Just before the first light of dawn Luke ducked into Ben's tent.
Ben was still lying in the same position he had fallen over in the previous night, on his right side facing the tent's opening with his face half buried in the pillow. His mouth was open and he was snoring rather loudly.
"Ben?" Luke whispered. Then a little louder, "Ben?" When Ben didn't wake up he reached out to shake him gently by the shoulder.
Ben groaned and rolled over onto his left side, turning his back to Luke.
"Come on, Ben. Time to get up and fix us breakfast."
"I don't feel good, Uncle Luke. I'm sick," Ben muttered without opening his eyes.
"It's Master Luke, and you've got no one but yourself to blame for that hangover. Now get up." Luke pulled Ben into a sitting position, ignoring the young man's angry scowl. "You'll find the meal calendar on the wall in the kitchen and the cookbooks on the counter. And Ben? Why don't you go ahead and take a shower first. You smell like sweat and booze."
The lights in the large industrial kitchen were far too bright, stabbing mercilessly into Ben's over-sensitive eyes and brain like hot knives.
Moving slowly and carefully, as his equilibrium was still somewhat compromised, he set about preparing breakfast for Luke's pupils.
The odor of frying sausage, which he would have ordinarily found appealing, caused him to gag and run for the restroom.
"Should I clear the table, Master Luke?" Ben inquired once everyone had finished their breakfast.
A few of the Jedi trainees had shared questioning glances with each other when they'd realized that Ben was on serving duty rather than joining them for the meal, but none of them mentioned this or the fact that he had not participated in the early morning lessons. Nor did they verbally acknowledge Darriel's empty seat at the table.
"Yes," Luke responded. "Go ahead and do the dishes."
Ben loaded the plates into the dishwasher, involuntarily wincing in pain every time they clinked against each other.
He poured himself a glass of water from the tap and took a long drink. His stomach clenched hard and he swallowed several times in an attempt to fight back the nausea. He really didn't want to be sick again. A few seconds later, however, it became apparent that the nausea was going to win and he ran for the restroom once more, barely managing to keep the water down until he skidded into a stall.
When Luke entered the kitchen Ben was sitting at the staff table massaging his temples and taking small intermittent sips of water, allowing his stomach to settle between each one.
"You doing okay?" Luke asked him, although it was quite obvious that he was not.
"Do I look like I'm doing okay?"
"Not really. You look awful, Ben. But you still need to get to work. You can start by mopping and dusting."
"I just need to go back to sleep for a while. My head's killing me." Ben's voice wavered slightly and Luke wondered if he was about to start crying. "Please, Master Luke. I'll do whatever you want me to do later but I really just need to lay down right now. Please."
For several moments Luke stood silently, debating with himself whether he ought to stand firm or give in. The poor kid really did seem to be suffering. His face was pale and damp with perspiration and the whites of his eyes were shot through with red veins.
"Okay," he finally capitulated. "Go back to your tent and rest for a while. I'll come wake you up when it's time to fix lunch."
"I don't understand why you're punishing me anyway," Ben muttered. "All I did was stand up for you."
