“Yo! Runt! Get out of the ‘fresher!” Kerge heard an indignant snort through the door, followed by a bellow.
“Master! Kerge called me a runt!”
Qui-Gon shouted back, “Kerge, please don’t call him a runt! Obi-Wan, please get out of the ‘fresher!”
Several moments later, Obi-Wan emerged, his tongue stuck out a Kerge.
“C’mon, kiddo, I didn’t mean it.” Kerge said, which was really the best apology he could offer that early in the day. He, like his Master, wasn’t much of a morning person.
“Yes, you did.” Obi-Wan yanked his padawan braid out for Kerge to see. “But my braid’s longer. So ha ha.”
Kerge rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Are you two still fighting?” Qui-Gon yelled from the kitchen.
Their reply was simultaneous. “No!”
Kerge ducked into the fresher, changing quickly into his wrinkled tunic after dunking his head under the water spray. He retrieved his bag and saber, shoving his half-completed physics homework into the pack.
“You want something to eat?” Qui-Gon asked him as Kerge moved through the kitchen towards the common room.
“Nah.” He hadn’t been nearly so hungry since his Master left, although he tried to eat enough to keep Qui-Gon off his case.
“Take this anyway,” Qui-Gon said, tucking a vitamin bar in his pack.
He gave the other master a slight smile. “See ya at class later.”
“Have a good day, Kerge.”
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at him from the table where he sat with his juice, but under the watchful gaze of his master, the boy waved half-heartedly.
He jumped the turbolift twenty-six floors, sprinting down the corridor to meet Dar-El.
“You’re late,” she said, taking the last bite of a kufruit. “The rugrat in the ‘fresher again?”
“Something like that.” He glanced at Dar-El’s hair, which was now bright indigo. “Nice color.”
She laughed. “They may make me keep it short, but they can’t make me a fashion don’t where color is concerned.” She tugged on her cut locks, which hung in limp curls around her ears. “I got bored of pink.”
They fell into step beside one another, moving through the groups of padawans and initiates that clogged the walkways. “How’s life with Master Jinn?”
“Qui-Gon’s cool. He’s sort of like a dad almost, from what I hear, but without the disappointed-parent thing. But he does have his overprotective setting on full power.”
“Class was good yesterday with him, though. He’s incredible with the saber. It makes me wish I were that tall.”
“Eat your veggies, Dar. Maybe you will be.”
Dar snorted. “I’m serious. That guy could do some major damage.”
Kerge thought momentarily of his own Master, knowing that Payter had washed the floor with Qui-Gon’s beard on occasion. He hoped Payter was all right. “Well, he can’t cook worth a damn, no matter how good he is.”
Dar’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll bet he was pretty sexilicious back in the day.” She snickered to herself. “He’s still pretty hot.”
“Gag me.” Kerge mimed putting a finger down his throat. “That man is twice your age. More that that.”
“I’m beginning to think I prefer older men. The ones my own age seem so…childish.”
Dar’s grin betrayed her words, but Kerge grabbed her bag, and then floated it with the Force high above her head. “Childish? I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? I think the words you were looking for are ‘more intelligent than me.’”
“Shut up!”
“Say it! More intelligent than me! Taller, too.”
“You’re malfunctioning.” She leapt up nimbly, catching her bag. “Come on, genius. We’re late.”
***
“Hold it!” Qui-Gon halted a set of padawans, waiting until they disengaged their sabers to step between them.
“That, unfortunately, is an easy way for your opponent slice off an important appendage.” He saw the chagrined look in the young man’s face, and then added, “I’ve seen about eight of you do it already. This is something all of us need to keep in mind.”
He gestured to the boy, calling the class to attention. “Okay! All pairs, eyes up here. Nalet and I are going to teach you something that may very well save your life, or at least one of your arms.” He was thankful he remembered the padawan’s name; with some many of them now it had gotten slightly more difficult.
The group of sparring padawans stopped their exercises and turned to form a circle around them. Qui-Gon spun slowly, meeting the eyes of young men and women from all reaches of the Republic and beyond. It had been a bit of a surprise to have a full practice room; he’d had to put a cap on the class enrollment because so many students had signed up.
