Chapter Text
It feels good to make a difference. With the galaxy seemingly frayed at all edges, everyone at each others necks and throats all the time, helping out in even the smallest of ways makes you feel like you're just that one step closer to achieving the ultimate goal: Peace. Balance. Your parents were two of the bravest people you've ever known. Two generals. Highest ranks. Never taking a day off, never stopping, never fighting. You saw in them what you want people to see in you. Need people to see in you. A warrior. A hero. That blood ran through your veins and has never stopping spreading ever since you could settle in to the cockpit.
But even the greatest of leaders and fighters have to rest. Or so that's what you've been told.
Contracting a nasty flu on the eve of a mission you yourself were the team leader of was less than ideal. And even less ideal, if that was possible, was being taken off said mission and being asked to stay behind on medical leave. Could you only breathe through one nostril? Yes. Was whatever that came out of your nose when you could manage to actually get something out a mildly concerning green color? Also yes. And did you feel like a Bantha had kicked, stomped on, then sat on your entire body with the way it's aching? Yes to that too. But that didn't mean you weren't capable! You were perfectly fine.
"You're dead on your feet, pilot."
"I can get better by tomorrow, I've still got the entire night cycle to sleep it off!" You know you should stop. That damn bloodline of yours.
"And you're going to be dead in the air tomorrow if I let you go. I can't risked you jeopardizing this mission because you're blowing your nose."
You sniff only further proves his point. Tears starting to sting your eyes, but you quickly blink them away.
"I'm the only one on my team staying behind, I need to be there for them, I-"
"They know and I know you are. Rest. Sleep. Maker knows you need it. No one thinks less of you because of this. And if they do, you have full permission to blame me. Now go heal. I mean it. You're dismissed." And that's that. 'You're dismissed' If you felt bad before, you feel even worse now.
Feeling like a child in front of those who you want to make most proud is a surefire way to make one feel absolutely miserable. And to make matters worse, as you try your best not to stomp off in a fit, you look up to see Ben saw the whole exchange from the entrance to the hangar. He knows how excited you've been about this mission. You'd been working through sleep cycles, through meals, through spending time with him, though he'll never say that, to get your squadron prepared. Finally getting the chance to spread your wings and show what you can do has made you feel untouchable. Finally being able to wear the title you've earned with pride made you feel like you could start to make a difference. But the galaxy has no time for little children who need to have their temperature taken and sip on hot broth while her friends risk their lives for the galaxy and that thought alone is enough to make you want to sob. And you really don't feel like crying in front of Ben. Not when he looks like some damned Rebellion prince with his perfect hair, even after being trapped under his helmet, and his shiny flight suit and annoying, stupid, beautiful face. So, you try your best to walk past him. Act like you never saw him. You always see him.
And he always sees you. But he lets you by. Not without reaching out as you do, letting his hand touch yours as you walk passed him to your quarters. He'll follow you later.
Two hours seems like good enough amount before he's lightly knocking on your door.
You hear the knocks even with your head shoved under your pillows. Not exactly the most ideal position with your nose and head congested like it is, but if it blocks the world out then so be it. The world doesn't follow according to Ben though. You know its him even before you open the door. You don't bother to fix yourself, why should you? You feel icky, miserable, and your nose burns enough to know it's bright red without even looking in the mirror. The red around your eyes and the wetness around them, however, puts a bit of a wrench into your agenda of plan 'I'm totally fine, Ben. Just a bit sick. Nothing to worry about. So you don't have to feel bad for me. Please don't actually. Bye!' Pulling yourself out of the comfort of shield of your bed turned nest is a chore within itself. So is looking like you've gotten the daylights sucked out of you in front of Ben.
"Hey, Kid." He sounds so gentle. Why does that make you want to cry even more?
"Not now, Solo, please."
"I just wanted to wish you luck tomorrow, in case I didn't get to see you off but I might have to save that luck for another time, huh?" There's no malice in his tone. No teasing. No playing. Just a soft, hidden condolence. He knows what this meant to you. He doesn't take that lightly.
"Seems like it." You're not even looking at him, but he's looking right at you. "I'm going to lay back down. You can come in if you want." So much for plan Get Ben Out Of Your Room. Immediately he walks through your door watching as you fall right back into your bed with a grunt.
"Can I get you anything? Have you eaten something? The kitchen's closed, but I can probably sneak in and grab something quick." He sits next to you. How he lets himself get that close to you when you're pretty sure you are a human equivalent of a germ is beyond you.
"Not hungry. Just achy."
"Hm." Is all he says back to that. Your eyes shut on their own, relief instant and the stinging from your tears from earlier settles down. Maker, when did you get so tired? You feel a cold hand press on your forehead.
"I don't have a fever, Ben."
"Just checking, Kid." His hand leaves your forehead to rest of your cheek now. Fingers softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. You open your eyes at the feeling.
"I feel like such a baby." It must be a symptom along with the virus you have, because before you can even help it, your eyes are welling up again. Ben keeps his hand exactly where it is.
"You're not. You're sick. It happens." You know he just wants you to feel better, and you wish it was working.
"I don't care if I'm sick, I'm not dying. I should be there with my team doing something useful. Instead I'm here, sulking like a child because I have a cold. My parents would hate me if they could see me." You're not sure if you believe that, but you can't help but voice the thought. You know your parents loved you, but stroking your hair and tucking you in wasn't how they showed you. 'I'm proud of you' although, rare, was the most comforting sentiment you could receive from either of them.
"Hey, look at me. Look at me." You do. "If your parents were here, they would be so happy for you. Gods, they'd be so excited to see what kind of amazing things you've been doing, how much you've grown. How much of them they would see in you, and how much of your own self they see shine through that's all your own and no one else's. And you know what? They'd want to you to take care of yourself so you can keep doing all that. They'd be so proud of you. I know they would."
What can you really say to that? So you just sit up, a bit too fast the room spins and you wrap as much of yourself as you can around his torso, leaving no space in between you both.
"Okay." you sniff back in response. You've never been good with words, and the lump in your throat isn't helping with articulating much else either. "Thank you, Solo. You know, you don't have to stay with me now, right? I'm just moping."
He kisses your forehead at that, let's himself stay on your hairline just a tiny bit. "I know. But your bed is comfy." You huff at that. "And I missed you. Feel like I haven't seen you in a bit, you being busy with your work with the mission. I'm proud of you too, by the way. Really, really proud." Another kiss to your forehead.
"You know if you keep kissing me, you'll get sick too."
"I'm not kissing your lips, am I?"
You're grateful you fell asleep before you could tell him that you maybe wish he was. Maybe you do have a fever.