Mara walked through the living room of the Coruscant apartment she shared with Luke, relying on the Force to help keep her balance as he leaned on her for support and groaning as she struggled to guide him to their bed. It didn't take a Force bond with the man to feel the heat welling off him, or to just look at him and see how sick he was. Even as he haphazardly walked through their apartment, relying on Mara to even be able to stand, he kept insisting he needed to work.
There was no such thing as a day off for the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. There were classes to organize, bills to pay, urgent matters on Yavin that needed his attention...
"'M fine, my fireball. Really," he slurred. "Don't see why you're making such a big deal of this."
"Skywalker, you have a fever of 40.5 and you passed out in the hallway trying to get to the bathroom. You're not going anywhere except to bed."
"Mmm..."
Mara nudged the door to their bedroom open with her foot, opening it just enough for them to walk through. She helped Luke to the bed and sat him onto it.
"And Cilghal's going to be here any minute, so lay your butt down. And, by Force, if I see you get up again, I'm going to tie you to the bedposts."
"'Zat a promise, Red?"
"Shut up, Farmboy," she replied, a smile curling at her lips.
"Roger, roger, Red Leader," he giggled. "Red Leader. Get it? 'Cause you're red."
"Luke."
"You're sexy. Can you be my girlfriend?"
"Luke, we're married."
A big, dopey grin tugged at the Jedi Master's lips.
"You're my wife? Hot damn!"
"Just lay down."
"Okey dokey, smokey."
The Mon Calamari Jedi healer arrived about fifteen minutes later, carrying a bag of medical supplies on her shoulder and wearing a stethoscope around her neck. House calls were the exception, not the norm, for her. But when Mistress Skywalker called her in the middle of the night with more than a tinge of worry in her normally level-headed demeanor, Cilghal decided to break that rule.
It was odd and more than a little off-putting, Cilghal thought, seeing two powerful Jedi masters at a pretty vulnerable point: the Grand Master lying in bed, pale, sweating and shivering, while the other looked on in concern, wearing nothing but the latter's tunic.
They were thoughts for another time, Cilghal thought, as she refocused on the matter at hand. A shot of antibiotics, some painkillers and a few bags of fluid later, Luke was resting somewhat comfortably.
He took Cilghal's cool, clammy hand.
"Isn't she the best, Fish Lady?"
"She is, Master," Cilghal replied, brushing off the informal moniker. "Mistress Skywalker, I'm going to take my leave now. Keep an eye on him and comm me in the morning. And, Mara?"
"Yes?"
"Try to get some rest, too."
