TITLE: "She Made My Bed"

SUMMARY: On the day after his birthday, Obi-Wan wakes up with a massive hangover . . . and a blonde, smirking Jedi Knight sitting on his bed. Obi, Ani, and Siri.

AUTHOR'S NOTE(S): This was posted last February, but I'm putting it up again now that I've figured out how to do italics and the like. :-P Enjoy, and remember to review!

- - - - -

She made my bed.

Ordinarily, of course, I wouldn't mind. I mean why would I? There's no law saying that you can't make a man's bed, after all, and I may or may not have forgotten to do it later. But this wasn't one of those times. Because – generally – you wait and make the bed after the person has gotten out.

She made my bed. While I was still in it.

So perhaps I deserved it – a little – but it was still a mean trick to pull on a sick and ailing man. Even if it was his own fault in the first place. Especially if he had the bad luck and sheer cunning to end up with a hangover on the day after his birthday, the night of which he'd spent on the town trying to drink the Chosen One under the table. You'd think that the sheer humiliation of being beaten by your own Padawan would be punishment enough, wouldn't you?

You don't have the fortune to be acquainted with the lovely Siri Tachi, then.

I woke up with headache. Not that that word is nearly enough to cover the feeling of the damned herd of banthas parading through my skull to an invisible tempo, but there's no word in Basic to cover that particular feeling. I would probably have had to switch to Old Corellian, and my brain was in no fit shape to make the translation at that particular time, and the loud-mouthed droid Anakin built years and years ago wasn't handy, thank the Force.

But that hadn't been what woke me up, as painful as it was. She was the one to wake me up, with a bright, sunny greeting that sounded like a clap of thunder to my ears.

"Up up up, Obi-Wan! Rise and shine, you have the whole day ahead of you, sleepyhead!" she called, not bothering to try and shield my eardrums as she tugged the blankets away. "C'mon, Obi-Wan, get up!"

I moaned and covered my ears with a pillow. The banthas had just been joined by a group of droidekas that seemed determined to blow a hole through my skull with their blasters. "I'm going to die," I groaned with absolute certainty, attempting to bury my face into the mattress. "I took a blaster bolt to the head, didn't I? My head is going to explode and that's not going to be a good thi - "

She laughed, a strangely booming sound that echoed through my injured brain. "You're not going to die, Obi-Wan," she replied once she'd finished, the mirth still readily apparent. "You're not the first person in the galaxy to have had a hangover, you know. Now up."

I groaned again, but did as instructed. I opened my eyes carefully – and squawked in a distinctly undignified manner as the bright light flooded in, burrowing back into the pillows. "Why is it so Force-damned bright in here? Turn off the light, turn off the light!"

A small snigger. "I can't turn off the sunlight, Obi-Wan," she reminded me, humor still faintly coloring her voice. "Open your eyes, you'll get used to it," she advised.

More slowly this time, I sighed and tried again. Faint spots of color danced in front of my eyes, but the room slowly swam into focus. The wall. A chair. A distinctly messy pile of robes and tunics in the corner - as usual. And, wonder of wonders, a blonde, smirking Jedi Knight sitting at the foot of my bed. "Siri?" I mumbled, slowly letting the pillow go. "That you?"

"You've got that right."

I clamped the pillow back on my ears. "Do you have to be so loud?" I pleaded.

"Well, it's your own fault you have a hangover this morning, Master Kenobi," she retorted, still grinning for all she was worth.

Hangover? I wondered vaguely. The shrapnel in my skull wasn't helping me focus. "Why are you in here?" I asked, slightly confused. I looked around wildly – bad idea – and breathed a sigh of relief when I discovered I was in my quarters, the rooms I shared with Anakin. "Where's Anakin?"

"The 'fresher," she replied promptly, trying to look sympathetic and failing miserably. "He's not in the best shape from your birthday celebrations either. Though I think he might have it a bit worse than you," she added.

I blinked. "My birthday . . . celebrations?" I could vaguely remember something along those lines, though it seemed fuzzy at best. A dimly-lit bar, and . . .

Corellian ale? Oh dear Force.

"Birthday celebrations," she repeated firmly. Was that a smirk dancing across her face?

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I demanded sourly.

"And what if I am?" she asked with amusement. What seemed like an obviously wicked twinkle danced through her blue eyes. She had four eyes this particular morning, with one set on the extra head she seemed to have acquired as well. How odd. "That wouldn't make the slightest difference to your condition, would it?"

I shot a dark glare in her direction. Or I think it was her direction. Though the extra head had disappeared, there were three happened to be three of her in front of me at that point, but I was decently sure that the one on the left was the real one. "Very funny."

"Yes, I rather thought so," she said with a smile.

