Wow! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who replied! What an amazing response! J I'm inspired to write faster when given an incentive like that, so… ;)
FYI, this story is completely, utterly NON-SLASH. I mean to describe a paternal relationship here, and nothing but that.
And, as aforementioned, this is an AU, in which Qui-Gon survived Naboo and went on to train Anakin himself.
Again, thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. Each review is dear to me.
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The bedroom was shadowy when Qui-Gon carried a dry, shivering Obi-Wan into its depths.
Even without light, the space held an unmistakable warmth and familiarity. The Master's scent of spice ran richly through the air, recalling with a single inhale a thousand yesterdays when this room was the setting for a quiet talk, silent meditation or uproarious battle, the apprentice brandishing a pillow and wearing a wide, roguish grin.
Qui-Gon glanced down at Obi-Wan's split lips, their natural pink color now a splotchy blue and purple. It looked like it would pain him just to spread them in a tiny smile.
His hair was darkened to dim brown from the pours of healing water. It had been slicked back, but a few rebellious strands fell to dangle in front of his shut eyes, where granite-hued crescents betrayed his long, bitter exhaustion. A thin layer of stubble had grown to cover his jaw line and the bottom of his cheeks.
Qui-Gon placed two fingers against the fair whiskers. He had expected them to be coarse, but they were like short threads of silk to his senses.
Obi-Wan stirred then, grabbing weakly at his wrist, the fuzzy towel slipping from his arm.
His mentor was quick to tuck it back in place before lowering him to the bed and resting his head on the feathery cushion of a pillow.
Qui-Gon found a smaller tunic he had worn as a young Knight, when his body had not yet reached its full musculature. He returned to Obi-Wan's side and wrapped an arm around the bare back while he dressed him.
The garment still billowed in the sleeves and waist, the neckline dipping to reveal a small dusting of curled chest hair, and fell above his too-prominent knees.
It had always been amusing to see his slighter friend swimming in his large clothing, but at this moment, the body appeared more emaciated then compact. Qui-Gon pulled down the blankets and laid the cool form where his brief stay had already left a faint impression.
The moon's radiance caressed Obi-Wan's face as Qui-Gon caressed the lax features, fine eyelashes lit and silhouette soft.
"Sleep well." He said, smiling sadly.
Dusky lids quaked slightly, but nothing beyond that, so the Master withdrew and started toward the opened door.
"N-No…" The husky word halted him.
The light from the main room bled into the adjoining quarters, and Qui-Gon was bathed in a strange shadow, looking back at the other.
Obi-Wan struggled to lift his head. "D-Don't…leave…me…" Panic sparkled moistly in his eyes. "Please."
He acquiesced to the pitiful plea, coming to sit before him and drawing him into his arms. "I won't leave you." He swore, voice rough with unshed tears. "I'll never leave you."
---
Qui-Gon lay beside Obi-Wan, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythm with uneven breaths. A few wet hairs were dashed across his eyes and the Master reached out to stroke them back.
Obi-Wan whimpered, a crease forming between his brows and a frown twisting his mouth.
Qui-Gon rested his hand on a smooth temple. "It's alright." He whispered. His fingers ran through the clean, soft mane.
Obi-Wan leaned his head into the roughened palm, the worn skin gentle and familiar.
A smile lightened Qui-Gon's concerned face. He allowed his eyes to close, hand loosely on his old apprentice's forearm.
---
"N-No…I…no…please…"
The quiet, broken voice woke Qui-Gon at once from his shallow sleep. He turned over and shook Obi-Wan's frail form. "Obi-Wan."
"I…c-can't…don' t make me…nooo…" Tears streamed to cool his cheeks.
Qui-Gon shook his head. Who was this lost and frightened child begging to ghosts? "Obi-Wan, wake up!" He called, more insistently.
A scream ripped from the unconscious Knight, a terrified wail that reverberated off the walls and sent shivers down Qui-Gon's body.
"Obi-Wan!" He grabbed limp arms and brought him upright.
Obi-Wan's head fell forward. Qui-Gon gently braced it with his hands. "It's over. It's all over, Obi. You were dreaming. They can't hurt you anymore…"
Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, his head raising from the careful hold. The tears left his eyes glimmering and fever bright. He stared at Qui-Gon as if he were only just recognizing his worried caretaker. "M-M-M…"
He couldn't force the name out, his split, swelled lips trembled so badly.
Qui-Gon grinned through the relieved moisture rolling to soak his beard. "Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm here." He pulled the half-naked body against him, rubbing the sore back , the tunic creating mild friction against flesh.
Obi-Wan huddled in the supporting hug, still shivering.
Qui-Gon brought the blankets around them both, dropping gradually to the pillows and positioning Obi-Wan against his chest.
"Stay…with…m-me?" He asked, in a voice that wobbled and could barely be heard above his tearful panting.
Qui-Gon brushed a kiss across his shining forehead. "For as long as you need."
Obi-Wan looked up at him from below heavy eyelids. He struggled to smile, then fell quickly away to sleep.
