Fandom: Star Wars
Disclaimer: Lucas! Not me! It's all him, baby!
Summary: Padawan and Master relations
Note: This is a 555-word drabble. Why that length? Because I couldn't get it down to 550 and it's a pretty-looking number :-)
"hah-SHEW!" His runny nose was worsening, and he had no energy to walk to the healing dome for a handkerchief. The sneeze made him shake when he wanted only to remain as still as possible. A soft moan he was glad his Master was not around to hear escaped him. His arms, wrapped around his stomach, tightened. And he curled up even more on the large couch. He felt hot, right down to his feet, but shivered as sweat-soaked clothes met his skin at each movement. And he was constantly moving, rolling around to distract himself from the pain. He breathed heavily to control the urge to get sick and to get breath amidst congestion.
He felt the presence of his Master through their bond before the man even entered. He curled up into more of a ball, closing his eyes in hopes of not being noticed for a mess of sick, shivery-ness. He swept his Padawan braid over his shoulder, rubbed the back of his hand against his nose, and attempted to look as though he'd been trying to meditate.
His Master's eyes were cold as they surveyed him. He felt a surge of force rush through him, pushing him on to admit his illness first. But he felt too sick to want to risk opening his mouth, let alone explain how the fever and congestion and nausea had all struck him at once after Créche duty. "Sick are you, my young Padawan?" He nodded, trying to send back an explanation and request for help. "Well, you'd best get better soon. I don't mind you taking time away from classes, but I need your help going through that research the council assigned us." His Master reached down and rubbed his hand against the buzzed hair, then walked past on his way towards his bedroom.
He made to get up for a cup of tea and a blanket, both of which he desperately needed, but a fresh wave of dizziness and tickles in his nose struck, making him feel worse and keeping him down against the soft cushions of the couch. "hah-hah-CHEW!" He sniffled and brought his hand away from his tummy to rub his nose. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to think of some way of getting the desired items. He was too young to guide them over with the force from such distances, and it was clear he wasn't going to be able to stand up for a while yet. Feeling defeated, he tried not to let the illness take what few emotions over which he was still in control.
"Here. Let me." He felt a warm blanket surround him, and a hot mug against one hand. Opening his eyes, he saw his Master hovering, looking stern and uncompromising. "Next time you get sick, try to do it in your room so I don't have to bear witness. And do try to keep your germs to yourself while you heal." The Master pressed a hand to his Padawan's forehead with a frown and a soft surge of healing vibes.
"Thank you, Master," Qui-Gon replied, taking a sip of the tea "I will try better next time," he choked, his voice hoarse, quiet. "And I promise to recover quickly, Master."
"See that you do," said Master Dooku with a firm, approving nod.