Infection
They were running. This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence; Obi-Wan cast a fleeting thought back to when he had first been brought to the Jedi Temple as a youngling, and the life of a Jedi had seemed so peaceful and serene, filled with learning, meditation and introspection. Lightsabre and combat practice had seemed more like a game back then. He had not expected that there would be so much running involved. Gasping in another lungful of air, he tried to keep pace with his Master, Qui-Gon, as they fled through the forest, smashing through undergrowth, leaping over fallen trees and bounding over the rocks in their path. The forest was on the Outer Rim planet of Bago, and grew up the side of a gently sloping mountain, making the footing underneath treacherous at best.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been sent to the northernmost continent of Bago to deliver supplies to the local populace, who were experiencing food shortages after flooding had destroyed their food ranches, killing off their meat herds. The Bagoans were carnivores, famously xenophobic, and lived an isolationist life away from the Republic, but in desperation the planetary government had cast out a request for assistance and the Senate had sent the Jedi with a cargo ship stuffed to the hulls with emergency supplies in the form of vacuum-packed Bantha meat. However, almost immediately upon landing, the desperate populace had mobbed the craft, assaulting the Jedi and tearing into the supplies in a manic, free-for-all rampage. The Bagoan government had conveniently failed to provide any protection for the arriving ship, nor was there any attempt to properly manage the unloading and distribution of the supplies.
Qui-Gon had refused to fight back against the frantic, starving people, unwilling to cause them further suffering, recognising that their actions were born of desperation. That was, at least, until several of the villagers began to encircle the Jedi, eyeing them up and down, noting their clothes and unusual weapons, growling fiercely at the outsiders, baring sharp white fangs set in slavering jaws, their thick fur matted against skeletal bodies, flexing their powerful black claws as they began to circle.
"Master?" Obi-Wan queried, warily, his hand twitching towards his lightsabre.
"Be ready to run, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, even as he glanced around, quickly, assessing their options.
They were completely cut off from their ship, which was still being raided by the majority of the baying crowd, ration packs being torn into and hungrily devoured. What was meant to last for months if properly distributed would be gone in a matter of days, it seemed. Their only option seemed to be to run for cover, and come back once the ship had been emptied and the crowd dispersed. The Bagoans of the northern continent had no interest in space travel; they were pack orientated hunters, who eschewed the benefits of most modern technology in favour of a semi-nomadic lifestyle. It was those on the southern continent who lived a more technologically advanced lifestyle, but even they hated outsiders with a burning passion. There was no help to be found.
The dozen or so growling, wolf-like Bagoans that surrounded them were snapping and snarling to each other, as if discussing what these strange aliens might taste like. Qui-Gon saw a path, leading through the trees and into the mountain slopes, and decided that the cover of the forest was their best hope. The Bagoans were on the verge of starving; and while the two Jedi appeared to be tasty, fresh meat, Qui-Gon hoped that the weakened state of their pursuers would give them a fighting chance of survival.
Channelling the Force, with a wave of his hand he swept half of the Bagoans off their feet, sending them crashing to the ground several yards away. Taking full advantage of the ensuing shock and confusion, both Jedi took to their heels and fled into the forest.
And so it was that they were running for their lives once again. The Bagoans were falling behind, weakened from their months of famine, and Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon a few paces ahead of him, leaping effortlessly over a large boulder. Obi-Wan followed, but mid-jump, the Force screamed a warning at him; he turned his head and saw a blur of black and grey fur flying at him from one side. The Bagoans had not fallen behind. Like the skilled pack hunters they were, they had run parallel to their prey, circled around, and were coming at them from the side.
The lithe streak of fur became a frenzy of snapping teeth and slashing claws; Obi-Wan cried out in wordless pain as those jaws fastened onto his left forearm, even as his right hand curled into a fist, lashing out with a punch at the creature's face, trying to jar it loose. Then, the waspish hum of a lightsabre split the air, and Qui-Gon appeared, leaping high over the boulder, swinging the sabre in a smooth arc, separating the Bagoan's head clean from its body. Three more appeared and were similarly dispatched; Obi-Wan shook the creature's severed head from his arm. Tucking the wounded limb close to his body, he drew his own lightsabre, automatically turning back-to-back with his Master, as they had no other choice than to fight back.
