Archive of Our Own ^beta

 “I’m going to find you.” 

The doors swooshed behind her, the light from the galley no longer bleeding into her room. Streaks of water raced down her legs, puddling in place where she stood. Tightening the towel around her, she brought her hands to her face, tracing her cries and rubbing out the puffiness around her eyes. She stared back at herself, the mirror cracked but still usable. There had been a commotion between herself and Chopper, a time before the ship had been more than just the two of them. She couldn’t recall the argument, but she remembered Chopper’s disgruntled wheeze and a crackle of volts spitting from him, aimed at the mirror and not her. He didn’t like being referred to as ‘rustbucket’ and Hera hadn’t called him that since, leaving the broken mirror in place to remind her. 

She saw her own red-rimmed eyes from multiple angles through the fragments of the mirror. Several versions of herself stared back, proving that she was in midst of an ongoing state of self-destructing with Kanan gone. Fulcrum ordered Hera not to retrieve him, not to perform some reckless rescue mission. It cracked her heart perfectly in two. It was obvious she was always going to care for him; he was her first crewmate, a companion of sorts and someone she could always confide in. Except about rebellion information and any data they’d retrieve on missions, and there was also the whole dancing around feelings situation. Dropping her head into her hands, she sighed. There was no-one to dance with now. 

They didn’t do gifts, they didn’t do proof. They showed their affection indifferently, only to each other. They danced around it as captain and crew which had been exciting at times, and then barely mentioned it when the additional crew came aboard. There was something in the air between them, waiting for either one of them to inhale, take a breath and say something. Something she wasn’t sure of. Then, with less opportunities to converse alone, the subject slipped into silence and never recovered. 

Then more recently, just before Ezra joined their crew, there was - there may have been something. Hera was almost nodding off in the cockpit, legs stretched ahead of her on the console. She recognised the sound that belonged to Kanan’s familiar footsteps. She recalled feeling very awake when he walked into her view sporting a green sweater under his usual armoury. Hera couldn’t pull her eyes from him. 

“I like green.” Kanan had said effortlessly, enjoying her gaze on him, all over him.

While she thought of him and then tried not to think of him, her cabin had fallen into disarray around her. There were garments she forgot existed piled around her, thrown askew when the drawer had finally allowed Hera to yank it fully from its chamber. Then another drawer was turned upside-down, a makeshift cart she threw what she required into. She lifted herself from the floor, collection in hand. She spared a glance to the floor, almost feeling embarrassment for the desperate lengths she was going to. She shifted the drawer onto her hip that could support the weight better, losing any idea of shame at the same time. She was desperate, absolutely. There wasn’t time to tidy the rejected clothes, then she threw her head back, eyeing the floor again. In a few hours, the crew would wake to find her gone, and they’d check her cabin, alarmed at the disarray and lose their minds with worry. They would do that regardless, actually. Hera wouldn’t be there come morning and they would panic regardless if her cabin was suitable or not. Still, she kicked clothes into makeshift piles before turning to leave, darting into the cabin opposite hers. 

When the doors shuttered behind her, she fell against it, her back moulding with the smoothness of the metal. Her eyes locked to the drawer where she knew his holocron and lightsaber were kept, hidden away. Then her heart panged, the holocron was inside, but the lightsaber was arrested with him and taken to Tarkin’s ship. 

She knew who he was, had done from the start when he prevented a collapsing catwalk from crushing her. The lightsaber had come later. He was a skilled fighter, Hera had watched in awe when he effortlessly danced with thugs and sleemos, always having the upper-hand. He told her breathlessly, moments after a thug had fallen, that he was cheating when brawling, that the Force assisted him. He didn’t say Force out loud because he wasn’t a fool, he made the vague gesture that indicated it, one he made-up for Hera. Hera had smirked, rolling her eyes because he was teasing. Then she realised, why bother brandishing an illegal weapon, proof of an existence that was supposed to be purged from reality, when combat achieved the same result a lightsaber would. It worked in his favour because he was a skilled fighter, especially after he turned one of the cargo holds into a training area. 

Then she wondered if he ever had one at all because she hadn’t seen it and she wasn’t sure of when a Jedi received their weapon. Perhaps they had to complete their Padawan training before they were allowed to wield one, or maybe they borrowed it from the Temple and had to return it after every mission. Hera wasn’t sure why she felt something, not sadness, but something about not seeing the lightsaber. 

Then a bleak evening on Kessel acquainted them. They’d been backed into a corner, and she recalled Kanan hating it. She understood, because there had been moments where she’d been trapped without escape and the memory was nipping at her, a stranger besting her and the feel of his bony hands on her thighs. She shuddered, and maybe that prompted Kanan. The fear in her eyes. A Rodian thug had swung for Hera, not with his fist but a dagger. When she shucked her body to avoid it, she fell into Kanan’s side and even before she contacted him, she could feel a pulsing rage from him. The dagger was crafted to be double-ended, and it was a lethal trait for any weapon. When Hera jerked away from it, one of her lekku caught the opposite end of the dagger. Kanan must’ve noticed before she did, which was nearly impossible considering her body shrivelled immediately as she cried out, because a blue light blinded her when her eyes reopened. 

Hera remembered the feeling of him pressed behind her, an arm snaked around her middle with the bolt of light stemming from the hand. She was hostaged between the lightsaber and Kanan who, when she eventually looked at him, had a new determination in his eyes with his brows deepening above, his face locked in concentration and brilliance. Most of the thugs had darted away, zig-zagging in opposite directions because the mere sight of a lightsaber was enough. The dagger-wielding Rodian had launched into another attack before he realised most of his group had departed, he swung furiously and yet, stupidly considering he held a dagger against a lightsaber. Then the Jedi were fables and stories, especially to a creature who couldn’t have been younger than Hera but possibly Kanan, but then she remembered how the Rodian’s face dropped and his eyes hollowed. He may have never witnessed a Jedi or their tool, but he certainly had heard of them. The dagger melted upon contact, and Hera felt Kanan’s hand clench against her stomach as he manoeuvred the lightsaber to deflect bolts from the last few staggered thugs, who all greeted the ground milliseconds after their own blaster bolts returned to them. 

The sound of those bolts rang in her earcones and there was a new sound with it, a whirring buzz that emitted from the lightsaber still erect in front of her. Kanan was speaking to her but she hadn’t registered it, her eyes trained on the colour of icy-blue staring back at her. Then her hand ghosted over his that gripped the weapon, and she turned her face, letting her cheek be prodded by his nose. The lightsaber suddenly dissipated, taking its light with it, leaving Hera and Kanan in darkness. She thanked him for it, in her mind, because she didn’t want him to have proof of her pouring over him.

Hera hadn’t even realised he carried it with him, then later on after they’d returned in silence to the Ghost, Kanan revealed his trick, showing her the lightsaber in two pieces clipped onto his belt. She replied by raising a brow in amusement, somewhat surprised she didn’t notice it before. Then both of her eyebrows jerked up, when he’d strolled towards her as if he was handing her a cup of caf, instead placing the lightsaber into her palm. A breath caught in her throat as he locked the lightsaber in place, taking her free hand to cover the hilt entirely. Then he settled one of his own hands on top of hers, squeezing gently. He was saying, this is the risk you’re taking with me here. He wouldn’t say it out loud, and Hera toyed with the idea that he didn’t want to, because he liked being on the Ghost, he liked being with her. Kanan didn’t want to say it because he didn’t want her to offer him the opportunity to leave. 

The risk was worth it. Hera had already decided before and after witnessing the lightsaber, it didn’t matter. She let the memory wash over her with a shudder, because that feeling of being trapped without escape returned aggressively to her. She squeezed her eyes shut and loosened her grip on the drawer at her hip, lowering it to a bunk with an uneasiness in her step. Then she sighed, because she thought of Kanan without escape, this time in the present day.

A sharp intake of breath calmed her, but didn’t reason with her. Settling on the ground, she laid the clothing out beside her and then reached for the storage cupboards under Kanan’s bunk. She searched through his possessions in an undignified manner, yanking out dark pieces of clothing. The mixture of clothes pooled across the floor, she reached for pieces one-by-one and threaded them together, formulating her idea into reality.  

The only piece to remain unaltered was a black waist guard, one Hera decided to borrow from Sabine when she was occupied in the kitchen, away from her room. It was too clunky to be prodded with a needle, and it belonged to Sabine so Hera felt unsure about making any changes to it, even though Sabine wouldn’t reject if she knew it was going to aid in rescuing Kanan. Hera’s grin soured, because Sabine didn’t know, none of the crew did. They were following her plan of distraction, which in turn was simply distracting them. 

The knife she’d retrieved from the kitchen to slice the fabrics lay beside her knee, she lifted it to toss into the crate and then paused, instead sheathing it alongside her blaster in her thigh holster. With the towel discarded, she reached for her basics and then the waist guard. Then a strangeness overcame her, because she stood naked in a room that wasn’t her own, or more specifically, Kanan’s room. The thought made her scramble into her basics and the waist guard in an almost frenzied fashion, a blush heating her suddenly. 

The tightness of the guard was restrictive, making it uncomfortable to breathe but incomparable to how pained her lekku felt once she bound them with excess material from one of Kanan’s tunics. They usually slouched behind her until she donned her flight cap which prompted them into place, and even then it would become irritating seeing how she wore it so often, the only release when she slept or showered. With her two leks becoming one, tied in an uncomfortable fashion behind her and her middle slightly pained by the small waist guard, she began binding the dark fabric to her sides. Eager to ignore the pain, she paused to admire her handiwork. Then pulled her own black long-sleeved tunic over her head and stepped into fitted trousers. Running her fingers over the material, she found a scorched hole on one side of the trousers. She quickly stitched it up with a frown, recalling it was a victim from the explosion on Gorse. Besides the cloak that was rolled up in the crate, she reached for the final part of the outfit, an ankle-length skirt that she secured with a belt that had a purple tinge to it. She smoothed the clothes with her hands as she stretched to her full height, the transformation almost complete.