Kerge and Keleran were among them, as well as Slade, and at times he had to remind himself he was a teacher here, not just in his own apartment.
“Now, this may sound simple, but it’s not. I know that I don’t need to explain this form, but what I do need to explain,” he paused, getting into position, “is that if you let your guard down, as is easy to do if you’re not concentrating, you make it very simple for your opponent…” He waved at the young man, gesturing with the hilt of his saber. “Come on, Nalet, be my opponent, that’s right. Simple for your opponent to do this.”
With his saber ignited, he moved through the form, and deliberately dropped his guard, and anticipated the movement of Nalet’s saber along his neck. He ducked away smoothly, leaving Nalet a bit off kilter.
“That, my friends, is what we call an easy way to die. If I hadn’t moved, Nalet would have sliced off my head, making it rather difficult for me to teach our next class.”
He got a few scattered laughs, which he waved away. “This is all about simple flaws in technique that lead to big hairy problems once you get off the mats.” He turned off his saber. “The most important thing for you all do in here is work. That’s all I expect. This isn’t about marks, or credit, or impressing another Jedi Master. The only thing that’s going to impress me is a group of padawans willing to learn with and from each other. You’re all going to make mistakes, and better here than on your missions.”
He checked his chrono, and then sighed. “Our time’s up. Rest up, everyone, and I’ll see you all next class.”
The group bowed, then all of them began talking at once as they gathered their things. Qui-Gon took a drink of water from his canister, watching his new students with quiet amusement. Most of them still retained the exuberance that stayed with you for awhile after you made your first saber, although a few of them had already had the opportunity to find out that a padawan’s life wasn’t just classes and mat burns.
Kerge moved across the room to where Keleran was packing up her bags. He leaned in close, whispering something in her ear, which made her smile and turn away.
Qui-Gon started to take a step in their direction, but Kerge flashed him a warning look. The boy gave her a final glance, then wished her farewell loudly enough for Qui-Gon to hear, leaving with a blue-haired padawan in tow.
The rest of the class had filed out, but Keleran lingered for a few moments. “You waiting for Alla?” he asked, approaching her.
She shook her head. “She’s across planet for a few days. I’m staying with a friend.”
“I’m glad you got the chance to take this class. It’ll be nice to get to know you a little better.”
Keleran looked away, nodding slightly. It still surprised him that his gregarious, extroverted padawan would have chosen such a shy child. “Listen, Alla asked me to make sure Kerge isn’t bothering you too much.”
The girl’s pale cheeks flushed. “No, he’s fine. He’s weird.” She recovered, finally meeting his gaze. “He misses his Master.”
“I noticed. And I won’t tell him you said so.” Qui-Gon had been watching the boy closely, trying to keep abreast of his whereabouts. He knew Kerge had been trying to devise a plan to get aboard Payter’s ship before he left, and it had only been a combination of his observation and Payter’s fantastic ability to slip away unnoticed that had kept the boy’s feet on Coruscant.
“Listen, um, Master Jinn, I had a question.”
“Anything.”
“It’s been kind of hard for me, sometimes, to do all these moves with the other padawans,” she said, her words barely audible. “Because I’m smaller, and with the wings…getting in the way.”
Qui-Gon nodded. It was always a difficult to bridge the gap, the difficulties of adapting moves for humanoid or non-humanoid species, depending on who was teaching. Force knew he and Yoda had had their trials in that department.
“That last thing you were showing us…would you have a second to go over that with me?”
He gave her a smile, glad he could do something to help her. “Of course.”
She set aside her practice saber, retrieving her own from her pack. Qui-Gon only allowed them to use their own sabers when working with him. He saw the design of it, and experienced a mild déjà vu. In the lines of the hilt and engineering of the power cells, he saw the echoes of his own first saber, which had been Alla’s inspiration for hers. It was almost eerie to see the ghost of that saber design; he’d lost it under rather unhappy circumstances.
They ran through the series of moves, taking them apart into individual forms. Qui-Gon realized quickly how attentive a student she was, and felt a bit of pride balloon inside him at the choice of padawans his own padawan had made.
“But you see what I mean about the wings, right?” She pointed to her back, frustration evident in her expression.
