching straight through to the Halls of Healing. His call was answered immediately; of course Healers had to be available all day, every day.
"Master Jinn," said the elderly Zabrak woman who answered the call, "how may I be of assistance?"
"Master Khepreyr," he replied, clasping his hands inside the sleeves of his robe in an effort to stop his hands from shaking, "I am sorry to disturb you, but I am growing increasingly concerned about Obi-Wan. He grows weaker by the hour. It has been three days and his fever has not broken."
"Then I shall not waste time on needless questions. I will come to you immediately."
The call ended sharply and Qui-Gon felt a wry smile twist his lips; there were times when he found Master Khepreyr's abruptness rather difficult to deal with, but this time, he felt only appreciation. He went back through to Obi-Wan's room, but did not sit, only standing and gazing down helplessly. Obi-Wan lay far too still; the intravenous line fed him vital fluids but only made him look sicker, if that was even possible given the pallor of his face, the sheen of sweat coating his skin, and his frail appearance. Qui-Gon tried to release his worry into the Force, but it remained in the back of his mind, gnawing at him as he fought the urge to pace; what Mace Windu might have described as a "moving mediation" but would really only be a physical manifestation of his own anxieties.
After an eternity passed - but what was, in reality, only a few minutes - the door chimed. Qui-Gon moved faster than dignity might normally have allowed, keying open the entrance to their living quarters.
"Master Khepreyr," he greeted the Zabrak, "thank you for coming."
"It is my duty and my privilege to serve," she replied, smoothly, her accent threading through each of the vowels despite her years spent on Coruscant, "please... show me to the boy."
"This way," Qui-Gon gestured, and lead her through to Obi-Wan's sleep chamber.
"Ahh," she murmured, crossing immediately to the bedside, placing her clawed hand on Obi-Wan's chest, "you were right to call me, Master Jinn..."
"Is there anything more that can be done?" Qui-Gon did not care that his voice was higher than normal, twanging with stress and undisguised worry, "He is so weak; his fever is not as high as it was, and yet... he seems to be fading."
"His body is too exhausted to maintain the fever," Khepreyr replied, softly, not taking her eyes off her patient, "he is succumbing to his illness... unsurprising, given his age. Many childhood illnesses are more serious when experienced by an adult."
"He is only nineteen..."
"Hope is not lost, Master Jinn," Khepreyr shot him a sharp look, and then turned her gaze back to Obi-Wan, "in my youth, this would have been easy... these days, however... will you lend me some of your strength, Master Jinn?"
"Of course - I would give anything..."
"It will not be easy, I warn you," she cut him off, quickly, "and I doubt any of the other Healers would condone this..."
"Master Khepreyr - you have my complete trust. If there is anything you can do to help Obi-Wan - whatever it costs me - I will do it."
The former Nightsister of Dathomir nodded her head in acceptance, and drew a crystal from the depths of her robes. She placed it on Obi-Wan's chest, and then began to move her hands in deliberate, intricate patterns, chanting under her breath. Qui-Gon took a seat in the armchair as she gestured to him; he had seen the powerful Force-magics of the Nightsisters, and although Khepreyr had sworn herself to and been trained by the Jedi order, she still used many of the ritual incantations she had learned in her youth to aid her connection to the Living Force. It was little wonder her kind were often referred to as witches...
Blue light began to glow and swirl about her, and Qui-Gon's eyes widened slightly at the visible manifestation of the Force, concentrated by her focus and the crystal resting on Obi-Wan's chest. She stretched out her hand towards Qui-Gon and he gasped, almost choking as he felt... something. Like a wrenching feeling, as if someone had reached into his chest and grasped a hold of his heart, which suddenly felt like it wasn't beating enough... or perhaps too much...
"Relax, Master Jinn," Khepreyr's voice was a whisper and a roar in his mind, "I am merely drawing upon your Force presence to feed his... feel my call and allow the Force to flow from you to him through me..."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, concentrating; he was used to sharing his Force-energy with others, especially his Padawan, but to have it physically pulled from him was... uncomfortable, to say the least, but for Obi-Wan's sake; he relaxed, and did not resist as she drew upon his strength, adding it to her own, and channelling it into Obi-Wan, through the healing crystal.
Then, suddenly, the pull ceased; Qui-Gon slumped back into the chair, gasping for breath, physically reeling, aching all over with fatigue, his head pounding as he fought to blink the room back into focus. Then, Khepreyr was at his side, her fingertips pressing into his temples, and the room suddenly righted itself. The Jedi Master drew in a ragged breath, one hand clutching his chest.
"Did... did it work?" he panted, breathlessly, "Master Khepreyr - are you alright?"
Qui-Gon quickly rose to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that washed over him, taking Khepreyr by the arms and swiftly lowering the elderly Zabrak into the chair in his place. She patted his arm gently, partly in thanks, partly in reassurance.
"I am not as strong as I used to be," she laughed, dryly, "thank you for your assistance - I would recommend you get some rest as soon as possible to regain what I took from you. But for now... see to your Padawan."
Qui-Gon turned towards the bed, his eyes widening in surprise; "Obi-Wan!"
The Padawan was struggling to raise himself up on his elbows, staring in confusion at the now cracked crystal on his chest. He raised tired, sunken eyes towards his Master, and managed a small, hollow smile.
"Master Qui-Gon?"
"How are you feeling?" Qui-Gon took his now-familiar seat on the edge of the bed, gently pushing Obi-Wan back down onto the pillows, removing the spent healing crystal and placing it on the cabinet.
Obi-Wan considered this for a long moment, and obviously could not come up with a witty response, so settled on an honest, heartfelt; "Awful... but... I think... better?"
Qui-Gon pressed his open palm to Obi-Wan's forehead, then similarly touched his cheek, neck and chest.