Kanan’s room didn’t have a mirror, so Hera quietly slipped back to her cabin, pausing to listen for signs of her crew awake. There were faint snores from the cabin Ezra and Zeb shared, and the natural buzzing sound of the ship that told Hera that the system was running smoothly. Once, Kanan had told her it reminded him of white noise. 

The darkness of the clothes swallowed her and she suddenly felt small. When she gazed into the mirror, she couldn’t recognise herself. She resembled something so unlike herself in the costume, but she supposed that was a good feeling, since her aim was to portray a Sith Inquisitor. Without dwelling on it any longer, she pulled open her desk drawer, fishing out a small compact. It was another possession she borrowed from Sabine, a fiddly case she struggled to open then when it finally clicked, she saw her frustration glaring back at her from the tiny mirror in the compact. With the reference in her mind, because she didn’t want to alert Chopper now, especially because he’d only been privy to the beginning of the plan, she began sweeping a flat brush (also a possession of Sabine) across her nose. 

Under strict and secret instruction, Chopper had combed through archives of Sith and Imperial staff on record. Vizago had sold the datachip to her for what he insisted was an absolute steal of a price. It certainly burnt a hole in her pocket, but the loss of credits was worth it. She had to believe it was worth it. Hera and Chopper both poured over the catalogues of data, searching for possible aliases Hera could portray to enter the Imperial facility. 

There were certainly no Twi’leks that were friendly to the Empire, but Hera hoped for something. Chopper whined to alert Hera that she was about to headbutt the table, her lack of sleep interrupting their search. Chopper insisted they both power down for the night and continue searching in the morning. Hera opened her mouth to argue as she persevered with examining the data, then her mouth suddenly shut. An image of a Mirialan woman sparked her interest. With their similar shade of skin, Hera filed the woman high on her and Chopper’s verbal list of potential identities Hera could mimic. Then Chopper warbled something aggressive, and Hera nodded in agreement - they were not going to find anyone better to mock, the Mirialan woman would have to work.

The diamond-shaped black tattoos across the woman’s features reminded Hera of her own markings, now concealed and bound. Twi’leks usually marked their lekku but they weren’t restricted to tattooing more of their bodies. She wondered if the Mirialins had markings across their bodies, instead of solely their faces, although she’d never witnessed it because the Mirialins were notoriously private with their forms. Hera was thankful for it, as it was going to work in her favour. It had to. 

Chopper notified Hera of the important factors regarding the Mirialin woman. Her name, for starters, was Barriss Offee, a friend of the Empire and she was alive. Hera stopped listening after that, because all she needed was a face and a name. There was going to be as little conversation as possible with Imperials, especially since she realised she did not sport the same low, delicate drawl in her voice that most Mirialin women did. 

The crack in the mirror was distorting as she pulled back to look at her reflection. Sabine would’ve painted more skilfully, she thought. A pang of guilt rapped inside of her, forcing her mind to race with ideas of what would happen to the crew, especially Ezra and Sabine if she was unsuccessful. Then she drowned the thought out by vigorously patting black paint onto her lips and around her eyes. Finally, her fingers found the cloak’s hood and she gently brought it forward, sitting it atop the black material she wrapped around her head. 

Hera didn’t divulge her plan to the crew, but she did listen to theirs. On the way back from collecting the transport ship and destroying the TIEs, Ezra had revealed an additional TIE fighter, albeit one a little more colourful than normal. Zeb and Sabine had shared a pained look, readying themselves for Hera’s oncoming attack. She denied it out of relief that they had a way-in to Tarkin’s ship, however there was extra alleviation coursing through her regarding her own plan. The TIE that was supposed to be disposed of was available, it was the only opportunity to penetrate Tarkin’s ship.

While Sabine had suggested using her customised TIE to carry electro-explosive stunners into the hangar bay, provoking a disturbance enough to distract the Imperials, Hera’s mind stirred with a different idea. She hoped it didn’t show to the crew as she nodded in agreement. Instead of flying it in as an explosives carrier, she was simply going to fly it into the hangar and regarding the colours, well she would just have to slip from the hangar rather quickly. 

The TIE was cramped inside, and Hera was momentarily thankful she didn’t bring Chopper along. Her mind wandered again to the crew, how upset they’d be at her dishonesty. Actually, that would be Ezra, he would be the most upset about Hera evading the truth (it sounded worse in her head when she called it downright lying). Sabine would be pissed about her customised TIE fighter venturing into airspace without her. Zeb would be furious about the danger Hera was putting herself in, he’d begun to mirror Kanan when he hadn’t been around. The TIE successfully passed initial scanning and Hera finally breathed. She stressed the controls and jerked the steering towards her, hauling the TIE towards the hangar. 

A flock of Stormtroopers were already circling the space where the TIE was signalled to land, their expressions obscured by their helmets. Unreadable, perhaps, but Hera focused on their body language, clarifying that nothing seemed off yet. Hera caught one visibly rubbing his head as she stationed the ship. Flicking the switch to release the hatch, she clambered from the pilot seat and disembarked onto a raised platform, tiered and stepped to allow safe manoeuvrability from the TIEs exit. One Stormtrooper held out a hand in aid, and she felt herself recoil but reached out to join him. It was only an act, she told herself. She forced herself to follow it through, smiling lowly at him and then towards an Imperial Officer, who seemed less refined than his buckethead colleague.

“That’s not regulation.” The Officer spoke firmly, a coldness to his words, but Hera wasn’t surprised. 

“It was a gift.” Hera’s own voice surprised her, humming deeply with ease “From Agent Kallus. I’m meeting with him today.”

“Really? A gift. From Agent Kallus?” The Officer’s voice was snarled this time, “And who exactly are you? How did you find this ship?”

As if the Officer had audibly ordered instruction, Hera noticed blasters raised from her peripheral. The Stormtroopers that previously surrounded her ship now barricaded her exits, not that there were many to begin with. She sought a large door a few hundred yards behind the Officer and an entrance to more hangar bays on her left. There were Stormtroopers on every corner, pacing between the entries and exits.

“He sent me the coordinates. That’s how I found the ship.” With her shoulders pushed back and her head raised in a defiance she’d stolen from her mother, Hera applied deliberate authority to her voice “I don’t think Kallus would appreciate you keeping me waiting.”

“Of course - what was your name, again? I don’t think you granted us that information.” There were a couple of clicking noises that unfortunately sounded like triggers “Then we’ll get Kallus to confirm this meeting, shall we?”

“Of course.” She replied, her gaze locked on the Officer “My name is Barriss Offee.” 

Either the Officer was impossibly impassive, or he had simply never heard of her. The nerves were chewing at her, eating her alive as the Officer called for cadets to come near, instructing them to search the name she’d given them on their databases. The cadets looked comically small next to their grown counterparts, and she recalled when Ezra donned the uniform to infiltrate one of the Imperial training bases. She thought of him, wondering if he'd woken up in the middle of the night. He wasn't opposed to it, but his early-hour haunts had lessened in the last few months. Although, if the stars were against her and Ezra had jerked awake, bolting out of his bunk in search of Kanan or Hera, he would find not only Kanan gone, which he expected, but Hera too. 

The cadets quickly worked around the Officer, as if he were an island to their passing ships. He was unmovable between them, his eyes trained on Hera as if whatever ruse he suspected would simply jump out from the crushes in her clothes. 

“We’ve just had this audit you see and the system is only just recovering,“ The cadet interrupted the staring contest between the Officer and Hera “so it takes a while to actually get -"

His short body twitched from where he leaned over the panel as his face screwed up. The beacon from the system flashed in reply, meaning whatever file they had on Barriss had been located. 

The second cadet peered from behind the Officer, eager to read what his companion had, his lips moving inaudibly until, “…bombed the Jedi Temple?” 

Hera, too, had been eager to hear why this Bariss was associated with the Empire. When Chopper recited her war crimes and flashed her image on his Holoprojector, she was horrified. It was so horrific that it might actually work, which is what she told Chopper when he was logging information about the Mirialin species. She didn’t have a proper ship or an identification card or a meeting with Kallus, she didn’t even sport a lightsaber that the ex-Jedi padawan was supposed to wield, but she had the reality of terror. It was obvious in the Officer’s face, who was definitely old enough to recall the attack, and while she couldn’t read the expressions of the Stormtroopers, she figured they’d at least heard the tale. She reckoned it was the most exciting piece of news since the fall of the Republic. 

“You’re clear.” The Officer’s lips thinned, almost disappearing into his greyed face “Head up to Level Four to sign-in. We’ll contact Agent Kallus from here, let him know you’ve arrived.” 

“Thank you.” Hera nodded to the Officer, two cadets and a band of Stormtroopers before she left. With a wry smile to herself, she hoped getting out was as easy as getting in. 

While she’d been cleared for travel between floors, she didn’t realise she’d have an escort. Obviously, she was foolish enough to believe even for a second that she was permitted solo access across Tarkin’s Star Destroyer. The Stormtrooper at her side led her towards an elevator shaft, punching the button that would supposedly lead them to Agent Kallus. The elevator was stuffy and small, Hera was uneasy on her feet as she stepped inside. 

Hera was situated slightly ahead of the Stormtrooper as they both turned to face the shaft doors that closed behind them. The buzz of a comm alerted her, and she felt over her hip instinctively before realising that it was left alongside cut-outs of clothing in Kanan’s room. The Stormtrooper was conversing with someone through the comm that actually sounded, and annoyingly, she could only hear his side. 

“Copy that, Agent Kallus.”

Hera's stomach sank. The conversation had been brief, but she assumed it would’ve regarded her presence. Perhaps Kallus wasn’t interested in meeting with the Jedi-Temple-Bomber or he had already sussed out her plan, and she wasn’t sure how. The elevator continued to rise, the faint mechanical purr of the shaft barely audible. The Stormtrooper shuffled behind her, the clunky, robotic character diluting as the head of a blaster was gently nudged into her back with a swiftness she’d associate with a higher-ranking Imperial. Hera stiffened, wondering whether they would take her out now or in front of those higher-ranking Imperials like Kallus or Tarkin. They didn’t seem like the type that would pass up the opportunity to witness suffering. Although, they could’ve been occupied causing the suffering of someone else, and the thought alone seized Hera into action. 

