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Everything is so confusing.
So many questions rattle through Obi-Wan’s head and he can’t seem to focus on any one of them long enough to find an answer.
Obi-Wan tosses his head to the side and tenses every muscle in his body. He’s so cold and so sweaty and he’s trapped and no one is helping him, why is no one helping him?
The bindings cut into his wrist and his legs, chafing them raw. Confusion and panic cloy through him. He tosses his head to the other side and sees Qui-Gon, but he’s blurry for some reason. Still, Obi-Wan’s heart leaps with hope at the sight of his Master.
“Master!” he calls, despite the raw burn in his throat. “Help me!”
Qui-Gon just stands there.
“Master!” Obi-Wan begs. “
Please
, help me!”
“You need to breathe, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says calmly, but Obi-Wan is not calm and he cannot breathe, doesn’t Qui-Gon know that? Doesn’t he know that Obi-Wan is trapped? He doesn’t even know who is holding him prisoner, but Qui-Gon is free so why can’t he help him?
A realization falls upon Obi-Wan and weighs him down like an anchor. Maybe Qui-Gon isn’t here to save him. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be saved. He must have done something wrong. Obi-Wan isn’t sure what he did, he can’t think through the haze in his mind, but whatever he did must have been awful.
“Master, please, I’m sorry ! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll do better, just help me, please !”
Qui-Gon tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t understand, but how could he not understand that Obi-Wan needs him.
His Master speaks to him, but Obi-Wan doesn’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears and the voice in his head screaming at him. You’re in danger and it’s all your fault .
Obi-Wan cries. The tears are hot on his skin and he hates that he’s crying. Why is he crying? He never cries. He’s a Jedi, or he’s going to be, and Jedi know how to let go of their emotions. Maybe that’s why he’s being held prisoner. He broke the rules and he’s turning… no that’s not right, Obi-Wan can still feel the Force singing inside of him, light and hopeful but just out of reach, like he can’t focus enough to touch it.
What did I do wrong?
He just wants to know what he did. If he finds out what he did that was so awful, then maybe he can do the right thing, say the right thing, and Qui-Gon will come and save him. Maybe then he will finally be worthy of being saved.
“What can I do?” Obi-Wan howls. “I’ll do it, just please please please let me out !”
Something presses against his shields. Obi-Wan resists. He’s not supposed to let anyone in his mind when he’s being held prisoner, he knows that. Even if the presence feels cool and calm, Obi-Wan resists the temptation. He pushes back against the Force presence trying to break in and it recoils. Good . At least he can still do that right.
He looks at the blurry form of his Master and feels his heart breaking. He must have betrayed him somehow. He must have. Qui-Gon is fair and just and he would only allow this if it were deserved.
So this is what Obi-Wan deserves.
There is no forgiveness for him and he is as trapped under the weight of that as he is by the bonds. This realization settles into him as deep as exhaustion and he feels his body going limp with pain and despair.
Qui-Gon’s eyes are the last thing he sees.
Qui-Gon isn’t sure how much more of this he can take — let alone Obi-Wan. His Padawan lays fever-stricken and delirious and just out of reach.
But not out of sight and certainly not out of mind.
The clear plastic that separates them only compounds the feeling of utter helplessness Qui-Gon has been accruing for the past twenty-four hours.
All he wants to do is rip the cursed plastic apart so that he may go and comfort the sick child he is supposed to protect. This, of course, cannot happen. The deadly virus Obi-Wan was exposed to cannot be allowed to infect others. Qui-Gon doesn’t want to imagine what the disease could do to a densely populated planet like Coruscant, and even though he wants to, he knows he cannot remove the plastic keeping the virus (and Obi-Wan) contained.
Nor can he remove the restraints. This is the worst part. Obi-Wan’s weak body is still strong enough to yank and pull and jerk at the bonds. Blood trickles from his wrists to his hands — dripping from his fingertips in a slow and steady pulse.
The restraints are necessary, of course. Obi-Wan was going to hurt himself and others if allowed to be free. At least the cuts on his wrists and ankles are non-lethal.
Healers can only enter the room while wearing protective gear and the decontamination process is long. No visitors are permitted inside the plastic walls, not even Qui-Gon, and it hurts more than a physical wound. Qui-Gon would trade places, he would bear this burden if it meant he did not have to watch this for a second more.
He would have done that even before the screaming started.
Now, as Obi-Wan pleads and begs for his help, Qui-Gon has to rely on the words drilled into him in youth.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
He can’t go in there. He can’t. Going in the room would endanger billions of lives and a Jedi does no harm.
“Help me!”
Qui-Gon wants to close his eyes, but he cannot do that disservice to his Padawan. He needs to be here with him in whatever way he can.
“ I’m sorry! ”
It is the apologies that are the worst. The begging for forgiveness — all for a sin Obi-Wan did not commit — chips away at the ice-cold shields Qui-Gon tried so hard to wrap around his heart and make it bleed.
“You’re not alone, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, though the words go unheard, or at least uncomprehended.
He is helpless, useless to this boy and what’s worse is that Obi-Wan believes he is being abandoned. He wishes there is something he can do, but his powers fall short of curing viruses.
No, this is something Obi-Wan must endure all his own.
Obi-Wan continues his desperate pleas, his voice cracking and breaking down into harsh coughing fits.
“Master!” the word is broken on his lips and Qui-Gon tries to press against Obi-Wan’s shields once more. He has been trying to convince Obi-Wan to lower his shielding for hours now, but the boy is steadfast, even in his weakened state.
He could do it. He could break into the shields, but Qui-Gon cannot bring himself to force his way into the shielding, even if it’s for Obi-Wan’s own good. He cannot break Obi-Wan’s trust like that. Not when he’s so scared and isolated as it is.
He tries one last time and Obi-Wan, his boy, his brave boy, forces him out. I taught him that Qui-Gon thinks with some sick twinge of guilt and sorrow.
Qui-Gon places his hand on the plastic. It’s the closest he can get. It is no substitute. The boy needs to be held, to be comforted and it should be Qui-Gon who does it, but he is helpless to do so.
All he can do is stand there and watch the blasted virus consume his Padawan.
He’s not sure if he should be grateful when Obi-Wan finally goes limp, his eyes staring at him with despair and misery before they finally close. Obi-Wan sleeps and Qui-Gon keeps his vigil, through all the fever dreams and delirium and ravaging coughs. He stays there — a watchman over his precious charge.
And when it all ends and the plastic comes down, Qui-Gon holds the boy in his arms and weeps.