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There’s sweat on her brow when she wakes.
It was a dream, she tells herself, it was only a dream. The problem is that she can’t remember what the dream was. The problem is that the memory of the dream is visceral, like a gaping hole her chest and half of her soul missing. Hera forces herself to take slow and deep breaths, tries to imagine Kanan walking her through it as if he were lying by her side. Nightmares don’t come frequently for her but when they do they’re bad.
They’re almost always about her mother; sometimes, less frequently, it’s about losing their family.
None of them have ever felt like this.
Without warning, bile rises and burns at the back of her throat and she springs from the bunk and toward the fresher of the U-Wing. She doesn’t make it past the galley sink. Her stomach starts to churn after her body expels the bit of water and ration bar leftover from six hours ago. There’s the feeling of cool metal against her bared leg and she looks down to see two of Chopper. Something isn’t right and she’s alone, flying this data recorder back to Yavin.
Hera slowly lowers herself to the ground at the foot of the counter and leans her head back. When it comes to science, physics is her preference. Medicine and physiology aren’t completely out of her realm because she’s made it a point to be able to care for her family whenever they fall sick, to bandage wounds and perform some advanced first aide. Somewhere along the way, she remembers a lesson about episodes of vertigo or collapse that can happen as a sympathetic response to vomiting or choking.
The books said to sit down and put the patient’s head between their legs, so that’s what she does.
Spectre One should be notified. Chopper drones at her and it’s in his worried whir.
If she could do it without getting nauseated, Hera would shake her head. Instead she musters a no that echoes off the floor. “I’m fine, Chop. Ration bar was probably just past its date.” And she feels like there’s a gaping hole in her chest and part of her soul is missing. Her stomach starts to churn again and she drags herself back up to the sink and whatever was left of the ration bar goes. Though her stomach starts to feel better after that, the ache in her chest remains.
Four hours later, they’re still a day from Yavin IV and Hera has yet to keep anything down. Her throat is painfully sore, her mouth uncomfortably dry, and the ache in her chest still lingers. She lies in the bunk of the U-Wing, a hand resting over her stomach as she tries to narrow down the cause of her ailments. The aching in her chest didn’t start until after the nightmare, after the thing that she cannot remember; but the nausea – that’s a little different. Her stomach had been churning before the dream; it’s why she ate the ration bar and forced water into her system.
But she hasn’t been hungry for days.
She gives consideration to her other symptoms; nausea, dizziness, lack of appetite but that’s it. No fevers or chills, no rashes, no wounds to get infected. When she rolls to her side to try to get more comfortable as she does a mental assessment of her physical condition, she realizes that there is another symptom.
Her breasts are tender.
If the room hadn’t already been spinning, Hera would spring from the bed. Nausea, vomiting, no appetite, sore breasts. A hand comes over her mouth and for the first time today, it’s not because she feels like she’s going to vomit; it’s to cover a gasp of realization. Chopper has already been on her enough today; the last thing she needs is more curiosity from her droid about what’s wrong now.
Really, Hera doesn’t know what’s wrong but she thinks she does.
And she doesn’t know what to do about it.
-
By the time she arrives on Yavin IV, Hera is exhausted but hopeful. Outside of her body revolting against her and the dream that has caused her to dread sleep, the trip was uneventful. Mon Mothma accepts the flight data recorder from her and there’s a smile of understanding between the women. There’s little to be said because it needs to be uploaded. Hera excuses herself with plans to rest but Chopper prods her to the medcenter instead.
There’s not much of a wait; the base is surprisingly empty today, their small Rebellion scattered across the outer rim on various missions. The droid that does her exam tells her things that she already knows; she’s dehydrated, malnourished, and sleep deprived. She tells the droid the one thing she needs to know that she can’t confirm for herself; at least not without time and time isn’t a luxury the Rebellion has.
I need to know if I’m pregnant.
The words sound so foreign but the voice is hers. I need to know if I’m pregnant. They’ve never been careful because they’ve never been worried about something like that happening – healthy and sustaining hybrid pregnancies are literally one in every three million. She used to believe that it had something to do with the quantity of attempts; careful was something that happened on occasion when they had an excess of time for each other but barely barely even then.
Careful quit happening altogether nearly two years ago when they had resorted to sneaking into each other’s cabins in the middle of the night, or into the engine room, or whatever corner of the Ghost was available where the kids weren’t present for a round of fast and furious fucking. Really, its impressive that she’s pregnant just because most of the time they have to resort to fingers and mouths and things that get the job done fast because even getting undressed took up too much time.
Hera can count on one hand the amount of time that they’ve had more than ten minutes for each other in the past two months.
Apparently those times were enough because the droid confirms what she already knew.
She’s pregnant.
Pregnant, dehydrated, malnourished, and sleep-deprived.
None of them are a great combination for the ache in her chest and the feeling that part of her soul is missing and she chalks the two symptoms she doesn’t discuss up to the four diagnoses she’s been given. The dehydration and malnourishment are corrected with intravenous fluids with nutrients, the pregnancy is confirmed with just one more test and a scan, and sleep – well, she can sleep when the Rebellion is over.
The scan is what lingers in her mind. There’s not much to look at, a little clump so low in her pelvis that she hasn’t lost the concave of her abdomen. Though it couldn’t be heard with the scan, there was a small and rapid flicker in the little clump; a heartbeat. The droid determines that this means that the fetus is between six to seven weeks gestation. There’s no telling if it’s going to remain viable but it’s viable right now.
Prescriptions are offered to her; something to curb her nausea and something to take should she decide that she wants to terminate the pregnancy. Hera accepts both without question and doesn’t listen to the side effects as the droid drones on. When she checks out of the medcenter, she asks that the record be made confidential and checks the chronometer. She has just enough time to dry swallow a nausea pill and tuck the rest in her pocket and then stash the other meds on the Ghost before she meets with Mon Mothma.
Later, she’ll find time to tell Kanan.
They’ll have a decision to make; but really, what decision is there to be made? They’re in a war and a war is no place for a child.
-
A brilliant flash of flames engulf her and she bolts up in bed with a loud cry of Kanan’s name into the dark. Moments ago, she felt her skin burning up but when she runs her hands along her arms, she’s cold and clammy. Her gut starts to churn and she doesn’t waste time trying to fight it; she makes straight for the ‘fresher and slumps to the ground. Dry heaves rack her body and leave her feeling weak, her muscles trembling and mind foggy.
The ache in her chest and the separation of her soul has gotten worse. She’d read a holonet article that pregnancy hormones could cause vivid dreams but there had been nothing about dreams that lingered or the symptoms she was experiencing. Still, a nightmare had left her shaken before and she makes herself believe that’s what is causing it now. It’s been years since she’s had to deal with a nightmare alone; years that she’s been spoiled by her Jedi and the comfort of his arms on a dark night.
