Blurrg Flu

Mirror and Image

The galaxy is an amazing place, full of technology, biochemistry, science, discovery, and study. Children of the galaxy have the best medical care: vaccines, thorough diagnostics, always evolving medical treatment. A child of Coruscant will almost never get sick outside of the common cold. Medical stations are always on planet or a hyper jump away.

However, the further and further away from the Core one is, the further and further apart such medical care comes. Resources are more dear, and stations could be days away. Simple diseases that children of the core are already immune to are virulent killers further on the Outer Rim of both children and adults. A simple vaccine common on one planet is near nonexistent on another, depending on the sector the planet is in.

There is also the problem of living on a planet that suffers military occupation.

Such as Ryloth. During the Clone Wars.

Kanan grabbed both cups of caf, tuneless hum in his throat, as he moved out of the galley, through the common room, down the cabin hall and into the cockpit. The door slid open on his proximity and he glanced at the multi-hue glow of hyperspace before locking his eyes on his target. "You went to bed early last night," he said. "That's unusual. Special plans for today?"

Hera spun her chair slowly, throwing him a glance before turning back to her console.

Kanan blinked, a little surprised she didn't respond, more surprised she didn't take the caf. He set it on the console by her hands and took his place in the copilot seat, studying her more carefully. Her skin was pale, nearly yellow, and her eyes were bruised and barely open. Hera's frame listed to the side, head supported by only one fist propped with an elbow, eyes vacant.

"Hey," he asked. "Are you okay?"

She turned to him again, and he saw her lips were dry. She licked them and went through the effort of speaking. "... hmn..." was all she could manage. Hera blinked slowly, tried again. "... don't feel well," she said.

Kanan smirked at the understatement. "I noticed," he said gently, reaching over and taking her caf. "Catch something on that planet?"

She shook her head minutely.

"Okay. Let's get you to bed and have you sleep it off," Kanan said, standing. "Chopper, man the cockpit for a while. I'll take over once Hera's taken care of."

The C1 droid wuffled an affirmative just as Hera moaned a negative, but her protest was perfunctory at best. Kanan stood and helped her to her feet. She threw a weak glare at him and moved to her bunk by herself, but Kanan followed dutifully to make sure she got there. They'd both been sick before – her more than him – and knew how to handle each other. If Hera was ever sick enough to admit that she was sick, like just now, she would admit to going to bed. Anything less than that was a string of vitamins and polite nodding to sour harassment. Kanan would take his treatment better, though he doubted Hera thought so since he would never go to a medical station. He stood in her doorway a moment, watching her sit on her bunk and start working her boots off. She gave him another glare and he shrugged his shoulders and gave a placating smile.

"Just want to make sure you don't try to work on a project," he said with only a hint of defense. "If you need anything, give a yell and either Chopper or I will take care of it."

She hummed and Kanan left her to her changing. He went back to the cockpit long enough to take the unused cup of caf for Hera and bring it back to the galley. Caffeine was the last thing she needed, and he pulled from stock: protein packs, salt, vitamin supplements, powdered flavors, and started making soup. They were low on water, he noted, and hydration was especially important for Twi'leks when they were sick. He could do without for a day, he supposed, so she could keep her fluids. He set the water to boil and added the ingredients slowly, a few at a time, letting the protein and vitamins mix in to make a healthy soup as the flavor packs and salt made it palatable. He was hardly a good cook by any stretch of the imagination, but Hera was practical to the point where she thought protein bars were a way to eat, making him the default choice.

It took twenty minutes to get the soup ready, and he poured a bowl and left the rest where it was to be reheated as the day rotation wore on. Kanan took the bowl and moved back to Hera's room. He knocked before palming the door.

Hera was slumped in her bunk, only half changed; her leather armor, gloves, and boots were off, the necessary buckles for her flight suit only half completed. She must have been sick indeed to not even finish changing. Kanan set the soup down for later sipping and bent over her frame, hooking his arms around her knees and lifting them onto the bed. He debated finishing undressing her, but her boundaries were always very firm. Pursing his lips, he carefully tugged out the bunk's blanket, placing it over Hera and using that to cover her as he reached for her ankles and gently pulled at them, removing the thick orange material. Honor intact, and clothing removed. Her shirt he didn't dare touch, but he tucked her in and let her sleep.

Kanan placed a hand on Hera's head. A Twi'lek's normal temperature was an even 100 to a human's 98.6. Even with that she felt hot to the touch, whatever she had was more than a cold. Kanan wished her any semblance of rest as he left her bunk and finally moved back to the cockpit.

Chopper made a string a clips and warbles, asking a question.

"No," he said, taking Hera's seat before reaching over to get his forgotten cup of caf. "We can't replace broken parts. It's more like... writing an antivirus. I made her some soup to have when she wakes up. Hopefully that will help. If not, she just has to burn through it for a day or two. How long until we exit hyperspace?"

Chopper moaned.

"Twenty-four hours," Kanan repeated under his breath. He ran his fingers over the console, checking readouts and doing some quick mental math. The next job wasn't one of Hera's special projects, they were looking for credits to restock supplies and tide themselves over for the next few cycles. They didn't have to land in the next system, and there was another system six hours sooner that had a medical station orbiting around it. It was probably nothing, though, gone as Hera slept. He didn't like changing plans without her, but...

"What do you think, Chop?" he asked, spinning around to the C1 droid. "Should we change course to a medical station that's already on our way? Or push to make the system we planned on?"

Chopper didn't actually answer right away, orange dome spinning twice before warbling.

"She doesn't have to know," Kanan countered. "If she wakes up in eight hours and is back to normal, you can change the trajectories back without her ever being the wiser."

Chopper's discontent was vocal, but Kanan saw the readouts change as the astromech shifted course. He smiled; the droid cared for Hera as much as he did. And extra oil bath was in the works.

Three hours later Kanan stretched and stood from the pilot seat, leaving Chopper in charge. Lunch wouldn't be for another few hours, but he wanted to check on Hera. Nobody was a good sleeper when they were sick, but if she had passed out before even finishing changing then there was a chance she was still out. He knocked regardless, about to palm the door open when he heard a crash on the other side of the door.

"Hera?" he asked.

No answer.

"Hera, I'm coming in."

He waited a few seconds, then palmed the door open.

Hera was no longer in her bunk, she had fallen to the floor, a tangle of limbs and sheets.

"Space," he cursed, stepping in and kneeling down. He grabbed a shoulder to turn her over, but she had gone from hot to burning to the touch, and he pulled back in surprise. He leaned back, sticking his head out to the hall. "Chopper!" he called. "Get the medkit!"

"... Kanan...?"

"Easy, Hera," he said, turning to catch her eyes. The green orbs were fever bright.

"Ou est ma mère? Mémé?"

Kanan blinked as he tried to roll her over and disentangle her from the sheets. He hadn't ever heard her speak her native language before, and he had to back translate as he finally pulled the blanket free. "I don't know where your mother and grandmother are," he said gently. Slipping hands under her back and knees, he lifted, and Hera gave a weak squeak at the sudden change in elevation.

