Anakin stared over his half-empty Mechanical Basics class. Though Shmi had improved and was back in the creche, more kids kept going down, leaving classes empty and masters exhausted by frequent vomiting interrupting classes. The illness seemed primarily confined to kids though, thank goodness.

"If you'll pull out your projects, we can get started," Anakin intoned. He had slept plenty, he had thought, but he was still exhausted, and his class didn't have much more energy than he did. Pain pounded behind his forehead. He rubbed the skin, stretching his aching muscles. Pain curdled in his stomach. He rubbed it, grimacing.

He just had to get through a few more classes. Just a few more.

Anakin pulled his cloak close around him, shivering. Why had they turned down the heat in the Temple cafeteria? Something smelled wonderful, sending his stomach roiling. Sharp pain stabbed through his stomach. He bent over and pressed his hand to his stomach, groaning.

"Anakin, are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked, his warm firm hand gripping his shoulder.

Anakin nodded. He opened his mouth to back up his statement, but a groan slipped out. "My stomach. It hurts."

"Here, why don't you come sit down?" Obi-Wan led him to a bench at a long table.

Anakin settled down, trembling, and glanced up. His eyes met a frozen Ki-Adi-Mundi's. He dropped his gaze down to his plate. A heap of steaming orange sweet vegetable mash lay on the plate, a normally delicious food.

Anakin curled over the bench and vomited on the floor. The pain stabbed harder. He groaned, tears pricking his eyes.

Obi-Wan rubbed his back. "Why don't you come to my quarters and lie down?"

"But I have classes to teach," Anakin protested.

"Not anymore you don't," Ki-Adi-Mundi said.

"Come on," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin succumbed to the dad voice and followed Obi-Wan out.

Anakin sank down on the large bed Obi-Wan and Siri shared. It was kind of weird to think of it like that, but Obi-Wan probably didn't want him getting germs in the kids' beds and getting them sick.

Obi-Wan knelt in front of Anakin and pulled his boots off. He stood up and pressed a hand to Anakin's forehead. "You have a fever," he said.

Anakin just blinked. He didn't have the energy to say anything.

Obi-Wan gently pushed Anakin down onto the bed and tucked the covers in around him. He placed a bucket on the nightstand. "Get some rest."

"What about…home?" Anakin murmured.

"I'll fly you and the kids home," Obi-Wan said.

"But…speeder," Anakin said.

"You can come back and pick up your speeder when you're feeling better," Obi-Wan said. He patted his shoulder. "Try and get some sleep. I'll pick you up and take you home when the kids' classes are done, if that sounds all right?"

Anakin nodded. "Good…plan."

Obi-Wan patted him one more time and left.

Someone was shaking Anakin.

"Anakin. Anakin!"

Anakin groaned. Why couldn't he just be left alone to sleep?

"Dear one, it's time to wake up," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin dragged his eyes open. Obi-Wan bent over him.

"It's time to go home," Obi-Wan said.

"'re the kids…ready?" Anakin asked. Pain stabbed through his stomach. He curled up, restraining a groan.

"They're at home already," Obi-Wan said. "When I came to get you, you were sleeping so peacefully, it seemed a shame to wake you up."

Anakin pushed himself up, his curls tamped down with seat on the side that had laid on the pillow. He grabbed the bucket and hugged it close. "Let's go." His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He swayed, ending up leaning against Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around Anakin's waist and half-carried him through the Temple to the hangar.

He dropped Anakin into a passenger seat in an open-air speeder. Anakin hunched over, groaning. He threw up into the bucket.

Obi-Wan rubbed his back. "It's going to be okay, Padawan. I promise."

Anakin shuddered and pressed against the speeder's side. He barely noticed when Obi-Wan took off or when they stopped, only focused on the pain in his stomach and trying not to throw up again.

"Oh, honey," Padmé said. A soft hand threaded through his sweaty curls. "How are you feeling?"

Involuntary tears filled Anakin's eyes. "Terrible."

"Come on, let's get you in bed," Obi-Wan said.

He and Padmé pulled Anakin to his feet. Padmé took his bucket away and handed it to Threepio. They helped him into the bedroom and tucked him into bed.

Padmé stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead. A clean new bucket sat on the nightstand.

"I'll see you later, then," Obi-Wan said. "Feel better, Anakin."

Anakin nodded, his mouth pressed tightly closed. He didn't trust himself to speak without throwing up.

Obi-Wan smiled at him and left.

Later that night, Anakin lay in Padmé's arms, shuddering in pain and from cold. She stroked his hair, trying to soothe him.

"Guess I'll be staying home tomorrow," Padmé said.

