THREE
Obi-Wan scratched lightly at the synthflesh patch that now graced his right hand; his chin as Qui-Gon observed had needed a little extra patching up; the bacta-laced burn patch laid along his jaw doing its work. There was another medication in it as well, soothing to the damaged skin and keeping him from wanting to dig the patch off, unlike the synthflesh which itched to no end.
Obi-Wan. His master's light rebuke carried in the speaking of his name, even mentally, made the young Padawan sigh softly.
Yes, I know. But it's driving me crazy! He allowed a little of his annoyance to spill over into the bond as he scratched along his right forefinger, the current "driving me crazy" itch spot.
It is healing. Keep at it like that and you'll tear the patch and invite infection, you know that. There is some cream in the 'fresher. Try a little of that and then finish your packing.
Qui-Gon was in the main room of their apartments here in the Temple, studying a pair of datapads on the people and customs of Bahreen. Obi-Wan was preparing the things they would need to take with them, extra changes of clothing, personal items, several datapads and the traditional tokens given to parents of Force-sensitives who were taken for the training. The tokens were an old practice, not much used any longer, but occasionally Qui-Gon sensed they were of importance to the families saying good-bye to children they had brought into the universe with their love.
Obi-Wan wandered back to the 'fresher to retrieve the indicated lotion, slapping on a generous portion and working it in around the peeling, healing, patched hand. Eventually the patch would be absorbed as fresh skin cells incorporated it into the natural healing process. But for now it was 'foreign.' Foreign, and making him scratch every few moments like a small child picking at a scab. 'Hmph.' He thought to himself. 'I am twenty-two. Qui-Gon should not have to reprimand me about something as trivial as this.' Fortunately he'd remembered to shield that thought, keep it from floating out into the bond between them.
He replaced the tube of cream and stepped back out into his room to continue packing. Picking up an extra outer robe, he rolled it up quickly and started to stuff it into the small duffle bag lying open on the sleep couch. The cloth had only barely begun to enter the bag when he suddenly froze in place, his air coming in short little breaths.
A Force wave of some power swept over him, and the robe slithered to the floor in a heap as nerveless fingers released it and not enough of it was in the duffle yet to keep it there. A moment later Obi-Wan followed suit as his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.
It was only a moment. Strong images of a young woman flashed through his mind, and her haunted eyes pierced him with such a look of fear and yet…what was it…determination? It burned through his mind and into his soul almost with its intensity—and with its very strong Force-sensitive signature. A Force signature that was so strong that it actually hurt, driving down his shields and making him clasp his head in both hands.
Master… He managed to moan through the bond. Help…me…
It was in that moment that Qui-Gon was examining the face of someone he had not seen in many years, someone he would never see again, the tiny holopic the only fragment of a long-buried…what was it, lifetime perhaps, ago? That's what it felt like to him, a lifetime. 'So much has changed since then.' He thought.
Suddenly his Padawan's desperate plea reached him, followed by such an intense wave of pain through the bond that it was obvious the boy's shields were completely dismantled. Instantly Qui-Gon was on his feet, shoving aside the repulsor chair and rushing into his apprentice's sleeping quarters, at once concerned and horrified to see Obi-Wan on his knees, fairly curled up into a little ball, holding his head in both hands and the only sound he was making was a soft, uncontrollable groan.
"Obi-Wan…" For the second time that day, he knelt beside his apprentice, laying a hand on his shoulder and speaking softly. "Can you hear me?" No response save the low, muffled moan. Jinn tried a different tack, reaching carefully into the bond, raising his own shields just slightly as the pain sensation drilled into him. I'm here, my Padawan. A flash of Force-sense passed between them, a sense that did not belong to either man, and so Qui-Gon knew that this was not from within his student but from without. Carefully he reached in, trying to layer his own shields around his Padawan to protect him, with limited success.
Then, as suddenly as the onslaught had begun, it simply…stopped. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan straightened up to meet his master's gaze, looking terribly dazed. Wordlessly, he groped his way to his feet, Qui-Gon scrambling quickly to rise as well. "What was it?" Jinn asked gently. Obi-Wan shook his head just the tiniest bit, wincing a little at the remnants of the powerful contact.
"I…don't know…"
Abruptly all color fled from the young Jedi's face and a moment later his knees buckled as he fell forward.
Master…