"Your fever has broken," the Master nodded, with a smile, "I have no doubt you are exhausted and are likely to be for some time, but I think the worst has passed, thanks to Master Khepreyr."
"And you, Master," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes already starting to drift closed again, "felt you there, in the Force... and now, in here..."
A shaking hand reached up, and Obi-Wan tapped his own chest, just over his heart, before the hand went lax, and he succumbed to a deep, peaceful slumber. Qui-Gon bowed his head for a moment over his sleeping Padawan, before turning back, to find Khepreyr smiling at him, knowingly.
"You have my eternal thanks, Master Khepreyr," he bowed to her, deeply, "while you regain your strength, might I offer you something restorative? A cup of tea, or caff... or perhaps a Corellian brandy?"
"Ah," she smiled, "I think a brandy is exactly what the Healer ordered... will you join me? I should like to stay and monitor Obi-Wan for a while, if I may?"
"I would appreciate it," Qui-Gon nodded, "in that case, I shall fetch uis both a nightcap..."
Master Khepreyr removed the intravenous line from Obi-Wan's arm and departed after a few hours, as the night gave way to day, citing the need to rest and reassuring Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan was in no danger of a relapse, telling the Jedi Master sternly that he, too, needed to sleep and recover his strength after their desperate bid to heal the Padawan. He assured her that he would follow her instructions... as soon as Obi-Wan was recovered enough. However, he had not quite taken into account just how exhausted he truly was. After reassuring himself that Obi-Wan was sleeping peacefully, the fever well and truly gone, he went back into their living area, intending on making himself some tea. However, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he clumsily staggered, catching the back of the couch and lowering himself onto it with a pained groan. Perhaps a few minutes to rest would not hurt... he stretched himself out on the sofa, and was asleep before his head hit the cushion.
A gentle nudge from the Force made Qui-Gon stir, blinking his eyes in confusion. The headache had abated to a dull throb in his temples, and he raised one hand with a groan, rubbing at his forehead. He realised, with a start, that some time must have passed; bright sunlight streamed in through half-shuttered blinds, and by the height of the sun it must have been well past midday meal, late in the afternoon. He frowned, sitting up slowly, as something slipped from his shoulder. He stared at the offending fabric in confusion; it was a blanket, pulled from his own bed. He was on the verge of figuring out exactly what had just happened, when a steaming mug of tea was placed gently on the table before him.
"I am sorry, Master, I did not mean to wake you..." the familiar voice was whisper-soft, laced with a mixture of both fatigue and amusement.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon immediately shook off the last vestiges of sleep, clambering to his feet and grasping his Padawan's shoulders in shocked delight, "you look... what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting!"
"I could say the same about you, Master," Obi-Wan replied, hoarsely, but with a faint glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "I... I wanted some tea; I did not want to disturb you."
"You should have," Qui-Gon replied, both fondly and with a degree of exasperation, "you have been gravely ill; you need to take it easy for a while... come, sit down, before you fall down."
Obi-Wan simply nodded in agreement, too exhausted to argue; the Padawan was still pale, with dark smudges under his eyes, and he moved slowly, weighed down with aching muscles and bone-deep fatigue. He was barefoot, dressed in sleep trousers and a tunic, with a blanket of his own wrapped around his shoulders, cradling his mug of tea in both hands. Qui-Gon gently guided him to sit down on the sofa, as the Master took a seat beside him.
"Master Khepreyr deserves both of our thanks," Qui-Gon murmured, picking up his own tea, "and Master Che, of course... tell me truthfully, Obi-Wan... how are you feeling?"
"Tired," Obi-Wan sighed, immediately, leaning back into the soft cushions of the sofa, "I ache, all over... my head hurts, and my throat is sore, but... I am a lot better than I was."
That would not have been difficult, but Qui-Gon managed to refrain from saying so, as he nodded slowly.
"Sit and rest a while, Padawan," he said, gently, "drink your tea, and then we will return you to your bed. It will take some time for you to recover your strength, I fear, but it pleases me that you are recovering."
"Master," Obi-Wan murmured, tiredly, "what... what was that? Earlier, I mean... I don't know, I mean... I felt... it was odd. I felt... the Force, I think. Like it was singing to me, and saying I could come to it, if I wanted to... I... it was beautiful. I almost did, I think... but then there was a voice, calling me back, and you were there, and... I couldn't leave, not yet... I don't... I don't understand."
Exhausted from the effort of speaking, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his hands shaking in an effort to hold onto his mug. It was carefully plucked from his fingers, and there was a gentle clink at it was set down on the table top, before a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and he found himself drawn into an embrace. He sighed in contentment, relaxing against his Master's chest as Qui-Gon rubbed soothing circles on his back.
"I... will not pretend I know what was happening to you, or what Master Khepreyr did to restore your strength," his Master said, slowly, after a long pause, "all that matters is that you will be well again soon, Obi-Wan. If you are comfortable, let us rest here a while, together, hmm?"
"Mmm," Obi-Wan agreed, sleepily.
It was not long before both Master and Padawan drifted off to sleep, wrapped together in the warmth of their blankets and the Force bond between them, their tea forgotten as they rested in blissful peace.
Author's Note: my thanks as always to those kind enough to leave reviews - especially She-Elf23, DS2010 and Storieteller! She-Elf23; I'm so glad you enjoyed your prompt chapter, you should have seen the size of my grin upon reading your lovely review! Thank you for the extra prompts, too, I shall definitely be giving them some thought for future chapters. DS2010, thank you - I hope you enjoy future chapters, there is a lot more h/c to come. Storieteller, you are too kind - I have never had the privilege of being a nurse, but I've been on the receiving end a couple of times!