Hera Syndulla (
for_everyone) wrote2020-08-29 02:07 pm
Post-Protector of the Concord Dawn
They were all, unsurprisingly, much more patient with her than Hera was with herself. There was at least some excuse for that patience right now, as Kanan's – well, it couldn't exactly be called diplomacy anymore, but he had secured safe passage for them through Concord Dawn nonetheless. But the result felt like a mixed bag, they hadn't recruited these Mandalorians but extorted them, and extortion bred resentment, not trust or camaraderie. Maybe keeping Fenn Rau would give them the chance to talk to him, but Hera also knew if she were the captive, she wouldn't have any interest in what her captors had to say.
But then, Fenn Rau hadn't even given her that chance.
There is a bacta tank aboard the Liberator, but their bacta supplies are limited, so her sessions need to be rationed. LN-14 is one of the kinder medical droids Hera has come across, and he supplements her bacta treatments with frequently changed bandaging, giving special attention to those at the base of her lekku, something often overlooked by droid and organic medics alike. She's very quickly able to sit up in her cot, but other progress is slower. LN keeps her on a diet of liquid supplements until convinced her internal organs have sufficiently healed (and she can stiffly move her arms again).
Kanan undresses her, and carries her in his arms to the bacta tank, then back to her cot again. She appreciates and resents it at the same time, being tucked against his chest made her feel safe, but also vulnerable. Childish. She knows that's a foolish way to think – but the idea of needing him so much frightens her anyway. Fortunately, the injury to her spine and legs is comparatively minimal, and after the second bacta treatment she can walk alongside Kanan, if leaning heavily on him. There's only one hoverchair aboard, and the engineer using it offers it to her, but she refuses this, if only because engineering is the higher priority, while meetings with Sato can happen by her cot for now. But it's a note she makes for herself, something else they need to be better prepared for.
The bandages on her arms are the second to last to be removed. Those along her head and lekku remain, and even now her chest and back ache with too much movement. Still, her arms and hands can move with only a little remaining stiffness, and as she tests them as she downs her morning meal of protein and water, she knows it's time to do what's been hanging over her since she'd resurfaced after the attack. She taps the comm and asks Kanan to bring her a datachip from her quarters, precisely describing its location in a sleeve under her workstation. Then Hera carefully leans back, closes her eyes, and waits for him to come in.

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"Jerex Wytho and Essia Monite," she says, her eyes down on the screen. "Sato already looked through what they left with us and contacted anyone they'd asked us to."
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"Did you want to send a message, too? Condolences, or . . . "
He trails off. Both of those names are recognizable, but Kanan's never really put himself out there socially, much. So names, faces, and the sound of them laughing and joking with other pilots are about what he has to recall.
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She reaches an authorization screen, and presses her thumb to the datapad. "This is a risk, too, but I'm hoping Chopper's encryption protocol will be too bizarre to break, if it comes to that."
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"Wait, who are you sending a message to?"
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The authorization screen clears, into a list that fills it from top to bottom. Occasionally there are images along with the names, but mostly not.
"I'm recording them."
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"Did you start this before we met?"
Is it all her dead, or just the ones she feels responsible for?
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But, yes.
She taps the screen a few more times, and a tiny holoport at the edge of the datapad lights up, projecting a small image of Essia Monite's face. The image is still, Monite's face caught in a small smile, her light hair tied in a loose bun just above her neck.
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His gaze is caught by Monite's face, her smile, and the look on Hera's face as she goes through this process.
"Does it help to be sure you'll never forget?"
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"It helps to know their names are recorded."
She knows many, many more names will go unwritten. "And..."
She hesitates at this. Her fingers fiddle at the edges of the datapad, and she takes in a few more breaths, testing how they feel, as she tries to piece together this explanation. "Essia gave me this image."
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"It helps to think everything isn't forgotten."
And --
"She gave it to you so you'd have it to keep."
Have her to keep.
"And you do."
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Hera glances up to Kanan, then back down again. It feels strangely like a confession, "She's not the first person to do something like that. When I've been around others who have something they want to leave in case - and they don't have someone else to take it -"
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He reaches out to rest his hand on Hera's shoulder (lightly, to be careful of her injuries), leaving it there for a long moment.
"They know you'll take care of it."
All of it.
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The list scrolls as she moves, and she answers, "It was happening even before that."
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Even if it's a little bit true.
"You care. People notice."
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But her voice is even when she answers, "Then if I care, then I have to act. Any way I can."
Even if all she can do is write down a name.
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"I didn't mean to -- I guess I didn't realize, about the names."
That's not all, of course.
"And about the weight of it. What you carry. What we ask you to carry."
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"They die."
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There's a hint of steel under his voice, just for a moment.
"You know we do."
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She's heard those words her entire life. "But I - I need to remember the role I played in their deaths."
The datapad screen is still, and Hera's thumb lingers near a name at the very top. Like a handful of the others sprinkled throughout the list, it's not written in Aurebesh. "It can't become easy."
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He'd love to find a way to convince her that she doesn't have to punish herself for this, for being the leader they asked her to be.
But that's . . . that's just another burden, really. That's saying he knows better.
That's not . . . he can't.
So he doesn't.
"No. We can't let it become easy."
No one can afford to skirt that edge.
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"Jerex... told jokes in the canteen. And sometimes on the comms."
She tilts her head. "And I traded a music datachip with Essia, she had a Wookiee tree-drum collection I wanted to hear."
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He thinks he remembers the jokester in the canteen, but he can't think of a single specific one of those stories right now.
Give him a second.
"Was it something new for her, or something she wanted more of?"
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She takes another breath, and adds, "Years ago."
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Then he exhales.
"And you've been keeping this list for . . . a long time."
A pause, as he gathers himself to ask the question.
"Are there other people you'd like to talk about? To remember? I can listen, if -- "
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Her smile fades as he continues. She switches off the datapad screen, and leans back again, settling down against the pillow on her cot.
Like to? Not really. But overdue, maybe.
"Do you remember last time we were on Pamarthe?"
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