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The ship does land in one piece. As she'd suspected from the moment she saw it, the stolen ship is a rare Imperial shuttle made for stealth. She leans easily into these controls, quietly whipping through space, even after it became apparent that the patrolling TIEs had been ordered to find the ship's escaped prisoners. Hera had dodged among them, evading their scopes and radars, as she flew the shuttle far out enough to make the jump to hyperspace. In the end, it was only one unfortunate fighter that managed to catch sight of her.

The shuttle's weapons systems are nothing special, she learned. But they did the job.

The jump to Batuu was only about three hours, even with the slightly roundabout route Hera decided to take. The girls, fortunately, seem to be accustomed to space travel. Occasionally they whisper to each other, but otherwise, they tend to stay quiet unless Hera speaks to them. About an hour in, Hera recommends that they get some sleep, and the girls don't object.

It's midafternoon at Black Spire when they reach the planet. Hera is careful on her approach, avoiding likely lanes of traffic – she doesn't want to run into questions about the stolen shuttle she's flying. But then, most who visit Batuu aren't the type to ask questions. But she still chooses to land the shuttle in a clearing, surrounded by dense forest, about five kliks downriver of the outpost.

As the shuttle touches down, she turns to the girls. "Are you all right?"

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Vamua's eyebrow remains arched as she studies Hera for a long, silent moment.

Then --

"As Mitth'raw'nuruodo serves this Empire and its Emperor, there is very little I and mine may do. We Chiss may command only our own, and as his duty is elsewhere -- "

She spreads her hands, indicating a supposed lack of power.

"As is his fealty -- we may send a message, but there is no reason to think it will be obeyed."

"Then send a message."

Hera can settle for that. After all, today he showed a loyalty for something other than the Empire.

Vamua's smile is thin, but not entirely faked.

"Consider it done. Though it is unlikely to come directly from my hand. Wiser heads, as they say."

She turns her attention from Hera to the children, leaning forward once more.

"Are you ready to come back with me, young ones?"

Wrema looks up at Hera, with Sucasa mimicking the gesture a moment later.

Are they, Hera? Themselves, maybe they're not so sure. (Mostly because they didn't worry about Hera being safe until she asked the question, and now . . . )

Hera leans forward, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Coth'eraw'rema," she says again, her voice very soft. "Suc'asaw'earmemm."

"Hera?" They say, not quite in unison.

"Do we -- "

Wrema looks over at Vamua, then back to Hera.

"Do we get to keep our things?"

"Of course," Hera says.

Before Vamua can contradict it. She thinks that's fair enough to ask, as part of her 'reward.'

Sucasa beams, holding her stuffed porg close to her chest.

Wrema, too, has a tight grip on her Jedi doll.

Vamua merely smiles crookedly, saying "I believe that can be arranged. One must always have mementoes of one's travels, particularly if they are comforting."

It is entirely possible to believe that this sentiment is genuine.

Hera also smiles.

It takes some effort, but none of that shows through it. She moves her hands from the girls' shoulders, and slightly down to their backs. So that she's still supporting them, but not keeping them with her.

Wrema flings her arms around Hera -- and also Sucasa -- holding on very tightly for a moment before standing up. She doesn't sniffle at all.

"I'm ready," she says.

Sucasa takes a much longer time to decide to let go of Hera. "I want to come back," she whispers into Hera's ear. "When I'm older."

Only then does she let go, and step away, and say, "We can go."

Hera holds them in return.

"Then you will," she whispers back to Sucasa, before they break apart.

"Stay safe," she says, quietly, as they step away. "See your home."

"They'll keep us safe," Wrema says, looking back at Vamua for a moment.

Vamua merely nods. "We have already altered our security protocols in light of the previous breach. Rest assured this will not happen again."

Sucasa looks like she's going to reach for Vamua's hand, much as she has gotten used to doing with Hera, and then stops, because Vamua is not Hera, and the Chiss are not much for casual affection while on the job.

Hera blinks down to the floor, giving herself another moment to take a slow, deep breath.

And with that, she rises from the chair. "Then I guess I'm leaving."

"You stay safe, too!" Sucasa says, more loudly than maybe she meant to. Wrema doesn't have the heart to hush her.

Vamua stands, too, reaching out to take the hand of each of the children. She looks at Hera for a long moment, then inclines her head toward the door.

"After you," she says. Provided Hera will go, of course.

She first pulls the scavenged backpack straight over her shoulders, and then she turns, and walks to the door. Hera nearly doesn't look back - it won't make anything easier, or better. But after opening the door, and stepping through the threshold, she does turn her head. Just for a moment.

Again, she makes herself smile.

