“Hurry up, Obi-Wan, or we’re going to miss our transport!”

Qui-Gon heard his boots slapping against the marble tiled floor of the central hangar on Rybia, the sound marring the expanse of thrumming quiet beneath the glass-domed roof. He sensed Obi-Wan’s presence behind him, but the boy had fallen back.

“Master! Wait!”

Qui-Gon stopped running, letting out a quick breath through his mouth. Dropping down to one knee, he beckoned Obi-Wan toward him, gesturing for the boy to climb onto his back. Once he felt the small arms clasp around his neck, he stood and resumed his run.

“Your legs are a lot longer. I can’t keep up,” Obi-Wan said, panting.

Qui-Gon hoisted their travel bag over his shoulder, feeling its weight slap against his hip. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

A silver droid rolled by, announcing departures. “Last call for Corcusant, leaving dock C-34.”

Qui-Gon flicked a glance at the nearest dock sign: C-12. Pumping his legs as fast as he could, he dodged through the crowd of tall Rybians, other humanoids, and other species, trying to ensure his Padawan stayed attached to his back. He wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten so late; he had woken up to find Obi-Wan in his bed, curled against his arm, and the chrono displaying a much later hour than he had anticipated. Maybe the Rybian wine is stronger than it used to be, he thought. I haven’t slept that late in months. Still, at least the boy had originally fallen asleep in his own bed; that must be progress.

Charging up the corridor that led to the upper C-docks, he finally saw the blinking red sign marked C-34. He drew up his energy for one last sprint as he called out to the droids prepping the ship for takeoff. “Wait! Hold the ship!”

One droid lifted a hand, and the ship, which had been rising in the air, stopped its movement and hovered in place. Qui-Gon waited for the pilot to lower the ramp and then climbed inside the transport, Obi-Wan still clinging around his neck. The pilot yelled to them from the cockpit as Qui-Gon stooped to let his Padawan on the floor. “You cut that one pretty close, Master Jedi. I’m glad you’re such a good runner.”

Qui-Gon wiped a hand over his forehead, snorting quietly. “You have my thanks for holding the ship. I’m sorry if we inconvenienced you.”

“Not a problem. Corcusant is my last stop.”

Qui-Gon directed Obi-Wan to one of the seats in the back chamber of the ship, making sure the boy was belted securely before he found a seat for himself. As the engines roared to life and the transport moved out of the hangar and into space, he let his head rest on the back of the seat.

“Master?”

He kept his eyes closed. “Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just glad we made it to the ship in time. We would have had a long wait for another transport, and you have classes to get back to.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He heard clicking sounds, and knew Obi-Wan was fumbling with the seatbelt. “Do I have to leave this on, Master? We’re out of the hangar now.”

He sighed. He still felt tired; probably from the time difference on Rybia, he supposed. “You can get up if you like.”

A few moments later, the boy’s small hands were tapping on Qui-Gon’s knees. He opened one eye, looking down at his Padawan’s grinning face. “Do you need something, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, still tapping out a pattern with his hands. “Obi-Wan is fine.” The boy suddenly stopped and threw his hands in the air. “Obi-Wan wants to know if we’re home yet.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes again, rubbing his fingertips on his temples. “I know you liked meeting Tarpn, Obi-Wan, but Jedi don’t make fun of the way other people talk.”

“Obi-Wan is not making fun. Obi-Wan likes talking this way.” The boy stepped away from Qui-Gon, starting to drum on one of the other chairs in the chamber.

Qui-Gon shook his head. He knew that the sincerest form of appreciation is imitation, but he didn’t know if he could take another twenty years of Tarpn-speak. “Just promise me you won’t speak that way in front of the Council members, all right?

“Okay.”

***

“Master? Are you awake?”

Qui-Gon lay on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. He cracked his eyes open, squinting against the low light of the hololamp in his chamber. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all. Looking beyond the edge of the bed, he saw Obi-Wan standing by his bedside, already dressed for the day. “Obi-Wan. What time is it?”

