Title: The Price of Hospitality.

Summary: Obi Wan and his padawan complete a successful mission with the Ayrou, a species of peaceful avian humanoids. Their linguistics are anything but peaceful however and Anakin must pay the price of hospitality.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I own and command absolutely nothing to do with Star Wars. I'm just borrowing, respectfully, some characters I love.

A/N: Um… Hi. First ever Star Wars fic. Just a little hurt/comfort piece. I hope it's enjoyable.

"Anakin, for the last time, we are going to be late!"

The frustrated sound of Obi Wan's impatient footsteps pacing about outside his padawan's door echoed around the apartment. The Jedi master had been under a lot of pressure from the Council to deliver a debriefing report on their latest mission as soon as they had returned the evening before. Against his better and usually more obedient judgement, the master had bought them some time after a rather short and to the point transmission.

Their latest task had been a success and had run very smoothly. The Ayrou, a peaceful and altogether pleasant species from the Outer Rim had travelled long distances to Coruscant with intentions to expand their knowledge of other species across the galaxy and to perhaps barter a few items of interest from other worlds. Their natural curiosity and amicable temperaments made for a particularly satisfying meeting, with many subjects available for discussion. Of course, who better to guide them around the galaxy with peace in mind than the Jedi?

Obi Wan had been surprised to say the least when he and his student had been chosen to complete this mission but he had been pleased none the less. He believed it would be particularly good for Anakin to experience a culture of calm and contentment, where the primary goal in existence was the quest for knowledge and the accumulation of potentially useful items.

They had taken transport from Coruscant and met the Ayrou a few parsecs away. It was their duty to escort the guests into orbit of Coruscant and accompany them on a tour, introducing them to figures of importance and ensuring a safe passage to places of interest. Their guests were gracious and genuinely enthralled. The entire visit was a rare and yet wonderful occasion, but for one issue. Despite their perfect understanding of Galactic Basic Standard, their avian vocal chords were unable to produce the correct vibrations to speak it and they were forced to rely on data pad translations. The time consuming nature of this arrangement was not the only problem. The Ayrou relied on a series of blood curdling high pitched screeches, squawks and whines to communicate, leaving anyone without their inbuilt capabilities to process the sounds in physical pain. For such docile and friendly people, their language was agonisingly violent.

Ever the respectful Knight, Obi Wan had guided the Ayrou to the very best of his ability with his young padawan's help. The bird like people especially enjoyed Anakin's company, appreciating his young, restless energy. Upon the completion of their three day tour of Coruscant and the surrounding Galaxy, they could not have been happier, leaving their hosts with a generous array of gifts from their home world and a very positive report for the Jedi Council. Obi Wan and Anakin, however, were marginally relieved to be going home.

Over the course of several days, Obi Wan had witnessed his apprentice become greener and greener, his complexion turning pasty and clammy from the constant, painful pressure on his ears and mind. They used a Force cushion as often as possible but really they required all their attention and full wits for the protection of their guests. Every so often, Anakin would excuse himself to calmly make his way to the refresher, the pressure in his head too much to bear any longer, and promptly vomit until his head and stomach were cleared out.

The master sympathised with his young padawan. At fifteen, Anakin's hearing was still capable of picking up much higher frequencies and with his Force heightened sensitivity to boot, he was suffering quite badly. Obi wan provided gentle yet pointed reminders to be as discrete as possible and allowed him to do what he had to do. The evening that the Ayrou left, Obi Wan piloted them back to their accommodation and practically poured his exhausted apprentice into bed, leaving a vessel under the sleeping lounger in case the ringing in his ears should upset his stomach again. Feeling rather fragile himself, Obi Wan had transmitted his acknowledgement to report to the Council, informing of their attendance the following morning and promptly threw himself onto his own sleep couch, listening to the blessed silence.

