Archive of Our Own

Contrary to what a certain head medic of the 212th might say, Obi-Wan Kenobi did not consider himself all that… duplicitous, when it came to personal medical information. He was perfectly forthcoming, he had thought. He had told them everything they needed to know.

...Had it subsequently been beaten into his head that no, he was not allowed to hide the fact that he had post-traumatic stress disorder from the medics of the GAR? Yes. He learned something new every day. 

The fact that it was related to medical trauma specifically had Fuzzy all up in a tizzy, though he seemed to be trying to hide much of his aggravation in an attempt to be more accommodating towards his general. Obi-Wan didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was used to such behavior from Fuzzy and he’d almost prefer the man kept on as normal. 

Obi-Wan, for his part, did his best to not let his own behavior change. This was not hard, as his previous standard was already to avoid medical at all costs. Luckily for him, Fuzzy and Ahsoka were much more lenient now with letting him get away with it, and since Obi-Wan technically outranked everyone except his fellow High Generals, the only person who really dared to confront him was someone who didn’t care about that fact at all -- Anakin. Anakin, who saw Fuzzy and Ahsoka’s newfound leniency as simply an excuse to double his efforts. 

Obi-Wan genuinely didn’t know how his former Padawan did it, but he seemed to have decided that the 212th and the 501st were now a matching set. Where one went, the other followed, and vice versa. And it wasn’t enough that they were stationed together. He also revived the habit of his younger years of following Obi-Wan around like a lost tooka kitten. Practically every other sentence out of his mouth was a request for a rundown -- a practice Obi-Wan himself had started that had quickly come to haunt him. 

Back when Obi-Wan and Anakin were just starting out their journey as Master and Padawan, Anakin had some trouble with admitting physical weakness like sickness or injury. As a slave, it was best to hide such things in case it led to consequences. It took a few months for Obi-Wan to get it through Anakin’s skull that his intrinsic worth as a sentient being meant that Obi-Wan would never be mad at him for not feeling well. To get them started on this newfound path of honesty, Obi-Wan would occasionally ask for a rundown, which meant that Anakin would do a quick mental catalogue of his body to check if anything was wrong and report back. (“Like a systems check on a ship?” Anakin had asked. “...Sure, Padawan,” was Obi-Wan’s only reply.) Nothing invasive, he just wanted to make sure his Padawan was taking care of himself. It was a Rule: when asked for a rundown, you had to answer. Going too deep into the details wasn't necessary, but there was no lying (by omission or otherwise) allowed. 

Well, Anakin being Anakin, he had quickly turned this around on Obi-Wan. The young boy could be frightfully observant when he wanted to be, and he would often ask Obi-Wan for rundowns. Since Obi-Wan had established that he couldn’t lie, and he didn’t want to set a bad example for the young being now in his care, he always reluctantly gave a complete picture of his health. Anakin was never very pleased with his responses and almost inevitably ended up trying to cajole his Master into visiting the healers. This posed another moral dilemma for Obi-Wan, who emphatically Did Not want to visit the healers but also felt he had a responsibility to show Anakin it was safe and proper. Logically, Obi-Wan knew that visiting the healers was a good thing and they were only there to help keep people healthy -- but then, his trauma never thought logically. His first panic attack in front of Anakin came when the young boy was trying to get him to go get his broken wrist properly seen to. Anakin sat by his side against the wall Obi-Wan had slid down and kept up a steadying stream of chatter as Obi-Wan fought to get his gasping breaths under control. Then he held Obi-Wan’s other hand and walked him to the Halls of Healing and didn’t let go until they were back in their quarters an hour later with a fresh cast on his Master’s arm. 

Obi-Wan knew, deep in his heart, that he did not deserve Anakin Skywalker. 

Times like these, though, made him wonder if he really meant that with perhaps a more negative connotation...

He didn’t really think much of it at first. It was not that out of the ordinary for Anakin and Fuzzy to be talking to each other; Fuzzy had treated Anakin more than once and Anakin seemed to like his no-nonsense attitude. Besides, Obi-Wan was very much in favor of increased communication between the clones and the Jedi. So the first few times he saw his former Padawan and his head medic with their heads close together, he might have blinked a bit but other things soon overtook his attention. By the fourth or fifth time however, he could no longer deny that something was up. Yes, it wasn’t strange for the two to talk to each other occasionally, and no, there wasn’t anything wrong with it of course, but there was a tiny flashing light going off in Obi-Wan’s brain all the same.

Obi-Wan was walking through the halls of the Negotiator towards the bridge when he ran into the two again. As he turned into a new hallway, he noticed Anakin and Fuzzy were walking together just up ahead. Perfect.

“Anakin, Fuzzy!” he called. The two in question immediately turned around. Anakin looked slightly panicked and the tiniest bit guilty. Fuzzy, who everyone knew suffered from a medical condition commonly referred to as “not giving a shit,” had no such expression on his face. 

“Hey Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, acting a little too casual. “What’s up?”

“Where are you two off to?” Obi-Wan asked in response.

Fuzzy’s eyes drifted ever so slightly towards Anakin before righting themselves. “To grab some lunch in the mess, sir.” 

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan replied, inserting himself between them and starting off in a new direction. “That’s where I was headed.” 

It was not, in fact, where Obi-Wan was headed, but he wasn’t about to just let them walk away now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two blink at each other, then follow. 

“Why are you even on this ship anyway, Anakin? Don’t you have your own to keep you busy?”

Anakin shrugged, not catching Obi-Wan’s eye. “I had some… business to attend to.”

“Perhaps I can assist you.” 

“Ah, I don’t think that y--”

“Actually, you can, sir!” Fuzzy interrupted brightly. Obi-Wan gestured at him to continue. “We were going to grab a quick bite and then head down to the medbay.”

Obi-Wan blanched. The medbay? “On second thought, I believe I had a prior engagem--”

“I thought you just said you were going to get lunch, General?” Fuzzy said innocently in a sweet tone sounded so out of place coming from him. 

Obi-Wan looked to his former Padawan for support, but Anakin just appeared sheepish and said, “You do need to eat more, Master.” 

Traitors, the lot of them.

Well. Obi-Wan would join them for lunch. But there was no way in all the Corellian hells that he would be following them to the medbay to serve their nefarious purposes, that was for sure. 

The mess hall was relatively crowded and serving the same kind of bland yet nutritious fare it always was, two facts that did nothing to alleviate Obi-Wan’s displeasure. At least Anakin, sensing his former Master’s mood, found them a spot in the corner where few prying eyes were looking. Of course, they were three high-ranking officers, so there would always be a few curious glances, but by and large the troopers respected privacy. 

Obi-Wan was forced to remind himself of this when Fuzzy said without prompting, “So, General. We need to talk about your aversion to medical treatment.”

“Fuzzy!” Anakin hissed, as Obi-Wan’s heart rate jumped. 

Fuzzy was unrepentant. “Best to pull the bacta patch off quick, sir.” 

“We do not, in fact, need to,” Obi-Wan replied, busying himself with rearranging the food on his plate. He frowned at it. Did that nerf meat look slightly… green? He made a mental note to speak with the cooks and used his knife to nudge it off to the side. 

Anakin visibly steeled himself before saying, “Obi-Wan, Fuzzy and I have been talking and trying to come up with--”

“Hold on!” Obi-Wan looked up. “That’s why the two of you have been thick as thieves lately?”

“...Yes?”

Treason! Conspiracy! Sedition!

Anakin must have been able to feel the waves of hurt-anger-betrayal he was giving off in the Force despite his closed shields, because he immediately began emitting soothing waves of his own. 

“Master, we only want to help you.”

The anger was quickly fading and in its place was prickling discomfort. Obi-Wan needed out of this conversation, now.

“I -- I think I’m not feeling well,” Obi-Wan said, half-rising from his seat. “I’d best go back to--”

“The medbay?” Fuzzy finished, looking all too pleased with himself for successfully springing his trap. 

“Now hold on, both of you,” Anakin interjected, palms raised. “Fuzzy, we’re not going to force Obi-Wan to the medbay when there’s no urgent need for him to go.”

Obi-Wan wilted, eyes fluttering closed in relief. Anakin continued, “And Obi-Wan, we really do have to discuss this at some point.” Anticipating Obi-Wan’s immediate refusal, he added, “Like, now.”

What little appetite Obi-Wan had been nursing vanished. He lay his fork down next to his plate and tucked his hands together and into the sleeves of his robes. It was a self-soothing gesture, he could admit; though not uncommon to the Jedi, Obi-Wan did it far more often than most. There was just something grounding in the way it applied pressure, something guarding about the way it formed a barrier in front of him, something relieving about the way it allowed him to feel like he was hiding part of himself.

“...What is it that worries you the most, sir?” Fuzzy said hesitantly, seemingly aware he was treading in dangerous waters. “Maybe we could try a change in location? I know the medbay makes you anxious, so perhaps we could try in a different pla--”

“I don’t get anxious from being in the medbay or similar places,” Obi-Wan said wryly. “I get anxious from being around medical treatment and those who give it. And that happens quite a bit in the medbay, I think you’d agree.” 

Fuzzy frowned and tried a different tack. “Perhaps with repeated exposure to carefully controlled--”

“Do you think I’ve just gone decades without medical treatment?” Obi-Wan interrupted. The little voice in the back of his head cringed at his rudeness, but Obi-Wan felt flayed open, exposed, and he couldn’t gather up enough shreds of dignity to use proper manners. “You yourself have given me medical treatment a dozen times or more. I am not lacking in exposure, believe me.” 

“I’m not talking about just throwing you into the medbay and, and, experimenting on you, General--”

Obi-Wan cringed, automatically leaning back, and Fuzzy paused. Anakin’s ire flared before he reached out to his former Master in the Force, exuding comfort once more. When the medic spoke again, it was gentler. 

“I’m sorry, sir, that was careless of me. What I mean to say is exposure therapy is a tested therapeutic method that has had proven results. It involves breaking things down into small steps and working on those individually, not just tossing someone off the deep end into their trauma. I genuinely think if we could desensitize you to some aspects of medical treatment, it would make your life a lot easier.”

But Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. “No. I -- no. It’s fine how it is.”

“It’s really not, Master.” Anakin looked at him softly. “I’ve been around you for a while, don’t forget. It was bad before the war, when you weren’t getting hurt all the time, but now it’s so much worse.” 

“The war will end eventually,” was Obi-Wan’s only response. He could not bear to look Anakin or Fuzzy in the eye.

“Just consider it,” Anakin begged. “Please.” 

Obi-Wan jerked his head in what could be approximated as a nod and left as fast as he could within the bounds of propriety. His hands were shaking. He hid them in his sleeves. 

--

All Anakin could think was that he should have noticed sooner. On close inspection, it was obvious that Obi-Wan was sick: his cheeks were flushed, his skin felt clammy, and his eyes had a glaze over them. But Anakin hadn’t given him a close inspection, hadn’t been able to. He was just so busy coordinating the campaign on Dezryk’s northern front that he honestly didn’t have space in his brain to stress over his former Master. Plus, the only time they ever spoke was over holocalls, and those were usually strategy-based and with a lot of other people -- not exactly the best time to be needling Obi-Wan over his potential poor health.