A bolt fired as she quickly twisted, with one arm forcing the blaster down and the other swinging for the Stormtrooper’s head. He narrowly avoided it, which frustrated Hera because she was aiming to use the compact space to her advantage. Before he could raise his blaster again, she targeted the cloth material worn at his neck, sending another punch this time with a malevolence that ensured she would not miss. The choking gasp for air with slight robotic undertones confirmed it. 

Hera’s elbow greeted the Stormtrooper’s face and she jerked her arm back in pain, realising it caused her more harm than his stupid helmet. A swift kick to the groin would hurt regardless of armoury, so she sent two for good measure. Instantly recoiling, the Stormtrooper instinctively reached for the sensitive area, dropping his blaster in the same motion. She heard a muffled yelp from the captivity of the helmet, and then retrieved his dropped blaster. Switching it to stun, she fired one shot and watched him wag and sink against the wall. 

Hera fished around the Stormtrooper’s belt compartments for his pass, turning it over in her hand before sheathing it under her tunic. Now, she would have access to whatever areas Stormtrooper 4-4-8-7 did. 

The detention bay was an illusion to her eyes, the slanted peaks of the narrowed ceiling rousing an absurd type of claustrophobia in her that she didn’t know she possessed. The further the corridor continued, it appeared smaller and darker. The only light pebbled above each holding cell, and a red beacon slightly lower, indicating vacancy. 

There were no current Imperial Officer on-watch, however in place situated in a console that stretched before the narrow hallway - blocking her path - were three Stormtroopers. Hera surveyed the area, mentally-planning a quick and quiet brawl to ease her way past into the holding cell area. Although, as she stood just before them, she realised they weren’t bothered by her presence. Perhaps it was because she used her own pass, or because she was dressed similarly to their bosses. She didn’t wait around to ask.

There was a nod from the Stormtroopers that Hera reciprocated as she stalked forward. She confidently held the pass up to the panel situated beside the cell, surprised that it allowed for a Stormtrooper’s presence. She slipped inside, pressing herself against the door once it swooshed close behind her. Surveying the compact room, she immediately spotted Kanan hoisted against a metal frame, held by bounds both on his wrists and around his sides. She assumed he was unconscious, head lolling forward in what seemed like a very uncomfortable position. 

She winced at his appearance as she leaned out of his view to disable access to the cell. There was a small, rectangular hatch on the door which Hera peered through to check the corridor. The area was clear, for now. She swivelled around to hurry down the steps, then stopped abruptly. 

Even out-cold, his body seemed to register with the presence in the room. Perhaps, this is how it had been; constant torture with the only release through sleep only for that to be disturbed, replaced by more torture. Hera swallowed hard, she had avoided thinking about the interrogation tactics. Then guilt floored her, because the torture would be intensified at Kanan’s refusal to divulge in rebel secrets. Even if he felt he had to, with the pain so unbearable, he didn’t know anything. Hera knew everything . 

A horror curdled within her as she walked down the steps. Her whole body flinched as if she was avoiding a bolt or dagger, because staring at Kanan was like being in the line of fire. The longer she stared at him the more unlike himself he seemed, with wounds ugly and appearance messy. It was clear he self-destructed like Hera, but others obviously aided in said destruction. She wanted to drown him in bacta and patch him up single-handedly, refusing to trust anyone else with her patient. She had steady hands, and she knew Kanan's dislike for pain medication so had learnt various methods to sew him up without too much agitation. 

Hera avoided looking at the table scattered with various tools and weaponry as she moved towards him. There was a bold light above him, beaming down on his face, revealing every scrape and cut across his skin. The bloodstains were magnified under the offensive light, older ones in shades of brown and newer ones wetting the material of his torn sweater. The green sweater she so greatly admired. 

Kanan’s head lifted and his eyes fluttered open, stifling a groan as he attempted to readjust to a comfortable position, which wasn’t really possible with the multiple restraints over him. 

“Why’d they send a new Inquisitor, when the other guy was just so much fun?” He said roughly, his face screwed up as he stifled another wave of pain. At least his classic cockiness remained intact.

Hera grimaced. He definitely wasn’t helping himself if that’s how he talked to the interrogation unit.  

Moving slowly to him, she pressed a finger to his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. The confirmation that he was still alive, the thought of anything but had kept her awake for the past fortnight. Her fingers trailed up to find his face, feeling his body tense underneath her touch. 

“Well, I think we could have more fun.” Hera’s heart was racing and she believed she could feel the blood pumping through her body, but it didn’t prevent her from flashing a coy smile. The hood must’ve concealed more of her face than she thought, because he was avoiding her gaze and leaning out of her touch. Hera frowned, knowing he must’ve been drained and exhausted, because he usually felt her presence through the Force. 

She tilted forward, forcing their gazes to meet. His eyes found hers and were about to roll in reply, a retort that was supposed to be for the Inquisitor he suspected to be in front of him, but then his cocky bravado shattered with his eyes darting wide open and mouth gaped.

“Hera,” Kanan whispered her name, as if the verbal confirmation alone would make her suddenly disappear from his sight. He fell apart all at once. A tenderness coloured his words and Hera momentarily battled with composure, her cheeks bearing a tint of jade. He focused on her and then the softness in his gaze suddenly hardened “Hera -”

“You can berate me later.” She interrupted, pulling her eyes away from his as she began to force the mechanical restraint from his middle, then reached for the electro-cuffs on his wrists, freeing him from the torturous board “Let’s go.” 

Kanan was so unlike himself that he resisted Hera’s touch, and she couldn’t recall a time where that had happened. She let him step from the platform by himself, an arm raised in assistance as she watched him gingerly move, his face twisting in pain. When his legs gave way, Hera frantically moved under his arm and hoisted his weight onto her “Kanan!”

There was a tremble under his feet as he groped her waist in an attempt to steady himself, falling to her height. “I’m fine,” He said through gritted teeth, although he didn’t release his arm from her and continued to lean into her body “How’d you even get in here?”

Drawing their faces closer together, Hera twisted to meet his gaze. The warmth of his body pressed against hers erased the idea of his captivity, as if the last two weeks was a figment of their imagination and they were simply sided against each other under the bulkheads in the Ghost, repairing evidence of a rough battle with an enemy fighter. 

“Long story.” She quipped, shuffling under his weight. 

“Are those real?” He sent a pointed look to her nose, studying the painted markings drawn across her face, courtesy of Sabine’s art palette. 

“Listen, I’m desperate to get you out of here, but I’m not that desperate.”

Kanan slowly looked her up-and-down, sending a dizzying spell to her head  “You sure about that?” 

It took an awkward practice to find a suitable rhythm for them to walk together. Hera’s arm hooked around Kanan’s middle, supporting him as he hung his arm over her shoulders. He grunted with every step as they left the holding cells.

“Where are the others?” 

“About that -" Hera jerked her head past the wall, checking both aisles of the corridor for any disturbances. 

“You know you’re dressed as the woman who bombed the -"

“I know,” She fell back into place under his arm, hauling him down the empty corridor. As she opened her mouth to recite an idea of a plan to him, her brain suddenly realised what he said. Her head darted up in his direction, body seizing “Wait - you…were you there -"

“No, no, it’s okay.” He shook his head, softly smiling down at her “Good plan, reckless plan. But good plan.” 

“Thanks for the approval.” She grunted as they ducked out of view of passing troopers. 

Kanan, concealed to the troopers, paused to lean against the wall, breathing heavily. Hera slipped from his hold to seemingly force herself to recall the floorplan information she’d studied back on the Ghost. She knew they were closing in on the hangar bays, but with a quick look in the direction she was almost sure was the correct one confirmed her thought. Stormtroopers and Imperial Agents were lined up-and-down the corridor. Feeling movement behind her, Hera shuffled to make space for Kanan kneeling down to her level. 

He was eyeing up the enemy, preparing for an assault. He frowned, irritation in his gaze “I don’t have my -"

Hera interrupted him by dropping his lightsaber into his hand. 

Hera had made a quick detour before entering the holding cell. In the main detention area, there was a small side room of recovered possessions from prisoners and Hera felt an obligation to enter. There was only one lightsaber, but she could’ve picked it out of thousands if they all piled before her like some bizarre, metal mountain. She knew it was his, because it called to her. 

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” Kanan twirled the hilt in his hand, grinning down at her. 

“Once or twice.” She shrugged, thinking about rolling her eyes in a feigned attempt to bat away his affections, although the idea stilled as his fingers slid around her waist, squeezing softly. A breath caught in Hera’s throat and she coughed nonchalantly to conceal it. 

“What’s the exit? If you have one, that is.” His hand was still roaming along her waist and Hera was unsure why she felt different, considering his hands hadn’t left her body since aiding him from the detention bay.

“I do , and it’s in bay five.”

“Good girl.” 

Hera turned to look at Kanan, a brow raised as he only smirked in reply. 

They trailed through dimly-lit corridors that led onto wide and shiny areas. The metal walls felt like they were closing-in on them as Hera stormed through the ship, one arm around Kanan and the other directed towards Stormtroopers, a blaster clutched in her hand. Even with the recovered lightsaber and the pair of blasters strapped to Hera’s frame, they decided to take the scenic route via more corridors instead of heading directly to the hangar, knowing they’d have to bypass the ambush awaiting them. 

“Are you gonna give me any work?”

Hera slammed the stolen access pass into the panel, the door immediately opening to reveal a long catwalk. It was an unusually large room, spilling out several catwalks situated at various heights and hosted a power system in the centre, indicating that it was possibly the strongest generator in the ship. An alien Hera hadn’t seen before stood at the far end of the same catwalk. With a bulging head and demented eyes, he began strolling towards them as his dark cape billowed behind him. 

By Kanan’s erratic breathing next to her, she guessed the man was one of the Inquisitors that interrogated him. Hera felt her shoulders become light as Kanan shook himself free. By the way his shoulders raised and body angled, it seemed to have shaken off the injuries as well. 

