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“Man, this humidity is really messing with my hair.”
“Oh, hush,” Obi-Wan said, not bothering to disguise his eye-roll.
“No, seriously! Aquatic planets always do this to me,” Anakin insisted. “Come on, do you see how frizzy it looks? The texture’s all wrong. Even my padawan braid is…”
“Anakin. I don’t suppose you need a reminder that Jedi are not to be vain.”
“I’m not being vain, it’s just a fact. And didn’t you lecture me on how important it is to look put together for these diplomatic missions?”
Obi-Wan huffed as they continued down the corridor, robes billowing out behind them. They were passed by Aquilash creatures, who nodded wary acknowledgement before skirting away in discomfort. Or in some cases, in disgust. Even without Jedi senses, the tension would be obvious – Obi-Wan and Anakin weren’t particularly welcome here on Ando.
“Regardless,” Obi-Wan finally answered, “please keep the flippancy to a minimum during this dinner. You must not forget how important these negotiations are. The Aquilash are on the brink of seceding from the Republic.”
“I know.”
“Oh, so you did manage to read the mission briefing? I could’ve sworn I saw you drooling all over the datapad in your sleep.”
“Hey,” Anakin said. “Now who’s being flippant?”
As the entrance to the dining room came into view, the laugh in Obi-Wan’s throat was replaced with an anxious tightness. These were important negotiations – if Ando left the Republic, who knew what other systems might follow? Things weren’t so stable in the senate these days. And although he’d gotten somewhat of a reputation as a negotiator, Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t too keen on having the Republic’s fate resting on his shoulders.
“Here we go,” said Obi-Wan when they stood just outside the door. “Remember, padawan. This is a delicate situation, and we must proceed delicately. Good manners, civil discussion, complete courtesy. Understood?”
“Even if they feed us seafood again?”
“Anakin…”
“I’m just saying, I’m gonna be sick if I have to see another – “
“Anakin! Enough. We are proceeding delicately. No jokes.”
As the doors slid open, Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge the joke Anakin definitely made under his breath.
The first few minutes went smoothly – introductions were made, bows exchanged, seats taken. The Andoan Viceroy sat across from Anakin and Obi-Wan, flanked on either side by a dozen Andoan dignitaries wrapping around the long table. After a ceremonial toast to the peace of Ando and the clinking of wine glasses, they began their appetizers – a seaweed-based soup Obi-Wan had never seen before.
“Master Jedi,” said the Viceroy. “You find our cuisine adequate, don’t you?”
“Oh, certainly,” Obi-Wan replied in earnest. “More than adequate, it’s delightful. May I ask what type of soup this is?”
The Viceroy inhaled a spoonful. “Hoi-broth. Our Aquilash specialty. And the finest in the galaxy, you’ll find.”
Though he gave his attention to the Viceroy’s statements, Obi-Wan’s mind was abuzz. He observed every dignitary in the room, reading their emotions, mapping their political alignments.
But he was pulled out of his analysis by the realization that something was off. His face suddenly felt…well, really warm. Obi-Wan discreetly touched a hand to his cheek to find it burning hot. How odd.
“And you,” the Viceroy says, turning now toward Anakin. “You’re a Jedi…student?”
“Yes, sir. A padawan learner. I’ll be a Jedi Knight when I’m finished my training.”
“I see,” he replied. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me that Jedi must be students first. I suppose I thought they popped out of the womb wielding a lightsaber.”
Anakin said something in reply, but Obi-Wan didn’t hear it. He was trying to concentrate on reading the dignitaries, preparing to negotiate, but he was just so kriffing hot. And now, to his horror, there was an awful itching in his chest. Good gracious. What’s going on, here? He shifted in his chair, trying to shake the discomfort. But instead, the chair let out an awful squeal.
All conversation ceased as the dignitaries turned to stare at Obi-Wan.
“Erm…pardon me,” he murmured. His face felt even hotter now – this time, from embarrassment. He busied himself spooning more hoi-broth into his mouth.
But it was clear the small talk had come to an end. The Viceroy’s attention had returned to Obi-Wan with laser focus, and he leaned forward across the table.
“So, Master Jedi. Let’s not dance around the subject any longer,” he said, his black eyes narrowing coolly. “You’re here because you want Ando to remain a part of the Republic. Not all of us here agree that doing so would be wise.”
The dignitaries muttered with varying degrees of agreement. Obi-Wan tried to analyze their responses, looking for the ones who might become allies in this debate. But all he could think about was how his tongue felt enormous inside his mouth, how his skin was absolutely burning with prickly heat…
“Now, Master Kenobi,” the Viceroy continued. “Convince me. Why shouldn’t Ando secede?”
