Demeron sipped his tea briefly before passing the sugar to Qui-Gon, who added several spoonfuls to his own drink. "Are you still feeling ambivalent about the last mission?" Demeron asked quietly, his dark eyes reflecting the ceiling lights of the lounge.

Qui-Gon toyed with the stirrer in his cup, avoiding his friend's gaze. "I'm certainly not ambivalent about the fact that it's over. For that I'm thankful. In terms of how successful I feel, well, that's another story." He gave a small sigh before taking a drink of highly-sweetened tea. "I suppose one has to just hope the next one goes better."

Demeron nodded, replying in appreciative silence. Qui-Gon looked briefly out the large panel windows, taking in the expansive view of the Corucsant skyline glittering in the dark evening. Shifting in his seat, the older Jedi cleared his throat before speaking, as he often did. "When are you leaving again?"

Qui-Gon gave a deep-throated laugh, grinning in spite of himself. "I suppose your experience with the Council must be different than mine." He waited for Demeron's sarcastic chuckle before he continued. "Last I heard, I was headed for Onoepal on the next available cruiser, which could be anytime in the next week or so. I think they'd like me out sooner than later, though, between you and I."

Demeron smiled. Qui-Gon knew Demeron had watched his escapades with the Council since Qui-Gon had been a young Padawan. "You keep them on their toes. It's good for them."

The younger Jedi smirked. "Says you. I hardly think they'd agree with you, but fortunately they'll have me out of their hair for the next few months, if this next mission pans out as described." Finishing the dregs of his tea cup, Qui-Gon paused before speaking again. "I saw Rai a number of days ago, and she mentioned your interest in taking another Padawan."

Nodding slowly, Demeron's gaze became slightly evasive.

"You can talk to me about this, Demeron," Qui-Gon said. "I realize that it is something some Jedi want to do more than once. I'm not going to need therapy if someone tells me they want another Padawan."

"I know." Demeron's answer came swiftly, cutting off his friend's speech. "I simply didn't want to engage that potentially difficult subject with you."

Qui-Gon was slightly taken aback at Demeron's forthright words, but he swallowed back his surprise. "I appreciate your concern. But please, I'd like to know how it's going, who you're thinking of choosing, if you've thought that far along yet."

Demeron relaxed his hold on his teacup, setting it down on the glass tabletop. "After Feiriv got Knighted a few years ago, I truly thought that I had finished my last training. I honestly didn't think I was up to teaching again--and Rai and I hadn't spent much time together. But now, with the numbers of Force-sensitive children coming in, and knowing how much I love teaching, I feel like I'm betraying my purpose if I don't take another Padawan. Does that make sense?"

Qui-Gon nodded gravely, impressed by his friend's heartfelt call to teaching. Even with his first Padawan, he himself had never felt such passion for his role as a Master. And there were few in the Temple who didn't know his second try had been utter failure.

The older Jedi continued. "There are some marvelous potentials in the Creche right now. There's a very young girl named Bant who seems very promising, and several human boys who are a bit older. One in particular, Obi-Wan. For a child so young, he's very connected to the Force. I'm surprised he hasn't been spoken for already."

"I met the boy." Qui-Gon interjected, noting the surprised look that crossed Demeron's face. "When I first saw Rai. She introduced us. Apparently he has prescient dreams. I think you'd get along well with him."

Demeron shook his head in agreement. "Speaking of Rai, I did promise her I'd be home earlier this evening...we haven't had much time alone since we returned last week. Would it be all right if..."

"Go right ahead. Send her my regards." Qui-Gon waved his hand in a gesture of leaving. "I'm glad we had the chance to speak, old friend. If they don't ship me off in the middle of the night, I'll try to find you tomorrow."

Demeron gave a slight bow, as was his custom, and exited the small lounge, leaving Qui-Gon alone with his tea and less-than-pleasant memories.

***

An insistent pounding at the door roused Qui-Gon from sleep. Suppressing a groan, he reached for his calf-length robe draped over the end of his sleep-couch. Yawning, he unsteadily made his way across a floor strewn with remnants from his last attempt at packing. Waking up had never been his gift.

He pressed the glowing red button by the door to switch on the intercom. "Who's there?"

"Qui-Gon! It's Charr'a, let me in!"

Confused, Qui-Gon de-activated the door lock. Charr'a was one of the Healers from the infirmary; she had often patched him up when he came back to the Temple bruised and bleeding, which happened more often than he liked to think about.

