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“I do not fear you,” Obi-Wan said with an affect that was mostly neutral (and perhaps a little sassier than necessary). This claim was true. He did not fear Count Dooku, even in predicaments as grim as this.
The Count raised an eyebrow. “That is a mistake you are welcome to make.” Obi-Wan nearly chuckled, and Dooku’s eyebrows narrowed. “Is something funny?”
“Oh, nothing. Sometimes it is just glaringly obvious where Qui-Gon picked up his dry humor,” it was abnormal for Obi-Wan to willingly bring up his Master, but this time it was purposeful. The last time Dooku and Obi-Wan were in close quarters, the mention of the former Jedi’s late padawan seemed to be a sore spot.
His comment had its desired effect. Dooku’s piercing glare softened.
“My apprentice will be in shortly. I presume that smart mouth of yours will be remedied by the time I return.”
“Very well. Tell Ventress I eagerly anticipate what fresh hell she will offer me this time.”
Dooku rolled his eyes and then he was gone. Obi-Wan deflated, letting his body go limp for a moment of relief. His entire body was sore from hanging by his arms for so long. The blood felt as though it had completely evacuated from his fingers and hands, sending tingles up his arms and down his spine.
Obi-Wan was less worried about the circulation to his extremities and more concerned with how long he’d been captured. He was warped by the drugs that kept him in the twilight of unconsciousness. How he even got here was still a bit murky.
One moment, he was taking cover as a wave of debris rained down over him.
The next, he’s waking up with a tube down his throat and Asajj Ventress sneering. She kissed her fingertips, pressed them against his forehead, and then the world went black again.
When he came for the third time, the tube was gone and he was being manhandled into a ray shield prison. Arms secured above his head, legs bound together.
He hung there for what Obi-Wan estimated to be three hours before Dooku finally showed his face.
Three hours plus… an undetermined length of time. That was not very promising. Obi-Wan did not fear Dooku or Ventress. What did rile his anxiety was what would happen if he couldn’t get to his medicine in time.
As promised, Ventress appeared shortly after Dooku’s retreat. She was wearing her usual twisted smirk as she looked him up and down.
“I do love to see you in chains, Kenobi.”
“I take it the wrist and ankle bindings were your special touch then?”
“You know me so well,” she said, approaching the control panel.
“What can I say? You’re predictable,” Obi-Wan said, earning a pointed glare. All of a sudden, a flash of electric current coursed through him, making his body contort within the bindings and every one of his nerves felt like they were firing at the same time.
Pleasantries were over.
“I believe… you’re supposed to… ask me a question first,” he said between labored breaths.
“That one was for good luck,” she said flatly. “Now we may begin.”
Ventress was not what Obi-Wan would consider an effective interrogator. She was heavy-handed on the torture and her questions were poorly framed. However, he had encountered the dark acolyte enough to know that she was making an active effort to not kill him. Ventress was usually the type to get right to the point. Her hesitancy was certainly intriguing.
"You haven't told me why I'm here yet," he said when Ventress decided to give the electro rods a recharge break.
"Does there have to be a reason?"
"Generally that is the idea behind taking a prisoner. You went through the trouble of capturing me. I doubt it was thoughtless."
"I'm not the one you should be asking," she said dryly. Obi-Wan glanced at the door. Dooku hadn't made a reappearance since Obi-Wan awoke. If he was the one to be asking questions, he had a much more critical assessment of their interrogation methods.
"As much as I love spending time with you, I do suggest starting to move tow--" Obi-Wan suddenly stopped, a ringing in his ear that droned out everything else and made his vision tunnel. His heart raced, making his spinning surroundings twirl even faster.
Fear gripped Obi-Wan as he faded out of consciousness. This is what he was afraid of.
Obi-Wan was fourteen when his limbs seemed to stop listening to him.