Obi-Wan spooned another swallow of hoi-broth into his mouth, hoping to buy himself a few seconds to get it together and formulate an answer. But suddenly…kriff, why couldn’t he swallow? His throat was tight and his tongue felt huge and he majorly, desperately needed to cough or he wasn’t going to be able to breathe at all.
Every single government official in the room was staring at him, waiting for him to open his mouth and speak.
Instead, he opened his mouth and coughed out all the hoi-broth.
Spitting it straight into the Viceroy’s lap.
Anakin’s eyes popped open so wide he thought they might fall out of his head.
That did not just happen.
Did it?
The Viceroy’s face was frozen in a kind of startled disgust as hoi-broth dripped down his front. The dignitaries stared, their eyes as wide as Anakin’s felt.
And Obi-Wan was coughing and sputtering, his face red and blotchy, clearly struggling to catch his breath as he stammered:
“Pardon me, I’m…terribly sorry…forgive me, I…”
He stood suddenly, nearly tipping the chair backward, and choked out something about getting some air.
The second he disappeared from view, the room erupted.
Everything seemed to be happening at once. The Viceroy was bellowing “SOMEBODY GET ME A TOWEL,” the dignitaries were tripping over themselves to comply, the servers rushing to clean up the mess. Somebody else had spilled a glass of wine, and now others were slipping in the puddle. There was a pileup of Andoan dignitaries on the floor. Shattered glass was everywhere. And, of course, there were about a dozen towels soaring through the air toward the Viceroy, who was now screaming about Jedi scrum and disgrace in his own palace and a load of other very undiplomatic remarks.
And all Anakin would think was: Proceeding delicately indeed.
Peeling his eyes away from the screaming Viceroy and pile of fallen politicians, Anakin took advantage of the chaos and excused himself from the table.
He could’ve traced Obi-Wan to the refreshers down the hall even without Jedi senses – the sound of coughing was enough of a trail. Anakin pushed open the door.
“Master?”
Obi-Wan was bent over the sink, splashing water against his red face. He dragged both hands down his cheeks, faucet water dripping in his beard.
“What are you…doing here?” he choked out. “You should be back in there doing…damage control.”
“Seems like more damage control’s needed in here.”
“I’m…fine. The soup just…went down the wrong…pipe.”
But the words had barely left his lips before he started coughing again, the shudders wracking his entire frame. He was wheezing by the end of the spell, holding himself up with two firm hands on the edge of the sink.
Anakin didn’t even remember rushing to his side, but suddenly he was rubbing a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. The terrible sound of gasping and wheezing seemed to echo against the tile walls of the fresher.
“This isn’t normal,” Anakin said, feeling Obi-Wan shudder under the weight of his hand. “I’m going to get a medic.”
“No!”
“Obi-Wan, you’re gonna kriffing suffocate.”
“I just…need a moment to…”
But suddenly the argument died in his throat as a strange look came over him. He shoved past Anakin, clamping a hand over his mouth and practically diving into the bathroom stall.
And then Anakin heard the sound of the hoi-broth making a reappearance in the toilet bowl.
This mission just kept getting better.
When it sounded like he’d gotten the worst of it out of his system, Anakin tapped his knuckles on the stall door. “Obi-Wan?”
There was a pause, and then the sound of the door unlocking. Anakin pushed it open to find Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to his chest. He was still wheezing – hard. He had one hand pressed against his collarbone, as if doing so could settle the tremor in his lungs.
Anakin knelt down beside him, resting a hand on his arm. “Do you want water, or…?”
But Obi-Wan shook his head sharply, eyes wide.
“Something…something’s wrong. I can’t breathe,” he stammered. “I can’t breathe.”
He tucked his head to his chest, his face buried in his knees as he struggled for air.
“Okay,” Anakin said, forcing his voice not to shake as he got to his feet. “I’m gonna…I’m getting help. I’ll be back in a second.”
For once, Obi-Wan didn’t argue.
The next few minutes were a blur. Anakin barely remembered finding the medical station and dragging the med droid back down the hall, nearly tripping over Aquilash government workers as he went.
He found Obi-Wan exactly where he left him – curled up on the floor of the bathroom stall, a hand pressed to his chest. But he looked even worse – his face was blotchy and damp with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut as he gasped for breath.
“Hello,” the medical droid said. “I am MD-615. What seems to be the – “
“He can’t breathe and he’s wheezing and throwing up and dizzy and…wait, are you dizzy?”
Obi-Wan nodded tightly.