So yes, objectively Anakin knew it wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t noticed Obi-Wan was sick, but that didn’t stop him from feeling bad about it. In many ways, he felt just as protective over the man as Anakin knew Obi-Wan was of him. It was Anakin who was, so often, the one to make sure he was alright. Obi-Wan couldn’t really be trusted to care for himself sometimes, not in the way that he needed to be cared for. Obi-Wan had taken over raising him after he’d arrived at the Jedi Temple, had been the one to teach him everything he knew about being a Jedi, had sacrificed so much for Anakin’s sake. Anakin owed him this much, even if Obi-Wan didn’t exactly always appreciate the gift of concern that Anakin was bestowing upon him. 

It was this concern that had propelled him to find Obi-Wan immediately when his transport landed at the base camp. He checked the command tent first -- nowhere to be found -- and then set off for wherever the grunt work was being done. 

On Anakin’s very first day in the war, way back when he had a shiny new prosthetic arm and Commander title, Obi-Wan had stressed to him the importance of being willing to do whatever the lowliest trooper had to do. Digging graves, scouting ahead, picking up debris, carrying the heaviest packs, staying in the leaky tent, volunteering to be the first one through a door, anything. This was not too different from the normal Jedi philosophy, which often saw Anakin and his Master doing things like giving up their cabins on ships to beleaguered families in favor of sleeping on the floor of the cargo hold, or staying after at banquets thrown in their honor to wash dishes with harried kitchen staff. War took that to a whole new level. You will be sending people to their deaths, Obi-Wan had said. Your life is precious, but not any more so than theirs. Do not tell them to do anything you are not willing to do yourself. 

Obi-Wan was ever one to lead by example, which was why Anakin knew he could be found during his lunch hour wherever the worst job at camp was. Today that happened to be digging trenches.

“You really think Master Kenobi will be here?” Ahsoka asked from behind him, jumping a bit over a snarl of roots that Anakin’s longer legs had easily carried him over. 

“I know it.” 

“Maybe you’re wrong and we’ll just have walked all the way to the edge of camp for nothing,” Ahsoka said, bouncing forward and putting on a burst of speed until she caught up. She looked up at her Master, waiting for his reply.

Anakin did not take her bait. “Then it’ll have been good exercise.” 

Beside him, Ahsoka groaned. He knew she was just tired and hungry, but he was going to fix both of those things very soon; he just had to do this one thing first. Besides, it was his duty as her Master to teach her everything he thought she needed to know, and learning how to wrangle Obi-Wan was a vital part of her training. 

“Obi-Wan!” he called, spotting his former Master up ahead. His head only just poked over the top of the trench being dug, but he was easy to spot because he stood out in a sea of clones. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked up when Anakin reached his spot, resting both hands on the top of his shovel. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to check in, Master,” Anakin said easily, kneeling down so he wouldn’t be looming over the man. He squinted when he got closer. Obi-Wan looked… off. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t complain,” Obi-Wan replied, which was really not an answer at all, especially coming from him. 

“Hmmm,” Anakin said, and placed the back of his hand against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Predictably, Obi-Wan sputtered and ducked away, almost hitting a clone digging next to him. 

“What are you doing?”

“You feel too warm.”

“It’s hot here.”

“No, it’s not,” Ahsoka piped in, having also knelt down. She wasn’t lying. This planet was on the chillier side for baseline Humans and Togrutas. 

“Must be from the physical activity then.”  

Anakin shook his head. “You don’t look so good.”

“We can’t all be holo-darlings, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sniffed, turning back to his shovel. “Now let me get back to work.”

“I don’t think so,” Anakin said, and reached down to grab the man. His mechanical grip was tight enough that Obi-Wan couldn’t wrestle himself away without making a scene, so Anakin used a bit of Force-strength and lifted him straight out of the trench and onto level ground. 

“Anakin!”

“Give me a rundown, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s eye roll came through in his voice. “I’m fine, I just feel a bit warm. I might have a small fever, I don’t know.”

“What? Let me feel your forehead.” 

Obi-Wan sighed. “If you really must…”

This time, Obi-Wan didn’t move away, so Anakin could feel just how unnaturally warm he was. 

“Yeah, I think you might have a fever.”

That made Obi-Wan pause, and not in a good way. “...I’ll go to sleep a bit early tonight, then.”

Anakin nodded. “Sleep is a good idea. Let’s start now.” 

“We’re in the middle of a field, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, casting a wide gaze around their surroundings. “This is hardly the place.”

Anakin paid no attention to Obi-Wan’s intentional misunderstanding; he knew it was just nerves. “Your tent’s this way, right?”

He began walking vaguely in the direction of the center of camp. Luckily, this seemed to be correct.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed, finally handing off his shovel and trailing after him. Ahsoka bounded into place beside him. 

“What have you been up to, Master Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan was far too polite to take out his grumpiness on a Padawan. “Oh, nothing much since yesterday’s battle. Just a few skirmishes with some local fauna.” At this, Obi-Wan brightened. He did love animals. Good job, Ahsoka. “There really are some fascinating creatures here. Took a bit to calm them down but then they were quite sweet, really...”

The walk back towards the main area of camp went quickly after that, with Obi-Wan talking incessantly about all the animals he’d encountered on the planet. Words were his forte. And for all he’d complained about Qui-Gon’s love of “pathetic lifeforms” (which, to be fair, were usually things like man-eating plants), he could talk for hours about the animal friends he made wherever he went. Ahsoka’s eyes had glazed over a bit but she was dutifully nodding in all the right places. Anakin, for his part, was quite pleased with this turn of events. Yes, Obi-Wan seemed to be a bit sick, but the fuss he’d been obliged to put up wasn’t that bad this time. 

That should have been his first clue. Anakin had just taken it at face-value that Obi-Wan had simply decided it wasn’t worth it to fight about this particular subject. He’d been so pleased that his Master had finally agreed to rest that he hadn’t looked any further. 

By the time they got to the command tents, Obi-Wan was flagging a bit. For the last leg of the walk, he’d let Ahsoka regale him with tales of their own battle in which she beat Anakin’s total of seventy-two droids taken down single-handedly. This was usually where Obi-Wan would chime in with some teasing slight against Anakin, and Anakin would banter back, and all would be right with the galaxy. But Obi-Wan just smiled slightly and said “Good job, Padawan.” 

Ahsoka wasn’t as used to the rhythms of their conversations as Anakin was, so she just went on without pause, but Anakin frowned and looked at Obi-Wan again. That was when he noticed the bags under Obi-Wan’s eyes, the slightly green look he was sporting. 

“Obi-Wan, are you su--”

“Here we are,” Obi-Wan interrupted, opening the flap of his tent and stepping just inside. “I’ll just have a quick lie-down and see you all in a couple hours for the briefing with the Council.”

“Not so fast,” Anakin said, muscling his way past Obi-Wan and into the tent. “I want to take your temperature.”

“No. I’ve agreed to rest, isn’t that good enough?”

Anakin crossed his arms at Obi-Wan, who met his eyes resolutely. Ahsoka, who had dutifully followed her Master inside, watched silently with wide eyes. She’d gotten some firsthand experience with Obi-Wan’s PTSD and his related aversion to medical treatment, but since then it had mainly happened out of her purview. 

“Sit down, Master, you’ll feel better,” Anakin said, kneeling down next to the cot and pulling out a small canvas bag. Navigating Obi-Wan while he was like this required a deft hand. Luckily, Anakin had been practicing since he was nine years old. He reached inside the bag. Contrary to what one might expect, Obi-Wan actually carried a small collection of medical items with him from place to place -- doing things like bandaging his own wounds allowed him to escape the healers’ and medics’ clutches more often. It was very convenient to have a stash around, but Anakin avoided mooching off of his former Master whenever necessary; he never wanted to diminish Obi-Wan’s supply of medicines in tightly-sealed, tamper-proof bottles. Still, he knew what the collection consisted of. After all, he’d been the one to help come up with it. Anakin rummaged around in the bag until he found what he was looking for: a thermometer. 

He glanced up to find that Obi-Wan had decided to be stubborn and was still standing. Surprise, surprise. “You agreed to rest.”

No reply from Obi-Wan except a narrowing of his eyes. 

Anakin rolled his own and handed him the thermometer. “Here.” 

Obi-Wan looked at it for a second, rolling it between his fingers, before finally sticking it under his tongue and shooting Anakin a look that said “Happy?”

He was. That happiness lasted right up until the thermometer chirped and read out a display of 102.4/39.1 degrees. 

Anakin blinked. “Master, that’s definitely a fever. Like, a fever fever.”

“And I’m sure a nap will help.” Obi-Wan finally sat down on the bed. 

“I think I should tell the Council that you won’t be on the holomeeting.”

“That’s hours from now, I’m sure it’ll go down in the meantime. I will be resting, after all.” He gave Anakin a look, like this was a great victory Anakin was getting and he should be happy to have gotten even that. 

Anakin himself was doubtful. He lowered his voice. “I’m sure it would go down even more if you took something for it.”

But Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. “No. No.”

“Obi-Wan, look,” he said, pulling bottles out of the bag until he found the right one and held it up. “This hasn’t been messed with. It’s still sealed from the last time you had to use it.”

The bottle was almost completely full. Anakin was confident he’d been there for the last time it had been opened -- for a flu that had been going around on Coruscant almost a year ago -- but he supposed technically Obi-Wan could have used the pills since then, so he didn’t say anything specific about that time. He knew he was walking on shaky ground right now and he didn’t want to mess anything up. 

“Do you want to come with me and get a fresh bottle from Fuzzy’s supply?”

Anakin would suggest that he just go and bring it back to Obi-Wan himself, but he knew Obi-Wan would want to see it come out of the stock with his own eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Anakin, Obi-Wan had explained many years before, it was just that he couldn’t trust anything. Anyone. Not on this. 

Anakin understood.

Obi-Wan was clearly wrestling with the decision in his head. It was a tough one for him because going to Fuzzy’s supply would mean going to the medbay. 

Anakin tried to make it a bit easier. He’d read a while back that offering choices helped with cases like this, and it had always seemed to do so for Obi-Wan. “You’ve got a couple different options here, Master. We could go and get a brand new, never-opened-before bottle of fever reducers from Fuzzy. We could examine the seal around this bottle here and if it all looks okay, take a pill. If you take the medicine, we can decide in a few hours if you’re feeling well enough for the Council meeting. Or,” he sighed, not wanting to offer this as a possibility but knowing he needed to provide an out, “if you are really against either of those options, we could have you take a nap right now. But I’d feel pretty strongly about you not going to the meeting then. You’d need all the rest you could get.” He was silent for a few seconds, then, “What do you think?”

“I think,” Obi-Wan swallowed, glancing quickly at Anakin, then Ahsoka, then at his lap, “I think I’d like to see the bottle again.” 

Anakin smiled encouragingly and handed him the bottle. With difficulty, he refrained from adding additional commentary as Obi-Wan inspected it, wanting to point out the unbroken reseal or the unchanged appearance but knowing it wouldn’t do any good until Obi-Wan noted those things himself. 

Eventually, Obi-Wan twisted the cap off with a crack. He shook out one pill, two pills, into his hand. 

“Water,” Anakin said, looking around the room but not seeing any offhand. “Ahsoka, do you have any--”

Obi-Wan was raising his hand to his mouth.

