Master Apprentice Archive Swinging The Lead Quick search:

Archive: MA, or ask me

Category: Pre-slash, hurt/comfort

Rating: G

Warnings: Obi-Wan is 15, but There's No Sex! At All!

Summary: Obi-Wan is hurt and spends time recovering.

Disclaimer: George's characters, not mine.

Feedback: Yes please

Note: This came from a discussion ages ago about how the boyz always hate being ill. The title is an expression used to describe someone pretending to be ill when they're not really. It comes from measuring the water depth under a ship, using a lead-weighted line. A nice, easy job - so to make it last longer the sailors "swung the lead".

Thanks to my Master Cuimne who sparked the whole thing.

Published in its original form in Beginnings II zine which has timed out and on the Q/O OTP list, but this version now beta'd by Bonnie. (Thank you!) I've messed around some more so the remaining mistakes are mine.

Another note: This is for Clara Swift. She of the poorly leg following the ice/bicycle/car incident. {Get well hugs}

Obi-Wan had never been so tired in all his 15 years. Back-to-back missions largely consisting of running under fire, avoiding being blown up and existing on a diet of the odd poorly-cooked small creatures and local plant life had all conspired to ensure he suffered bone-deep exhaustion. On their scheduled return to the Temple on Coruscant to fulfil the academic requirements of a Jedi padawan, which had been sadly neglected due to the pressures on all active members of the Order, he felt in dire need of a break.

A break he got, although not of the kind he had been wishing for. He had been exercising with a group of age-mates in one of the large training rooms which had been reserved for the class in self- levitation techniques when an uncharacteristic lapse in concentration caused him to fall awkwardly and land in a painful heap. The master in charge of the group had been called away for a brief time, and so had not been present to witness or prevent the accident.

The padawan's master was called to the infirmary from his study, where he had been catching up on a small mountain of outstanding communications and reports. Qui-Gon had been assured that Obi-Wan, although obviously injured, was not in any danger and was expected to make a full and speedy recovery.

One of the healers greeted Qui-Gon, and showed him immediately to the room where his apprentice was being treated. The boy was lying on a narrow bed, still wearing his workout clothes, his eyes closed tightly in pain while two more healers worked around him.

"Obi-Wan is about to have surgery to repair the damage to his leg. He has a bad break to both bones of his lower leg, and the muscle tissue is damaged," the master was informed.

Qui-Gon moved to stand next to Obi-Wan, taking his hand and squeezing reassuringly.

"Obi-Wan? Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks," Qui-Gon said, although catching a glimpse of the protruding bone through the pale skin of the boy's misshapen leg was enough to make the master wince in sympathy. He pushed down the rising tide of self-recrimination. The rational Jedi master knew that he could not, and should not, be with the padawan all the time. Yet there still remained a small voice inside him, blaming, suggesting that he should have prevented harm coming to this boy who meant so much to him. Exactly what Obi- Wan was coming to mean to him was a subject he was becoming accustomed to meditating on, but this was a matter for later consideration.

"We have to take him to the operating theatre now, Master Jinn."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look at his master.

"I'm sorry, Master." His face was white in shock and pain, and the hand holding on to the much larger one of his master gripped tightly.

The master shook his head and smiled.

"Nothing to apologise for, Padawan. You'll be back on your feet in no time. I know you hate being in here." He almost had to prise his hand free. He watched as they wheeled his padawan from the room, and turned to face the remaining healer allowing his worry to surface.

"He will be alright, won't he? It looked bad."

"It's a nasty injury, but yes, he'll be fine in time. He will have to rest for a few days, and then take things very easy for a couple of weeks at least. You will have to make sure he doesn't try to do too much too soon." The healer placed a hand on Qui-Gon's arm. "I know that he will heal quickly in your care."

After two days of immobility and mounting boredom in the infirmary ward, Obi-Wan was allowed to go back to their shared quarters where his master could concentrate on caring for the despondent-looking padawan. He was sitting on the couch in the common room; leg still encased in its bacta-filled cast, reading from a data-pad. The fatigue he had felt on their return from the last mission had left, and he was secretly feeling grateful for the time of enforced rest. In fact, he admitted to himself that he was enjoying his master's attention and companionship. Qui-Gon was being so solicitous, thoughtfully ensuring that the boy had all he needed and was as comfortable as possible.

"Healer Quoobeo will be here soon, Padawan," Qui-Gon called from the small kitchen area. "Do you want me to bring you anything on my way back from the Archives?" The master knew that Obi-Wan hated to be fussed over and equally disliked him being there to witness the pestering of the visiting healer, so he made excuses to be away during those times. In truth, he had a valid reason for his excursion away from their home, and needed to collect documentation to complete an outstanding project he was working on, taking advantage of his own period of nursing-based leisure.