“It’s nine-thirty, Master.”

He groaned. “Are you sure?”

“Why aren’t you up yet? You’re always awake before me.”

Sitting up slowly, he ran a hand over his grizzled face. “I can’t believe it’s that late already.” I hope nothing’s wrong, he thought, trying not to allow any worry to seep into his bond with the boy.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” His head pounded, and his throat felt as if it had been scraped with a dull razor. Lifting his head, he had to steady himself with his hands as a wave of dizziness swept over his frame. “I think I must have caught something on Rybia.”

Obi-Wan gasped, stepping closer to the bed. “You’re. . .sick?”

He hadn’t been feeling well on the transport, but he had chalked it up to time differences and travel changes. He hadn’t eaten anything since the night in the Arena; the thought of food made him ill. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

“But Master. . .” Obi-Wan looked up at him, his elfin face pale in the dim lighting. “I don’t want you to be sick.”

He started to chuckle at the boy’s profound concern, but the laughter became a series of deep painful coughs that wracked his body.

“You need a Healer,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll find one.”

“No, Obi-Wan, wait.” The boy was already halfway to the door, but he turned at the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice. “Stay here. I can walk there myself.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, dropping them to the cold tiles. As he made the move to stand, another wave of dizziness passed over him and he stumbled to the floor, barely catching himself with his hands.

“Master!” Obi-Wan rushed to his side, his hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “You’re really sick.”

“It’s all right, I’m just dizzy.” Qui-Gon sat clumsily on the floor, holding his head with one hand. “Can you bring me my comlink?”

Obi-Wan nodded quickly, crossing to the other side of the chamber where Qui-Gon’s robe hung from a hook by the slide door. He found the comlink and pushed one of the buttons on the central part of the link.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi and my Master is very sick. Someone help!”

Qui-Gon groaned, reaching out to take the comlink. “Obi-Wan, put that down. Now.”

The boy looked at him helplessly, eyes wide. “But--”

“Obi-Wan. This is the Infirmary. We’re sending help now,” a calm voice spoke on the other end of the comlink.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and he turned off the comlink.

He forced himself to a standing position, eyes fixed on his Padawan. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now they think there’s an emergency, and there is none. I just have a virus or something. I need to contact them immediately.”

The door chime sounded, and Obi-Wan lifted his shoulders. “Too late. They’re here.” The boy ran swiftly to the common room, and Qui-Gon moved shakily to sit on the edge of the bed, rolling his eyes. There was no need for such fuss. He heard his Padawan’s voice sound through the corridor. “He’s in here. Follow me.”

Qui-Gon looked up to see Obi-Wan passing through the doorway, followed by two white-robed Healers. “Please forgive the boy; he overreacted. I’m really not that sick.”

The tallest Healer kept his expression even, although a small smile crossed his dark-skinned face. “I am Onwe, and this is Ai-Rin.” The shorter, blond-haired Healer bobbed his head. “Obi-Wan said you fell,” Onwe said, moving towards Qui-Gon.

“I was just dizzy,” he said quickly as Onwe reached out a hand and placed it on Qui-Gon’s forehead.

“How long have you been feeling ill?” Onwe moved his hand to Qui-Gon’s chest, and made a thoughtful sound.

“Since the morning we left Rybia,” Qui-Gon said softly, keeping his focus on Obi-Wan, who looked rather pale. “What do you think is wrong?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Onwe said. He looked at Ai-Rin. “I’m going to take a sample; can you get the scanner?”

Qui-Gon rolled up his sleeve, biting his lip. He hated needles. Onwe prepared to draw the sample, when Obi-Wan stepped between them.

“Don’t stick my Master!” His face set in a wicked scowl, he pointed a finger at Onwe. “I mean it.”

Onwe tried to contain his grin. He met Qui-Gon’s glance, and he patted Obi-Wan’s head. “I’m glad that you’re concerned about your Master, Obi-Wan, but we have to make sure he gets well. I promise I won’t hurt him, okay?”