“No, Master, you’re supposed to take those with--”

He swallowed, and they were gone. Anakin suppressed the urge to sigh. This was progress -- he remembered a time with Obi-Wan would categorically refuse to take anything at all -- and any progress was good progress. He just watched as Obi-Wan pulled a small machine from the medical bag and carefully resealed the bottle with it before slipping both items back inside. 

“Now, I believe I’m supposed to be resting?” Obi-Wan looked up at them and began unhooking his outer utility belt before moving onto the laces of his boots. 

“Right.” Anakin startled himself out of his thoughts. “Where do you keep your extra blankets?”

“In the corner,” Obi-Wan said, and with a gesture from Anakin, Ahsoka was pulling them out of storage. “But I’m too hot for extra blankets.”

“You’re shivering,” Anakin pointed out. Obi-Wan blinked at that realization. The blank look stayed on his face as Anakin gently pushed on his shoulders until he was lying flat on the bed. The covers were gently tugged back and draped across him. Anakin took the extra blanket from Ahsoka with a grateful look and laid it on top of his former Master, who was shifting in place, trying to get comfortable.

“Sleep well, Master,” Anakin smiled, backing towards the flap of the tent. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes drooped. “Mm. Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka echoed as she followed Anakin out of the tent. 

Once they were back on the path, she spoke again. “You’re good at this.”

“Sometimes I think this is my final Trial,” Anakin said, only mostly joking, and they went on their way. 

Cram any place full of the GAR’s best troopers and it was bound to be a little loud, but the mess tent could only be described as boisterous. It lifted Anakin’s spirits; he’d always been energized by other people, as opposed to his former Master, who was more than capable of navigating social situations but found them rather draining. 

Ahsoka was like her Master, so she bounded happily up to the end of the food line and immediately struck up a conversation with the trooper in front of her. Anakin smiled to see it. He’d wouldn’t have ever thought he’d find training a Padawan so rewarding, but it really was. Being Ahsoka’s Master made him understand Obi-Wan so much more. They both had Padawans at unnaturally young ages -- though Anakin had Obi-Wan to help now, whereas Obi-Wan had been left with only the memories of Qui-Gon Jinn. Anakin was realizing now just how hard it must have been -- and how hard he must have worked.   

It was this that was on his mind when he went to check up on Obi-Wan later. Gratitude was, admittedly, an emotion he felt far too little of sometimes, so when it struck he took advantage of it. Obi-Wan deserved a thank-you. Anakin knew his former Master could feel through the Force the appreciation he’d had recently, but, as Obi-Wan had tried so hard to teach him, words mattered. 

All those words he had prepared went out of Anakin’s head as soon as he opened the flap to Obi-Wan’s tent. 

Obi-Wan was shivering slightly on the cot, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. He’d kicked off all the blankets, which were lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. 

“Master?” Anakin called, hurrying over. 

No response.

Anakin placed the back of his hand against Obi-Wan’s forehead, memories flashing of his mother doing the same for him as a young boy, and almost swore. Hot. Too hot. 

The medical bag was resting against the folded durasteel legs of the cot, and Anakin quickly pulled out the thermometer again. He dared not stick it in Obi-Wan’s mouth -- that would be a bit strange for anyone, let alone someone with Obi-Wan’s history -- but under the armpit worked just fine. It was a bit awkward maneuvering around Obi-Wan’s many layers of tunics but they were loose enough (he must have lost weight in the past few months) but Anakin tried to be as non-invasive as he possibly could and thankfully Obi-Wan barely even stirred.  

104.1/40 degrees. Kriff!

Anakin’s comm was programmed with Fuzzy’s number on speed dial, so it did not take long before the head medic was picking up with a, “Yes, General?”

He would make this quick. “Obi-Wan’s got a pretty high fever and he’s not waking up. We’re in his tent, can you come?”

“I’ll be right there.” The dial tone was sounding before Anakin could even say goodbye. 

It took Fuzzy about ten minutes to get to their location, which was honestly pretty impressive considering how far Obi-Wan liked to keep his tent from the medics, but it was still way too long for Anakin’s liking. Thankfully Fuzzy didn’t waste time with greetings when he arrived, just dropped his own heavy medpack on the ground next to the cot and looked down at his newfound patient. 

“General?” he said, kneeling so he was more level with the man. “Are you with me?”

No response from Obi-Wan. 

“General Kenobi?”

Still nothing. Fuzzy just nodded to himself and began rummaging through his bag, slinging questions at Anakin all the while. “When did you first notice something was wrong? Do you know how long he’s been unconscious? What other symptoms does he have?”

Anakin’s head was spinning slightly, but he did his best to answer. “Uh, he seemed a bit sick when I saw him this afternoon, and he felt hot, so I made him come back here. I convinced him to take a fever reducer and lie down and we agreed that I’d come check on him before our meeting to decide whether or not he should keep resting. That was a few hours ago. I just came now; I don’t know how long he’s been like this.”

“Right,” Fuzzy said, getting down to business. He pulled out some fancy wand-like piece of equipment out of his bag and started waving it in front of Obi-Wan’s face. It chirped and read out Obi-Wan’s temperature, which Anakin was relieved to know had not changed. He had to remind himself that it had only been fifteen minutes now, and that was not a surprise. 

“General?” Fuzzy tried to wake the man one more time, then lifted his eyelids and shined a little light into them. The medic hummed a bit, though Anakin could not tell whether it was in displeasure or not. Fuzzy continued his exam in silence, carefully prodding Obi-Wan and using various instruments, until Anakin couldn’t help it any longer. 

“Can you help him?” 

Fuzzy looked up at him, seeming… regretful. Anakin’s heart beat faster. “Sir, I’d like to take him to the medbay.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to be off of this Force-forsaken planet, but we can’t always get what we want, now can we?” Anakin snapped. Then he took a deep breath, just like he’d been practicing with his mindhealer, and ducked his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I just get so… I’m sorry.”

Fuzzy stayed silent.

“I just… Is there no way you can treat him here?”

“I’ve got no idea what’s causing this. I need more tests. A full examination. And I’m not exactly equipped to start an IV in here or anything.” Lines appeared around Fuzzy’s eyes. He paused, then said, “I know we’ve discussed a lot about… About what to do. With General Kenobi. But in cases like these, there are hard lines that I need to take as a medic to keep a patient safe, and that means taking him to the medtent. If he were conscious and lucid, that would be another story. But…” He shook his head.

Anakin raised his hand to his brow, the conflict inside him weighing heavily. “Yes, I mean, obviously you’re right, I -- I defer to you with the medical stuff. I’m just trying to be the best advocate I can.”

Fuzzy’s face softened. “I know you are, General. And I also know General Kenobi appreciates it, even if he doesn’t show it that often.” 

Anakin shrugged. He didn’t do it for Obi-Wan’s appreciation, he did to keep him safe. Anakin would do anything to keep Obi-Wan safe, anything -- 

He stopped himself there. Best not to allow himself to go down that path, even in his head. 

Transporting Obi-Wan to the medical tent was easier than Anakin thought. There weren’t that many troopers around -- the promise of dinner after a long day’s work could get to anyone, even if they were sick of rations -- which was a blessing. Obi-Wan would not have been pleased at people lining up to gawk at him, especially as he made his way unconscious to his most hated place. 

Once inside the medtent, Fuzzy and Anakin deposited Obi-Wan in the most secluded area they could. As various other medics began bustling around the room, setting up various pieces of equipment and getting started on tests, Fuzzy produced a small aerosol can out of nowhere and began spraying a floral-scented mist into the air. 

Anakin stared.

“What?” Fuzzy said, misinterpreting the look. “It’s hypoallergenic and doesn’t interfere with breathing.” 

That only made Anakin more confused. “...What are you doing?”

And to his eternal surprise, Fuzzy blushed a little bit. “Smells have strong associations. They can trigger unpleasant memories.”

Anakin, touched beyond words, just shook his head in amazement. 

“Stop that,” Fuzzy muttered, then turned to his subordinates and barked, “Alright people, what do we know?”

Much of the dialogue that followed went over Anakin’s head, but he was able to pick through the deluge of confusing medical terms and get the gist: namely that Obi-Wan was pretty sick and they still weren’t sure why. So basically, nothing that Anakin didn’t already know. 

They had him on fluids and hooked up to a bunch of monitors, so they’d be able to keep tabs on him while they tried to figure it out. There was a lively debate happening as Fuzzy and the four other medics in the room tried to decide whether or not to run a full blood panel or do an MRI. It was this unlucky time that Obi-Wan chose to wake up.

“Nngh...” Obi-Wan’s back arched slightly and his eyelids fluttered. Only Anakin seemed to notice. 

“Hey,” Anakin said sharply towards the group of medics in an effort to get their attention, but that did not cut through either. He moved closer towards the bed, where Obi-Wan seemed to be waking up for good. 

“‘nakin,” he groaned.

“Hey Master, it’s alright,” Anakin murmured, voice and Force presence as calm as he could make them. “You’re sick right now, but we’re going to help you get better.”

His efforts were too late. Obi-Wan’s eyes scanned his surroundings, spotting the various machines, the group of medics arguing in the corner, and finally locking onto the IV pole. Gaze widening, he followed the tube from the pole into his own wrist. 

Anakin lunged toward Obi-Wan, but it was too late -- with a quick yank, he’d pulled the IV out of his arm. A shrill alarm instantly went off, its high-pitched shrieking drawing the attention -- finally -- of the medics in the room. It only took Fuzzy a second to take in the full situation. He immediately dismissed his subordinates from the area and ran to hit a button on the IV pole. The alarm stopped sounding, but Obi-Wan, who had scrambled as far back on his bed as he could, did not relax. 

“Master!” Anakin exclaimed, hands spread wide as he inched towards the man. “It’s alright, just take a deep breath.”

But his breath seemed caught in his throat as his eyes flitted around the room nervously.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin tried again. “Obi-Wan, look at me.”

This time he was rewarded with Obi-Wan’s glazed eyes meeting his. 

“Good,” he said, giving an encouraging smile. “Now breathe with me for a minute. In…” He took a deep breath in, then held it. “And out.” He repeated the process a few times, moving ever so slightly closer to the bedside each time. On the final exhale, he was right next to Obi-Wan. His former Master just stared at him the entire time. 

“Good,” Anakin said again. “Thank you. Obi-Wan, you’re sick right now but we don’t know why. Do you know what could have caused this?”

Instantly Obi-Wan looked towards Fuzzy, who had remained frozen by the wall. His breathing started picking up again, but Anakin stepped in between them and redirected his attention. 

“No, it wasn’t Fuzzy, Master. He’s here to help you, just like I am. I promise, we both want to make you better.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed and he blinked hard, looking a bit confused. This seemed to be a hard concept for him to wrap his head around, but at least he was trying. It had taken Anakin years to be able to have Obi-Wan’s trust when he was compromised like this, so to see him even entertain the possibility that someone else -- a medic, no less! -- wasn’t there to hurt him warmed Anakin’s heart. 

Fuzzy took a tiny step towards the bed, eyes on the discarded IV, but stopped immediately when Obi-Wan stiffened. 

Anakin shifted again so he was blocking Fuzzy from Obi-Wan’s point of view once more. “Obi-Wan? Let’s forget about the IV for a minute and talk about you. How are you feeling?”

Thankfully, this caused Obi-Wan to look at him again. 

“Dizzy,” he whispered. 

“Dizzy?” Anakin echoed. “Okay. What else? Are you tired? Nauseous?”

