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Exhaustion weighed down his limbs as Obi-Wan at last sank down into a chair. The fatigue of battle pulled at every part of his body, finding little relief after the stone-cold shower he'd taken to finally clean himself of the dirt, sweat, and blood caking his skin after weeks of fighting Separatist forces planetside in the Middle Rim.
Pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, the Jedi Master centred himself for a moment in the serene calmness of lightspeed on the Negotiator, how the quiet, rhythmic hum of the engines vibrated smoothly through the cruiser, how the almost-hypnotic swirling blue-and-white light could be seen from the windows, knowing they were on their way back to Coruscant and completely safe from attack in hyperspace. It had been a long, difficult mission; he wasn't about to deny that, and their hard-won Republic victory had come at a high cost.
The urge to sleep nearly succeeded in making his eyes close, but Obi-Wan caught himself just in time. Struggling to hold his head upright, the words on the datapad on the desk in front of him swam and shifted in his vision. Just the one report... just the one that he desperately needed to finish, and then he could rest, and work on his other less-urgent reports.
Obi-Wan tried his best to remind himself that the report was mostly completed, and it could be finished in around an hour if he simply focused on the work. But his fingers typed out words painstakingly slowly; half-coherent statements refused to come together into fully comprehensible sentences; every five minutes spent sitting at his desk felt like twenty.
After thirty minutes had passed and he'd written less than one hundred words, he wearily pushed the datapad aside, knowing it would be pointless to keep working in his state. Still, with work endlessly piling up on him, he knew he would regret leaving it incomplete- but having gotten a maximum of five hours' sleep and an average of two per night every night for four months, he couldn't bring himself to care.
His battle-weary body at last, at last sank into bed, the mattress and the sheets enveloping him in a warm, soft cocoon that was so much more comfortable than hard ground. Finally allowing his eyes to close, Obi-Wan's thoughts faded into the darkness of deep sleep within seconds.
In attendance for a Council meeting three days later, Obi-Wan's mind began to slow once again with the now-familiar sensation of fatigue. It wasn't surprising, really; after sleeping for a full eleven hours in his quarters on the Negotiator, he'd worked almost non-stop since then to control the ever-growing pile of work he needed to do, with a break for just four hours' sleep and a couple of meals in between. Report after report after report had progressed from unstarted to fully completed under his fingertips, so many he'd lost count.
Usually, Cody would be helping him with it all, sharing the work fifty-fifty as much as possible in order to lift the weight off each other's shoulders. How many times had they sat next to each other in companionable silence as they drank cups of tea and caf, sometimes bouncing ideas and comments off each other, switching datapads and files as needed? But with the Marshal Commander in the medical wing with a head injury, the entire workload fell to Obi-Wan, and after such a lengthy, costly campaign there was even more work that needed doing.
Of course, some of the work Cody couldn't help him with- reports only for the Jedi Council, drafting and grading papers for Padawan classes he was teaching, planning the lessons, reviews for political negotiations he'd mediated, reading over Anakin's reports that always, always needed double-checking and editing before submission, because Force knew his old Padawan should be putting in more effort into them- but having Commander Cody's input for GAR reports always helped a great deal...
Obi-Wan realised suddenly that he wasn't paying attention to the Council meeting in session. Forcing his thoughts back to focus, thankfully it seemed he hadn't missed anything of importance. But hardly a few moments had passed when the thoughts of his quickly-tiring brain nearly wandered away from him again, and it took more effort this time to bring himself back to the present.
Perhaps after this meeting he would go rest for a few hours, since he'd worked so hard over the previous few days. Satisfied with the idea, Obi-Wan found it easier to focus for the next few minutes, then-
Then, with an unpleasant jolt, he remembered he still needed to plan the lesson for the Padawan class he had later in the evening.
Weeks passed, and the never-ending workload never became any easier. Any time he took a break, no matter how long for, the still-to-be-completed pile grew higher. Fifty papers to draft, meetings with the Masters of struggling Padawans, seventy papers to grade, reviewing important GAR and Galactic Senate reports and so on, and with all that and everything else, the Council wanted him to take another Padawan class.
He was tempted to decline- he was already teaching four classes, but he also knew how there was an urgent shortage of experienced Masters as a result of the war, and the rest of the Council were under the same pressure as he was. The workload often kept him up until the early hours of the morning, when he would stop, collapse into bed, sleep for three or four hours, eat a quick meal, and repeat the whole cycle over again. Every morning, he woke up paler than the previous day, with the dark shadows underneath his eyes becoming increasingly more pronounced. He'd even lost a couple kilograms in weight, often forgoing his meals in favour of work.