"What happened last night, anyway?" I asked, not quite sure I wanted to know. "The banthas are stampeding over my short-term memory."

Siri raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Banthas?" she inquired incredulously. "Banthas?"

"Yes, banthas," I replied, equally confused. There was a parade of banthas stampeding through my skull. At the time, that sounded perfectly natural. "What's wrong with banthas?"

"Eh . . . nothing, Obi-Wan," she finally replied, giving me The Look. One of those Looks that meant she thought I was slightly insane. "Nothing is wrong with banthas."

"I didn't think so. But what happened?" I asked again. I could almost remember – faintly – a little bit of what had happened last night, but most of it was still a hazy blur. Though the hazy blur seemed quite exciting in its own right.

"You don't remember, Obi?" she asked, the smirk back in place. Siri raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, her hand going to my cheek. "Oh you poor dear," she crooned sarcastically, pinching at my cheek and playfully tugging my beard.

"Very funny!" I snapped again. The bantha parade had quieted somewhat, and the droidekas had temporarily run out of ammunition, though they'd be back soon. The headache had ebbed to a steady throb. "Are you going to tell me what happened or not? I'll probably start remembering as you go," I added.

"You made a bet with Anakin, remember?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Aw, c'mon, Master," Anakin pleaded, blue eyes going wide in an expression he hadn't tried on me for more than ten years. "It'll be great!

We were in my quarters, Anakin sitting on the bed with his long legs crossed under him as I attempted to pack. The Council would probably send us on another mission tomorrow, but my birthday had been fun while it lasted. Not that this return to Coruscant had been scheduled for that particular event, mind – a happy coincidence that I had been more than eager to take advantage of.

I sighed as I attempted to shove another tunic into a pack, though privately a bit happy. Anakin and a few others – Siri included – had thrown me an impromptu party at the Temple with all the trimmings included. Anakin hadn't looked so lively in quite a while. Perhaps since the start of the Clone War on Geonosis, though I privately suspected it was much closer to the time he'd started taking little assignments from the Chancellor. But today – today – had been carefree and wonderful, strange as that was in our lives. Welcome, though. "No, Anakin," I replied firmly. "No."

The Chosen One rolled his eyes expressively. "Why ever not, Master?" he begged – almost whined. "We can go to the Outlander, have a few drinks, and be back before they ever know we're gone. Simple."

"Because we're Jedi, perhaps?" I suggested mildly.

"That's not what you said when you got a drink after chasing that changeling, may I remind you, Master?"

"That was different," I replied loftily. "It was all part of the Plan," I explained haughtily, neglecting to mention the fact that the Plan had come into being a bit later. "And I was thirsty," I added as an afterthought. "Hanging from a droid hundreds of meters of the ground is hard on the throat."

"Suuuure," he answered, rolling his eyes again.

A moment of silence as I struggled to close the pack. The tunic had fit – finally – but the Force-forsaken thing refused to shut.

Then – "You're just scared that I'll beat you, aren't you, Master?"

I nearly closed the pack on my finger at that point. "What?" I demanded in shock, turning around to face my Padawan. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He crossed his arms across his chest. "You just know that I can drink you under the table any day of the week, so you're afraid to go, isn't that it? You can just admit it, Master, no shame in that."

I shut the pack with an irritated snap. "Only in your mind, my very young Padawan," I retorted grimly.

"Is that a challenge, Master?" he asked with a smug smile.

Of course, the pack chose that moment to spring open, throwing its contents of tunics, robes, pants, and shirts all over the room. I stared at it a moment before starting on a long, multilingual, colorful hypothesis on the manufacturer's ancestry.

"My, who's acting un-Jedilike now?" Anakin asked mildly once I'd started to repeat myself.

I whirled around to face him, glowering darkly. "You bet it's a challenge, Padawan," I snapped. "Though I warn you that I've been guzzling Corellian ale since you were in diapers."

A lie. I'd never been drunk in my life and had been sixteen when he was born. But he didn't have to know that.

Anakin grinned broadly, leaping off the bed in a single fluid motion to clap me amiably on the shoulder and incidentally sending the pack onto the floor with the rest of its contents. Though I didn't really care at the moment. "I knew you'd see it my way, Master."

I don't back down from challenges. Never. Not even if they involve the Chosen One.

I guess I'm just a slow learner.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oh dear Force," I moaned, burying my face in the pillow to hide the scarlet flush. "Did I really do that?"

Siri continued smirking, patting my back helpfully. "Did that help jog your memory?" she asked with a wicked grin. "Is it coming back now?"

"Yes," I groaned again. "In full-living color."

"Can you remember any more?"