When the last Bagoan fell at their feet, they deactivated their lightsabres, looking forlornly at their fallen adversaries, understanding the desperation behind their actions, if not the savagery of being hunted like prey.
"Obi-Wan – your arm – let me see," Qui-Gon said, urgently, but the young Jedi shook his head.
"No, Master – it is only a flesh wound. We must find cover, in case more Bagoans come after us."
"You are wise as ever, Obi-Wan, but we must treat your wound as soon as possible. Come, let us see if we can find shelter in higher ground..."
The two of them climbed together, the trees gradually thinning out as the ground became rockier and steeper; they crossed through streams to help disguise their scent trail and eventually found a ledge high up, jutting out over the forest below, at the back of which was a hollow. It was not deep enough to be called a cave, but offered enough cover to shelter the two of them from the elements and prying eyes. Qui-Gon had scanned the water of the stream nearby and deemed it drinkable, so the two of them had filled their flasks before they climbed onto the ledge. Pulling out his scope and lying flat on the ledge to avoid being seen, Qui-Gon was relieved to see that their vantage point gave them a view of their cargo ship in the clearing below, still surrounded by crowds of Bagoans, though their howling and baying was muted to silence by the distance between them.
"I can see the ship," he reported, snapping away the scope, backing away from the ledge and climbing to his feet, "the Bagoans are still there... we can wait and shelter here until they leave, and then head back to the ship."
"I wonder how long that might take..." Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh, as he sat down, beneath the shelter of the rocky overhang at the back of the ledge, "I doubt it will be very comfortable here if we have to stay overnight."
"We will make the best we can of it, and we shall trust in the Force," Qui-Gon replied, calmly, "now, young one, let me see your arm."
Reluctantly, Obi-Wan rolled back his torn and bloodied sleeve, revealing the distinct puncture wounds on both sides of his left forearm, a perfect set of teeth marks that still oozed trickles of blood. Qui-Gon made a humming noise, and carefully tipped water from his flask over the wound to cleanse it. Obi-Wan tried to smother a gasp of shock at the icy coldness. He concentrated, releasing his pain into the Force as he had been taught, earning a small smile of approval from his Master. With some effort, Qui-Gon tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his robes, and used it to bind Obi-Wan's arm, relieved to see that the bleeding was already stopping.
"There," he announced, "I would feel better if we had some antiseptic, or better yet some bacta patches, but this will do for now. Try to concentrate healing energies on it, if you can."
"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, flexing his fingers slightly.
His hand was tingling, the fingers slightly swollen, and the bite was burning with pain, but he could still move his digits and with any luck they would soon be back to their ship to treat the wound properly.
"Get some rest, Padawan – if you cannot sleep, at least try to meditate for a while. I will take the first watch. When the Bagoans have left, we will return to our ship."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, dutifully.
Thus, their waiting began.
Hours passed, and the day began to pass into night. The two Jedi took turns in keeping watch over the edge of their outcropping, until it became too dark to see as the sky clouded over, blotting out the twin moons and myriad of stars above them. They then sat together with their backs against the rock face at the rear of the ledge, the mountain towering above them, huddling together for warmth against the chill of the night, unable to light a fire for risk of being seen. Using the Force to be wary of dangers and to offer some warmth against the cold night air, they took turns to nap or meditate, the other remaining aware and alert for danger.
After what seemed like an eternity of darkness, the first grey rays of dawn began to break over the horizon, and Qui-Gon rose, gently rousing Obi-Wan from his fitful slumber.
"How is your arm this morning, Padawan?"
Obi-Wan hesitated only slightly; it ached with a dull throb, and his fingers felt stiff and swollen, no doubt as a result of bruising from the Bagoan's powerful bite. Flexing his hand, he nodded, slowly.
"A little sore, Master, but it will be fine."
Checking the rough bandages, Qui-Gon was pleased to see no blood had seeped through. Satisfied that his Padawan was in no immediate danger, the two of them stood in the sheltered area to the back of the outcropping, away from casual eyes, and ran through a series of katas, stretching and warming sore, tired muscles, relieving the cold and cramp that had settled in overnight.