Obi-Wan just nodded.

“Do you remember when you started feeling off?”

He blinked slowly. “Midday.”

“Was there anything you did this morning that you think might have caused this?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, then winced. Anakin narrowed in on the gesture. 

“Does your shoulder hurt?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually Obi-Wan gave a small nod.

“Can we see?”

That got a bit more of a reaction. Obi-Wan’s face darkened and he covered his left shoulder with his right hand. Anakin focused on sending feelings of safety through the Force, and enough must have gotten through because Obi-Wan gradually moved his fingers until they were around the hems of his robes. With a bit more wincing, he pulled down the fabric until his shoulder was exposed.

It did not look good. The entire area was swollen and inflamed, with two puncture marks right in the center. There was a mixture of blood and pus oozing out of each of them, and angry red streaks spreading from the wounds. 

“That… looks pretty painful, Master,” Anakin said, wincing. He was trying to keep his voice level but internally he was freaking out a bit. How had this escaped everyone’s notice? And why hadn’t Obi-Wan said anything before? This last question he said out loud and directed at the man himself.

“Didn’t… didn’t… hurt like this… before,” Obi-Wan responded, wavering a bit on the bed. “And she… didn’t mean it.” 

“Who’s ‘she’?” 

Obi-Wan raised his right arm once more, but this time he stretched it towards Anakin. Anakin leaned down instinctively and Obi-Wan pressed his fingers to his forehead. A memory pressed through to Anakin’s mind. Looking through Obi-Wan’s eyes, he could see the Dezrykian countryside -- sprawling blue fields contrasting with the rosy orange sky. He, as Obi-Wan, admired the view as he walked just in front of his troops. Anakin could feel his weariness, but the sights of the planet, the ability to just breathe and admire nature instead of scanning their surroundings for some threat -- well, it was like a balm. Then a stick snapped beneath his feet, and all of a sudden there was a yowling mass of fur leaping towards him. He ducked quickly but not fast enough -- something sank its long teeth into his shoulder, and his world lit up with hot, sharp pain. 

His hand instinctively went to the back of the creature’s neck, holding its scruff and trying to pull it off. The creature’s mouth automatically opened and he went to hold it out in front of him but the animal scrambled out of his hold and back onto the ground, where it turned back towards him and prepared to pounce again. 

More prepared this time, he put his hand out in front of him and knelt, stretching his mind out beyond his shields and into the Living Force around him. He brushed up against the animal’s mind and sent out a calm, soothing overture. Peace, he conveyed. Friend.  

The creature relaxed in front of him. He could sense in her mind a deep-seated need to protect, something he was curious about until he picked up on several other smaller, younger presences very close nearby.  Her nest, he realized. 

His new friend stretched out in front of him and nuzzled her face in his hand until he began scratching her behind the ears.

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Stand down,” he told the troopers with him, who were still holding their blasters out, a bit confused. “We just startled her. We’re almost on top of her nest, and she’s simply looking out for her children.”

Cody was the first to lower his weapon, with the others quickly following suit. “Are you alright, General?”

“Just fine,” he said, and it really was the truth at the time. He could feel the area going numb, not thinking much of it. “Let’s take a bit of a detour, shall we? Wouldn’t want to bother our new friend here any more than we already have.”

Cody just smiled fondly in agreement and shook his head. “Only you could make friends with the local fauna that’s just attacked you, sir.”

The denials he put up as they started walking again were half-hearted at best.

Anakin’s eyes opened again -- when had they closed? -- to see Obi-Wan’s fingers moving away from his forehead. 

He couldn’t help it, but he let out a little laugh under his breath. “Cody was right.”

“What?” Fuzzy was left out. “Commander Cody was right about what?”

Anakin turned to face the medic. “Obi-Wan was bitten by some animal while out scouting this morning. I don’t think a normal bite, even infected, would affect someone in this way this quickly, so it was probably venomous.” 

Fuzzy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lovely. I don’t suppose he knew what kind of animal it was?”

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, who was listing sideways a bit on the bed. “You didn’t happen to recognize the animal that bit you, did you?”

Obi-Wan blinked slowly, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. “Friend.” 

“Yes, I know she was your friend,” Anakin sighed. It seemed that particular avenue was a dead-end. 

“Master!” A shout came from beyond the secluded area of the medtent. “ There you are!”

Ahsoka burst her way into the room, panting in exertion, lekku flying -- and immediately froze. 

“Uhhhhhh…” she gulped, staring at Obi-Wan, Fuzzy, and finally Anakin. 

“Hello, Ahsoka.” Anakin raised his eyebrow, faintly amused. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Master,” Ahsoka responded immediately, giving a properly respectful bow and exuding apology in the Force. “Um, the Council is wondering where you are. You and, um, Master Kenobi.” She looked at Obi-Wan again, who was currently alternating between staring at her and the site on his arm where he’d torn out his IV. 

“Kriff, I forgot all about that,” Anakin swore, then immediately glared at his Padawan. “Don’t repeat that word.”

Ahsoka rolled her eyes but dutifully nodded. Anakin knew she heard way worse all the time but Obi-Wan’s presence tended to bring out the “responsible Master” hidden somewhere inside of him. 

“Tell the Council that Obi-Wan’s hurt and in the medbay and I’ll be with him for the foreseeable future. They’ll understand. And then come back here, I’ve got a job for you.”

Ahsoka’s nod this time was much more genuine. “You got it.”

While they waited for her to return, both Fuzzy and Anakin placed their attention back on Obi-Wan. He seemed to be fading in and out, barely following what was going on. 

“An’kin,” Obi-Wan slurred. “Wanna… Wanna leave.”

“I know, Master, and I’m sorry,” Anakin winced. “But you’re sick, remember?”

“’s why I need to leave,” Obi-Wan tried to explain. 

“I know it may not feel like it right now, but being here will actually make you feel better.” Hopefully.  

Obi-Wan shook his head but, thank the Force, appeared to drop the subject. Fuzzy turned to Anakin and mimed something unintelligible. 

What? Anakin mouthed back. Fuzzy huffed and pointed at his arm again. Then at the IV pole. Then at the vitals monitor which showed Obi-Wan’s temperature had risen even further. Then back at his arm. 

Anakin grimaced. That’s not going to go well.

Now it was Fuzzy’s turn to be confused at what he was trying to get across, but instead of mouthing it again or continuing their weird miming game, Anakin decided to just turn to Obi-Wan. 

“Obi-Wan…” he started, trying to decide the best way to approach this. It was going to be one hell of an uphill climb. “Are you thirsty?”

Obi-Wan carefully shrugged. 

“Let me get you some water.” Anakin turned towards the pop-up cabinets and rummaged through until he found a plastoid cup to fill up. Fuzzy glared at him as he walked past, still attempting to subtly point at the IV pole as if Anakin had suddenly forgotten the end goal in the past five seconds. 

He had to hold the cup up to Obi-Wan’s lips for him to sip. After the third swallow, Obi-Wan began coughing, which soon turned into him spitting up the meager amount of water he’d been able to get down. 

Fuzzy was exuding angry vindication into the Force, but Anakin had expected this result. All part of his plan.

“Obi-Wan, when was the last time you ate?”

“Morning,” Obi-Wan said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Drinking tea doesn’t count as eating.”

Obi-Wan glared halfheartedly. 

Anakin asked again: “When was the last time you ate food?”

“Yes’erday…” 

“What time yesterday?”

Another half hearted glare. “Lunch.” 

It was dinner time now, meaning he hadn’t eaten in over a day. This was normally where Anakin would have exasperatedly shoved a ration bar into his former Master’s hands or manhandled him to the mess tent, but he wasn’t done yet.

“And besides the cup of tea this morning, have you had anything to drink today?”

Obi-Wan flopped his arm over the bed railing and pointing at the water on the floor.

“Water that you threw up doesn’t count either.” Anakin leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “So what I’m hearing is that you need nutrients and fluids.”

Obi-Wan stayed silent, just watching him carefully. 

“You know what’s a great way to do that when you’re sick and can’t keep anything down?”

At this, Obi-Wan groaned and shook his head, sensing what was coming.

“An IV!"

“No!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, sitting upright. 

Fuzzy decided to step into the conversation. “It’s perfectly safe, General. Nothing you haven’t had a hundred times before. I’ll show you the drip bags we’re using, so you can see there’s nothing wrong with them.”

“No, it’s, it’s,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head over and over. “It’s not good.”

“I promise they haven’t been tampered with, Master,” Anakin reassured. “These are the same ones all the troopers get. I thought you told me never to have someone else do something that you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself?”

This argument apparently lodged itself in Obi-Wan’s brain, but with his delirium only the Force knew if it would have any effect. Ahsoka popped her head back in the room, so Anakin stepped out into the hallway with her and left Obi-Wan with Fuzzy to think about it. 

“It’s all taken care of,” Ahsoka announced. “They said they wish Master Kenobi a speedy recovery and would debrief with you later when you were available.”

Anakin, who had been dealing with his Master’s situation and the Council for long enough to not have any doubts that this would be the response, simply nodded and moved on. “Good. Alright, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Ahsoka said immediately. 

“Obi-Wan was bitten by an animal that looked like this.” He pushed the image through their bond. “I want you to go to the town nearby and see if their doctors have any recommendations, any medicine or treatments they can provide.”

“Got it,” she said, nodding and preparing to leave right then.

“Take someone else with you,” he added before she could run off. “Like…”

He looked around, spotting a medic in the distance. “Hey, Stitches!”

At the end of the hallway, the clone looked around him to see if there was anyone else Anakin could be referring to. 

“Did… Did you mean me, General Skywalker?” Stitches (or maybe that wasn’t his name?) asked, walking towards them. 

“Yeah. Sorry, did I get your name wrong?”

“N-no, sir!” he stammered. “I just, I just didn’t think you knew who I was, that’s all.” 

Anakin smiled. “Of course I do. Fuzzy tells me you’re a valuable addition to his team.” 

Stitches blushed like the shiny he was. Anakin knew he’d only graduated from Kamino a few weeks before. 

“Are you busy? Would you mind accompanying my Padawan on a run into town?”

“No, sir! I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind, yes, sir!”

Beside him, Anakin could sense Ahsoka’s growing mirth almost ready to spill into giggles. He surreptitiously tapped her ankle with his boot. Knock it off , he sent, though he was a bit amused himself. 

“Great,” he said out loud. “Ahsoka can brief you on the way. I’ve gotta go back inside now. We’ll be waiting for your return.”

Stitches gave the crispest salute he’d ever seen before turning and practically marching down the hallway. Anakin shared a look with Ahsoka, almost laughing for real this time, then watched as she ran to catch up with the medic. 

Anakin quickly sombered as he considered what was going on in the room at his back. A loud crash rang out and he quickly ran inside. 

The first thing he noticed was Obi-Wan: hand outstretched, eyes wide in panic, chest heaving. Then he saw the IV pole lying flat on the ground as if someone had pushed it over. Fuzzy had backed away from the bed and was currently standing near the entrance flap. He looked over as Anakin skidded to a stop. 

Anakin met Fuzzy’s gaze for a second. They couldn’t communicate through the Force like two Jedi would have been able to but an understanding passed between them regardless. Fuzzy retreated further to the corner of the room as Anakin stepped forward towards his former Master. 

“Obi-Wan, it’s alright,” he soothed. “What happened?”

