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Anakin knew he was sick. He was pretty sure that everyone knew he was sick. He was very obviously–and very disgustingly–sick, to say the least. Not a “small cough and a few pathetic sniffles” kind of sick, but the sort where he was completely and utterly wiped. It had started a few days ago with a sore throat, which he had immediately tried to nurse with an unhealthy amount of caf. It had done nothing though, and by evening he had a blossoming headache and the faint beginnings of a fever, which sent his least favorite symptom of chills crawling up his spine.
He hated chills. As someone who naturally preferred a hotter climate, the fact that he was subjugated to a never-ending feeling of complete coldness was pretty frustrating.
But he didn’t slow down for anything, especially not a little bug.
The Jedi meeting two days later was rough to say the least. He was undeniably ill by that point, feeling as if he had been slammed through multiple walls by a force push, and then dumped into the sewers of Coruscant to rot. The outside light pouring in through the massive chamber windows made his head pound; a childish desire to cover his head in his robes slithered into the corner of his mind, though he quickly pushed it away. Windu’s voice was putting him to sleep (and, for once, not because of the dull content) and it took way too much effort to stay semi-focused.
“Skywalker?”
At the mention of his name, Anakin’s head immediately snapped up. The motion caused the room to blur into a dizzying haze of colors, and he swallowed down a wave of nausea.
“Hm?” He forced a short response, trying to at least point his head in the direction of Windu (though he couldn’t make him out).
“It would behoove you to pay attention. I asked about the recent Separatist moves, and what actions the 501st has taken to counter them.”
“There’s been little action recently, but we’ve located– ahm,” he paused to clear his throat, hoping to get rid of the hoarse edge. “–located a possible intel site which we plan to raid within the week.”
Hums of approval echoed around the room, and Anakin let his shoulders droop by a fraction of an inch. The conversation moved on, and he drifted back into a state of semi-consciousness.
When everyone stood to leave, Anakin moved on autopilot, brain elsewhere. He only really jolted back to awareness when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Master?”
Ah, Ahsoka. Anakin had forgotten she came along this time. She didn’t sit in on the meeting (she didn’t have nearly enough patience or self restraint for that), but she had been waiting in the hall for him. She hadn’t stated an exact reason why she suddenly wanted to go with him, but Anakin had an inkling as to why; he knew his padawan well enough to know when she was planning something, and it seemed like she was ready to
“What’s up, Snips?” Anakin’s pride did a flip at how his voice cracked half way through, irritation bubbling up once again.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t look too great, or sound good either” Her blue eyes gazed at him, shining with concern
“I look fine, thank you very much,” he growled, his stride quickening to the point that Ahsoka had to break into a light jog to catch up.
“But, Anakin, you–”
“I said I’m fine Ahsoka!” Anakin snapped, glaring at her. “There is nothing wrong with me, and if you don’t shut up and get on the ship I’m not taking you back to base with me, got it?”
A brief flash of fear darted across Ahsoka’s face, before she let out a small sigh and looked away. “Yes, master.”
Anakin didn’t feel too guilty for snapping at her –the blinding headache pulsing through his temples kept him from feeling anything other than pain and irritation– but the defeated look on her face definitely didn’t feel good.
+++++++
The 501st knew how much Anakin’s pride affected them all. His desire for praise drove most of his actions. Any disapproval of him or his behavior was treated as a hit to his pride. So naturally, very few people dared to draw attention to his flaws.
So absolutely no one intended to draw any attention to his current state.
Their general was currently a chaotic storm, and if anyone got within five feet they risked being rung out. Rex had a datapad thrown at him for saying “bless you", and three separate troopers had been assigned to cleaning duty for “getting on his nerves.”
Needless to say, no one was particularly keen on being in Anakin’s general vicinity.
Everyone but Obi-Wan.
He had been tipped off to Anakin’s bad mood by both Ahsoka and a few troopers. Putting together the different stories, he was pretty certain that he knew what the problem was. Years being his primary guardian had trained Obi-Wan to recognize every single one of his padawan’s behaviors.
After a few minutes of looking, he found Anakin in the hanger. He was sitting cross-legged next to a fighter, presumably to work on it, although he wasn’t making any moves to start. The hydrospanner was sitting by his foot untouched, and he hadn’t made any moves to remove any paneling to expose wires or locate problems; instead, Anakin looked ahead with a vacant, glazed over look, breathing stuffy and loud in the open, quiet space. Obi-Wan could’ve mistaken him for a statue if it weren’t for the mild shivers racking his frame.
“Anakin?” He called gently, attempting to gauge his current mood.
"I am fine," Anakin said automatically, his voice dropping into a stubborn, defensive growl. "I'm just working."
"I can see that," Obi-Wan replied smoothly, gesturing to the wrench on the floor. "Though I usually find that the hydrospanner works better when it is in your hand rather than resting on your boot.”
Anakin shot him a glare (although it was severely diminished by his watery eyes and runny nose), standing up. He wobbled precariously, hands shooting out in a desperate attempt to regain balance; and, for a moment, Obi-Wan thought he might crash back down onto the floor. Luckily, Anakin’s stability seemed to return, though his knees were still shaking a little.