“I do, but I think you need to stop thinking about them as a problem and more like an asset.” He scrubbed a hand across his chin, critiquing her stance. “It might be best to talk to another winged master. But in the meantime, here’s a thought: try the move with them open.”
The girl looked skeptical, but she unfurled them, luminous beneath the warm light of the practice room. “My Master’s a bit afraid I might cut them off.”
“Well, try not to. I mean, don’t.”
Qui-Gon reviewed the move with their blades off, and Keleran’s body relaxed, her limbs and wings synchronizing. “This is so much better!”
“You clearly won’t want them out all the time, but for this move, they might give you a bit of a push to see you through.”
The girl passed through the forms with new grace. “Let’s try it for real.”
Their sabers ignited, he moved with her through entire kata, pleased to see how she’d improved. She was small, but with her agility and attention to detail, she had the makings of a fine Jedi.
He drew her into position to try the move, and he heard the rush of air as her wings lifted from between her shoulders. Her gold saber crested above her head, but as she turned, she nearly grazed the top of one wing.
Qui-Gon reached out with his free hand to catch her as she stumbled, but she fell forward, her glowing saber burning the flesh on the inside of his left leg.
He gasped, catching himself before going down on one knee.
“Keleran! Are you all right?”
The girl’s eyes widened, and he could sense fear pouring from her mind as she turned off her saber. “I’m so sorry, Master Jinn, I am so so sorry…sorry…”
Qui-Gon took a quick breath, trying not to focus on the pain that bloomed along his thigh. “I’m all right. Don’t worry.”
“I hit you…it burned your whole leg.” Her voice shrank to a whisper. “I lost my focus, I…”
“You’re learning. You made a mistake is all.”
“But I burned you!” She bit her lip, a veil of tears across her eyes.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll heal. A little bacta gel and I’ll be good as new.” He touched her shoulder, trying to convey a sense of calm he didn’t truly feel. “We’ll try it again in a few days, okay?”
She nodded uncertainly, and then dashed from the room, her wings folded tightly against her back.
***
Qui-Gon stood in the refresher, taking a deep breath. Exhaling, he peeled the charred cloth from his leg. He swore violently, thankful his two charges were still in class.
Limping to the bench against the wall, he sat carefully, trying to arrange himself so as not to pull his burned skin. The wound stretched from his upper thigh to just above his knee.
Pain screamed across his flesh, more than he expected. He struggled to hold a semblance of calm across his bond with Obi-Wan. I really should go to the Healers, he thought.
He pondered this for a moment, shaking his head. I don’t want to see him, not like this. And I certainly don’t want him to heal me.
He limped to the closet, reaching to the back to retrieve a medpac from several missions ago. After a quick search, he found the hypospray, loaded with a painkiller canister. It would be enough to get him through the process of salving and bandaging the burns.
Turning towards the mirror, he angled his head towards the light, positioning the hypo along the artery in his neck.
***
Qui-Gon sighed, thankful his class was almost over. He’d set the group into sets of four, allowing them to pair up and spar, the other two alternating in a round robin. He had only done a few demonstrations, all of them upper-body techniques.
In the two days since his injury, the pain had only increased, and he’d used most of the painkiller from his old medpacs. He wasn’t used to being on such strong medication, and it made him somewhat groggy, not to mention his concentration was completely shot. He’d traded in his lightsaber for a practice model for everyone’s protection.
Keleran, to his dismay, had not come back to class.
Their time ended, he dismissed the group, too weary to leave them with a funny anecdote or quip as he usually did.
The class moved out, more quietly than usual, and Kerge moved to stand by Qui-Gon as he put on his robe.
“Can I make a comment?”
Qui-Gon shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Class sucked today.”
“You’ll have to be sure to ask for your money back.”
Kerge nodded appreciatively. “You know, my Master doesn’t think so, but you are actually funny, Master Jinn.” He fell into step next to him as they crossed the mats.
“I suppose it’s best to take that as a compliment rather than to think about it too long to find the insult hidden underneath,” Qui-Gon said, careful to make himself walk normally.
“I’m not trying to insult you.” Kerge got a pace ahead of him, moving in front of Qui-Gon to keep him from leaving the room. “Did something happen to Keleran? I’m serious. I haven’t been able to get her on the com for days. Is she okay? Is Alla okay?”