In relative silence, they ate sparingly of the few ration bars they carried with them, before Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan on watch as he made the walk over the rocks to refill both of their water flasks. By the time he returned, it was midday, and he lay down beside Obi-Wan on the front of the ledge, taking out his scope and looking down at the ship.
"Nothing much has changed, Master," Obi-Wan reported, as the two of them observed the craft some distance below them, "the crowd is a little less ferocious and more organised – they seem to have satiated their hunger and they're now unloading the supplies. They're doing it by hand though, and there's little organisation. It could take some time."
"Agreed; we were carrying three months' worth of food for this whole continent," Qui-Gon sighed, "it grieves me that we will be unable to ensure a fair distribution of the resources... still, the Bagoans have a strong sense of pack dependency. We can but hope they will share the supplies with their wider fellows."
Obi-Wan nodded slightly; he was impressed by his Master's continued compassion for a suffering people, many of whom would still have torn the two Jedi limb from limb if they were found.
"All we can do, then, is continue to wait and hope that they abandon the ship when they're done, I take it," Obi-Wan glanced across at his Master, trying to ignore the growing ache in his injured arm as he lowered his scope.
"Indeed," Qui-Gon nodded, "patience is often a Jedi's greatest strength, and now we have the opportunity to practice it."
"Wonderful," Obi-Wan muttered, under his breath, "just wonderful."
Day passed into night, into day, and then back into night. By the third day, both Jedi were cold, tired, and hungry; the last of their rations were gone, and there was a distinct lack of vegetation this high up the mountain, let alone anything edible. There was no sign of any bird or animal life; they had not even found any insects at their altitude. At least they had a steady supply of clean water, thanks to the nearby stream. Between taking turns to keep watch, making the walk to refill their flasks, sleeping, meditating or practicing their katas, they managed to maintain their focus on waiting out the Bagoans. Qui-Gon made sure that Obi-Wan's bandages were changed regularly, washing the used strips of fabric in the stream and leaving them on the rocks to dry.
As time dragged on, however, the older Jedi grew increasingly concerned. Obi-Wan slept more and more, despite the discomfort of their situation, and, by the end of the third day, when Qui-Gon removed the bandages to change them, his worst fears were confirmed.
"Infection is starting to set in," he said, grimly.
"I know, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, quietly, "there is nothing we can do here, though."
"We must get you back to the ship."
"Not with those Bagoans still hanging around."
Qui-Gon hummed in agreement, as he did his best to cleanse the deep puncture wounds with nothing but water and a ragged strip of his makeshift cloth bandages. Obi-Wan tried to release the pain into the Force, but could not help the occasional hiss or gasp that escaped him, despite the gentleness of his Master's ministrations. The edges of each puncture were puckered and red, weeping pus, the skin around the wound darkened to black, blue and yellow with bruising, his limb swollen, fingers stiff and unmoving.
Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh, wiping away as much of the discharge as he could, pouring cold water over the wound, patting it dry and wrapping it in a rough bandage once more. As always, Obi-Wan thanked him, though his voice was softer this time and shook more than usual. Qui-Gon took the opportunity to lay his palm on Obi-Wan's forehead; he felt a little warm, and the Jedi Master knew they did not have much time before that warmth developed into a full-blown fever. The infection would be getting into Obi-Wan's blood, and no amount of mountain spring water or meditation was going to keep it at bay.
"I will be alright, Master," Obi-Wan tried to sound reassuring, sensing his Master's concern through their training bond, "the Bagoans seem to be losing interest in the ship."
"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, "hopefully they will soon move on, as is their way. I will keep watch for the next few hours. I would like you to try to get some rest, Obi-Wan."
Nodding in acceptance, the younger Jedi moved to the back of the ledge, where they had gathered as much of the moss and bracken as they could find over the last three days, piling it up in the sheltered part of their rocky outcropping to make a rudimentary mattress. It was by no means comfortable, but it was better than trying to sleep on bare rock. He lay down on his back, his right arm wrapping his robes tightly around himself in an effort to ward off his growing shivers, his injured left arm resting by his side.
