A/N: Here's some of my happiness AU Kanan and Depa. If you're not in the mood for a sickening amount of fluff, don't read this. I had a nightmare of a time getting this organized, but the fluff, I feel, is the one redeeming factor.

Promise, Promise

8 ABY

It had, in no uncertain terms, been a very bad day. Well—

Days. Plural. It had been a couple of very bad days.

Depa hadn't been her usual, sparkling self when Kanan picked her up from school in the afternoon. Then he had to tell her that Hera had been called out on a mission and would be gone all weekend. Depa was used to her mother being gone for a few days at a time, even looked forward to it. New missions for Hera meant new stories to hear, new things to learn about, new people and places, and an opportunity for mother and daughter to hang out together on the Ghost doing maintenance and check-ups after her return. And Hera being gone meant exclusive time for Kanan and Depa to spend together. Not that they had a shortage; it was just that, to Depa, the absence of one parent made being in the care of the other seem more like a thrilling adventure and less like a half-empty house. Sometimes they "camped" in the living room overnight, or ate dinner on the floor, or took apart Kanan's lightsaber and talked about how it worked and why. Sometimes they'd go up to the roof and lay on a pile of blankets, Depa watching the stars and the city lights in awe as she practiced opening her mind to let Kanan "see" what she was looking at. The time they spent together was always special, even when it was completely ordinary.

So it confused and nagged at Kanan no end when he told Depa they were on their own for the weekend and the only response she gave was a flat, "Oh."

It reminded him of a time—two decades gone—when nearly everything Hera said and did had him thinking, What the kriff?

With Depa out of sorts, the bulk of the next day was stale, but it passed without incident: they slept in, cooked brunch, ran errands, had dinner at a greasy, hole-in-the-wall place that they loved and Hera couldn't stand. Trouble didn't really start until bedtime, and it all rapidly went to hell from there. Kanan couldn't put a finger on what had triggered the whole thing. Maybe it was that he refused to let her go to bed with wet hair—how dare he—in the middle of Hosnian's winter. She kept insisting she was hot and the wet hair felt good, and he kept insisting she'd freeze to death during the night if they didn't blow-dry it before bed. He won the argument, of course, but it was by no means a victory. From then on, everything was a battle: she wanted her hair put into pigtail braids but complained he was pulling too hard, her nose felt stuffy but she refused nasal spray, the crackers she usually favored for a bedtime snack were too "scratchy," she didn't want to wash her hands after eating because the water was "too cold."

And on and on and on.

By the time Depa actually got in bed—which was around midnight and way too late—Kanan was in no fine mood, feeling disgruntled, concerned, and, somewhere underneath all that, a little hurt. He hoped that a good night's sleep would help them both to recoup.

It did not.

When she woke up in the morning, Depa was sick. That, Kanan thought ruefully, explained everything about their bedtime battle. Sore throat, stuffy nose, and too-hot, sensitive skin; how had he missed all of that last night? Now, she was congested and coughing constantly. Kanan did his best to get her to eat and drink and to rest, but she was all over the place, restless and refusing any creature comforts even though she so obviously felt terrible. She was so unlike herself that all Kanan could sense from her was a swirl of anxiety, something coiled tight and angry in her mind. That was something unexplained by any physical malady.

Was she really that upset Hera was off-world? He couldn't make sense of it. He didn't even know where to start. The hours dragged by and the worse Depa felt, the more she wanted her mother.

When she poked her head out of her room to ask, for the ten thousandth time, when Hera would be home, it was all Kanan could do to keep from raising his voice. "I told you—I don't really know." He said it through clenched teeth and he heard how impatient it sounded, but it was too late to do anything other than take a breath and wait and see what would happen next.

She burst into tears.

It wasn't a little bit of crying. It was a lot of crying; torrential, gasping sobs that seemed to rise from the depth of her soul.

Kanan didn't know what to do.

"What is wrong?" He managed at last.

"I don't want you and mama to get a vorce!" Depa wailed, crying even harder. Her little voice, already raw from her cough and congestion, sounded absolutely broken.

"A what?"

"A vorce!"

"Depa—what?"Kanan was at a total loss and panic was beginning to set in because this level of hysteria was completely unprecedented.

"A. VORCE." She shouted, sniffing viciously and swiping tears across her face. "Where somebody's mama or daddy 'cides to leave and never come back!"