Qui-Gon looked down at his Padawan, reaching out for the boy’s hand. He could feel Obi-Wan’s hand was shaking within his own. “Obi-Wan, do you think you could get me a glass of water from the kitchen?”

The boy nodded and reluctantly let go of Qui-Gon’s hand. “I’ll be right back,” he said, running out of the chamber.

“That was a good idea,” Onwe said, quickly drawing the blood sample. “He’s pretty attached to you.”

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing the spot where the needle had pierced his skin. “Don’t I know it.”

“I think I know what’s wrong; I just need to confirm it.” Onwe handed the sample to Ai-Rin, who ran it through the scanner.

Several seconds later, the scanner beeped and Ai-Rin gave Onwe a knowing look. “It’s just as you thought,” Ai-Rin said. “Do you want to give him the news or should I?”

Onwe gestured slightly towards the other Healer. “Go ahead. You’re better at explaining than I am.”

Qui-Gon felt his heart start beating faster. He hadn’t thought whatever he had was that serious, but from their dialogue, he wondered if he had reason to worry.

“Basically,” Ai-Rin said, “We can’t do anything. You must have picked up a parasite virus while you were on Rybia--possibly from the water.”

“What do you mean you can’t do anything?” Qui-Gon asked, his spine stiffening.

“I mean, it’s just going to have to go away on its own.”

“Oh.” Qui-Gon tried to cover his sigh of relief with a yawn, but his facade didn’t work as well as he hoped.

Ai-Rin’s eyes opened wide, and he held up a hand. “Oh! I’m sorry, I must have made this sound. . .Forgive me, that’s not what I meant.”

Onwe looked up at the ceiling. “I thought you were the one who could explain things.”

“I’ll do better, old man, I promise,” Ai-Rin gave the other Healer a sly grin, and then he turned back to Qui-Gon. “Onwe used to be my Master. Now he gets to put up with me as a colleague.”

A slight cry from the corridor made each of their heads turn to the door, and Qui-Gon watched as a dripping wet Obi-Wan brought in a half-full glass of water. “I tripped. I was running too fast,” he explained, making wet spots on the tiles as he crossed the room to Qui-Gon’s bedside.

“As I was saying, there’s no medicine we can give you. What you need to do is get as much bed rest as possible. Don’t use a Healing trance; it will heal the virus, which is not what you want to do. The virus is feeding off of you, and the best thing you can do is lay quietly and drink only water. Sugars and starches will encourage its growth, so you need to go on a liquid diet for a few days.”

Qui-Gon nodded; he didn’t feel like eating much anyway.

Ai-Rin’s expression grew slightly more serious, and he pushed a piece of blond hair away from his forehead. “But you need to be aware, when the virus starts to die, it’s going to be somewhat uncomfortable for you. It might be better for you in the Infirmary.”

Obi-Wan reached up and took hold of Qui-Gon’s hand. “I can help my Master. He can stay here.”

“It’s up to you, Master Jinn. It’ll probably take at least three days for the virus to start to die, and you may be more comfortable here. But you shouldn’t be alone with the boy in your condition. Is there someone who could stay with you for a few days?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I’m sure I can find someone.” A thought sprang into his mind, and he nearly dropped Obi-Wan’s hand. “But is this contagious?”

“No. Obi-Wan is safe.” Ai-Rin reached into his pocket and drew out a tracer comlink. “Here. Keep this by your bed; it will reach the Healer on duty, no matter when you call.”

Qui-Gon lay back on his bed, settling back against his pillows. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you; thank you both for coming.”

Onwe nodded, stepping back a pace. “It’s quite all right. We cater to over-wrought Padawans. I had one of those once.”

“Like I said, if you need anything, just call.” Ai-Rin passed through the doorway, followed by Onwe. “We can show ourselves out. Feel better, Master Jinn.”

Quiet settled over the room for a few moments, and Qui-Gon let go of Obi-Wan’s hand, patting a space for him on the edge of the bed. The boy climbed up quickly, still somewhat drenched.