And then, the door is closed behind her. She hurries down the stairs, and back out into the streets of Black Spire, nearly running, as though she feels someone might chase her after all. But it seems that no one does. It takes a few turns for her to reach the main road again, and despite that she's still armed, despite that if anything, she's less encumbered now that she's lost the girls - she somehow also feels more alone, and more vulnerable. She glances at any flicker of light in a doorway, in an alley, and slips back into the crowd milling along the main road as quickly as she can.

Then she has to decide where to go. The sun is definitely sinking toward dusk now. Back to the ship? She's not sure she wants to fly that Imperial shuttle any longer than she has to, but depending on what kind of passage she can afford back toward the Outer Rim, she might not have a choice. Still, she sees no point in heading back out of town before she can do so under cover of dark.

Instead, she moves faster, and turns down a street that leads toward one of the large, petrified trees that surround the outpost. Just ahead of the tree is another round, steel-domed building, this one somewhat low and squat, a short tower next to it, and several cloth awnings dyed green and red and purple flapping gently over its wide entrance. Her had passed it by during their first walk through, but now, she knows what she really needs is a drink. So she breaks from the crowd to step under those awnings, and enter the dark cantina within.

There's a host of mostly occupied tables and chairs, which Hera only gives a passing glance. Near the back, what looks like a modified pilot droid was playing a flashing, multicolored nalargon, but Hera can hardly hear the music above the talk in the cantina. The long, oval bar glows white, and Hera walks right up to it, taking a seat before the Bith standing behind it.

"Bloody Rancor."

The Bith nods, and whisks off without a word.

Edited 2019-05-20 01:00 (UTC)

The thing about being a Jedi is that sometimes -- not often enough to rely on, not often enough to stake everyday choices on, but sometimes -- you get a feeling about what you need to do next.

Waiting for word from Hera was killing all of them, because a contact delay of days usually means something has gone supremely shuura-shaped. But she can take care of herself. He knows that.

They all know that. But they've got to keep busy in the meantime, doing their own work, the missions she left to them to do while she went on this one. Except --

Kanan finds himself volunteering them for a resupply foray to Batuu, splitting off from the crew while they load up to take a little walk. They let him go because, quite honestly, his fretting has been getting on their nerves. And now --

Now he's looking up from his own drink, in his own darker corner, searching the room for --

The Bith returns with a short, round glass, ice floating in a drink so deep red it's nearly black. There's a garnish shaped like a bone set along the rim of the glass, and Hera uses it to stir the drink a few times, before setting it aside on a napkin.

She lifts the glass, and as she does, takes the moment to glance around the cantina.

Hera doesn't yell.

At least, not out loud.

Kanan doesn't fall out of his chair, but he does start. Visibly. At least he doesn't spill his drink, which is a small blessing.

The larger (and far more important) blessing is right by the bar, and he's going to stride over there in just one second.

Okay, because his knees are wobbly with relief, two seconds.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says, taking up position next to Hera, making sure he can clearly see whatever might be approaching in her blind spot.

"Long trip?"

Hera sets down her glass.

But otherwise, she doesn't bother being smooth. She puts her hand on his shoulder, and if he doesn't object, pulls him toward her as she rises up to kiss him.

Hopefully, he still won't spill his drink.

Kanan very much does not object, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tightly as she kisses him, and he kisses back.

(He does remember to set his drink down, first, but only by the barest margin. He may also use the Force, just a little.)

Checking if she's okay can wait a minute. This is important, too.

There are probably at least a few glances their way from other patrons, but not many. Oga's Cantina has seen plenty more unusual than a couple of reunited lovers.

So Hera takes her time before breaking away, and even when she does, she lowers her head, and leans into his chest for a few seconds.

"I'm glad you're here," she says, softly.

He rests his cheek against her temple, breathing in. It's only been a few days, really, but the physical reality of her is still staggering.

"I'm glad I am, too. And that you are. I felt -- you're all right?"

"I'm all right."

She takes a breath, and then slowly takes a step back. Not far enough to break from his grasp entirely, but enough that she can sink back into her seat.

"It's just been a long..."

She's not even sure, not sure how long she was with the Grysk, or on that Star Destroyer.

He's going to stand next to her for a little bit longer, keeping himself interposed between her and the room. Just for another minute or two.

"Four days. We started getting worried on day three."

He started feeling anxious on day two, but that's neither here nor there.

"That's a lot of faith in me," she says, with a slightly wry smile.

"But it looks like you were subtle about sending out the search party. How did you know to come back here?"

"Well, I've met you," he says, keeping one arm around her and holding on tight.

"And, uh. I had . . . a feeling?"

If he could explain it better, he would.

"We took a job out here, so the ship's not far away. I volunteered us."