“There, you can have him.” Hera nodded, stretching a hand under her skirts to access her hidden blaster. 

“Stay back.” Kanan’s voice carried that low tone he only used when they faced a great threat, which wasn't often but had become more apparent as of the late “I’m serious.”

With a hurling leap towards the cloaked alien, Kanan launched into an assault. The alien clenched his weapon, a glowing red lightsaber that Hera had only witnessed once before. It was the preferred tool of the Inquisitors, and even the vision of its proof made Hera shudder. She hovered at the door, unsure of whether to listen to Kanan’s instruction for once. The clash of the lightsabers drowned out the words between Kanan and the Inquisitor. They were battling fiercely, the smack of the lightsabers growing louder as they danced around each other. 

Hypnotised, Hera gaped as she watched the duel between Kanan and the Inquisitor. Kanan wasn’t short of entertaining on a day-to-day basis, but witnessing him wield a lightsaber around his enemies was absolutely breathtaking. The other half of her brain that was not observing his choreography was fretting over him even battling. He was already weakened and injured, it was not the most fitting form to fight off an Inquisitor. 

Then, when Kanan misstepped somehow, sailing back and hitting the catwalk with such a sudden thud, Hera could only believe he was unconscious and nothing else. Hera quickly jolted into action. There was an uncontrollable tremor from the arm that held the blaster, a result of the desperation that flooded from her. With her blaster aimed, she took the most unrehearsed shot of her life, firing aimlessly. The Inquisitor’s body pulled and jerked like a puppet on strings, his lightsaber loosening enough from his grip as it hit the metal catwalk with a clash . 

Hera launched into the fray, her legs acting before connecting with her brain. There was no time for rationale. The Inquisitor with his back to her, in search of his lightsaber. 

Kanan lay in an awkward heap. Blood slipping like tendrils through his hair and onto his neck, reddening the already wounded and torn skin. She scrambled to her knees, pouring over him to press her fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was no one as competent as Kanan, but there was no one as damn reckless either, Hera wanted to scream at him. 

The lightsaber rolled from his open hand, veering towards the edge of the catwalk. Reeling towards it, Hera grasped the metallic hilt before it disappeared into the depths beneath them. Swinging back around with the lightsaber clenched in her hands, she squeezed the hilt frantically, feeling for the ignition. She had watched Kanan effortlessly perform with the lightsaber multiple times, over and over and every time it stunned her, his ease and display of a technique that was supposed to be fiction. Although, she felt her attempt would be a lot less effortless. Upon discovery that Kanan still owned and used a lightsaber, Hera insisted that they should practise together in order to coordinate assaults. Together, they would be well-prepared and unmatched against most opponents they came across. Perhaps it would come easy to her, she had certainly watched him plenty of times - and that’s how some students learnt. 

An electric blue stretch of light appeared, beaming close to Hera’s face. She held it horizontally, the heat inviting beads of sweat to roll down her face. A coldness ran over her, tucking itself under her clothes. Her fingers trembled on the handle of the lightsaber as she looked up to meet the seeping-red eyes of the Inquisitor. He laughed and snarled a comment she refused to make out as all of her concentration remained on the blade in her hands. 

The Inquisitor raised his own lightsaber above his head, building enough stamina to force it down towards Kanan. An act of defence, she pushed the lightsaber toward the red light, meeting it early. It was a move she’d seen Kanan perform almost every time he battled with the lightsaber. The blades smashed together, the usual whirring hum modifying upon contact into a violent drone. 

Hera stifled a wobble as the contact forced her to jerk. She wouldn’t be able to stand with the Inquisitor bowing over her, his lightsaber aggressively forcing against her borrowed one, and she dared not move to draw another attack, terrified to lose position and damn herself and Kanan to an unfortunate fate. She was not a Jedi with the additional assistance of the Force. Ezra referred to it as swordfighting, especially when all he had were sticks to battle with before he gained his own lightsaber. Of course, it was supposed to be a snarky comment to irritate Kanan. For Hera, it was always going to be plain sword fighting, there was no helping-hand from the Force, but she did have sheer rage and it would have to suffice. 

There was a madness in the Inquisitor’s eyes as he swung again and again, only for Hera to continue blocking his attack. All she could do was defend, she wouldn’t even let herself think of a way to manoeuvre the blade to thwart the Inquisitor. Perhaps it was only her own life at stake, but with a side-eye spy towards Kanan, she wasn’t about to risk his life any further by pulling an unsure stunt. 

“At least you will die together.” The Inquisitor snarled, towering over her.

He was quick, but Hera was quicker. It was obvious to him that Hera was not skilled with the blade, and it may have been a weakness but she decided to use it as an advantage. Studying his movements, she watched as his arm slacked although his force and grip was still strong on his weapon. Then, when he took a breath in preparation to spit more venom at her, Hera slapped her lightsaber against his once again, using his brief neglect as opportunity. 

Rising on her feet, she reverted back to the position of defence, awaiting the smack of the Inquisitor’s lightsaber. She squeezed her eyes closed, readying herself for an impact she never felt. There was a gust as she opened her eyes. The Inquisitor’s body sailed through air, landing on the far end of the catwalk with a hard thump. 

Hera twirled to face the familiar presence at her side. Kanan’s face was locked in concentration, a hand outstretched ahead of him. There was a laceration across his temple running into his hair that had almost fully loosened, Hera was unsure whether it was from the recent assault or an interrogation wound resurfacing. 

“You alright?” The raised hand moved to her shoulder and Hera was unsure if he was trying to steady himself or comfort her. The warmth flooded through her, expelling the cold. His eyes flickered to the lightsaber, a smirk curling onto his face.

“I will be when he stops getting up.” She followed his gaze to the weapon still in her grasp, turning it off before handing it to him “Here, you can have this back.”

“Would’ve loved  to have seen that.” The hand that came to receive the lightsaber folded over hers, trapping the weapon between them. 

“Why, so you can give me pointers?” She scoffed, throwing her eyes up dramatically. Her hand remained under his and she felt herself draw towards him.

“Something like that.” 

In a move that juxtaposed the chaos unfolding around them, Kanan’s hand felt under her chin, guiding her in an effort to close the space between them. He was warmer this close and Hera felt her own body zealously overheat as she tilted her head, refusing to acknowledge the pain it caused her lekku. 

The buzz of a lightsaber prompted the two of them to swerve from each other. Hera jerked her head, causing her mouth to awkwardly brush against him, ghosting over his lips. The Inquisitor was bounding towards them, his lightsaber doubled. Hera’s mouth dropped open, but when she looked at Kanan, he didn’t seem surprised. Although, he did seem the slightest part flushed, which fashioned a grin across her face. 

“I wish we’d stop getting interrupted.” He sighed with exaggeration, giving her a wry smile and a wink before leaping to meet the Inquisitor again. 

Hera attempted to bury her blush with her hood, her green cheeks becoming greener. 

She knew she had to reach the door to ensure their escape, because there was no way they were dying here. Hera swore it and she knew Kanan would promise it. There was a loud commotion behind her amongst the clashing of blades. Tossing her head over her shoulder, she followed their battle like she was spectating an intense Sabacc match. It was certainly the most interesting game of sabacc she’d ever seen.

With another glance, she watched as Kanan and the Inquisitor zig-zagged along the catwalk, flashes of fury expelling from their respective lightsabers. She wasn’t sure which one of them backed the other into the central console, and she didn’t really care as long as Kanan had the upper-hand. She wondered if his singular lightsaber was a match for the doubled one. Of course, she didn’t doubt his skills but there was something sinful about the Inquisitor’s weapon. The hilted ring carried both blades with ease, twisting and curving with his combative manoeuvres.

Hera’s fingers found her blaster where she reclipped it to her leg once she traded it for Kanan’s lightsaber. Securing it in her hand, she aimed it at the Inquisitor who was darting around the console at an incredible pace. Even if she hit something, she was sure it would give Kanan more leverage. The blaster felt more comfortable in her grip than a lightsaber ever would, a quick succession of bolts firing with ease. 

There was a muffled yelp that thankfully did not sound like Kanan. The Inquisitor was briefly bowled over, a scorch in his back. Hera gulped when she saw the scowl crossing his features, the red markings above his eyes deepening. The air was knocked out of her as her back slammed against the door, winded by whatever Force tactic the Inquisitor used. 

With her body a puppet to the Inquisitor, she struggled to catch her breath as she connected with the floor. With a blur to her vision and an unsteadiness in her steps, she eventually found her footing as she felt the release of the Inquisitor’s Force power. 

Instead of spectating, she wobbled to the door they entered through, attempting to override the control panel. If they were to escape, she wanted the getaway to be seamless. Her fingers jabbed at the panel, begging for the panel to communicate. Chopper would’ve achieved it in seconds, but she was no droid, so settled for provoking the overall alarm. It would alert the entire ship of intruders, but it would mean - or she hoped it would mean there would be less Imperial presence in the hangars. 

The Inquisitor disappeared from her view, obstructed by the bulky cylinder in the heart of the system. A thunderous roar deafened her as the power generator pulsed. There was a crackle as an electric ring zoomed to its peak, throbbing against the now weak tower. A groan from the inner buildings sent the tower crumbling. The main console reacted to the ruin, a violent vibration from its core. Hera choked as smoke billowed from the generator. The catwalks each began to weaken and wobble, collapsing in a similar fashion to the one on Gorse. 

There was no sign of Kanan. Hera’s fingers threaded in her skirt, twitching uncontrollably. With bated breath, she scanned the destruction, begging for his figure to appear rising from the ashes. 

"You okay?” 

Hera almost vaulted in place, whirling towards the sound. “Are you?” She squawked, eyes flashing.

“Perfect. Why’d you ask?” Kanan was there, appearing suddenly at her side. Alive, with all his chipper sardonicism intact. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work so hard in my life.” She matched his tone, stepping to him, retaking her place as aid under his arm. 

“Mean.” He leaned into her, attempting to hide his exhaustion “Let’s go home.” 