"What are you doing?" she asked, Twi'leki accent very thick.

"Putting you back in bed," he said. Chopper warbled behind him and, once Hera was settled, he stepped back and turned around. Chopper had the kit in one of his manipulators, and he took it gratefully. Thermometer first, he stuck it in her mouth but she made a face and turned her head, letting it fall out.

" 'm fine..."

"Not really," Kanan countered.

"Where's Mamen? Mémé?"

"You already asked," Kanan said. "Now close your mouth and let me take your temperature." Hera frowned at him, but closed her mouth around the thermometer and didn't let it fall away. Kanan went back to the kit and pulled out a cool pack, breaking the seal and letting the chemicals mix. Rolling in his hands he waited for the chill to bleed everywhere in the pack, and then he placed it on her forehead. "You're making me worried, you know," he said, keeping his tone easy as much as he could. "If you're trying to convince me you're delirious, you're doing a good job."

Hera started to answer but Kanan stopped her, pointing to the thermometer.

After a minute he pulled it out and looked at the reading. One-oh-four. High for a Twi'lek. Definitely a trip to a medical station. He glanced at Chopper and the droid clicked an affirmative, backing up and rolling to the cockpit to put in the transmission to the station.

He turned back to Hera. "You want to tell me the symptoms?" he asked. "Aside from the delirium of course?"

Hera looked terrible, skin yellow all the way to her lekku, mouth dry and eyes weak. He hated seeing her like this, felt anxiety swell in his stomach.

"Hot," she said. "Tired. Achy."

"Classic signs of a flu," Kanan said. "Except for the delirium."

" 'm not delirious," Hera countered, weakly insistent. "I'm just sick."

"Any specific pain? Nausea?"

Hera hummed, neither affirmative nor negative. Kanan reached over to the bowl of soup, never touched and now cold. He filled a spoon and held it in front of her. "Could you have this?" he asked.

Hera studied the spoon thoughtfully, actually thinking about the question. "I think so," she said. "Were the gutkurrs beaten back? Do we have any blurrg left?"

Kanan very carefully said nothing as he fed her the soup and waited for her reaction. Blurrg he knew were beasts of burden native to Ryloth, used to carry loads or ride long distances when a speeder wasn't available or the terrain was too difficult. He had no idea what gutkurrs were, but the galactic bestiary courses at the temple had never interested him much. If she was thinking about Ryloth, however, he could take an educated guess.

Hera didn't reject the soup immediately, and Kanan started spooning more into her mouth, hoping the nutrients would help. Neither spoke, Kanan feeding the love of his life, and letting the moment be.

"... when will Mémé get here?" Hera asked.

"... I don't know," Kanan said. "How do you feel now?"

"Tired."

Kanan nodded. "Okay. I'll let you get some sleep. If you need anything, give a yell, okay? Wild gutkurrs and all."

Hera snorted, and Kanan smiled at the distinctly Hera reaction. He left her to sleep and reentered the cockpit. Chopper was warbling and spinning his dome, asking a question.

"No, I don't know what's wrong with her. Only that it's serious," Kanan said. "Did you contact the medical station?"

Chopper's blurts were indignant.

"Easy, easy, I was just asking," Kanan defended. He sat in Hera's seat again and checked the readouts. Fifteen hours out; until then he had to keep her comfortable and monitor her symptoms. Fever, aches, lack of balance, delirium. That could account for any number of diseases, and Kanan was about as far from an expert as one could be. No one in the Temple was ever sick, all he really knew was going to the Halls of Healing for the occasional spray or shot, and of course going when there was an injury in training, or the fateful day he met his master... He shook his head from that memory, rubbing his goatee and debating putting in another call to the medical station. But no, it was probably something a simple anti-biotic could fix, an easy diagnosis and an easy cure. She might even be better by the time they stopped off, irritated he had changed course and missed the job. That reminded him...

He put in a transmission to the smugglers they were going to meet with, explaining what had happened and asking for a delay of their meeting, dependent upon what the diagnosis was, covering his bases.

"Chopper," he said as one final thought occurred to him. "Keep plugged in and monitor Hera's room, let me know if there are any changes, okay?"

The C1 droid wuffled and spun his port, as close to an affirmative as he was going to get.

Then he settled back to wait.

Twenty minutes later Kanan didn't need Chopper to tell him there was another crash in Hera's room, he was out of his seat before he even processed the noise and darting in. Hera had fallen out of her bunk again, and this time her entire body was shaking. Cursing, Kanan moved in to try and mitigate the damage, grabbing her head and trying to steady it before she did any damage, shifting his position before he could hoist her up back onto the bunk. Her body shuddered, teeth chattering as waves of the shakes washed over her. Chopper was in the doorframe again, spinning and manipulators out and flailing.

"Chopper!" Kanan shouted. "Get back on the transmitter and update the station!"

"Je vous deteste, Père! Vous ne pouvez pas voir passé Ryloth!"

There were other sounds and words in there, things Kanan couldn't parse, but that declaration was clear as the water in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. On top of the shakes Hera thrashed, weakly, fighting – Kanan presumed – against her father. He struggled to find a way to hold her still without injuring her, finally settling to leaning her back against his chest, one boot up on the bunk and pinning her arms to her sides by hugging her. Her head bumped against his shoulder, lekku in his face and making it absurdly hard to see. Kanan prayed she never learned about this breach of her privacy; she'd shove him out the air lock if she did.

"Shhh," Kanan said, ducking as one of her lekku bumped the bridge of her nose. "It's okay, Hera. It's okay. Your father isn't here. It's just us and that droid of yours."

"... Chopper... perdre son dôme... manipulateurs... jambe..."

"Don't worry," Kanan reassured, "He's all put together. I'll have him come see you once you've settled down, okay?"

"Non... pas maintenant... il y a..."

"Breathe, Hera," Kanan whispered. "Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe."

He breathed in audibly through his nose, catching the scent of her sweat, and exhaled through his mouth, breathing on the base of her lekku. He repeated the process, slowly through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. "Breathe with me," he whispered between breaths, holding her to his chest and hoping he was doing the right thing. The weak resistance died as quickly as it had come, and Kanan could feel her heartbeat against his chest slowing, evening out. He continued to breathe, letting the sounds of it fill her earcones, letting the rhythm slowly sink into her. Eventually, she fell back asleep.

Kanan carefully extricated himself from underneath her, laying her down before going across the hall to his own bunk and grabbing his lumpy pillow. He grabbed the pillows from the other bunks, too, and back in Hera's room he lifted her again, elevating her and hoping the reclining position would prevent her rolling over to the floor again. The ice pack had fallen away at some point, and when Kanan grabbed it he felt it was cool enough still to place back on her forehead. Her shirt was soaked with her sweat, clinging to her body and the blanket again twisted around her legs.

… Boundaries be damned, she needed to be looked after.

