A/N:
Shadow131: Give the poor boy some time to - er - recuperate, or something -)
jedi keliam kenobi :(grin) Us writers love reader-torture, that's why-) Sharp cliffs, aren't they? Dry your tears, next part's up!
amber75: I did toy with the idea of letting another day or two pass, before I posted the next (chuckles) guess I'm not that inhuman.-)
master kaym: Ah, master. Your wish is my command. (regarding this post, at any rate-)
rkccs : Thank you.-)
A. NuEvil: Poor you, indeed. Cliffies are always horrible when you're the reader. On the other hand...-)
SoloKenobi: You'll know, soon. -))
Yasona Black: Ahh! (faints) this was your favourite! Wow. (bows humbly) Thank you-)
Laura of Maychoria: Good of you to drop in. -) I liked writing Qui this way too - I'm sure this is what he was like, in truth.
Rieyeuxs : And you'll have more - for your infinite patience -)
Note: Healer Han'yaie belongs to Layren, on the JC forums. Just borrowed him for this fic 'cause I like him so much -)
Hope this'll end your hanging stint on cliffs...
Part 6
"...certainly seem to...outdone himself, this time," came a voice hoarse with age, and seemingly - experience.
Obi-Wan Kenobi clutched at vague tendrils of consciousness, trying to heave himself upto the pinpoint of light that seemed to flicker tantalizingly, so far way in his mind - and kept slipping. It was imperative that he wake up soon - he had something very important to do.
What, though?
Something to do with sparring. His Master. And a marble. Why a marble?
Besides, the darkness was much too painful. He remembered that very well, indeed. Something akin to being mowed down by a herd of ...what were those creatures, again? Force, he was too tired to remember.
So tired. He tried flexing his little finger as an experiment - only to give it up, as he could hardly feel it. His mind felt like a flimsy piece of cloth tossed into a gale in full force - limp and shredded. Small wonder, that his body refused to obey its commands. There didn't appear to be much left of his mind, anyway. Not worth waking up.
On the other hand, Qui-Gon usually had plenty to lecture about, with respect to apprentices prone to sleep at odd hours of the day. Himself being a morning person, it was not to be expected that he would understand the comforts of lolling about in bed after the sun rose. Pity, really. And so...he would have to get up.
If only this exhaustion, crippling him, would leave. He should be able to accomplish at least that much.
Wake up, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he told himself severely. Jedi apprentices cannot afford the luxury of lying around all day. They're supposed to spar with their masters, and learn the ways of the Force...
"...should have...woken up by now," came another voice - a voice that sounded strangely familiar, and he felt someone's fingers brush his face gently. Another of the healers? No, he knew that voice - even the inflection of worry it now carried. He heard it a hundred times each day - no, a thousand. Sometimes, he heard it inside his head too. He never tired of hearing it, he remembered.
/Obi-Wan...?/
There it was again. Inside his head, as he had known it would be. Pulling at him now, telling him to wake up, to open his eyes, to look around him. Except that he couldn't.
/Can't move./ He replied, barely aware that he was answering. /Too painful./
/I know./ Came the voice again. How very understanding of it.
A moment later, he was startled to feel a rush of warmth inside him - a wealth of feeling, assurance, strength and affection course through his battered, injured mind - spreading a soothing balm onto his shredded nerves. Surprised, he held back, vague memories of pain rushing at him - but he was soon overwhelmed, as he felt the touch reassure him, pushing at his frail mental barriers, coaxing him into letting it in. What did it matter,anyway?
By the seven sith-hells of Pogoria, this does feel good.
The pain had receded considerably by now. It still existed somewhere, in a less-accessible corner of his mind - doubtless, preparing to haunt him during another weak moment. For now, however, it had been vanquished - beaten by that warm presence in his mind, a presence that still lingered, as though assuring itself of the strength of his own mind, feeling for any more damage, anything else that it could heal. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he felt his body relax.
/Better?/ Came the voice again. Perhaps it had heard his comment about sithhells - it sounded faintly amused. After all, he never did swear - not within his Master's hearing, at any rate.
/Yes./ He answered instantly.
"...should wake around now," came the same, familiar voice again.
And this time, he did wake up. To look directly into deep, gentian-blue eyes - eyes that seemed to be engaged in an exploratory expedition of his own, he knew. And he smiled. It was an effort to do so - but he attempted it, nevertheless.
The gentian-blue eyes relaxed, at once. Infinitesimally small wrinkles appeared around them at once - and Obi-Wan realized, rather belatedly, that the owner of those eyes was smiling too.
"You have not lost your touch yet, young one," came a dry voice. "No doubt, you'll be pleased to know that you're still an adept at giving me near-fatal heart-attacks. "
Obi-Wan attempted a chuckle as he saw Qui-Gon sit back in his chair beside the bed, his examination of the padawan now complete. "I believe in constant practice, master," he replied, noting that he was in the Healer's Ward - with Healer Han'yaie standing a little away from his bed, apparently busy with his own apprentice over some kind of medication. For him, in all probability. "How long has it been?" He asked.