“…and dizzy, so you need to fix him. Right now,” Anakin said, then, knowing Obi-Wan would chide him for his manners, added, “…please.”
The med droid started doing a scan, and Anakin tried to catch his own breath. His hands were shaking as he knelt down and brushed the sweat-soaked hair off of Obi-Wan’s forehead.
“Anakin…” Obi-Wan murmured between wheezes. “You need to go back. These negotiations…too important.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“But you’re – ”
“Please. Go.”
“Obi-Wan…”
“I said go.”
Anakin’s eyes skimmed across his face. Obi-Wan’s brows were knitted together, his whole body trembling with every broken breath. But there in his eyes, Anakin found something he very rarely saw – real fear. And suddenly his senses, clogged with his own fear for Obi-Wan, opened up, and he knew that his master was actually, seriously scared.
But not for himself. He was scared that the mission would fail, that the Republic would suffer. And it would all be his fault.
Leave it to Obi-Wan to be thinking about duty at a time like this, Anakin thought. But he stood up anyway, steadying himself against the stall door.
And decided that, as much as he wanted to stay, he’d be a better help to Obi-Wan by finishing what they started.
“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
The sound of Obi-Wan’s wheezing was still echoing in his ears as he ran back down the hallway.
Back in the dining hall, everyone had been reseated. The Viceroy had changed his clothing, the spillage cleared away from the table and floor. It looked like the main course had been served – the dignitaries had all dug in to a lavish Aquilash feast.
Anakin bowed as he entered, begging his voice to remain steady. “Forgive my absence, Viceroy.”
The Viceroy’s eyes were calculating. “Where is Master Kenobi?”
“He is…indisposed. A medical droid is with him. We’re deeply sorry for the disruption,” Anakin said, “but I’m here now to finish our…conversation.”
The Viceroy seemed to consider this. A grimace flashed across his face briefly, as though reliving the sensation of hoi-broth dripping into his lap. But then he smiled – a look at once cordial and sinister.
“Very well. Have a seat, young Jedi.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Where were we?”
Anakin walked out of the dining hall in such a daze he almost ran straight into the figure leaning up against the wall.
“There you are. How did the negotiations go?”
Anakin drew back in surprise to find Obi-Wan looking at him in faint amusement.
“Master! Are you okay?”
“Of course. Padawan, the negotiations – ”
“Oh, for kark’s sake. The negotiations were fine. Ando’s not seceding. Now answer me, dammit!”
Obi-Wan visibly relaxed, relief painting his features. “Oh, that’s excellent. I knew you were listening when I taught you the keys to diplomacy…”
“Obi-Wan.”
His master sighed, feigning annoyance, but it didn’t stop him from looking sheepish.
“Severe allergic reaction to an ingested substance.”
“You’re kidding. The hoi-broth?”
Obi-Wan nodded, avoiding his eyes. He started down the hallway, nodding for Anakin to follow.
“I’m nearly good as new, now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Still, that was…”
Anakin noticed a twinge of anxiety seeping into the Force. “Scary?”
“I was going to say poorly-timed.”
“Well, I was scared.”
Anakin tried for lightness in his voice, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Obi-Wan shuddering on the fresher floor. The awful sound of him struggling for breath…
He shook his head.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Honestly? Mortified.”
Anakin snorted. “That’s fair. You did spit on the Viceroy.”
“Oh, good gracious.”
“And you missed the best part – he called you “Jedi scum” and almost ripped his shirt off right there in the dining room.”
Anakin couldn’t help laughing as Obi-Wan groaned and dragged his hands down his face.
“Promise me we’ll never speak of this again.”
“What about the council debriefing?”
“I don’t care. Mother of the Force. I cannot look Mace Windu in the eye and tell him and I projectile-vomited seaweed soup on the leader of a major star system!”
Anakin was howling with laughter now. “Fine. We’ll use your handy diplomacy skills to make it sound a little less…uh, gross.”
“More like your handy diplomacy skills.” Obi-Wan eyed him with a raised brow. “Truly, Anakin. I’m impressed. This mission would not have been a success without you.”
Anakin scoffed. “You’re just flattering me so I won’t tell the council you threw up on the Viceroy.”
“Anakin! We’re never speaking of it! Ever!”
“I might need a little more flattery to remind me.”
They left the Viceroy’s palace in laughter, bumping shoulders as they boarded the ship. When they’d taken to the cockpit, Anakin leaned back in his seat, deciding maybe diplomatic missions weren’t quite as boring as he thought.
After all, he decided with a grin - he’d gotten some excellent blackmail material.