Kanan carefully undid the clasps of her oversized shirt and very carefully pulled it up and over her head. Her body was thin and elegant – common of all Twi'lek – and shining with sweat as he tugged at the blanket and slowly disentangled it from her long legs. He risked poking around her room before he found a thin sleep shirt that he dressed her in, and put the blanket over her hips and legs. Between shivers and fever, he figured half of her cool and half of her warm might balance out. He finished by placing a hand on her burning shoulder, watching her yellow face, looking for signs of restlessness. None for now, so he dared go back to the cockpit.

"She was asking for you," he said to the astromech. "Once the transmission's done why don't you go in and watch her for a while."

Chopper warbled in agreement and left almost immediately. Kanan bent over the pilot console and saw that the stupid droid had only half written the transmission. Stars how did she put up with that thing?

He settled in for another wait and finished the transmission.

When the chrono said noon he moved back to the galley to grab himself a protein bar and filled another bowl of soup, hoping he could get Hera to eat it. Failing that, he also had a cup of water, anything to hydrate her as she burned sweat off all the moisture in her body.

"How's she doing?" Kanan asked when he went into her room.

Chopper gave a long string of whuffs and grunts, warbling out a detailed analysis of Hera's health.

"One-oh-five now, her fever's gone up," Kanan repeated, pulling out another cool pack and breaking the seal. "More shakes. Any more delirium?"

Chopper gave a hexadecimal negative, dome shaking and coupling it with a curse.

"I was just asking," Kanan said defensively. "Has she woken up at all?"

Another negative, followed by a sentence that didn't, at first, translate to Kanan from binary to Basic. "What do you mean code anomalies?" he asked.

Chopper pulled out a manipulator and pinched at the fabric of Hera's nightshirt, lifting it up to Kanan's mix of surprise and horror. Hera was going to kill him.

The emotion truncated almost immediately, however, when he saw the brown rings on her flat abdomen, faint and hard to see, but decidedly not there before. She wasn't getting better, she was getting worse. He lifted up the blanket covering her legs and saw two more rings, stronger and more defined than the ones on her core, and when he lifted the lukewarm cool pack from her forehead to replace it he saw another encircling her eye. "Space," he cursed. "Do you know what this is?"

Chopper shook his dome.

… "I'm going to see if we're close enough to put in a holo-call to the medical station," Kanan said, stomach tight with anxiety. "They need to know her symptoms as soon as possible."

Chopper wuffled and Kanan moved back to the cockpit, checking the chrono. Still eight hours out. The Ghost's transmitters weren't the pinnacle of long range, but the medical station would be better funded and better equipped, they might receive his transmission. He tried dutifully – for an hour – before something managed to get through.

"Hello, please state your emergency."

"This is first mate of the Ghost," Kanan said to the blurry near-human on the other end of the line. "I've put in a call already that we are inbound with a patient. My Captain has shown new symptoms and I think this is more serious than a bad case of the flu."

"Understood, what's the species?"

"Twi'lek."

"Age?"

"Twenty-three standard years."

"Place of birth?"

Kanan paused, blinking, realizing he didn't know. He took an educated guess, "Ryloth, I think."

The near-human made a noise that was distorted by the static of the long-range transmission. "Any known allergies?"

"Not that I know of."

"Symptoms?"

"Fever's jumped to one-oh-five since our last transmission, shakes, delirium – I think she's remembering her childhood – and now she's starting to show little brown rings on her skin."

He could make out the static-ky image inputting the information into a datapad, and there was a long, stress-inducing pause as the near-human at the other end looked up possible reasons for the change. Kanan watched the tiny head tilt, and then look up. "Do you know the immunization history?"

Cold ice down his spine.

"No," he said in a tight voice.

"We'll send a space ambulance to meet you part way," the near-human said. "They can take over care and finish the journey to the station. You can follow in your own ship."

"Do you know what this is?"

"I'm not qualified to give a diagnosis, but the rings narrow the possibilities quite a bit. Our ambulance will be better equipped and be able to better diagnose the patient. We can be there in... two hours. Keep her comfortable and elevated; keep her hydrated. We'll take it from here."

The transmission ended and Kanan felt worse now than he did before. He rubbed his face, digging in the heels of his palms and taking a moment to process. This was more serious than he thought. If Hera...

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it. Their line of work was dangerous even without Hera's side projects adding fuel to the fire. He knew the risks of losing her, and he spent many nights thinking about the aftermath, mentally preparing himself and knowing that he couldn't fall again, couldn't lose his way, disappear into a bottle and drifting from job to job and planet to planet. Hera wouldn't approve that, and now he no longer approved. She had given him purpose again, and she had reminded him what he was supposed to be, what he should be. He wasn't there yet, the road was still long on that score, but he was closer now than he ever had been before the Purge, and he wouldn't demean her by going back. But like this...

Grunting with emotion he got up and went into Hera's room again. "Ambulance is on his way," he told Chopper. "They said to keep her hydrated."

The droid grumbled that he didn't have the right equipment to do that himself, so he backed out (running over Kanan's toes, or trying to) and went back to managing the ship while Kanan sat on the edge of the bunk and grabbed the soup.

"Hera," he said softly, touching her hot shoulder and giving it a gentle shake, his hand coming back damp. "Wake up."

She moaned, heavy eyes giving way to thin slits. "... Kanan?" The words could barely be heard, but he heard them anyway.

"Easy," he soothed. "Just want you to have some soup. We have to keep you hydrated. Ambulance is on its way."

She started to drift off again, but Kanan was insistent, shaking her shoulder again and putting the spoon in front of her gaze. Hera gave the faintest of nods, and Kanan gave her one tiny spoon of soup. She barely swallowed, but dutifully kept at it until she couldn't stay awake anymore. Only a third of the soup was eaten, and Kanan was slowly becoming convinced that there was no way in space this was going to end well. Hera was many things, but weak wasn't one of them, nor sick another. He was struggling to reconcile the woman he fell in love with, who saved him from himself, who pulled him up from the gutter and was in the middle of making him something, could somehow barely eat a bowl of soup and run hot against his hands and be so pale and still and suffering.

He felt like a failure somehow, even though he knew for a cold fact he could have done nothing to prevent... whatever this was that was running through her system. His own impotence to help compounded everything, and as Hera slept all he could do was close his eyes and breathe, in and out, and try to let go.

The ambulance called a half hour out, and Chopper talked to their computers to find an empty section of space to exit hyperspace and dock to handle the situation. Kanan greeted them at the airlock and lead them to Hera's bunk, the medics clinical and thorough and not particularly gentle as they climbed on the narrow bunk and straddled the Twi'lek, flashing penlights in her eyes (dilated, he should have noticed that) and calling her name and hooking her up to machines. Kanan felt uncomfortable by proxy; he knew Hera protected her person religiously and seeing the professionals place things on her chest or take blood made him queasy just on principal. They were professionals, however, and soon they (miraculously) got a hover-stretcher into the tiny space and hefted her onto it, gliding her out of her room and back to the airlock and onto the ambulance.