Obi-Wan tried to sleep, attempting to let the Force carry him off into a healing rest, but the burning ache in his arm contrasted fiercely with the cold shivering that trembled through his muscles. He tried not to grit his teeth against the pain, as his head was thumping in time with the throbbing in his arm. At some point he must have drifted off though, as he snapped awake with a gasp to a gentle hand on his right shoulder, and a voice calling his name.
"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, can you hear me? I need you to wake up for me, Padawan..."
The hand, the voice, and a soft tug on their training bond finally brought him back to wakefulness, and he blinked his eyes open, shivering weakly. He felt like he was burning and freezing at the same time, pain wracking his arm, through his shoulder, into his head, making him feel sick to his stomach. A gentle hand combed through his hair, offering him comfort, before he felt a cool, damp cloth being pressed to his face and neck, cleansing away the sheen of sweat that coated him, before it was folded up and placed on his forehead, and he groaned in sick agony at the momentary relief.
"M-M-Master?" he whispered, hoarsely, shocked by how weak and feeble his voice sounded, even to his own ears, "Wh...what happened?"
"You have a fever, dear one," Qui-Gon told him, softly, stroking his hand through Obi-Wan's hair once again, knowing how much comfort his Padawan drew from both the gesture and his presence, "the infection from your wound is spreading... we must get you back to the ship."
"But... the Bagoans..."
"Have lessened in number over the last few hours. The packs are breaking up and leaving the area. At first light, we will head back down the mountain and reclaim our ship. We cannot wait any longer."
"But... but you said... patience... don't want to... to hurt them, Master..."
"And we will not, if we can avoid it," Qui-Gon assured him, soothingly, "but you are my priority now. I understand your unwillingness to harm others, but I will not allow harm to come to you either. I woke you as I need you to drink some water, Obi-Wan. Your temperature is far too high and you will become dehydrated if we are not careful."
Obediently, Obi-Wan sipped carefully at the bottle Qui-Gon helped him to hold, his own good arm shaking too much to keep the flask steady. When the canteen was finally empty, Obi-Wan slumped back, energy spent.
"Well done, my young Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured to him, tenderly.
"Huh..." Obi-Wan groaned, sickly, "M... Master, I... I don't feel so good..."
"I know, dear one, I know," Qui-Gon attempted to send waves of calm and reassurance through their bond, but the fever had muddied Obi-Wan's connection to him, and he could only settle for once again dampening the cold compress from the other flask, wiping away the beads of perspiration that marred his young Padawan's face, despite the chill in the air.
"Sleep, now," Qui-Gon suggested, "hopefully, you will feel better in the morning..."
Without medication and a Healer's intervention, Qui-Gon had little real hope that this would be true, but Obi-Wan's faith in his Master shone in his fever-bright gaze, before he obediently closed his eyes, slipping back into a feverish doze. Qui-Gon set the cold compress aside for a moment, laying his palm on Obi-Wan's forehead. The Jedi Master closed his eyes, focussed the Force, and carefully reached out along their training bond. Brushing the edge of Obi-Wan's consciousness with his own, he managed to guide the younger man into a low-level healing trance; it would not cure him, but with the Force willing, it would restore him enough to make the trek back down the mountain and through the forest in the morning. Replacing the cold compress on Obi-Wan's fevered brow, Qui-Gon drew his hands into his sleeves, and allowed himself to drift into a meditative trance of his own.
During the night, the rain came. Thick black clouds rolled in overhead, and the ominous rumble of thunder promised an almighty storm. Startled from his meditations, Qui-Gon was sharply reminded that it was the summer floods that had wiped out the Bagoan's cattle, which normally formed their staple food source. Beneath the shelter of the rocky outcrop, they were able to stay relatively dry as the storm unleashed its fury overhead; Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan cradled in his arms, clutching the feverish young man protectively to his chest.
Morning brought no respite from the foul weather. Reluctantly, Qui-Gon gently laid Obi-Wan back down on their mossy bed, and crept to the front of the ledge, pulling out his scope. Raising it to his eyes, he peered through the rain, examining their landing site once again. Hope flared in his chest when he realised it seemed abandoned. It was time to go, at long last.