“Don’t wan’ it,” Obi-Wan said quickly. 

Anakin slowly crouched and began slowly righting the IV pole. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Where is she?”

“I think your animal friend is still out in the fields, Master,” Anakin smiled.

“No.” Obi-Wan’s eyes grew even wider. His voice shook. “ Her .” 

Anakin’s heart sank. If Obi-Wan had already hit the stage where he was worried about Jenna Zan Arbor being around, then he was further gone than Anakin had thought. 

“Obi-Wan, I swear to the Force she’s not anywhere near you right now.”

“Or you?” He sounded small. 

“No, she’s not near me either.” Anakin gave a watery smile. Trust Obi-Wan to be worried about others too. 

Obi-Wan in no way looked happy, but he at least laid back a bit on the bed, even if his eyes were still watching the entrance carefully. Anakin beckoned Fuzzy over and murmured to him, “Can you grab a new bag?”

He gestured towards the IV pole where the old bag was swinging, half-empty from before Obi-Wan had torn it out the tubing. Fuzzy nodded and grabbed another clear bag from the cabinet storage. He handed it to Anakin, who looked at it then took a deep breath. 

“Obi-Wan, I know you don’t like it, but you’re really dehydrated and it’s making your fever worse. And since you can’t keep anything down right now, it’s gotta be IV fluids. I’m really sorry.” Anakin looked steadily into Obi-Wan’s glazed, lidded eyes and placed the bag of fluids in his hands. “Here. You can inspect this.”

Obi-Wan hunched in on himself as he stared at the bag. “Wha’ is it?”

Anakin wasn’t sure if that was the fever talking or just Obi-Wan’s trauma making him get absolute confirmation, but he responded regardless. “IV fluids.”

“’s it… bad?” 

“No,” Anakin shook his head immediately. “It’s good for you, I promise.” 

Fuzzy had been moving around while they were talking, gathering items from around the room, so by the time their exchange was finished, he was ready to place the IV catheter again. 

“Could I see the bag again, sir?”

Obi-Wan was instantly suspicious. “Why?”

Fuzzy looked a little off his game but powered through. “I need to hook it up to the stand and check the tubing. You can watch as I do it.”

Only at this last assurance did Obi-Wan hand it over. Fuzzy thanked him and set up the fluids, making sure to elevate the bag and check for bubbles in the plastoid tubing. 

“Now could you hold out your arm for me, General?”

Obi-Wan clutched his arm to his chest instinctively.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Anakin said, putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s non-injured shoulder. He pushed a feeling of comfort-safety-calm through their bond. Obi-Wan reluctantly stretched out his arm.

“Actually, I need your other arm, sir,” Fuzzy said apologetically. “Don’t want to place it in the same site.”

A bit more coaxing, and Obi-Wan’s other arm was extended.

“Thank you,” Fuzzy smiled, and prepped the site. Obi-Wan remained tense and tight-lipped as a tourniquet was tied and his arm was swabbed. Then Fuzzy brought out the needle, and it was only Anakin’s hand on his shoulder that stopped Obi-Wan from scrambling off the bed. On a normal day, Obi-Wan would be extremely stressed by this process but be able to get through it with help. 

This was not a normal day.

“Master!” Anakin exclaimed, scrambling up so he was half-sitting on the bed too. “It’s alright. Take a deep breath.”

Obi-Wan did his best, but panic still flowed from behind his shields. Anakin wrapped both his Force presence and his physical body in a warm embrace, careful to leave Obi-Wan’s arm out of the hug. Once Obi-Wan’s head was tucked into his chest, he nodded at Fuzzy to continue. 

“IV’s going in now, sir,” Fuzzy murmured right before he injected the needle and catheter. He was a practiced hand, and it was only a handful of moments before the process was finished and the tubing was being secured on Obi-Wan’s arm with medical tape. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Anakin repeated to his former Master. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Just sleep now.”

Obi-Wan was too sick and tired to argue with the Force suggestion, so within a second Anakin was supporting his dead weight. He carefully lowered him to lay flat on the bed. 

“Thanks, Fuzzy,” Anakin said, pressing gently on the area just around the IV site on Obi-Wan’s arm. 

Fuzzy just gave a tight smile and drew back Obi-Wan’s robes slightly to inspect the wound again. It was pretty clear that he wanted to put Obi-Wan in a medical gown, but he and Anakin had had long conversations and neither of them wanted to remove his clothing without consent if it wasn’t necessary. 

Anakin slid off the bed and stretched, feeling his spine pop. It had been a long day. Stressful. This had definitely done nothing to alleviate that, though that wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault. Unless his thing for animals counted, which Anakin would definitely be giving him grief for as soon as he was lucid and out of the medtent. 

He checked his comm. Seven missed messages from Ahsoka, all asking about why he was skipping the Council meeting. Those he deleted; she’d obviously gotten her answer. Two spam messages from his favorite dive bar on Coruscant advertising a karaoke night coming up. And one long message from Padmé, which he smiled to see. She never failed to cheer him up. He left that one unread so he could savor every word later as a reward for making it through the day. 

Anakin looked down at Obi-Wan again, whose face was lined with stress even in sleep. He longed to go back to his own tent and take a proper nap, but he would never leave Obi-Wan while he was like this, not if he could help it. So he sat down on the hard chair he’d dragged over from the corner and tipped his head back, eyes closed, taking a deep breath and attempting to clear his mind. He wouldn’t fall asleep -- he couldn’t properly guard Obi-Wan if he wasn’t conscious, not to either of their satisfaction -- but he could try and do a bit of meditation. Normally he preferred a more active sort where he could be moving, but he was tired enough that this just might work. 

Sure enough, he was able to sink into the Force without too much trouble. He spent the time leeching away and releasing what negative feelings he could from Obi-Wan, but there was only so much he could do. 

Anakin did not know how much time had passed when Ahsoka sent a pulse down their bond. She was nearby now, he could sense, so he rose out of the meditation and opened his eyes. He’d felt Fuzzy leave the room a while back but he was here now, peering at some of the monitors by Obi-Wan’s bedside. 

“How is he?” Anakin asked while sending an answering pulse to Ahsoka.

“Not great,” Fuzzy answered grimly. “His organ function is starting to be affected by whatever this is.”

Obi-Wan felt sickly and sour in the Force so this did not come as a surprise to Anakin exactly, but he did not enjoy it being confirmed. 

“Well, let’s hope Ahsoka was able to find something.”

Fuzzy nodded and opened his mouth, preparing to speak again, when Ahsoka entered the room again, Stitches right behind her. 

“Did you know there’s a swamp on the way to the town?” was the first thing out of her mouth. She wiped something slimy off her montrals and flicked it to the ground. “It’s pretty disgusting, let me tell you.”

This was not the time for -- ! “Did you find someone? What did they say? Did you get something?” 

Ahsoka blinked in the face of Anakin’s many questions. “Calm down, Skyguy. Yeah, we talked with someone.” She beckoned towards Stitches, who stepped forward and began speaking.

“Sirs. We were able to find a local urgent care clinic and spoke with the staff inside. Commander Tano explained the situation and described the animal in question, and thankfully they recognized it quickly. It’s actually a pretty interesting kind of crea--”

Fuzzy and Anakin gave him matching glares.

“Right, sorry, sirs.” Stitches cleared his throat. “They were a little concerned with how long it has apparently been since General Kenobi was bitten, but they said as long as we get this into his system soon, he’ll make a full recovery.”

He reached into his pack and pulled out… an IV bag. Kriff.

It was shiny and slightly luminescent, casting a green glow on Stitches and Fuzzy’s darker skin as one passed it to the other. Fuzzy cast a discerning eye over the label printed on the bag, which was thankfully written in Basic. He muttered to himself as he studied the ingredients. 

“Yes… yes… hmm, never heard of that before… that’s interesting, huh…”

When he looked up, everyone in the room was staring at him, waiting for his verdict. 

Fuzzy sighed. “I mean, most of the stuff in here is things I would use to fight an infection anyway, and the rest of it I can only assume is native to this planet. We don’t really have any choice but to try it. The general is somewhat stable for now but deteriorating fast and I don’t know if I’d be able to treat him with what I’ve got here on the ground. In the Negotiator , maybe, but not here.”

Anakin swallowed. “Let’s do it then.” He turned to Ahsoka and Stitches. “Thanks for your help.”

Stitches saluted. “Of course, sir! No problem at all, sir!”

Fuzzy subtly rolled his eyes, then turned to the trooper and said, “Thanks. Now back to your rounds. I think Oliphant in Besh-2 could use another dose of the anti-inflammatory.”

Stitches nodded with another “yes, sir!” and spun on his heel to leave the room. Fuzzy apparently couldn’t help but let out a snort, but there was a wry smile on his face.

“Good kid.” 

Normally Anakin would be all for this kind of good-natured teasing but he was a little tense at the moment. “Can we start him on this now?”

Fuzzy nodded sharply, all business again. “Right away.”

Obi-Wan was still unconscious, which was not ideal for starting him on a medicine, but it really was the best way to save his life, so Anakin only watched as Fuzzy switched out the fluids and nutrients hanging from the IV stand for the bag he held in his hand. The glowing green medicine slowly made its way through the tubing and into the crook of Obi-Wan’s elbow. 

Almost instantly, Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed open. Just as quickly, Anakin was there to hold his arms down. 

“Don’t worry!” he said quickly. “It’s alright. It’s alright!”

Obi-Wan was making an intense gurgling noise in the back of his throat and did his best to throw Anakin off. Luckily, he was too weak to make much headway. 

Anakin focused on sending Obi-Wan feelings of safety-peace-comfort in the Force. “Ahsoka,” he gestured with a jerk of his head, and she began doing the same. 

Obi-Wan was still struggling underneath him. Unsecured objects in the room began to shake.

“Master!” Anakin said, as a metal tray fell off the table. “Look at me.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were wild, panicked, but after a few seconds they locked onto Anakin’s.

“That’s it,” Anakin soothed. “Just stay with me, alright? Focus on me.” 

Obi-Wan gulped in massive amounts of air. “Please,” he croaked. “No more.”

Fuzzy chose this moment to step forward again. “You need this, sir,” he began, but was cut off by Obi-Wan’s frightened look. “I --”

“Fuzzy, I promise I’ll get him the full dose, but I think we need to be alone for a bit,” Anakin begged. “You too Ahsoka, I’m sorry.”

“No problem, I understand,” Ahsoka said quietly, giving Anakin an encouraging smile as she grabbed Fuzzy’s elbow.

“You take care of my patient!” Fuzzy shot at Anakin just before Ahsoka successfully pulled him out of the door. 

Once the room was clear, Obi-Wan relaxed slightly but not enough that Anakin felt comfortable letting him go. 

“Just focus on me, Master,” he repeated. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“An’kin,” Obi-Wan whimpered, and to Anakin’s horror he could see tears in his eyes. And before Anakin could say anything, Obi-Wan blinked and they spilled over. 

“Anakin,” he whispered desperately again, and Anakin shifted his hold so it was more of an embrace -- still carefully restraining Obi-Wan from tearing out his IV, but now providing some clearly needed comfort as well. 

Sobs wracked Obi-Wan’s body, but Anakin just rocked with him. 