The Ithorian was the one checking Hera out, and the Sullustan was asking Kanan a string of questions, all of which he answered as thoroughly as he could, and he learned over time that he didn't know much of Hera's history. Her delirium was the only reason he knew she was from Ryloth, but he had no idea of her family history, or even who her family was. He wondered for years if she was related to Cham Syndulla but never asked, and he felt doubly helpless because he couldn't even say where on Ryloth she was born or grew up.

Kanan couldn't follow, he and Chopper still had to pilot the Ghost, and the hardest moment of his life was watching the airlock close, Hera beyond and helpless, and forced to trust strangers with her care.

His hands were a little shaky when he took the steering yoke, and he took a long, deep breath, holding it in his chest and exhaling slowly before he could find enough control to make the jump. The next two hours were him on the ship, eyes closed, breathing.

The medical station floated above a green planet and was a circle rotating around the center of a spire, design vaguely reminiscent of the Clone Wars but not enough to set him on edge. Chopper docked the ship and the two of them had a quick and curse-filled argument about who should go inside, but Kanan won solely because he knew more languages than Chopper and that few beings would understand that a droid was family.

Kanan exited and moved in a straight line to the nearest nurse station he could find, gave his name and Hera's, asked where to go, and followed the command quickly. They had picked the wrong dock, of course, and he had to go halfway around the station to be near where Hera was being prepped. The emergency wing was almost empty this time of day – actually, what time of day was it? Kanan checked his chrono with the station's time and adjusted it accordingly. This time of night, then. The waiting room had only two other people in its spacious area, and Kanan ignored them blatantly. Sitting cross-legged on a beat-up old ottoman and propping his elbows on his knees, Kanan once again settled in to wait.

Chopper had joined Kanan not long after, and really that was about as surprising as space being a vacuum. The little droid blurped that the ship was locked down and secure, and all that was needed was their pilot. Kanan reached out and patted Choppers dome. "I agree," he said softly. They both waited.

It was almost an hour later when a doctor came out, a female Cathar, thick white mane pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck, ears drooped in fatigue.

"Anyone for a Captain Hera?" she called. Kanan quickly stood and Chopper followed, both of them bee-lining to the tall feline.

"First mate, Kanan," he introduced himself. "Please, is she okay?"

The doctor gestured, and they went to a smaller waiting room, with plush couches and a holo-net screen playing some sort of sports channel. The couches were too soft, Kanan noticed as he sat down. Leaning forward, he watched with keen eyes as the doctor settled herself. A clawed hand scratched by her cat-ears, and she looked to Kanan with her slitted, yellow eyes. "I am Doctor Jucah," she said gently. "You first noticed she was sick?"

"Yes," he replied. Clearly this was information time, though he'd already explained all this to the ambulance medics. "About twenty-four hours ago I woke up from sleep cycle to find her in the cockpit. She had gone to bed early the previous night which was usual, but not unheard of. When I asked if she was okay..." and he went on to explain everything over the past several hours. When he took her temperature, how much soup or water he was able to give her, when the brown rings had appeared.

The Cathar raised a brow. "You've been observing and attentive."

Kanan gave a tired, if lopsided smile.

Jucah only nodded. "I need to know about some medical history."

"I'll do the best I can. It's not really a topic that comes up when meeting clients or making repairs."

"I understand," Jucah replied, an ear twitching. "You reported that she was from Ryloth?"

"Yes," Kanan answered. "I think I know who her father is, and if I'm right that means she was raised there."

"But you don't know for certain."

"No."

The doctor reached up and rubbed a temple, eyes tightening. "Your captain is a Twi'lek."

Kanan raised a brow. "Obviously."

"Has she ever been in..." she paused ever so briefly and Kanan, who deliberately kept himself cut off from the Force, could feel a deep flicker of feeling from the Cathar. "Was she ever a slave?"

A clawed hand rubbed a knee briefly. Kanan understood. Female Cathars were as prized as female Twi'leks in the slave markets. That deep flicker of feeling...Kanan could take an educated guess.

"No," Kanan replied promptly.

"Are you sure?"

Kanan gave her a small grin and turned to the little droid by his side. "Chopper, how old was Hera when you came online?"

Chopper answered promptly and with indignation that Hera would ever have been a slave.

"See?"

Jucah gave a wan smile. "Not at all. I don't speak droid."

Kanan gave a tired huff of laughter. "Eleven. Hera was eleven when she put Chopper here together. And if she was ever a slave, any owner would have scrapped our favorite droid here. So no, she was never a slave."

"But before this droid?"

"She would have still been on Ryloth."

The Cathar gave a relieved sigh before continuing. "Then we need to know some specifics. Where on Ryloth?"

Kanan turned to Chopper. The C1 droid gave a frustrated sound before projecting a holo of Ryloth, slowly spinning, with a small flashing light.

"Nabat, it looks like," Kanan said, finger following the light. "Near the equator. Actually, that's several miles from Nabat."

"You know Ryloth pretty well," Jucah hummed.

Kanan gave an easy shrug and an easier lie. "When I was a youngling I did a project for current events on the Battle of Ryloth."

The doctor nodded and continued. "Do you know if she's up to date on her immunizations?"

Kanan looked to Chopper again, but the little droid wumbled an unknown. "We don't know," he answered.

Jucah gave a heavy sigh and rubbed her temples. "That's going to make this harder." She looked to her datapad and started tapping at it. "Do you know of any family genetics? Diseases or conditions that are inherited?"

Kanan looked to Chopper, but the answer was another unknown.

"Does she have any allergies?"

Unknown.

"When was her last check up?"

Unknown.

"What planets have you been to in the last two years?"

That, at least, Kanan could answer, since he'd been with Hera for almost four years now. He only edited out a few planets that were Empire Only where they had pulled ops, but was otherwise forthright, checking with Chopper to see if he had missed anything.

"Any foreign bites?"

No, not that they knew of.

"Being from Ryloth, has she ever had any exposure to ryll? Refined or natural?"

Unknown.

The list of questions went on and on. Kanan was realizing, to his own helplessness, that he often had to turn to Chopper for an answer to translate, and even many of those were a negative.

"Do you know any of her sexual partners?"

"None," Kanan said. "Since I've joined her crew, anyway. I don't know about before. She's too focused to bother with romance."

Jucah finally looked up from her pad, slitted eyes staring at Kanan, before an amused smile showed her sharp teeth. But the Cathar said nothing. Instead, she set aside her datapad and rubbed her eyes, face once more serious. "Your captain is stable at the moment. You caught on fast that she was ill and kept a constant check on her. You've kept her hydrated and tried to keep her fed and brought her here as fast as your hyperdrive could allow. With the sheer number of planets you've been to, we need to do a lot of testing to see what it was that she was exposed to that could produce these symptoms. And I do think it was exposure to something, nothing genetic, though we can't rule it out."

Kanan nodded and understood the non-answer for what it was. They didn't know. Couldn't know until they did more research and testing. It was a waiting game. Hera could be kept stable until they learned whatever it was that was wrong. Kanan didn't like it one bit, but he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and held it, before letting it all go.