In a few days, she’ll have him back and things will feel right again.
Spectre One should be notified. Chopper whirs at her side.
“No, Chop. I’m fine,” Hera says gently. “We’ll be back on Lothal soon. I just need rest and I’ll get some more fluids before we leave.”
You’re not going to notify Spectre One?
Hera hazily wonders if it’s not just her symptoms that Chopper is referring to; if somehow the damn sneaky droid didn’t hack into the medcenter records. It’s a vague question and she gives a vague response. “I’ll notify Spectre One when we’re on our way back to Lothal.”
The answer is enough for Chopper.
The question of what happens after she notifies Spectre One overwhelms her.
Even though there’s a discussion to be had, meds to likely be taken, and a loss of their own making to be grieved, Hera still wants to be home and home is where Kanan is. The other half of her soul, the man who can soothe the ache in her chest. Everything else, they can figure out.
They always have.
They always will.
-
When Hera sees Kanan through the holoprojector, she wants to tell him then. The hole in her heart is gaping and her soul has shriveled and the dreams have only gotten worse and she knows it has something to do with Kanan. She’s reasoned with herself that it’s guilt for not telling him sooner, that it’s because she accepted the prescription from the medcenter droid without talking to Kanan first. She also knows that none of that is true.
It's something else but she doesn’t know what.
There’d been many times in their lives that she wished she could reach out through the holoprojector; to hold him in her arms or let him hold her. Today is no different but the need is more intense. Thoughts are screaming at her that there’s no time, that she’ll never get to hold him again, and it makes her gut churn. Even though he can’t look at her; she can see that he senses something.
It’s in the way he cocks his head to one side, the concerned grimace etched into the corners of his mouth. Sabine, Ezra, and Zeb make themselves scarce, somewhere out of the projection. She hears Ezra call after Ryder who doesn’t understand that there’s a reason to walk away. When they’re as alone as they’re going to get, Kanan’s voice is soothing.
Something is wrong.
The transmission isn’t the greatest and his words are tinny and his projection is flickering.
Hera doesn’t try to feign a smile or even an excuse to cover up the things that she’s feeling. “Something’s not right.”
It’s the only way that she can think to explain the maelstrom of things that she’s feeling while managing the symptoms of a pregnancy that they weren’t expecting but not exactly trying their best to prevent. Idly she wonders if it’s something he can sense through the Force but if he can, he’s not giving any indications.
Anything I can do now?
After she considers his question for a moment, she has nothing. Or nearly nothing. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Kanan.”
She doesn’t exactly know where that request came from; the dream that she can’t remember, the fear of losing him, the risk of the mission that she’s about to embark on, or the fact that they’ve already done something incredibly stupid.
There’s a huff of a laugh and an answer edged with hesitation.
I’ll do my best not to.
What Hera notices is that it’s not a promise that he won’t.
-
Kanan’s cheek beneath her palm is smooth. The long locks that she loves to weave her fingers through are gone. She’d told him not to do anything stupid and he’d gone and done it anyway. There’s something that she’s trying to tell him and everything is fuzzy and she can’t seem to find the words. Is it the baby? She thinks it must be because then he produces her Kalikori and he calls it a gift; it’s then that she realizes that he has to know.
The rest of it seems to happen too quickly, frames of moments and muffled words, and a searing ache in her chest. They’re both trying to tell each other something but they keep getting interrupted; blasters and an assassin, a change in plan of something, her ship set ablaze.
An explosion. Flames. His beautiful teal eyes.
A silent apology.
“Kanan!” Hera wakes in the same cold sweat that she has for the past week. This time the images are still there; the dream is still with her. The love of her life, swallowed up in flames, pushing her away. But it wasn’t Kanan – it didn’t look like Kanan.
Nausea causes her mouth to flood with saliva and she tries to lift her hand to squelch the bile rising in her throat. It’s only then that she realizes that she’s bolted down to a table. The room is empty save for an interrogation droid hovering above her with a threatening injector arm hovering inches away. Though the dream still weighs heavy on her, she wonders if the nausea isn’t some sort of a good sign that the Empire’s interrogation tactics haven’t taken the life inside her.
Then she wonders when she started wanting the life inside her to be there enough to give it consideration.
Hera tries to choke the bile back down and she lays her head back as far as she can; which is only a couple of inches. She tries to breathe her way through it, she tries holding her breath. When she realizes that none of that will work, her head lurches forward and she vomits, just barely missing her feet.
Let the Empire clean that up she thinks bitterly to herself.
It’s too bad that Pryce hadn’t been standing in front of her when she did it. That might have made the wave of nausea worth it. No sooner than she gives thought to the woman that she’d rather not see, she appears, her datapad controller in hand. Her eyes are as icy as ever when she casts a glance down at the mess that Hera has left her.
“Poor dear,” she says in mock sympathy. “Have I been too rough on you?”
The only answer that Hera gives her is a defiant sneer.
Cold hands grip her cheeks haird, fingernails digging into her flesh. The woman seems to want to say something but there really isn’t anything that she hasn’t said. She wants the Rebel fleet and Hera isn’t giving it up. She wants to know where the Rebels on Lothal are; like Hera would ever tell her that. She wants to know if the Rebels have greater plans.
The woman can do whatever she wants; she can starve her, fry her, torture her in any way that she sees fit. Hera will never give up the Rebellion and she’ll never give up her family.
She will never give up hope.
She will, however, give up her life if she has to.
Kanan can see their fight through to the end if she does; she knows that he will. Sabine, Ezra, Zeb, and Chopper – they’ll all work together to stop the Empire and shut the TIE defenders down. They’ll liberate Lothal and after that, the rest of the galaxy. They’ll do it for her if she can’t do it for herself.
Hera is half expecting the malevolent bitch before her to drug her, to try to drag the confessions out of her in a different way. She’s almost counting on it. Instead, she’s given mercy.
“Troopers, see to it that she’s hydrated and treated. We can’t have our precious asset fading before we get the information we need.” Pryce takes a moment to glare into Hera’s eyes. “Now, can we?”
There’s a certain darkness to the sadistic bitch’s gaze that Hera understands. This isn’t about the information; it’s about all the times she’s bested the Empire. It’s punishment for the TIEs she’s shot down and the Star Destroyers she has cost them. It isn’t just about getting the rebels.
It’s about getting revenge.
For the first time since the Empire has taken her into their custody, Hera thinks that she’d rather die.
-
Time passes in unknown increments. If Pryce isn’t hurting her just to hurt her, she’s caught in a dream that’s killing her and killing Kanan too. The heat of shockprods have accompanied the vision of flames more than once and left her with a pain that the Empire could never produce on its own. With the unbearable pain of the physical torture combined with her dark dreams, Hera has tried to will death to come find her at least once.