“You’re gonna be alright, Master,” he reassured. “You’re sick now but we’re helping you get better. That’s what the IV is for. It’s not anything bad, I swear.” Privately, Anakin couldn’t be sure, as he wasn’t any kind of healer, let alone one native to the area, but it was the truth as far he knew and Obi-Wan needed to hear it, so he said it with no regrets. 

“t’s not… not an’thing bad?” Obi-Wan repeated, choking out the words. 

“It’s there to heal you.”

He keened. “Don’ like it…”

Anakin decided to try a new tactic. “Let’s think about something else, if we can. Tell me…” He thought frantically. “Tell me about your favorite spot in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Thankfully, this seemed to have much more success. Obi-Wan sniffed a bit, a wet sound. “Y’ a-already know…”

Anakin barked out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s that spot behind the base of the smaller waterfall, right? With the extra-soft grass. And no one can see you and not many people know the little alcove is there so it’s really private.” 

Obi-Wan hummed an affirmative, Force presence calming slightly as he pictured it. 

“You know, I always thought you were crazy when I was younger for liking that place. Well, after I was able to find it. That took me a while, as you remember. I could never figure out where you were; you blended in so perfectly with the Room. But when I would find you there, it never seemed peaceful to me. The waterfall was so loud, I never knew why you always chose that spot to meditate. But I tried it the last time we were on Coruscant and Master, I have to tell you, you were right the whole time. I thought the loudness would bother me, but it ended up melting away into white noise and let me clear my thoughts like I’ve never been able to just sitting down before.” He laughed. “Maybe it’s because I have a Padawan of my own now. I can see why you always loved having that time for yourself.”

“No droid parts,” Obi-Wan slurred, head lolling to one side like he was trying to look back at Anakin. It was a common gripe of his when Anakin was still his Padawan, but now that they were on slightly more equal ground it had evolved into a bit of an inside joke. 

“I didn’t leave them everywhere in our quarters,” Anakin attempted to defend himself. 

Obi-Wan exuded wry disbelief in the Force. 

“Whatever,” Anakin grumbled good-naturedly. He took a quick glance towards the IV bag and saw it was almost halfway empty. Thank the Force. They could do this. “Master, if I let go of your arms do you promise not to pull out your IV again?”

He felt Obi-Wan tense for a few seconds, then deliberately relax his muscles and nod. 

“Keep... talkin’,” Obi-Wan pleaded. 

Anakin didn’t have to be told twice. He kept up a steady stream of chatter about mindless things: parts he wanted to tinker around with on the Resolute (mainly the hyperdrive; the natural speed barrier was for wussies), what he considered the best thing on the menu at Dex’s (bantha burger all the way, though he knew Obi-Wan would practically kill a man for the fried tubers), how unfair it was that Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him enter the Boonta Eve podrace again (even though he would totally blow the competition out of the sand). Obi-Wan never truly calmed throughout all this but he seemed to be able to center himself a bit by focusing on Anakin. He still was quite sick, so after a few minutes of Obi-Wan half-fainting in his arms, Anakin gently laid him all the way back on the bed. Obi-Wan protested at first, making little noises in the back of his throat that went straight to Anakin’s heart, but soon he accepted the change in position. He still wouldn’t allow himself to pass out or fall asleep if he could help it. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyelids gently droop almost towards closing and then frantically snap completely open every few seconds to stare at the tube in his arm was… Well. 

Eventually, to the relief of both in the room, the IV bag ran dry. Obi-Wan placed his hand over the site on his arm but made no further move. 

“Please,” he murmured, asking permission. 

Anakin grimaced. “I can’t convince you to keep it in for a little while longer to get some more fluids and nutrients in you?”

Obi-Wan vehemently shook his head. 

“Alright, fine,” Anakin sighed, getting up off the corner of the bed. “I’ll grab Fuzzy and we can -- aaaand you’ve done it already. Okay.”

Obi-Wan had not waited a single second, instead pulling the tube out himself with the slightest wince.

“You know you’re really not supposed to do that yourself, right?”

Obi-Wan chose not to respond to that, just let his fingers go limp and watched the tube drop onto the floor. He shifted in bed and looked at Anakin with bleary eyes.

“You’ll stay?” he asked, words slurring together slightly.

Anakin softened. Obi-Wan asked this often when receiving medical care, and his answer never changed. “Of course.” 

The lines across Obi-Wan’s face relaxed for the first time since Anakin had seen him that afternoon. He simply hummed in response and closed his eyes, falling asleep within moments.

Anakin took a deep, cathartic breath and sat back down in the chair. He cracked his neck from side to side as he sent a message to Fuzzy that the course of medicine had been completed and Obi-Wan was out. It took no time at all before Fuzzy was entering the room again, careful not to make too much noise. He nodded a greeting at Anakin, but otherwise went right to the monitors. 

“His vitals are already greatly improved,” he whispered, looking incredulous. 

“That’s great,” Anakin murmured back around a yawn. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” Fuzzy said quietly, looking anywhere but Anakin’s face. “I’m glad someone at least was able to get him the help he needed.”

Anakin sat up a little straighter. “You know it’s not your fault, right? It wasn’t anything to do with you.” He blinked. “Well, I mean, it wasn’t you in particular. It’s just… other people in general.” 

“I just… I had hoped he would have been able to trust me a little more,” Fuzzy admitted. “I feel like I’m failing him. This is my purpose, to keep him and my brothers safe and healthy. What use am I if I can’t even do that?”

“It took the two of us years to get to this point. He’s already much better at it now than when I first met him. He’ll get there, you just gotta give him time,” Anakin replied. “And you’re already doing all you can for Obi-Wan, and for the rest of the 212th. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Fuzzy was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he said, busying himself with smoothing out the blankets covering Obi-Wan. 

Anakin smiled slightly to himself. He had done a lot of work with Obi-Wan over the years to help him get through the trauma associated with medical care, and as a result had been added to the very short list of people his former Master trusted with such things. It was a list that, with Qui-Gon’s passing, only contained two names: Anakin, and Vokara Che. Maybe Fuzzy would be the third. 

-- 

CM-0223 had been selected early on for medic training and it quickly became his entire existence. He was very determined to be nothing but the best, and this meant lots and lots of studying and practice. His batchmates were longsuffering about this but put up with all the muttering of medical terms under his breath, and them having to pretend to have broken limbs so he could make splints, and the lectures they got on taking proper care of themselves. CM-0223 was armed with a blaster, yes, but also with whatever new knowledge he’d learned that week. 

This got a little tiring for his batchmates after a while. 

One day, CM-0223 had assigned each of his batchmates a different medical problem to pretend to have in order to practice triaging on them. Now, this was coming at the end of a long day of physical training for the rest of the batch, and they really didn’t want to be the last ones to the showers again , so they were, admittedly, a little rowdy and uncooperative. CM-0223 was not pleased with their behavior as they goofily pretended to limp-run around on broken legs, or faint dramatically due to fake low blood sugar, or even get into play-fights in the “waiting room” he’d set up. So he made them all sit on the floor in front of him and started angrily pacing and gave yet another lecture about “proper protocol” and all that, accompanied by a lot of emphatic hand waving. 

“Well, that’s not good bedside manner, now is it?” said Vents (so named for his love of hiding in the air ventilation shafts) from the corner, who was always one to stir the pot. “We’re all injured, you have to be nice to us!”

They were, of course, not injured at all, so steam was practically coming out of CM-0223’s ears. 

“What are you talking about?” said Thespian (who’d named himself after a word he’d seen once and, noting that the end of it looked a bit like “pain,” thought it seemed properly macho enough for a name). “I think he’s got great bedside manner. I mean, look at him!”

Thespian popped up and, quick as a flash, put CM-0223 in a headlock. 

“Awwwwww,” Thespian cooed, rubbing his knuckles against CM-0223’s hair. “You’re just so warm and fuzzy, aren’t you? Little tubie medic. Little, little fuzzy.”

CM-0223 flailed around a bit, trying to escape the hold, but his batchmates spent a bit more time in physical training than him so it was a futile effort. And his batchmates, now freed from the lecture, were all too pleased to be able to join in. They huddled around him and all gave a good pat to the top of his head, talking in high-pitched voices like they would to a tubie. 

“Oooh, so soft, so nice!” CT-7099 grinned, kneeling by his face. CM-0223 practically snarled at him, still in the headlock. 

“Just a little fuzzy medic,” Gnarl said, pinching his cheeks a bit. 

“Hey,” Ashes said, touching CM-0223’s head once more. “This is Fuzzy.”

“Yeah,” Thespian smirked, thinking he was still talking about just the hair. 

“No, no,” Ashes shook his head. “This is Fuzzy. ”

All at once, they got it. Whoops filled the air and the whole rest of the batch began chanting “Fuz-zy! Fuz-zy!”

CM-0223 just crossed his arms and pouted. He wanted a proper, scary name! Something that would strike fear into the heart of all who heard it. Something like Painkiller. Or Skullfracture. Or Gangrene. But Fuzzy? Rrgh. Maybe if he waited this one out, they’d forget about it. 

They did not, in fact, forget about it. And soon CM-0223 was forced to admit that he was now Fuzzy. 

He had accepted this name by the time he was assigned to the 212th, but he was still eager for the change of scenery the war would bring. His batchmates were not medics like him, and would not be following him to the 212th. The rest of them were all being kept together at least, and would be serving in the 13th Battalion under Jedi General Jaro Tapal. Fuzzy had never heard of that Jedi before, but he knew deep in his bones that if they mistreated his batchmates, he would desert and come find them. He knew this was not what a good soldier would do -- good soldiers followed orders -- but, well, Fuzzy was a medic and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from helping his brothers if need be. Even if he was a bit glad that they’d be too far away to continue all the good-natured teasing. 

Fuzzy had excelled in his training enough that he was to be the head medic of the 212th. He wasn’t nervous like others might have been. He was confident in his abilities; plus, years of wrangling his batchmates into order had left him with quite a few skills not commonly taught on Kamino. He was fully prepared to have to… gently bully his commanding officer into submission. 

But Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi surprised him. Fuzzy had been all geared up to give his patented lecture, chest puffed out intimidatingly, but General Kenobi just nodded before he could speak and said, “It’s good to meet you, Head Medic. I promise you, you’ll receive no trouble from me. I fully respect your domain in the medbay, and if I do my job right, the only place we’ll be seeing each other is in a conference room for department chair meetings.”

Fuzzy blinked. What… was this? Someone who was immediately polite and respectful of his position? This was not something he was used to at all. The Kaminoans were dismissive -- at best -- of all clones, let alone non-combat role clones like medics. And his brothers didn’t always like medics either. To be fair, clones in general were not disrespectful to their medic brothers; on the battlefield, medics were literally life and death. But on Kamino, where sometimes scars could be the only thing distinguishing you from the other millions of people who shared your face, many clones thought it was better to avoid getting treatment for the more minor issues. 

So this was… refreshing. Huh. Fuzzy could get used to this.  

“I look forward to working with you, General,” Fuzzy said, noting that Commander Skywalker had finally stopped giving the General a side-eye. “Let me just get a few things clear, if you don’t mind.”

Now it was Fuzzy’s turn to get looks. His brothers in earshot stared at him; they couldn’t believe he would talk to a natborn like that, let alone a natborn commanding officer.

General Kenobi looked a bit nonplussed for a moment, but graciously waved his hand to go on. “Certainly.” 

