#padawan obi

Fluttering open his eyes, Obi-Wan blinks as a familiar face floods into his blurry vision.

“Master?” he murmurs, blinking again, to see Qui-Gon looking down at him with a concerned expression. Though, there’s a hint of relief behind the man’s steady gaze.

“Yes, it's me, Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, leaning forward slightly to push what Obi-Wan now realises is a damp cloth back up to his forehead, as the cool fabric starts to slide off the side of his face.

“Master,” he asks, “What happened?”

Qui-Gon sits back, folding his arms.

“You caused quite the scene, Padawan,” he says. “You collapsed during the negotiations.”

Immediately, a surge of guilt and embarrassment rushes through him. He didn't think he had been that ill.

“Master... I...”

“Hush,” Qui-Gon cuts in. Obi-Wan recoils. “You'll be happy to know that the Queen was kind enough to postpone the negotiations. But, Obi-Wan,” he adds, “Why didn't you tell me that you weren't feeling well?”

“I…”

“How long have you been hiding this?”

Feeling a pang of guilt in his chest, Obi-Wan averts his Master's gaze.

"I… I didn't want to be a burden for you during the mission," he admits with a murmur. "It only started the other night. I didn't think it was this bad..."

Qui-Gon lets out a sigh. Obi-Wan guiltily closes his eyes.

“Obi-Wan, by not telling me that you weren’t well, you pushed yourself to the point of collapse during a critical part of this mission, and made yourself more of a “burden” than you would have been if you had just told me when you first started to feel ill,” he says. Then, gentler, he adds, “You don’t have to push yourself to be “perfect” all the time, Padawan. I don’t want you to be straining yourself to do things your body isn’t up to while you’re not feeling well like this. I won’t think any less of you if you tell me that you’re unwell, or that you need a break. Even Jedi have their limits. I just don’t want you to be constantly pushing yourself past yours.”

Biting his lip, Obi-Wan slowly opens his eyes again, turning his head to meet Qui-Gon’s pointed gaze.

“I'm sorry, Master,” he whispers. “I… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replies. “Just, next time, please tell me when you start to feel unwell, or if you're hurt, so we can deal with it together and make sure that another situation like this one does not arise in the future.”

“Okay, Master.”

With a warm smile, Qui-Gon reaches out to gently tug the blanket up to Obi-Wan's shoulders.

“No more passing out during critical negotiations.”

“Sorry, Master…”

"It's alright, Padawan," the older Jedi says, huffing out a soft chuckle. Then, brows furrowing slightly, he adds, "Now, how are you feeling?"

“Um…”

“Obi-Wan. Just tell me. I only want to help you feel better.”

“My… head hurts... a bit,” he admits, releasing a sigh—which is quickly overtaken by a shiver.

“What else?” Qui-Gon says, reaching out to feel his forehead.

“Feel a little... achy, and... cold,” he says, shivering as Qui-Gon takes his hand away from his forehead, setting the damp cloth back in it’s place.

“Mm. That'll be the fever,” Qui-Gon murmurs. He sits back, meets Obi-Wan’s eyes. “The doctor thinks that you have a case of the flu.”

Obi-Wan furrows his brows. The flu? He collapsed and disrupted import negotiations on this planet all because he’s too weak to handle such a trivial illness as the flu? He’s a Jedi. He should be able to handle such an ailment without collapsing…

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon warns, seeming to sense his thoughts. “What the doctor also mentioned was that he thinks this is a rarer strain of the flu, or could quite possibly be some kind of virus that starts out with flu-like symptoms. We won't know for sure until the test results come back. But, I need you to know that you are not weak, Padawan.”

Feeling a little less pathetic now, Obi-Wan relaxes slightly, meeting his Master’s gaze. He blinks, feeling his eyes already starting to get heavy again.

“You should get some more rest, Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, reaching out to gently rub his shoulder. “That’s all your body needs right now.”

“’kay, Master,” he murmurs, faintly nodding his head, his eyes slowly drooping shut.

“Rest now, Padawan. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Master…” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he braced against the tremendous influx of pain now flooding into his senses.

“Obi-Wan, you’re going to be okay,” his Master soothed, putting up the calm and gentle front that Obi-Wan was familiar with, though Obi-Wan could sense the worry and shock and—fear—emanating from the other side of their shared bond.

“Master, i’m—”

“Don’t you dare say that you’re fine, Obi-Wan.”

“I wasn’t—” he retorted, though it came out sounding more like a whine. “I’m… It hurts, Master.”

“I know, Padawan. But it’s going to be alright.”

Letting out a pained whimper, Obi-Wan shut his eyes, releasing shallow breaths as he attempted to release his pain into the force. Although it would be a lot easier to do so if everything wasn’t starting to feel all hazy, like a cloud of fog had rolled in, enswathing his mind. Somewhere at the edge of his awareness, he could feel something being wrapped around his abdomen before a firm pressure returned to his stomach.

“Obi-Wan—Padawan, open your eyes.”

Obi-Wan tried to appease his Master’s request—he really tried—but his strength was dwindling, and he just felt so awfully tired.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon tried again. “You need to stay awake for me.”

When Obi-Wan only managed to let out a pathetic moan, he felt something shift underneath him—

"I'm sorry Padawan, but we need to get you back to the ship."