Her slight stature barely filled half the doorway. "Thank the Force you're still here! We were told you left yesterday, but Rai said she thought you were still in the Temple."

"What's going on?" Qui-Gon began tugging in his boots as she answered him.

"You had kilabis when you were a Padawan, didn't you?"

Qui-Gon nodded, now more confused than before. While on one of the planets in the Outer Rim, Telexio, he had been bitten by one of the indigenous insects, which carried the disease. "I nearly died. I must have been about twelve at the time."

"Thank goodness," Charr'a gushed, and then quickly repented. "No! I mean, not that you nearly died, but that you had it."

"Does someone have it here?" Qui-Gon felt anxiety creep into his voice. "It's highly..."

"Contagious." Charr'a finished, clasping his hand. "Come on. We need your help."

***

They made their way quickly through the Temple to the infirmary, where precautions were already in place. Every Jedi wore a face mask and the workers had set up filter screens around the doorways to help prevent the spread of the disease. "You're the only Jedi at the Temple right now who's survived kilabis. There aren't many, and the rest are all on missions."

"How exactly can I help? I don't know much about healing..." Qui-Gon scratched his beard, following Charr'a blindly through the maze of filters and rooms.

"It's such a rare disease that we don't routinely inoculate against it. You're the only one who can interact with him without fear of contracting kilabis; since you've already had it, you're immune. And since you're immune, if we give him a transfusion of your blood..."

"My blood?" Qui-Gon interrupted anxiously.

"He'll get the antibodies to fight the disease. We hope."

He narrowed his gaze. "Who has it?"

Charr'a's face fell as she turned her eyes away. "It's terrible--one of the children from the Creche. I'm sure you don't know him; he's very young. Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Qui-Gon blanched as the image of the young boy's face fixed in his mind. "Where is he?"

Charr'a led him down a long corridor to a door barricaded with orange signs. She drew out her face screen and put it in place. Her large green eyes were full of concern over the white mask. "He's very frightened. You'll do what you can to console him, won't you?"

Qui-Gon nodded, suddenly feeling largely inadequate for the task at hand. Charr'a pressed the button to open the air lock and the two entered the sterile chamber. In the center of the room, a small boy lay curled in the middle of a long white cot. As he entered, Qui-Gon felt the waves of fear emanating from the tiny figure. He looked at the healer, and she met his gaze. "Go talk to the boy. I'll get things ready and be back in a moment."

As she exited, the Jedi Knight walked slowly to the boy's bedside, sending out Force waves to try to calm him. "Obi-Wan?" he called gently.

A small white face looked up at him from beneath equally white sheets. "Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon smiled, surprised the young child remembered his name. He sat beside him on the cot, placing a large hand on Obi-Wan's head. His fingers felt the high fever before they reached his scalp. "Charr'a says you're not feeling well."

The voice that answered was smaller than the speaker. "They said. . .they said I was. . .going to die."

The Jedi was taken aback, and in the silence that followed Obi-Wan's statement, the boy spoke again. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt, Obi-Wan?"

"To die."

Qui-Gon smoothed Obi-Wan's sweaty hair back from his forehead, dwarfing his small head within his palm. "You're not going to die, Obi-Wan. You're very sick, but we're going to help you get better."

"But. . .but they said. . ." he protested weakly.

"Nevermind what anyone said. When I was a little boy, I had the very same illness you have right now. I know exactly how bad you feel right now, because I felt that bad too. But they gave me medicine, and I got better. And so will you."

Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide and his expression solemn. "You were a little boy once?"

Qui-Gon chuckled, forgetting how his formidable height might appear to a two and half foot child. "It was a long time ago." He paused for a moment, noticing a bandage on Obi-Wan’s hand. "How did you get sick?"

The small boy looked up at him, blue eyes completely guileless. "Joga bit me."

Qui-Gon’s eyebrows raised in response. "Who’s Joga?"

Obi-Wan yawned before answering. "New boy. He got mad. Bit me."

Suddenly, Qui-Gon sensed a shift in the room, and he realized the child's life force was lessening. His smile disappeared. After his promise to the boy, he worried what might happen if Obi-Wan didn't survive. His thoughts drifted to Demeron, of his hopes to train this boy to full Jedi Knighthood. It was disheartening enough to dwell on his past experiences with a Padawan, but to be unable to help Obi-Wan would be to destroy Demeron's chance of being his Master.