The master had expected his padawan to be up and about by now, the effects of the incompatible Ayrou linguistics having worn off during the night. Obi Wan approached the door to Anakin's room, his patience wearing through entirely. He made to enter, determined to have his charge out of bed and ready within the next few seconds when a quiet, pained presence prodded clumsily at his mind.

/Master…/

Obi Wan paused in his tracks, his thoughts becoming still. Why hadn't he felt that strange, off balance sensation before?

/Anakin, what are you doing in there? I've been calling you for half an hour. Why haven't you-/

/Master, please, I… I'm sorry./

A restrained wave of dull pain lapped at Obi Wan's consciousness, leaking through his padawan's exhausted shields.

/Oh, Anakin. What have you done? I'm coming./

Obi Wan hurried into his apprentice's sleeping quarters, noting nothing out of the ordinary in particular with the room. Not an accident then. As he approached Anakin's bed, however, the distinctly sour stench of vomit reached his nostrils and he could see Anakin in the gloom, propped up on one elbow and leaning miserably over the bowl he had left for such purposes.

"Padawan?" Obi Wan began. He got no further before the pained sound of dry retching reached his ears.

Anakin flopped back when he had finished, clutching the bowl weakly with one arm. He was a pale, glistening mess; his face looking swollen and unhealthy in pallor. He lay with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling raggedly as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

Obi Wan settled on the edge of the bed and removed the bowl from the boy's grasp after a quick check to make sure he had finished for the time being. He pushed it under the bed for the moment and rested a soothing hand lightly on the boy's forehead.

"Anakin," the master murmured to himself quietly," Padawan, you're burning up. When did this begin?"

His voice was calm, gentle and encouraging as his fingers brushed sandy locks of damp hair off of his apprentice's clammy skin. Anakin made no effort to answer, his eyes still pinched tightly shut, eyebrows knitted together as he struggled against some sort of invisible pain.

"Anakin? Look at me, young one, come on," Obi Wan tried again, tenderly stroking his thumb along the boy's tense brow. Anakin again made no attempt to answer, instead leaning subconsciously into the paternal touch soothing the raging pain in his head. As he did so, Obi Wan caught sight of something dark staining the damp pillow under Anakin's head and knew, even in the dim light barely penetrating the curtains, that it was blood.

Illuminating the room in a soft glow from a nearby lamp, Obi Wan gingerly lifted his apprentice's head, searching for the origin of the bleeding. As he turned Anakin's neck, a protesting moan slipped from between the boy's lips and his mental shields collapsed completely for a moment. Pain flooded their bond, boring into Obi Wan's soul. The master Jedi absorbed as much of the discomfort as possible, offering reassurance and relief, doing his best to dampen the boy's agony.

Dry blood made ugly patterns on Anakin's pillow while small droplets of fresh blood had begun to crust around the delicate folds of Anakin's ears. Obi Wan tenderly returned his padawan's head to the soiled pillow and pulled his communicator from his robe pocket.

"This is the Jedi Temple Halls of Healing. How may I be of service?" Came the voice of the on call healer.

"This is Obi Wan Kenobi. I am inbound with my padawan, ETA seven minutes. He's presenting with fever, head and ear pain and potential haemorrhaging in the ear canal."

"We will make preparations for your arrival immediately, master Kenobi. Healer Chek'Tar out."

Tucking his communicator back into his robe, Obi Wan tried once more to gain his padawan's attention.

/Padawan, can you hear me?/

He supposed that if Anakin was bleeding from the ear canals, they might be swollen or blocked enough to prevent much sound from getting through. He desperately hoped the boy was still lucid enough to answer. After what felt like forever, a familiar voice whispered weakly through his mind.

/Master?/

/Yes, padawan, it's me./

/I'm sorry, master. I tried, really I did./ The boy's voice echoed sadly.

/Tried what, young one? What's the matter? You must tell me what has happened./

Obi Wan could feel Ankain trying to gather his strength enough to explain. The master waited patiently and was rewarded by a pair of fever glazed eyes opening to greet him. He smiled warmly.

