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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 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?"

Kanan's quiet again, for quite some time. This deserves thought, because he has to trust himself in what his answer is, first and foremost.

Otherwise it's a lie on multiple levels, and . . . he's been trying to be better than that, for a long time now.

Eventually he breathes out, a sharp exhale as he releases the tension in his shoulders. His voice is tired as he answers, because just thinking of a future like that --

"If it would save the rest of them to fight another day, I could do that. Yeah. I would do that. I wouldn't be able to hold my head up, otherwise."

"All right."

She can hear a voice, maybe her father's, quibbling with this. That sometimes it might be about the outcome of a mission, an act that could save countless lives but mean sacrificing those of friend and allies in the process.

But it wouldn't be fair to ask more of Kanan now. Hera's certain she wouldn't have taken this step if she hadn't faced going on without him. If she didn't know, now, that she could make that choice.

They were going to get hurt. More likely than not, they'd lose each other. To go on ignoring this wouldn't change that.

Hera blinks down, and moves to take his free hand.

Edited 2018-09-30 00:35 (UTC)

Kanan, too, is thinking about scenarios that fall outside the limit he just implicitly set. He doesn't want to be, it's too much like what happened so long ago, but . . . it'll be harder than anything he's ever done, to make the choice to be the only one that's left alive.

But if it comes to it . . . no, he won't know until then. And, the Force willing, he'll never have to know what it feels like to make that choice.

"Okay," he says, voice rough, and tangles his fingers with hers.

"So . . . is that it for the big picture stuff?"

"I think it is...?"

She squeezes his hand, gently. "Is there anything else?"

"Not that I can think of -- not right now, anyway."

He can't think of much of anything, right now, except for the warmth of Hera's hand on his, and the knowledge that --

That this is real. They're going to do this. The galaxy remains a mess, all the terrifying power of the Dark Side is coming for them, and they're in danger of dying every day.

But this -- they can have this.

"I'll tell you if something comes up? Uh."

"Yeah," she says, softly.

"And for now, it's just between us."

"Yeah," he echoes, smiling more than a little.

"I can definitely get behind that."

"Okay."

After a pause -

"Do you still want that tea, or -"

He chuckles, shaking his head, his pulse picking up.

"It's not like it's gonna get any colder -- "

"No..."

She releases his hand, but presses her palm flat against his wrist, moving it up the side of his arm and then along his shoulder.

"... I guess not."

His breathing picks up, every inch of his skin coming alive as Hera runs her hands over it, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Excitement?

Nervousness?

Very large helpings of both?

It doesn't really matter, as he brings his own hand from her shoulder, over her shouldblade, down her back, and coming to a stop on the softness of her waist, thumb stroking up and down ever-so-slightly.

"No guessing about it."

"Oh, all right."

Hera pulls herself up against him, touching her forehead to his just for a moment before she kisses him.

It's not only so that he'll stop talking.

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