Not How Your Stories End

Chapter 4

Either way, Zeb told himself that the job he was given was complete, and that he should just put up his gear and hit the hay himself. But something stopped him from doing so. Perhaps it was intuition, or perhaps it was just pity, but Zeb felt the need to double-check with the ill teenager before he went off to take care of himself.

"Oi, kid. You, ah... you need anything else before I go?" he asked tentatively, wondering if the kid was even still awake at this point. He received no immediate response, just the sound of labored breathing echoing throughout the tiny bunk room, followed by an almost pathetically hoarse coughing fit. Catching his breath, Ezra looked him in the eye.

"Can you get Hera?" The sound was near-heartbreaking. Ezra may have been nearing adulthood at this point, but his voice in that moment carried the fear and desperation of a child. Zeb was utterly overwhelmed by the his vulnerability in that moment. Ezra was always so tough, so guarded. It felt wrong seeing him like this.

"Yeah, kid, just hold on," he answered, eager to leave the pitiful scene behind as quickly as possible. "She'll be right back."

Zeb entered the kitchenette area to find Hera in a fit of what the crew called "stress repairs". It made sense - when your career consists of messing with an all-powerful dictatorship, little things like minor appliance fixes weren't usually high on the priority list. But on the rare occasions like these in which they weren't in any immediate mortal danger, Hera was forced to take out the nervous energy built up from their "active" lifestyle in less arduous activities, such as her current target: the mess hall faucet that had been persistently dripping for as long as any one member of the crew could remember.

Zeb almost hated to interrupt her, as he figured it was probably helping her take her mind off their increasingly difficult situation, but remembering the desperation in Ezra's voice put his own priorities in order.

"Hera," Zeb cleared his throat in an attempt to capture his captain's attention. The twi'lek quickly turned to face him with wide eyes, lekku almost gracefully trailing behind her. "Ezra said he wants ta see ya'," he explained, moving to place the small food tray into the dish area and return the med kit to it's designated place.

Hera's posture immediately stiffened. "Is there something wrong?" she questioned, gently placing down her work and readying herself to move at a moment's notice.

Zeb emptied the remaining contents of the bowl into the garbage chute as he responded. "Not that I can tell. Just went to check on the kid. His fever ain't any higher, but it ain't any lower either. He's not eatin' though. I tried, but the kid's still pretty nauseous. 'Prolly doesn't have much of an appetite. I'm not sure exactly why, but he asked for ya', an' I promised I'd send ya' his way," he explained, attempting to shield his captain from how worried he truly was. She had enough on her mind as it was.

The Twi'lek let out a soft sigh, shoulders dropping slightly. "Okay then. Just leave the medkit out, we're going to need it again later," she sighed as she put down her wrench and moved from her position at the sink and started towards the living area.

"Ezra?" Hera spoke softly, peering into the cluttered room that her two crew mates shared. She kept her voice low, secretly hoping that the sick teen was already asleep again and that she could head back, leaving him blissfully unaware of his own muddled requests. But, settling her eyes upon the weak form that lie on the room's upper bunk, she found that was not the case. A pair of glassy, blue eyes rose to meet her own before shutting tightly once more in pain, making her heart twist in sympathy. She quietly made her way to his bedside, mindful of any noise that could aggravate the boy's headache, keeping her voice as low and soft as possible before speaking. "Ezra, how are you feeling?"