Realization dawned not a moment too soon. "A divorce?"

"YES!"

"No!"

Finally, finally clued in to what had her in such a violently disconsolate state, Kanan set about trying to make it better. He walked over to where she was in her bedroom doorway and picked her up. She usually threw her arms right around him, but she was completely limp now, still sobbing, and when her cheek touched his neck, he felt it was burning hot; far more so than it should have been. He'd checked—what, an hour ago?—and she'd felt normal then. He touched the back of her neck and lifted the hem of her shirt so he could feel her belly, too. She definitely had a fever now—terrific. Kanan wanted to spit a dozen curses, but settled for a groan instead.

He walked to the kitchen with her, digging through the catch-all drawer until he found the thermometer. "Here's what we're gonna do," he said, putting it in her hand. "You hold that."

"B-but you—you c-can't get a-a vorce, daddy," she cried pitifully into his shoulder.

"Shh," he said. He tried to reach out with the Force, to use their bond to try and soothe her, but she was so upset and her mind was so knotted up that it was totally useless. Sighing, Kanan opened the refrigerator and pulled out the jogan juice. He got a glass that would be easy for Depa to hold, filling it half-way with juice, and the rest with water. Carefully, he made his way to her room, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her in his lap. "Trade," he instructed. She gave him the thermometer and took the juice with both hands, sloshing some as she took her first drink.

"My throat hurts," she said miserably.

"I know, love. I'm sorry." He was sorry—sorry she was in pain, sorry she was so sick, sorry she was half out of her mind with the worry that he and Hera were going to get a "vorce." And he was sorry he hadn't picked up on all of that any sooner. "I need you to keep drinking, though, okay? I think it'll help you feel better."

She nodded reluctantly and kept nursing the juice as instructed. "Mama is coming back?" She ventured after a while, quiet and scared. Kanan could tell the effort it took for her not to start crying again.

"Yes, Depa. Mama's coming back, I just don't know what time. That's all. That's all—I promise."

She sagged with relief against him and took a big breath, chest rattling, and she blew it out slowly. She didn't say anything else and Kanan was happy to let silence lapse. It wasn't long before Depa was asleep and he waited a few minutes before feeling her forehead again; he hoped that after she stopped crying and had something to drink, her temperature would have come down some, but she felt just as hot as before. Frowning, he turned the thermometer on and pressed the end to her temple. It beeped after a second and a digital voice announced the result: One-oh-three-point-two. Kanan was thankful she hadn't inherited the high body temperature common to Twi'leks; it would have given him a stroke to hear the thermometer cheerfully inform him his child had a fever of one-oh-nine. A one-hundred-and-three-degree fever was bad enough. And while it wasn't the highest fever she'd ever had, it was high enough that he felt uneasy about Hera's absence.

It was time for reinforcements.

Gently, Kanan eased the glass of juice from Depa's hands, setting it on the bedside table. He shifted her out of his lap and onto the bed, covering her with just the sheet. She stirred, but didn't wake. He crept out then, heading for his own room. Without hesitation, he activated his com and keyed in a familiar code. The call connected almost immediately.

"Hey—what's up?"

"Did I wake you?" It suddenly occurred to Kanan that while it was early evening on this side of Hosnian Prime, it would be night elsewhere in the galaxy.

"Nope. What's the matter? You sound like hell."

"Thanks a lot," Kanan grumbled, aggrieved. "Depa's sick with a fever."

"Uh-oh. How high is it?"

"Hundred and three. It could be worse, but—"

"Wait a minute—why isn't Hera dealing with this?"

"Hera's off-world."

A pause. "So...why isn't Hera dealing with this?"

Kanan sighed, rolling his eyes. "I didn't want to call and worry her."

"But you didn't mind calling and worrying me?" There was a sudden, elated gasp and Kanan rolled his eyes hard. "Wait—you called to ask me for advice! You wanted to know what I'd do next!"

"Whenever you're finished gloating, Ezra."

"So! The master has become the stu—"

"Oh, for kriff's sake." Kanan felt the color in his cheeks heighten along with his temper. "Just put Sabine on. I should have started with her."

"Can't," Ezra pronounced cheerfully. "She put a laser-scope on one of her Westars and went night-shooting with Tristan to test it out."

"Not with you?"

"I don't care how married we are. It's karking cold outside, Kanan."

Kanan shook his head, choosing to bypass every part of what he'd just heard. "Sick kid," he prompted.