"If it's not too much trouble, Master, a new vid-game would be good. I've completed the one you brought me yesterday."

"Of course," Qui-Gon smiled as he returned to the room, and brushed his hand through the boy's hair, "and how about some choc dessert from the refectory? You need to build your strength up - you'll have a lot of catching up to do when the healers allow you to resume exercising."

Obi-Wan sighed at the thought of returning to the gruelling training regime. It was all he had known all his life, but he couldn't help but find the short respite a pleasure. His thoughts turned to their recent exercise sessions, and the guilty delight he felt just watching the master work through the movements, all grace and controlled power. But lately he often found himself having to tear his eyes away at other times...

A chime at the door interrupted his drifting thoughts and announced the arrival of the healer whom Qui-Gon greeted as he himself left.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan." Quoobeo settled down on a chair near Obi- Wan's resting place and placed a hand over the injured limb. "The injury is healing well. Does it still pain you?"

About to deny that he was feeling any discomfort, instead Obi-Wan looked up at the healer with large eyes.

"Well, I am trying to release the pain to the Force, but sometimes it is difficult."

"Hmm, it should be feeling better by now." Obi-Wan felt warmth as Quoobeo drew on the Force to assist in his healing. "Is that better? Good..."

"But as soon as you take your hand away, it hurts again," Obi-Wan interrupted. He shifted in his seat, and grimaced as his leg moved.

The healer reached into his robes and handed a bottle of small tablets to the padawan.

"If the pain is too much for you to handle, take one of these. Tell your master, and don't take more than four in a day. Alright?"

Healer Quoobeo stayed for some time with him, asking questions and periodically checking on his injury. He was puzzled by the apparent lack of progress in the boy's recovery. Finally, he stood to go.

"You will soon be well, Padawan. These things can't be rushed."

"Thank you, Healer Quoobeo," Obi-Wan replied, giving a pained smile, "I'm sure I will be able to manage the pain now."

A week later, the cast had been removed from Obi-Wan's leg as the bones and muscle were mended. The combined effects of bacta and Jedi healing had worked their magic. But much to the surprise of the healers, and the master, Obi-Wan still was unable to support his weight on the damaged leg, and was in obvious pain.

Qui-Gon continued to ply his apprentice with treats and distractions to take his mind off his predicament, and from time to time Obi- Wan's friends visited as their busy schedules allowed. It surprised Obi-Wan that he wasn't enjoying the visits from his friends quite as much as the time alone with his master. Games of dejarik which lasted hours and inevitably ended with Obi-Wan's defeat; Qui-Gon giving in to Obi-Wan's insistent pleading and agreeing to teach him sabbac, resulting in Qui-Gon owing his padawan the equivalent of a small planet's gross annual product. Qui-Gon had even started reading to him - stories from his master's collection of ancient printed books. Obi-Wan had been surprised to find himself engrossed in the old tales. The sound of his master's deep, soft voice itself was enough to hold his attention but those stories from worlds far, far away held him spellbound.

This short time of closeness was to be cherished, he decided. A time when he had his master to himself, with no duties or training waiting to come between them.

But still he could only manage to hobble, supporting his weight on furniture, around their quarters. The healer made regular visits to check on his progress, and he had been taken in a grav-chair twice to the infirmary for more tests.

He flopped down after a slow traverse of the room from the fresher, and screwed his face up as he raised his leg to rest it on the couch.

"No better, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon sighed as he helped him into a more comfortable position. "I won't be long, I just have to meet with a couple of masters to discuss the last part of my report. Anything else you need before I go?"

Qui-Gon was becoming tired of the enforced idle time, and was ready to resume active duty, but would not let his apprentice suspect any resentment of the time given over to his care. In fact, that inner voice told him that he was enjoying coddling the boy, and was delighting in the opportunity for them to have time together. He promised himself meditation on these conflicting feelings, so unlike his usual serenity, as Obi-Wan looked up at him.

"No, Master. I'll be fine. I have my study materials, it's just difficult to concentrate..." he let his voice trail off, but picked up the data-pad and began reading.

Qui-Gon left him to his studies, but instead of his intended trip to the meeting room, he turned towards the medical wing and the infirmary. Obi-Wan's continuing illness was bothering him more than he cared to admit to the boy.

