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Kanan looks around at the gathered group, only momentarily allowing himself to be dumbfounded by the sheer number of sentients surrounding him. The majority are Human, like most other systems in this sector, but there are Rodians, Twi’leks, Ugnaughts, Aqualish, and Ithorians amongst the group too. It takes only a second for him to memorize the faces of those gathered so if shit goes starboard, he knows the possible culprit, and then he turns his attention back to the grid on the holo in the center of the gathering.
“Spectres one and two,” a Human man says, the codenames causing Hera’s spine to straighten.
Huh. Apparently they have codenames.
“Take this grid,” he continues, pointing to an area on the outskirts of the area, one that’s conveniently close to the rocky ledge Hera used to conceal her ship from Imperial eyes. “The area is large but entirely residential. Might be best if you two split up.”
After a dutiful nod, they turn and walk leisurely from the building, waiting two blocks as they were told before picking up their pace to avoid drawing unwanted attention. They have to make it another half of a klick before they can get away with running, dressed in clothing allowed for easy movement, rather than their usual. Kanan’s stomach is in knots, the damned Force trying to tell him something that he doesn’t want to hear, so he tries to make conversation instead.
“I didn’t realize there were so many rebels,” he says idly, keeping in perfect step with her.
Despite how fast she’s moving, Hera’s lekku are rigid down her back. “Everybody is a rebel when it’s their home that’s at stake.”
“Where are the sirens?” he questions. “Why aren’t the authorities—”
“Bombers aren’t stormtroopers, they don’t miss their targets,” she cuts him off, the pain she still feels evident in her words. “The authorities are Imperials and their loyalties do not lie with their citizens.”
Fear twists his insides once more. “The authorities don’t even have to worry about taking to the bunkers because there won’t be bombs falling on their homes.”
Hera doesn’t answer him. Instead, she picks up her pace before they’re supposed to, clearly not caring whether or not they’re spotted. She doesn’t need to tell him why because she already has before; this is how she lost her mother. They’re both determined that nobody will lose their mother today, not in their zone.
Just as the road ahead diverges, the right leading to their assigned coordinates, Kanan hears a child scream. The sky above is still that perfect and cloudless blue, not a singular indication of the darkness that’s encroaching on the day. His head jerks around at the sound of another scream and he turns to see that the road to the left leads to what appears to be a cluster of schools, perhaps some sort of daycare, too.
“Hera,” he calls after her as he slows.
“Not now, Kanan!” she calls back, picking her pace up even more.
“Yes, now, dammit,” he snaps back at her.
With ice in her gaze, she stops for a second to turn and look at him, arm up to gesture at the neighborhood they’re supposed to be helping together. Before she can remind him of that, he jerks his arm in the direction of the schools to the left.
“Those are schools!” he exclaims. “Those weren’t on the map. There was nothing on the schematics across from our zone.”
Hera’s eyes widen in terror, but in war, there’s no time to be terrified. “Go!” she yells. “I’ve got this!”
They don’t waste time telling each other to be careful because to do so would be wasting time of lives that could be drawing near to their end. If they make it to the end of the day, and he has to believe they will, he’ll tell her how he feels about her and that he’s glad she’s safe. Maybe she’ll do the same. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to him what she does, so long as they see each other after this is all over.
Kanan allows his feet to carry him as quickly as the Force will allow. He tackles the smallest building, a daycare, first. It’s clear that the Rodian manning the front door takes the threat seriously because within moments, she’s making an announcement overhead and teachers with their younglings begin pouring out of classrooms. There’s still three more buildings to go.
By the time that he makes it through three different people at the primary school, an administrator who finally takes the threat seriously will be responsible for saving the lives of his students, Kanan feels the Force tugging at him with all of its might. All he needs is a few more minutes, if he has just a handful of minutes he can—
The first wave of bombers fly overhead, ignoring the schools to fly over the central parts of the city. It’s just as Hera said; they do not miss their target. He can tell from where explosions rock the urban sprawl that the legislative buildings will remain untouched. Around him, madness explodes, younglings screaming, older children starting to run out of buildings.
All that he can do is tell them to run.
Pushing his way through the oncoming masses of students and their mentors, he tries to make it into the secondary school, to encourage the disgorgement of students from its passageways. The skies, slowly filling with thick, black smoke, crack with the sound of more bombers breaking the atmosphere to begin another round. This time it’s uncomfortably close to the schools and Hera’s zone, but they’re left with the opportunity to save a few more lives.