It came as no surprise to him when he fell ill with a cold, then again a couple of weeks later, and currently had a nasty case of influenza. Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead, hoping the pressure would alleviate some of the pounding pain of his headache. He saw Plo Koon cast a worried glance at him, but Obi-Wan avoided his eye and proceeded to do his utmost to focus on Master Windu's words.
How much longer would this Council meeting last? His headache was growing worse every hour that passed; he could barely breathe for his blocked nose; he'd used countless tissues in the last ten minutes alone; every few minutes the cough he was constantly fighting back would break out into a fit. His throat was so sore and his voice was so hoarse he could barely speak; his heart was racing with fever; he kept wiping away the perspiration that kept forming on his forehead, and he could feel the feverish heat radiating from his body and his clothes sticking to sweaty skin. He was sick, tired, hot, sweaty, and sore all over, and more than anything he wished the day to be over.
When the meeting was finally adjourned an hour later, an ill, weary Jedi Master slowly returned to his quarters. Looking wistfully at his bed, he instead sat down at his desk. There was no time to rest; the war wasn't going to put itself on hold while General Kenobi was ill, and there was work he needed to do.
There was always work he needed to do.
"Master Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan woke with a start, feeling his cheek pressing into the datapad. Whoever was outside knocked again, louder this time.
He coughed and sniffed, noting that he felt no different since the Council meeting earlier; his head continued to pound with a vicious pain that reverberated through his entire skull. He wearily reached for his clothes, having stripped down to his underwear in an attempt to cool his burning, sweaty skin.
His voice scraped hoarsely from his throat as he replied. "Come in."
He had just finished smoothing down the front of his tunic when Plo Koon entered his quarters. Obi-Wan smiled weakly at his friend, the fuzzy haze of sickness and fatigue making it difficult to remember proper manners.
"Afternoon, Master Plo. I would offer you something to drink, but I'm afraid I'm likely contagious."
"That is understandable, young Obi-Wan. You seem quite unwell lately. I hope you have been giving yourself adequate time for rest."
Plo Koon's voice was gentle and probing, as though he knew more than he was letting on. Which, Obi-Wan reminded himself tiredly, he probably did- Plo had always excelled at reading between the lines, especially when it came to the wellbeing of those he knew. He was about to answer his friend, but instead of words, a hacking cough jumped out instead.
Plo guided him over to sit back down as he continued to cough and sniff. Obi-Wan was fully aware that he looked terrible; pale face, dark circles underneath his eyes, constantly coughing and sniffling while his head simultaneously spun with fatigue and pounded with a headache. He was sure that Plo could feel the heat of his skin through his clothes as he laid his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"Have you looked at the chrono yet this afternoon, my friend?"
Obi-Wan blearily looked at the chrono. The time was past two o'clock.
He began to heave himself out of his chair, mentally preparing himself for showering and changing. "My deepest apologies, Master, I'm a half hour late for my Padawan class-"
But Plo pressed down on his shoulders, and in his weak condition the slight pressure made Obi-Wan's knees crumple and he collapsed back down in his chair. His racing pulse thudded far too fast in his chest, his movement only exacerbating his heart rate and headache.
"Obi-Wan," Plo began, firmly but not unkindly, "you need to rest. Master Fisto is taking your classes this afternoon, and I will take them tomorrow. Be assured, we wish you a swift recovery."
"But-"
He began to protest weakly, but Plo waved away his objections. "Take this time to rest, Obi-Wan. Have you taken any medication yet to help relieve your symptoms?"
When Obi-Wan shook his head, Plo nodded slightly, disappeared, and reappeared a minute later bearing a glass of water and two small, white tablets. "Take these. They will help."
Knowing better than to argue, Obi-Wan swallowed the meds as instructed, experiencing a slight gag as something other than tea, caf, or water went down his throat for the first time in two days. "Thank you."
He trudged over to bed, the motions of his legs requiring more energy walking through his quarters than wading through a pool of thick mud. He flicked back the sheets and settled in bed, feeling too hot with his clothes on but hesitant to take them off, knowing Master Plo was near. Then he decided he was too ill to care, peeled off his sweat-soaked tunic, and burrowed back underneath the light sheet. He was in his bed in his quarters, he and Master Plo were both males, and he trusted the other Jedi, so why should he worry?