Qui-Gon sighed, not in the mood to answer the boy’s queries. “They’re fine. I’m not sure where Keleran is—perhaps she joined Alla across planet.”
“Okay.” Kerge took a breath, still unmoving. “You know why class sucked today?”
He could feel the painkiller fading, receding like a tide. “Why?”
Kerge reached out with the hilt of his saber, his hands fast as a bird in flight, and gave Qui-Gon’s left leg a deft smack.
Though he had sensed it a second before the boy made his move, Qui-Gon hadn’t been able to make a countermove in time. The level of pain that rocked his mind was more than he anticipated, and he nearly stumbled.
“Kerge!” His voice came out in a snarl, and he had to force himself back into a normal tone. “Kerge, you need to leave off. I’m fine.”
“With all due respect, you’re not. You think bacta is odorless?” Kerge made an indistinct sound, his nose wrinkling. “It may be to Jedi whose Masters didn’t make them sit in a room for days on end until they could identify the scent, but I have. It does smell. And you reek of it.”
Qui-Gon breathed deeply, focusing on blocking the pain. “I got burned, yes. But it’s healing. I’ll be fine. I’m going to do a healing trance tonight. Listen, I don’t want Obi-Wan to be concerned about me.”
“No danger of that happening,” Kerge said, his tone far more cocky than Qui-Gon liked. “He’s half-dazed from the crossover with your bond. Whatever painkiller you’re pumped full of, he’s getting some too. Didn’t you even notice he didn’t put up a fight when you told him to go to bed? Or that we didn’t argue this morning at all?”
Qui-Gon reflected on the morning’s events, but he’d been so tired, he hadn’t noticed much. “I appreciate your concern, but you’re out of line. I don’t—“
Holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender, the boy interrupted him. “Look, Master Jinn, I’m not trying to get in your face. But you know how my Master told you to watch out for me? Well, he told me to do the same for you. I think you need to go to the Infirmary.”
***
:Padawan?:
Qui-Gon heard the boy’s yawn through their bond, and he sighed. He hadn’t intended the side effects of his medicine to affect his padawan. :Master? Where are you?:
:Shh, Obi-Wan, it’s okay.: He sent the boy the slightest wave of calm, which was as much as he could muster at the moment. :I’m sorry to wake you.:
:S’okay,: Obi-Wan murmured. :I’m very tired.:
:I know. Listen, I have something I have to do tonight, and I just wanted to tell you I’ll be a bit late. But I’ll see you in the morning, all right? Kerge is there now, and he’ll take care of you until I get back.:
The boy’s awareness seemed to grow slightly. :Are you okay?:
:I will be.: He tried to make his mental voice soothing, hoping not to alarm his padawan. :I have to shield you for a little while. Don’t worry. By the time you wake up, everything will be fine.:
Qui-Gon sensed the questions that were starting to form in Obi-Wan’s mind, but they weren’t strong enough to overcome the pull that sleep had already claimed. :Okay.:
:Goodnight, Little One.:
A tiny wave of comfort passed over their bond with the boy’s words. :Night, Master.:
***
Listening to the sound of the slide door rushing closed behind him, Bel-San sighed, grateful to enter the Healer’s common room. He moved directly to the small kitchen, pouring himself a generous cup of caffe. It wasn’t as satisfying as tea by any stretch, but it was hot and dark, which was about as good as caffe could get the way the Healers brewed it. He surveyed his surroundings, noting several other Healers, some of which looking as tired as he felt, sprawled over a small collection of sleep couches near the far wall.
It had been a strange transition into this new world. The Scholar’s common room in the Archives always smelled like spices from the various tea blends its inhabitants preferred, and to walk even quickly through the chamber was to invite trouble. The Healer’s room might as well have been Coruscant airspace for all the traffic it saw, except instead of speeders and ships, there would be white robes flapping in all directions.
Savoring the brief respite from what had been an exhausting day, he leaned against the counter, stifling a yawn.
“We’re not keeping you up, are we?”
A familiar voice spoke up beside him, and he sighed, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “Master Thysse. Good to see you.”
