Master Apprentice Archive Blame It On The Rain Quick search:

E-mail:  dcoffin@omahasymphony.org   I'd welcome feedback!
Rating:  PG, non-slash
Category:  humor, vignette
Summary:  Two wet Jedi commiserate.
Disclaimer:  These characters belong to George Lucas, not me.
Acknowledgments:  As always, endless thanks to Marie, Padawan Li'Ann, and Cynthia Martin.    I hope you know how much I treasure your advice. :)
Archives:  Wolfie's Den,  Star Wars Hotline, Padawan Journals, M_A, Early Years, QJEB, any who may want it

Obi-Wan shifted slightly on the wet ground, then cleared his throat, breaking the lengthy silence.  "They're late," he blandly observed.

"Yes," agreed Qui-Gon.

After more than three hours of waiting for their transport, Obi-Wan's pronouncement was hardly insightful, but they both pondered it for a while.  They stared out of their inadequate "tent" -- Qui-Gon's robe draped over a dead bush -- and watched the rain fall.

A deafening crack of thunder from the churning clouds and, impossibly,
the storm intensified.

Obi-Wan sighed.  He brought his legs in tighter and rested his chin on his knees.  He wanted to pull his hood up for a little warmth, but out of sympathy for his cloak-less master he couldn't bring himself to do it.  Shivering, he glanced sideways.  "Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," Qui-Gon answered absently.

Obi-Wan studied him from the corners of his eyes.  Qui-Gon's soaked and mud-stained  tunics couldn't be offering much comfort from the chill. The sodden ceiling of their tent hung low under the weight of water, and Qui-Gon's head was awkwardly bent.  His neck had to be aching.  But he sat cross-legged and seemingly relaxed, his hands laying loosely on his knees.  He'd lost the tie from his hair at some point, and it hung over his shoulders, damp, dirty, and limply curled.  Qui-Gon had pulled his gaze from the menacing sky and was now focused with apparent absorption on the ground, where a steady stream of water poured off the pathetic
robe-tent and splashed into the mud.

Obi-Wan was beginning to wonder if his master was meditating, when Qui-Gon spoke.  "An attractive world, this."

Obi-Wan considered that statement for a moment, then dully said, "What?"

"An attractive world," repeated Qui-Gon.  "It's pretty here."

Obi-Wan looked out at the heavy gray sky, at the gray rain and mist, at the gray wilderness beyond, then he looked down at the black mud spattering Qui-Gon's boots and leggings.  "No it isn't."

"Hm?"

"It isn't pretty.  It's ugly.   It's dismal and... wet.  Hey, look.  The Three Sabers."

"Pardon me?"

Obi-Wan indicated a pattern of mud spots on Qui-Gon's leg.  "The Three Sabers.  Constellation.  See?"  He traced them with his finger.  "The Three Sabers."

"Ah.  So it is."  Qui-Gon looked down for a while.  "And there's the Harpy's Tongue."

"Where?  Oh.  Yeah, there it is."  He tapped Qui-Gon's knee.  "Harpy's Tongue."

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, then stretched his shoulders a bit.  "What have you got?"

"I'm sorry?"

Qui-Gon pointed to Obi-Wan's legs.

"Oh!  Oh, well let's see here."   Obi-Wan searched.  "Umm...  nothing."

"Ah."

Obi-Wan shifted a little, and winced.

"How's your... your rash, Padawan?"

"Itchy."  He plucked delicately at the crotch of his damp trousers. "How're your spider bites?"

Qui-Gon's hand drifted toward his muddy posterior, then deliberately rested again on his knee.  His fingers flexed.  "Also itchy."

Obi-Wan sighed again, heavily.  As if in response, the wind gusted and blew a wave of cold rain into their faces.

Obi-Wan blinked the water from his eyes as Qui-Gon silently stripped the rain from his beard.

"Sorry," said Obi-Wan.

"Why?"

He shrugged wearily.  "I don't know."

They listened to the thunder for a while.

"Are you hungry?" Obi-Wan asked suddenly.

Qui-Gon roused himself and thought for a moment.  "No.  No, the food poisoning has left me with no appetite, I'm afraid."

"But you haven't eaten in two days."

Qui-Gon grimaced faintly.  "That seems to be advisable  Are you hungry, Padawan?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

There was little more to be said on that topic, Obi-Wan knew.  When their raft capsized in the river earlier, any meager rations they'd had left were lost with his pack.  Which was probably floating in the sea by now.   Obi-Wan's stomach growled, the noise absurdly loud and protracted.  He rubbed his belly absently.

"I hated this mission," Obi-Wan announced, and lightning split the sky. Wind tore angrily at their makeshift tent, pulling it loose and dumping the whole of its collected reservoir on Qui-Gon's head.  The robe fell on Obi-Wan with a wet slap.

"I've got it," he shouted from within.  "I'll get it!"

"Settle down, Padawan,"  came Qui-Gon's tired voice.

Obi-Wan felt a large hand descend upon him, squeezing his head as he struggled.  He jerked away.  "Ow!" he called.  "You poked me in the eye."

"Then stop squirming."

He stopped, and Qui-Gon peeled the soaked fabric from him.  By the time his master had pulled him to his feet, Obi-Wan was drenched to the skin by the pelting rain.  Somehow, Qui-Gon seemed even wetter, water streaming from his hair and tunics.

"Here."  Qui-Gon gave him one end of the robe and they twisted it between them before Qui-Gon slung it back over the bush.  They crawled, dripping, beneath its paltry shelter.