---
He broke from his dreams when he felt heat on his aching neck.
Qui-Gon blinked, the minor pain also becoming known in his joints, and he cursed his age. The sunlight streamed through the closed curtains, a dark orange unmistakably of dusk. He frowned and tried to turn on his stomach.
But the warm weight on his chest and belly anchored him in that position.
The Master released a groggy huff, his fingers tangling idly in auburn locks. Obi-Wan continued in his deep slumber. A thin line of drool snaked from the corner of his mouth and Qui-Gon gently wiped it away, touch moving up his cheek.
Obi-Wan sniffed. His heartbeat pulsed against the other man's midsection.
"Ow." Qui-Gon hissed, his spine stiff from hours of being a makeshift cushion.
Obi-Wan's stomach rumbled and he frowned , glancing at the kitchen in the distance.
He remembered Mace describing his dead appetite; Qui-Gon didn't want to predict how long it had been since the Knight had a decent, full meal. The thinness of the resting form added to his discomfort, bones jutted too sharply, Qui-Gon could almost feel the hard rows of ribs through the sleep tunic.
"Obi-Wan." He murmured close to his ear. "Wake up, little one…" A rueful smile sprung from that old endearment, perhaps a bit bittersweet as he gazed down at Obi-Wan, at the subtle indications of his maturity.
Obi-Wan was still oblivious to everything, face tranquil and body slack, a bare leg strewn across Qui-Gon's.
Qui-Gon was contented to see him reverted back to his more natural sleeping habits, instead of that rigid, pained way he had earlier displayed. He held him tighter, and drifted off, despite the waves of hunger strong in their stomachs, and the scream of underused, cramped muscle in the Master.
Outside, Coruscant too seemed swayed by weariness; the bustling cityscape dimmed, and ushered in another star-scattered night.
---
Qui-Gon emerged from the oblivion of repose with a heavy feeling seeped into his bones. It was the feeling of resting too long. The long column of his neck was tense and he moaned, wanting to lift it from the unpleasant solidity of the pillows. He hesitated only because he knew Obi-Wan needed his steady, gentle support, and because he had promised to give it.
The shaggy head slipped from his chest and Qui-Gon opened his bleary eyes.
Obi-Wan stared up at him, the pale blue of his gaze filmed with mist. Early morning light spilled on his visage.
Qui-Gon was finally able to turn on his side. He reached out to cup the curve of his face, that carried the perfume of soap after a day in the warm blankets and arms. "Did you sleep well?" He asked quietly.
Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing at his eyes, stretching his limbs to the limits of his energy.
"Do you want something to eat?"
The Knight's lips pursed. Qui-Gon could tell from the dread and sickness in his eyes the answer.
He laid his hand on the narrow, empty belly. "Obi-Wan, you need to eat or you'll never be able to heal, to regain your strength."
There wasn't a trace of rebuke or sense of imposing rank; only genuine, paternal concern was behind the words.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a rattling breath.
"I can prepare you anything you want."
Obi-Wan just shook his head, wiping at eyes that were filling with tears again. "N-N-No…I c-can't…"
"Oh, my sweet child…" He intoned, taking him easily into an embrace. Obi-Wan laid his cheek on Qui-Gon's shoulder. He was gasping in sudden, sharp bursts.
Qui-Gon cradled his head. "Tell me."
---
Obi-Wan swallowed. "Th-They would give m-me food. I would have to eat it or I w-w-would starve." He inhaled. "It w-was tainted and it w-would m-m-make me sick." He began to quiver, he grasped onto Qui-Gon.
"It tasted…b-bad, but I had t-t-to."
Qui-Gon kissed the space between his brows. "I know. I understand."
"B-But after aw-w-while, I couldn't anymore. I c-couldn't." He gulped. "And it was b-better. It's better n-n-not to."
"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon disagreed, running his hand down his back. "You did what you had to then. Your food was poisoned--" The smaller figure shook. "But you can't deny yourself sustenance now."
Obi-Wan attempted to pull back, panicked. "No…"
Qui-Gon stilled him. "Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm here to take care of you, to help you recover from this. This isn't healthy."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and leaned against him, as if exhausted by the meager argument.
Qui-Gon realized that the tremors afflicting Obi-Wan's body were a result of countless malnourished days. He stood and lifted him wordlessly into his arms, traveling to the living room. This can't go on.
The hulking man settled Obi-Wan on the sofa, tucking a throw around him.
"I'm going to be right here." He pointed to the kitchen area, then cleaned a pool of tears from around cerulean eyes. "Rest."
The haunted look had returned to Obi-Wan. He nodded sullenly.
Qui-Gon moved to the kitchen, regretful to leave him, but determined to save him.
---
The bowl was steaming as the somber Master reentered with a serving tray. It was balancing a scanty collection of food: thin soup, a crumbly biscuit and juice comprised of some concoction of fruit concentrate and (mostly) sugar.