“Are you going to be okay?” Obi-Wan absently toyed with the sleeve of Qui-Gon’s robe.

“Yes. But it’s going to take a few days. I’m going to call Bel-San and see if he can stay over to make sure everything runs smoothly. You have classes tomorrow.”

“Do you still want your water? I spilled some of it, though.” Obi-Wan held up the dripping glass in his other hand.

Qui-Gon smiled weakly. “That would be nice.”

***

“So not only did you get a three day-vacation to Rybia, now you get another break on sick leave? You have the best life.” Bel-San sat in the chair by Qui-Gon’s desk, leaning back with his feet up.

Qui-Gon lay on his stomach, eyes half open. It had been two days since the Healers had come by, and he knew now the virus was starting to die. He felt like all of the muscles in his body had been numbed and liquefied. “Yes,” he said softly. “The best life.”

“Do you need anything?” Qui-Gon noticed his friend’s voice actually sounded concerned.

“No. I just have to ride this out.”

“Do you want me to leave? You want to sleep some more while you still can? Obi-Wan’s only in class for a few more hours.” Bel-San slipped him a small smile.

Qui-Gon chuckled, turning on his side painfully. “No, stay. It’s nice to talk to someone older than five for awhile.”

Bel-San ran a hand through his curly hair. “I think you both have managed pretty well, considering. At first I thought you were going to have a lot of problems, but it seems like you’re starting to figure out how to be Master and Padawan.”

Qui-Gon wanted to draw on the Force to help quell his pain, but he knew the act would only strengthen the virus, and would make his recovery process even longer. He gritted his teeth, trying to control his breathing. “We’re...learning.”

“He really is a great kid. I knew he was smart, but after seeing his abilities when we worked on your birthday present, well, it’s pretty impressive.” Bel-San shook his head. “He needs some friends his own age, though.”

Qui-Gon sighed painfully. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that. He and Bant get along well, but she’s younger.”

“That’s generally why kids aren’t taken as padawans when they’re five. They need to develop social skills with each other.” Bel-San’s voice had a slightly didactic tone.

“Believe me, I didn’t intend for this to happen the way it did. But I think I’m pretty lucky to have him,” he said, settling against his pillows.

Suddenly, a slight tremor ran through the bond between himself and Obi-Wan. Even though he was blocking his pain from Obi-Wan’s mind, he could still sense his Padawan. The slide door opened, and the sound of someone crying filled the common room.

“Padawan?” he called weakly.

Bel-San stood. “I’ll see what’s going on.” Several moments later, Obi-Wan ran into Qui-Gon’s room, his face wet with tears. Bel-San trailed behind, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m going to put some tea on. I’ll be back.”

Obi-Wan stood at Qui-Gon’s bedside, clutching something in his hands. His tiny chest heaved and shuddered as he tried to stop crying, but without much success. “What’s wrong, Little One?”

“I. . .got. . sent. . .home. . .” he managed, sniffing. “The Teacher said I. . .wasn’t concentrating. . .and she sent. . .me with this. . .note you have to. . .sign.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” He reached out slowly and rested his hand on the boy’s shaking shoulder. “Why were you having trouble in class?”

“I. . .wasn’t.”

“I don’t think that’s true. What’s wrong?”

“I. . .don’t know.” Obi-Wan looked away.

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?” Qui-Gon fought back another wave of pain, trying to keep his focus on the crying boy.

Obi-Wan stared at the floor. “I. . .was worried. . .about you.”

“But I’m going to be all right. You know that.”

Tapping his head, he finally raised his gaze to meet Qui-Gon’s. “But I know that it hurts you. I can feel you hiding.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I’m not hiding from you, Obi-Wan, I’m trying to protect you.”

“Why?”

“Because for me to get better, it’s going to hurt. And I don’t want you to feel any of my pain.”

Obi-Wan reached out to touch him. “But I can help—“

He stopped the movement of the boy’s hand. “No, Obi-Wan. If you use the Force to help me, you’re going to heal the virus that’s making me sick.”