That's what it felt like, last least. Obi-Wan would be going about his business and suddenly his arms would jerk uncontrollably. He wrote it off as a side effect of his recent growth spurt until it started affecting his training. After nearly taking off Qui-Gon's hand when one of these jerks sent his lightsaber flying, he realized something was wrong.
However, this realization did not come before his first major seizure.
They were returning home from a rough mission. Obi-Wan had hardly gotten a wink of sleep the entire time. Qui-Gon was no better. They had just stepped foot in the Temple when Obi-Wan suddenly started feeling very strange. He attributed it to his exhaustion and the relief of finally being home. He thought it would pass...
He woke up in the Halls of Healing. Disoriented. Sore. Feeling in much need of a bath. Qui-Gon explained to him the time he was missing. How he suddenly stiffened and gasped as though he saw something that gave him a fright. He was on the ground a moment later. Shaking uncontrollably. Apparently, he lost control of his bladder, which explained the discomfort he awoke in and the paper gown.
Obi-Wan had three more tonic-clonic seizures that week. He was diagnosed with epilepsy soon after. Suddenly, those random jerking motions made a whole lot more sense.
Obi-Wan could taste the fading seizure on his tongue the moment he had the consciousness to perceive it. His tongue was sour and dry and tasted of charred rubber. It had been a long time since he had a breakthrough seizure, but he would never forget that taste.
Consciousness came back in pieces. Taste was always first, but the rest depended on whatever his clouded mind thought was the most pressing. He very quickly became aware of a sharp pain in his right arm, and the adrenaline that followed sucked him into the brutal present.
“Are you in pain?” said a droid appearing at his side. Obi-Wan’s mouth was still struggling to form words, but the droid seemed to take his silence as confirmation. It hit a few buttons and a wave of warm relief filled him.
“Wha… wha…t.”
“Your arm was broken during the seizure,” a new voice chimed in. He suddenly became acutely aware that he could not sense anyone through the Force… in fact, he could not feel the Force at all. Obi-Wan blinked through his blurred vision until the blur of white and black turned into Count Dooku standing at the end of the bed.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan looked at his heavily bandaged arm. It wasn't surprising. The way he was bound was not exactly conducive to a contorting body. However, what was more troubling than waking up with a broken arm was to find Dooku waiting at his bedside. Obi-Wan fully expected to still be suspended in his bindings. Not given a sponge bath and assigned a medical droid.
“You’ve had these before,” Dooku said, looking Obi-Wan up and down like he was something to be studied.
“How long has it been since I was captured?” Obi-Wan asked, avoiding the original question. His throat was dry and raspy, but he figured asking Dooku to pour him a glass of water was perhaps overstepping whatever truce they currently had. The Count didn’t reply, so Obi-Wan sighed and amended his request. “Has it been over a day?”
“Indeed.”
He pressed his lips together. Obi-Wan usually carried spare medication.
He hadn’t this time. Whatever the reason was suddenly seemed insipid.
“How bad is this going to get?” Dooku asked.
“Are you asking out of concern or inconvenience?”
“Does it matter?”
In all honesty, Obi-Wan had no idea how much worse he would become. He’d been successfully managing his epilepsy with medication since he was diagnosed. When he did have breakthrough seizures, the prodrome came a few hours before the actual event. It was more than enough time for him to take his rescue medicine or at least get to a safe place. His jerky myoclonic seizures were never completely gone, but they were much less invasive on everyday functioning.
He hadn’t been completely off his medication like this… ever.
“Hard to tell,” Obi-Wan finally answered the original question. That had always been the consensus. Based on his condition when his epilepsy onset, the Healers predicted that if Obi-Wan wasn't following his treatment plan he would have more of the tonic-clonic seizures. That was enough of a threat for Obi-Wan to be perfectly punctual when it came to his medication.
“Are you being intentionally vague?”
“Truthfully… I wish I were.”
Dooku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a moment, there was a man there that resembled the Jedi Obi-Wan grew up hearing about. Stern, but behind those beady eyes and disapproving brows, he did have some semblance of humanity.