Obi-Wan was trembling with cold now, and he laughed a little between chattering teeth.  "I'm so c-cold I almost wish I was back in the v-village."

Qui-Gon was bent far forward, his face hidden as he wrung out his hair, but Obi-Wan heard his low chuckle.

"Odd c-customs they have here," Obi-Wan continued.

Qui-Gon made a non-committal noise.

"Well, it s-seems odd to me," mused Obi-Wan, "to want to sacrifice us to their g-gods in gratitude for our help."  He clenched his stiff fingers and breathed into his shaking fists.  "But if they'd succeeded in throwing us in the fire pit, at least I'd be warm right now."

"You'd be dead right now," Qui-Gon pointed out as he straightened.

"True," Obi-Wan said philosophically.  "Still, that sacrificial fire sounds quite nice at the moment."  He frowned thoughtfully.  "I've never had so many grateful people want to kill me before.  I wonder why the mission briefing failed to inform us of that ritual.  It seems like something we ought to have been told."

"It does, rather," Qui-Gon said tightly.  "I believe I'll inquire about that omission when we get back to the Temple."

Obi-Wan smiled.  "May I come with you when you 'inquire'?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Stifling a sudden yawn, Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around himself and began to rock back and forth for warmth.  He stopped, his eyes wide, as his rash flared intimately at the movement.  Clenching his jaw,  he searched for a distracting topic of conversation.

"Master, are we lost?"

"No."

"But do we *know* these are the correct coordinates?  Where's the transport?  They should have found us by now."

"We're not lost."

"If only my comlink wasn't in the river," Obi-Wan sighed.  "If only your comlink wasn't in the fire.  Then we could call them.  Then we could know.  We could know if we're lost, or--"

"Obi-Wan," interrupted his master.  "Have I ever mentioned that patience is a virtue?"

The padawan bit his lip.  "Yes, Master.  You have mentioned that."

"I thought so.  But if I'd somehow neglected to bring it up, it seemed a good time to launch into the subject."

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan laid his head on his knees and shut his tired eyes.  Patience. He could be patient.  If only he weren't so wet.  And itchy.  And cold and tired and exhausted and sore.   He began to shiver helplessly.

The padawan breathed slowly to calm his trembling.  Behind his closed eyes, Obi-Wan let his mind swim, and he felt his body sway.  For a moment, he was back in the river, tossing in the rapids, plunging over that waterfall again.  He let himself fall, missing the rocks this time, which was nice.  He floated for a while, circling, dreaming of food and warmth and his own bed at the Temple.  Mmm, his bed was spinning slowly, lazily, and then a gentle pressure on his shoulder tipped him over the edge and he slid to the floor and it was wonderful to rest there. Warm.  He lay still and drifted.

A drop of water fell on his cheek, and Obi-Wan blinked.  He opened his eyes to find himself half-laying across his master.  Obi-Wan was still folded up, still hugging himself tightly, but Qui-Gon's arms were around him, too.  And he was blessedly warm.

"You can sleep, Obi-Wan," his master assured him quietly.  "Go back to sleep."

"No, no I'm awake," Obi-Wan mumbled drowsily, and began to push himself upright.  "I'm all right.  I'm not so cold anymore."

"Well, I am."  Qui-Gon's arms tightened a little.  "Do you mind?"

Obi-Wan answered the question by relaxing, grateful to not deny himself warmth.  Strange, he thought suddenly.  He and Qui-Gon had shared body heat before when necessary, but for some reason Obi-Wan had never thought of it as an equal benefit to his master.   He smiled.  It was nice to be needed.

Content, he closed his eyes.  "Did I sleep long?"

"Not long at all.  Moments only."

"So... no transports have miraculously appeared?"

He sensed Qui-Gon's smile.  "I'm afraid not.  We'll have to enjoy this world's hospitality just a bit longer."

Obi-Wan grunted softly.  "I can't believe, Master, that after everything, you still find this place 'attractive'."

Qui-Gon hesitated.  "I was joking, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan craned his head, looking up curiously.  "You were?  But you say that kind of thing all the time.  I didn't know you were trying to be funny."

"Yes, well... it was a private joke."

"Oh.  Did you find it amusing?"

"Yes."

Obi-Wan laughed softly, closed his eyes again and shifted to a more comfortable position.  He flinched when another drop of water landed on his cheek.

"Your hair keeps dripping on me.  No, don't move," he said hastily. "Better it drips on me than drips down your back."

"Very gracious of you, Padawan," his master said, but Obi-Wan felt him toss his head anyway.

"Master,"  he asked after a time, "What part of this wretched mission was most memorable for you?"

"Padawan, I shall vividly remember *every* moment of this mission," said Qui-Gon.  "Though I must say I found the extreme gratitude of the natives quite diverting."

"Me, too," chuckled Obi-Wan.  "But I think my fondest memory will be the look on your face when you sat in that nest of spiders."

"Obi-Wan, if you mention my spider bites, I will mention your rash."

Obi-Wan shuddered.  "Fair enough."

Lightning flickered and flashed, and for a moment their gloomy little shelter was alive with light.

"Oh!" breathed Obi-Wan.  Thanks to something in the atmosphere of this gray, miserable planet, lightning here was sometimes colorful, and Obi-Wan squinted as strobes of yellow, blue and green stung his eyes.

"That was beautiful," murmured Qui-Gon.

Somewhere beyond the low rumble of thunder, Obi-Wan heard the familiar hum of an approaching ship.  Qui-Gon's comfortable sigh told him his master had heard it, too.

"Ready?" asked Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan nodded.
 

The End