It was his last conscious thought before he fell asleep, letting the exhaustion and medication take over at last.
Hours later, Anakin knocked on Obi-Wan's door with Ahsoka at his side. Eager to see Obi-Wan again after being away with the 501st for many weeks, he was about to call out for his former Master, but as he opened his mouth to speak the door slid open, revealing Plo Koon standing there instead. Blinking in surprise, Anakin greeted him.
"Afternoon, Master Plo. I was looking for Obi-Wan."
Probably should have addressed Obi-Wan as Master Kenobi, but too late for that. If Master Plo disapproved, he didn't show it.
"Of course, young Skywalker. He is inside. However, he is very unwell, and I would advise you to let him rest."
"Yeah. Absolutely. I'd just like to check in on him."
Without waiting for an invitation, Anakin stepped inside and padded over to Obi-Wan's closed bedroom door. Ahsoka was a little more polite, waiting for Master Plo to invite her in before stepping over the threshold into the dark and quiet quarters.
Heeding Master Plo's words, he knocked very softly, and when there was no reply he slipped inside. Obi-Wan was indeed asleep in bed, the thin sheet half-covering him to expose the skin from the waist and up. Even from across the room, Anakin could see the shining sweat lathered on his friend's body, and soaking his mussed hair. His friend's arms were limply stretched out in front of him, his fingers curled softly into the unconscious shape of sleep.
Some cloths, drenched and wrung out in cold water, had been laid gently across his torso, forehead, and armpits. Anakin felt a rush of affection for Master Plo- no doubt it had been him who had done this, who had apparently also left a glass of water and some bland snacks on Obi-Wan's bedside table. None of the food had been touched yet, but at least it was there for Obi-Wan when he felt well enough to eat it.
Gently pressing his flesh palm to Obi-Wan's forehead, it felt burning hot and slicked with perspiration, though the air conditioner had made the room so cool it was slightly chilly. Wiping off the residue, Anakin next felt Obi-Wan's upturned wrist for his pulse, which was racing as quickly as if he'd just completed several intense training drills in the dojo.
It didn't look like there was much else for Anakin to do; the air conditioner was blasting, Obi-Wan had access to food and water, and Master Plo had already covered him in water-soaked cloths. Obi-Wan hadn't even stirred since Anakin had first entered the room, and satisfied that was all that could be done for now, Anakin left him to rest.
Outside in the main area of Obi-Wan's quarters, Master Plo and Ahsoka were talking quietly as they prepared cups of tea and caf together.
"I was reluctant to leave Master Kenobi alone in his condition," Master Plo was saying to the Padawan. "I don't like to see him so ill. I've notified the Council that he will not be well enough to attend to his duties for some time."
With three steaming mugs now prepared, the three of them crossed over and took seats in Obi-Wan's sofa and chairs. Anakin puzzled over at Obi-Wan's open datapad there for a moment before realising that Master Plo must be helping Obi-Wan with some of his work- most likely drafting and grading Padawan papers.
Seeing Anakin looking at it, Master Plo gestured to the datapad. "Master Kenobi appears to have a very large amount of work to complete-"
"Well, that isn't fair," Anakin told him, an edge in his tone. "Why does Obi-Wan have so much to do?"
"He would know, I believe, that all members on the Council have a copious workload. He may have simply assumed that he had the same amount as the rest of us. None of us realised he was already teaching an additional Padawan class when we asked him to take another, or that Marshal Commander Cody is still recovering from his injuries and was unable to assist your master with military reports... and, in addition, he has mediated nearly all of the Republic's most important negotiations. We were mistaken, young Skywalker, and we will apologise."
Grudgingly, Anakin had to admit this was probably true. Obi-Wan had likely realised by now that his workload was unmanageable, but assumed everyone else on the Council had to do the same, so decided not to say anything. If he'd known how badly he needed help, Anakin was sure he would have asked for it; no Jedi got to where Obi-Wan was without being able to ask for help.
The rest of the afternoon passed with quiet chatter from the three, with total silence from Obi-Wan's room for several hours. It was at six o'clock when Anakin began thinking of dinner when the Jedi Master finally emerged, still looking just as ill as when Anakin had left him. For a moment, he wondered what Obi-Wan was doing; then they all heard the sounds of someone coughing and vomiting into a toilet.
Well.
It looked like Anakin might be looking after Obi-Wan for a while.