A/N: A companion piece to my fic "A Long Night," which is not a mandatory read, but makes this a good follow-up if you do. Set in season three sometime after "Holocrons of Fate." The inspiration for this fic came from how much it warmed my heart last week when, as I was coming down with "flu-like illness," our school counselor popped in my classroom to give me some medicine, saying she noticed I wasn't feeling well. Honestly, it made me feel so cared for. Be kind to the people around you—you never know who needs extra compassion! Posted on ao3.

Things For Family

Sabine coughed herself awake, jerking to a sitting position as she tried to catch her breath. What had started as a nasty cold was bronchitis now, and she felt awful. Her head was pounding and her entire body ached. She felt too warm and she could hear as well as feel the congestion in her chest. Her nose was red and raw from using so many tissues, and coughing had scraped her voice to a cracked whisper. Rest, Hera had said. The Rebellion will still be here when you're feeling better. Sabine wasn't sure she cared as much about missing flight training as she did about Ezra's gloating smirk when he got to take her place. Ingrate—was he forgetting who'd taught him to fly in the first place?

After the worst of her coughs subsided, she swung her legs off her bunk and stumbled toward the door, fatigue making every step seem a monumental task. She would rather have stayed in bed, but her body was screaming water.

She felt her way along the Ghost's corridor, squinting in the too-bright lights because even her eyes ached, and they were running again, making it all-around difficult to see clearly. She was about halfway down to the common room when she felt that violent itch in her throat and the spasm in her diaphragm announcing the next round of coughing. Her whole body shook with it, her lungs forgetting how to breathe, and she gasped convulsively, trying. to. get. some. air. She had one palm against the wall, holding herself up as her legs started to shake and black spots danced in her field of vision. She started to slide down and she thought numbly, This is fine. I'll just sleep on the floor. She doubted she could make it back to her own bunk at this rate.

But then someone gripped her elbow and an arm braced behind her knees, easily sweeping her up. She gasped, not quite comprehending what was going on. "You're alright," Kanan said. "I've got you." Sabine hummed her acknowledgment, closing her eyes against dizziness as he started walking. She rested her head on his shoulder, her forehead just touching his neck. He gave a low whistle.

"Whoa." She didn't have to look at him to know he was frowning. "You're burning up, Sabine."

She was tempted to say she was fine, but she was too exhausted to lie. "I feel terrible," she admitted in a croak. "Really, really terrible."

"Yeah, I knew it had to be bad when Hera called and said she was sending you back. She sounded worried."

"Is that what you guys do in your spare time? Talk about us kids?" Sabine managed weakly.

"Something like that." They came to a stop and Kanan bent low, setting her down. "Easy now."

Sabine opened her eyes and found she was sitting at the galley table. She turned so that she was sitting sideways on the bench, holding herself up against the wall. She tried to stifle a few coughs, each one tearing at her throat. Her eyes watered and she swiped at them angrily. "This blows."

"You've never been one to do things halfway," Kanan said with a grin. "If you're gonna get sick, might as well go big."

She watched as he bustled around the galley, filling a large pot with water and setting on the stove to start heating. He filled a kettle, too, and then a glass, which he handed to her. She took it gratefully and drank nearly half. The water seemed like it was cooling her entire body, helping her feel stronger and more alert. "What are you doing?"

He was digging around, searching for something. If Sabine didn't know better, she wouldn't have been able to tell he was blind. "You've got a fever and that cough is nasty," he said. "We need to get that under control."

"We?" She snorted. "You don't have to mother me, Kanan."

"I am not mothering you." He shot her a sour look, affronted by the very idea. "I'll have you know, back before I met Hera, I had a very particular skillset: nursing hangovers. This isn't unlike that. You should be grateful you have the opportunity to benefit from my expertise."

Sabine laughed, and it quickly turned into coughing. "Why am I not surprised?" Her voice was strangled as she tried to catch her breath. "So what's your strategy?"

"Boiling the water in the pot will fill the galley with steam and help you breathe easier, and the water in the kettle is for a little concoction that should help with the congestion and cough. I thought we'd try some home remedies before I drag you down to medbay like Hera wanted me to. Figured you'd like that a little better."

