Author's Note: Well, here we are; M is for Migraine, and with this, we are officially half way through the alphabet! I can't believe it… my thanks as ever to my wonderful reviewers, you guys are really my motivation to keep going, I cannot thank you enough for your kind words, especially DS2010, catkid3 and She-Elf23 (you saw straight through me, it wasn't presumptuous at all, I really do keep sneaking tea references in because I know you love it as much as I do!) you guys are the best, thank you so much for sticking with me and I'm so glad you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them! Another short and fairly fluffy chapter, before I get serious again on the next one…
Migraine
Obi-Wan Kenobi, nineteen-year-old Padawan learner and apprentice to renowned Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, was absolutely exhausted. He and his Master were on a diplomatic mission to Tarturia, a small desert planet located in the Expansion Territories. The planet was home to the aggressive reptilian Tartu and the equally aggressive arachnid Urians, who had spent the last three decades locked in a bitter civil war over territorial disputes and water rights, precious to both species and in desperately short supply.
The two Jedi had been sent to attempt negotiations, hoping to forge a peace and trade agreement with both sides. Tarturia was rich in valuable mineral deposits and natural gases, and the Republic hoped that with the offer of water and other supplies, an agreement could be reached with both species to allow mining and trade access to the planet. While Qui-Gon remained in the capital city in debate with the leaders of both sides, hammering out the agreement, Obi-Wan had spent the last two weeks travelling all over the planet, cataloguing potential mining sites, checking the local infrastructures, and running mercy missions delivering food and water supplies to more isolated towns and villages, assessing potential pipeline runs to improve access to water and sanitation for the poorer regions.
As a result, he had spent a great deal of time sweltering in the desert carrying out his missions, seeing first-hand the suffering of the people as a result of the civil wars, and collating massive amounts of data, spending hours and hours writing up his reports. He had been operating on very limited sleep, and even less food; the stress of the mission and the heat of the desert did little for his appetite. Furthermore, during his travels he had given away far more of his food and water supplies than he should have done, his sympathy for the desperate, starving people he encountered outweighing his own needs.
Finally, after nearly two weeks of touring the planet, he was back at the capital city to collect his Master, the peace talks having reached a successful conclusion. Obi-Wan hid a yawn behind his hand as he stood at the top of the ramp of their transport ship, watching from a distance as his Master bowed and bid farewell to the Tartu and Urian representatives, before turning and sedately heading towards his waiting Padawan.
"Master," Obi-Wan clasped his hands together in his sleeves and bowed low, respectfully, "it is good to see you. Congratulations on reaching a successful agreement with the Tartu and the Urians."
"Padawan," Qui-Gon inclined his head, smiling warmly, "thank you – I understand your own efforts have been equally fruitful. Your relief work for both sides made my task that much easier; reports have been coming in from all over Tarturia of the young Jedi helping those most affected by the civil war. They have been singing your praises, my young friend."
"I wish I could have done more, Master," Obi-Wan replied, with genuine feeling, "I fear the limited supplies I was able to offer will not last long."
"Long enough for the Republic to send proper relief ships, now that we have a formal trade agreement in place," Qui-Gon placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and led him into the waiting ship, as the ramp sealed behind them, blocking out the brutal sun and arid desert climate, "you look a little pale, Obi-Wan, despite your time in the sun – are you quite well, Padawan?"
"I am... a little tired, Master," Obi-Wan admitted, shielding the true extent of his exhaustion from his Master, who was no doubt also tired from the long negotiations, "it has been a... difficult... couple of weeks. Shall I plot us a course for home?"
"I should be grateful for that, Padawan," Qui-Gon agreed, "it has indeed been a trying time, but the journey home, while long, should at least offer us some chance to rest, even if we must write up our reports. First, though, I am need of a decent meal, and a cup of tea..."
Obi-Wan suppressed a grimace as he recalled the crates full of datapads, maps and schematics he had stowed in his sleep quarters, that needed sorting through and properly indexing, a daunting task to say the least. Nonetheless, he headed for the pilot's seat, and he soon had them set on their course for home. With the autopilot engaged, he headed back to the passenger area, where he found that Qui-Gon had prepared them both some herbal tea and heated up a couple of ration packs. At his Master's gesture, he sat, and although he toyed a little with the food, he found he had no real appetite; he listened as Qui-Gon recounted some of his side of the mission, asking a few questions here and there, even as he struggled to concentrate. Truth be told, he was starting to feel a little queasy, and the lighting in the room was far too bright.
"Obi-Wan?"
He realised, with a start, that Qui-Gon was looking at him expectantly, his eyebrows slightly raised. The Padawan carefully lowered his fork, giving up any pretence of trying to eat his meal.
"I... I am sorry, Master," he apologised, embarrassed, "I... my attention wandered, I am so sorry..."
"I merely asked if you are alright, Padawan," Qui-Gon gave him an assessing look, "you have hardly touched your food, and you seem... distracted."
