Title: I Spy
Author: circe
Fandom: Star Wars
Bunny: #15 - tissues, light, sleepily, cozy, "Perhaps you do."
Rating: G
Pairing: I'm not that brave, but by all means, see whatever you wish
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George Lucas.
Summary: On a trip back to Coruscant, Obi-Wan endures his fair share of annoyances
A/N: Happy birthday tg! First (real/completed) attempt - hope it went okay. :-) It's a bit harder than I thought, LoL. No plot here, not that that ever seems to bother anyone. Hope you enjoy. 

"And I spy with my little eye, something that's...red!"

Obi-Wan sighed and dug his palms into his eyes momentarily, blinking as the resulting black spots quickly faded. "The button on the com unit," he sighed.

"Hey! You promised not to read my mind!"

`I didn't read you mind,' the padawan thought, irritated, 'There`s only one thing in this place that is red.' He cleared his throat with a soft cough, "I'm sorry, Misha. I didn't mean to."

The little boy huffed in childish annoyance, but responded as he hopped off the transport single, cold metal bench, "I get another turn."

Despite his definitive tone, Misha turned his head slightly to search Obi-Wan for a sign of approval, which the padawan offered in a brief nod. The boy then walked the perimeter of the cramped room, his gaze searching for another item to `spy`.

Soon, a smile crept across the child's face and his eyes narrowed with contained laughter, "I spy with my little eye, something that's...red!"

Oh, Force.

Obi-Wan's eyes quickly scanned the room again, yet still there remained but one object even remotely red in color. Not wanting to be accused of cheating twice, he answered, "My robes?"

Misha giggled and spun himself around, eyes to the ceiling of the transport, "No, guess again."

The padawan, however, could not guess again at that moment. Scrubbing his index finger under his nose, Obi-Wan attempted to relieve the tickle that, though it had been present all morning, was only now beginning to work its way to the surface. He scrunched his nose a few times, but to no avail, and was forced to bring his hand up, allowing it to hover a few inches in front of his face as the itch built in intensity.

"heh...he-huh..."

The tickle flared, burning, and the need to sneeze gave way to the sharp pain. But a strong sniff and a harsh rub brought back the desperate urge.

Halting his spinning, Misha stumbled backwards as his eyes struggled to focus on the Jedi. "Are you going to guess?" The child's annoyance morphed into curiosity as he watched Obi-Wan's faced contort, the padawan's eyes squeezing shut, nose scrunching and mouth hanging open in anticipation.

"heh-heISHhhh! HehITCHoo! SNIFF!"

Obi-Wan scrubbed the cuff of his tunic under his nose then, with a light cough, leaned his head back against the cold metal wall and closed his eyes. Soon, the small boy jumped onto the bench next to him and a hand had been slapped onto his forehead. He winced at the impact, but did not open his eyes.

The hand was pulled away as Misha spoke, "Are you sick?"

Obi-Wan response was clipped, "No."

However, a low baritone immediately contradicted him, "Yes."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see a large hand descending upon him. He allowed it to come to rest on his forehead, enjoying this touch much more than that of the child's, and leaned into it. Waiting for the coolness of his hand to diffuse into Obi-Wan's hot skin, Qui-Gon then trailed his fingers up and over the padawan's cropped ginger hair, stroking it briefly yet affectionately.

However, as his master's touch left him the tickle returned, as if to compensate. His breath hitched and he snapped forward, hands again cupping his lower continence. "HeISHH! Het-CHOO! HehISHoo!"

Qui-Gon drew his handkerchief at the particularly liquid sniff which followed the series and pressed it against Obi-Wan's hands, still in place against his nose. Clumsily taking the cloth, the padawan's eyes met his master's in silent gratitude. They soon, however, darted to the child who was staring mesmerized at the disheveled padawan and just as quickly returned to Qui-Gon, pleading. Qui-Gon understood.

"Misha."

At his name, the child tore his eyes from Obi-Wan. 

"Are you ready to play with your age-mates without fighting?"

A nod, "Yes, Master Qui-Gon."

A smile, "Good. You can return to your friends, then."

Misha hesitated, glancing back at Obi-Wan who remained with the square of cloth clamped tightly over his face, but finally scampered out of the room and down the corridor.

Obi-Wan waited for the door to slide shut before emptying his nose, blow after blow, stopping at five but giving a hard sniff for good measure. Sitting down next to him, Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around the younger Jedi, pulling him closer in the warm embrace. Qui-Gon kissed his hair, "How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, sitting up a bit straighter and pulling away from Qui-Gon, "I'll...heh...I'll survive."

