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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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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."

He huffs out a breath, shifting his hand in a caress against her upper arm.

Then --

"Yeah, there probably won't be a better time."

"So... are you..."

... going to stay? It's not that she doesn't know the answer, exactly. But -

"... going to be all right with this?"

He's quiet, his body gone still, but not frozen.

Kanan's thought about it. He's been steadily thinking about it ever since they joined up with Phoenix Squadron. (Maybe before that, too, if he's honest.)

"I'm going to have to be, right? I'm not going to run anymore, and this -- it's a fight that needs to be fought. And I know the rest of you aren't going to leave, so -- "

He rubs his face with his free hand.

"I'll figure it out. Somehow."

"I -"

But she bites back the apology. It doesn't feel right, to her, and she doubts he'd want to hear it.

Instead, "I wish I hadn't said it that way, earlier."

He breathes, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

"I could have just talked to you, instead of being a sulky ass."

"You could have," she agrees, her voice just a little wry.

"But I know you've always taken this seriously."

Hera takes a breath. "And taken me seriously."

He tugs her a little closer, just for a second.

"You're going to be so good for Phoenix Squadron. They're already starting to see that they can't do without you, and that's only going to get more true."

She was made for leadership. Kanan -- he struggles to set a good example for Ezra, some days, never mind anyone else.

"I'm going to be here to see it. And to help."

Hera doesn't answer. Mostly because she doesn't want to deflect, or diminish it, even with her own doubts still simmering in her mind.

But she draws herself up closer to him, nudging her forehead to his chin to show she's heard his words. And she appreciates them.

He presses his lips to her forehead, breathing out.

And then leans back a little, shifting his hand up to just under her chin.

Hera also lifts her hand, placing it over his. She doesn't try to stop him, but -

"Maybe - we need to talk about it a little more, first."

Already, it seems that they could get easily distracted.

"I know. The whole . . . how do we want to do this thing is up in the air, isn't it?"

He's smiling, a little ruefully.

"And how do we make it work, with the job, and the crew, and -- "

"Right."

She takes a few breaths, easing herself down until she can think a little more clearly.

"How do we make it work?"

"However we want? I -- mean practically speaking we can probably wing that. The more . . . social and mission-related aspects, I don't know. We've managed so far, with the mission and all, and . . . still putting each other at risk."

Kanan swallows hard.

"So there's that."

Hera nods slightly, her head still rested against him.

"Do you think we should tell the crew?"

She very specifically does not use the word 'kids.'

Edited 2018-09-29 04:03 (UTC)

"I don't see why we couldn't, if we think they'd want to know?"

Kanan's not actually sure they would.

"They already treat us like a unit, though, so -- "

Maybe they already know?

(He knows they probably don't.)

"I'm not sure that I want to," she admits, her fingers curling slightly against his.

"At least at first, we don't know how it might effect them. I don't want them to be distracted by us. And..."

But her voice trails off, as she thinks about the other reason still formulating in her mind.

"And maybe they'd trust us less, in the field? If they thought we'd worry more about each other's safety than theirs."

He considers that, carefully.

"We might also want to see how . . . we are, when we're really doing this. In case we need to make adjustments."

He can feel his shoulders trying to hunch in.

"Or something."

Then --

"And?"

"It's not always something we get to keep to ourselves, when we have a partner. And it's not that I - I'd just -"

She doesn't really expect it to mean that much to anyone who found out. But it's a feeling that she'd carried since she was a child, passing Stormtroopers on Ryloth, to every time she'd caught glances following her when she and Kanan entered a cantina. Your Twi'lek's not much fun, is she.

"Maybe to everyone else I'd like to stay - just my own, for now."

"Wh -- " Kanan stops himself, thinking that over. His arm around her shoulders neither tightens nor slackens as he sits with it.

"Oh. Yeah."

Every. Damn. Time.

"No, I can see -- this shouldn't get in the way of you doing what you've set out to do. And everyone else should see that. So. Yeah."

He exhales.

"Maybe this rebellion can make that different, too."

Eventually.

Hera takes a breath, and for the moment, chooses to set that idea aside.

They have a more pressing issue to deal with.

"But you're right," she says. "There are going to be times when we have to choose between each other, and what's right for the mission."

She hesitates a little, then. But they can't go on with this without confronting it.

"I had to leave you behind. I stood against going back for you. Could you make the same choice?"