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Illness was never an excuse when Sabine was a child. Sure, Ursa gave her medicine when she was sick, but Countess Wren never took care of her daughter in that way–not like Hera and Kanan did for their family. Sabine’s mother expected her to perform regular responsibilities regardless of how she felt, tolerating nothing less than perfection.
Alrich disagreed with Ursa’s rigid demands, but he couldn’t challenge Clan Wren’s matriarch. At least not in public. Late one night while visiting from the Imperial Academy, Sabine heard her father’s angry voice hissing in the stronghold corridor.
You treat her like a machine, Ursa. I won’t stand for it!
Sabine had been twelve, enduring one of the most excruciating moon cycles she’d ever experienced. Although she was in too much pain to walk, she’d somehow crawled across her quarters and pressed her ear against the door.
Sabine is my heir, Ursa’s cool voice responded. She doesn’t have the luxury of a normal life. If she can stand, she will train. She will study. If I have to push her past her limits every now and then, so be it.
Despite Sabine’s protests, Tristan tried covering for her the next day. It didn’t go well. Sabine never asked her younger brother for that kind of help again. The message was clear: Sabine’s duties were hers and hers alone.
The Ghost's lights were still dimmed when Sabine left her cabin, but looking at the common room chrono revealed dawn would arrive soon. Too exhausted to walk around after a sleepless night, she sat on the couch and tried to ignore her sore throat. It wasn’t cold–she and Hera repaired the heating systems less than a rotation ago–but Sabine couldn’t stop herself from shivering.
Everything ached.
Even breathing was difficult since her nose was stuffed up.
How could she have gotten sick? They hadn’t traveled to many planets this week, and Hera always disinfected the ship every other day. You never know what kind of germs are going around, the Twi’lek always said. No one will say I don’t take care of my crew.
Well, they had a fuel run later today. Maybe that would distract her somewhat; anything was better than lying in bed staring at the wall for hours. Besides, Sabine had taken final exams and performed training simulations at the Imperial Academy feeling far worse than this.
Probably. She couldn’t remember a specific example.
The door whooshed open and a light set of footsteps pattered in.
“What are you doing up this early?”
Sabine shrugged. Hera didn’t need a sick crew member on top of everything else she dealt with. “I don’t know. Anxious about the mission, I guess.”
“We’ve done these thousands of times, and our intel is current. What’s actually going on?”
Damn. She was far too observant.
“I’m fine,” Sabine snapped. She stood up–and suddenly collapsed, the ground smacking her across the face. Although she hadn’t fallen very hard, her limbs refused to obey when she tried pushing herself upright.
Manda, what’s wrong with me?
Hera was beside her in an instant, helping her stand on shaky legs. Although her face gave nothing away, Sabine could feel the frustration radiating from her surrogate mother as she guided her back to the couch.
“I’m never mad when someone’s sick. Why didn’t you want me to know you weren’t feeling well?”
Sabine closed her eyes for a moment as another wave of chills racked her body.
She remembered every time she’d barely made it to their platoon’s communal refreshers before throwing up.
Every time commanding officers whipped her for defiance, screaming over and over that Imperial cadets didn’t show weakness.
“Individualism is prominent in Mandalorian culture, and the Empire shared similar sentiments. I was never allowed to say how I felt at the Academy or on Krownest.”
Sabine swallowed hard. Her past didn’t deserve more tears.
“I couldn’t be anything less than fine. Even now-”
“You still feel like you’re a burden.”
“Yeah. Expendable, more like.”
Hera’s scolding look softened. She wrapped Sabine in an embrace, a sharp contrast from Ursa’s halfhearted smiles which were the extent of her affection. Hera wasn’t Countess Wren. She was kind, compassionate–loving in a way Sabine’s blood mother never was.
“I’m sorry, Hera.”
“You deserve to take up space, Sabine. You do so much for us already, and your health is far more important than any mission. Neither Kanan nor I will allow you to put yourself in danger for this rebellion.”