Getting to his feet, he pocketed his scope, and gently roused Obi-Wan. His eyes were sunken in his pale face, lips tinged slightly blue, the only real colour a hint of feverish redness across his cheekbones, but the younger Jedi gamely climbed to his feet, swaying only slightly. Qui-Gon's strong hand at his elbow steadied him as he wavered, dizziness and fatigue crashing into him as he stood, but then he found his balance, took a deep breath, and managed a quick nod of reassurance at Qui-Gon's glance of concern.
No further words or ceremony were necessary. The two Jedi left the ledge that had been their makeshift home for the last four days, and began their descent down the mountain. The rain continued to fall in heavy sheets, and they were both soon soaked through, their robes heavy with water, sticking to their bodies as they clambered down non-existent paths, slipping and sliding on mud and stones, the landscape shifting around them as the water poured down the sides of the mountain. Streams now existed where before there were none, and the previous streams were rapidly becoming rivers, torrid and turbulent, pounding down the mountainside as the storm raged on. Both Jedi slipped, skidded and fell a number of times, grazing knees and palms as they helped each other across the treacherous terrain, soaked to the skin and coated in mud and grime as they were.
Entering the forest brought little relief, as the trees swept around, buffeted by the winds. The rain still pelted down, funnelled by the leafy canopy into vertical streams of water, turning the ground beneath into a swampy mire, exposing tree roots and stones that seemed perfectly placed to cause the Jedi to trip and stumble. Obi-Wan's foot caught on one such root, and without thinking he flung his arms forwards to break his fall, landing painfully on his injured left one. He cried out in agony, clutching the limb to his chest as he rolled onto his back, coughing and spluttering as the rain water poured over his face. The rain suddenly ceased; not because of a break in the weather, but a familiar figure loomed over him, sheltering him with his body as Qui-Gon lifted his Padawan gently out of the mud, cradling him in his arms, holding him close to offer as much comfort and shelter as he physically could.
Obi-Wan felt the sting of shame; to his fever-gripped mind, he had failed his Master in some way. He was too weak. He couldn't keep up. He tried to stutter out an apology, but Qui-Gon immediately shushed him.
"Hush, dear one," the soothing voice was like a balm to his soul, and Obi-Wan could not help but shiver in his cold, wet clothes, despite his Master's comforting embrace, "you have done well, Obi-Wan... it is not far now. I can take us both the rest of the way."
Before Obi-Wan realised what was happening, he felt himself being lifted out of the cold, slimy mud, enfolded in a wet robe as strong arms cradled him beneath his knees and shoulders. He managed a weak murmur of protest, but his head came to rest against his Master's shoulder, and he knew he would not be taking another step under his own steam.
Making sure that Obi-Wan was as comfortable as possible, the injured arm resting across the young Jedi's chest, Qui-Gon straightened up. Satisfied that his precious burden was safe in his arms, he struck out again through the forest. He seemed to be walking for days, let alone hours, sliding and stumbling, falling several times, and each time horrified that he might have caused his Padawan further harm, mindful of his Padawan's pained yelps and muffled gasps, despite Obi-Wan's obvious efforts to suppress his discomfort.
Finally, though, at long last, the trees began to thin out, giving way to the large meadow where they had parked their ship. To Qui-Gon's initial dismay, there was still a pack of Bagoans lounging in the long grass of the clearing, but aside from a few half-hearted snarls, the Jedi Master realised the pack members had no interest in hunting them, satiated as they were with the meat supplies raided from the cargo ship. Qui-Gon turned away from them and headed up the ramp, glad to be out of the driving rain at long last. He passed by their quarters in favour of going straight up to the cockpit; he needed to pilot the ship and keep an eye on the ailing Obi-Wan, and he could only do both if Obi-Wan was with him in the cockpit.
With great care, he set Obi-Wan down in the co-pilot's chair; the younger Jedi was barely conscious, mumbling softly to himself, groaning in pain.
"Stay with me, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon told him, firmly, as he began tapping the controls, powering up the ship, "I promise, I will tend to you as soon as I can. First, I must get us to hyperspace, so we can return to the Jedi Temple as quickly as possible..."
