Chapter Text
Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about all of this.
Any part in particular, he's not sure. Maybe it's the tense political scene. Maybe it's the frightening Force presence of the boy that Master Qui-Gon found.
Maybe it's the Sith - you know, the Sith that had been presumed extinct for centuries - that was now duelling his master, gaining the upper hand, while Obi-Wan is sitting ducks behind the force field.
Shit shit shit.
The red veil lifts, and Obi-Wan charges forward. It seems to take an age, even as he runs full pelt.
Ten yard away, the duel is fierce. His Master is not usually matched in stature by any opponent, but the Sith is broad and tall, striking with dizzying aggression and strength.
Obi-Wan slips back into the fray, all thoughts instantly occupied by the double saber wielding opponent.
Kriff, he's good.
He skids beneath a violent swing of one end of the saber, but just as he rises, the Zabrak catches Qui-Gon squarely on the chin with his saber hilt, knocking him to the ground. Feeling in the Force his Master's sudden confusion, Obi-Wan leaos to cover his Master, parrying what have otherwise have been a fatal blow.
No green saber reappears at his side, so Obi-Wan focuses in, breathing growing laboured and shoulders burning, but if he's tired, then so must be the Sith.
Focus.
The Sith is incredibly swift, artistic and acrobatic in his form but with a cruel and dirty side to his fight that Obi-Wan's never experienced before. No Jedi fights like this.
He hears something behind him, a movement, and tries to reach Qui-Gon in the Force, to understand why he has not rejoined the fight, but he can't focus on the two at the same time.
He can't focus on the fight while worrying about his Master.
He jumps over a strike, landing a few paces back, and he just can't resist. He knows that losing sight of the present moment is not the way of the Jedi, but he has to look round just to see if Qui-Gon is-
SLASH
-and then, before he can even glimpse his master, he is split clean open, the white hot saber slicing him clean across the middle.
He knows this is final.
He knows this will not be survived.
He knows he cannot lie down and die until his Master is safe.
He roars, deep and gutteral, and drives back, stabbing and slicing at the Sith with what is probably an un-Jedi-like fervency. He pushes, and the Sith stumbles suddenly, unbalanced, and it's all the opportunity Obi-Wan needs to drive his saber through the Sith's neck, pushing with all his might.
He sees the last final look of horror on it's face, before it tumbles down, and down, and down, and down....
"No!"
That scream is his master's.
Suddenly, he has collapsed down to his knees. His head tips back, hurting his neck, but it's now too heavy to hold up. His legs are warm with his own blood.
"Obi-Wan, no!"
And then -and he is finding events now dizzyingly difficult to keep up with- he is cradled in a lap, the ceiling blocked out by his Master's big face. There's blood dripping off Qui-Gon's chin.
"No no no no no..."
Something presses down firmly on his stomach, and he cries out in agony. His master's face contorts.
"Don't worry, Obi-Wan. You're going to be just fine. Just fine."
He is being rocked backwards and forwards, a hand carding through his short hair.
"I am going to sort you out, have you right as rain, alright?"
Obi-Wan hums vaguely. He is so safe. So tired.
"No, keep your eyes open my child. Keep looking at me. Do you remember our first mission together? Do you remember how bright the stars were that first night we camped out together?"
He can see them, in his mind. Twinkling against the inky navy canvas of the sky.
"They were so beautiful. I was so proud of you then, little one. You were so brave that day, when we were separated in that busy marketplace. You do know how proud I was of you?"
His voice cracks, and Obi-Wan feels something wet splash on his face.
"You do know how proud I always am of you, my dearest Obi-Wan? I know I'm not always the best master, not always the kindest, but you do know how much I love you? How much I-"
He breaks off, drawing Obi-Wan in even closer. His eyes drift shut.
"Force I love you Obi-Wan. Probably more than the Jedi Code allows. And I am so proud. Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?!"
Obi-Wan's head flops back against his master's arm, the world spinning around him. He is tethered there only by his master.