Or so he thought.
Somewhere above the atmosphere, a Star Destroyer must be sending down bombers faster, some Imperial tipped off to the evacuation efforts. Two bombers diverge in the sky, one with the school in its sights and the other with—
“Hera, take cover!” he yells into his comm, simultaneously trying to tuck himself up against a wall that faces upwind in the hopes that any flames will be carried away from him.
The explosions come in a series of quick successions, one after another, relentless and ruthless. In the few jarring seconds after the bombs go off, there’s nothing but fire and silence. His is the first voice that slices through it all, spittle flying from his lips as he yells into his comm.
“Hera?!”
“I’m okay!” she calls back. “Kanan, there’s so many—”
“Keep looking,” he tells her. “I can tell if they’re coming back around. I’ll be there to help you soon.”
Rather than answering, she gives the double click of her comlink to indicate that she’s heard him and he goes back to work. Looking up and across the schoolyard leaves him feeling as if his heart has been ripped out of his chest. Now is not the time for mourning the dead, though, there are too many lives that can be saved. Reaching out with the Force, he searches for the most signatures and finds them huddled into a classroom that’s been blown wide open, one whose roof is caving in.
Without any thought, he throws his hands up to stop it, freezing the mass in place to the wide-eyed disbelief of the students and their teacher. “Run!” he tells them, struggling to keep the roof from collapsing before they get out. “You have to run!”
Just as the last student is out of the classroom, the duracrete and melting steel drops where they’d all been crammed together only moments earlier. He hears the sirens of emergency vehicles, knows that it’s the Empire putting on a show for the citizens, a show of Imperial empathy rather than Imperial might. It’s a show that works all too well.
The teacher whose life he just saved begins motioning wildly in his direction. There are so many lives left to be saved and yet he’s powerless to save them. Kanan is already running away from destruction and death, too far out of reach of the Imperials, by the time the teacher yells Jedi!. That woman saw him save her classroom a handful of moments earlier and she still believes in the Imperial banthashit story that the Jedi were traitors, set on galactic destruction.
It’s hard to want to make a difference in a galaxy that hates you for what you are.
It’s harder not to want to make a difference in a galaxy that was lied to about what you stand for.
Hera doesn’t walk so much as she does stomp up the ramp into the cargo bay. Before he can even seal the door, she’s got her fist balled up and drawn back, ready to strike. With lightning quick reflexes, he grips her petite wrist in his hand, stopping her from taking out her frustration on him.
It’s not that he wouldn’t let her take out her anger and frustration on him if that’s what would make her feel better. He’d let Hera pull out her blaster, put a bolt in his aching heart. Kanan would gladly let her draw back her deceptively petite fists to rain down blow after blow on him, if only to take her pain away and replace the ache that overwhelms his soul with something more visceral. He’d do anything for the fierce and beautiful woman he cares for so much to make her feel better but he knows, he knows, that hurting him isn’t going to take her pain away.
Just like he knows that no amount of physical pain will ever stop the ache that he feels.
“Don’t,” he utters, still grasping her wrist as she struggles against him. “Don’t. We did what we could, Hera.”
“And it wasn’t enough,” she answers, unable to force the words out while holding the tears back, tears she’s obviously been fighting since they took their retreat.
Kanan pulls her into his arms and folds her tightly into his embrace. She clutches his sides tightly, balling the material of his shirt in her hands, as she buries her face against his chest. He can palpably feel her sadness along with all of the emotions that she always held onto, fuel that keeps the fire of rebellion burning in her heart, soaking into his shirt. It’s then that he decides to carry that weight with her, to accept her burden as his own. There’s no soothing words of things being okay or consolations that they did what they could. Thousands of lives were lost today and this mission, no matter how hard they tried, will never feel like nothing more than a complete and utter failure.
His lips brush against her cap, soiled in soot and ashes, the two of them smelling of death and destruction and decimated dreams. Twining his fingers with hers, Kanan pulls her in the direction of the ladder and she lets him lead without fighting. There’s nothing that they can do about today, not anymore, all he can do is help wash away the day’s failures and make sure she’s not hurt.
Hera, he knows, will have the strength to hope again tomorrow.