"I am sorry, Master," Obi-Wan repeated, closing his eyes briefly, "I am just... very tired. Would you mind if I went to my quarters to meditate for a while? I think I just need to clear my head a little..."
"Of course, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon nodded his permission, watching as his young apprentice simply pushed the plate aside and stumbled out of the room.
It did not escape the Master's notice that the Padawan had been squinting a little, as if the light hurt his eyes, and he had not cleared away his plate and cup – very unusual for his fastidiously neat student. Qui-Gon subtly checked their training bond, unsurprised to find Obi-Wan's shields were up, and, although they wavered slightly, he did not press. Ah... so; his Padawan was hiding something. Putting it down to fatigue from a long and testing mission, Qui-Gon resolved to check on him later, as he cleared away their dinner things and decided to follow Obi-Wan's example and get some rest.
Obi-Wan tried to sleep, but it eluded him. He was haunted by images of starving children and grief-stricken spouses, whose husbands or wives had died fighting in the war; wounded veteran soldiers begging for scraps in the street; towns and villages struck by virulent outbreaks of curable diseases but unable to access even basic medical supplies. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours, he tried to meditate, but a throbbing pulse in his right temple and behind his eye kept him from concentrating long enough to achieve the proper focus.
In the end, he settled for lying on his bunk with an arm flung over his eyes and the lights switched off, still feeling faintly nauseous, the few bites of food he had eaten refusing to settle in his stomach. Eventually, he forced himself to get up and go to the fresher, which was an uncomfortable few minutes to say the least, before he rinsed his mouth out in the sink. He took a cool shower, washing off the last of the sweat and dirt from the desert, unable to suppress a wave of guilt at the superfluous waste of water, remembering the pleading, sunken eyes of the dehydrated desert children looking up at him in askance as he rationed out the precious few supplies he had to spare.
Drying off, he dressed in a clean sleep tunic and lightweight trousers, pacing barefoot on the deck, one hand pressed to his aching temple and eye, trying to release his discomfort and turmoil of emotions into the Force. As he tried to relax and let go, he became aware of a new sensation; a strange tingling of pins and needles in his right arm, which spread into his face affecting his lips and tongue. The feeling was... odd, and definitely crossed into the boundary of being distinctly unpleasant.
"Oh, Force," he groaned, as dizziness suddenly crashed over him, forcing him to stagger over to the bunk.
Easing himself down, he sat on the edge of the mattress, dropping his head into his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. He tried to draw in meditative breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth, but then the pain struck him like a bolt of lightning to the temple and he gasped aloud. Without realising what he was doing, he gripped his head in both hands, curling onto his side on the bunk, whimpering quietly to himself as it felt like his skull was splitting in two.
He lay there in agony for what felt like an eternity, until the door suddenly chimed. The noise was as loud as a ringing gong echoing in his skull and he recoiled from it, gasping, as the door was overridden and slid open, the bright light of the corridor beyond stabbing into his eyes. He snapped them shut, groaning in pain and sick dismay, gripping his head with both hands in agony.
"Obi-Wan...?"
The silhouetted figure immediately crossed to his side, crouching beside him; unable to open his eyes, overwhelmed by pain, he could sense his Master's concern through their bond. Qui-Gon must have felt his distress through the Force... a gentle hand touched his, even as he clutched at his pounding head, and he couldn't help it; he dropped his shields. There was a soft gasp, and he felt movement; his Master must have waved his hand, because there was a breath of air and then the door closed, cutting off the agonisingly bright light.
"Obi-Wan," whispered the voice, softly, "oh no… my poor Padawan... do you know what's happening to you?"
"H... head... h...hurts," he whimpered, unable to express himself further, as the agony stabbed through his right eye, forcing him to curl in on himself, hands clamped to his face, trying to suppress the pain without success.
"Stay here. I will fetch you something that will help..."
The comforting presence at his side disappeared and Obi-Wan moaned in pained despair as the door opened and closed again, leaving him to his misery. What felt like a lifetime later, the door opened again, and his Master returned to his side; his touch gentle as he placed a soothing hand on Obi-Wan's.
"This should help a little, dear one."
A hypospray was pressed to his neck and he groaned in relief as the stabbing pain abated to a throbbing ache; still unpleasant, but not the blinding agony of a few moments previously. His Master moved again, to the fresher this time, and then returned; a cool, damp cloth was placed over Obi-Wan's eyes, and he murmured in thanks, finally relaxing a little.
"Master?" he managed to whisper, his own voice still sound unnaturally loud and reverberating inside his skull, "What's happening?"
"You are experiencing a migraine, Obi-Wan," his Master's voice was equally soft, little more than a breath, "I... I have them myself, from time to time. I am so sorry… I'm afraid they are always debilitating. The pain-relievers and a cool compress can help to alleviate the worst of the symptoms, as will quiet rest in a cool, dark room."
"Wuh...why?"