It was then that Fuzzy launched into the lecture he’d been about to give before General Kenobi had cut him off. It was a work of art, if he could say so himself. A thing of beauty. First crafted while lying awake one night on Kamino and refined through careful repetitions on practically every clone he came across, it covered a whole range of things: proper sleep habits, receiving care for all types of problems big or small, being proactive about health, respecting the job of medics, etc. 

General Kenobi’s face remained impassive throughout the speech, but Commander Skywalker’s ran a whole gamut of emotions: incredulity, indignation, humor, satisfaction.  

“He’s really got you there, Master,” Commander Skywalker said, smirking at the General just as Fuzzy wrapped up with a stern “... and so you better take good care of yourself!”

General Kenobi raised an eyebrow at his Padawan. “You do realize he doesn’t just mean me.”

Skywalker was unfazed. “I think we both know which of the two of us really needs to hear it.”

Kenobi hummed incredulously but dropped the subject. “Well, we’ll both endeavor to follow your… very thorough instructions, Head Medic.” 

The General bowed -- bowed -- and began heading towards the other end of the cargo bay when he suddenly turned around. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Fuzzy, sir.” He was not blushing, he was not.

General Kenobi didn’t blink. “Fuzzy. I’ll remember that. Good to meet you, Fuzzy.”

The General turned and began walking away, but Commander Skywalker didn’t follow. Instead, he stepped closer towards Fuzzy and lowered his voice. 

“Fuzzy, I don’t know if you’ve gotten Master Obi-Wan’s file yet, but you should really look at it clos--”

“It was sent to me yesterday, Commander,” Fuzzy replied, somewhat offended that Skywalker would already be doubting him but masking it well. He’s already pushed it today, he shouldn’t go too much further.  “I’ve read it thoroughly, I promise.”

“Great,” Commander Skywalker said, visibly relieved. He didn’t comment on Fuzzy’s impertinence, thankfully. “Alright. I’ll see you around, then.”

Commander Skywalker smiled at him, nodded at the other troopers around them, then ran off after his Master. 

Really, looking back, that last interaction should have been Fuzzy’s first clue. Clearly there was something in General Kenobi’s medical history that required further study, but the file he’d been given was pretty straightforward. And besides, Fuzzy was already getting the sense that Commander Skywalker was a bit protective of the General. That had to be all this was. 

A year or two later, when Commander Skywalker had become General Skywalker and had a commander of his own in Commander Tano, Fuzzy was kicking himself. When he left General Kenobi’s room in the medbay after the incident with him and Commander Tano, he immediately sent a message to Chief Healer Vokara Che at the Jedi Temple. She’d offered herself up as a resource to the medics of the GAR almost immediately after the first Battle of Geonosis, though Fuzzy had never had a reason to contact her until now. He reached and respectfully but firmly asked for General Kenobi’s full medical file. 

Her reply came promptly, and the anger it carried with it practically stabbed him through the datapad. Apparently Chief Healer Vokara Che had been quite stressed and busy at the start of the war (not that she wasn’t any less so now) and General Kenobi had offered to take some of the work off her plate by sending his medical records to the GAR himself. Said medical records sent by General Kenobi were… incomplete, to say the least. Sure, it listed the important things like species and age and allergies and whatnot, and even the minor inconsequential details like the time he’d slipped in something called the Room of a Thousand Fountains as a youngling and broken his wrist, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

But when Fuzzy opened the attachment Chief Healer Vokara Che sent, he was immediately greeted with bright, bold words: “ MEDICAL PTSD -- TAKE CARE WHEN TREATING.” 

Fuzzy rocked back in his chair and set down the datapad. Luckily, he was alone in his office so there was no one around to see his minor freakout. General Kenobi had hid this from him? Something that most definitely affected his treatment and health? Deliberately?

He was of half a mind to storm off and confront the General in his medical bed right then and there, but then he stopped himself. With what he now knew, he could inadvertently trigger something without realizing it. Hells, he probably had before. 

Kriff. What kind of medic was he?!

No. Fuzzy couldn’t think like that. Maybe he’d failed to pick up on a few things, maybe he hadn’t put two and two together, but clearly General Kenobi had been actively hiding it from him. He couldn’t blame himself. 

...And he couldn’t really blame General Kenobi either. This could very reasonably just be his trauma manifesting itself in a need to hide information from the types of people who triggered him. But he wouldn’t know until he continued reading through the file. 

What was it the Jedi liked to say? Ah, yes -- there is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

So Fuzzy picked up the datapad again. 

It had been a few months now since Fuzzy had gotten the whole picture regarding General Kenobi’s mental health. He had not been idle in that time. He’d gotten access to quite a few medical journals related to this specific issue, and spent almost all of his downtime scouring the holonet for more. There were testimonials online from people with similar conditions that Fuzzy read very carefully, and of course he asked Vokara Che for her specific recommendations. She, after all, had been working with General Kenobi a lot longer than he had. 

Chief Healer Vokara Che proved to be even more helpful than he’d already known her to be by detailing exactly what she’d learned to do over the years in regards to the General. He’d tried to put a few of the tactics into play when General Kenobi got bitten on Dezryk, but he wasn’t able to go too far before General Skywalker had asked him to leave. 

Fuzzy was not very offended by that. He wanted what was best for his patient, and if that meant leaving in that moment, Fuzzy would do it -- and he did. But he did yearn for the day where General Kenobi would trust him to help properly, even if sometimes he thought it would never come.

But maybe today would be that day. 

Another week, another planet. They all seemed to blend in together for Fuzzy at this point. This was not helped by the fact that he wasn’t even going planetside for this assault but instead remaining on the Negotiator . The 212th was showing up as last-minute relief for the local militia, which had been doing a pretty good job of fighting off the Separatists on their own until a massive earthquake had taken out most of the planet’s reserves and the fighting force had been overwhelmed.

But the 212th wasn’t known as one of the best battalions in the entire GAR for no reason, and from what Fuzzy could hear, they were making quick work of the droids and tanks on the surface. He was in the medbay finishing up some last minute datawork when the call came through to his comm.

“Head Medic Fuzzy,” he answered absentmindedly. 

“Code Gold, sir,” the voice at the other end of the line responded immediately. It was familiar in more ways than one -- the voice belonged to Stitches. “We’re coming in hot, should be back to the Negotiator in five minutes.”

A shock had gone down Fuzzy’s spine at Stitches’s first words but he did not let his voice betray him. “Copy. I’ll be waiting with a team in the shuttle bay. What should we be prepared for?”

“Um, not entirely sure, sir,” Stitches said. “He went down suddenly. Might have been drugged. Breathing seems to be fine, heart rate is elevated though not to a worrying degree, but he’s unresponsive.”

Fuzzy nodded even though he knew the other medic wouldn’t be able to see it, thinking hard. “Alright. Unless he seems to be in pain, don’t give him anything until I get there. We don’t want to cause any bad interactions. Oh, and Stitches?” He paused, words catching in his throat. “Just… be careful with him.”

“Of course, sir,” was Stitches’s immediate response, and Fuzzy ended the conversation there. The rest of the medics were aware of General Kenobi’s PTSD to some degree, though to protect as much of the man’s privacy as he could, Fuzzy had not allowed anyone else to read all of the detailed reports in his file. He knew his medics were a good bunch, and he’d seen firsthand how hard they’d worked to be accommodating in the months since they’d found out, but Fuzzy still wouldn’t be entirely comfortable until he was in front of the General himself.

Though General Kenobi, of course, would not be at all comfortable in this situation. Fuzzy struggled to remember where the 501st was stationed at the moment. Ryloth? Dantooine? Certainly not anywhere near the 212th, and besides, they couldn’t exactly ask General Skywalker to abandon his troops for General Kenobi, even if there was a good chance he probably would. But General Kenobi wouldn’t want him to do so, not just for him, and Skywalker was committed to the men under his command as well. 

This whole situation was… not ideal. He pressed the hand holding his comm to his forehead and allowed himself one emphatic “Kriff!” before taking a deep breath through his nose to compose himself. Then he sprang into action. 

Thanks to some smart, practical engineers, the medbay was not that far away from the shuttlebay. Fuzzy arrived with his crew of three others just as the shuttle arrived. It had barely touched down before he was rushing onboard. 

General Kenobi was strapped to a board on the floor, surrounded by Stitches and two other troopers who seemed to have relatively minor injuries. They hadn’t been mentioned in the call so Fuzzy spared only a second or two to assess them (broken arm, bleeding head wound) before turning his full attention on the General. 

“General Kenobi?” Fuzzy said, because the man’s eyes were half-open. “It’s Fuzzy. We’re going to take care of you, alright?”

No response, but Fuzzy hadn’t really been expecting one. He turned to the men around him. “Let’s get him to a bed.”

Two of the medics with him grabbed the ends of the stretcher and began moving the General, while the third stayed to deal with the other injured troopers. Fuzzy walked quickly beside the stretcher with Stitches as it traversed the hallways. 

“Tell me again what you know leading up to this point.” 

“He was handing out aid in a village when all of a sudden he just collapsed. We think it might have been one of the civilians. I was reading the briefings earlier and they mentioned strong anti-Force-sensitive ideologies on this planet.”

Fuzzy felt rage and disgust pulse through his blood in equal measure. He’d seen firsthand how the Jedi were being disrespected in this war, a war they’d chosen as much as the clones had -- AKA not at all. So many civilians from backwater worlds just did not understand the Force. His General had come from one of those worlds, he knew. His file recounted his finding by the Jedi when his own mother had been trying to drown him in a river. 

Stitches continued. “Commander Cody is leading efforts to apprehend the suspect and figure out exactly what they did to the General.” 

“Good,” Fuzzy growled, then went back to the important questions. “Was he previously responsive or has he been like this since the incident?”

“I wasn’t directly next to him when it occurred but whatever it was seems to be fast-acting. I got to him within five or ten seconds and he was already unresponsive at that point.”

That wasn’t good. “Any deterioration of vitals since?”

Stitches shook his head. “Breathing has picked up a bit, as has heart rate like I mentioned before, but neither dangerously so.” 

“Hmm. That could be from pain, but you never know with the General.” In other words, he could just be scared. But he was unconscious currently, so perhaps there was something deeper. Either way, they wouldn’t know until they could figure out what it was.  

When they got to the medbay, General Kenobi was quickly deposited into one of their few private rooms. Fuzzy was proud of his team; they worked like a well-oiled machine in raising the guardrails on the bed, hooking the General up to vitals monitors, and dragging various testing machines into the room. No one started an IV, which he was pleased by. Fuzzy had placed a moratorium on doing so without consulting himself and General Kenobi first. 

“Heart rate’s rising again, sir,” Stitches reported, staring intently at a datapad. 

Fuzzy frowned and made his way over to the bedside. General Kenobi’s eyes were still half open, but they were moving around now. 

“General Kenobi?” Fuzzy tried. “Are you with us?”

The General’s eyes simply fluttered. Nothing. 

“It’ll be alright, I promise,” Fuzzy said, because it could hurt no one. “We’re going to take excellent care of you.” 

But either the words did not reach him or they did not have as much of a calming effect as Fuzzy hoped, because the datapad synced with the monitor began beeping. 

“Still increasing,” Stitches announced unnecessarily. 

Fuzzy opened his mouth to retort, as he often did when worried and under pressure, but before he could the datapad flew out of Stitches’s hands and slammed into the wall, where it cracked into four pieces and fell to the ground. Fuzzy blinked in shock. Stitches himself practically jumped. 