He continued to talk aloud, narrating each action he was taking, hoping that the sound of his voice was something for Obi-Wan to focus on; distracting him from the pain of the wound and the sickness of the infection that was ravaging him. Qui-Gon ran an internal scan of the ship, confirming that all the food supplies have been unloaded and that there were no Bagoan life forms remaining on board. He retracted the boarding ramp, activated the lifting thrusters, and eased the craft into the sky.
The planet fell away behind them as the bulky cargo ship climbed through the atmosphere, into the inky calm of space. Qui-Gon piloted them out of the solar system, before plotting their course and engaging the hyperspace engines. Even as the ship made the jump, he was already leaving his seat, gathering the supplies he needed. It was at least a day's journey back to the Temple, even having plotted the shortest course he could, and he needed to tend to his ailing Padawan. Moving with determined purpose, he strode through the ship, going backwards and forwards, collecting and assembling what he needed. A mattress from the sleeping quarters. Pillows and blankets. Clean, dry robes. Medical supplies. Food and water...
He stopped, blinking in dismay at the empty supply cupboard. It was gone. All of it... systematically searching through the ship, even the Jedi Master could not prevent a groan of dismay. The Bagoans had taken everything, even their emergency food and water rations. Qui-Gon mentally chided himself for his lack of foresight; of course the desperate, starving people would take everything they could get their claws on. He had no food, and the only water remaining was what was in their flasks. He knew he should ration it carefully, but he also knew Obi-Wan was in desperate need of fluids.
Wasting no more time, he made his way back to the cockpit, hastily arranging the mattress, pillows and blankets on the floor to make a bed. Crossing to the co-pilot's chair, he frowned in concern when he realised Obi-Wan was no longer even semi-conscious; he was slumped sideways in his seat, eyes closed, breathing ragged and hitching, cheeks blazing red with fever.
"Obi-Wan?"
Qui-Gon rested both hands on the Padwan's shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze, but when this elicited no response, he gave the younger man a gentle shake instead.
"Obi-Wan! You must wake up!"
The younger Jedi stirred slightly, a low moan escaping his lips, eyes flickering. Qui-Gon tried to reach him through their bond, and was only partially successful – he could feel Obi-Wan's pain, exhaustion, fear and sickness. He mentally encouraged his Padawan to release those feelings into the Force, trying to comfort him, as he lifted the younger Jedi forwards, and began to ease him out of his wet, ruined robes. Had he been conscious, Obi-Wan might have been embarrassed at being undressed by his Master, but as out of it as he was, Qui-Gon was mindful only of the practical necessity.
It was awkward without Obi-Wan being conscious enough to assist, but Qui-Gon soon had him wrapped up in dry, breathable sleep clothes. Shrugging out of his own wet clothing, Qui-Gon hastily dressed in clean clothes as well, if only to avoid soiling Obi-Wan's dry garments with his wet ones.
Casting the ruined apparel aside, Qui-Gon gently lifted Obi-Wan once more. In his sleep clothes, fever-struck and barely conscious, he seemed younger than he was, and after four days of barely any food, he seemed lighter and frailer than he should have been. Qui-Gon cradled him carefully as he carried him to the makeshift bed. It wasn't much on the floor of a cockpit, but it was luxury compared to the rocky ledge they had lived on for the past few days. Qui-Gon unwound the wet and ruined cloth bandage, wincing at the dirt-encrusted, weeping wound beneath. Obi-Wan's left hand was badly swollen, the fingers bruised and inflamed beyond use. Qui-Gon used bacta patches to clean the wound before dressing it in fresh, clean bandages, grateful at least that the Bagoans apparently had no interest in medical supplies, only their food and water.
He eyed their heap of wet garments critically, wishing there was some way to salvage the rain water that soaked them, but knowing he had no way to filter it of the mud and filth contaminating the wet clothing. He turned his attention back to his young Padawan, stroking his hair soothingly, murmuring reassurances under his breath as Obi-Wan shivered and writhed weakly, fretfully, in his delirium gasping and whispering odd words and phrases. In his brief moments of lucidity, Qui-Gon encouraged Obi-Wan to take sips of water from their flasks. Several times, Qui-Gon heard the young Jedi call out for him, plaintively.
"Master!" Obi-Wan gasped out, coughing and trembling horribly, "Master, please... help me..."