Unknown to the Jedi master, as soon as he had got beyond the corridor leading to the accommodation area, his listless padawan threw down his data-pad and all but leapt up from his couch and went into the kitchen with nothing more than a slight limp. Smiling, he took a large portion of savoury pasty - his favourite, thoughtfully provided for him by his master - and a sweet, gassy drink from the cooler unit and returned to the common room, switching on the view screen on the wall. He adjusted the reception controls until he found the signal he was looking for. The sound of raucous, rhythmic music filled the quarters and Obi-Wan plopped down again to eat his snack and watch the flashing pictures of dancing youths that accompanied the music.

The healer was as concerned as Qui-Gon over the padawan's poor rate of progress towards recovery.

"I am afraid there is more to this than just the physical injury, Master Jinn."

"You mean it is psychological?" Qui-Gon was stunned. Obi-Wan loved to be active and had become fractious whenever he was confined in the past and had chafed to be allowed to return to normal duties.

"I am not entirely sure." Quoobeo shook his head uncertainly, and then seemed to come to a decision. "You know the boy better than anyone. I suggest you lay off the nursing a little now. Try to encourage him to be more independent. You may have been spoiling him a little too much."

"I am not "spoiling" him!" Qui-Gon stood up to leave. "I am merely making sure he has everything he needs. You have seen him - he is in constant pain. I can't watch him suffer."

The healer considered. "As I said, you know him best. But we need to look at why he still has these symptoms even though his physical injury is healed."

Walking along the corridor away from the infirmary, the Jedi master examined the feelings that had surfaced during his conversation with the healer. Spoiling him, indeed! Well, perhaps that is what it might look like from an outside perspective. But he resolved to continue indulging his apprentice for a while longer at least, and almost convinced himself that this was purely for Obi-Wan's benefit rather than his own pleasure at their continued closeness.

And he was enjoying the chance for them to be other than mentor and student, master and padawan. Just friends, he told himself. He sighed. When did he let this boy get so close to his heart? This evening's meditation session was promising to be long.

And so they continued for several more days. Obi-Wan showed no sign of improvement; his pain was evident in his tight-lipped expression, though he didn't complain verbally. Qui-Gon continued to supply him with items to entertain him during his recovery, to pass the time alone while the master was away on those duties he could fulfil while bound to the Temple. He also made sure that Obi-Wan had ample study materials in the hope that he could catch up with the missed time away from his classes, but the young man seemed unable to concentrate for any length of time.

Obi-Wan found the broadcast he had been looking for, and stuffing crispy fried tatie roots into his mouth he listened to the gaudily dressed quizmaster as he addressed the small group of beings seated at desks around him.

"Think carefully now. This is for one thousand dactares. One thousand! All right. What is the name of the flying, silicon-based creatures that feed on energy, attach themselves to ships, and can breathe in oxygen-rich atmospheres?" He spoke very slowly, as if he was addressing a group of children. The contestants were in a state of concentration, considering the question. One of them activated an alarm, and answered.

"Mynocks?" she asked tentatively.

"Force!" shouted Obi-Wan, "I can't believe you don't know that. It's obvious. Vynocks! It's Vynocks!" The quizmaster confirmed Obi-Wan's answer, and went on to ask further questions.

"I could do better than all of you. I would win the million."

He sank back on his couch and swung his legs over the armrest, continuing to munch on his snack, not noticing the trail of crumbs accumulating down the front of his tunic. After several more forays to the kitchen and a couple more broadcasts of equal standard to the quiz, he turned off the view screen and began again where he had left off with a vid game provided for him by his best friend Garen. He began making engine noises and screeches in time with the action of the imaginary ship he was piloting in the game's increasingly intricate levels.

Qui-Gon had another meeting with Healer Quoobeo.

"I really think there is only one more option open to us now," the healer said. Qui-Gon was prepared to listen to any possibility that might cause improvement in the condition of his apprentice. "He must see a mind healer."

Qui-Gon sighed. He had known this was coming, but he didn't like it.

"Are you sure that is really necessary? He won't like the idea. I don't like it myself. I'm sure this is not a psychological illness - he really does feel pain. There must be a physical reason."

"I can assure you, Master Jinn, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your padawan. His injury is completely healed. He should be out and about, training, whatever it is that these apprentices get up to. I will make the appointment. The mind healer will visit him in your quarters in the morning. Is that convenient?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I will make the arrangements myself." Qui- Gon's voice was clipped. "I hope this is not a waste of time."

He left the infirmary and walked slowly back towards their quarters. The healer's insistence that Obi-Wan's illness had nothing to do with his physiological condition had left him feeling agitated and anxious. He automatically shielded his mental and emotional state from the Force-sensitive Jedi around him, an instinctive reaction that had the unfortunate result for his padawan of also shielding his approaching presence.