/Hello there. I'm taking you to the Hall of Healing, Ani. You'll feel better soon. Tell me what happened to you, hmm?/

A tiny ghost of a smile pulled Anakin's lips when he heard his old childhood nickname. As he centred himself, ready to relate his problem to his master, Obi Wan leaned closer, cradling the boy's sore head in the crook of his arm. As he looked into Anakin's eyes he noticed that though they were fever bright, their regard was dull and sluggish. His pupils were slow to respond to the light and concern flooded the master's consciousness once more as he began to realise Anakin must have been keeping something from him.

/Anakin, your pupils aren't as reactive as they should be. Have you hit your head?/

A slow, almost undetectable nod answered.

/When? Why ever did you not tell me? Anakin? Anakin!/

Anakin's eyes had drifted shut, unable to hold themselves open any longer. They opened again only after Obi Wan resorted to dragging his knuckles firmly against Anakin's sternum. The boy gazed blearily up at his master.

/Don't do that again,/ his master warned him, though Obi Wan's stern tone was utterly betrayed by the gentle hand untwisting the blanket from around Anakin's waist and tucking it around him in a more appropriate fold ready for transport. /Stay with me, Ani, and tell me what happened./

/I… On the second day of the Ayrou tour my ears kind of… popped. I tried to be discrete, master, just like you said,/ he explained sulkily. Anakin's eyes began to slide shut once more but a gentle pat to the cheek brought him back.

/Alright, good boy, you're doing well. Just stay with me and tell me what happened next./ Obi Wan began to sit him up carefully, arranging him so that he could lift Anakin easily in a few moments.

/My ears bled but… It stopped pretty quick… After that, my pain got worse… I felt sick to my stomach and I… I tried, master, I just couldn't stop./ The last word came almost as a sob and Obi Wan couldn't help but sigh and hold the boy's trembling body in a kind embrace.

/Hush shh shh, calm yourself. I know you tried your best. It was difficult for me too. It must have pained you considerably, you did very well not to let it appear obvious to the Ayrou. How did you hurt your head, Anakin?/

/Yesterday morning… My ears were ringing and I felt so dizzy. I got to the 'fresher and I… I just fell so hard, I couldn't even sense which way I was gonna fall… Hit my head on the sink./

Anakin raised a hand to his hair just above his right ear and winced when his fingers encountered the painful lump there. Obi Wan's fingers followed their path, gently probing around the swelling.

/I didn't want to shame you, master. The tour was going so well./ Regret and a little self-pity filtered across their link and Obi Wan couldn't help but smile sadly and rub the boy's back.

/Your self sacrifice was executed with all the best intentions, young one, I know,/ Obi Wan soothed.

/After that I got sick more often and my ears kept bleeding. It hurts to listen, to think; even to talk./

/Ok. Chek'Tar is expecting us. You'll feel better soon. Hold onto me./ Obi Wan scooped his apprentice up and adjusted him against his chest until he was comfortable. Even then, Obi Wan had expected Anakin to put up some kind of protest against being carried but he simply laid his head on his master's shoulder and closed his eyes.

/Anakin, if you go back to sleep…/ Obi Wan warned.

/Don't worry, master, I stayed awake for a full twelve hours after I first hit my head./ Anakin assured him.

/That is beside the point, padawan, had I known about this before you would have spent last night under observation. We're lucky you regained consciousness./

Shame trickled through their bond.

/I didn't want to worry you, master./

/I know, young one, but you must never shield injuries like this again, do you understand?/

/Yes, Master Obi Wan./ Anakin gave a small nod against his shoulder.

/Good Lad./

The short journey to the Hall of Healing was made in comfortable silence with Anakin doing his best to keep his master satisfied that he was still conscious. Once there, Obi Wan deposited his charge onto a medimed and found himself all but chased out of the room while the healers fussed about his padawan. Satisfied that Anakin was in good hands and that he would, as the Chek'Tar warned him, simply be getting in everyone's way hovering about the healing wing, Obi Wan made his way to the Council chambers to give his report.