He raised the handkerchief again, preparing for the result of the warm, itchy feeling that clearing his nose had left him with. His breath hitched as he buried his nose deep within the slightly damp cloth. "HiGUHshhh! Huh!...ehhh...HeUhtCHoo!" Panting, Obi-Wan clenched as another sneeze struck, "HeITChoo!...HeISHoo!"

"Blessings," Qui-Gon replied, squeezing the padawan's shoulder in comfort.

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, sniffling tentatively, waiting to see if more would come. No. There would be more, but not yet. He straightened himself slightly, muscles tensing as he again blew into the handkerchief, this time only risking two soft blows, saving it in the likely case he should need to use the cloth again.

With a few soft coughs, Obi-Wan placed the handkerchief on his lap and settled back into his master's warm chest, closing his eyes again. The cool hand returned to his forehead, lingering for a moment longer this time.

"Padawan." A voice forced him to open his eyes. "I think you should lie down." The warm body which supported him slowly pulled away. Obi-Wan shivered as his back, though layered in a tunic and robe, came in contact with the cold metal of the wall he now had to rest against.

"I'm going to ask Master Tern if she wouldn't mind switching rooms to give you a proper bed." Qui-Gon turned to leave, but stopped at the words of protest from his apprentice.

"No, Master, don't. They have already grown comfortable in that room and we are almost home. I'll be fine without a bed; I really don`t need one." He forced the last few words out as another cough ripped from his throat.

Qui-Gon returned to his padawan's side, rubbing Obi-Wan's back as the he recovered. "Perhaps you do," was the firm reply.

Turning the young man's head, Qui-Gon hooked a finger under the chin and lifted it. A moment passed, their eyes locked, before the elder Jedi spoke, relenting with a sigh, "Even if you won't have a bed, you are still going to lie down."

The master shifted. Though struggling momentarily in his sitting position, Qui-Gon removed his robe and placed it at his other side.

"This bench is long and wide enough for you to do so if I just move to the end...there...now, stretch out. You can use my leg as a pillow."

With a sigh that spoke volumes, Obi-Wan lay down, bringing his feet up on top of the metal length and lowering his throbbing head to his master's thigh. The movement aggravated his aching body - which had settled at a tolerable level of sensitivity - and his eyes creased painfully as a wave of discomfort coursed through him.

Obi-Wan shivered violently as a patch of flesh came in contacted with the cold metal bench, his tunic riding up with the movements. Quickly, he yanked the material back down and pulled closed his robes. The padawan pressed his head to his master's leg and closed his eyes.

A snap of fabric and Obi-Wan felt something gently press on top of him. He raised his hand and smiled as his fingers contacted the thick, rough fiber - his master's robe. With a stuffy sigh, the padawan snuggled farther onto Qui-Gon's lap.

The cozy warmth he was now nestled in, as well as the gentle rhythm of his master's fingers, idly stroking his buzzed hair, did little to dissuade the tendrils of sleep which were swiftly claiming him. The persistent tickle, however, did.

Not wanting to ruin his master's robe, Obi-Wan pulled his arm out from beneath and harshly rubbed his nose, futilely attempting to squelch the itch before it bloomed into an actual sneeze.

"Heh-hi...ihh..."

He pinched his nose closed, but his breath still came in jerky gasps. With his other hand, he dug into his own robes, trying to locate the handkerchief he had left on his leg earlier, but to no avail; it must have slipped off when he lay down.

"Obi-Wan."

Releasing his nose, then rapidly scrunching it, Obi-Wan looked up. "Yes...ihh...Master?"

"Here."

A clean handkerchief was dangled in front of him and, murmuring thanks, he took it, clamping it to his face with one hand and propping himself up with the other. It took a moment to coax it the sneezes out.

"Hehhh...uhh-hii...IshIHoo! HehITCHah! Higxxt! Heh-ihxt!"

Obi-Wan tried to eliminate the need by stifling the last few, but just succeeded in completely clogging his sinuses. A test sniff revealed as much, as he felt the odd sensation of suction in his already watering eyes.

For a moment, as the heat his breath had carried slowly left the square of cloth, leaving it cool and damp in his hand, Obi-Wan longed for the disposability of tissues. Though, he mused, it wouldn't be long after he began with those that his sore nose would demand a reversion.

This time Qui-Gon took the handkerchief, carefully taking it from his padawan by the corners, and then began petting his hair again, a quiet indication to Obi-Wan that he should, once more, lie down. Feeling Obi-Wan's mind drift towards slumber, Qui-Gon paused in his comforting strokes long enough to send a wave of the Force to the opposite end of the room, dimming the light of the room.

"Rest well, Padawan."

Obi-Wan smiled sleepily before letting himself drift off into the welcoming unconscious.