“I know what I’m doing, Obi-Wan. I’m better and piloting and rep–” He broke off to muffle a few coughs into his sleeve. “-paring ships than you could ever be.”
“That’s quite a claim, especially since you haven’t even begun to touch the one sitting in front of you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were simply sitting around. You do seem quite exhausted, padawan mine.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Oh, reverting back to youngling behavior, are we? Do you also require a warm bottle of blue milk? A blanket perhaps?”
Anakin inhaled deeply through his nose– at least he tried to; it was really more of a thick sniffle that just sent him coughing again.
“Careful there, Anakin. It would be very unfortunate if the commander of the 501st died from a stuffy nose,” Obi-wan maintained a serious expression, although his tone was a subtle sarcasm that only he could pull off.
“I don’t– I’m not sick!” Anakin huffed. “And even if I was– which I’m not –I’m perfectly capable. I’m not weak, or fragile, or anything else you’re trying to imply here. I am a Jedi, the chosen one, and I am fine, Obi-Wan.”
“No need to get heated. Although I’d say you’re already pretty hot, considering you’re ill and clearly running a temperature. There’s no harm in admitting it, Anakin.”
Anakin stomped over until he was inches away from Obi-Wan, jabbing a finger into his chest.
“There is nothing to admit. I am fine,” he hissed.
“Your temperature contradicts you,” Obi-Wan smiled, hand pressing against his padawan’s neck. “Definitely a fever, shall I call Kix?”
Anakin shoved back so hard that one might have thought he was burned.
“I– You– Argh! I kriffing hate all of you! First Ahsoka, then Rex, and every one in the kriffing 501st–” He was pacing now, practically vibrating with anger, “--And now you! I told you all I’m fine! I’m perfectly capable, and none of you see that!”
He stopped for a moment, chest heaving from the sudden exertion. They stood in silence for a moment, before Anakin's eyes lit up with a sort of manic realization.
“I don’t have to take this! You and your stupid kriffing comments– I’m not putting up with this! I’m leaving, because I have much more important things to do.”
“Oh, do you?”
Anakin didn’t even answer, waving over his shoulder as he walked off (maybe more so stumbled, considering he caught his shoe on a pile of boxes and nearly crashed to the floor), “Goodbye, Obi-Wan.”
The metal doors to the hanger closed behind him with a hiss and a click.
Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at his chronometer. In about 20 minutes, he would grab Ahsoka, and have her come along to grab a few supplies from Kix before going to check on his padawan, who would–by then– be lost to the world.
+++++++
“So let me get this straight. You’re saying that he’ll be asleep when we go in there?”
“Indeed. Be mindful to keep your volume down, as your master can be quite a light sleeper.”
“Yes, Master Kenobi.”
Ahsoka and Obi-Wan stood before the doors to Anakin’s quarters. It had been approximately 35 minutes since Anakin stormed off. Prior to making their way over, they had stopped by Kix’s med-bay to grab a few things; nothing too special, just a scanner and some meds.
Obi-Wan gave a sharp knock, and, as expected, received no response. He opened the door, stepping first into the dark room. The blinds over the viewport were shut, the only source of light coming from the hallway. It was a simple bunk, considering Anakin preferred to spend time in every other location of the ship. Obi-Wan gestured for Ahsoka to step in, setting the things he had brought on the desk, which was half-covered in partially deconstructed gadgets.
Anakin, as expected, was in bed. He hadn’t bothered to take off his boots and get under the covers, lying on top of the sheets with his face buried in his pillow. He was snoring, out like a light.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Ahsoka muttered.
Obi-Wan let out a quiet breath of a laugh, moving to unclip Anakin’s lightsaber from his belt, “Grab his boost, Ahsoka; I’m sure Anakin would be much more comfortable if he was actually under the covers.”
She nodded, carefully removing his shoes and setting them with the other pairs by the door. Obi-Wan removed his outer tunic, leaving him in only his soft, lighter layers. The movement caused Anakin to stir, letting out a sleepy groan as his eyes fluttered open.
“Mmn...Ob’-W’n? Sn..ips?” He mumbled, gaze lazily searching around the room before finding his master’s face.
“Shh, stay down,” Obi-Wan murmured, pressing a hand to his chest to keep him from trying to sit up. “You’re running quite the fever there, my friend.”
“Not sick,” Anakin croaked on pure instinct, though he didn’t have the energy to put any strength behind the words.
“Oh yes, absolutely not; simply exhausted. In all honesty I’m not surprised, it does take a tremendous amount of energy to be as stubborn as you.”
“I hate you,” Anakin groaned, rolling so his face was back into his pillow.
“Yeah, yeah. We know, Skyguy,” Ahsoka rolled her eyes, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders before sitting crosslegged at the end of the bed.
“You two are *yawn* insufferable,” Anakin slurred, sleeping already pulling him back under.
Ahsoka grinned, “Learned from the best, Master.”