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Most of the fleet had survived. There was that.

The Ghost had survived, and that hadn't been easy. Hera had been taking it for granted that she could outfly anyone. And even in the moment, she'd blocked out any doubt. If she'd actually let herself think too long about that escape right through a Star Destroyer's tractor beam, she might have lost her nerve.

Now she has plenty of time to lose her nerve. Plenty of time to repeat the whole ordeal, since they'd returned to and then been forced to escape Lothal again. She shouldn't have jumped them back to the fleet so quickly, should have anticipated that the Empire could slip a time-delayed tracker on them. They should have expected that Minister Tua's message was a trap – but the Minister had been sincere, and whatever secrets she knew about the Empire were gone with her now.

It's cold way to think. Hera knows that. But quickly, it becomes a measure of how many lives were spent for them to gain what now felt like very little. The shield generators. Those could help, one day, if they could make a base.

And that line of thought is too much for her tonight. She rises from the pilot's chair, trying to press any thoughts away, keep her mind clear, like she imagines Kanan does when he's meditating. She even lets her eyes drift nearly closed as she moves – she doesn't need to see, after all, to find the cockpit doors, to know where to step as she climbs down through her ship. By now, the Ghost is living up to its name. It's quiet, a gentle hum broken only by what Hera can barely hear as Chopper's wheels treading along somewhere below. The others were resting. They all needed rest.

She keeps moving down through the ship, toward the galley. Or maybe the cabins.

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"I just opened a door."

But her voice is mild, and she lets him be the one to choose a place among the rocks.

"The right door at the right time . . . " Kanan offers, scanning the ground until he finds a nice spot -- soft ground, mostly flat, protected from sight and breezes along two sides.

"Here look good?"

He's already setting down the tray, though, and then taking a seat himself, so --

She follows him, taking a seat in the soft soil next to him and setting down her own tray. She leans back against one of the rocks, again briefly letting her eyes flutter closed.

Hera takes a deep breath of cool air, just barely sweetened with sea salt. She can hear the soft lap of waves along the shore, feel vibrations along the rocks. A few worlds flicker through her mind - Pamarthe, Manaan, Coronet City on Corellia.

Perhaps she could rest, now. Yet she opens her eyes, blinks back to Kanan.

Maybe she means to reach toward the tea. But her hand moves closer to his.

Kanan reaches back, not even bothering about the tea, taking her hand in both of his.

"Hey," he says quietly.

His voice is warm, but tired. It could hardly be otherwise, just now.

She blinks down, at her hand between his, and takes a breath as she tries to decide what she wants to say.

"Are - how are you?"

"Terrified," he says bluntly. But it's honest.

"I haven't -- "

He breaks off.

"Fleet damage aside -- and that's bad enough -- I don't know what to do about the Sith Lord, or . . . any of it, really."

Kanan musters up a faint shadow of a smile.

"You? Are you -- "

She keeps her eyes down for the moment, pressing her fingers into his.

"What Ezra was saying on the comm," she says slowly.

"That - that was him."

Kanan exhales even as he says the word.

"Yeah."

Another breath.

"Yeah, that was him."

"I think -"

She lifts her free hand to his.

"I think that's who my father saw."

The name she'd heard, always hushed. She'd thought she'd understood it before.

Then she'd seen that man rise up from a mountain of rubble. Like an undead. She'd never seen anything like it.

A new coldness strikes Kanan, at that, and his hands clench on Hera's, just for a second.

"Karabast!" he swears, hearing the echo of Zeb's voice as he says it. "I -- and he lived?"

Obviously he did, but -- but even for their full crew, it was too damn close. Kanan can't quite imagine running into him mostly alone. Not --

No.

"Barely," she murmurs.

"Someone else stayed behind."

Kanan flinches.

"Someone you knew?"

And hard on the heels of that

" -- not that it makes a difference, exactly."

It wouldn't, but.

"I did."

Her father's choice that day was also once something she could only imagine.

"I'm sorry."

Kanan's voice stays quiet. Running from certain doom while someone stays behind to save you -- he can relate. A little. But his was most certainly not a considered choice, at the time.

"He's going to come after us again. You know that."

Him, or the Inquisitors, or both.

She hadn't let herself think on that too much. Her lekku lower in a quick moment, like a shiver.

"We got away."

Edited 2018-09-28 01:21 (UTC)

"We did. I'd like to claim it was all skill, but -- we got lucky, too."

He'd feel more confident if it were all due to their various skills.

"Well..."

She can't deny that.

"- now we know what's coming. Or a better idea of it."

"We've always been good at contingency plans."

He shifts position, moving to bump his shoulder against hers.

"We'll figure something out."

Several somethings. Maybe as many as ten.

Hera tilts her head, resting against his shoulder.

"You still -"

She's not sure how to ask this, or whether she should. But after what happened to Ahsoka -

"You don't know who he is?"

He wraps his arm around her, taking a deep breath as he thinks.

And thinks.

"I -- don't . . . think so? There were ten thousand Jedi, once, and I . . . only really knew a handful. And very few of those were permanent temple residents except a few teachers. Even those recorded in the holocrons . . . "

He trails off.

Hera supposes it isn't important. If they were ever a Jedi, they clearly weren't now. Still, she shifts herself a little closer to Kanan as he moves his arm around her.

And she says, in return, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

He startles, but doesn't move his arm from around her.

"I don't -- I'm glad I don't, honestly. It'd . . . I don't know that it would give me much insight, and it would make it . . . harder to do what might be necessary."

If he ever even could, but at least this way he's less likely to hesitate. He thinks.

"I just thought it might be hard to think about," she says.

"That it might be one of your own."

"Yeah,"

His exhale is heavier, and he leans more of his weight against her.

"It's that, too."

For a few minutes, Hera stays quiet. Her eyes settle on the tea, as she imagines it must be cooling, as they sit together, maybe unwilling to part.

It seems strange to turn from the topic, but there's only so much they can do about the dark - about him now. They can't be haunted by this all the time. They won't be able to operate that way.

And maybe that is something they need to think about. How they'll operate.

So when she does speak, after the silence has lingered long enough -

"I think, maybe - we should talk about it, now."