Hera Syndulla was always the first one awake on her ship.
It was nearly a law of nature. No matter how crazy things got, no matter what dire situation the Ghost crew had found themselves in, to see anyone on board awake and about before their mighty Captain was highly unusual. Short and simple.
So when Hera had traveled to the ship's common room that particular morning to be greeted by the sight of their youngest member sitting quietly by himself, to say that she felt concerned was most definitely an understatement.
"What's wrong?" she spat slightly, already mentally scanning the teenager over, searching for any signs of immediate danger, letting herself relax only slightly when she came away with nothing.
The disgruntled teen sputtered back, plastering on his most winning smile as he straightened in his seat, feigning alertion. "W-what do you mean?"
In all honesty, however, Ezra knew that something wasn't quite right. The previous night, he hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time without being awoken by a series of vividly horrific nightmares, and after trying and failing to get a good night sleep for the fourth time, he had decided to break the vicious cycle and wait out the rest of the night in the comfort of the common area. However, that ended up causing more problems for him than staying in bed would have. As soon as Ezra had swung his feet to the floor, he was plagued with a relentless pounding in his skull, accompanied by stiff and protesting muscles in his neck and alternating hot and cold flashes that hadn't let up since. Not to mention that at that particular moment the mere thought of food was sending pangs of nausea through his entire abdomen. It was more than evident to him that he was coming down with something, but the last thing he wanted was to be doted over and sent to bed like a child, especially during such a crucial time for the Rebellion. Their resources were all but depleted and, with no opportunity to replenish in the near future, there was no way he'd allow the precious little they had to be wasted on a case of the sniffles, so he had - quite pragmatically, in his own opinion - chosen to remain silent on the matter of his current state of health.
Alas, his facade of health was quickly destroyed when a large yawn escaped that quickly turned into a series of shaking, dry coughs. Recovering from the small fit, he scrubbed over his face with the palm of his hand in a feeble attempt to ward off fatigue as well as hide the flushing of his cheeks from his captain.
Hera, however, took the moment of weakness as an opportunity to move even closer to their youngest specter, making sure to carefully observe his every feature. Her concern only grew as a result. Ezra's face was eerily pale, highlighted by brightly flushed and fevered cheeks. There was a slight shiver about him, despite the entirely average temperature aboard the Ghost, and his eyes were rung with a deep indigo. She had come rather quickly to the conclusion that the boy was ill, and from the looks of it, badly so.
"I mean," she explained, moving in on him like prey, "that you, Ezra Bridger, are awake before 1200 hours when you don't have to be, and truth be told, look like death warmed over."
Ezra continually avoided eye contact, but responded nevertheless. "What? No, I'm fine, Hera. Just had some trouble sleeping..." he insisted, his slightly slurring voice betraying his intentions.
"I don't believe you," the captain stated plainly, her lips pulled taught in a pointed line as she firmly gripped Ezra's chin and turned his face to meet the gaze of her own. Concerned emerald eyes met weary sapphire as Hera peered into his inky blue irises with merciless calculation. Even through their tired glaze, flashes of fear and confusion shone across those crystal orbs, being stuck in a place somewhere between guilt and embarrassment from the scrutiny.
"You're sick, aren't you?" She asked in a manner closer to a statement than anything else.
Ezra returned her question with a sheepish expression. He wrenched his head from her grasp in an attempt to hid his gradually flushing face.
"What? No. I just... didn't sleep well. I'm fine, though, really," he insisted, pushing himself off the couch as if to escape.
"Oh no," Hera interrupted, quickly making pace to cut off the teen before he reached the door. "You're not getting away that easily. I know my crew, Ezra, and there is something wrong here. So spill. Or do I need to wake up Kanan and get him to make you talk?" Of course, she herself didn't want to go that far. This was her ship, after all, and she liked to maintain control over as many situations as she could, but nonetheless the threat incurred the desired effect.
Ezra groaned in response, muttering curses that she likely would have commented on if he had not then suddenly and harshly begun to stumble, nearly falling backwards onto the couch until eventually steadying himself after what seemed to be a violent dizzy spell.
Hera's frustration quickly morphed into panic. "Ezra?" She questioned him cautiously this time, striding forward with worry etched across her typically stern features. Although the teen still refused to meet her gaze, this time it seemed to be out of an inability to do so rather than out of purposeful evasion. Without further hesitation, Hera tore off one of her smooth pilot's gloves and gently pressed her hand against her charge's cheek. The heat she detected was disconcerting.
"You feel feverish. You're going back to bed." Her voice was empathetic, but still carried that authority that threatened the consequences of further argument as she grabbed his shoulder and tried to guide him back towards his room.
Ezra just groaned again. "I feel fine, really. I just run hot. It's nothing to worry about," he gave a weak smile, attempting to ward off the attention, but to no avail.
"Well, you're persistent. I'll give you that," Hera smirked, removing her hand from his shoulder as she pulled her glove back on, remaining silently grateful that the boy was at least well enough to put up a fight, "But you can't charm your way out of this one, Ezra Bridger. Besides, if it's nothing to worry about, then humoring me and letting me take your temperature anyways will do no harm, right?" she shifted, leaning back and basking in her imminent victory.