"Obi-Wan?"

The child's eyes were half-lidded as he fought to keep them open. "So sleepy."

"No, you can't go to sleep yet."

"Too tired. Need to sleep."

Qui-Gon shifted Obi-Wan's small body, propping his head up higher on the pillows. He made direct eye contact with the child. "You need to get your medicine before you go to sleep. Will you try to stay awake?" Obi-Wan didn't answer, but gave a small nod.

Qui-Gon turned as the sound of footsteps came towards the chamber. Charr'a entered, pushing in another cot and a small case of medical equipment. "How's he doing?"

"He's still hanging on, but I think he's starting to fade."

Charr'a wheeled the cot next to Obi-Wan's. "Lay down here." she indicated with a swift hand gesture. "It took me a long time to find the right equipment. Transfusions just aren’t necessary most of the time. We haven't done one in a long time."

"Well, that's comforting," Qui-Gon quipped, trying to betray his own anxiety as he pushed up the sleeve of his robe.

"Fortunately, Obi-Wan is type AB, so it doesn't matter what type you are." Charr'a prepared to place the needle in, and then suddenly looked at Qui-Gon's face. "Master Jinn, I do believe you're nervous."

"I'm not!" Qui-Gon protested, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

"This won't hurt much at all, I promise. Just lie back and lay still, all right?"

Charr'a attached the tube to a small machine, inserted the other end in Qui-Gon’s vein. She did the same to Obi-Wan, but the boy was so lethargic he hardly even made a sound when the needle went in.

Qui-Gon stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on his peaceful center. "Do you think it will take long for the antibodies to help the boy?"

Charr'a's voice was muffled beneath her mask. "Kilabis can be tricky. I just hope we caught this in time." She moved towards the door. "It'll take awhile. I'll be back soon to check on you both."

Qui-Gon lay quietly, closing his eyes. Several minutes passed in silence before a small voice called from the other bed. "Master Qui-Gon?"

He smiled at the sound, and then opened one eye. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"Are you my medicine?"

"Something like that." He closed his eyes again, trying not to look at the tubes that carried his blood away from his body and into Obi-Wan's. He had forgotten his previous aversion to blood was still firmly in place.

"Master Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

"Sing to me, like before?"

"I don't think..."

The voice returned, pleading. "Please?"

"You need to go to sleep, Obi-Wan."

"Please?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "Do you promise to go to sleep after one song?"

"Yes."

After several verses of one of the old Creche songs, Qui-Gon sensed the boy was indeed asleep, and could feel the child’s life force starting to strengthen.

He lay in the quietness of the chamber for several minutes, until a voice spoke from the shadow of the doorway.

"You have a nice voice, Qui-Gon."

He felt the color start to rise to his face, but he refused to dignify Charr’a’s comment with a retort.

"You did very well with Obi-Wan," Charr'a spoke quietly from behind her mask so as not to wake the sleeping child. "Better than any of the healers."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "I'm just glad I was here. Were any of the other children exposed?"

"Not that we know of. Obi-Wan managed to get bitten by one of the new children. We had no idea the other child was a carrier." She checked the sleeping child's vital signs, and then turned back to Qui-Gon, resting a hand on his forehead. "You just saved his life."

"That's a relief."

She checked on the machine for a moment, and then looked back at him. "Oh, yes, I forgot, I'm to tell you that your transport to Onoepal will be here first thing in the morning. Master Yoda wanted to get the message to you."

"Lovely," Qui-Gon blurted, then he bit back the rest of his reply. "Not that I don’t love being in the Infirmary, but is my work finished here?"

Charr'a nodded, and she quickly removed the tube and bandaged his arm. "You may want to stay here and rest for awhile."

"I'd better get back to my quarters; I still need to pack for my journey," Qui-Gon said as he sat up slowly. "Take good care of the boy." he added quietly.

Charr'a clucked her tongue. "Are you sure you'll be all right? You really should rest. . ."

"I'll be fine, thanks." Qui-Gon got up from the cot and began to walk somewhat unsteadily out of the room and down the corridor.

Within a minute, he faltered back towards the room. "I’ve changed my mind," Qui-Gon said, looking extraordinarily pale. I think I’m going to faint."

Charr’a rolled her eyes, but helped him back onto the cot. "Your stubbornness is going to be the death of you."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to keep the room from tilting. "Let’s hope not tonight. I have a flight to catch."