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt firm hands lifting him up; a feeling of weightlessness, before he was nestled against soft fabric in the arms of something tall and firm. He felt pressure return to his abdomen again, felt the gentle bounce of footsteps beneath him, notifying him that he was being carried in his Master’s arms. If he wasn’t in so much pain, and if he were not so tired and hazy-brained, Obi-Wan would’ve been embarrassed. But right now, as Qui-Gon carried him through the remaining part of the jungle, back to their ship, Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in him to care.

“Just stay awake, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured. “We’re almost back to the ship.”

“Tired…”

“I know, Obi-Wan. But I need you to stay awake. Just hold on a little longer. We’re almost there.”

As he felt himself drift closer and closer to darkness, at the edge of his awareness Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon send feelings of peace-comfort-calm through their bond, felt himself being carried up the ramp of their ship, being told to “stay awake”, then the feeling of being laid down on a medical cot. A strange voice, cold metal, warm hands, before the sound of his Master’s soothing voice, telling him that it’s okay, he can rest now.

With the feeling of his Master’s fingers gently carding through his slightly outgrown hair being the last thing he was aware of, Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to obey his Master’s words, letting himself fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The padawan reluctantly gets up, wincing as he puts weight on his sprained ankle. It's worse than he thought.

A quick hobble takes him to Satine’s other side, where he can prop his injured foot up on the boulder next to the fallen tree trunk they've made their resting place. She helps him tug his boot off, and then clicks her tongue at the sight of the swollen joint underneath. They had to run together for quite some time after their nasty fall, which only worsened the injury.

Master Jinn left them to rest and recover here while he finds a suitable shelter for the night. Obi-Wan should be with him, but instead he's here, all because he couldn't watch where he was going. Some Padawan he's shaping up to be.

Satine helps him wrap a cold-set bacta strip around his ankle, then pull his boot back on to keep it from moving while the bacta does it's job. They'll need to get more soon, they're running low on supplies.

"I thought we were starting to get along," Satine says, her voice cutting like a vibroblade through his thoughts.

Obi-Wan blinks, surprised by the sudden dourness of her tone. "Aren't we?" He asks, suddenly unsure. He considers her a good friend already-- though it's hard to consider someone you've survived life-or-death situations with anything but a friend.

He'd like to think about her as more than that-- but no. Thinking too much about her, about how much he likes being close to her-- that's what made him fall in the first place. If his head had been on the mission, rather than the beautiful lady in his arms, he wouldn't have tripped.

He wouldn't have hurt her.

The eye-roll Satine gives him could kill. "I don't know, Obi. You tell me, you're the one who keeps pulling away."

Heat rises to his cheeks, and he looks away again as he realizes what she's referring to. Not far from where his thoughts were, really. "I am just respecting your space, my Lady."

A frustrated noise hits his ears just before the Duchess-to-be grasps his chin and forces him to look at her. "Perhaps I don't want you to."

"Lady Kryze-"

"Damnit Obi, call me Satine."

"... Satine-"

"Shut up."

Any protest Obi-Wan could have made is quickly smothered by lips against his.

It's like the world stops moving for a moment. He relaxes easily into it, not experienced enough to do much more than accept-- but then, Satine doesn't seem to know what to do either, just pressing their lips together and holding him in place by the front of his tunic.

Not that he's pulling away.

If Obi-Wan had to describe it... he would say that kissing Satine felt like finding his kyber crystal. Something in the galaxy around them just clicks into place, and the force around him buzzes with happiness. He couldn't say who it belonged to-- him, her, or the force itself. It just feels right, and he relaxes as little waves of joy and serenity wash over him.

It takes several seconds longer than it should for him to come back to his senses. He pulls back gently, too weak to tear himself away from her.

"Satine," he starts again, his heart pounding.

They shouldn't have done that. How could he allow it? How could he be so weak? Master Jinn will find out, he'll see again how unworthy Obi-Wan is... he'll be left here, like on Melida/Daan.

Would it be so terrible to stay here, if he's staying with Satine?

"Stop." She responds, tone firm still. She will make a wonderful Duchess, commanding authority already, at only 17.

"I haven't said anything," he protests, but it's weak. He is weak.

"Stop worrying, Obi." She specifies, her hand on his cheek again. He can't bring himself to pull away. "You think too much. A kiss won’t hurt anyone.”

How can she say that so easily? “A kiss alone, no,” he agrees, voice pained, “but what if I want more?” And he does-- he does want more, and he thinks she does too.

Her hand stays steady on his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. “We can’t have more, Obi.” She sounds sad, and he wishes he could take that away, protect her heart as he protects her physically. “You will be a great Jedi, I can’t hold you back from that. And I must repair Mandalore from the aftermath of this Civil War. I can’t do that with a Jedi by my side.”

He knows she’s right, but it still hurts. “I know that,” he says quietly, trying not to sound dejected. He knows she isn’t rejecting him, but that’s even more confusing-- they both want what they can’t have. “So we shouldn’t-”

She stops him with another kiss, this one quick, just a peck to his lips. “We can’t have more, Obi... but we can have this, for a little while.” She takes his hand, squeezing it tight. “It will have to be enough.”

He bites his lip, nodding though he knows it will never be enough. He squeezes her hand back, shifting closer to her as he gives in to the basic human need for contact and closeness. “It will be enough,” he says, as if that can make it true. “For now.”

She smiles, kissing his cheek before leaning against him. “For now,” she agrees, resting against his chest. Maybe someday they can have more-- someday when Mandalore is at peace, when he's older and has fulfilled his role as a Jedi.

He hopes so. He's never felt more right than he does now, by her side.