There was no-doubt in Hera’s mind that another ambush would be waiting for them in the hangar. Stars, they were waiting and ready at every corner. Stormtroopers flocked towards them as they escaped from the detention block. There was an alarm ringing that Hera assumed indicated that there were escapees, and a booming voice over a tannoy ordering  “- the prisoner must be recovered at any cost, alive -” that was starting to piss her off. 

There was a hoard of Stormtroopers waiting for them in the hangar, along with Imperial Officers - including the one Hera duped into letting her bypass the security deck without proof of invitation or a pass. After fending off an Inquisitor, Hera felt liberated exchanging fire with Stormtroopers. With a glance towards Kanan, he seemed to share the feeling. He was at ease deflecting blaster bolts from the troopers. It was practice he didn’t require. She watched as the lightsaber easily swirled to meet the blaster bolts, zapping them into nothing. 

“We should probably get going.” Kanan called to her, but his voice was muffled through the blaster fire. 

“You think?” Hera blasted a final Stormtrooper, watching him sail back into another trooper. The two bodies collapsed against the metal wall with a very pleasing thud sound. 

Racing ahead of Kanan, Hera rounded the corner to the hangar she recognised. He would cover her without request. It didn’t take long to find the TIE she arrived in as it was a beacon amongst ships that seemed like shadows laid out in the heart of the bay. 

With another glance at Kanan, Hera caught his eye and signalled to the TIE fighter she claimed. He blocked any troopers attempting to chase her into the hangar bay, the only one that wasn’t overly decorated with Imperial guards. She blasted two Imperial security personnel before they clocked her entrance, and then fought off a couple troopers that appeared from behind stationary TIEs. 

Immediately, she began to click and flick every button that would raise and hurl the TIE from Tarkin’s ship. Her finger found the laser cannon switch before her mind processed it as she began assisting Kanan with the ground assault from mid-air. She was used to piloting a large freighter and a decently-sized carrier, the tiny TIE fighter was her version of playing dry sabacc without gambling credits or training with a baton instead of lightsaber - a task so piss-easy with zero repercussions or consequence that there was no way in the galaxy she could screw it up. 

The TIEs were a one-pilot ship only. It would’ve already been a squeeze with the likes of Ezra or Sabine, but it had become claustrophobic when Kanan and his long legs had squeezed in, which Hera did not hesitate to berate him about. 

“Some people are attracted to height!” He replied, hands raised in defence. 

“Fools!” She hissed, forcing the steering towards her, watching them ascend towards the stars.

“You’re only saying because I told you those lekku didn’t count when you were insisting that you were five-nine.” He was moving behind her, working at the weapons panel. The soft flicks of switches awakening the cannons in a more gentle fashion than the way she had. 

“They do count,” Hera huffed, then tilted her head up to peer through the viewfinder and found that an unnecessary amount of fellow TIEs were hot on their tail “and you should really start firing at the ships that are firing at us.”

“Anything for you, Captain Hera.” Kanan drawled, and Hera could feel the grin stretching across his face. How he could be in such a sardonic mood with his collection of injuries truly would’ve alarmed Hera if it were anyone else. 

One TIE dipped from view, and Hera frowned as she missed it bursting into flames, the only proof a slither of smoke curling into the corner of the windscreen. The laser cannons fired again and Hera heard Kanan make a noise of amusement behind her. She waited for the reason as to why and then rejoiced herself when two TIEs crashed into each other, a combustion of flames a firework between them. 

The TIE jerked as Hera swooped to avoid oncoming fire, it didn’t help that their TIE was basically labelled as the target with the eye-catching colours painted on the outside panels. Another dive into space forced Kanan to latch onto the back of her chair to catch himself “It’s good you don’t have any injured passengers on board or you’d have to fly carefully!” 

“Shame that mouth of yours wasn’t injured. Real shame.” Hera rolled her eyes, a gesture she performed all too easily when Kanan was around.

“You’re thinking about my mouth? At a time like this? Please try to concentrate, Captain.” It was common in times of crisis for Kanan to return to the smooth-talking hotshot Hera had met on Gorse all those years ago. It was a strange coping mechanism, but Hera had noticed its resurgence in the past few months, noting that not every occasion was one of crisis. 

“Maybe I should’ve left you on Tarkin’s ship.” She also may have noticed that with every comment he phrased in echo of that Gorse gunslinger, she managed to coin her own in return. 

“After the desperate lengths you went to?” Kanan gave a rough laugh and proceeded to force the cannons again, this time without actually pressing his hand to the button. Another TIE combusted, erupting in their eyeline. 

Kanan steered himself behind the pilot seat, heading in the opposite direction to begin firing missiles more tactically at the last remaining TIE on their trail. Hera heard his footsteps steady and precise as he ducked to avoid hitting his head in the cramped space, using the back of her seat for purchase. 

Hera felt him freeze behind her, hands nearing the back of her headrest. 

“Did you bind your lekku?” 

“Maybe!” She yanked the steering, forcing them into a roll and forcing Kanan to collapse to his knees, arms wrapped around the seat. After the manoeuvre, Kanan rose and continued his inspection of her lekku.

“You’re not supposed to -“ He sighed, and then with a groan pulled her shoulders further back into the seat “- c’mere.” 

“Hey!” 

“Relax.” Kanan loosened one hand from her shoulders, leaning over to slam the controls that forced a couple missiles to launch, scoring the assault on the final TIE.

Hera initially acted restless under him as his hands slid towards her bound lekku, wrapped firmly in the fabric stolen from his cabin. There was an ache within her as she felt the rough pads of his fingers slip under the dark cloth, unrolling it as gently as possible. He avoided the black cap she donned instead of her usual white, knowing that there were specific restrictions between Twi’lek women and men of pretty much all species. He tugged one lek free then the other, tossing the sinful dressings aside, and then in a seemingly thoughtless move, ran his fingers down either lek. 

Hera suppressed a moan at the release, knowing that would provide Kanan with more than a year of material for his witty retorts, and perhaps even blackmail. Still, she sighed blissfully as the recycled air hit her bare lekku, alleviating their agony.

“Better?” Kanan was too close to her earcone. His voice low and near, closing the gap between himself and the side of her head, watching her. Hera twisted to face him in an attempt to create space between them, only to end up furthering the tingling sensation in her stomach as it encouraged Kanan to lean in closer. 

“Better.” She replied quietly, eyes ablaze with the same feeling somersaulting in her gut. She hoped his Force abilities couldn’t sense her heart racing. The freed lekku stretched and adjusted behind her shoulders, recovering from the restriction. At least that’s what she thought until she felt the lek closest to Kanan curl up to meet him. She almost jeopardised their TIE fighter’s position as she yanked her hand up to force the lek’s retreat, pretending to soothe it post-release. She hoped he didn’t notice and if he did, had the consideration to ignore it. 

The TIE Hera assumed had been disposed of appeared in her peripheral, zig-zagging behind them. The upper edge of one of the wings was completely blown off, which explained the jumpy movements of the fighter. It wouldn’t take much for it to fall, especially considering the lack of combat shields. Hera shifted to resume their battle, only to be hauled back into place by Kanan’s hand on her face. Falling into his touch, feeling the warmth of the hands that just trailed down her lekku. Hera watched as his lips curved into a smile, eyes flickering from hers to her mouth, suggesting to come closer. Hera raised her chin in agreement, brushing against his stubble, which wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, but one she hadn’t felt before. The warmth of his breath fanned her lips as they parted to meet him. 

“Ghost to TIE. Ghost to TIE.” 

Hera jumped, her nose darting into Kanan’s cheek. She swore loudly as she whipped her body back around to meet the control panel, reaching for the comm switch, hoping its transmitter still worked.  

“Ghost to TIE, the colourful one - what? I’m just saying -” Ezra’s voice quickly muffled, and the comm scratched as there was an obvious commotion between transmitters. 

“- give that to me!” Sabine’s voice crackled through the comm “Ghost to Spectre-Two, you need a hand?” 

“I’m also here!” Kanan added, his arm now slung over the pilot seat, fingers tapping on Hera’s shoulder. A cheer erupted through the comm which sounded like a combination of Ezra and Zeb. 

“You better be, considering the stunt Spectre-Two pulled.” Sabine’s voice wasn't unfriendly, there was a note of glee apparent most likely due to Kanan’s vocal presence through the comm, however there was a definite chagrin laid bare, most likely for Hera. 

“What is she talking about?” Kanan asked.

“I can’t believe my own crew are reprimanding me.” Hera frowned. 

“Good timing, guys.” Ezra’s voice was chirpy through the comm “We've just left Hyperspace. Sabine - I mean, Spectre-Five thought you’d be here. You know there’s a TIE following your TIE?” 

“You mean my TIE?” Sabine interjected. 

“We do, and I have a plan.” Hera stated, the captain-esqe authority laced in her voice “Pull us in on my signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Sabine asked, the frantic sound of Chopper beeping in the background of the comm. 

“You’ll see!”

“Don’t love the sound of that.” The sound of firing died as Kanan appeared at the back of her seat again. 

“Okay, move!” She ordered, motioning him away from the seat. Then searched the compartments under the console, one hand on the steering and the other sweeping with intention. 

“Move? Move where?” He asked incredulously, arms outstretched in a dramatic fashion that was ever so Kanan-esqe. 

“Here.” Hera tossed two oxygen masks towards him, and watched as his eyes flashed at her “What are you doing?”

“Hold on.” She pushed him into the crevice of the ship, not exactly far from the main console but as far away from it as possible “And hold me.”

Kanan’s eyes widened, the boyish grin resurrected “Nevermind, I’m starting to like this plan.” 

“Ready?” 

“Can I be ready for something I don’t know about?” 

“Sure!” 

Hera slammed her hand on console then threw herself towards Kanan, backing into his embrace as he immediately wrapped an arm over her stomach. The TIE stalled and jostled while airborne, and it felt like it was going to fall from the skies. Hera buzzed as she watched the pilot seat she had just evacuated from launch through the roof of the TIE, causing debris to cascade onto the two of them, who were curled into the corner of the ship. The seat collided with the TIE above, putting the partially destroyed fighter fully out of its misery. 