Obi-Wan eyed the meal as though it were a treacherous enemy, forehead pressed against his arms, knees folded to his chest.
Qui-Gon sat beside him and slid the tray onto the worn, faded ottoman. Obi-Wan's focus followed it from beneath limp strands of auburn. His hands clenched and unclenched in frightened anticipation. But his stomach proved a traitor; his middle gurgled as the aromas wafted around him, hot and fresh and able to fill the aching emptiness so painful inside his body.
He licked at dry, quivering lips, then raised his eyes to Qui-Gon. Slowly, Obi-Wan shook his head.
A battle-hardened hand was suddenly velvet against the side of his face, as the Master soothed him silently, reaching for the glass as he did so.
Obi-Wan shuddered and curled into himself tighter.
Qui-Gon blew out a breath. "Drink some, Obi-Wan." He touched a strained shoulder. "Please."
The young man whimpered something unintelligibly and buried his hands in his wide, cream sleeves.
The lines of the cowering figure were severe, agonizing. Qui-Gon's fingers were wispy along the center curve of the Knight's back, a calm ministration that almost eased the stressed form, if not for the presence of the bright cerise beverage.
"It's only juice." When there was no response, he put the glass to his own mouth and took a sip. A line of red gleamed around his lips, a sight that would have left Obi-Wan laughing in his light, rich way…but not at this mournful and shadowed moment. "I've drank it. Now can you?"
Obi-Wan's protest was muffled and meager behind his compressed lips. His fingers extended shakily.
Qui-Gon wrapped them around the slim tumbler and pushed them gently toward Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan stared at it like it was a vial of thick poison rather than fruit juice. His belly churned.
Qui-Gon's voice rose in the bleak stand-off. "Obi-Wan, its fine."
He clamped his eyes shut.
"Don't you trust me? Would I lie to you?"
The question was so softly and vulnerably delivered that he looked up, gaze still hooded, into shining eyes painted in the palate of midnight. The answer was simple. Instinctive. "No." He rasped.
Qui-Gon smiled, feeling more like a relieved father than former teacher as he watched the juice slide to meet Obi-Wan's mouth.
The swallows were fast and bitter, chased by a twisting grimace. Obi-Wan shoved the half-empty glass at Qui-Gon while he wiped at his stained face. A few gagging coughs wracked his shocked system, but he quickly overcame them, comforted by the cool sensation running through him.
Qui-Gon stroked his hair back. "Good. I'm proud of you, little one." He leaned forward to stir the soup when a clammy hand took his upper arm in a death grip.
Obi-Wan's face was pale, frenzied. His eyes were watery azure. "No…more." He begged. "No more."
Qui-Gon brushed the pads of his fingers across a wet cheek. "I want you to stay here. With me." His hand fell away. "But you need to recover. To replenish your body. And if that means I have to give you over to the healers, then I will."
It wasn't a threat, yet it left scared tears and shivers. His stomach was screaming at the damned temptation. Bu then he remembered the bony, clawed fingers, shoving the putrid food in his unwilling mouth…swallowing against all instinct…giving in…
Obi-Wan shook his head helplessly.
Qui-Gon collected a small spoonful, undeterred by the pitiful and heartbreaking display. "You must learn that nourishment is not wrong. It will stop your limbs from trembling and ease the aches in your head."
The utensil was level to the dimpled chin. Obi-Wan let the wise words echo in his mind, let them become the mantra to absorb his attention as he sipped the vegetable broth.
"That's it…"
….long, sharp nails scraping his skin as the rotten morsels were stuffed in…
"Another bite…"
…another agony when the stale and acrid taste reached his senses…
"Good, Obi-Wan…"
…bad, terrible…
"Can you feel your body strengthen?…"
…and the thickness lodges in his throat…
"Just a little more…"
…and more and more and more…
"Now some biscuit…"
…the sour pain is too much…
And the old torture was fresh in his mouth. Obi-Wan pushed Qui-Gon away with every last remnant of his energy. The just-consumed food mixed in his belly like cramping heat, a heat that rose in his esophagus as dense liquid.
"Oh…" He moaned.
Qui-Gon took him into the cradle of his arms. "Fight it, my child." He spurred. "Those…that hurt you are gone. I'm here." He rubbed Obi-Wan's back. "I'm here."
"Mmmmph…" His fingers grasped at tunic.
"Close your eyes."
Obi-Wan obeyed, wearily, while the nausea spiked.
Qui-Gon sensed his movements. "Keep your eyes closed and think of Thralaga-Hai. Think of the lush, green tropics and the beach, with the strange white sand you buried your toes in. Remember that, and forget everything else."
…watching the waves crash in a melding of emerald and deep blue and glinting silver…
His insides were a tight coil…
…holding the tiny shell, seeing it catch and reflect a thousand colors, metallic hues…
That gradually eased…
…sprawling on the soft bed of sand…
Until he was passed the sickness…
…with the sun glowing on his skin and his Master somewhere nearby…
And fell into a dreamless sleep.
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