The Nautolan’s black eyes shone like polished glass, meeting Bel-San’s gaze. Thysse had been assigned Bel-San’s mentor as he progressed through Healer training, and they had turned out to be remarkably well matched. Both of them had lost their masters at a younger age, and Thysse himself had decided on a Healer’s path after attaining Knighthood, which, like Bel-San, set them apart from most of their peers.
“Rough day, eh?”
He knew Thysse’s head tentacles were highly perceptive to emotion, but he was sure it didn’t take an evolutionary advantage to sense the toll the last ten hours’ labor had taken on him. “Yeah, a bit.”
“I think you’ve been here long enough. You should go home, get some rest.” Thysse chuckled slightly. “Feed those cats you find so endearing. That’s a species I could never really get behind.”
“They’re pretty irritated with me lately,” he said, finishing his caffe. “I had to get one of those droid feeding machines, and they hate it. They still won’t eat until I come home.” He placed the cup in the washer. “You’re sure I can leave? We’ve been so busy; I don’t want to leave you high and dry.”
Thysse nodded, handing him a datareader. “There’s one thing I need you to do before you leave today.”
Quickly scanning the page, he saw it was another med chart. “Sure. I can handle a lightsaber burn.”
“I’m not sure you read the chart completely.” Thysse’s voice had acquired the patient tone he often took with a Master who expected an injured padawan to be out of bed the following day.
Scanning up to the name, Bel-San pursed his lips, taking a breath before he spoke. “I would really prefer another patient.”
“Unfortunately, in our line of work, we don’t get to choose who we help.” His mentor’s expression bore only kindness, which made it difficult for Bel-San to fight him on the subject. “This is the right time for you. You have suffered the burden of this grudge for too long.”
“You make it sound like I’m a child. He didn’t just steal my favorite toy. This is not a grudge.” Bel-San’s voice grew soft, but only to keep those around him from hearing their conversation. “I’m just not ready to talk to him, much less fix any of his problems.” He hadn’t said very much regarding the months before he decided to become a Healer, but Thysse had the rather irritating ability to infer.
“Healers are not only responsible for the well-being of others; they are responsible for the well-being of their own selves. It’s only then they can truly heal anyone else. This is a lesson we all learn. It’s your turn now.” Thysse rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You have done admirably, far better than most, considering your short amount of time with us. But there has been a dark cloud around you since you entered here, and it won’t disappear on its own.”
“I have spent hours—days even—meditating on my…black cloud,” he said, not appreciating Thysse’s choice of words. “Force knows I’ve done my best to reconcile myself. It’s part of why I’m here now.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have made my peace.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Thysse kept his ebony eyes on him, but Bel-San turned away, unable to stand their weight. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think you were ready.”
“What if I refuse to see him now?” Bel-San asked the question calmly, though in truth he was anything but.
His mentor shrugged. “Refuse if you must, but you’ll find this situation is just going to keep happening until you are forced to deal with it. Besides, Master Jinn is among one of our more frequent patrons.” Thysse’s creased face studied his. “You’re not going to progress until you let this go. Healing, if you haven’t realized by now, is far more than physical, and affects the healer as much as the patient.”
Bel-San blinked, silent for a long moment. He held the datareader in both hands, studying the text, his eyes reading over the name of the one person he didn’t want to see.
“Which room is he in?”
Thysse told him, and gave him an encouraging nod. “Call me if you need assistance. Force be with you.”
Bel-San walked more slowly than usual to the turbolift, feeling jitters that couldn’t be attributed to excessive caffe. It suddenly felt as if he was playing a part, dressed for some sort of staged Temple drama, rather than an initiate Healer. You have every right to be here. He of all people should know that. All you have to do, he said to himself, is go in, fix what’s wrong, and send him on his way. You’re not obligated to do more.
As he approached the room, he felt the familiar Force signature of his former friend brush against his awareness, although there was no recognition along their bond. After returning from Was-4, Bel-San had ensured that their mental connection would no longer be active, setting up a wall of mind blocks to keep all unwanted visitors out.
You’re fine. This will be fine. You need to prove to yourself you can do this. Bel-San straightened his robes, taking a few more deep breaths. Then he stepped inside.
The look in Qui-Gon’s eyes wasn’t nearly so much surprise as it was dread, and for the first time in a long while, he suspected that both he and Qui-Gon were feeling exactly the same thing. He sat uncomfortably on the examination table, his long legs nearly touching the floor.