"Can we see her?" he asked softly.

"Briefly," Jucah replied. "We're getting ready to move her to ICU. You said you knew her father? How can we reach him?"

"I think I know who her father is. And I don't know how to reach him."

Chopper, however, was emphatically waving his manipulators, shouting how Hera didn't want to speak to her father at all. Kanan only nodded. "Yeah, Chopper's refusing to say on my captain's orders. So I'm sorry, but I'm a dead end on that."

Jucah frowned. Heavily. But said nothing. "Come along, then."

The Cathar stood and Kanan followed back out and then past the doors into the emergency room. They arrived at a small curtained off area where nurses were still inserting IVs and noting readings, and Kanan just took a moment to feel. Hera was looking around in confusion, wary of all the strangers, eyes darting around. Ever calm and cool, she was trying to stay in control as she always did, but her body was too weak to comply, leaving her prone in a way that Kanan had never seen her. It pulled at him, made something try and catch in his throat.

He stepped over to her, took her sweaty hand in his, and ran the back of his other hand along the side of her face, worry eating at him even as he tried to let it go. Her eyes focused on him, staring at him, and it was clear that he was familiar but she didn't know from where. Chopper warbled and Hera looked at him. There was a soft, tender smile, as she weakly reached out and patted his dome. She looked back to Kanan, and he watched some of the tension around her eyes ease.

"Zhe Seperatists," she said, her Ryloth accent thick. "Zhe 'ave been pushed back?"

Kanan gently squeezed her hand. "Yes, they have."

"And zhe gutkurrs?"

"Nowhere nearby."

All of which was true.

"You 'ave our zhanks, Master Jedi..." she said softly.

Kanan's shoulders involuntarily stiffened, but he kept his face smooth. He very carefully glanced at the nurses, but they didn't seem to have noticed anything. The delirium was working to their favor for the moment, and it was sad that Kanan was grateful for that. Instead, he only nodded.

"You're safe here," he said softly. "Let the healers see to you."

"Bien sûr."

Pausing, Kanan just took another moment to be. Hera was stable, anything she said would be attributed to her ailment whatever that was, and there were many options on how to proceed. All he wanted to do was stay put, stay with Hera as they figured out what was wrong with her. Make sure she was okay, learn what she might say in her delirium that might make things difficult. But above all, he just wanted to stay by her side. Because he loved her.

But Hera had done a lot to put him back together. She had given him purpose. And as she had a purpose in building a rebellion, as much as he didn't want to be part of it, he would continue to do as she would want. Because when she got better, and she would get better if Kanan had any say in the matter, she'd want to know what he'd done while she was sick.

So he rubbed the side of her face again, stayed with her and soothed her as much as she could, until she fell into a restless sleep.

"Chopper," Kanan said softly, "keep an eye on her, would you?"

The droid whirled to him, demanding what he was talking about and what sort of idiotic, organic thing was he about to do.

"I'm going to tell our contact that we can't make the rendezvous. Then I'm going to see what we can do about recouping the loss." He looked back to Hera, and rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "That way she won't have to worry when she's back to herself."

Chopper grumbled, but reached a manipulator out to take Hera's other hand.

"Thanks, Chop."

Their contact, Vizago, was surprisingly understanding to learn that a crew member was sick – at least he was when he looked at the transmission codes and saw that Kanan really was calling from a medical station. Guarded civility (civility of any kind, really) like that was rare, and Kanan quietly decided he would talk to Hera about using him again if things worked out. Without the income, however, they were dead in space. The smuggling gig from Vizago would have given them enough credits to refuel, restock, and repair the ship from the last op. All that without knowing what or if they would get a medical bill for Hera's care. He leaned back in the cockpit seat, rubbing his face and digging his palms in his eyes. He'd been up for twenty-four hours. He needed sleep.

… He'd sleep when he had a means of income.

Grunting, he exited the cockpit and down the hall, through the common room and galley, and to the shuttle. He powered it up and flew it down to the planet the station was orbiting, navigating the traffic going to and from the orbital hospital. He moved to the day side of the planet where work shifts were changing, landed and started poking around. He needed something short and lucrative – preferably legal, though he doubted he would be that lucky.

In the span of three hours he lined up several shuttle runs for the next several days, and even did one as he loaded the shuttle with nurses and assistants and B-2 droid maintenance workers to ferry up to the station. He docked the shuttle in a transport bay, collected his pay, took off to dock with the Ghost, and counted his credits. Not even a tenth of what they needed, but it was a start. He commed Chopper with the update and went to his cabin to sleep. It was only upon entering that he remembered all the pillows were in Hera's room, and that Hera's room was a mess because of the ambulance medics prepping her to leave.

Exhausted, he crossed the hall and palmed Hera's door open and began cleaning and putting the room back the way Hera liked it. The scent of sickness filled the room, they would have to air out the Ghost and flush the vents to get the smell out, but he did his best before finally collapsing on his bunk.

Exhaustion made his sleep dreamless.

Six hours later he woke, forced himself to eat the leftover soup, and made his way to the Intensive Care sector of the station. He asked how Hera was doing, and was asked if he was immediate family.

"I'm the closest she has to family right now," he replied. "I don't know her blood family and I've been her first-mate for years now."

And while such med stations always preferred family only, they were far more lenient on such stations since families were always such a distance away. Crew often were the only ones available. So Kanan was let in to Hera's room.

Kanan was glad to see Hera was the same as when he'd left. Sleeping restlessly, but the fever hadn't risen any higher, and the brown rings didn't seem to have spread. However...

"Chopper," Kanan drawled out, brow raised incredulously. "Why are you in a restraining bolt?"

Chopper's response was explicative, indignant, and lacked any actual information.

Kanan narrowed his eyes.

Chopper wouldn't take that from anyone and kept on shouting.

Kanan crossed his arms.

Chopper growled right back. Then shuddered as the restraining bolt was activated.

"Hey," Kanan whirled around, looking for whoever had the control.

A nurse scowled back at him. "That droid of yours has been nothing but a nuisance," the nurse hissed. "Getting in the way of whatever we're doing, sounding out nonsense."

"He's also put back together by my captain, and I'm sure now that he understands not to bother you while you work," he gave a significant look to the droid, "he won't be a problem anymore. Right, Chopper?"

The C1 droid crossed his manipulators and turned his dome away, grumbling.

"Right, Chopper?"

The astromech gave a tiny, barely audible noise of ascent.

"There," Kanan said magnanimously. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The binary expletives were wholly ignored as Kanan bent down to remove the restraint. Chopper, of course, pulled out his taser to try and shock Kanan, but the former Padawan was too fast for him and moved immediately next to the nurse. "Now Chopper," he said blithely. "You promised. You wouldn't want to interrupt Hera's care, would you?"

Chopper impressively used binary, hexadecimal, and fractal to string together a long line of curses, but hobbled on his struts to turn around and set by Hera's bed. Kanan nodded to himself and was able to remove the restraining bolt with Chopper only growling instead of attacking.