It didn’t work.
Pryce doesn’t question why she vomits so frequently; she’s only assumed it to be weakness.
Hera intends to keep it that way.
Or she intended to, anyway.
Apparently Thrawn is tired of waiting for Hera to break or he’s finally figured out that she isn’t going to. The injector arm of the interrogation droid draws near her and she clenches her jaw and withdraws ever so slightly. It’s the only outward sign of pain she wants to give. Instead she cries out when the thick needle pierces her skin and sends searing heat along her flesh. For one blissful second, everything fades to black and Hera thinks this is it.
Then there are three of Pryce standing before her and it isn’t it.
Vaguely she registers some sort of question and she hears her voice stammering and stumbling but it feels disembodied; like she’s not the one who is really speaking. The numbed logical part of her brain knows that this is the intended effect, that she has to stop herself from giving up her fleet and her family. Her eyes scan the room, trying to find anything to anchor to, a last tiny bit of reality.
Instead she finds Kanan.
It’s that same numbed logical part of her brain that starts screaming at her the moment he’s dispatched the troopers and the droid. That numbed logical part of her brain that is telling her you have to stop this when she’s smiling in awe and running her fingers along his newly shorn hair. She loves this man so much and she’s never said it enough. She silently promises herself to change that now; everything hurt a few moments ago and still she should hurt but she doesn’t – because Kanan is here and Kanan is hers.
The Kalikori in her hands surfaces some memory and it causes ache to blossom in her chest. “Kanan,” she says with a slightly perturbed sound that isn’t at all what she intended. She wants to ask what he’s doing, what he’s thinking. She wants to tell him what she’s seen. Instead what comes out is: “This is mine.”
Hera knows it’s not right. There’s something else that she needs to say to him. There’s something not right. When they’re scaling the wall of the Imperial complex, half of her soul feels like its starting to fade. The ache in her chest is there. The only thing that she can get out is that she’s never letting him go again, that he’s always been there for her.
There’s a moment that takes her breath away, though. A moment that she’s knelt over the gliders that their kids made and the way he says her name; a preamble to an apology, she thinks. She’s heard that tone from him before. For a heartbeat, time stops; she knows that something is coming before it actually does.
“Kanan, look out!” Another disembodied cry of her voice at an empty space. The cry has the desired effect though, because when the gray creature that assailed her after the botched mission appears, Kanan is ready. She watches with baited breath as he takes assassin on, Force sharpened reflexes against something alien that moves like it’s got the same gifts.
With a decisive downward slice of his saber, Kanan removes a limb from the creature and sends him sailing through the air with a gentle thrust of his hand. The leg falls to the ground with a dull thud. It seems like it should be over but Hera knows that it isn’t. She doesn’t have a chance to yell her warning this time, not before the blaster fire starts in on them.
Kanan deflects the blaster shots with ease and Hera dives for his side to grab his.
She hates his blaster. It’s huge and it’s old and it’s not her blurrg. Hera fires on two of the Imps but they keep coming and they have a way out, so she takes it.
“What are you doing?” He calls after her as she readies a glider.
“Time to go!” She calls back. Duh, Kanan. The ache in her chest gets stronger. Another piece of her soul fades. What is it? What is it? What is going on?
It’s not until Kanan is on the glider that the question is answered, that the last grips of whatever the droid injected her with finally lets go. Or possibly it’s that the fear of losing Kanan that takes hold instead.
“Can you make it to the fuel depot?” He asks.
“No.” Her voice is firm. The fuel depot is bad. It’s wrong. It’s the one place they can’t go. Hera’s eyes narrow in concentration and she leans into the glider using his body weight to veer away from the fuel depot. The burning wing on her right makes it easier to navigate away with his weight. Her ship set ablaze.
Something shifts under her glider and she looks over to see Kanan in that familiar state of concentration. She knows what he’s trying to do and she struggles against him powerlessly until they veer back on track. She yells at him, seething. “Kanan, stop it. I’m not taking us to the fuel depot.”
Kanan isn’t listening to her. He’s too busy trying to do what he wants. If she didn’t have to hold on, she’d reach out to him, distract him with her touch or with her kisses or with whatever she could. They can’t go to the fuel depot.
A wave of nausea to rushes over her with the ache in her chest and the slowly fading piece of her soul reminds her that she can distract him.
“Kanan, I’m pregnant.”
It’s unceremonious. It’s desperate. It’s a plea. It’s an emotional declaration not because of the implications of starting a family in the middle of a war but because somehow she knows that going to the fuel depot means that they’ll never be a whole family if they make it.
The unnatural weight against her glider releases. Hera uses the moment to veer them as far off course as possible, taking them toward tall buildings that will make it impossible to maneuver back to the fuel depot. The ache in her chest starts to release. The strength of her soul starts to return.
The nearest rooftop works as good as place as any to make their landing. It’s rough and Kanan goes tumbling off the glider like a rag doll. One day she’ll teach him to actually brace himself for a rough landing. Somehow, she knows that she’ll have another day to do it. And a day after that, and a day after that.
Still, even after he’s been thrown to the ground, he’s there two seconds later to help her up. If he starts doing this all the time, they’re going to have to have a talk about how being pregnant does not mean being fragile. She can stand up her damn self and she can take care of herself and if he thinks that she’s going to stop flying because she’s pregnant –
“Hera,” his voice draws her from her thoughts. There’s frustration in his tone but concern, too. “We needed to go there.”
It’s as if his touch siphons the last bit of drug from her system and with it, the emotions that accompany the hell she’s been through over the past couple weeks. “You were going to die. I don’t know how I know, I just – you can’t leave me, Kanan. Not like this. Not now.”
There’s something that registers on his face, something that says I wish you wouldn’t have said that because whatever resolve had been there a moment ago is gone. His arms wrap around her as her shoulders start to shake and vaguely she thinks that he knew what he was doing. He knew what going to the fuel depot meant.
“I told you not to do anything stupid,” she choked out against his chest. “Sacrificing yourself is stupid, Kanan.” It’s basically his own words; it’s the same thing he told her on Gorse when she was determined to get herself blown up Calcoraan Depot to shut Vidian down.
The beep of his comm interrupts any protest he had and Sabine’s voice fills the air around them. For the first time, Hera takes a moment to surveil their surroundings. The Empire doesn’t have a clue that they’re there. It’s dark and it’s quiet. Hera peers out over the side of the building and back at the glider. It would be a stretch but they could send the glider, if Kanan can guide it, back in the direction of the depot.
The flames. The explosion.