"Do you have these seizures regularly?"
"When I'm medicated? No."
"I'm surprised they allowed a Jedi to be a knight with such a condition."
Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably-- Dooku's sentiment was not an uncommon one. It was a question Obi-Wan often toiled with, especially at the beginning.
“How can I be a knight if I can’t go a week without losing my mind?” Obi-Wan remembered saying to Qui-Gon. His Master was remarkably calm considering he had just sprinted with an unconscious, post-seizure Obi-Wan slung over his shoulder.
“You are not losing your mind, Padawan. You’re having seizures. I know the toxic-clonic ones--"
"Tonic-clonic."
"Yes. Whatever they are called. They are more difficult to recover from. It is natural to be frustrated when this is all so new."
Qui-Gon was right, of course. Obi-Wan knew that in the back of his mind, but staying completely rational was difficult after his seizures. He looked up at the Jedi Master with tears beading along his waterline. “It feels like losing my mind…”
“I understand this is difficult, Obi-Wan. There will be changes. We will adjust, though.”
“Can I even be a knight with epilepsy?” Obi-Wan asked. Qui-Gon liked to treat Obi-Wan as if he were older than he was, but on this occasion, he did the opposite. The Master Jedi crouched down to be at Obi-Wan’s level and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Being a Jedi knight has nothing to do with what abilities have or sicknesses that ail you. It’s about how you take what circumstances the Force hands you and what you do with it. So tell me, Obi-Wan: You heard what the healers explained to you about your epilepsy… Can you be a knight?”
He had to think about it for a moment but finally nodded. “If I take my medicine and get my seizures under control… I can go back in the field.”
“Good. Remember that, padawan. Every Jedi faces their own trials. Perhaps this is yours.”
"Modern medicine is an incredible innovation," Obi-Wan said to Dooku with a small smirk, "things have changed a lot since your time."
The side-eye Dooku flashed him was very much worth the jab. "I would tread carefully if I were you. I very well could have left you hanging in that ray shield."
That was the gundark in the room, wasn't it? Why was Obi-Wan sitting in a medbay instead of festering in the product of his breakthrough seizure?
"I am curious why you didn't."
"Didn't leave you bound?"
"Unless compassion is the new fad of torture techniques. I would be on board."
Dooku stroked his beard, as though he was also contemplating his actions. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan found himself wondering what Dooku's laugh sounded like. Did he laugh? The closest he'd heard was a sinister snicker, but that hardly counted.
"There is no pleasure in evoking pain on an injured subject," he finally said.
"Ah, then that leads to my next question. Why am I here?"
"Time will reveal," Dooku said, standing.
"Now who is being intentionally vague," Obi-Wan fired back when Dooku was halfway out the door. The Count stopped.
"Consider this, Kenobi," he said without turning around. "Are you here to be questioned, or are you just a cog in a greater plot?"
The door hissed shut behind him, and Obi-Wan sat with a sinking feeling that the latter was the answer.
Obi-Wan was soon transferred back to the original interrogation chamber. Dooku’s hospitality had finally run thin. At least they didn’t bother to bind him physically with his broken arm, but he knew that courtesy wouldn’t last. Ventress would surely be sent in to continue her work, which would only trigger further seizures.
He had to move quickly.
Obi-Wan's best chance was to formulate his own escape plan. If he was brought here as bait, it was imperative he escaped before whomever his capture was meant to catch the attention of showed up. Whether it was an ally or enemy, he preferred to not stick around and allow the trap to be sprung.
Escaping from the interrogation room was the simple part. They underestimated him, believing him to be weak. While Obi-Wan was still impaired from his previous seizure, he managed to dramatize his actual weakness a significant amount. Catching the battle droid off guard wasn’t difficult after that.