Kanan’s hand clutched onto the console above them, gripping a handle bar and at the same time, held onto Hera for dear life. Hera’s own hands focused on securing their breathing apparatus’, an arm raised above her head to press Kanan’s mask to his face.

The ejection of the seat caused the ship’s temperature to plummet. There was a high-chance the windows would crack in the next few minutes, the frost already forming around the perimeters. Hera felt the cold everywhere and hoped the frostbite wouldn’t be too harmful if their ship was retrieved in a quick enough fashion. 

The lightning in the small hub of the ship zeroed-out, leaving them in total darkness. Kanan was stiff underneath her, his only sign of life the arm that periodically clutched at her midsection. 

Thankfully, Sabine and the rest of the crew seemed to clock Hera’s signal as the ship immediately began to shift. The masks weren’t suitable for extensive travel, but they allowed Kanan and Hera to breathe for the time it took for the crew to haul the TIE against the Ghost, attaching the vessels together. 

No sooner had the TIE been pulled up against the Ghost than Hera and Kanan appeared at the blast door. The entire crew was there to greet them. Hera stepped gingerly from the airlock passage with Kanan following and refusing to let go of her arms, insistent on rubbing the cold away. 

“Good to see you both.” Zeb clapped a hand on Kanan’s shoulder, then cringed as he watched him wince under the touch “Alive, that is.” He added sheepishly, avoiding any further contact by folding his arms. 

“Hera, you look weird. No offence.” Ezra frowned at her, swapping places with Zeb to greet Kanan. The young boy beamed up at Kanan, stepping into a side-hug a little less awkwardly than he had done before. He wasn’t overly fond of contact, but that wasn’t dissimilar to the rest of the crew. 

“Nice of you to let us in on the mission!” Sabine held her arms out in annoyance, exaggerating a huff. Although, there was an unusual proud look drawing onto her face as she studied Hera’s disguise, the corners of her mouth turning up into a grin “Are you supposed to be -“ 

“- Maybe!” Hera interrupted, accepting the feigned wrath of Sabine she expected “About that, I’m sorry but the mission -“ Hera stopped short, ducking her head to follow Chopper frantically buzzing as he circled her legs “What is it, Chopper?” 

“Kanan, where were you?” The combination of Ezra and Sabine voices overlapping flooded the galley as each question raised in volume. It was a different type of interrogation for Kanan. Hera watched the two young crewmates intensely pepper him with questions, his face was a mis-mash of amusement and fatigue. 

“What happened, did you - your lip is bleeding.” Sabine pointed. 

Kanan’s brows rose, surprised. A finger reached to feel over his lip, and when he drew back his hand to learn the sight of blood, his mouth curved into a grin. A wide grin. The tiredness suddenly dissipated, a wave of smugness awakening him. 

“That was not the work of the Inquisitor.” He smiled knowingly then proceeded to flash Hera a daring look.

Refusing to press the situation, she narrowed her eyes at him before ducking down to face Chopper “Who’s onboard?” 

Chopper chortled a name unbelievable to Hera. Before she could begin her own interrogation with the droid, the clanking sound of footsteps against the ladder pulled her attention away. 

“Fulcrum?” Hera’s mouth gaped from where she kneeled before Chopper, gazing up at the figure only recognisable to her. A tall Togruta appeared, donned in combat gear and a cloak that was draped over her shoulders. 

Fulcrum straightened after stepping from the ladder, and Hera could barely make out whatever sentence laced with the word protocol the agent had said, because she could not believe Fulcrum was in the Ghost, piloting the Ghost. 

Fulcrum nodded at Hera who mirrored her actions, rising to her feet. She felt Kanan’s eyes on her, along with the rest of the crew. 

“Fulcrum.” Hera started, her hand around her collar, fingers loosening the tight neckline. 

Fulcrum’s eyes widened at Hera’s appearance. Hera could only guess she recognised her alias, even with her lekku freed. Force, Sabine clearly had. So the agent was bound to notice a reference to the infamous Jedi Temple-Bomber, especially with the amount of research an undercover operative in the rebellion would do. Although Hera was unsure why Fulcrum appeared that shocked.

“I heard about the rescue mission.” Fulcrum started, or hadn’t started. Hera wasn’t listening to what the agent was explaining initially, with her mind thrown askew with the fact that Fulcrum was onboard and what it would entail, and how she would explain everything to the crew. 

“Ah.” Hera said flatly, in awe of herself for concealing both panic and frustration “How?”

“We guessed by the mess in Kanan’s cabin and the fact you weren’t around to hassle us to wake-up early.” Sabine interjected. 

“Right.” Hera replied, watching Fulcrum, awaiting the telling-off she knew she would receive. Kanan standing behind her was proof of her disobedience to Fulcrum. The evidence of him alive and recovered from Tarkin’s ship was reason enough for Fulcrum to search her out for a verbal showdown. 

“It wasn’t the protocol.” Fulcrum crossed her arms “But I understand -”

“I know it wasn’t the protocol for the -“ Hera wanted to say rebellion , but that would’ve intensified the situation “- for the operations we usually do. But it was my protocol. It was my decision, and my risk to take, hence -” It was definitely the adrenaline fizzing because Hera couldn’t reel in herself, especially not when she pointed individually at Zeb, Sabine and Ezra “- not taking any of you.”

“Even so, it was a risk to take solo. The crew would’ve been able to assist with your safety.” Fulcrum nodded again, her long montrals bobbing “That’s a future discussion.” 

Hera stiffened. There was a long look between the two women. An Inquisitor could’ve killed both her and Kanan, a selection of TIEs could’ve thwarted their escape and a Stormtrooper had punched her lovingly in the face, but nothing felt more insidious than Fulcrum’s clipped tone abruptly ending their conversation, suggesting another occasion for Hera to go head-to-head with the agent. 

She would, gladly. 

Hera felt her body fizzing with fury, fuelled by the hot tension in the air. She was practically radiating with vexation. Fulcrum was an agent she worked with, perhaps considered an advanced figure like a boss of sorts. Hera did take directives from her, and had done for years. Hera expected a heated tone from her via a holo or whenever she next met-up with the agent on a private supply run. She didn’t believe the woman would be part of the welcome party, and while she didn’t expect her to be as equally welcoming, Hera couldn’t quite believe the gal of the agent to be so brisk and tactical. Hera hadn’t overstepped in the past, and believed choosing to ignore Fulcrum’s suggestion of not rescuing Kanan was not overstepping either. 

“What was the plan, exactly?” Sabine’s voice pulled Hera from her internal monologue, attempting to dampen the tension in the room.  

“I -” Hera began, eventually pulling her gaze from Fulcrum, who she still couldn’t believe was standing in-front of her. While she couldn’t decipher whether Fulcrum actually assisted in piloting the Ghost for the benefit of Kanan’s escape, or if she was simply checking-up on Hera, overseeing that her orders to her comrade obviously blanked. Hera shook her head, focusing “I got into Tarkin’s ship, and I - uh, got out. With Kanan. Obviously.”

Sabine hummed while Ezra and Zeb offered polite smiles, all clearly favouring the full-throttle version of the story that they would pry from Kanan later over a game of dejarik. Hera avoided their eyes as she reapplied her stare on Fulcrum. While she worked under Fulcrum all these years, a small thread in her yarn of contacts and comrades who Hera assumed must’ve received similar orders not to retrieve a member of crew once they were captured by the Empire, she found it laughable that the agent had come out of her way to scold Hera.

While she was cooking Fulcrum with her fired gaze, Hera didn’t notice Ezra and Zeb turn to Kanan, clearly unprepared to wait until later for his version of the story. Kanan, seemingly a mind-reader, grinned at his two crewmates “Hera fought an Inquisitor with my lightsaber.” 

“No way!” Sabine’s eyes were the first to light up in awe. There was a small delight in Hera’s heart even though she was royally pissed-off, because earning Sabine’s admiration was better than winning a game of sabacc. 

“Good for you, Hera. Probably better with it than him.” Zeb cackled.

“Wait, is Hera a Jedi?” Ezra asked seriously, his midnight-blue brows jumping up in surprise. Fulcrum turned to Hera with Ezra, as if she expected the answer to the silly question. Instead, her lips were thin as she surveyed the interaction between the reunited crewmates.

“Kanan!” Hera hissed, twisting fully to face him “It was more complicated than that!” 

“Well, it just seemed like you couldn’t bear to be parted from yours truly.” He executed his quip with a hand across his chest, bowing to her height with the smugness he wore often. Hera didn’t miss the flash of his eyes towards Fulcrum, the agent was unreadable, staring defiantly back at Kanan like he was the one that disobeyed her. 

“Next time, just share the plan with us? Then maybe you’ll escape without almost suffocating in a TIE fighter.” Sabine said nonchalantly, her irritation reduced. Her colourful fringe swayed as she shrugged, turning to lean against the wall. 

Hera fidgeted as Fulcrum met and held her gaze, a brow raised at Sabine’s comment although only for Hera as the rest of the crew were turning into each other, continuing to converse about Kanan and Hera’s escapade. Hera, not for the first time, squirmed under Fulcrum’s stare, knowingly the agent’s initial orders were to refrain from the type of situation Sabine was suggesting. Hera understood, she didn’t want to risk the lives of her crew, but she wouldn’t leave Kanan. Not alone, not on en-route to Mustafar. 

All she knew was that whatever was strong enough in Fulcrum’s lethal gaze to make her feel small, like a child awaiting a telling-off from a parent, would most definitely return for their impending private conversation. 

Space had always fascinated Hera and the idea of it ever tiring her failed to entertain her. Only while seated alone in the cockpit of the Ghost gazing at the stars partially visible between strips of blue and white ahead of the console, did she feel the heavy droop of her eyelids. 