"Obi-Wan you mustn't sleep just yet. Come on, just-"
The hand starts patting insistently at his face, but his ears start buzzing and he can't make out the words anymore. The hands shake his shoulders, almost painfully, and if he could move he'd cry out.
The last thing he hears, before he is enveloped by the sweet darkness, is his master's scream of grief.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is only pain. Even the hand holding his makes his nerve endings cry out, stinging against the slightest touch.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
A fearful touch startles him, frantically pulling and pushing at the limbs that he thinks might be his, but he can't move them so maybe not.
"I need at least four bags! He's class 4 hypovolemic. Can someone call security to get rid of the father? I can't get to his veins."
There is no emotion, there is peace.
In the Force, all he feels is terror and agony. It echoes from him, from his bond, from all around him.
"Master Jedi you must leave! We have to prepare him for surgery!"
"I cannot leave him! Doctor you can't-"
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There are shouts and orders all around him. Is he lying on a battlefield? A sight before his eyes: Master Qui-Gon being dragged kicking and screaming from a medical suite, hair wild and beige robes drenched in blood. Another sight (or is this a vision?): a young, dark haired man, flanked by white armoured soldiers, dark breastplate over his Jedi robes. He cuts down Jedi with a blue saber, an immovable, marching death sentence.
There is no death, there is the Force.
He wishes it would take him now. He cries out as best as he can, twisting his burning body as if any movement could take him away from the agony.
"Balosar I need the restraints! Can you push another 500mg of Metacyline before he rips out the IV?"
The rush of warmth must be death. It is warm and heavy. He welcomes it with open arms.
"Shit, that should have lasted us a bit longer. He's going to panic if he wakes up mid extubation. Get a move on with the sedation please, Cerean."
There is something in his throat, filling his entire airway. Instantly he buck under gloves hands, trying to call for help but unable to make any sound with the oppressive pipe down his trachea. He is cold, wet all over, and his stomach burns with an agony he didn't believe to be possible.
"Stay calm please, Obi-Wan, we're just removing the tube from your throat, it's been helping you breathe while you were in the bacta tank. Just try and stay calm for me, alright? Don't fight the tube."
He can't though. It's choking him
"Shit, he's going to get his heart rate too high. Get me 200 micrograms of Dimalium now please!"
He continues to try and gasp, despite the pressure on his throat, and the mechanical pump contracting and relaxing his chest, but it's just not working and-
"Padawan! Calm down, padawan! Can you feel me in the Force?"
Momentarily distracted, he reaches out and he feels him. His master, there, warm, bright, solid.
"That's it, padawan, that's it. Keep on focusing on it. Feel how steady we are? How at peace? How nothing can hurt us, when we trust in the Living Force?"
He nods, suddenly lightheaded with relief. It's ok. Qui-Gon is here. It's all ok.
His head grows heavy again, and a big hand cups his cheek.
"Well done, my Obi-Wan. You can rest now."
He is safe. He rests.
Waking is surprising and sudden.
His ears buzz softly, and somehow he knows he is dizzy before he even knows his name.
He feels sweaty and feverish, and his chest aches deeply.
"Obi-Wan? Are you awake?"
A large thumb rubs a circle on the back of his hand. He cracks open an eye, blinking at the starched white surroundings. Beyond the wires and bleeping machines, is a slightly worse for wear Qui-Gon. He's bent into the too-small bedside chair, robes rumpled, hair in disarray, stitches in his chin showing through his scruffy beard.
"Oh it is good to see you eyes," he gasps, inclining his head breathlessly, almost bowing to Obi-Wan. He presses his forehead to the back of Obi-Wan's hand, and stays there for a moment.
"M'ster?"
"I'm here," he says, reaching another hand out to cup Obi-Wan's face. "There is nothing to worry about. All will be well."
"Was worried 'bout you," Obi-Wan mumbles. "After he hit you. You stayed down for so long."