"Well . . ."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Hurry up, Anakin," I snapped impatiently, glaring around the Outlander Club. Most of the club's visitors had had the sense to stay away from the pair of Jedi at the front of the bar, though others were either too deep in their cups or too arrogant to care. "The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home."

He grinned impishly, the neon lights above the bar turning his teeth a bright blue. "We would have gotten here faster if only you'd let me drive, Master," he pointed out.

I raised an eyebrow and brought a hand to my utility belt, patting the keys there. "I'm not letting you drive a speeder again if I can possibly help it, Padawan," I reminded him grimly. "Not after our little joyride here last time."

Anakin winked. "I saved your life, remember?" he asked, smirking again.

"And helped me lose my dinner over the pavement," I added, giving him my own version of The Look. "Now just hurry up and order those drinks."

He offered another cocky wink before turning to the bartender. "Two Corellian ales here!" he called. A moment later, the multi-armed bartender slid two frothing mugs of alcohol across the counter, and we quickly grabbed them with reflexes honed by lightsaber training and blaster bolt dodging, the latter at least as often as the former.

I raised my mug in mock salute, grinning crookedly. "Here's to the winner," I declared before taking a gulp –

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Siri, I think I'm going to be sick," I grunted. I rolled onto my back, looking up into her highly-amused face. "Really," I pleaded. "The herd of banthas migrated to my lower abdomen."

"Not a chance, Obi-Wan. You don't have anything left in your stomach to throw up," she assured me.

"Very comforting news, that."

"I live to serve, Master Kenobi."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The world was starting to dance in funny patterns after the fifth drink, and my voice had started to sound rather nice after the third. Anakin and I were deep into an Alderaanian ballad – those people have bawdy ballads, no matter what Bail said – when Siri walked in, cutting a wide path through the crowd as she came. A series of wolf-whistles and cat-calls followed her, a beautiful blonde and fit Jedi Knight walking through the drunken crowd.

Wisely enough, though, the onlookers decided on the 'Look, don't touch' rule. Otherwise a few of them would have been short on fingers, teeth, limbs, or all three by the time they woke up the next morning.

Anakin noticed her first, cutting off midway through his song. "Master!" he cried jubilantly, thumping me on the back and nearly knocking me over. "Look, it's Siri!"

I turned around to look, coming to the sudden realization that ale made people look a bit different for some reason. But Siri looked more beautiful than ever. Strange. "Siri!" I called out, voice oddly slurred, and pushed up from my seat at the bar – and nearly collapsing into the large alien next to me. Probably would have, had Anakin not caught me. The floor seemed a bit . . . unsteady at the moment. Odd, that. Maybe the Force was celebrating my birthday, too. "Come on, Siri, join in the fun!" I invited, raising my mug again in salute and taking another gulp.

"Obi-Wan?" Siri asked incredulously, eyes widening slightly.

What's she so surprised 'bout? some corner of my mind wondered vaguely. Maybe she can see the Force celebrating my birthday, too.

I grinned again and waved. "Yup, that'd be me!" I giggled. I was feeling oddly . . . happy. Bouncy, even. Like I was on top of the world and on a massive sugar-rush to boot. "Oy, Siri, howya doin'?" I asked her once she'd arrived beside Anakin and me and taken a hesitant seat on one of the stools. "Whatcha doin' here anyways?"

"I was looking for you, Obi-Wan," she responded slowly, gazing at my mug out of the corner of her eye.

I noticed. "Want some, Siri?" I offered. " 'S good shtuff, this."

"That's all right, Obi-Wan," she replied slowly, still looking at the mug. "Uh . . . tell me, Obi-Wan, how much of that shtuff – I mean stuff. How much of that stuff have you been drinking?"

I looked sideways at Anakin and received a vague shrug in answer. "Er . . . five, maybe? That shounds about right."

"Five," she groaned, putting a hand up to her face. "Five."

"Yerp, five," I agreed complacently. "That number that comes right after six and right before three. Yup, five's the number, Siri."

"You realize that this is one of the strongest liquors you can get in the galaxy, don't you, Obi-Wan? That five rounds of Corellian ale would put most people on the floor? And that, by all rights, you should be comatose by now?"

"No, I didn't know that," I replied joyfully, taking another sip. "Good stuff, this."

"I see . . . Obi-Wan, don't you think it's time you went home now?" she asked slowly, as if speaking to one of the smaller younglings. "You've been here . . . for quite a while, and you've had enough to drink for a while, haven't you?"

"Okay then," I agreed with a happy grin. "But before we go," I added just as she sighed in relief, "there's one thing I have to do."

". . . And what might that be, Obi-Wan?" Siri asked carefully. Anakin seemed to have had his attention sidetracked by the dancing blue lights across the wall, and Siri absently reached out to pinch him before turning back to me. "What might that be?"