“But—”

“This won’t be for much longer. I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

“But I can’t help it.” Obi-Wan sniffed again.

“So where is this note?”

Obi-Wan held out the small datareader, his lips tight. “Here, Master.”

Turning over to sit up properly, Qui-Gon suppressed a groan. He scanned the note quickly, aware of the weakness in his hands. “So you weren’t paying attention. How do you think we can work on this problem?”

Obi-Wan tucked his hands behind his back. “I don’t want you to be sick, Master.”

Qui-Gon smiled, patting his head. “I know. Maybe if you could do something that would make me feel better then you’d feel better too.”

Obi-Wan nodded, leaning on the edge of the bed with his elbows. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” He looked down at Obi-Wan’s anxious face. “You could. . . sing me the silly bantha song.”

“Me?” Obi-Wan scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know the words.”

“You do too! I’ve only sung that song about three hundred times for you.”

“I don’t wanna.” Obi-Wan hid his face in the coverlet.

“Okay, well, I guess if you don’t want to sing your poor sick Master a song. . .”

“Well,” Obi-Wan started, peeking out with one eye. “Maybe just once. But that’s it.”

“Okay.”

Qui-Gon saw Bel-San appear in the doorway, but he quickly waved him back.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and in a quiet, tiny voice, he began to sing.

The silly bantha came to town

wearing a silly hat

and I asked him

oh silly bantha

where did you get

a hat like that?

A hat like this? the bantha said

I have the only one

But you can find

A patch of shade

To block you from the sun.

Then the bantha. . .

Obi-Wan stopped, taking a breath. “That’s enough. You know that he finds another hat.”

Qui-Gon sat up slightly, giving the boy a gentle hug. “Thank you for the song, Obi-Wan. I liked it very much.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said, ducking his head. “But you need to get better now. It’s better when you sing.”

“I’m working on it.”

***

“I think he’s finally asleep,” Bel-San said, stepping into the doorway of Qui-Gon’s darkened chamber.

“Thank you.”

“I have to be honest with you.”

Qui-Gon lifted his head slightly. “Oh?”

“I had to use a Force wave to get him there.”

“I’m not surprised. He seems to be a little. . .”

“Neurotic?”

“That might be pushing it. I was thinking. . .concerned.”

“I heard he yelled at the Healers,” Bel-San said, smiling slightly. “He’s barely a quarter your size and he’s trying to protect you.”

“I know. It’s funny, his personality is slowly starting to come out. It’s strange to see him move from a toddler to a child. I never had that with Alla or. . .” A wave of pain passed through his frame, and he took a quick breath.

Bel-San leaned against the doorframe. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better. I think the worst is over now.”

“You’re still in pain, though.”

“It won’t last much longer. I hope.”

Bel-San took a step forward, hands dangling at his sides. “Can I get you anything?”

“Not right now, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for all your help.”

His friend smiled, shaking his head. “Well, obviously you couldn’t ask anyone else. I mean, Payter kills house plants and Mace, well, we all know where his attention is going these days.”

“Well, I still appreciate it.”

Bel-San nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’ll be in the common room if you need anything. I still have some projects to grade.”

Qui-Gon lay back, trying to move slowly to keep the pain from returning. “Just one question.”

“Yes?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Me who did what?”

He smiled crookedly. “Nice grammar. You, you were the one who told Yoda I wasn’t drinking with you.”

Bel-San shrugged. “He knew I was lying. He had to.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I would have taken the punishment. Force knows it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Bel-San said. “No, you’ve had enough on your plate. You needed a break. Too bad you had to go and ruin your vacation by getting sick.”

“It’s not like I plan these things to happen.”

“Whatever. You just like the sympathy.” Bel-San turned, laughing. “Get some rest, Jinn. I have to get back to my own life sometime, you know.”

“I didn’t think you had your own—“

Bel-San walked out the doorway. “That’s very funny. Shut up.”