All further protest drained from Sabine at those words. Her body knew Hera was right, even if her mind rebelled.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Hera disappeared into the galley. She returned holding a blanket and tray with fever reducers, decongestant, water, and a touchless thermometer. Sabine held still as the Twi’lek took her temperature, grimacing at its reading.
“103. Looks like you’ve got the flu.”
“Wait, that’s why Ezra was holed up in his cabin for a week?”
Hera couldn’t hide an amused smile. “Sorry you got the short end of the saber. You’re not going anywhere for the next couple of days-at least.”
Sabine took the medicine Hera brought, allowing herself to lean against the Twi'lek's side. She was still unaccustomed with someone taking care of her, but she snuggled closer as Hera wrapped the blanket around her. Maybe it was her surrogate mother's gentle touch or maybe the medicine was kicking in, but Sabine didn’t feel as cold.
It was cozy and warm next to Hera.
Home. It feels like home.
Sabine couldn’t remember the last time she felt so exhausted, and soon her eyes grew heavy. The last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under was Hera’s sweet whisper.
“Rest now, kiddo. You’re safe.”
Hera hoped no one else aboard would contract the flu ever since Ezra got sick, but that was like telling Zeb not to embarrass Imperials in public. Such close-quarters living made sharing everything–including illnesses–far easier.
At least no one’s throwing up this time.
It wasn’t long before Sabine grew still against Hera’s side, her breathing evening out. Her daughter must have been feeling unwell for a while if she’d passed out that fast.
How many times had Sabine ignored her own body’s needs because of other people’s expectations?
Hera’s heart clenched. She may have grown up amidst war–battles that didn’t give days off–but she would never do the same thing with her crew.
Her youngest Spectres in particular.
Their fuel runs were standard ops, but Hera needed to brief Kanan before he and the others left. Once she’d eased Sabine onto the couch and slipped a nearby pillow under her head, Hera tapped on Kanan’s door.
It whooshed open right away.
“I heard a thud. Did Chopper mess with the cooling system again?”
Hera shook her head. “Sabine isn’t feeling well, love."
"How bad is she?"
"Not great. Ezra gave her the flu. I'll stay here with her, but can you, Ezra, Zeb, and Chop handle the fuel run on your own? We should still be okay for the next rotation if it doesn't work out."
“That shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll remain on the Phantom in case we need a quick escape. Chopper can stay with you-he’s not a medical droid, but he’s equipped with some standard protocols."
“Keep your communications open. I’ll contact Phoenix Home if ‘Bine gets worse.”
Kanan gave her a quick kiss.
“I’ll let everyone know it’s time to leave. We’ll go out the back entrance.”
Within moments, her crew’s footsteps receded as the Phantom took off.
Who knew? They can be quiet when asked.
As Hera walked back into the common room, Chopper bumped her leg and almost threw her off-balance. He chittered frantically, pointing a mechanical arm at the couch.
“Calm down, Chop. ‘Bine’s just sleeping.”
More beeping.
“No, you cannot zap her to make sure she’s alive. I want you monitoring her vitals while I take care of something.”
Hera didn’t bother listening to what Chopper said next; her droid had a soft spot for Sabine despite all the mouthiness. Yet even if he tried anything, the kitchen adjoined their common room.
For a while, the Ghost was quiet except for Chopper’s occasional updates. Hera had just set a cup of broth and refilled waterskin on the table when she heard blankets rustle behind her.
“Hera?” Sabine said groggily. “Where is everyone?”
She helped Sabine sit back against the pillow. “You were out cold when the boys left, kiddo. Chopper thought you were dead.”
“I don’t look that far off.”
Hera chuckled. “Try some of this. I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”
It was slow going, but Sabine managed to get everything down before falling back asleep. Hera smiled to herself, ruffling her daughter’s sweat-soaked hair.
The rebellion was expanding so much these days. Getting involved with Phoenix Squadron, other cells coalescing together–all Hera and her family could do was try and keep up with new responsibilities.
But there were different kinds of responsibilities.
Right now, Hera thought as she settled beside Sabine, her battle was here.