Qui-Gon opened one eye, half his face buried in his pillow. Something had woken him up. Propping himself up on his elbows, he listened intently, waiting.

“Master!” His Padawan’s plaintive cry sounded from the other chamber.

He sighed; the boy had several bouts of nightmares since the encounter with Guod in Master Heri’s apartment. I need to have him talk with La’Re again, he thought. She might be able to help with that.

“Master!”

Swinging his long legs off the sleepcouch, his bare feet found the cold floor tiles as he stood. He hoped it wouldn’t take long to soothe the boy; he had a meeting with Ki-Adi-Mundi in the morning.

Qui-Gon stifled a yawn and walked through his apartment to Obi-Wan’s room. He palmed the slide door open, leaning his head in. “Is everything all right, Obi-Wan?” He tried to make his voice sound as calm as possible.

“No.” The boy’s voice sounded miserable, and Qui-Gon took a step inside.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.”

Qui-Gon turned on one of the hololamps on low, then walked over to his bedside, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was shivering. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“What doesn’t feel good?”

Obi-Wan sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeves of his pajamas. “My tummy hurts and my head hurts and everything hurts.”

He felt the boy’s forehead with the back of his hand, surprised at how warm it was. “You have a fever, Little One. No wonder you feel so bad.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, a doleful expression on his face. “I’m cold.”

“Your fever is making you cold. We’ll get you some medicine to make it go down, okay?” He sat down on the sleepcouch next to him, rubbing the boy’s back gently. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.”

Obi-Wan rested his head against Qui-Gon’s ribs. “I really don’t feel good,” he said quietly.

“I know.” He stroked the boy’s sweaty hair, sending him a comforting Force wave through their bond.

“Master, I. . .” Obi-Wan stopped mid-sentence and gagged as he threw up in Qui-Gon’s lap.

“Oh, Obi-Wan. . .” Qui-Gon gingerly held up the edges of his tunic, trying to keep the vomit from getting on the sheets. “Do you need to throw up again?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and he covered his mouth with his hands, nodding.

“Run down to the refresher, ok? I’ll be there in one second.” The boy crawled out of bed, padding down the hall with both hands clapped over his mouth. In a moment, Qui-Gon heard him throw up again. “Poor kid,” he muttered to himself as he delicately removed his tunic. He walked out to the kitchen, dropping the tunic in the sink as he picked up his comlink from the counter. Stopping in his room for a moment, he quickly pulled on a fresh tunic.

Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan kneeling in front of the toilet. “I threw up twice,” he said, and then he started to cry.

Qui-Gon knelt next to him, wiping off the boy’s face with a small towel. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. It happens to everybody sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I threw up on you, Master,” he said, voice breaking.

“Don’t worry about it.” He felt the boy’s forehead again. “You’re really warm. I think I should take you to the Infirmary.”

“No!” Obi-Wan sniffed, still gripping the edge of the toilet. “Please, Master, don’t take me back there. I don’t want to be there. I want to be here. With you. Please.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the boy’s frame shook as he retched again. Qui-Gon rubbed his back. He didn’t want to take his Padawan back to the Infirmary either; the boy had spent far too much time there in the past several months. “Maybe I’ll just call them. Maybe someone can come here to see you.”

Obi-Wan sat back on his feet, his eyes half closed. “I don’t want to be sick anymore.”

Qui-Gon reached out to the Force, sensing the boy’s signature. He could tell Obi-Wan was definitely depleted, and he closed his eyes. Using their bond, he felt the illness wracking the boy’s system. He gave the boy a surge of his own energy, and then pulled his comlink from his pocket, keeping his other hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. After he entered the Infirmary code, he waited for a response.

“Infirmary. Can I help?”

“This is Master Qui-Gon Jinn--”

“Master Jinn! Are you all right?” The voice on the other end sounded concerned.

Qui-Gon sighed. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’ve been here a lot lately, I just wondered--”

“I’m perfectly all right. But I have a sick Padawan here.”

“You can bring him down now if you want to. We’re not too busy right now.”

“He’s been throwing up. A lot,” Qui-Gon emphasized. “Is it possible for someone to come here instead?”

“How long has he been sick?”

“It just started tonight.”

“Healer Charr’a’s not on duty right now. But her apprentice Romi is here. He’s good. I could send him over. Would that be all right?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“He’ll be there soon.”

The comlink beeped as it closed its connection, and Qui-Gon gave a brief nod. “Healer Romi is coming. He’s going to help you,” he said quietly, standing to wet a hand towel with cold water. Qui-Gon resumed kneeling by Obi-Wan, and he put the cool cloth on the boy’s forehead.

“I think I’m done,” Obi-Wan said softly, letting go of the toilet rim. He sat back, shivering, and Qui-Gon helped him lie down on the floor with his head resting on his leg. “Will it be like when I was sick before?” He sniffed, holding his breath for a moment.

“What do you mean, Little One?”