"Okay. Right." Ezra turned serious. "You're making her drink plenty?"

"Yeah, we've got that covered. I knew she was sick, but the fever just popped up out of nowhere. She was beside herself, crying over me and Hera getting a divorce—"

Kanan couldn't see Ezra, of course, but he guessed that he'd suddenly turned very pale. "You and Hera are getting a divorce?"

"No!"

Ezra was silent for a beat. "Well, good. You give her ibuprofen, anything like that?"

"No, I—" Kanan stopped, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Filling a syringe is something I'd rather not attempt blindly. At any rate," he continued quickly, "Hera will be back tonight. She takes care of the medicine stuff."

"You're doing all the right things," Ezra said by way of encouragement. He started thinking out loud. "Mira was sick last month and her fever stayed high even with the medicine." He buzzed a sigh through his lips. "We sponged her down and did lukewarm baths. That helped."

The suggestion was so stunning in its simplicity; Kanan wanted to beat his head against the wall. How many dozens of times had he and Hera done the same thing with Depa? "Right."

"You got this." Kanan could hear the grin in Ezra's voice. "Hey, at least Depa can tell you she doesn't feel good. Mira still just kind of…cries and looks at you with those big, sad, brown eyes like you're supposed to know what she's thinking."

Kanan resisted the urge to laugh. He'd take his crying five-year-old over a crying two-year-old any day. "I thought you said she was really talkative these days."

"Yeah, 'paint, please' doesn't really tell me if she has an earache or not."

Kanan did laugh this time, and then he sighed. "I left her sleeping, but—"

"Go," Ezra said. "Be super-dad."

"Don't ever say that again."

"Yeah," Ezra said, drawing out the word. "I heard it. Good luck."

"Thanks." The call ended and Kanan snorted softly, shaking his head as he walked back to Depa's room. He was sure he'd given Ezra a couple years' worth of ammunition with that call, but he didn't really care. Any dig would be well worth the suggestion that giving Depa a cool bath would help with the fever—something he should have though of himself an hour ago.

"I'm always off my game when your mom is gone," he muttered to the sleeping girl as he sat on her bed. She coughed a few times, caught her breath, and rolled to a new position, but didn't wake up. Kanan let her sleep for the better part of an hour, listening to the sound of her noisy, congested breathing. He touched her forehead and breathed a sigh of relief to find she was no warmer than before. He trailed his fingers through her hair—which had not seen a brush in hours and hours—and lifted it off her neck. He took the hair-tie out of his own hair to put hers in a messy bun on top of her head. She made a noise and turned her head on the pillow, summoned to consciousness by the sudden rush of fresh air against her skin.

"My hair is hot," she said thickly, touching the back of her neck. "Sweaty."

He nodded. "I know." He helped her sit up and handed her the last of her juice to finish. "Let's see if a bath will help you cool off." Her silence was full of reluctance before he wheedled, "We don't have to wash your hair."

She sighed. "Okay. But," she added after a moment, "I don't wanna be all by myself."

Kanan was struck with sudden genius. "Tell you what. You put on your swimsuit and I'll put on mine and I'll get in the tub with you."

She brightened a little bit. "Like at the pool?"

"Except without the swimming."

"Okay. But I can still sit with you?"

He doubted whether skin contact would be helpful in bringing her temperature down, but she sounded so pitiful that he couldn't say no. "If that's what you want."

"Okay."

In short order, the barely-warm bath was drawn and they were both outfitted for the occasion. Kanan got in first, taking a moment to thank the stars that Hera had insisted on having the luxury of a huge soaking tub in the master bathroom. He lifted Depa in and she melted into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. The water came up to her waist and she splashed her toes above the surface a few times before falling still. Kanan used a wash cloth to sponge her arms, neck, and shoulders. "Tell me if you get cold, okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm hot."

He didn't doubt it; her whole body radiated a disconcerting heat. "Okay. We'll sit here for a while."

"Okay." She was silent for a long while. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you and mama getting a vo— a divorce?"

"Depa Billaba Jarrus," he said softly, seriously. "What's got you worried about something like that?"

She coughed before she answered hoarsely, "Nyla Bax came to school the other day'n' she said that her parents weren't getting along and they were really only married just 'cause of her and that her mom left and when she comes back they're getting a…a…"

"Divorce," he supplied.

