Obi-Wan: The Negotiator

"Obi-Wan this is not up for discussion."

"But Master, you haven't even considered my side of the story." Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. This debate had been going on for nearly a half hour, and he had finally cornered his stubborn apprentice. Literally. Obi-Wan kept trying to walk backward, but there was no more backward. Qui-Gon loomed over him, holding a bottle, and a medicine spoon.

"Alright, my incredibly stubborn apprentice. You have exactly 30 seconds to tell your side of the story, and I will consider it. But you are still taking this medicine. I will not have a sick apprentice."

"But Master, that's just it. I may be sick now, but my immune system is fighting this disease all on its own. So now, when I get sick again, I won't react to it, because my body knows how to fight it. See?"

Qui-Gon sighed and knelt to his apprentice's height. The 13 year old almost trembled as his Master tucked a huge hand under his chin. His voice was soft, but carried a razor's edge.

"Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master?"

Qui-Gon held the spoon up, using the Force to pour out the proper dosage. "Take your medicine. Please."

Obi-Wan grabbed the spoon and swallowed the syrup with a wince. Qui-Gon smiled and gently rubbed a thumb over his cheek.

"There we go. Not so bad, right?" Qui-Gon smirked.

Obi-Wan simply glared back.

Anakin: Speed Racer

Obi-Wan clutched the hypo-spray in one hand, trying to dodge concerned Jedi as he dashed down the hallway, right on the heels of a certain troublesome Padawan.

Anakin, despite having the flu, was quite speedy as he tried to outmaneuver his Master. He hated medicine, hyposprays in particular, and there was no way he was going to take this one.

Fed up with this game, Obi-Wan reached out and pulled Anakin to him with the Force. The boy struggled, squealing and kicking, drawing everyone's attention to them as they grappled in the hallway.

"Anakin, you are going to be meditating for an entire month if I have my way." They continued fighting, drawing a circle of concerned spectators, who seemed torn between helping the poor Master and laughing. They all chose the latter.

"Yeowch!"

Obi-Wan had done it. Tossing the used hypo aside, he threw the ten year old over his shoulder and started the long walk back to their quarters, ignoring the sympathetic looks thrown his way.

"Oh my young apprentice, you are going to need bed rest when I am through with you."

Ahsoka: Double Trouble

"Master, please listen to me for two seconds!"

"No, Ahsoka, this is non-negotiable. You're taking your medicine and you're taking it now!" Anakin folded his arms over his chest, and glanced towards his Master for support. "Would you help me out here!"

He shook his head, grinning. "Nope. I think this is way too much fun."

Anakin groaned, fed up. He reached for Ahsoka, who flinched as he approached, hypospray in hand. "Master, I don't think that's a good idea!"

"I would listen to her, Anakin."

The young Master ignored the elder, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so you're willing to help her. I don't think so."

Anakin grabbed her arm and kept a tight grip, despite her constant protests and struggling. "Snips, would you stop making such a fuss. It's just Phosphaltosin. It'll help you feel better." With one hand, he stuck the needle in and injected the medicine with a hiss.

"MASTER!"

Anakin froze, and glanced down at his young apprentice, her face contorted in pain.

"Master, I was trying to tell you. I'm Torgrutan. We're allergic to Phosphaltosin." She coughed, already scratching at her arm.

Obi-Wan just laughed.