Kanan sat down by Hera and held her hand. She wasn't as feverish, different medications keeping the fever down and keeping her unconscious in case her delirium got violent. A distinct possibility from growing up on Ryloth during the Clone Wars and the work they did. So Kanan just sat by her side, a friendly presence. He wondered if she was aware of him. If she got any comfort from this. Whether she did or not, Kanan remained, rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand and let her own presence, weaker but still there, comfort himself.

Chopper, while Kanan was there, plugged in to the hospital network, providing updates as they appeared on her medical chart. This was probably one of the reasons the droid had gotten a restraining bolt, but Chopper restrained himself, at least with Kanan present. Kanan was grateful for that.

Kanan sensed someone approaching and opened his eyes to turn to see Doctor Jucah come in. Her golden fur lacked any sheen, showing she was tired and worn. She did smile when she saw him though. "Ah," she said. "I'd heard she had a visitor."

"I'm here," he gave a wan smile.

"We've managed to eliminate several options," Jucah explained, glancing to her datapad. "The planets you've been to are clear and according to the blood work up, it's not a recently contracted illness. We've cleared fungal infections, most common viruses, allergies, genetic defects, and mutations. There are signs that it was dormant for a long time. But the tests are still going. There's a lot in this galaxy that a being can contract."

"I can only imagine," Kanan agreed magnanimously.

"Outside of diagnosis, her temperature is under control; we have her on immune-boosters and some antibiotics to counteract some of her symptoms. Her blood pressure isn't responding to medication, it's fluctuating because of the other medications she's on. She's very sick, Mr. Jarrus, but things will go much faster once we've diagnosed what's wrong with her."

"I know you're doing everything you can," Kanan said, still rubbing a thumb over Hera's knuckles. He hadn't stopped.

"You can sit with her for a while, but not forever because you're not family," Doctor Jucah said gently. "She's also scheduled for more tests in about an hour."

Kanan nodded. "I'll be gone by then," he promised. "Chopper won't bother you anymore, either. If he does, you have my permission to put another restraining bolt on him."

Chopper gave an indignant squawk and Kanan responded with a Look, one he'd seen Hera do any number of times, and for the first time since knowing the droid, Chopper backed down to someone other than Hera. It was a big victory, but Kanan couldn't revel in it under the circumstances. Jucah left shortly after and Kanan stayed for as long as he dared before doing the same. He ran his fingers over Chopper's dome, saying, "I'm going to try and earn more credits. I'll be back later. Don't get in their way; if you do it makes Hera's recovery longer."

Chopper was indignant but unable to argue. Kanan left the ICU and, rubbing his face, made his way back to the Ghost. He could still smell the sickness; he needed to flush the vents, but one thing at a time. He went to the Phantom and disengaged, going planet-side and doing another string of shuttle and delivery jobs. The pay was absolute pittance, and listening to the shuttle be filled with people talking or whining as he took them to and fro reminded him a little too much of his taxi days. Those were memories he'd rather not relive, and he studiously did not engage in any conversation as he picked up, dropped off, and picked up again people and cargo. Cargo paid slightly better but used up more fuel, and by the end of the rotation he had (barely) enough credits to refuel – both the Phantom and the Ghost. He bought and loaded the fuel and flew back up to the docking bay of the station, taking the canisters and filling both ships.

After that he finally flushed the air vents – which included three hours in wiring and ducts pulling apart filters by hand and storing them for cleaning later. He kept the intake vents open to use the station's air and, sometime after midnight, collapsed in bed again.

For two days that was his routine: wake up and make himself eat, visit with Hera anywhere from one to four hours, and then off to the planet to earn anything resembling credits. He took the filters down to the planet to have them cleaned and then scolded at by the maintenance people because they hadn't been cleaned in over a year. He had no excuse and took the tongue-lashing, made himself ferry people and their annoying prattle all over the planet and hauled small cargo to and from the station – including medical waste to be sanitized in carefully packed crates (Kanan very firmly did not think about what might constitute medical waste), work on the Ghost until exhaustion to (fail to) prevent nightmares, and repeat.

Twice he had the Order 66 dream, and on the third day he woke up convinced he was in the ICU being told that Hera was gone and there was nothing he could do. That had left him scrambling for the 'fresher and a little shaky as he made his way to the ICU.

Chopper, by some miracle, behaved himself as the permanent fixture of Hera's room, keeping Kanan up to date and offering creative curses to try and get a rise out of him. That day Kanan wasn't in the mood, just held Hera's hand and listened to her presence, trying to erase his nightmare. He was exhausted, even keeping busy couldn't hide how strung out he was; all he wanted was to see her eyes open, listen to her voice as she scolded him for not taking care of himself (he was trying. Honest). Dr. Jucah always visited, short but informative, letting him know what new things had been canceled out or off the list. Today was no different, she came in and for once her fur looked healthy, her mane shining. She must have finally been off shift for a while.

"I have good news," she said, a bright smile on her muzzle. "We know what it is."

Kanan blinked, a little slow to process the words. Then, relief. "That's great!"

"Blurrg flu," the doctor said. "Blurrg are beasts of burden on the planet Ryloth, where she is from. It's not actually a flu, but a symbiotic worm that lives in the blurrg and is sometimes passed if a Twi'lek is in charge of their care. The worm feeds on the nutrients of a blurrg's intestines and when it dies it releases chemicals that aid in a blurrg's digestive track. To a Twi'lek the chemicals are toxic and cause the exact list of symptoms your captain was suffering. A simple immunization as a child makes a Twi'lek's body toxic to the worms and prevents them from living in them. But we've seen a rise in cases since the Clone Wars."

"Because it was a war zone," Kanan said quietly, squeezing Hera's hands.

Jucah nodded. "The citizens were more concerned with survival, med-centers were over populated and under stocked as is common in such situations." She sat down in another chair in Hera's room. "The worms are long lived, in a blurrg there would be thousands, but it looks like your captain was mostly careful as a child. There were only two or three, and the medical droids removed those that were still alive. She won't contract this again."

More relief, Kanan sank into his seat and felt like stress was melting off of him. "What's treatment?" he asked.

"We're introducing counteractive chemicals to prevent and then slowly reverse the reaction. You were lucky to think as quickly as you did, as you saw the symptoms develop rapidly and in rural parts of the planet, it is a killer. Once she's clear of the chemicals we'll inoculate her to prevent further infection."

Kanan nodded, absorbing the information and assimilating relevant parts. "How long will it take?"

"There's a lot her body has to purge, but we're already started treatment," Jucah said. "Another two days before we start thinking about inoculation, twenty-four hours after that to see that she had no reaction."

"And until she wakes up?"

Jucah smiled but shook her head. "Undoing the reaction won't be pleasant on her body. It's best if she's kept under a little while longer."

Kanan nodded again. "I understand," he said.

"I'll be here another day or so, but now it's time for the B-2 droids to take over. I'll leave the two of you alone for a while." The Cathar stood and left, back to her patients. Kanan slouched in his seat low enough for his head to touch the back of the chair, groaning in relief. Good news, aaaaahhh...

