At some point, Numa takes her hand. Hera isn't completely conscious of it until their voices start to soften, as the song winds to a close. The call of the song's chorus becomes a near-whispered chant, and Hera feels how tight her own grip is on Numa's hand.
Hera is dimly aware of clapping, a whoop from Sabine, the durasteel floor still seeming to rattle under her boots. But Gobi takes her other hand, and Numa pulls them both so close to her, that their breathing is louder than any of it. The crack in the formality, in the distance Hera had felt from them shattered with a flood that followed - the loneliness, isolation, yearning that she'd long since learned to set aside since she'd chosen to leave Ryloth.
Her eyes close, and Hera breaths in, her face pressed into Numa's shoulder, and smells the soft tang of dust off the desert, carbon and must.
When they move apart, Hera can finally feel her crews' eyes on her. Her fingers linger on Numa and Gobi's; she can't yet make herself meet their eyes. But she looks to Kanan.
no subject
Hera is dimly aware of clapping, a whoop from Sabine, the durasteel floor still seeming to rattle under her boots. But Gobi takes her other hand, and Numa pulls them both so close to her, that their breathing is louder than any of it. The crack in the formality, in the distance Hera had felt from them shattered with a flood that followed - the loneliness, isolation, yearning that she'd long since learned to set aside since she'd chosen to leave Ryloth.
Her eyes close, and Hera breaths in, her face pressed into Numa's shoulder, and smells the soft tang of dust off the desert, carbon and must.
When they move apart, Hera can finally feel her crews' eyes on her. Her fingers linger on Numa and Gobi's; she can't yet make herself meet their eyes. But she looks to Kanan.