“Well.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Qui-Gon said, and Bel-San had to fight to keep his composure. As if the other Jedi could come close to reading his thoughts at this point.
“Oh?”
“This wasn’t some ploy for me to get the chance to talk to you, to try to make things right.” Qui-Gon’s face was pale, and his voice sounded hollow, lacking its usual warmth. “I only came here because I got hurt a few days ago, and it’s getting worse. I understand if you don’t want to treat me. If you’d rather someone else do it, that’s fine.”
Bel-San took a step closer to him. “Would you rather have another Healer?”
“I…whatever you want. If you’d rather not be talking to me, I understand.”
“You came here for a lightsaber burn, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“My job is to heal you, not have deep personal conversations with you.” Bel-San focused on the rubric of questions he used to take his patients’ histories. “How did you injure yourself?”
Qui-Gon no longer looked at him, but fixed his gaze on a chart of the Mon Calamari nervous system on the opposite wall. “I’m teaching a lighsaber class. One of my students tripped while we were sparring. She accidentally grazed the inside of my leg.”
“When was this?”
“Three days ago.”
Bel-San pressed his lips together, but said nothing. It was never a good idea to let burns go untreated; they had a tendency to fester quickly. “Are you on any medications now?”
“Just olastin painkiller.”
Reaching in his pocket, he drew out his diagnostic scanner, which gave him a reading of Qui-Gon’s vital signs. His pulse was more than twice its normal rate, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to injury or nerves.
“I need to get a blood sample.”
Qui-Gon said nothing, rolling up his sleeve and exposing his forearm. Bel-San pressed the scanner against his skin, drawing up a small amount. He knew how much the other man hated any medical exams, no matter how remotely invasive, but he didn’t offer any sort of reassurance.
In seconds, the scanner analyzed the sample, and Bel-San narrowed his eyes at the results. “How much olastin?”
Qui-Gon shrugged. “I think about five canisters.”
“That’s a lot, Qui-Gon. That stuff isn’t for headaches, you know.” Bel-San inspected his patient’s eyes for a moment. “No wonder your pupils are nearly dilated out of your skull.”
He made the notations, scribbling on the bottom of the pad, which translated his terrible handwriting into legible type on Qui-Gon’s file. “Okay. Let me see it.”
The other Jedi looked at him briefly, clearly more than a little self-conscious, but he removed his pants, careful not to pull on the bandages around his wound.
Although he understood the embarrassing nature of undressing in front of a healer, Qui-Gon’s modesty annoyed him. “It’s not like we all haven’t seen it before. Or have you forgotten your nudist streaks as a padawan?”
Qui-Gon tugged his tunic down, covering himself as best he could. “I’ve grown up a bit since then.”
As he started to unwind the dressing from Qui-Gon’s leg, he knew the burns weren’t healing well. Even the edges of the wound remained screaming red, and the very smell of it suggested infection. Qui-Gon squirmed slightly, wincing against his touch. Bel-San paused in his ministrations, sighing. “If you hadn’t self-medicated with hypos, I’d be able to give you something right now, but any more painkiller and you’ll end up going through withdrawal. I’m sorry.” Part of him wondered if he actually was.
Nodding, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, his body tense. “It’s not your fault.”
Finishing the task of removing the bandage, Bel-San shook his head, nearly wanting to wince himself. The burns, which most likely had not been quite so dreadful after he’d received them, were now a textbook case of septic. He felt like swearing. It wasn’t going to be an early night after all.
“You should have come in here right after you got hurt,” he said, dropping the soiled dressing in the biohazard container. “You’ve made this a lot more complicated than it needed to be. Honestly. You of all people should have known better than to try to heal this own your own. It’s not one of your strengths.”
Qui-Gon’s eyes grew steely. “I know. But I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want,” he gestured quickly between the two of them, “this.”
“That’s really stupid,” Bel-San said, rubbing at his temples. “Considering how often you end up here. What did you think, that now that I work here it’s off-limits to you? I’m angry with you, and I don’t particularly want to see you, but I don’t want you dead.”
“Well, that’s a load off my mind.”
He ignored the other man’s sarcasm. “It wasn’t Obi-Wan, was it? Who did this to you?”