He woke to a B-2 medical droid informing him that he had used up his visiting hours and that it was time for him to go. Kanan stretched and arched his back before standing. Chopper was still by his master; his dome spun twice and his extended his manipulators to make a shooing motion, blurting about credits and uselessness and to get the space out of the room. Kanan couldn't even feel indignant; he just went back to the ship and grabbed the Phantom for the next string of ferrying.

He had of course overslept and missed his first three jobs, and he made up for it by taking more well into the night cycle. Two he suspected were illegal if for no other reason than because of the pay, but he was in no position to argue as he stopped of at the maintenance shop and picked up the cleaned filters. Back on the Ghost he had run out of soup and out of water, and he was forced to nibble on a protein bar as he went back into the vents to reinstall. That took him almost to dawn of the next rotation, and with another protein bar in his stomach he threw his gaze achingly to where Hera and the ICU were. Would just one day...?

But no, he was being responsible, and with Hera unconscious she wouldn't even know that he was there. So, with intense trepidation, he skipped visiting and instead went straight to the planet. He had enough credits to restock on water but little else, and he spent the rest of the day once again ferrying. This load was mostly cargo, and the quiet soothed him; he didn't think he could be civil to a shuttle full of passengers on no sleep. He took the pay and got the cheapest food he could buy in bulk. It wouldn't be palatable but it would tide them over until the next more lucrative job came, and Hera wouldn't care either way, practical as she was. He did buy a better caf maker – paid more than he should have – and consoled himself that it was totally worth it.

Back on the Ghost he restocked the galley and stuck his head in Hera's room. Everything was as it was supposed to be, the smell of sickness was gone, and he collapsed on his bunk and had a dreamless sleep.

That morning he enjoyed his caf on the way to ICU to be told that Hera was no longer there, she had been transferred to the recovery ward. And Chopper hadn't messaged him?

Kanan navigated the medical station, asking for directions only once before he found a map and made his way to the other side of the establishment. There was a nurse station with a medical droid, and when Kanan asked where Hera's room was he was given a string of numbers. They had to be repeated before he could memorize them enough to navigate the ward to find the matching room. Hera was inside, Chopper once again in a restraining bolt and cursing at him in fractal about not being there for the transfer and the burden Chopper bore in ensuring Hera's optimal programming and the indignation of being called out of control and being restrained again.

"Sorry, Chop," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Next time."

"... next time what?"

Kanan's eyes snapped over to see green looking back at him, and no matter how relieved he'd felt before was nothing compared to how he felt now. He stared obtusely, mouth agape and drinking in every detail of those beautiful green eyes and unable to conceive of anything else.

Hera offered a small, weak smile. "Do you speak Basic?" she asked.

"... Words fail me," Kanan said, easy grin on his face as he finally sat down. "You had us worried."

"So I was told," she said. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, scratchy and weak, but the melody of it was still there. Awake! She was awake! That was enough for Kanan. Everything would be alright now.

Hera's last clear memory was being on the Ghost. What that memory of the Ghost was, was fuzzy, but Kanan and Chopper were both there, so she knew she was in good hands. There was a jumbled mess between then and now. Images of her mother and grandmother, a Jedi, a warm presence by her side. Chopper had noticed her waking and had done a celebration, his manipulators out and dome spinning in glee.

"Easy," she said softly, and didn't like how her voice cracked and sputtered. "What-" but she couldn't finish the sentence before she coughed. Her mouth was so dry...

Chopper rolled over and used a manipulator to grab a cup of something and rolled back, offering it to her. Hera reached up to take it, but her hand barely lifted a few centimeters. Space, what happened that made her so weak? And... this wasn't the Ghost. Where was she? Chopper saw she was unable to take the cup and spat out a few binary curses, the vulgarity soft enough to indicate he didn't mean it at her, before putting the cup by her hand and rolling out of the room they were in. More conscious now, Hera took in her surroundings with a wary eye. She was in a medical bed, and a dozen different lines and tubes and wires were hooked up and in to her. She searched her memory more thoroughly this time; what had been the last job? Had something gone bad? She didn't see any bandages, so what...?

"Ah, Captain Syndulla, so good to see you awake," said a B-2 medical droid. "Your astromech informed us you had awoken."

"Where am I?" she tried to say, but failed utterly as she fell into another fit of dry-mouthed coughs. Water, she needed water.

The droid took the cup Chopper had tried to offer and spooned its contents – chipped ice – into her mouth. Ah, that felt so much better. The droid said something about a medical station, orbit, days under care, but Hera was too busy savoring the ice as it melted in her mouth and flooded her with hydration. She did hear the droid say it would contact her lead doctor, and that pulled her out of her own mind long enough to realize that lead doctor meant more than one doctor had been working on her, and now she was becoming acutely aware that Kanan wasn't there.

Eventually, a species Hera didn't recognize walked in; female, lion-like in appearance, ears and muzzle and mane pulled into a bun at the base of her head. Gold fur, white mane, she looked at Hera's charts and nodded a few times before giving attention to the Twi'lek exclusively.

"Welcome back, Captain Syndulla," the woman, the doctor, said. "You had your first mate very worried about you."

Kanan? Where was he? And what had happened? She asked as much and the medic, Dr. Jucah, explained. Hera felt cold when she learned she had contracted the blurrg worm, the flu had devastated entire compounds on Ryloth as a child. Her father had insisted on being so careful when the gutkurrs had attacked the blurrg pens – she knew incubation could last years, but now? How had she even survived?

The doctor explained in brief terms what happened: symptoms had developed rapidly, her first mate had thought very quickly, and several days of treatment followed. "You've been very, very sick," Dr. Jucah said. "That's two verys, and it's impressive that you pulled through. The illness has passed but the recovery has only just started. Your body used up a lot of energy and lost a lot of strength. You'll be on a special diet, partly to ensure no more worms, and partly to build up everything you've lost in the last cycle. You'll be here another two or three rotations to be safe, and then we'll cut you loose. Now that you're awake, we'll set you up with the B-2 droids for the rest of your time here."

After the doctor had left Chopper had gone into lurid detail over what had happened to her, from her apparent delirium to Kanan's woefully inadequate decisions (Chopper's curses and invectives did nothing to hide the fact that those "inadequate" decisions were deeply appreciated and respected). There were also long complaints about being put in a restraining bolt, and by then his warbles and outputs were so loud and his manipulators spinning so wildly that when a B-2 droid came in to check up on Hera, Chopper's gesticulation thwacked the droid so hard as to leave an impressive dent. A second restraining bolt came shortly thereafter. Chopper was outraged, cursing Kanan for not being there and dealing with the situation.

Hera could only smile at her beloved droid, reaching out weakly to pat his dome. She fell asleep after that, too tired to think harder on what had happened.

When she next woke, Chopper was still by her side, and immediately served her more chipped ice for her parched throat. The droid was quiet, though, leaving Hera to her thoughts.