The door to the common room opened and the master entered to the totally unexpected sight that greeted him of Obi-Wan, out of his imprisoning couch, trotting out of the kitchen with his hands full of cakes and a large bottle of fruit juice. Comic sheets were spread out over the floor, pictures of impossible beings in tight costumes battling monsters, and on the view screen a very bad actress was pledging her undying love to an uninterested young man while the sound of an orchestra underlined the tragic tale enfolding. Obi-Wan froze midway between the kitchen door and the couch, his mouth hanging open in horror. Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan glance toward the couch as if he was half-considering leaping towards it, but the boy wisely decided instead to remain where he was.

Qui-Gon moved to turn off the distracting sound and pictures. He didn't speak at first, merely stared at his apprentice, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Obi-Wan knew that look. He had seen the results of it many times, usually involving total capitulation on the part of the recipient. He tried to speak. "Ma... Master. I'm, uh..."

"You seem to have made a miraculous recovery today, Padawan." Qui- Gon's voice was completely calm. Obi-Wan knew what that meant, too. He prepared himself for the storm that was to come. He dropped to his knees among the comics, head bowed, cakes scattering.

"Obviously you weren't expecting me back so soon."

"I'm sorry Master." What else could he say?

Qui-Gon moved to stand in front of him and raised the boy's chin, unblinking eyes fixed on him.

"I am disappointed in you, Obi-Wan." The worst thing he could have said. Obi-Wan's guilt increased a hundred-fold. He started to apologise again, but the master continued. "I want a five thousand word essay from you by this time tomorrow on the responsibilities of a Jedi padawan - to himself, to his master, and to the Order. You will report to the kitchen this evening for vegetable preparation duties. You are to attend extra classes with Master R'sak in Political History of the Inner Rim Worlds - as that was your worst mark in the last tests - every day for an hour after normal classes, and I expect you to catch up with all the work you have missed these last weeks. You do appreciate that it is completely within my rights to turn you over my knee and wallop you?"

Obi-Wan's heart sank further with each new punishment. He would have no free time before he took his trials at this rate. The thought of all those extra hours listening to Master R'sak's boring voice drone on about the driest subject in the curriculum filled him the most dread, but he looked at his master with something like fear, wondering if he was going to carry out corporal punishment. While unusual, this was not unheard of in the Jedi Order.

"Yes, Master. I am sorry Master."

"Stand up, Padawan." Qui-Gon waited while he complied, noting that the injured leg did actual impede him slightly - or was that also an act to gain sympathy? "So explain."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together and drew himself up to his full height, then spoke. "Master. I did not intend to deceive you, truly. But... Well, I was so fed up, tired, and I have never had a long break, ever, not a holiday, or anything, and it was so nice when you were looking after me - not at first, of course, when it hurt, I mean it did hurt a lot, but you were so nice to me, and I could do what I wanted then, when my leg got better, watch the shows and play and have time to myself and with you and..." He stopped the flow of words, attempting to gather his flying thoughts. "I have behaved badly. I apologise, Master. I accept whatever punishments you see fit to impose." He hung his head.

Qui-Gon stared for another moment, before surprising his apprentice completely by gathering him in his arms for a huge hug. He silently thanked the Force that his worries about Obi-Wan's injuries had been unfounded. When the master broke the hug, he still held on to the boy's shoulders, holding him at arm's length and again boring into his eyes with that intense gaze.

"You have had me very worried, Obi-Wan, but I am glad that you are not ill. And I probably owe you an apology too. I failed to see how fatigued you were following our recent spate of trying missions. For that I apologise, Padawan." Obi-Wan looked at him with something like hope. But he continued, "That does not mean that I condone what you have done. Your punishments still stand." He released his padawan at last, and reached for the com unit on his desk. "And now I need to speak to Healer Quoobeo, and you need to clean up this mess and resume your duties."

Obi-Wan moved quickly to return the room to its usual state, resolving to himself never to let his master down again. For the retribution he had expected might have been easier for him to deal with than the thought of being the cause of such disappointment. Looking at how his master must see him, as a duty-shirking child, he mentally kicked himself for his behaviour and resolved to change that view. From now on, he would ensure that his master saw him as the adult he was. Well, almost was.

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice picking up the evidence of his self- imposed idleness, and made a promise to himself: he would keep a closer watch on the young man in future. Perhaps he could even arrange for them to have the occasional time off together - Qui-Gon too found it hard to remember a time when he had just relaxed for more than a few hours. Although it was not normally the practice for training of Jedi, he found himself pleased with the prospect of their first holiday together. Yes, he looked forward to it very much.