It was a difficult battle to accept considering she didn’t want to sleep slouched over the steering like she had multiple times before. Kanan had pried her lifeless form where she rested on the console too many times for it to be embarrassing, yet she knew he had greeted sleep hours ago and the embarrassment would likely return if anyone else were to discover her. The idea of leaving her front-row seat of space disheartened her, even though she knew her cabin was waiting for her without any acknowledgment of disarray. Sabine had explained that she’d searched for her missing paint palette, only to find it housed in Hera’s messy cabin. The young girl had tidied the room and redressed the bed, preparing it to await Hera’s arrival. 

When Hera had left in secret, she had only accounted for the crew awakening without their captain’s presence. They would obviously have faith in her, if they successfully guessed her absence was because of a mission, but they had worried. Ezra was a fresh addition to the crew, and while the boy had witnessed a great deal in his short time with them, he had a sweet naïveté that served him with consistent hope in regards to Kanan and Hera. Sabine and Zeb were more mature and realistic, while they would hope and swear, they would also submerge their very real fears that their captain and Jedi may never return.

An almost hypnotic hyperspace and deliberately dimmed lighting were working together to ensure sleep would soon envelope her. She wouldn’t forget the permanent crease between Sabine’s brows and her painted neutral expression that concealed her deeper anxieties. Zeb was the same, teetering from foot-to-foot as he worked around Kanan, assisting Hera with gauze and bacta. He let her take the lead, because she always did, but as she glanced at him over Kanan’s bare shoulder, she caught the worry that was carefully controlled in his face. Hera didn’t realise that without herself or Kanan present, Zeb would likely fall into the role of designated leader, no matter how much Sabine would protest. 

Then there was the conversation with Fulcrum lurking in the back of her mind, leaping at her each time she drifted into sleep. There had never been tense words between the two women, no matter how frustrating matters would become. There hadn’t been much of an opportunity, a situation could only get so heated via hologram. 

Hera was about to surrender to the slumber when the cockpit door hissed open. While she knew it was Kanan by just the sound of his footsteps alone, for a split-second she questioned whether it would be Fulcrum appearing for their promised rematch. 

The Jedi sank into his usual seat next to her, his body immediately wilting into the chair. If Hera was tired, he was exhausted and like her, refusing rest if the way he actively fought from closing his eyes was anything to go by. Still, she appreciated seeing him relaxed. His guard cascaded and crumbled when they were alone together, and Hera nursed the idea that it was because of her presence and not the fact that he was pouring with fatigue. 

“Maybe you should be resting if you’re falling asleep at the helm again.” Kanan carried two mugs of what she assumed were not caf. He knew better than to pump her with caffeine so far into the sleep-cycle. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” It was a struggle to even raise an arm to accept the mug from him as he leaned towards her. “And healing? And, I don’t know, packing in a few more hours of lightsaber training if that match was anything to go by.” She wagged a brow at him, allowing her eyes to drift past his visible clavicle. It was unusual to see him in his loose-fitting sleepwear. She suddenly felt self-conscious, realising she was dressed in the same manner. Perhaps more ill-fitting than loose, her clothes hung from her frame unlike her usual thick flight suit that distorted her figure. Kanan's eyes moved sheepishly over her before locking his gaze onto the mug in his hand.

“You must be tired if you’re being mean.” He paused where he leaned towards her after passing the mug, eyes flickering over her face “You were watching.”

“Watching your back. Seeing as you always do reckless things.” Hera replied quickly, throwing her gaze up. Embarrassment lurched in her, the idea of him catching her staring at him enough to turn her several shades darker. Hiding her face, she sipped the tea, recognising a note of camomile. Kanan must’ve assumed she couldn’t sleep instead of merely fighting it. 

“You don’t get to pull that card with me for a while, not after what you did.” Withdrawing, he fell back into the chair again, his long legs working to rotate it to face her, outstretching on either side of her crossed legs. Then, with a satisfied look, he said “Where do I start? The freakishly smart - and dare I say, attractive - disguise? The solo and secretive plan? The outright disobeying Fulcrum’s orders? The -“

“Alright, alright, I get it.” 

“I didn’t even get to the lightsaber part!”

“You cannot be attracted to the woman that bombed the Jedi Temple.”

“Well, I’m not attracted to that part. Or her.” 

Hera’s eyes flashed at him. It wasn’t similar to a red beacon, sounding the alarm in warning, but it wasn’t exactly dissimilar either.

“You should be resting.” It was a diversion tactic and he could see it before she even materialised the words. 

“Hmm,” He smiled as he brought his tea to his lips. Hera wondered if his tea had the same ingredients. He was on an adrenaline comedown combined with a selection of pain medication that he begged to refuse. After bargaining, he swallowed half of the pills Hera prescribed. He didn’t like drugs, he didn’t like feeling out of control. 

With each tired movement Kanan made, the loose band edged towards the end of his ponytail. It clearly wasn’t tied tightly enough in the first place, but Hera wouldn’t make him aware of that as she studied the soft strands of hair beginning to curtain his face. He was watching her watch him, and she was caught again . His smile twisted into a grin “You’re changing the subject.” 

“Hmm?” She shuffled under his gaze, a restlessness stirring through her along with a different kind of ache she couldn’t describe but could only feel pulsing through her. She moved again in her seat, the blanket unrolling from her shoulders. There was a moment where she forgot Kanan was within a few feet of her as she leaned forward to readjust the fabric that nestled at her waist. The thin straps of her top fell and her shoulders were graced with a chill that wasn’t uncomfortable but unwelcome. 

There was further awkwardness as Hera ducked her head to fix her top and pull the blanket back to its original place, covering herself. While her gaze was lowered, she saw Kanan’s legs skirt sheepishly out of view. Her fingers froze on her nightclothes, realising that they were very close and what she wore was very scarce. 

She glanced at Kanan who was already looking at the ceiling like it was the most interesting build in the galaxy. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking -“ He cut off with a cough. His voice was small and low. Uncomfortable, he forced his eyes closed, avoiding any further embarrassment.

There was a mechanical locking sound as the doors to the cockpit sealed. Hera caught Kanan’s hand raised in the direction, commanding a manoeuvre to secure the entryway, preventing any more spectators. Everyone would've been asleep, of course. The gesture was still appreciated. 

“Thanks.” She rubbed her hands on her legs, her fingers were warm and sticky with sweat. She cleared her throat, considering a sign of some form of formality between the two of them, as if she were preparing a speech. “It’s fine. It’s not like I ever sit in here, you know, barely dressed and all that. Everyone’s asleep. I didn’t really think.” She shrugged “I was wearing Sabine’s armour plate with the clothes…everything was bound and restrictive,” she gestured to her lekku, watching a small smile appear on Kanan’s face as a reply “I’m trying to let everything breathe, I guess.” 

“I can leave if you want.” His eyes were trained on her lekku, perhaps recalling when his fingers threaded gently between them and the harsh fabric. Hera avoided thinking about that. It was silly to think he’d touched her there and they couldn’t even hold eye contact. 

“You know I don’t want that.” She watched his feet, soft socks shielding him from the coldness of the floor panels. It was colder in the cockpit than in the rest of the ship. 

“What do you want?” It suddenly became colder when Kanan asked, because a shiver raced down Hera’s back. 

“I want…” She allowed her gaze to linger over him, falling victim to the snug sleep shirt he wore. With a shake of her head and a toss of her lekku, she continued “I want Fulcrum to go easy on me when we get back in the ring.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” He smirked and it confirmed that it was in-fact bad. There wasn’t much Kanan didn’t find entertaining, but Hera clashing verbally or physically with other individuals was certainly high on the list. 

“Is this what it feels like to be told off?” She laughed into her tea, fingers squeezing the mug “Is this how you feel when I tell you off?”

“You don’t tell me off.” He scoffed, throwing a hand against his heart exaggeratedly “I’m the fearless leader, remember?” 

“Well, can the fearless leader stop getting captured so easily so I don’t have to keep rescuing him?” Hera quipped. 

“I’d think you were flirting if I didn’t know any better.” His eyes followed her slowly, waiting for her to shuffle in her seat for a second time. Hera’s hands were beginning to perspire again. 

“It’s good that you know better.” She stuttered, thwarting any attempts to mask her breathlessness. 

“Is it?” It took longer for his gaze to depart than before, he studied her carefully as if she was easily read. Hera didn’t like to think so, but if there was a weakness to her self-constructed shield, it definitely would’ve been lengthy in height and affixed with two-halves of a lightsaber. The fact that she was holding her breath most likely assisted his case. 

“I recognise Fulcrum.” Kanan began, bringing their tempting conversation to a close. 

“What?” Hera straightened, preparing herself for a conversation she could handle.  

“Did you know?” There was an apprehension in his words, he looked away from her. Maybe he didn’t want to know Hera’s answer, and she wasn’t sure why. 

“Know what?” Hera frowned, leaning forward in her seat. Her knee knocked against his “I know her.”

“I don’t think it’s my place, but I don’t want to keep stuff from you.” There was nothing peppering his words, it wasn’t a dig or quip. He was being honest. His hand was splayed against the back of his neck, a finger toying with escapee hairs “I’m pretty sure she’s a Jedi. She’s the spit of this girl from the Temple, a few years older than me though.” 

“Ah, so I’ve got nothing to worry about?” It was easier to jokingly flirt than actually flirt. It was also a helpful way to conceal her actual reaction. Actually, she may not handle the new information as successfully as she thought. Hera’s mind was reeling with the new information. The notion of Fulcrum being a Jedi made their awaiting conversation a lot more interesting. She didn’t know if she should feel more or less scared of the agent.  

“Unless the age thing doesn’t matter to me and maybe more that I’m into really intimidating women?” He grinned at her, because he liked it when she was coy “I think I’ve got that covered nonetheless.” 

“I would’ve told you if I knew.” Hera realised his initial anxiety, he thought she was deliberately concealing that type of information. There was no reason or rebellion that would force her to keep those types of secrets from him. “I would’ve told you instantly.” 

“I know.” Kanan’s hand reached for her knee where it had cosied against his, gently squeezing her leg through the thermal material. 

“It makes sense.” After a moment, she pulled her gaze from where she stared at his hand on her and instead looked at his face.

“You think?” He crossed his arms as he leaned back into his chair, humming “Did she tell you her name?”