Mostly, her mind muddled around the past: her childhood on Ryloth, her father, blurrg and gutkurrs and lylek. She remembered the Clone Wars, hiding underground, the struggle for supplies, her father parading about and yelling at anyone, clone or Jedi, to see his people taken care of. Ships fighting overhead, practice and real drills when the Separatists attacked. When had she ever come in contact with the worms? She'd prided herself on being so careful when she handled the animals, always kept them calm and fed and never touched their waste where the worms would live. Puzzling wore her out and she fell asleep again.

Then she heard Chopper warbling out a string of curses, and she opened her eyes to see Kanan lifting his hands in supplication.

"Sorry, Chop," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Next time."

"... next time what?" she asked.

Kanan's eyes snapped over to see her, and his face slacked in unhidden surprise. He stared obtusely, mouth agape and a slow, relieved grin tugging at his mouth. He reminded her so strongly of when they first met that she offered a small, weak smile.

"Do you speak Basic?" she asked.

"... Words fail me," Kanan said, easy grin on his face as he finally sat down. "You had us worried."

"So I was told," she replied. The dryness cracked her voice again, she sounded like she had been chewing gravel, and Kanan was quick to reach over and grab a cup that Chopper was offering, more chipped ice, and Hera marveled that they had done it without so much as a curse between them. They had grown closer, it seemed, while she was... out. The ice melted in her mouth and she hummed in gratitude. Kanan gave another silly grin, drinking in everything he was seeing.

"You had us worried," he repeated softly, sitting back down. The harsh light of the station seemed in contrast with the intimate tone he took. "It took a while to learn what was wrong with you."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a little stronger. "I didn't know."

A huff of a snort. "Small wonder."

"Chopper said we'll have to put all our medical data into him," Hera said, shifting on the bed. Her body ached, the result of her illness. "Is that such a good idea? What if someone got a hold of him?"

Kanan thought for a long moment, rubbing his stubble (stars, when had he last shaved? He looked like a hairy beast). "We can encrypt it," he said finally, breathing in deeply through his nose, "But I'd rather not go through the rounds of questions and keep saying, 'I don't know.' That cost you precious time."

"But all the data on you..."

"I'll take the risk," Kanan said, green eyes intent, focused. "You're worth it."

Hera smiled, sinking into her pillow. "Kanan," she said. "I know you think I'm this amazing person, but I'm just one being in the galaxy, and the galaxy has to come first."

A hand reached out, always cool, and wrapped around one of hers. "Hera," he said, politely insistent. "After four years I'd have hoped you'd learn at least this about me: I don't take loss very well. I've lost..." he cut himself off, always so aware of where he was when he was about to speak of his past. "I've lost so much," he said. "Friends, the closest thing people like me have to family, my... my 'mentor.' I lost all of my people." Pain just barely bled into his voice, no matter how tightly controlled he tried to hold himself. "You saw what happened to me after all of that."

"Kanan," Hera said, "You can't hold me as your savior. I won't always be there to pull you out of your depression."

"I know," he said, nodding. "I do. I promise. And I'm trying. I'm trying to get myself to a place where losing you..." His voice cracked, and Hera watched his forest green eyes break before they darted away, hiding the emotion again. He held her gaze after composing himself, just a breath of a moment was necessary. "I'm trying to get myself to a place where losing you won't break me all over again. But I'm not there yet."

Hera smiled, pulling her hand up and covering his cool one. "I think you've done fairly well, all things considered," she said reassuringly. "Contacting Vizago, taking work planet-side, refueling the ship. Chopper says you've been busy. That's hardly the signs of someone who would be lost without me. That's the signs of someone who knows how to move on."

"You're forgetting how little functional sleep I got in the last seven days," Kanan said, rubbing his eyes.

The number made Hera still, blinking as she realized just how much time she had lost since her last memory. She looked at Kanan more systematically, realizing how long it must have taken for that much stubble to come out of his chin, how off-center his mass of hair was, the very heavy bags under his eyes that she hadn't noticed from the harsh lighting. The man had done his work; but it was just going through the motions, a semblance of being healthy, a facade to distract him from how deeply, deeply worried he had been. This had shaken him more than Hera had realized, and she wasn't the only one who had to recover from this.

"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Kanan looked up, and through his haggard appearance, he simply smiled. "You're okay," he said simply. "That's all that matters."

"No," she said. "We're okay."

Kanan nodded his head, and for the rest of the visit they simply held hands.

End

Author's Notes: If there is one type of fic that everyone sees when browsing around, it's a "sick fic" meant for lots of d'awwww, and kawaiiiiiii and such. This works very well for simple colds, but perhaps it's just the two of us, but even with a cold or the flu, the two of us can still get around the house and do the necessary chores. Cook a meal, force it down, laundry, etc. Yes, having someone else is convenient and we'll use it, but we're not this helpless being most sick fics make out. And when someone really is nonresponsive, that is terrifying. Truly terrifying. From back in 08 when our mother was nonresponsive and we had to get her to the emergency room to be told she was in a diabetic coma (we didn't know that she was diabetc and neither did she) or that horrible horrible night last May when we woke up to Mom screaming because Da was at the base of the stairs unresponsive and staring at nothing.

The one thing sick fics seem to often want to do is push the angst, will so-and-so be okay, etc. If it's just a flu, then yes, the person will be okay as long as temperature is monitored and doctors are sought if things get too bad. But we never see sick fics deal with getting doctors or going to the hospital. This may, in part, be because of a lack of experience. Most fic writers start very young and just haven't been out in the world. They don't know what proper procedure is if someone is sick, or what teachers really do in school, because everything is filtered through what they know, which just isn't much because they haven't been out in the world yet. That's not something that's wrong with them, just something that time will fix.

The two of us, however, are out in the world, with jobs, and responsibilities, and yes, we've had to be the Kanan of this fic worrying as we went to the hospital with both parents in the past eight years, and one of those trips to the hospital didn't end well. We know have a basic grasp of how things work in the ER from the view of Kanan. Doctors giving you updates on what has and hasn't been done, etc. We wouldn't dream of writing from the POV of a nurse or doctor without heavy research to get it right. Because we lack that experience.

(Research. A writer's best friend...)

So this fic isn't a cute d'awwww fic. There's a lot of real worry and questioning. (We remember Mom getting a spinal tap as they were figuring out if there was issues in her brain after how high her blood sugars were in her coma. Over 1000.) There's the necessities of responsibilities and still living. (Even though we were going to the hospital every day, Da still did some hours at work because he couldn't just up and leave for the month we were going to the hospital, and by the end, we were talking about him going back to work more full time because he'd been part-timing it for so long...) Even the mundanity of chores. (We still had to keep up with laundry and cooking and cleaning, with the hardest being when we got home from the hospital at 3 am and realized Mom and Da's room still smelled of sour milk and sickness and needed cleaning for Da to sleep.) Maybe this makes readers think a bit on how they do their fics, maybe this is just a sweet d'awww fic because no matter what Kanan is very clearly devoted to Hera at this point.

Either way, we hope you enjoyed.