He pulled his legs up closer to his body. “When they put the tubes in my arm. And you came.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, surprised the boy could remember when he had kilabis. “No, no. You just have some kind of flu bug. The Healer will give you some medicine and you’re going to be fine.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

He felt the boy shudder as a wave of cold passed over his slight frame. “Were you feeling bad earlier today? When you were playing?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But you ate dinner tonight. You were feeling okay then?”

“I felt bad when I went to bed. But you were tired so I didn’t tell you.”

The door chime went off, and Qui-Gon reached out and picked up the boy gently. “We’ll go let Healer Romi in, okay?”

Obi-Wan lay quietly in his arms, eyes closed. He shifted the boy against his shoulder and stood, walking out to answer the door. When the slide door opened, a young Jedi stood outside. He was fairly short, and he still had his Padawan braid.

“Are you Romi?” he asked, trying not to let his surprise show through his voice.

Romi gave him a slight smile, bowing his head. “So you’re Master Jinn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. Please, come in.”

Romi flicked his black braid over his shoulder. “I take it this is Obi-Wan. I’ve heard a lot about him too.”

“Where would you like me to take him?”

“His bed would be fine.”

Qui-Gon started to walk towards Obi-Wan’s chamber, but halted. “On second thought, he already christened that. We can take him in my room.”

Romi followed behind him, a small pack in his hands. Qui-Gon laid the boy gently on his own bed, pulling back the blankets. “Can I get you anything, Romi?”

“Not quite yet.” Romi placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. “How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon saw the boy’s large blue eyes open wide apprehensively. “Not good.”

“You just became a Padawan, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” His voice was barely audible.

“That’s wonderful.” Romi held out his braid for Obi-Wan to see. “Look, I’m a Padawan too, see?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his gaze. “Where’s your master?”

Romi smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan’s head. “I am going to be Knighted soon, so I don’t need to be with her all the time now. She’s probably in bed, asleep.” Romi opened his pack and drew out a small object. The Healer looked up at Qui-Gon, and he realized what Romi needed to do. “Obi-Wan,” he said, getting the child’s attention. “When Romi leaves and you go to bed, do you want me to sing you a song?”

Obi-Wan gave a small smile, and he nodded. “Can you sing the one about the silly bantha. . . ow!”

Romi pulled back the sample collector and put it in his pack. “It’s okay, Obi-Wan. I needed to check your blood. But that’s all over, okay?”

Obi-Wan rubbed his arm protectively, giving Romi a dirty look. “That hurt.”

“I know. But I want to make sure I give you the right medicine, okay?”

Romi glanced over at Qui-Gon. “I just need to run this through the scanner.”

“Is everything all right?” he asked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“I just want to be sure,” Romi said, turning away from the bed as he turned on the scanner.

“How are you doing, Little One?” Qui-Gon sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought you weren’t going to be sleeping here anymore.”

“My head hurts,” the boy said, still clutching his arm against his chest. “And Romi stuck me. That hurt too.”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon passed his hand over his Padawan’s shorn hair. “I don’t want you to feel sick either.”

Romi turned around, meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze. “It’s a good thing I checked. He’s allergic to Pallis, which is what we usually give for this sort of thing. I could give him Hylic, but I’m afraid to give it to him; he’s so little. It might upset his system more.” Romi put the scanner back in his pack, rubbing his eyes. “Here’s what I suggest. I can give him something to settle his stomach, and after that goes through you can give him some liquid fever medicine. But in the meantime we need to get his fever down; it’s getting very high.”

Qui-Gon nodded. Romi a small vial of white liquid out of his pack. “Obi-Wan, you need to drink this for me. Can you do that?”

Obi-Wan sat up slowly. “But what if I throw up?”

“You won’t. This will keep you from doing that anymore. Just drink it and you’ll start to feel better.” He looked at Qui-Gon. “This stuff will make him sleepy, though.”

Romi helped the boy drink the liquid, and Obi-Wan stuck out his tongue. “That tastes bad. It’s worse than the dinner my Master made.”

Qui-Gon gave Romi a crooked smile. “Had a little trouble boiling water.” He gathered up Obi-Wan into his arms. “Should I just run a cold bath for him?”

Romi nodded. “That’ll be best. It’ll help keep the fever down until you can give him this.” The Padawan handed him a small bottle of liquid. “Give him two spoonfuls of this in a half hour or so, and then do the same every six hours until the bottle is empty.”

Qui-Gon took the medicine and slipped it in his pocket. “Is that all I need to do? He’s going to be all right?” He could hear his own worry slip into his voice.

“He’s going to be fine. His system has been through a lot; I think all the stress he’s experienced brought this on. He needs some quiet and rest to build back his reserves. Has he been sleeping?”

Qui-Gon shifted the boy in his arms and began to walk towards the refresher. “Not well. He’s been having nightmares.”

“After what happened, I’m not surprised.” Romi followed him in. “I heard about what you did. It was very brave.”

“I’m sure Charr’a would have done the same for you.”

Romi ducked his head, but smiled slightly. “She’s been a good teacher.”

