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"Master? Are you awake?"
"Yes, Anakin." He coughs into his hand. "You should be asleep."
Anakin ignores him, opening the door and stepping in without turning on the light. "I made tea. And soup."
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, barely lifting his head from the bunk. "Did you burn down the kitchen? Is the shuttle crashing in a ball of fire?"
Anakin's face is hidden by the shadows, but Obi-Wan can practically hear his Padawan roll his eyes. "No. I know how to make soup. "
As Anakin stands at the precipice of his teenage years, his bite only grows. Even at 12, he's sharp and snarling in an instant. Obi-Wan can only brace himself for what's to come.
The boy is sweet, though. When he wants to be. Obi-Wan has kept himself awake coughing for hours– Anakin, too, must have been unable to sleep.
He takes the proffered tea. Anakin sets the soup on the foot of the bunk and helps him sit up. "Your hair is gross."
"Yes, well. Thank you for your concern. I'll handle that as soon as I am able." The tea is a little too hot to drink, but it warms his cold hands.
Anakin turns away, too tense to be casual. "I washed my mom's hair when she was sick once. I could help."
Obi-Wan's heart aches. "I don't think that will be necessary." Anakin nods with his jaw clenched. Obi-Wan rests his hand on Anakin's shoulder. "We'll be home soon. I'll be well enough to take care of it myself in no time." He sips the tea, still hot enough to make him wince but perfectly brewed.
"Yes, Master." Anakin crosses his arms. "Is the tea good? Do you want another blanket? What do you need?" He stares at Obi-Wan with a furrowed brow and grimace. Worry rolls off him in waves.
"The tea is good. This and the soup is perfectly satisfactory. You should sleep, Anakin."
He huffs. "The doctor said I am immune to your germs. So I don't have to stay away, I can help."
"You have helped. Now you can sleep."
"But–" Anakin crumples. "I'm worried about you."
"I know, Padawan. But there's nothing more for you to do. The temple healers will fix me up."
Anakin stands and storms out of the room. Obi-Wan sighs and sips his tea. If he wasn't so incapacitated, he'd chase after him.
All things considered, the mission had been a success. The negotiations Obi-Wan sat in on were resolved peacefully. Anakin got to accompany him out of the temple, which should keep him sated for a few weeks.
Towards the end of the trip, however, Obi-Wan caught a local virus– their version of a common cold. His immune system, being unaccustomed to the local germs, was overwhelmed. He's fine. A lingering cough and chills won't kill him. The temple healers are already aware of the situation. It could be much worse.
It could, of course, also be better. But isn't that always the way of things?
Anakin sneezed for all of a day, and has been perfectly healthy since. The healers said it would be unlikely for him to catch it again. Still, Obi-Wan doesn't want to press their luck. There's still at least two days left on the trip home– he's lost track of time a bit– and he doesn't want Anakin to catch his illness. In his state, he wouldn't be able to properly care for him.
Perhaps he should give chase anyway. He should explain, he's not trying to reject Anakin's help out of spite or malice. He's simply being pragmatic. He can suffer some sniffles and shivers in isolation to protect his Padawan. He pushes the blanket onto the floor, forgetting the bowl of soup, as the door slides open.
"Master!" Anakin catches the soup with the Force. "What are you doing!?"
"Coming after you. You seemed… upset." His legs wobble underneath him. Without the warmth of his blanket, he shivers obnoxiously.
"I am not upset," Anakin said, frowning.
"Of course. My mistake."
"I'm not!" Anakin sets the bowl down on the floor without spilling a drop. "I'm not upset. I'm barely worried. Just– sit down." He shoves Obi-Wan unceremoniously back onto the bunk. "I don't want to pick you up off the floor."
"I thought I told you to go to sleep."
Anakin ignores him. "Roll your sleeve up."
Obi-Wan squawks. "Why?"
Rolling his eyes, Anakin shakes the box holding Obi-Wan's syringes and testosterone. "You forgot to do this today. So I'm going to." He glares at Obi-Wan, as if to say see? You do need my help.
In the almost decade since first taking hormones, he's rarely missed a dose. Sure, a few times something broke the routine, but he hasn't lost complete track of time like this in years.
Anakin shakes the box again. "It's unsanitary to put a syringe through fabric." The box floats in the air next to him. "Do you need help rolling your sleeve up?"
Obi-Wan blinks. "I am perfectly capable of handling my own sleeve– Anakin!"
"You were taking too long." Anakin jostles Obi-Wan slightly as he pushes the short sleeve up his shoulder. It bunches against his neck.
"How much of my skin are you planning on puncturing?"
"I'm being thorough , Master." He pulls on bright green gloves with a snap.
He glares at Obi-Wan, face peering out of the shadows. If he didn't know his Padawan so well, he'd think Anakin was angry, bordering on furious. But the crease in his forehead screams worryrejectionlossfear at Obi-Wan. He sighs, and leans against the wall. "Alright, Anakin. Go ahead."
His Padawan jolts slightly in surprise, but smothers it almost instantly. He dips his head to his work, methodically plunging the syringe into the testosterone vial and pulling gently.
Obi-Wan shuts his eyes to a wave of nausea and lets his head drop back with a soft thunk.
"Don't fall asleep yet, Master." Anakin wipes his arm clean. "Almost finished." The needle stings as it always does, but it's over in an instant. Anakin places the bandage with a gentle hand. He pokes Obi-Wan a few inches above it. "Have some of the soup. Then sleep."
Obi-Wan opens one eye. Anakin shoves the bowl at him. The soup smells good. Better than he would have guessed. Hunger is the furthest thing from his mind, but he needs energy. A few sips, then. He takes the soup, avoiding Anakin's triumphant look.
The boy crosses his arms, obviously waiting for Obi-Wan.
"Anakin–"
"I have to wash the bowl when you're done. So eat up."
"You do not need to wash the bowl tonight."
"Aren't you always telling me not to procrastinate?"
Obi-Wan chuckles in spite of himself. "I suppose I am." He sips the soup.
Smiling, Anakin snorts. "You also told me it's rude to say I told you so. So I won't."
"How gracious of you, Padawan," Obi-Wan drolls. The soup is bland and warm, which is good, considering his allergies and weak stomach.
Anakin only gave him half a bowl, so it disappears quickly. He hands him the bowl and coughs into the neck of his shirt, incredibly drowsy suddenly.
"Do you need anything else?" Anakin asks. Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Anakin. You don't need to worry so much."
Anakin shrugs.
Knowing it's pointless to attempt to convince Anakin further, Obi-Wan lays down and haphazardly tugs the blanket over his chest. "You need– we both need sleep, Padawan."
"Yes, Master." Anakin makes it to the door without protest, before turning back and fixing Obi-Wan's blanket with a wave of his hand.
"Are you tucking me in?" Obi-Wan mumbles, half claimed by sleep.
"Shut up, Master. Go to sleep."
"Good night, Anakin."
"Good night," he hears through a haze. "Feel better soon." Anakin slips out of the room silently. Obi-Wan follows him in the Force, a bright light moving through the shuttle, until his mind finally slips into sleep, and he follows no more.