“No.” Qui-Gon sighed, his facial features tightening as he moved his leg on the table. “It was Keleran.”
This surprised him. “Alla must not be in the Temple. She’s got enough sense to get you in here before infection sets in.”
Qui-Gon laughed, but it was a choked, dry sound. “She doesn’t know yet, or she probably would’ve.”
Taking another look at his scanner, Bel-San saw the traces of bacteria in the other Jedi’s bloodstream. He knew Qui-Gon had tried to treat the wounds with bacta gel, but that hadn’t been effective enough to heal him. It left him with limited options.
“It might just be best to use a bacta tank. I think we have a few free right now.”
The readout of Qui-Gon’s heart rate jumped at that suggestion. “Is there anything else? I…I really would rather not get back in one of those.” There was pain in Qui-Gon’s eyes, and Bel-San realized it went beyond his physical discomfort. “Payter’s off-planet on a mission. Kerge is staying with us. And Obi-Wan’s just going to worry if…I really don’t want to leave them alone for as long as a tank would take.”
Bel-San sighed. Damn Thysse. He’d surely known what sort of healing this wound would require. If the burns hadn’t responded to bacta gel, it meant even a bacta tank could take several days. “There’s another choice. I can try using the Force to heal you.” He felt a light wave of relief come across Qui-Gon’s signature, but he held up a hand. “You’re going to be exhausted. It’s going to take both our energies to heal this. It may not even work.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “That’s okay.”
“It may not be painless, either. I have to warn you.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
Bel-San took a breath, sending a mental message to his mentor, letting him know the course of treatment he’d chosen. Also, should something go wrong, he wanted Thysse to be aware immediately.
“Are you shielded?”
Qui-Gon looked momentarily confused. “I’m sorry?”
“Your padawan. Obi-Wan. I don’t want him to receive any of this on his end.”
His patient nodded, and Bel-San felt him tense. “I already took care of that.”
He pulled a high stool over to the examining table, seating himself on Qui-Gon’s left side. “You need to lay down. Try to relax. This is going to take a little while.”
Bel-San dropped a hand lightly on Qui-Gon’s forehead. As soon as his fingers made contact with the other Jedi’s skin, he sensed the great pain that wracked Qui-Gon’s body. Before he started working with the Healers, physical contact with his injured friends meant that he himself felt the same pain. Now, he sensed only the presence of pain, but didn’t experience any of its debilitating effects. From what he received from Qui-Gon, though, it suddenly wasn’t so surprising he’d felt the need for continued doses of olastin.
He rested his other hand on Qui-Gon’s chest, recalling what his mentor told him. When Force Healing humanoids, Thysse had suggested that he use the patient’s heart as the recipient of his healing power, because it ensured the energy would reach all afflicted areas in the body. With one hand on Qui-Gon’s forehead, he could draw out the other Jedi’s energy, combining it with his own Healing Force, and with the other on his chest, he could send that power back into Qui-Gon’s body.
Healing the wound, he knew, was going to be the easier of his tasks. First he had to form a bond with his patient’s mind. In those Jedi he had never met or knew only slightly, it was simply a matter of creating a temporary bond, one that would allow the Force to move between them with greater ease for just a short amount of time. In Qui-Gon’s case, however, a bond existed; one that had been in both their minds for better than twenty years. Theirs had atrophied over the past months, and Bel-San didn’t relish the idea of having to re-establish it.
“Bel-San?”
He looked down at Qui-Gon’s face. “What?”
“It’s good that you’re here. In the Infirmary, I mean.” He closed his eyes, letting out a held breath. “I trust you.”
For a moment, words escaped him, but he recovered himself. “Okay. Open your mind up to me, and I’ll give you further instructions from there.”
Using the Force, he moved farther along their bond than he had in some time. It felt a bit like trying to get into clothes a size too small; the link was constricting, and he had to fight his way through the blocks he himself had established between them.
After what seemed forever, he finally made contact with the other Jedi’s mind. It was overwhelming at first to have Qui-Gon’s presence in his own head. His own psyche tried to resist it, recoiling from the bond it had nearly shut down. He called on the Force, relying on its calm to be a balm on his mind. It occurred to him that he was, in effect, healing their bond, because it was the only way he’d be able to effectively heal Qui-Gon’s body.