The next order of business was finding a way off this ship. Obi-Wan had been piecing together which of the Confederacy fleet the ship was. His best guess based on the size of the medbay was a carrier or destroyer. That at least meant there would be a hangar with ships.
Making it through a sea of battle droids without sticking out like a sore thumb would be the challenge.
He moved stealthily through the halls. It was slow, but so far no alarms had been raised. He wasn’t going to be the one to set him off if he could help it. Obi-Wan weaved his way toward what he hoped would be the hanger.
Then, of course, he ran into a hall with a flickering light overhead. Before he could avert his gaze, his vision started to blur.
Not now! He internally pleaded, quickly searching for a place he could reasonably hide as the aura began. Obi-Wan quickly ducked into a control room that thankfully turned out to be empty. He sat down on the floor as his body began to tingle and flares of light danced before his vision. The seizure was minor and lasted less than a minute, but apparently, it was enough of a hold-up for his escape to be found.
Alarms began to blare through the ship as came out of his fugue state. Still sensitive, he threw his hands over his now-ringing ears. Between the alarms and his muddled mind, Obi-Wan was feeling a bit frozen.
Footsteps in the hallway made Obi-Wan instinctively crawl into a hiding place behind a tall control panel. He remained completely still until the parade of droids passed. As Obi-Wan relaxed, he realized what he had been staring at the entire time.
The communication terminal was outdated but seemed functional as he started programming his fleet’s comm codes. It was a gamble to call in for reinforcements, but either way, he needed them to know his position. Obi-Wan managed to send off his distress signal just as the door to his hiding place hissed open.
Obi-Wan was eighteen when he had his first breakthrough seizure while on a mission.
By this point, he was much more aware of his auras. He felt the dizzying sensation and immediately knew what was about to happen. Unfortunately, it came at a rather inopportune moment in their negotiations. Obi-Wan was standing at the podium in front of an audience-- half of whom probably wanted to see him dead. Qui-Gon was tied up in his own dealings on the other side of the room.
Historically, Obi-Wan knew he had somewhere between two and ten minutes before the seizure would begin. Neither end of that spectrum was enough time.
He looked at the politician standing to his left.
"Apologies for the inconvenience, sir, but I must use the refresher."
"Now?" he said, his eyes darting about the room.
"It's not ideal, I kn--"
"Can you... hold it?" the politician said, looking pained. An idea suddenly came to Obi-Wan. The ethics of it were... murky... but getting away to ride out his seizure in private was quickly losing probability.
"I'm afraid I was not clear. This is not a matter of bodily functions... You see, the Force occasionally provides Jedi with the gift of foresight."
The politician's eyes went wide. "A vision?"
His words, not mine, Obi-Wan thought as he gave a noncommittal shrug. "Difficult to tell, sir. But these episodes are tedious on the body, sir. I may even collapse if it is strong enough."
"Not to worry, Padawan Kenobi. If that is to happen, I will quell any fears from our audience."
He was hoping the politician would allow him to leave, but his negotiation proposal would have to continue. Obi-Wan only made it two sentences before the seizure hit.
According to Qui-Gon, the politician stepped over Obi-Wan's seizing body to announce the Jedi was in the midst of a spiritual vision that would give them "an intervention crafted from the Force itself".
"To be clear, Master, I was not the one who claimed it to be a vision," Obi-Wan later defended himself. The negotiations had gone smoothly once Obi-Wan recovered... a result perhaps helped along by the politician's outlandish explanation.
"Just don't do it again if you can help it," Qui-Gon said with a sigh. Obi-Wan was worried about being in trouble until Qui-Gon chuckled a few minutes later. "I must admit. That was quite clever thinking, Padawan."
As Ventress’s boot drove into his stomach, Obi-Wan wished this mission had as favorable an outcome as the last time he had a seizure in the field. At least being beaten was a preferred change of pace to the electrocution. Obi-Wan slumped to the ground, gasping for a breath before her next kick landed.
