Chapter Text
“I said I'm fine,” Obi-Wan said exasperated, for what felt like the hundredth time.
It was no big deal, really. It had only been a few light scrapes.
Some internal bleeding.
Some fractured bones.
One (one or two) very broken bones, but that was what the bacta tanks were for. A few hours later and Obi-Wan was good as new, though his padawan was still clearly wracked with guilt.
“You should have let me help you, Master.” Qui-Gon said softly, as they walked up the steps to the temple.
“For the last time, it was far too dangerous for the both of us to remain to stabilize the reactor.” Obi-Wan dismissed his concern with a wave. “Your presence there would have simply presented another risk. We got the passengers to safety. I am fine.” You are safe. “That's what is important. We did well today, dear one.” Obi-Wan braced his hand on Qui's shoulder. A few more inches and he might have to stand on his toes to do so. Qui-Gon covered his hand over Obi-Wan's, his smile soft and sad and lovely.
“Yes, thank you Master.”
“You will put this from your mind?”
“I will.”
The reactor was going to blow. There was no way around it. But with all his strength, and the assistance of the Force one could re-direct the pressure back out of the vents. It was an exercise in futility. The ship could not be saved. Obi-Wan would only work to delay the inevitable, buy them enough time for others to get to the escape pods.
Obi-Wan watched himself struggle, arms outstretched from far off in the distance down the hall.
Master, no!
He as the hull blew, as his body thrown backwards with bone-shattering force.
Obi-Wan gasped, jolting awake. His body felt heavy and hot.
That was what transpired, but that was not his memory.
A low, insistent moan drew him further out of sleep and into the present.
He lay on his stomach, his head pressed into the pillow. He couldn't move.
Strong arms were wrapped around him, pinning his own to his sides. One had managed to find its way up his nightshirt, the palm pressed flush against his abdomen.
“Master...” Qui-Gon's mouth was slack on his neck, his breath warm against his nape.
It was Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan realized blearily. He relaxed a bit, his mind still muddled from sleep.
They had been his memories, his dream. Or, nightmare rather.
Obi-Wan began to drift off a bit again, making a mental note to working on shielding with his padawan. Dream-sharing was not unheard of, but it was something that often reserved for younglings or very young padawan learners. Obi-Wan himself had his share of nightmares early on his his apprenticeship where his old master Dooku had appeared. In each such occasion he had gotten a rather stern lecture on the foolishness of whatever ghoul or terror his mind had managed to conceive. The sheer embarrassment had been more than enough for him to strengthen his shields to keep them private in sleep.
Qui-Gon had never had such problems with him before. Clearly the day's events had bothered him more than he let on. Obi-Wan let his feelings of compassion and sympathy naturally swell, sending them through their training bond to soothe the troubled mind of his padawan.
I am here. All is well.
Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, his body relaxing against his master. His body was heavy and warm. It felt nice, and he was too far off to consider the implications of attachment to summon the energy to send him back to his own room.
They could discuss it in the morning.