Hera spins on her heel to look at him in realization. “We have to blow up the fuel depot.”
“Yeah,” he says, frustrated. “I know that.”
“So we blow it up.” Hera takes his comm from him and Sabine sounds relieved to hear her voice but she quickly gets the girl back on track. She tells her she needs her to drop as many remote detonators as possible over the depot and then get the hell out; she’ll give her a signal when. Hera turns back to Kanan and places the comm link in his hand and she lets her palm rest against his for only a minute. “You have to send the glider toward the fuel depot. Make them think it’s us. Can you do that?” Hera pauses for a moment and clarifies, “Without being on it.”
Kanan gauges the distance and wordlessly nods. There’s a look of consternation on his face, a trace of dismay but it’s not that look she saw in her dreams. It’s not that silent apology; it’s not a quiet goodbye.
The ache in her chest is gone and her soul feels whole but Kanan is distant.
Maybe the drugs aren’t out of her system because she’s finding it hard to focus on the mission and it’s a feeling she doesn’t enjoy. The mission has always been her priority, it’s always been the one place she’s at peace even in the middle of a war – and now it’s the last thing on her mind. Her thoughts are racing and her heart is racing along with them. Her vision blurs at the edges as she watches the glider ease through the air and sees one lone gunship hovering over the depot.
Several other gunships start racing in the direction of the first and Hera leans into the permacrete ledge. Something doesn’t feel right. “Kanan,” she musters his name but not much else. She’s trying to keep her focus on the kids. Three things happen at once: the glider skims the top of the pods and a shot fired from the ground sets it ablaze as it makes contact with the fuel pods, the pod explodes and sends the gunship hovering over it spinning out of control, and everything goes black.
-
It isn’t a dream that pulls Hera from the warmth of sleep but more of the overwhelming nausea. When her eyes snap open and she scrambles for the fresher or anywhere that isn’t where she’s sleeping, she realizes that she doesn’t know where she is. Kanan’s voice registers behind her but she’s flying down an unfamiliar corridor until she finds the fresher. She drops to her knees and heaves, just like she has every morning for the past several days.
This time, there’s a gentle hand along her sweat slickened back.
Hera rests her forehead against her arms and closes her eyes again. She’d give anything for the meds that she’d gotten on Yavin right now. Both of them, because she’s fairly certain that whatever she’s growing is trying to kill her first. Then the memories resurface of the other kids, their first kids and in between shuddering breaths she gets out, “Kids?”
Kanan seems to hesitate a moment before he answers. “They’re okay.”
If she could lift her head to eye him warily, she would. Instead she just says, “Details.”
There’s a heavy sigh and the gentle hand along her back turns into a tight grip on her shoulder. “Sabine is fine, just a little scraped up. Ezra is – “ More hesitation hangs between them. “The doors of the gunship were open when the explosion happened. His injuries are a little more severe.”
Finally, Hera forces her head up to look at him. “A little more severe how?”
“He’ll be fine, Hera. We’re getting both of you off of Lothal and you’ll both be fine.”
She can tell that he’s not convinced by his own words. “What were his injuries, Kanan?”
His jaw clenches and for a moment she’s distracted by how different he looks with his bared face; how his frustration is more plainly noticeable without the beard to hide behind. She doesn’t like it.
“He’s burned. We think he has a head injury but none of us are medics.”
“Is he awake?” She asks, starting to push herself off the ground. “Where is he? I want to see him.” She should have never sent them to the fuel depot. There could have been a different way; she should have never tried to come up with a plan while she was still under the influence of whatever the Empire gave her. If Ezra dies, it will be her fault.
She was trying to save Kanan and she could have potentially cost herself another part of their family in his stead.
Kanan steadies her as she comes to her knees, “Slow down, Hera. You’re in no better shape than he is.”
“I’m fine,” she seethes. “Being pregnant is not a traumatic injury.”
“Says the woman who passed out and tried to go sailing over the side of a building in the process.” His arm wraps around her protectively, “Slow. Down.”
“But Kanan, what if I – “ she starts to ask but she doesn’t know how to frame the question. What if I killed Ezra? What if we can’t get off Lothal and he dies? What will we do if we lose Ezra?
“Slow down.” Kanan repeats himself for the third time and this time its more gentle. “Ezra will be okay. He’s resting. He wakes up, he follows commands, he answers questions. Zeb is keeping a close eye on him. Ryder is trying to find us a way out of here.”
Already she feels unsteady on her feet and the room is spinning around her. It’s the same way she felt on Yavin before they gave her fluids; it’s the lack of food from being stuck with the Empire and the thing she’s growing siphoning the bit of energy she does have to grow. Her hand falls to her stomach halfway down the corridor.
“Need to go back?”
Hera doesn’t move her hand. There’s a life in there; a life that’s still in there despite all the odds, despite the rough landing with the X-Wing, despite the things the Empire did. There’s a life in there that they made together. “No,” she finally says.
Kanan guides her back to small bed; really bed is a generous term – it’s pallets with a crude mattress atop it – and helps her ease back down. The second she’s lying down, the room stops spinning and her muscles stop quivering. She needs to keep something down and she’d be fine. She needs the meds that were left in her X-Wing.
Maybe just the ones for the nausea.
Her hand still rests low over her stomach.
There’s a life in there.
Kanan’s hand is so much bigger than hers when it splays across the back of her hand, fingertips brushing against her abdomen beyond her reach. The look on his face tells her that he’s not just resting his hand against hers; he’s reaching beyond it. The slightest of smiles on his face tells her that he’s found what he’s looking for.
She’s scared for so many reasons but his smile makes her smile, too. The smile fades just as quickly, “I told you nothing stupid for a reason.”
There’s a slight quirk of his brow and the smile melts away. “I know.”
“Did you?” she counters. “Did you know?”
His silence is answer enough.
“You can’t do that to me, Kanan. You can’t do that to us.” Hera doesn’t know if she means us by their family or if she means us by the life beneath their palms.
“I was doing what was right.” There’s regret in his tone that she hears and she isn’t sure that it’s regret that he was going to do what he thought he had to do or regret that he didn’t. “When the time comes, a Jedi is supposed to be willing to sacrifice themselves for something greater. That’s why the Order preached against attachments. That’s why we aren’t supposed to let ourselves become attached to any one person or thing to a degree that we can’t answer when the Force calls.”
She pulls her hand away from his. “Yeah, well, I answered it for you. You can’t do that to me.”
Kanan’s hand follows hers and he takes hold of it tightly. “How did you know?”