"No," Anakin gasped. The only thing he wanted was for her to stay home and take care of him, but he couldn't be selfish. She had just been elected chancellor yesterday. "There's only one more day left of the session. You can stay with me day after tomorrow and all the days after that. Threepio can take care of me tomorrow. I'll be fine."

Padmé's hand slowed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm a big boy, Padmé," Anakin said. "I can survive for a day alone."

"If you're sure," Padmé said. "As soon as the session ends, I'll be over here. Okay?"

"Sounds good," Anakin said. "I love you, angel."

"I love you too, Ani."

"Your fever has risen," Threepio announced. He held a thermometer in his gleaming golden hand. "Perhaps I should comm Mistress Padmé."

"No!" Anakin said, shaking. "Don't…comm her. If…there's an emergency, comm…someone else. Not her. She's got work to do." He gripped the 'netscreen remote tightly. "Besides, I'm not that bad off." He unpaused the action holofilm he was watching.

"Oh, dear," Threepio said. He hurried off.

The forms of the film floated in front of Anakin. He groaned, breaking off to vomit in the bucket.

Threepio returned with a full glass of water. "Perhaps you should try drinking again."

Anakin turned his head away. His hands were too shaky to hold the glass and he hadn't been able to keep anything down anyway.

Threepio pressed the glass to his lips. He obligingly drank. A minute later, he vomited the water up.

"Don't call Padmé," Anakin murmured, collapsing against his pillow.

"Oh dear, oh dear." Threepio walked off, carrying the glass.

Artoo rolled up to the bed. [During the Clone Wars, you would be begging her to stay. Now you refuse to let her be here?]

Anakin huffed. "I'm not a child anymore. The galaxy needs her more than I do. Isn't it a good thing that I'm responsible and don't think the galaxy revolves around me?"

[You're an idiot,] Artoo beeped. He rolled off.

Anakin shivered as he tried to focus on the movie. During the Clone wars, he had spent months away from Padmé, leaving him starving for time alone with her. Now, though, he was quite sick of being stuck in bed and tended by his beautiful, loving wife. He fell in love with her on an adventure. He missed being on adventures with her. He hated this forced invalid-nurse dynamic.

Kriffing Palpatine.

He poked the bucket. It was far too full. It needed to be cleaned out so it didn't overflow. "Threepio?" he called, his voice cracking. "Threepio?"

Nothing. Where was that stupid droid? "Threepio?"

Still nothing. Well, he wasn't helpless. He could wash it out himself. He climbed out of bed, taking the bucket with him. Shakiness threaded through his legs and torso, threatening to pitch him onto the floor. He made his way to the 'fresher and dumped the bucket's contents in the toilet.

The world swirled around him. He flailed for the sink counter without success. "Threepio?" he croaked out of a dry mouth and cracked lips. His legs gave out and he collapsed to the cool tile floor, darkness spotting his vision.

"Help," he whispered. "Help." He didn't have the strength to scream. Where was Threepio? Artoo? He trembled. "Someone, help."

He didn't know how long he lay on the 'fresher floor before he lost consciousness.

"Just try and drink a little for me," someone said.

Anakin frowned but drank the cool water that flooded his mouth. A moment later, his stomach heaved. The water gushed onto his shirt. Tears pricked his eyes and a small sob escaped. He was so tired of feeling like death warmed over.

"There, there." A cool, firm hand stroked his forehead. "It's okay, little one."

Little one? Obi-Wan? No matter how old Anakin got, Obi-Wan still referred to him sometimes as if he was still that little boy on Tatooine—Obi-Wan's "baby brother," apparently. Anakin dragged his eyes open. "'bi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan leaned over Anakin, a weary smile on his face. "Hey, there. Threepio's right, you know. You should have let Padmé stay home."

Anakin groaned. He was collapsed on the 'fresher floor and Obi-Wan still wanted to lecture him? "No one c'n…make her…do 'nything."

"Still," Obi-Wan said. He slid an arm under Anakin's knees and stood up. "You're too dehydrated. I'm bringing you to the Halls of Healing."

"Noooo," Anakin whined. He didn't want to go back. Vokara wanted him as a permanent resident. She had even named a room after him. He was becoming a fixture in the Halls of Healing.

"Yeeees," Obi-Wan responded. "If you don't, you could die of dehydration."

Anakin pressed his face into Obi-Wan's robe. "So?" he mumbled. "She's mean."

"I don't disagree, but you need her anyway," Obi-Wan said. He set down Anakin in a soft seat. "Hush now. I'm trying to figure out what to say to your wife so she won't yell at me when I call her."

"Have Luke call her," Anakin mumbled. "She won't yell at him 'f he's juss the messenger."

"Good idea," Obi-Wan said.