Qui-Gon placed Obi-Wan in the tub, still in his pajamas, and the boy looked up in alarm. “I already had a bath, Master.”

“We need to get your fever down, Little One.” He turned on the cold water, and the boy yelped.

“It’s cold!”

“I know. It’s just for a little while, I promise.” He knelt by the tub, turning to look at Romi. “I think I can take it from here; I know it’s late.”

The young Jedi nodded. “Thank you. Is there anything else I can do?”

“You’ve been wonderful. Get some rest. Oh, and tell your Master she did a good job.”

Romi blushed. “Thank you, Master Jinn. Just remember to give him the fever medicine in about a half hour.” He waved goodbye to Obi-Wan. “Good night, Obi-Wan, I hope you feel better.”

“Don’t stick me again!” Obi-Wan yelled over the din of running water, shivering.

Qui-Gon made a move to speak, but Romi shook his head. “It’s all right. I’ll show myself out.”

After the young Jedi passed out of the room, Qui-Gon looked at his soaked Padawan. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

Obi-Wan’s teeth chattered. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Qui-Gon sighed, feeling the boy’s forehead with his hand. “I think you’re getting a little cooler.”

“I’m freezing!” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He blew bubbles in the water as he sat, immersed up to his shoulders. “Can I get out now?”

“Not yet.”

“Please?”

“Obi-Wan, I said no.”

“Why are you being so mean?” The boy threw down his fist in the water, splashing water all over Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon wiped off the water from his face with the back of a hand. “Obi-Wan,” he said, keeping his voice under control, “I understand that you don’t feel good. But you are being very disrespectful right now.”

“But I’m cold and I’m sick and I don’t want to be in this tub anymore.” His voice had a stubborn edge, one that Qui-Gon realized came out of his own mouth more often than he liked to admit. It’s no wonder we get along so well, he thought. There’s irony in there, I’m pretty sure of that.

He took a deep breath. “It is late, and we are both tired, and you are sick. But you need to obey me right now, because if I let you get out of the tub, you could get a lot sicker and then you’d have to go to the Infirmary. Is that what you want?”

Obi-Wan kept his eyes on the water’s surface. “No.”

“Okay then.” Qui-Gon wiped his face again, brushing the droplets off his beard. He sat back against the wall, closing his eyes. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through his meeting with Ki-Adi-Mundi.

Obi-Wan’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Master?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you.”

“But you’re not happy. You’re upset.”

Qui-Gon opened his eyes; he had forgotten the boy was getting residual emotional feedback through their bond. He still wasn’t used to that. “I’m not upset. I was just worried about you.”

Obi-Wan looked out over the edge of the tub, and he shivered. “I’m sorry I splashed you, Master. I didn’t mean to.”

He moved closer to the tub and smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan’s wet head. “I know. It’s all right.” He felt the boy’s forehead again. “You’re much cooler now. That’s a good thing. How’s your tummy feeling now?”

“Okay. Not bad like it was.”

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really.” Obi-Wan yawned, and then his teeth chattered again. “I’m tired.”

“You must be; you never tell me you’re tired.” He checked his chrono. “It’s been about long enough. You can get out now.”

Obi-Wan gave him a weak smile, and he helped the boy out of the freezing bath and wrapped him in a large brown towel. “You just need some new pajamas and a little medicine and then it’s back to bed.”

The boy licked water from his purplish lips. “But my bed is gross cuz I threw up in it.”

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing the towel along his Padawan’s arms. “You’re right. Well, it’s back to my bed, I guess.”

He found some clean pajamas and gave the boy two spoonfuls of the pink medicine. Obi-Wan stuck out his tongue again, gagging. “That was worse than the first stuff, Master.”

“You did very well, Little One.” He picked up the child and walked back to his chamber, setting his Padawan on his bed. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

Yawning, Obi-Wan drew his legs up against his body as Qui-Gon pulled the covers up over the boy. “Maybe.”

He rested his hand on the boy’s head, thankful to feel the heat receding. “Your fever is going away. By the time you wake up it’ll be gone.”

Obi-Wan nodded seriously, and then yawned again. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I guess I’ll sleep here. That way if you need me you can wake me up.” The boy scooted over, pressing closer to the wall. “If you’re going to stay here, are you going to sing me that song?”

“What song?”

“The silly bantha song, like you promised.”

Qui-Gon turned down the hololamp, finding his way to the sleepcouch. He fell heavily on the pillow. “I don’t recall promising to sing a song.”

“You did! You did, Master, you did.”

He rolled his eyes in the darkness of the room, shaking his head slightly. “I suppose I did.” He folded his arms behind his head. “Padawan?”

“Yes?”

“Next time you’re sick, tell me right away, okay? Even if I’m tired.”

Obi-Wan yawned again. “Okay.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He reached out and patted the boy’s back.

“Me too.” Obi-Wan pushed Qui-Gon’s arm down, using it as a pillow. “Now will you sing the silly bantha song?”

Qui-Gon let out a quick breath. “If you promise not to throw up on me again tonight.”

“Okay. I promise.”