“No.” All the professionalism in Hera ceased because she was dying to know, and she was doing a terrible job of hiding it. 

“I’ll let her tell you. I only remember her first name anyway.” Kanan shrugged, as if they were merely discussing a supply run “But she deserves that anonymity, being a Jedi n’ all that.” 

“She does.” Hera nodded “I didn’t tell her about you.” 

“You don’t tell your friends about me? Ouch.”  In another faux dramatisation of hurt, Kanan sighed. The man was all drama but Hera couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Thank you.” Kanan stood up, smoothing his sleeves as he did “And thank you. For today. You’re insane and reckless, but…thank you.” 

“Insane? Reckless?” Hera followed, clinging to the blanket as she rose to her feet “Are those supposed to be compliments?” 

“If you want, I can lend you my lightsaber for your little discussion with Fulcrum, just in case she decides to bring hers.” His hand shyly reached for hers. It could’ve been laughable, his timid actions. They were far from the adrenaline-fueled caresses moves Hera witnessed and enjoyed on Tarkin’s ship. 

“Or I can call for my resident Jedi and have him battle in my place?” Their fingers were nearly intertwining, but neither of them secured the gesture. Hera’s smaller fingers danced against Kanan’s and he reciprocated by stroking hers softly. 

“Your resident Jedi?” He raised his brows at her, sardonic shock washing over his features. Hera realised it probably was the wrong thing to say, it gave Kanan all the more reason to act differently with her, especially when they were alone. Although, it had certainly felt like he was hers when they were escaping from Tarkin’s ship. When she was convincing herself that leaving her crew was the correct action to take, Kanan certainly felt like he was more hers than anyone else's. As soon as she painted Mirialin features onto her face, the final stages of the plan she told herself she had to do, she knew she couldn’t go on without at least trying to find him.  

“I was terrified of losing you.” It was enough to weave their hands together fully. Hera felt herself gravitate towards him, as much as the action allowed. 

“I was terrified of never seeing you again…or hearing your voice.” It wasn’t a line because when Kanan’s eyebrows crossed, Hera realised it pained him to say it, to speak into existence the thought of never seeing her again.

There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. She despised how unhappy Kanan looked, like his heart suddenly sliced into two heavy pieces. His brows furrowed and eyes closed over, but his hand still remained in hers.

“Maybe we should share this with the Empire so they take the hint?” Hera gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes wandered over his face. Then without pausing to think, she poked his chin and watched as his eyes immediately opened, darker and almost glazed. There was no evidence of his previous dismay. She hadn’t touched his face before, not properly. The hair on his chin was coarse and short, and when she rubbed her finger against it, it would fold and flatten underneath it. 

“Maybe.” He breathed, the words almost falling silent. His eyes were large and boring into hers, holding her gaze. His skin was warm. Hera was hot, boiling alive with hot and cold sweat simultaneously. 

Hera realised the sharpness of the rise and fall of her chest, wondering if he would notice. He wouldn’t have been looking in that direction, she knew. Not because he wasn’t accustomed to chivalry, but because she was Hera and they didn’t look at each other like that. 

He made a move to shuffle closer to her, not that there was much space to close between them. There had been plenty of occasions where close-contact had arisen and occurred between the two, in regards to missions and combat routines. Although, they’d never been directly face-to-face with their noses brushing. Hera had never felt the urge to rise on her toes until now. Tall people were especially tall up-close. It made it difficult for Hera to structure against him. Perhaps they would stand close and simply talk, but if she lifted her head to maintain their conversation, it would seem romantic. She wasn’t sure if she was for or against the idea. 

Her eyes wandered over his features, and then they widened as she watched his lips part. There was an unusual sensation coursing through her, likely due to his empty hand finding a place to rest on her back, rubbing against the blanket.

Hesitantly, she reclined from their near-embrace. Her clammy hand clenched in his and he quickly loosened it. He didn’t seem unhappy, but there was something disappointing about his expression. Or maybe he was disappointed. Hera certainly was. She could feel it for both of them. 

“Goodnight,” He mumbled, keeping his voice low. It still sent a tremor through Hera. In an act that defied his previous timidness, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek “Thanks again for everything.” 

They lingered like that for a moment, with Kanan’s hand holding Hera’s face as if they were both waiting for something. Then she was left with the memory of his touch as he stepped back and turned to the door, something melancholic in his step. 

Hera chewed her lip, the whole dancing around their feelings was getting tiring. They would have encounters, usually late into the evenings and the next morning it would be back-to-business and forgotten about. It was usually Hera depicting the forced amnesia the day after a touch that lingered too long or a word of affection landing more than just fondly. Kanan would follow her, he always would. He may have led their missions in the field, but he wouldn’t argue with Hera’s handling of situations inside the ship. 

She hoped he would follow her once again. 

“Wait,” Hera’s voice came out quieter than intended. She turned to face him, standing with her hands on her hips, the blanket shed from her skin. The thermal lounge trousers she wore hung low on her hips and the poorly structured tube top with flimsy straps left a window of green skin visible. 

Then she stood before the strands of hyperspace and with her arms aligned away from her frame, her figure was truly showcased. Kanan appeared as if he struggled for breath when he faced her. There was a slight gape to his mouth. 

“So I risk my life saving you from a Mustafar fate, and all I get is a kiss on the cheek?” There was a newfound boldness in her tone as she raised a brow at him, however mocking it was supposed to be, it came off as nothing short of daring “Wow, Kanan, did they not teach gratitude at that Temple?” 

It would’ve been convincing if she wasn’t damn trembling and she didn’t even want to think about the other ways in which her body could betray her, especially in such ill-fitting clothes. 

“My apologies.” He mirrored her mocking tone, although the façade began to crack as excitement seeped from his every pore. Then his voice lowered to an absurdly deep octave and Hera struggled to assert herself “Where do you want me to kiss you?”

A breath caught in Hera’s throat as she struggled, outrightly failed to maintain any sort of composure. She wanted him to stop talking and start doing something else. 

He held her the same way as he did on Tarkin’s ship, after they’d watched the Inquisitor fall to his death. His rough fingers were unusually soft against her cheek while his wrist relaxed on her neck at the pulse point, feeling her beneath it.  

Kanan was precise, not fast with his movements, tucking an arm around her waist as he edged in closer. Hera didn’t deem herself breakable, but she was nervous. He had only ever kissed her a handful of times on either the cheek or hand, during moments of intensity in battle or after a few rounds of ale. The latter was long ago, he didn’t drink anymore. Somehow, Kanan being sober made him somewhat more attractive. 

Kanan performing every action with stability and slowness was heartwarming, Hera thought. She was practically vibrating with anxiety underneath him. There hadn’t been time for romance or even the introduction, besides a few kisses here and there as a teenager. She was committed to the rebellion and her crew, and while the idea of romance was always entertaining, she had never entertained it. His eyes consistently flickered back to hers, as if to say, is this okay? before he performed each small movement.

His mouth was gentle against hers, hovering just before closing in, asking for further permission. Hera parted her lips, accepting. Her heart somersaulted in piece, beating erratically and undoubtedly. He closed his eyes as he kissed and Hera copied, following the way his face moved against hers, fitting together like pieces that were supposed to connect. Similar to the separated lightsaber pieces Kanan wore that were constantly drawn to each other, begging to magnetise. 

“That’s more like it. ” She sighed into his mouth. There was an audible noise of delight from Kanan who continued to roll his lips into hers.

Hera surprised herself, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. One hand was still entwined with his but her other hovered aimlessly between them, unsure. 

“Let me,” Kanan mumbled against her mouth, his hand departing from her face to collect her empty hand, bringing it towards his head. Hera’s fingers weaved through his fully loosened hair, latching on locks that forced Kanan to emit the smallest of groans. Something rushed through Hera when she heard the noise, she squeezed harder and felt his hands repeat a similar action on her hips. 

“You're not playing fair.” Kanan knew Hera’s lekku were completely off-limits. She had granted him the information as soon as he boarded the Ghost for the first time. He’d unwoven the binding material in the TIE but he steered away from any more contact than necessary. When his hand moved back to cupping her face, his fingers outstretched to lightly graze the root of one lek. The loose wrap she wore over her head was thinner than her usual flight cap, making it easier for Kanan’s fingers to intercept and stroke over the fabric.

She dropped his hand to loop both of hers around his neck, and Kanan reciprocated by locking his around her waist, squeezing. It gave Hera all the courage to force their bodies together, smacking into place as they became flush against each other. It was like learning to fly for the first time again, hurling towards the skies at an impossible speed and refusing to look back at the ground. 

As they twisted and pulled at each other, Hera ended up nestled in Kanan’s embrace. Only when cradled in his arms did she realise the magnitude of the situation, she was kissing Kanan. Her Kanan. Her crew, the first crewmate she ever had - besides Chopper. The man that had worked alongside her for years and quite truly, her best friend. They’d had conversations at length at the beginning with Hera basically ordering him not to chase her like she was something lounging in the back of a bar. He responded easily, flirtatiously “Are you telling me this or yourself?”. There had never been a boundary crossed. While the memory was blurry, Hera could recall the first time Kanan had had to patch her up after a blaster bolt had scorched through her trousers and part of her thigh. He was clumsy when touching her, albeit more anxious than necessary. The flirtatious façade was merely that, a mask. 

Hera pulled back breathlessly, her own hand on Kanan’s face, holding him there until she was ready for another round. 

“Your Jedi, huh.” Kanan was equally breathless, but his pupils were slowly decreasing in size. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Don’t get used to it, love.” Hera's fingers began to trace the high of his cheekbone. 

Kanan’s pupils went wide and wild again, and he joined his mouth to hers, mumbling something incoherent against her lips. Hera grinned as she returned the kiss because kissing Kanan was a glimpse of what the Force must feel like. It was her own version of the Jedi’s invisible tool, and with every crane and twist of her face against his and the warmth of his breath in her mouth, Hera sensed an almighty balance between them. It was something that was supposed to happen, and after all these years, they’d finally gotten around to it.