Sabine made a face. "No kidding." She knew that when Hera sent her back to Atollon, the Twi'lek intended for her to be hooked up to IV fluids and take a round of albuterol breathing treatments, but she'd had to do that a few times as a child and she knew the medicine would make her heart race, hands shake, and make her feel so wound up that she might not sleep for a week. So she figured she'd just rely on whatever fever-reducers and decongestants she could find in the Ghost's medicine cabinet—clearly it wasn't working. But she hated that she was imposing on Kanan. "Listen," she began, clearing her throat. "Why don't you go back to bed? I'm feeling a little better now, thanks to you. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." He turned around and gave her a reassuring smile. "But you don't have to."

She nodded. "Thanks," she said after a pause. "What are you doing up anyway? I hope you're not awake on my account."

"Nah." He hesitated just slightly, as if he was trying to make up his mind about what to say next. He still had his back to her, and she saw his shoulders slacken. "A…side effect of going blind is that it screws up your circadian rhythm—sleep patterns," he explained slowly, continuing to pull things out of the cabinet. "There's some medicine—I, uh, forgot to take it the last couple days."

Sabine knew that it cost him to admit it, that even after all these months, he still struggled to talk so openly about his blindness. But he had recovered enough that sometimes a little teasing was exactly what he needed to lighten his inner darkness. "You forgot?" A weak smirk pulled at her mouth. "You mean Hera wasn't here to remind you."

Kanan turned around again, trying to glare at her and failing miserably. "Shut up."

"She's too good for you," she ribbed. "I hope you know that."

He snorted. "I've always known that. Here." He sat down across from her and held out a steaming mug. "Drink this."

She eyed the amber-colored liquid warily. "What's in it?"

"This and that," he hedged. "Just trust me."

"I do," she mumbled over the rim of the mug. She sipped cautiously. Right away, the liquid soothed and warmed her insides, numbing the pain in her throat and radiating a comforting heat through her chest. She sighed, humming contentedly. "This is amazing, Kanan." She looked up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Underneath the myriad of flavors she was tasting hid the distinct bite of alcohol. "How long have you been hiding that bottle of whiskey in here?"

His cheeks tinged pink and he grinned sheepishly. "Six, seven years?"

"You know there's no way she doesn't know, right?"

"Yeah."

They fell silent and Sabine continued to sip the whatever-it-was and breathe deeply as steam from the pot started to warm the air. She still felt awful, but Kanan was right; she was breathing easier now. She studied him as she drank, noticing for the first time that he wasn't wearing the mask over his eyes. She was surprised. For so long after the injury, he'd kept his eyes covered as a means of hiding from himself and everyone else. He still wore the mask around base—injuries like his tended to make people uncomfortable—but he was more relaxed about it on the Ghost, Sabine realized. The Kanan she was sitting with now was nothing like the Kanan of eight months ago. "You look good," she said suddenly.

He didn't need to ask what she meant. "I feel good," he said, nodding. "Not perfect, but good."

She took another sip of her drink, hesitating before she smiled. "I could say something mushy about how glad I am that you're okay, how great it is having you back, how relieved I am that you and Ezra are back in the swing of things, or how I'm…proud of you, Kanan." She said that last part quietly, averting her eyes to the tabletop, swallowing past a lump in her throat that didn't have anything to do with her sickness. "But that's not my style."

"Mine either," he said thickly. "And it's also not my style to say thanks for your help that night when I..." The night she'd found him in the hallway having a panic attack because the blindness was so new and he'd gotten disoriented. She knew exactly what he was talking about. "I know I didn't—but it meant a lot to me."

"I—" She stopped, because emotional vulnerability really wasn't something she was good at, and she was afraid that the combination of her fevered state and this talk with Kanan was going to make her cry. She dug her fingers into her leg, refusing. "You and Hera drilled it into me pretty good years ago that on this ship, we're family. You do things for family."

He nodded, understanding her need for the conversation to turn somewhere else. "Things like…not telling Hera I gave you alcohol?"

"Exactly like that." She smiled and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "Thanks, Kanan."

"Always."

The night waned away as Kanan continued to look after Sabine and she continued to let him. After a while, her cough had eased and her chest wasn't as tight as it had been, but shaking and chills told her the fever was about to break and she felt as terrible as ever. Kanan made sure she kept drinking water and he wrapped a blanket around her when her body shook with cold. He helped her to the common room and they sat together on the bench, Sabine eventually slumping against him as exhaustion claimed her. Neither of them was comfortable, but he knew that being sick alone was miserable, and she knew that taking care of her was his way of making good on all the months he'd spent buried in his grief.

They didn't move—you do things for family.