When he returned, the gentle bleep of machinery greeted him in Anakin's healing chamber. The boy had lost consciousness just after Obi Wan's departure and after a swift examination Chek'Tar had diagnosed perforation in both of Anakin's ear drums, the beginning of a nasty ear infection and a minor concussion. Once settled and set up with the required fluid replacement IVs, something to combat the infection and some pain killers, Anakin had responded well, prompting the healers to leave him to rest in peace and quiet. Obi Wan pulled a chair up to the medibed where his padawan lay and sat down quietly.

"He's lucky in many respects," Chek'Tar informed the master as he entered. He approached Anakin's bed and checked the IV lines seeming quite happy with the progress.

"Lucky?" Obi Wan's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"If he'd managed to carry on another day that infection could really have taken hold and developed into something much worse. It's likely that head injury would have exacerbated the disorientation too. Another fall and he'd have been in very serious trouble," Chek'Tar told him.

"Mmm," Obi Wan hummed softly, pondering such ideas before banishing them. "Yes, well… You have my gratitude, Chek'Tar. Thank you."

The master smiled and looked at the boy tucked in on the bed. His arms were swathed in dressings holding various needles attached to IV lines in place, his face pale with dark circles smudging the delicate skin under his eyes. Reaching a dry palm out to rest of Anakin's cheek, Obi Wan frowned.

"Has his temperature come down at all? He still feels rather warm," he muttered, stroking Anakin's face soothingly.

"Don't fret so, Master Obi Wan. The medication is doing a fine job; it's a gradual process. The fever should break within an hour or two. He's receiving plenty of fluids and he's more comfortable now than he has been all week. Trust me, mother hen, he will be just fine," Chek'Tar patted Obi wan on the back and turned, leaving master and padawan alone together.

Obi wan sighed and shook his head, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips. Mother hen, indeed. Casting his mind back some years, he could very clearly recall his own master being labelled as such after an accident that had left Obi Wan feeling rather battered and with a sizable sabre burn on his ribs. Such was the fate of all masters, it seemed. A distinct feeling of longing uncurled in the depths of his consciousness as he thought of Qui Gon. It had been some years since he had spoken his last words to his beloved master but not a day went by when Obi Wan didn't think about him. He was upholding his master's promise as best he could but he frequently wished for his master's guidance. Letting his thoughts take him away momentarily, Obi Wan closed his eyes and allowed his memories to wash over him, returning to the present only when he sensed a stirring on the medibed. When he raised his eyes, Anakin's tired gaze was waiting for him.

"Master Obi Wan," he croaked.

"Shh, just rest, Anakin," the master hushed him, reaching to adjust his blankets and smooth the stubborn, errant hair off his brow. Anakin's mane would need to be shorn again soon. "Your fever has broken, Ani. You should be feeling better."

"Yes, master," Anakin smiled tiredly. "Thank you."

"You did well, Anakin. The Council and I are very pleased with your contributions to our mission. Next time you must not keep your ills to yourself. It has been a lesson for both of us," Obi Wan murmured.

"I won't, master, I promise," he swore, interrupting himself with a yawn that made him wince, the movement still aggravating his tender head.

A hand untangled itself from the blankets and caught the master's fingers, holding on to them contentedly. Pride swelled in Obi Wan's heart and he filtered it through to his apprentice in warm waves. Anakin was growing up and, though he could be cocky and head strong at times, he still held on to a deep rooted need to love and be loved. He understood compassion well for someone his age, always happy to seek company and contact, something Obi Wan knew Anakin had initially been almost ashamed of. The master squeezed the padawan's hand reassuringly.

"More adventures await you tomorrow, Ani. Close your eyes now."

Anakin did as he was told, falling quickly into a deep, healing sleep. Obi Wan dimmed the lights with the Force and made himself comfortable.

"Sleep well, my padawan."