Fuzzy spun to determine what the kriff was going on, but had to duck to stop a metal tray from slamming into his head. Around the room, everything that was not secured down began shaking. 

Fuzzy’s heart froze. He recognized what was happening now. His palms slammed to the side of the plastoid guardrails around the bed with perhaps a bit more force than was truly necessary, but this could not wait. 

“General Kenobi! General Kenobi, if you can hear me, blink twice!”

Kenobi blinked once, then twice. The second time, a stray tear slipped out, gravity carving its path downwards. 

“Okay. General Kenobi, just to confirm, blink once then three times in succession if you can hear and understand what I’m saying.”

Fuzzy watched as the General did just that. Then he turned to the rest of the medics, who were still crowding the area. 

“He’s not unresponsive or unconscious, he’s just paralyzed,” Fuzzy snarled. His voice echoed in the small room, where everyone was shocked still, not unlike General Kenobi. Then he took a deep breath. The General clearly had some degree of Force ability still; he didn’t want the only thing Kenobi could pick up to be negative emotions. 

“Clear the room,” he ordered, and within seconds it was done. He took another breath, then turned back to his patient. 

“I’m so very sorry we didn’t pick up on that sooner, General. You must have been scared witless.”

General Kenobi obviously could not respond verbally, but his watery eyes spoke volumes.

Fuzzy almost winced before saying the next part. “I’m… going to need to take a physical exam very soon. But first, let’s have a conversation as best we can. One blink for yes, two for no.”

The General blinked slowly. Fuzzy had to take that as permission to continue talking. 

“First, are you in any pain?”

He blinked no.

“Are you actually not in any pain, or is this just typical Kenobi avoidance?”

Maybe Fuzzy was imagining it, but Kenobi almost seemed as amused as he could be at that. 

“Was this an injection of a drug that caused this, do you think, or something else? Blink once for a drug, twice for something else.”

One blink. Fuzzy took a moment to glance at the vitals monitor, which thankfully had not been destroyed like the datapad. Heart rate was still high, but not as high as it had been before. Maybe Fuzzy’s aggressively calm demeanor was working.

“Do you believe you were injected while handing out aid and supplies to civilians -- one -- or did it happen earlier in the day and the effects just caught up to you -- two?”

Another single blink.

“And this injection, lower body or upper body?”

Kenobi signaled upper body, so Fuzzy focused his questioning.

“Chest?” No blink. “Shoulder?” No blink. “Neck?” No blink. “Arm?” Ahhh, there it was. They were getting somewhere now. “Right?” Another blink. 

Fuzzy kept his hands carefully still as he asked the next question. “Sir, do I have permission to remove the tops of your robes to view the injection site? I need to check for poison or a blood infection that could be visible in the veins around the area. And since you can’t feel it right now, you might be unaware. One blink for no permission, two blinks for yes.”

Kenobi made no motion for a long time, before finally giving two blinks.

Fuzzy breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. I’m going to remove the top part of your clothing now.”

He kept it as quick and matter-of-fact as possible. It was a bit hard to find the puncture wound on Kenobi’s arm -- being from a needle, it wasn’t exactly large, and there were a few freckles and scars that covered the area -- but he managed to locate it in the middle of his bicep. The fact that he found it difficult to find was good -- it meant there were no visible infections or the like. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t there, but he would take his wins where he could get them.

“Alright, nothing too bad there,” Fuzzy said, carefully replacing the Jedi’s robes. Proper protocol dictated that he change his patient into proper medical robes for ease of access but in this sort of situation, ease of access was exactly the sort of thing Kenobi did not want. Perhaps that was why he layered up so much. 

The General’s eyes tracked him as he moved around to the foot of the bed. 

“I’m now going to test for any sensation. I will be touching you at various places on your body. This might be difficult, but in order to ensure your brain isn’t just imagining the feeling, I need you to look away. Normally I’d ask you to close them completely but since we’re operating on a blinking system here, I think that’d defeat the point.” He took a breath. “Do I have your permission to continue the exam? One, yes; two, no?”

Kenobi stared down at him but blinked once. 

“Thank you, General,” Fuzzy replied. “Look away now, please.”

It seemed to take all the man’s willpower but he did. 

Fuzzy was thorough but swift, wanting to get it over with for Kenobi’s sake. He was pleased to see that there were some promising results. When Fuzzy used the most force on the lower part of the General’s legs, he could feel it. Fuzzy asked if that was a recent development or if it had been like that since the incident, and learned that it was in fact new. Excellent. He threw the blanket back over Kenobi and studied the monitors once more. 

“Thankfully, none of your major organs seem to be affected by the drug. And even better, you seem to be slowly regaining some sensation. Hopefully movement will come along with that shortly.”

The General could only blink in response but Fuzzy imagined it was something along the lines of “yes, that’s great, now when can I leave?”

“Now, with this good news you have some options,” Fuzzy started, looking at his patient and clasping his hands behind his back. “I’d like to keep you here for monitoring -- my apologies -- but I know you have a deep-seated aversion to medics. I completely understand. Since you’re not in danger of imminently dying as far as I’m aware, and you’re hooked up to monitors that will alert me if that starts to change, I would feel comfortable leaving. I’d keep everyone else away. No one would be in here bothering you about tests, or machines, or symptoms, or anything, unless your situation changed. So, if you truly want, I can leave and make sure no one disturbs you.”

Kenobi just stared at him for a while, and Fuzzy realized with a jolt that he technically hadn’t asked a question.

“Ah,” he said, almost slapping himself on the forehead. “My apologies, sir. One blink for yes, I’d like to be alone, two blinks for no, I’d like to be here with someone.”

General Kenobi’s eyes darted around the room before locking onto Fuzzy’s and blinking twice.

Fuzzy blinked himself, but in shock. “I’m sorry, sir, could you repeat that? One for no medics, two for staying here with someone.”

Fuzzy’s vision did not deceive him; the General blinked twice once more, almost aggressively. 

“Great,” he said. “Who would you like to stay with you? I could ask Commander Cody to come back to the ship.”

Inwardly, Fuzzy was patting himself on the back for the excellent suggestion. Everyone knew General Kenobi and Commander Cody were very close. There were few that Kenobi would trust to hold onto his lightsaber -- his life, as he often put it to General Skywalker -- so it would make sense for him to want Commander Cody here for this.

But Kenobi blinked no. 

“Are you sure, sir? We both know he’d drop anything for you. No matter how busy.”

Kenobi paused, then blinked no again. Really, Fuzzy should have seen that coming. If there was one thing the General valued above his own life, it was that of his men. He wouldn’t risk them by pulling the second highest ranking officer out of the fray just because he wanted company in the medbay.

Still, this left Fuzzy a little stumped. “Alright, well, let me just… start listing people you probably know, then? You stop me when I’ve got the person.”

“Waxer?”

Nothing.

“Boil?”

Nothing. 

“Gregor?”

Nothing.

“Crys?”

Nothing. 

“Gearshift?”

Nothing. Fuzzy continued listing names, even shinies like Stitches, but received no response. He was a little impressed that the General was able to keep his eyes open without blinking that long, but mainly concerned. 

After a minute or two, Fuzzy had to stop. “I’m kind of running out of people I’ve seen you interact with, sir. I mean, I --”

He was cut off by Kenobi rolling his eyes.

“What?”

The General widened his eyes in emphasis. 

“...I’m very sorry sir, but I don’t know what you mean.”

Kenobi visibly gathered his strength and drew in a breath, then managed to make a grunt in the back of his throat. A smile spread across Fuzzy’s face -- more progress! -- but Kenobi was still looking at him. 

Wait. “...Me?”

General Kenobi blinked yes. 

“You want me to be the one to stay here with you?”

Another yes. 

Warmth spread through Fuzzy’s chest. 

While he’d always hoped the day would come that General Kenobi would trust him like this, he never really thought it would happen, let alone so soon. Trauma was not something you could get over in the blink of an eye, and Fuzzy was not just some random person but a medic. Master Vokara Che had told him that what allowed General Kenobi to accept her help medically was the fact that she’d long been his healer -- since he was but a youngling, years and years before the incident during his Padawan years that caused the PTSD. So no, he’d expected that if it ever happened, it would be a decade or two down the line. Fuzzy was only barely past his first decade; the thought of more passing was inconceivable. 

With a jolt, Fuzzy realized the General was still staring at him. He shook off his thoughts. 

“Sir, I would be honored.”

Fuzzy was about as Force-sensitive as a rock (and not the small one he knew Kenobi kept in a special pocket in his robes, but just an average hunk of mineral), but he still got the distinct feeling General Kenobi was pleased. 

It didn’t take Fuzzy too long to get situated. Within a minute he was sitting by Kenobi’s bedside in the chair in the chair he’d dragged over from the corner, steadily going through the datawork he’d been in the middle of before he’d gotten the call from Stitches. Over the next hour or so, General Kenobi steadily regained feeling and movement until he was able to wiggle his legs a bit and slur a few words. Commander Cody commed not long after that and updated the two men. As suspected, one of the villagers had drugged the General in a fit of anti-Jedi hysteria. The minister of the province was beside herself and extremely apologetic, and assured Cody that Kenobi would be none the worse for wear soon. Apparently they often used this drug to transport misbehaving livestock. Fuzzy had a bit of a laugh at that one. Kenobi looked a bit put out at both Cody’s tone when saying this and Fuzzy’s subsequent reaction. 

It was after all the hubbub had died down, and General Kenobi had recovered enough that Fuzzy felt safe enough letting him take a nap, that he stared down at the General and had a realization. Loveable assholes though they were, Fuzzy would do anything for his batchmates. And now, he realized he would do the same for General Kenobi. This was a man who remembered the name of every single clone he came across, no matter how long the interaction or how low-ranking the trooper was. A man who used the entirety of his meager stipend from the Jedi Order to treat the entire 212th to a dessert called ice cream when he heard no one on the Negotiator had even tried it before. A man who, much to the frustration of Commander Cody and every other person he served with, willingly and often threw himself into harm’s way just to save a clone. 

A man who would trust a clone with his life.

Clones were not often shown kindness, especially from natborns, but Kenobi doled it out like he carried an endless supply within him. And perhaps he did. Fuzzy would not put it past him. All he knew was that General Kenobi had joined the ranks of his brothers. Looking down on him at the bed, all Fuzzy could think was that there was nothing he would not do to keep the General safe, both mentally and physically.

His work here and now with the General was nowhere near over, Fuzzy knew. Only now in sleep was Kenobi’s heart rate approaching his normal resting one, and he knew that (understandably) General Skywalker still rated far above Fuzzy for comfort and reassurance in these kinds of moments. And he still wanted to talk with the General about exposure therapy, though it was very likely that General Kenobi would never be fully rid of the shadows that dwelt in his mind. But Fuzzy resolved there and then to do whatever he could to help him get as far down that path as he could. 

Fuzzy had never really thought much about what he would do after the war. His entire existence was the war -- literally. Now though, now he thought he might have an idea. He wanted to help people like General Kenobi -- civilians, his brothers, the man himself. He saw firsthand how gruesome physical injuries were, but he was beginning to realize just how devastating mental ones could be. That was the true test. Not the flesh, but the spirit. And no matter how Kenobi faced that trial, he would have help along the way.