Hera doesn’t fight his grip on hers. She almost lost him. She’s not fool enough to waste their time together being angry at him. “Something worse than nightmares,” she starts to explain. “When they started I couldn’t remember anything. I just woke up panicked. I felt like there was a part of me missing. They just kept getting worse and they wouldn’t stop. It was like I could feel the fire, Kanan. Then you asked if I could make it to the fuel depot and I just knew that was – “ Her voice breaks slightly, “I just knew that was where you were going to die.”
“Those weren’t nightmares. Those were visions.” Kanan says and his voice is filled with a small degree of wonder.
“Visions?” she scoffs. “I don’t have visions.”
Kanan’s fingertip taps against her abdomen, “I think it’s this one that made it so you could.”
“Wait,” she starts and turns her head to face him. “You think that – that,” she struggles to find a word to decide whatever this life is between them is. The word ‘it’ seems derogatory and the word ‘baby’ is terrifying. “You think because I’m pregnant that I could see what was going to happen?”
“Yes. Unless you’ve been hiding something from me for ten years?” There’s a bit of a grin that tugs at his lips when he says it.
Hera shifts her hand from beneath his and cups his cheek instead. Already there’s stubble where the skin was smooth the night before. Thank the stars the man is like a wookie; she knows that the hair on his head will take a while but his face will be normal sooner rather than later. “Then I guess I’ll muster forgiveness for the unending nausea since you’re still here.”
He leans heavily into her palm for a moment and then turns his head to press a kiss into her hand. “Ryder is working on getting some meds smuggled from the medcenter for that. We should still try to get something into you if you think you can hold it down.”
She sighs softly, already dreading the end result if she can’t. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
-
The miracle that Ryder managed to smuggle some antiemetics out of a medcenter was one that Hera will never stop appreciating. She’s thankful for the fact that she’s keeping things down and actively not paying attention to the fact that she’s lost enough weight that her flight suit is a size too big. It’s easy to ignore because they’ve got a mission.
And it’s getting off of Lothal.
When Kanan told her that Ezra had a head injury but he was following commands, she hadn’t considered the other things that a head injury could mean. Repetitive phrases, forgetting full conversations ten minutes later, a change in personality – he’s alive but he’s not Ezra, not like this. The burns are bad but the head injury is worse.
“The Jedi Temple,” he tells her for the tenth time in as many minutes. He never expands more than those three words but they make him agitated.
“I know, Ezra.” It’s the best she can do to try to soothe him. She doesn’t know what else to say except that she’s sorry. This is her fault; she stopped Kanan from dying and in the process, she did this to Ezra.
“The Temple.”
Hera squeezes his hand. She blinks back tears. Somehow the thought surfaces that if she’d been given the choice between losing Kanan and this that she still doesn’t know what she would do. It makes her feel like a horrible person, selfish and uncaring. There’s still a chance that Ezra could come back from this, though.
Kanan wouldn’t have come back from the dead.
“Hera, the Temple.”
“Tell me about the Temple, Ezra.” She’s only asked him this twenty times.
The only answer she gets is the same words and she sighs softly. The feeling of two strong hands on her shoulders and a gentle squeeze draws her out of herself and she looks up at Kanan. Her hand comes to rest over his but she doesn’t say anything.
“Kanan, the Temple.”
His brow furrows and he looks down at her. “When did he start doing that?”
“What do you mean?” she asks quietly. “That’s all he ever says to me. I thought that’s what he was doing?”
“He’s never said anything about the Temple to any of us.” Kanan kneels beside Ezra and tries to draw his attention, what little Ezra has.. “What about the Temple?”
“That doesn’t work I’ve – “ Hera starts to interrupt but she’s cut off.
“It’s in danger.”
Hera’s eyes widen in surprise and she looks at Kanan with that surprised gaze. “That’s new. He didn’t say that before.”
Kanan doesn’t answer because he’s doing the thing where he’s reaching out through the Force. Sometimes she wishes that she could see what he sees; if it’s glimpses of the present or some foreboding visions of the future that cloud his thoughts. After the dreams she had, though, the way they felt so real – she doesn’t know that she could handle the Force as a full time job.
“He’s right.” His voice finally breaks her train of thought.
“The Temple?” she asks. “It’s in danger how?”
“The Empire is there. We need to go.”
“Master and Padawan.” Ezra insists and he starts to sit up.
Hera reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, “No, Ezra you can’t – “
Kanan bristles when she tries to stop him. “He’s not wrong, Hera. He and I, we have to do this together.”
“But – “
“If the Empire figures out the secrets of the Jedi Temple, this Rebellion is over.” There’s finality and frustration in his tone. It’s the same tone that laces his words any time they discuss what their next move is. It’s a tone that says ‘There was already a plan. There was a path. Now there isn’t.’
When she opens her mouth to argue that there’s no way that Ezra can do this in the condition he’s in, Ezra himself interrupts her. “The Temple, Hera. I can do this.”
It’s a new phrase and it’s still partially repetitive but it’s also attuned to the conversation. Hera relents because Kanan sees the things that she can’t. If the Force can do crazy shit like showing her that the man she loves had promised himself to the flames through the thing she’s growing, who is she to question if the Force can somehow fix Ezra to do this? She hopes it will fix him forever.
“If we’re doing this, we’re all doing it together.” Hera says quietly and looks at Kanan. I’m pregnant. I’m not fragile or broken or falling apart. This is my family and my crew and I’m going to protect all of you. That’s what she wants to say. Instead she tells him, “I’ll hang back with Zeb and Chopper. We can figure out the rest when we get there.”
There’s concern clear on Kanan’s face like he wants to argue with her but half of a heartbeat later, he gives a nearly imperceptible nod. She knows that he understands that if the Rebellion is at stake that the galaxy is, too. Anything and everything will have to be put on the line to see that the Rebellion is successful; even the possibility of their own child.
-
Hera stands in the place where the Temple once stood, amidst the fog of the morning and in the golden glow of the rising sun. She still isn’t sure what happened or where it went but whatever needed to be done seems done. Waiting to see if it brings Ezra back to them; that’s a waiting game. He’s been unconscious since the Temple fell, exhausted in the Force or so Kanan says.
He seems exhausted, too.
She finds her hand subconsciously on her stomach, no longer flat but only slightly distended. There’s a life in there and it’s growing. Kanan is supposed to be here for this and what she did wasn’t selfish. The TIE defender program is dead, the Temple is safe; now she just needs Ezra to come back to them.
They need to get off Lothal.
Arms wrap around her from behind, a palm splayed over the back of her hand. “I can hear you thinking all the way out here.”
“Liar,” she retorts softly. She knows it’s the truth.
Kanan sighs softly and holds her just a little tighter. “What’s done is done. There’s no point in either one of us dwelling on it. Maybe I saw my path in the Force and maybe you had your guidance and we’re right where we’re supposed to be.”