He tested the tenuous link with the Force, tentatively sending a slight bit of his own energy down their mental pathway. It passed, though not without difficulty. Calling on his resources, Bel-San sent a wave of Healing Force along the bond, directing its power at the link itself. Moments later, a thin stream of Qui-Gon’s own energy returned through the bond, and it renewed Bel-San slightly. It would be enough.
:Qui-Gon?:
A voice called back to him, but it sounded far away, as if light years separated them rather than mere centimeters. :What do you need me to do?:
:I’m going to have to take most of your reserves. Don’t fight me.:
:I won’t.:
Qui-Gon remained true to his word. Although the experience of being drained, even for healing purposes, was never a pleasant one, Bel-San had no trouble accessing his patient’s energy. With the Force, he allowed the extra power to flow through him, fueling it with his Healing ability. Force Healing passed through Bel-San’s hand, moving through Qui-Gon’s body with the speed of his pulse.
It took far longer than Bel-San expected, but fortunately, Qui-Gon’s energy reserves were holding up when he sensed the wound was beginning to heal. Distantly, he felt the renewal of burned flesh and the flow of blood back into damaged tissues. After awhile, he realized that Qui-Gon’s signature had started to waver, and he felt the other Jedi’s heart falter for a moment. He took up the slack, passing his own strength along to keep the flow of Healing Force moving steadily through him.
Time was always difficult to ascertain when performing tasks of this nature. It seemed like hours had passed, and he wasn’t sure they hadn’t. Bel-San knew the infection had been purged from Qui-Gon’s body, and was certain the wound was well on its way to closing. There would still be some pain, and it would take some time before his muscles and tendons fully recovered from the damage, but he was satisfied with the results of their efforts.
:You still with me?:
Qui-Gon’s response was somewhat long in coming. :Yeah. Are we almost there?:
:Very nearly.:
He slowed the flow of energy down, dropping its intensity down in increments, until it stopped completely. It was always a bit disorienting to break the connection, but doing it slowly helped them both to reestablish themselves. Gradually removing his presence from the other Jedi’s mind, he lifted his hand away from Qui-Gon’s forehead, using it to help support him, propping his arm against the table.
Qui-Gon’s eyes opened, and he took several deep breaths, looking up at Bel-San. “Are you all right?”
It wasn’t the question he had been expecting. “I’ll be fine. I used a bit more of my own resources than I thought, but I’m all right.” He fumbled in his pocket for the scanner, checking over Qui-Gon’s vital signs, which were far closer to normal. Inspecting the burned area, he was relieved to see that the Healing Force had done its work well, though it was still evident that injury had occurred; the skin shone a bright pink, and it remained warm to the touch, as if he’d been in the sun too long.
“You’re going to have to watch this for awhile. It’ll take some time before you’re back to full strength in this leg. Keep a light coat of bacta gel on it, and make sure you change the dressings every day until the redness goes down.” He got up, afraid to move any part of his body too swiftly, especially his head. Even the thought of dragging himself back to his apartment was exhausting.
Retrieving Qui-Gon’s chart, he debated making a few notes, but then decided to let it wait. Thysse wouldn’t expect it tonight. “You’ll be able to walk?”
Qui-Gon pulled on his pants, then eased off the table, testing his leg. “I’ll be okay.”
“Come by in a few days and have someone check it out. I don’t anticipate anything, but it’s better to be safe.” Bel-San began to walk towards the door, unsure what to say. “Well, take care, then.”
Qui-Gon held his gaze a moment longer, and then looked away. “I appreciate what you did for me. Thank you.” He sighed, moving in a slight shuffle across the tile. “I promise I won’t bother you again.”
Raking a hand through his short hair, Bel-San shook his head. “I find that rather hard to believe.”
“I just mean—“
“Make me another promise instead.”
Qui-Gon’s expression changed from frustration to bewilderment. “All right.”
Releasing a quiet breath, he felt a weight shift within him. It wasn’t gone, but it moved slightly, as if it was trying to climb up and out. “Just promise you won’t bother me again tonight.”
The lines on Qui-Gon’s face softened, although his voice remained cautious. “You have my word on it.”
“Good.”