"Hmm... if you are asking me what caused it, I'm afraid I don't know... but there are certain things that can trigger them; stress, dehydration, lack of proper food, lack of proper sleep, extremely hot or cold weather... I would suspect all the things you have been dealing with in the last two weeks, my young Padawan..."
Obi-Wan shivered, feeling suddenly chilled, only to find a blanket being drawn over him.
"You have pushed yourself too hard, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice was far from scolding; in fact, he just sounded... slightly sad, actually; "I understand your desire to help others, but you cannot push yourself so hard... no, I'm sorry, this is no time for a lecture. Would you like a sleep suggestion, Padawan?"
"P-please..."
"Very well, then... sleep."
And with that, he knew no more.
When he awoke, Obi-Wan felt as weak as a tooka kitten, but mostly pain-free aside from a dull pulsing in his temples. He pushed back the blankets and stumbled into the fresher, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He was pallid grey, with dark, bruised circles under his eyes, and his hands trembled almost uncontrollably as he splashed some water on his face. He felt a gentle enquiry down his training bond with his Master, who must have been keeping a close eye on their bond and sensed him stirring, so he acknowledged it warmly. Dressing and pulling on his boots, he stepped into the corridor, wincing slightly at the brightness of the lights.
Shielding his eyes with his hand, he slowly headed to the passenger living area, where his Master was at work on something in the kitchenette. Qui-Gon glanced across at his apprentice and then, with a wave of his hand, the lighting suddenly dropped to a much more manageable twenty-percent of the usual brightness, and Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, squinting at the taller Jedi Master.
"Sit down, Obi-Wan," his Master gestured to the table and Obi-Wan bowed his head, obediently taking a seat.
He clasped his hands under the table, trying to release his anxiety into the Force, thoroughly expecting his Master to berate him for his failure to take proper care of himself, but instead, a gentle hand brushed the back of his neck, as a bowl of plain porridge was set down in front of him, followed by a cup of tea. He stared at it with dull incomprehension, as Qui-Gon set his own place, and then slid into the chair opposite him.
"I know you are still feeling unwell, but you must try to eat," his Master told him, gently, "it will do you good, Padawan – please try."
Not really feeling hungry, but not wanting to disappoint his Master any more than he already had, Obi-Wan obediently lifted the spoon, and began to pick a little at the porridge. Qui-Gon watched him eat, only a little and slowly at first, but then gradually with a bit more enthusiasm as his stomach agreed that the porridge was both palatable and much needed.
"Have you ever experienced a migraine before, Obi-Wan?" the Master asked, softly, when he had finally finished the bowl and sat nursing his mug of tea.
"No, Master," Obi-Wan shook his head, with a wince, "I... I did not know that they felt like that, I... I'm sorry, I know you've had them before, but I had no idea..."
"Nor should you," Qui-Gon interrupted him, "I experienced my first migraine when I was about your age, actually, after spending three straight days without sleep, working on an assignment for Master Sil Ja'ar... ever since then I have been careful to recognise the warning signs and take action before the pain becomes too debilitating."
"Warning signs?"
"Auras, Obi-Wan... not Force auras, more like... precursors, most notably a blind spot in my right eye, usually followed by dizziness and nausea, and a ringing noise in my ears."
"I... I was sick, and I felt dizzy... I had pins and needles in my face and arm."
"Then these are the signs you must watch out for, Padawan; find a cool, dark place to rest, and take pain-relievers as soon as you can. I would suggest trying to avoid stress and other triggers, but then I would be denying you the life of a Jedi Knight."
"Then... it might happen again?"
"Possibly, yes. But hopefully not often... personally, I only have one or two a year; usually after a prolonged meeting with Master Windu."
Obi-Wan managed a wry huff of a laugh at his Master's sudden levity; "Master, I am sorry if I caused you any trouble... I did not mean to."
"You are a dedicated student and a hard-working Jedi, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon smiled at him, a little sadly, "your compassion does you credit, but you must try take better care of yourself... please remember that your own health matters as much as anyone else's."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan hung his head slightly, and sipped at his tea.
Qui-Gon smiled, sensing the fatigue emanating from his Padawan despite his efforts at shielding.
"Yes, I'm afraid one of the side effects is something akin to an awful hangover," he nodded, amused at the alarmed look Obi-Wan shot him when he realised he wasn't shielding as well as he thought, "while the pain normally passes in a few hours, the lingering headache, fatigue and dizziness can last for up to a couple of days. I suggest you take another pain-reliever, just in case, and go catch up on some sleep, Padawan mine. Take some water with you and try to stay hydrated as well... I will come check on you in a few hours."
"Yes... thank you, Master..."
Obi-Wan stood, and Qui-Gon hid his amusement as the young Padawan dutifully cleared away all their dishes and went about tidying the kitchenette, before bowing and taking his leave. Qui-Gon shook his head to himself.
"That boy's self-sacrificing nature will be the death of him," he muttered, to himself, "Force help me, what am I going to do with him?"