He flips on the shower and slowly starts to strip away her soiled clothes, while she stands listless before him. He pushes her shirt away from her shoulders, drops to his knees and gingerly slips off her boots and socks before easing her pants away from her hips. He leaves her basics behind. Kanan does the same with his clothes, stripping away the threads that taunt him with the teacher’s cruelties and misconceptions of what a Jedi really is, kicking them away to be tossed out with the emotions he knows he cannot old onto. Just as he did with Hera, he leaves his basics on. This isn’t about handling their feelings in a different way; it’s about washing away the day’s pain so they can begin anew tomorrow.
When he looks back up, he sees that Hera has stripped her cap away.
Kanan wants to ask if she’s sure that she’s okay with that, offer to leave her alone, knowing that there’s a cultural connotation associated with her head coverings. Instead, she pulls him into the shower and he follows. With a tender touch, he skims her viridescent skin that’s caked in soot, trying to find any sign of injury. The first one comes on her forearm, a large abrasion with ashes burnt into the jagged flesh, and he cautiously cleanses the wound under the spray of the water.
Truth be told, this isn’t what he imagined when he fantasized about the first time he might get to explore her body, but in a way it’s something much sweeter. There’s so much more to this woman in his arms and he doesn’t merely want to fuck her, doesn’t dream of being able to make love to her whenever he wants, Kanan wants to take care of her—and she’s letting him. Carefully, he rinses away the dirt from her lekku, finding two more gashes just at the ends. He kisses each insult, as if love alone can heal her heartache and banish the bruises. In turn, Hera does the same with him, surprisingly soft fingertips finding each scrape and scab. Her lips brush against every injury she finds, which makes him simply fold her tighter into his embrace.
Pressing his forehead to hers, their flesh cleared of the day’s failures, all that remains to be kissed away is the rivulets of tears that stream down their cheeks that are intermingled with the reclaimed water of the shower.
Maybe love can heal their heartache.
Mom! Momma, no! Mom, please, you can’t go!
Kanan jerks awake, rapidly blinking sleep from his eyes. Even as he tries to break free from the vestiges of his own nightmares, he knows that those words aren’t from the dark corners of his own mind. There’s only one person who would cry out such a thing in the middle of the night—he’s just never heard her nightmares before.
Rushing across the corridor in only his basics, he smacks the button to open her cabin, any respect for decorum forgotten. Hera’s nightmares are never that loud, she’s the one who has always been able to keep it together. No matter how strong her soul, how fiercely stubborn she cares for the galaxy, nothing could have stopped her from feeling the pain of the day.
It doesn’t mean that she won’t try.
Even now, she’s already sitting up in her bunk, furiously fighting to wipe the tears from her face as if he hasn’t already seen them today.
“Hera,” he breathes her name. It’s not pity, it’s a plea, let me comfort you.
“I’m okay,” she manages in hiccups. “It’s just…it’s a nightmare. It’s just a nightmare.”
Is it truly a nightmare when it’s a memory? Kanan wonders, but he doesn’t argue the semantics.
For a few moments he lingers by her door until her breathing starts to calm and then he turns to walk away. He’s still aching from the day and he knows she is too, but there’s no way to get through this day other than sleeping it away. Before he can press the button to open her cabin door, the uttered request comes so quietly, he’s not certain he hears her right.
“Stay.”
Feeling his brow pinch together, he turns to look at her in question, afraid to ask if that’s what she said and terrified that he was only hearing things. Kanan needs her strength just as much as he wants to comfort her.
“Please stay,” she whispers.
“I’ll stay,” he murmurs in earnest.
Climbing up into the bunk with her, he slips beneath the sheets. Kanan never has the chance to pull her into his arms because she wraps around him instead, her arms and her legs, even her lekku, seem to twine around his chest and the arm tucked around her back. She’s holding onto him for dear life and he welcomes her into his embrace. He murmurs apologies, utters promises that they’re going to keep fighting, leaves kisses with each statement pressed against the top of her head, the base of each lek, against her temple.
Even after her breathing is deep and even, soft snores coming against his chest, he lies awake and stares up at the ceiling. After their shower, Fulcrum had debriefed Hera that Kanan had saved the son and daughter of Takeed City’s Minister and they’ve subsequently defected from the Empire. The news didn’t make either one of them feel better. There’s no such thing as wins and losses when it comes to life itself; if there’s so much as a single life lost, then their mission wasn’t successful.
Although neither one of them will acknowledge it, they know the coming days will only grow darker before things get better. All they can do is to continue to fight and for now, seek refuge and comfort in the only place that they can find it—
—in each other’s arms.