"I am here, dear one, I am here," Qui-Gon tried to break through the delirium, keeping up a litany of reassurances, "stay with me, Obi-Wan, I am here, and I am taking you home to safety..."
"Master... I'm sorry..." the pitiful, pained moan was heartbreaking, and Qui-Gon leant down, gently pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan's fevered brow.
"Rest, Obi-Wan," he whispered, gently, pushing healing energy through their bond, coupled with a sleep suggestion, "we will be home soon."
'Soon' could not come soon enough. Qui-Gon recalled his own words, days earlier. Patience is often a Jedi's greatest strength, and now we have the opportunity to practice it. It felt like the Force was mocking him; he took a deep breath, releasing every negative thought he could, until he sat in a sea of calm tranquillity, embraced by the Force. He opened his eyes again as the autopilot beeped a warning, and the ship dropped out of hyperspace. They had entered the Coruscant system. Qui-Gon resumed his station at the pilot's seat, hailing the Jedi Temple even as the ship sped back towards their home planet.
By the time they landed, the Healers were already waiting; a Master accompanied by a senior Padawan immediately boarded the ship, carrying a hover-stretcher between them. Qui-Gon led them to the cockpit; the Master Healer placed a green-skinned hand on Obi-Wan's brow, closing his eyes, before a slight frown creased his brow.
"We must get him to the Halls of Healing immediately," the Rodian Healer announced, grimly, "the infection is severe and his organs are starting to fail."
Without further word, they bundled the young Padawan onto the stretcher and whisked him away. Raising his hood, Qui-Gon folded his arms into his sleeves and bowed his head before following them closely, grateful that no one could see his face, even if they might sense his turbulent emotions in the Force.
Days passed; Obi-Wan underwent surgery to cleanse the necrotic tissue from his wounds, followed by immersion in a bacta tank with intravenous medications to fight the infection and reduce his fever. Once he awoke, Qui-Gon was finally allowed to take his Padawan home to their quarters, where at long last he got some decent sleep in his own bed for the first time in nearly two weeks.
Cocooned in blankets, Obi-Wan stirred and opened his eyes slowly, wondering what had awakened him. He stretched, slowly, raising himself from his nest of quilts, feeling only a residual weakness in his limbs and a dull ache from the scar tissue of his arm. He washed and dressed, already feeling tired even from this slight exertion. The Healers had warned him he would tire easily and it would take some time for his strength and stamina to return in full. He sensed a gentle enquiry through the training bond between himself and his Master, and responded to it with a happy acknowledgement. Making his way into their living area, he found that the kitchen table was already set with porridge, fruit juice and, most importantly of all... tea.
Qui-Gon smiled as he turned to greet his Padawan, and gestured for them both to sit.
"How are you feeling this morning?" the Master asked, gently.
"A little tired, Master, but much better, thank you," the tinge of pink to Obi-Wan's face was no longer fever; more a lingering embarrassment at the overt care and affection his Master had shown to him during his recuperation.
"Good," Qui-Gon nodded his head, as he began to eat his porridge, gesturing for Obi-Wan to do the same, "we will spend the next few days rebuilding your strength. This afternoon, a walk through the gardens, if you feel well enough... in the meantime, however, I am afraid we have been delaying the inevitable for too long."
"Master?" Obi-Wan queried, at the grim tone in the older Jedi's voice, "what is it? Is something wrong?"
"I am afraid, Obi-Wan, that this morning, we must... make our report to the Council."
"Oh dear," Obi-Wan could not help the cheeky flash of amusement that crossed his face, knowing his Master's distaste for the lengthy cross-examination of Council reports, "and I thought being savaged by a Bagoan was bad. Wait until Master Windu gets his teeth into us!"
Their shared laughter was a balm, and, as the sunlight streamed through the windows, both Jedi felt at peace with the universe, and the Force that bound them together.
Author's note: my heartfelt thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, especially DS2010 (yep, this whole series is basically about Obi-Wan whump!), valairy scott, obi fan, and of course She-Elf23; honestly, your reviews make this all worth while and I love reading them so much! I'm delighted that you pick up on all my little easter eggs and foreshadowing attempts, and I'm so pleased you're still enjoying this series. The next chapter should be ready in the next few days, work commitments permitting!