The teen grumbled, biting back the complaints forming and begrudgingly accepting his failure. "Fine, just do it," he snapped back.
Hera ignored the sass and retrieved the thermometer from the med kit, moving to stand in front of the boy. Ezra let out a small grunt of displeasure as the sensor was almost mercilessly pressed against his ear. It was always such a strange sensation. Even after three years with the Ghost crew, it was sometimes easy to forget what it was like to be taken care of, even in the smallest of ways.
The two specters waited in tense silence until the instrument finally beeped. Retrieving it much gentler than she had distributed it, the Twi'lek woman looked at the small screen and frowned at it's readings.
"101.8. You're definitely running a fever." She spoke matter-of-factly, but took little joy in her victory.
Ezra sighed. There was no hiding from this now. The only thing he could do was accept his fate and hope his crew let him be to recover.
Hera turned, moving to put the instrument away. "Any other symptoms I should know about? For instance, something that could wake up a heavy sleeper before 0430 hours?" she asked, leafing through the items in front of her until she finally settled upon a small cold pack.
"Not really," Ezra explained, hoping to escape the situation as soon as possible, "I'm just tired and a little achy".
Hera shot him a questioning glare.
"Okay, a lot achy. My head is killing me..."
The pilot's gaze shifted to sympathetic. "You probably picked up a bug at one of our last stops. You should go back to bed, try to sleep it off. Do you need anything?" she questioned, idly tidying up the area around her.
Ezra shrugged. "Not unless you can magically ward off all nightmares," he quietly quipped back.
Hera grimaced. "So that's what woke you up?" she questioned softly. Mindful of the boy's aching head. Ezra nodded feebly as she walked back to the table and pushed the cold pack towards him. "Hopefully that should help with you with the fever and the pain. I know it probably doesn't seem like the most effective option, but I'm afraid that and rest are all we can do for you here. Our med kit's pretty barren. I'll be sure to pick up some fever reducers once we find a safe place to dock. In the meantime, I'll tell Zeb and Chop to leave you alone for awhile. Now try to go back to sleep if you can," she suggested, giving him a small, but genuine smile for the first time that morning.
Ezra sighed dejectedly, muttered a quiet thanks, and then rose to exit the common room, all the while doing his best to avoid the worried gazes he was getting from the woman standing behind him.
Despite the situation, Ezra did feel quite relieved at the prospect of returning to bed. His restless night had started to take its toll on his already ailing body, and after spending years upon years on the streets without access to proper medical care, he held the firm belief that sleep was the best cure for pretty much everything.
Or least it did until he woke up hours later feeling worse than he did that morning.
Upon regaining consciousness, his body ached to the point where it felt as though he had been hit by a speeder, and barely a minute later, he was hit with a merciless wave of nausea that left him shaking on the fresher floor, dry heaving on an empty stomach; so deeply stiff and pained that he was unable to fully curl up on himself. It was absolute misery.
This time it was Kanan who had come to his aid, reaching his Padawan remarkably fast for a man without sight. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the ill boy, Kanan began to speak to him softly.
"Geez, Hera told me you were sick, but I didn't realize it was this bad". He joked softly, hoping to loosen up the atmosphere a bit. Kanan didn't need the Force to know that his Padawan was at least somewhat embarrassed at the situation. Despite his growing maturity, Ezra never liked to appear weak, and now that Kanan had barged in on him while he was at his most vulnerable... he figured that downplaying the situation would be better than doting over him with worry.
His short attempt of humor went unheeded though, as Ezra responded to him seriously. "Yeah, well... that makes two of us..." he managed between gasps.
Kanan grimaced and began to rub gentle circles on the small of his Padawan's back. He was never very good at offering physical reassurance in these kinds of situations, but it was the only thing he could think to do in the moment. However, his discomfort quickly morphed into worry at the continued contact. The heat radiating from Ezra could be felt even through his several layers of clothing. Kanan may not have been a medical expert, but he was pretty sure that wasn't a good sign.
"Hey kid, when was the last time Hera checked your temperature?" he asked, attempting to get the ill youth to drink some water.
"Not since this morning, why?" he panted.
"I'd like to check it again," he answered thoughtfully, "just to see where we're at. Think you can make it to the common room?" Kanan stood, offering a hand to his Padawan.
Ezra gave a weak grunt of affirmation and let his Master help him to his feet. As he was hauled upwards, Ezra grit his teeth and teetered slightly upon the shift of weight, but ultimately was able to stumble forwards down the halls of the Ghost with the support of the older Jedi.
A/N : My least favorite chapter out of what I have written so far. Don't worry, it will pick up soon. Just in case, I don't own Star Wars Rebels or any related media. All rights and characters belong to Lucasfilm ent. and Disney Inc. The cover art is mine. You can check out more of my artwork at mrntanksart on tumblr or mrntanks on Instagram. Thank you all for reading!