For a long moment, she’s quiet, absorbing his words. When she speaks, it’s in a strained voice, her throat tight with emotion. “Then why do I feel like the only thing I did was make things worse because I was being selfish?”
“You weren’t – “ he starts but Hera cuts him off.
“I couldn’t lose you. I wasn’t thinking about our family. I wasn’t thinking about the Rebellion. I wasn’t thinking about anything except for the fact that I’m pregnant and that I couldn’t lose you. I put everything else at stake because I needed you. If that isn’t selfish, I don’t know what is.”
The long quiet returns between them because really, what is there to be said? He can’t convince her that she wasn’t making a selfish decision but when the choice is life and death, it’s easier to accept the decision if you’re deciding your own fate. To know that the fate of the person you love, your other half, is to sacrifice themselves, it’s no longer a decision that’s acceptable.
She would have died for the Rebellion in the custody of the Empire. He was willing to die for the Rebellion at that fuel depot.
He saved her and she saved him.
Maybe it wasn’t selfishness.
They were just saving each other.
Hera finally ask the question that’s killing her the most. “What if we don’t get Ezra back?”
“We will.” The words sound like a promise.
Hera turns in his arms to raise her eyes to his. Her hand runs over the rough stubble of his cheek, fingertips tracing along his jaw. It’s not something she would have told him before but it’s something she needs him to know now. “I can’t do this without you, Kanan.”
“You could if you had to.” His words are gentle and soft. “You’re strong enough, Hera.”
“Fine. I don’t want to do this without you.”
He smiles faintly but it’s a sad smile. “We figured out another way. You don’t have to do this without me.” Before she can argue his word, he pulls her into his body and wraps his arms tightly around her. Enveloped in his warmth, all she can do is lay her head against his chest and listen to the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear.
He’s alive. He’s with her.
Their family is intact.
All except Ezra.
-
It’s a bit complicated, getting off of Lothal. The blockade is more formidable than ever, keeping Ezra calm is a full time job, and finding somebody willing to smuggle them out is nearly impossible. It takes Hera telling Calrissian that she’s pregnant to finally get him agree.
Kanan, you sly dog, you. The projected image says in that smarmy tone.
Hera rolls her eyes and they work out their terms; it’s still too costly but they don’t have a choice.
The Empire will come looking for them and Ezra needs a medcenter. He seems to be clearing for the most part but the repetitive stuff is still there. It’s shifted now, though, since the Temple is safe. Now his words are more agitated, more insistent on not leaving Lothal. He keeps bringing up purrgils. Kanan can’t seem to make sense of it and there are hundreds of systems in danger – as much as Hera wants to help Ezra liberate Lothal, she wants him to recover more.
So they leave Lothal in the belly of a tramp freighter, crammed tightly into cargo freights with masking arrays fixed to the outside of the crates. Kanan takes Ezra duty, guiding him through meditation which seems to be keeping him quiet. Zeb is in his own crate and it will be a miracle if he isn’t snoring in five minutes; not that the Empire should hear that.
Hera finds herself left alone with Sabine for the first time since the fuel depot. Most of the scrapes and bruises left over from the explosion have resolved and she seems no worse for the wear. She’s still the brazen and brash and brilliant young woman that she’s come to know and love. That is, when she’s not being frustrating.
“So pregnant, huh?” Sabine asks quietly. “That’s a new tactic.”
There’s a huff of a laugh from Hera. There’s no point in hiding it because it’s going to make itself obvious sooner or later. “It’s definitely not a tactic.”
The expression on Sabine’s face is barely readable in the dim light left through the holes of the crate but it seems possibly pleased; maybe amused. “Tough kid to survive what the Empire can do to a person.”
A faint smile tugs at Hera’s lips. It’s not a way that she’d framed the situation in her mind; she’s been consumed with questions of how they can possibly raise a child in a war, what if there are more Inquisitors to hunt it down, what if It’s growing but there’s some sort of defect? None of the things that she’s thought has anything to do with how strong it could be.
“You’re scared,” Sabine’s words aren’t uncharacteristically soft; it’s just a tone she rarely takes. It’s the tone she takes when she’s showing somebody that she loves them in the only way she knows how. “You know that no matter what happens, our family is always going to look out for it. They’ll have to go through an army to get to that kid. Literally.”
It feels wrong, talking to Sabine about the possibility of all of it, especially when she hasn’t had more than five minutes to discuss it with Kanan. The words come out anyway. “Maybe it was something I wanted, eventually. I wanted to see the Empire fall more. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to see.”
Sabine’s hand closes around hers. “You and I both know that there’s nothing that’s going to stop you from seeing this through to the end. It’s okay to want something good in this galaxy and it’s even better to have something good.”
There’s a soft sigh that leaves Hera’s lips. She still can’t stop thinking about what she’s cost the galaxy in wanting her something good. She can’t help but wonder if she’s altered the course of the Rebellion for that moment of sheer selfishness. Her hand finds her stomach and there’s a life in there. “If I had thought about it, really thought about it before; I wouldn’t have wanted it to be while we’re still waging war against the Empire.”
“We have to be getting close to the end of this. We shut down their factories on Lothal. It’s only a matter of time before they start to crumble elsewhere. So what if it’s coming into a war? It’s going to be over before it’s old enough to actually remember it.”
Hera gives the slightest of nods. That much she wants to believe; she’s been telling Kanan for months that she had a feeling that the tide was turning and that this was almost over. He’s been pushing for months to put a firm definition on what they are, to discuss their future together. Maybe the galaxy had plans for them and wouldn’t be refused any longer.
She doesn’t plan on refusing what she’s known for years any more either.
It’s not something that she’s going to say anymore on. Instead she changes the topic to one just as unbearable for her. “I should have never put you and Ezra in the line of fire like that. If I had known that – “
Sabine’s hand that’s holding her’s squeezes tightly. “No, we’re fine. Ezra will be fine. We did what we had to do to shut down that depot and we did. You and Kanan would have done the same.”
That was the thing, though. Kanan wanted to do the same, he was willing to give his life to do the same. Hera stopped him – she wasn’t the one who would have done the same. “You both got hurt.”
“I’m fine,” she says, eschewing Hera’s concern. “And Ezra will be, too. He’s already getting better. I’m sure once we get him back to Yavin they’ll have him figured out. I’ve seen stuff like that all the time on Mandalore. I know he’ll come out of it.”
“Have you ever seen somebody not come out of it?” Hera’s question is laced with hesitation. She doesn’t really want to know the answer.
Never anything less than honest, Sabine gives her answer. “Only a handful of times. Their injuries were a lot worse than Ezra’s, though. What Ezra has, maybe it takes time to heal from, but he can heal from it. And it wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing that they would be dumb enough to fire on their own fuel depot.”