"Seventy-four minutes, padawan," came the answer and, in spite of the light tone, Obi-Wan recognized easily, the barely concealed tension that was beginning to drain away from the master. "How do you feel now?"
"Tired," he replied truthfully, relaxing on his pillow. "But my head has stopped feeling like being run over, now. Thank you," he smiled.
"Don't mention it," smiled the master, in return. "At any rate, I guessed you must feel better, if you could swear by sithhells."
Obi-Wan knit his brows, trying in vain to assume an expression of severity. "I wasn't to know that you would come creeping in, " he spoke, adjusting his position on the bed. "Kindly forget that I ever made that remark, master."
"I have no intention of doing so, young one. Aside from wishing to know where you picked up such a hideous phrase, I wish to store it in my own memory for posterity - one never knows when such - er - colourful expressions will prove useful."
Obi-Wan broke into laughter at that - as it had been calculated to. His body still ached - the residue of what he had endured - but he appreciated Qui-Gon's attempts at lightening the situation, and was thankful for it. The Force knew he had enough to think about - the marble that had haunted his subconscious mind, for one thing. Imperceptibly, he withdrew from the banter, gazing sightlessly at some point of the stark, white ceiling.
Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan's face lose some of its colour. Confirming that the healer remained outside listening distance, he spoke in a low voice. "If it will make you feel any better, padawan - the Ischila conforms to no particular method of attack. It's tactics are vicious, unfair, and unexpected." He shifted uneasily. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am, young one. I ought to have warned you-"
"You were going to," Obi-Wan countered, well aware of the mortification radiating from the master, and trying to assuage it. "I heard you start saying something - but I didn't...listen." Thereby disregarding the first two cardinal rules of combat - focusing on my opponent, and following my superior's instructions.
Qui-Gon stared at the floor, frowning a little as he mentally reviewed the scene that had taken place. "To tell the truth, padawan - I did not quite expect this, myself."
Obi-Wan turned slowly, raising his eyebrows.
Qui-Gon leaned forward, tracing gentle fingers through the apprentice's auburn locks. "As I said before, the Ischila's methods are unexpected. My own first confrontation was vastly different," he paused. "And, I have to admit, not this vicious."
Obi-Wan looked at his master, surprised. He opened his mouth as though to reply - and closed it, as Healer Han'yaie approached them. The apprentice turned to his master, one eye-brow raised as if in question - to which Qui-Gon shook his head imperceptibly.
"Well, padawan - it appears that you've perfected the art-form of arriving at the healers in a battered condition," began the healer, his eyes twinkling as he made a swift, thorough examination of the young man.
"I've learnt from the best, after all," murmured Obi-Wan casting a glance at Qui-Gon, who threw a mock-frown at him. "Will I be here long?"
"That," spoke the healer, measuring a dosage of what was probably a pain-killer, preparatory to injecting him, "will depend on how quickly you recover." He looked down at the young man, eyes taking in the pallor of his skin, and the bruises on his arms - and there was a faint trace of puzzlement in his demeanor. "Although I have to say that, considering the condition in which you were brought in - your recovery has been quick. I didn't expect you to regain consciousness for another hour, at the least."
"I was helped," Obi-Wan replied, wincing a little as he felt his neck moved slightly.
"So I gather," was Han'yaie's answer. "And it has done you good." He threw a warm glance at Qui-Gon. "Another day, and he should be up on his feet."
Had he not felt incapable of moving any of his limbs, Obi-Wan would have bolted upright. As it was, he had to content himself with a horrified glance at the healer. "Another day? A standard day? A whole twenty four hours?"
"A thousand four hundred and forty minutes, eighty-six thousand and four hundred standard seconds, yes," came the dry answer. "I understand your need to be up and about, Obi-Wan - but are you sure your limbs would co-operate?"
Obi-Wan considered this question, and was forced to accept the fact that they probably would not.
"I knew you would see sense - if I managed to drum it into you long enough," smirked the healer. "Besides, if you wish to resume your sparring activities as soon as possible - then you must rest a day."
The healer ran his eyes down Obi-Wan again, the puzzlement he had felt earlier seemingly on the return. "Although I can't see how you managed..." he paused, as though weighing facts in his mind. Finally, he sighed. "A day it shall be. And no conversation, please - telepathic or otherwise. I'm aware of your need to converse endlessly about strange and other-worldly padawan training enterprises, but when I say a rest, I usually do mean a complete rest." He shook a finger at both master and apprentice, as he moved away, smiling.
Qui-Gon raised an eye-brow, and Obi-Wan sighed, resigned to his fate.
Tbc...