"That," she said, looking up at him, "and then she has to pick one of them to live with."

For a few seconds, Kanan just blinked. "What—what makes you think that's happening with me and your mom?"

"Well," she began, a tremor in her voice, "I heard you arguing the other day."

What? He and Hera seldom ever argued, much less within earshot of their child. Dimly, he remembered an incident the other day where Hera had tripped over his boots and stumbled into the bedframe, bashing her shin in the process. She had not appreciated his shoes being in the middle of the floor—and very vividly told him so—but they hadn't argued about it, not really. It wasn't hard to see how that could be misconstrued by a young listener, though.

"And then when you picked me up from school," she continued in a rush, "mama was gone, just like Nyla Bax said her mama was, and I just—I can't pick one of you to live with because I just love you both too much and we're a family and—"

"Shh," he soothed. "Shh. We are a family. Listen, okay?"

She nodded, taking as deep a breath as she could manage without coughing.

"First of all," Kanan said firmly, "your mom would never leave and just not come back, do you understand? You know she has to fly the Ghost on missions sometimes, but she will never run off and leave you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay. And I don't know anything about Nyla Bax's parents, but your mom and I aren't together just because we have you—don't ever think that."

Depa considered that for a thoughtful moment. "You love each other?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "A lot. Your mom—" He paused, thinking of how to simplify what he felt for Hera in terms their five-year-old could easily grasp. "Your mom is a special lady, and I love her very much. I've known her for a very long time, for way longer than you've been alive, and I loved her way back then, too."

"How long?"

"Nineteen years," he said reflectively. "And I want it to be a lot more, so I'm not going anywhere, and neither is she. Plus, we love you like crazy."

"I don't have to pick?"

"You're stuck with both of us, kid."

"Can you make it a promise?"

"I promise."

"Promise, promise?"

"Promise, promise," he repeated solemnly. She sighed contentedly, trusting him implicitly, and he felt tension drain from her mind and body. "Hey," he said, "why didn't you tell me right away what was bothering you?"

She shrugged, and that was the end of it.

They sat in the tub talking quietly to each other as he continued to sponge water over her too-hot skin. He couldn't tell that the fever was coming down at all, and she was still coughing, breathing with too much effort, but he could sense that her mind felt so much better than before. That was a mercy in itself. It wasn't long before Depa's voice trailed off and her breathing slowed, falling into a sleep-steady rhythm. He debated whether to get out of the tub and get her ready for bed—he was starting to feel uncomfortably cool in the water—but she was still so hot. He decided a few minutes more wouldn't hurt.

He heard the apartment door whoosh open then, and he sighed in relief; Hera was home. He heard her footfalls in the front hall, and he heard the slight pause in her movements as she glanced around the empty living area. "Kanan?" She called.

Not wanting to startle Depa, he didn't call back to her, but he knew she'd find them quickly. He heard her check Depa's bedroom and then their own. "Hey," he said when she stopped to lean in the bathroom doorway.

She made a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh. "Please tell me it isn't both of you."

"No, I'm fine. We've got a sick kid, though."

"I see that." Hera came closer and knelt by the tub, reaching for Depa's flushed cheek. "My poor baby. Oh—she's warm, Kanan." He heard the same note of slight, panicked concern in her voice that he'd felt earlier; it was never a good sign when warm-bodied Hera was able to discern a fever.

"Yeah," he said. "One hundred three a couple hours ago."

She pulled a towel off the rack. "Let's get you two out of there and check her again." She held the towel open and Kanan passed limp, sleeping Depa over to her. "I guess you had a rough weekend," she said, wrapping Depa up and holding her close.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard. "You don't know the half of it." He paused. "Hera?"

"Hmm?"

"We," he said firmly, leaning half out of the tub to kiss her, "are never getting a divorce."

"Was…that not a given?" She mumbled against his mouth. He pulled back.

"Not when you're five."

"Oh, boy." Hera kissed her daughter's forehead, standing carefully with her. She turned for the door. "When we didn't split up after you tried to fly the Ghost drunk that time," she said airily, "I knew we never would."

"Yes," Kanan replied with a sour scowl, "let's tell her that story to make her feel all better."

She was gone—either out of earshot or choosing to ignore him—and Kanan stood and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. He followed Hera after that, though he knew she didn't need his help with Depa. But he joined her anyway; he'd promised Depa they'd always be together, after all.