I grinned again and – to her surprise and horror – planted a wet kiss on her cheek. "I love ya, Siri," I told her happily. Oddly enough, I couldn't really remember why I had never told her before. Something about some rule . . . some rule that I couldn't remember at the moment. Ah well, it'd come back to me. "I've loved you for a very long time now – since . . . since I can't remember when – and just want ya to know that." I smiled placidly again and leaned in for another kiss –

WHAM!

And after her slap knocked me off my feet and below the counter, I heard Anakin's voice calling as if from very far away – "Ha! You're under the table, Master! I win!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Is that all?" I asked carefully. Please, please tell me there wasn't anything else.

"Well, do you remember anything else?" Siri asked. Her attempt at looking somewhat serious would have passed if only her eyes would stop merrily twinkling.

I tried to recollect, but found that I couldn't, thanks to the new migration of the bantha herd. And, judging by the sound of it, their droideka friends had decided to rejoin them. "No . . . though I seem to remember something about flying swine?"

"That would be the Gamorrean speeder that you insulted after he cut me off in traffic on the way back," she responded helpfully, smiling at the memory. "You gave him that hand sign you learned from Bant, I believe."

"Ah, that explains it," I replied, nodding slowly. "What about the fish?"

"His Mon Calimari passenger. I'm pretty sure he understood your gesture, even if his companion didn't."

A moment of silence. Thankfully, the pounding in my brain decided to recede, at least temporarily. I could vaguely hear the sounds of what I assumed was Anakin retching into the 'fresher down the hall.

Then – "So why did you wake me up again, Siri? I seem to be drawing a blank."

"You have a meeting with the Council in a few hours, Sleepyhead," she reminded me with a wicked grin. "About that new mission you'll be taking your Padawan on later today."

I stared at her in horror. "You can't be serious," I groaned. "I'm supposed to meet with the Council today?" Suddenly, the bed seemed like a very nice place after all. Master Yoda's grammar could give me a headache on a regular day, much less a day like this.

"Don't worry, Obi-Wan, they don't know what happened last night," she assured me with another evil smile as she stood up from the bed and stretched a bit. "I'm sure they'll be wondering where you are if you don't get there in a few hours, though. Wouldn't do to keep the Council waiting, would it?"

"But – "

"Sorry, sleepy," she replied, not sounding all that sorry at all. She winked. "Rules are rules, after all."

I glared at her again before tossing back the covers and throwing my legs over the side of the bed – before realizing that I was clad only in my underwear. "Sithspawn!" I croaked, quickly burrowing back under the covers. "Siri, where by the Force-forsaken hells are my clothes?"

"I had to strip them off you after you'd vomited all over yourself," she retorted matter-of-factly, as if it was perfectly natural for her to undress me as I . . . I didn't really want to think about that. "Now get out of the bed and get dressed, Kenobi."

"I'm not getting dressed with you in here!" I practically shrieked. "Get out, Siri! I don't want you in here while I change!"

She raised an eyebrow. "But I already undressed you last night, so what could your modesty ever possibly matter now?" she said, pointing out the flaw in my thinking with a wickedly mischievous grin. "So why don't you just put on some clothing? Not that you don't look perfectly fine without clothing, but I don't think the Council would like that."

"I'm not getting out of this bed until you're out of the room, Siri Tachi!" I retorted firmly. "I'll get dressed as soon as you leave," I told her, folding my arms across my – bare – chest.

Siri just looked at me for a moment before a wide smile began to steal up her features. "You know, Obi-Wan," she murmured in a suddenly smooth, husky voice. "Do you know the real reason I wanted to be here? To come into your bedroom, Kenobi?"

My eyes widened as I looked at my childhood friend. Does she mean . . . ? "Erm . . . no?" I squeaked, though I was suspecting quite a bit at the moment. "What?"

"This," she replied silkily – and suddenly had her mouth suddenly clamped over mine for a long, drawn-out kiss.

She's a good kisser, some part of my mind marveled vaguely.

I was too shocked to respond, too shocked to move, when she swooped down on me. But I wasn't quite too shocked to notice when she pulled the blanket over my head and tucked it firmly beneath the mattress, virtually ensnaring me in my own bed.

"Hey!" I yelled, kicking at the blankets. "What was that for?"

"That!" she giggled from what seemed like very far away. "Dammit, Obi-Wan, you should have seen your expression . . ." She laughed, and though the blanket muffled the sound, I could still hear the genuine merriment in her voice. "Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I really wanted to make your bed. This room is a mess."

It was probably better - from the Council's perspective - that she was long gone before I managed to fight my way free of my sheets. So I didn't get the chance to tell her that I'd meant every word I'd said to her at the Outlander.

And after Vader's arrival, I never got another.

Finis