Hera doesn’t say that somehow she did know that they would and that when they did it would have killed Kanan. She doesn’t say that she should have known that they’d fire on the pods no matter what. Instead, she lays her head back against the side of the crate and with Sabine’s hand wrapped around hers while she waits for the gentle hum of hyperspace so that indicates that they’ve safely made it out of the system.
-
The moment they land on Yavin IV, Hera is determined to see to it that Ezra is taken care of before anything else; whatever she needs can wait until they have a diagnosis and a prognosis. A little dehydration hasn’t killed her yet and she managed to keep a ration bar down earlier in the day. Ezra takes priority.
Kanan has other plans.
She finds herself stuck in a bed, fluids running into her veins and a somewhat frustrated man sitting at her side. The frustration is most likely her fault for being argumentative when he’s just trying to take care of her. They need to have their discussion about how she isn’t fragile and how she’s still going to fight and obviously now isn’t the best time.
Hera extends a peace offering. “They said they wanted to do another scan. Make sure everything still looks good.”
It’s not like he can see it though. Even if this pregnancy is normal and even if they have this baby, he’ll never see their child. Not like she can. Not like he deserves to.
“I don’t need a scan to tell you that he’s good.” Kanan says assuredly and a bit of the crankiness seems to fade with his words.
A brow raises on Hera’s forehead, “He?”
It’s obvious that Kanan is struggling to cover a smile when he answers. “He. I’m sure of it.”
Hera wants to scowl but his threatening smile is infectious. That frustrated edge to his tone and that etched face of concern is gone and all she sees is love. It doesn’t stop her from protesting her forced medical intervention. “If he’s fine, then obviously I didn’t need to be in here.”
“He’s fine,” Kanan clarifies. “You are not. You needed those fluids and you need meds. I don’t have to see you to know that you’re not getting enough in.” His hand takes hers and he runs his thumb along the back of her hand gently. His question he asks catches her off guard when he asks, “Are we really doing this?”
Searching his face, she tries to see if there’s an answer he wants to hear. But his expression is intent only on her, only the things that she wants. “When I found out, they gave me the prescription for the nausea meds and then they gave me a different prescription for – “ she pauses and tries to find a delicate way to say it but comes up with nothing. “A prescription in case this isn’t what we wanted. I just held onto it because I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. And I don’t know if it’s too late for all of that now or not.”
“Do you want it?” His voice is gentle and the question is honest. He isn’t trying to push her into a decision; he genuinely wants to know what she wants. Of course he would do that, of course he would bite back the smile at the realization that what she’s carrying is his son. Of course he would give her the chance to make a decision if there’s still time to make one.
“We’re still fighting a war,” she says softly. “And I don’t intend to stop fighting. I’m seeing this through to the end, Kanan. If we do this, you can’t ask me to give up on everything that we’ve done for the past ten years. I’m going to fight until I can’t and then I’m still going to help the Rebellion however I can until this is over.”
He seems to weigh the words for a moment before he responds. “That’s not really an answer to the question.”
“Kanan Jarrus, you are a pain in my tchin,” she sighs. “I could have lost you. Maybe before I wasn’t giving consideration to a future until after the Empire was gone. But now I am. I know I want us and yeah, I think maybe I want this. Maybe we can still do good while having good, too. If you understand that I’m still going to fight.”
“Am I allowed to give you grief for it even if I know that there’s no stopping you?” There’s a sarcastic drawl to his voice when he asks.
“Occasionally. Do it all the time and I’ll throw you out of the airlock.”
There’s a huff of a laugh from Kanan and he rises from his seat to sit on the edge of the cot instead. “And if you end up grounded at some point? Then what?”
The question makes her bristle. She hates the idea of being grounded but it’s already crossed her mind once. “Then I’d refrain from those sarcastic comments you’re planning on making while I’m trying to coordinate things from the ground if you know what’s good for you.”
Kanan leans over to wordlessly press a kiss to her brow.
“Do you want this?” It’s a question that she doesn’t need to ask because she already knows. All Kanan has ever wanted is a life with her; whether it was traveling the stars, fighting at her side, and more recently – considering their future together. He loves her, he always has, and he’ll follow her to the ends of the galaxy. And she's carrying his son.
“I just want a life with you, Hera.” His words are barely more than a whisper and lying beneath them is an unspoken apology. “It’s something I almost didn’t have. So if that means we’re doing this or if it we’re not, I don’t care. I just want a life with you.”
She seizes the opportunity to use his words against him. “That’s not really an answer to the question.”
“Do I want to give you grief for not getting enough sleep the next six and a half months or whatever time frame we’re on? Do I want to make running the galley my full time job to make sure you're getting enough to eat while you're causing more hell for the Empire and simultaneously growing a person? Do I want to spend that many months in an unending state of frustration trying to make sure that you’re looking after yourself while you look after the galaxy while growing our son?” he prods gently. “Yeah. I really do.”
Hera’s fingers lace with his. There’s so many things running through her mind but somehow, someway, she knows they’ll see the other side of this war. “Then I guess we’re doing this.”
-
“I told you he’d be fine,” Sabine announces as she plops unceremoniously at the end of Ezra’s bed. “He’s already obnoxious again.”
“Because repeating himself every four minutes wasn’t obnoxious?” Zeb grins toothily. “I’ll take this Ezra any day.”
Ezra is obviously tired, Hera can tell when she looks at him. But it doesn’t stop him from engaging in the conversation. “Glad to know you were concerned.”
“I wasn’t.” Sabine shrugs. “I’ve seen way worse. Next time you’ll remember to keep your helmet on.”
“Alright,” Hera chides the two of them. “You saw with your own two eyes that he’s back to normal. Now you can let him rest.”
“Sounds like she’s planning on putting you to work tomorrow,” Zeb says in a feigned whisper. “Better get all the rest you can tonight.”
Hera sends a cross look in Zeb’s direction that sends him toward the doors without another word. She watches as Sabine gives a light nudge of his shoulder with her fist before she leaves too. She’s left standing at the end of Ezra’s bed, their first son, the one who will be okay and she finally feels a sense of relief.
That relief is still intermingled with guilt.
Settling herself into the chair at the side of his bed, she looks up at him. There’s a drain in his head that’s letting out the excess fluid that had built up from a fracture; at least that’s how the medic had explained it. After a few days it can come out and he should be just fine; he just has to take it easy for a while. Hera’s busy searching for the words to apologize that any of this happened but Ezra is the first to speak.
“You were the only one that could have talked him out of that.”
Hera’s eyes dart up to Ezra’s in surprise. “You knew?”