His thoughts are muddied and his words muddled. His brain feels like it's been mixed about.
Qui-Gon nods gently, eyes warm.
"I was just stunned, padawan. I'm so sorry I scared you. But I have to say, you've scared me rather a lot more these last few days. Would you like to sit up?"
Obi-Wan nods, and Qui-Gon puts a strong arm begin his shoulder, lifting him entirely -with no help from Obi-Wan- to a semi-seated position, propping up with a mountain of pillows. Obi-Wan finds that none of his own muscles are working, and his entire lower abdomen is completely numb.
"W'ter?"
Qui-Gon shakes his head.
"Not yet. You're on IV nutrition and fluids for a little while longer."
"Don't remember anything," he says, slightly distressed at the thought. "Don't remember getting back here."
Qui-Gon rubs a circle on his hand.
"You were so very ill. You lost so much blood. There were healers on Naboo, but you needed to get back here. Your life force was slipping, but the Force sustained you long enough for Vokara to work her magic. We have been home for a week."
That's a long time.
Qui-Gon's eyes twinkle.
"I think perhaps you will be getting used to the medbay for a while, padawan. Take it as an opportunity to rest after your achievement."
And then, it's like the puzzle pieces really click in his mind, and he comprehends the gravity of that day.
"The Sith are back," he whispers. "How could we not have known?"
Qui-Gon shakes his head, sighing.
"I don't know. The council is perplexed. I am perplexed."
"The Zabrak. Was he master or apprentice?"
Qui-Gon shrugs, carding a hand through his unkempt hair.
His blood turns to ice.
Master or apprentice?
"Don't you have a padawan to be looking after? Worrying about?"
Qui-Gon inhales sharply.
"Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm worrying about you just now, and-"
"A Master cannot have two padawans at one," he says quietly. "And I certainly know what your intentions were before- before."
His breath catches all of a sudden, a flash of the Sith once again filling his mind. His red saber. His master dueling alone, going down after that strike. The Sith's hot, sour breath on his face, just as Obi-Wan resigned himself to die.
"Obi-Wan you have only just woken up. Let's talk about this when-"
"But we'll never talk about it," says Obi-Wan, grinning slightly hysterically. "We never talk about anything. You just do what you want and I am left to pick up the pieces."
Qui-Gon recoils slightly.
It's like his inhibitions are dripping away along with whatever in the Force's name is in that IV, and the words come tumbling out, muddled and hurt and utterly unbefitting of a Jedi, but true.
"Obi-Wan you are on many medications, why don't we-"
"You say we like I have any agency in the matter. I am glad, Master, that the boy is safe. I am glad we fulfilled our mission. But do not pretend that you would have mourned me if I had died by that Sith's blade. Your priority was the Chosen One."
"Obi-Wan you are-"
"I bet you're just itching to leave and get back to him. Don't worry, you made it abundantly clear throughout my training that I'm a burden to you. It must feel wonderful now, mustn't it? You're free again, and I will either be repudiated or pushed to knighthood, living as I always have done, knowing I have never and will never be your first choice!"
Obi-Wan spits the end of the sentence, words angry but face twisted in abject misery. He takes a shuddering inhale.
"Padawan I-"
"I am not your pada-"
Obi-Wan breaks off, a cough bubbling in his throat. It builds and builds, hacking with greater intensity, utterly relentless. His vision blurs a little as he struggles to take any kind of breath, and Qui-Gon rushes forward, trying to help him sit up but he pushes him away, cannot bear to be touched by a man who must detest him so, and so the cough gets stronger and stronger and his chest begins to stab and he sees suddenly blood on the white sheets as he spits up, and oh Force that's not good but Qui-Gon is still there, shouting something over his shoulder and rubbing his back now, slightly frantically, and he hates that he still needs him, still basks in his attention, even if he can only collect the scraps left behind from the love Qui-Gon had for Feemor, and Xanatos, and now little Anakin, and-
There is a hiss and a sharp prick in his neck, and the world fades.