“A valiant effort, Kenobi,” she hissed in his ear before smacking him in the other direction. “If only you were a little faster.”
Obi-Wan tasted blood in his throat as he was thrown against another wall. He laid his palms flat against the ground to try and push himself up, only to be reminded of his broken arm through a flash of searing pain. Ventress snickered, approaching him once again with a sadistic gleam in her eye. She produced the electro-rod again, admiring the crackling electricity as she flipped him onto his back with her boot.
"I see we're not playing as nicely this time."
"It seems my Master got what he wanted," she said, twirling the rod around her fingers. "Which means you're dispensable now, Kenobi."
A flash of anxiety made him stiffen. Had his distress call lured his men into a trap after all? His ponderance was interrupted by the electro-rod jamming into Obi-Wan’s side. The electric shock made his entire body tense up, including his jaw where his tongue got caught between his teeth. Obi-Wan’s mouth quickly grew warm, and when the shock ceased he was spitting blood onto the floor.
"Who?" he spat, staring up at Ventress through blurred vision. She ignored him initially. "I doubt you would let me live to tell the tale either way."
She finally looked down as the seduction of gloating was enough to persuade. "Did you think it was a coincidence you were able to find a communication terminal?"
The hum of the staff charging again rang in Obi-Wan’s ears. Apparently, loud enough neither of them heard the commotion outside the room until the door blew open.
“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s voice rang through the room. Obi-Wan was about to jump up, but Ventress's rod stabbed into his hip. He convulsed as the current lit every one of his nerves on fire-- and then it stopped. The rod flew to the other side of the room, along with Ventress. Through his tunneling vision, Obi-Wan could see Anakin's hand outstretched in a strong Force pulse, but his gaze was locked on Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan's medication had already been administered when he awoke in his designated med bay bed. The room they kept him in was darkened and did not contain the usual audience of monitors and alarms that could trigger his seizures. It was a welcomed place to wake up compared to Dooku's medbay. Rather than the former Jedi sitting at his bedside, Obi-Wan was relieved to find Anakin perched in the chair.
"Master," Anakin jumped up the moment he noticed Obi-Wan was conscious. "How are you feeling?"
Sore. Exhausted. Like I had many volts of electricity flowing through my veins.
"Dandy," he said dryly. Obi-Wan did a quick assessment of his battered body. His broken arm was in a hard-shelled cast and his body was riddled with various bacta bandages-- likely to heal the burn marks. Unsurprisingly, he had a familiar hat of electrode leads pasted around his skull. Obi-Wan was quite sure his brain's electrical activity measurements would be a mess after the rough few days he had.
"You had a seizure when we were bringing you in."
"I've certainly learned my lesson on keeping my medicine on hand," Obi-Wan said lightly. Anakin examined him closely for a moment.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Obi-Wan was... shaken. That was all he was willing to confront at the moment.
"I am, now. Thank you for rescuing me, by the way."
Anakin eyed him but sat back down. "I'm just glad you're okay, Master. They were sending us transmissions..." The knight's hands rolled into tight fists. Obi-Wan reached over in comfort, and his padawan relaxed. "They sent holos of... of what they were doing to you."
The thought of his torture being broadcasted like that was... well, enough to make his stomach turn at the very thought. He squeezed Anakin's hand.
"It was not as bad as it looked," he tried to assure him. Compared to his other encounters with Ventress, this was somewhat tame for her. Anakin didn't seem convinced, though.
"It was pretty bad, Master."
"Had to be convincing for you to spring the trap, I suppose," Obi-Wan said. Dooku had Obi-Wan captured because unbeknownst to their fleet at the time, they had General Grevious pinned. It was a last-ditch attempt to allow the cyborg general to escape, and they needed someone high-powered enough to warrant a prompt rescue. Anakin sighed.
"We'll have another chance at Grevious, Master. Saving you was more important," he smiled softly, "Plus, I think that makes seven, now."
"Seven?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "No chance. We were at four last week!"