“I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure. It was just a feeling. Some of the things that he’s said recently, before you even left for Yavin with the data recorder. I saw it then. He kept talking about all of the paths coming together and the possibility of not liking where they would lead. I think he’s known for a long time.” The words leave Hera alternating between an indescribable pain that she couldn’t see those things and overwhelmingly reassured that Ezra really will be fine.
She makes a mental note to ask Kanan about paths that were supposed to come together later; it’s not particularly another concern she wants to take on but she needs to know if something she did could have altered the future of the Rebellion. If there’s countermeasures that she needs to plan for now. But those are questions for Kanan; not concerns for Ezra.
“It’s a good thing I was around to keep him in line.” It’s not much of an answer but it’s the only thing she can come up with that’s benign but then she thinks to add, “I don’t know much about the Force, Ezra. But I do know that there is always another way. Just…remember that, okay?”
The words are Hera’s way of telling him to don’t go trying to pull any stunts like Kanan tried to pull.
Ezra smiles sleepily and gives a faint nod. “I will.”
-
It’s likely not a coincidence that they have the Ghost to themselves. Sabine and Zeb are sleeping on the base, Ezra is in the medcenter, and Chopper is using the docking stations inside the base to charge. His eyes sparkle with mischief as if he can actually see her changing out of her flight suit and pulling on the shirt of his that she claimed long ago. Maybe it’s the rustle of her clothes coming off or the way the air shifts around him that he can sense it but he always turns in her direction when it involves the removal of clothing.
“I don’t suppose its your doing that the ship is all ours?”
“The ship is all ours?” The grin on his face clearly answers yes.
Hera doesn’t bother with slipping into her normal spot between him and the bulkhead because she knows that if his plans come to fruitions – and they will – there’s not to much point in making herself comfortable. She lays on her stomach at his side and traces her fingers through the beard that’s grown in; it’s not as long as it used to be but at least he’s not bare faced anymore. The difference in his appearance reminds her of the discussion she had with Ezra. “How long did you know?”
His brow furrows in confusion at the question. “Know what?”
“That you were going to do whatever noble thing you thought you’d do,” she elaborates quietly.
“For sure? The night before I came to rescue you from the Imperials.”
“And before that?”
An arm wraps around her protectively, as if holding her can save her from the realities of falling in love with a Jedi. “Years, maybe? It wasn’t anything ever definitive. It was just a feeling.”
Her arm wraps around him like holding onto him can change the fact that his gift come with a hefty price. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The words hang between them for a few long moments before he answers. “When I knew, I did try to tell you. I started to – then things kept coming too quickly. Before that? Because I was selfish.”
“Selfish?” She asks with an arched brow.
“Selfish,’ he repeats. “I just wanted to love you.”
The pad of her thumb slides over his lower lip as she takes in the words. “If you think that knowing I could lose you one day would have stopped me from falling in love with you, you’re wrong.” For a brief second, she relaces the pad of her thumb with her lips and then pulls back. There’s only one other question that lingers in her mind, one last bit of guilt that tugs at her heart. “What I did, when I stopped you. Did it change anything?”
“Honestly?” he asks. “I don’t know. The galaxy is constantly in flux and the future is never set in stone. The TIE defender program is done and it’s not a threat to the Rebellion. Palpatine didn’t gain access to the Temple because we put a stop to it. Those were the only things that I was shown; the things that put you and our family and the Rebellion in danger. If was my place to stop those things and I did. Maybe something else is supposed to happen but whatever it is, I know that we’ll make it through.”
“All of us will make it through,” she says firmly. “No more planning Jedi suicide missions. I’m not the only one who needs you around now.”
There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in his voice when he makes his vow. “Not even the Force will keep me from loving you and our son for the rest of our very long lives.”
With his words, their lips come together once more in a deep and desperate kiss. The frustration and fear that have been pent up for weeks comes to a head as their tongues meet. Fingertips scrape flesh and clothes are discarded in various directions. When Kanan covers her body with his, she readily welcomes him into her arms.
She could have lost this, she could have lost him.
There’s a way to win this war without compromising the love she has for this man, it's what she knows now. He’s beside her no matter what they face. He’ll support her no matter what she does. The least she can do in return is love him without reserve.
And she will.
Kanan’s hand slips between her legs as he leaves a trail of kisses along her neck. His fingertips rough slow and agonizing circles along her clit and then slides down further to dip just barely inside her and then to drag moisture back upward. He kisses his way to her clavicles and the valley between her breasts as he continues to tease her just enough with his fingers that she’s begging for him to bury himself inside her.
“Love, please,” she murmurs, using the leg she’s hooked around his him to attempt to draw him into her.
In answer, he grips his shaft and ruts himself against her. The swollen head of his cock brushes her clit and she gasps softly, hips jerking upward for more. When he presses into her, it’s slow and it’s easy. It’s centimeter by centimeter until he’s stretched her and filled her to the hilt and it’s sweet painful bliss.
There’s no gentle roll of his hips to see if she’s ready, no cautious look in his gaze. All they need now is the pleasure they can take from each other and that sets the pace of their lovemaking; hard and greedy and frantic. His strong hands grip her hips and pull her into him with every harsh thrust of his hips. With the ship to themselves, she gives him all the cries and whimpers and pleas that they usually have to keep to whispers.
With his hands otherwise occupied, Hera moves her fingertips to her clit and rubs at the swollen bud, desperate for that release, desperate to feel him driving through her tightened cunt as she comes. His strokes become more fierce as she touches herself, hips hammering into her with unforgiving strength. She reaches her peak with a loud cry of his name, every muscle in her body seizing at once.
Before her hand that had been between her legs falls to her side, Kanan catches it in his and runs his tongue across her fingertips to taste her. His tongue against the tips of her fingers drives her ascent higher and now she’s clamped down on him tight. His hips jerk recklessly, wild and uncontrolled until he spills into her with a loud groan. With a few final staggering thrusts, he’s fully spent and there’s a breathless smile on his face.
There’s one on hers, too.
Kanan eases back onto the bunk next to her carefully and he waits until she’s in her typical position – head against his shoulder, a leg tangled between his, and one hand splayed across his chest – until he wraps his arms around her. His lips brush her temple and he tells her he loves her; she answers without hesitation.
She’s not holding back anymore.
The galaxy they live in is a nightmare. It’s a complete state of chaos and things will get worse before they get better. She knows that whatever comes tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year – they’ll face it together; really together. It’s a small privilege she’s never allowed herself in all of the years of her fighting against the empire; considering a future of her own over that of the galaxy.
There’s sweat on her brow as her eyes slip closed. Her breaths come slow and deep as she lies in the arms of the man she loves. The fullness that blossoms in her chest is the all-encompassing love for this man that holds her, the one who completes her soul.
Before she drifts off to sleep, she’s already dreaming.
Dreaming of their future together.