Fever

He probably picked it up at the old Republic medical base. Who knows what kinds of contagions had been percolating within its walls since its abandonment. The biohazardous refuse that had been left behind was probably a cosmos of mutated bacteria and viruses by now.

None of the Spectre Crew had thought to ask if Ezra had received all of his childhood vaccinations before he set foot in there. None of them had reason to suspect he was vulnerable, or that, being the son of "hostile citizens", he had never been immunized against common viral diseases such as elgorria and papera. The Empire controlled the healthcare system on Lothal and could deny treatment to whomever they pleased.

The Bridgers, having a reputation as strong opponents of the Imperial occupation, had been unable to procure the vaccinations that their son needed. They did all they could to keep Ezra safe and healthy, stocking up on whatever medicine they could acquire through networks within the resistance and sequestering him at the first sign of a sniffle, but all that ended when they were arrested and taken away. Ezra grew up without knowing just how delicate his immune system was.

He knew now.

It came on about three days after he and Zeb and Sabine returned from the medical base. He became lethargic and moody, which nobody thought remarkable. He was a teenager; lethargy and moodiness were a given, especially for someone with the responsibilities Ezra had.

But then he lost his appetite. That drew attention. Ezra could put away food like a famished Hutt. He ate more than Zeb and always seemed to have room for seconds (or thirds). So when he excused himself from the galley one evening and went straight to bed, Hera and Kanan had looked at each other with the same thought: something is wrong.

Kanan went in to check on him and found him sleeping in Zeb's bunk, as if he didn't even have the energy to climb to the upper berth. He had also stripped down to his tank top and undershorts and peeled off his socks, which were balled up beside his bare feet. Hera kept the Ghost at a steady 16 degrees centigrade to save on energy, and while teenage boys ran notoriously hot, Ezra seldom slept in so few clothes. And he wasn't even under the blanket.

Kanan sat down on the edge of the bunk and grasped Ezra's shoulder. His skin was warm, but it wasn't burning. He gave him a shake.

"Ezra."

A creaky murmur.

"Hey, sorry to wake you. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It's not like you to skip dinner."

"M' fine. Just tired."

"Is there anything on your mind? I'm here if you need to talk." Kanan offered because nine times out of ten Ezra's problems were related to his emotions. And Kanan was that age once, too. He knew what it was like.

"No, nothing on my mind. I'm just... been real tired lately." A heavy sigh.

Kanan pulled off his glove and laid his bare hand on Ezra's cheek. It was hot, flushed pink. He touched Ezra's forehead. It was also hot—and completely dry.

"I think you might be coming down with something. You feel feverish."

Ezra mumbled something unintelligible.

Kanan left the room and returned a short while later with a thermo scanner from the ship's infirmary. He bent down and pressed the scanner to Ezra's temple. When he read the numbers on the display, his eyebrows shot up.

"You're running pretty hot. I'm gonna get you some medicine. Are you allergic to salicet or omnicillin?"

"Dunno. Never taken them before."