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There's tension on the Ghost. Kanan isn't sure if Hera's contributing to it at all, or if it's just him and his awareness of how colossally he messed up. Letting Zeb bet Chopper was bad enough, but Calrissian sold Hera as the end consequence of Kanan's bad deal-making and it just --

He's not even sure it's something that can be fixed. (Should it be fixed? It is a truly epic fuckup.)

But since avoiding Hera's only going to make it worse, he makes his way to the cockpit once they've landed again, and he won't distract her from piloting.

"So, uh -- "

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Kanan winces again, but tries to keep it internal this time.

"I'm making it worse, aren't I?"

How can he be making it worse?

“What do you want to hear, Kanan?”

She lowers her hand, raising her eyes to look up toward the clouded night sky. The light from Lothal’s moons, that had so clearly lit the open plains earlier, had now mostly faded.

“What can I say here?”

Definitely worse.

"If there's something you want to say -- or some things -- I guess I want to hear those. And if not . . . um. I'll go resettle the cargo bay and see if there's anything tucked in a corner that we can sell off to get more food money."

Maybe that would be best. Kanan's just not entirely sure for who.

She listens to this, staying silent for a few seconds after he's finished. Then, Hera leans forward, her eyes falling again. "I want to go back to this morning, before this day happened."

She reaches out, to put her hands back on the console. "That's what I want."

You and me both, Kanan does not say. This isn't the time for banter, or nervous talking, or . . .

Anything he's used to, really.

"Yeah," he says instead, quietly. "That'd be the best option."

It's not one they have, but if they did --

"But we don't have that option."

She leans forward over the console, flipping a switching and moving her hands like she plans to do more. But the, she closes her eyes. Her fingers curl away from the panels, tight against her palms. "And I can't get it out of my head."

It's possible that, if he tried hard and Hera was willing, Kanan could take it out of her head, but --

He's not even going to think about that, skin popping out in goosebumps even as his stomach shrinks in on itself.

"I can see why," he says, instead. And then stops, because what else can he say that isn't about making himself feel better?

But Hera shakes her head.

"This isn't helping."

Silence.

Then --

"Will anything?"

Whatever it is, he'll do it.

"I don't know, Kanan."

She opens her eyes, her fingers unfurling, tracing over the console again. "You're so afraid of saying the wrong thing. But that leaves it up to me, to talk about it. To know how to talk about it."

There's a pause, and then, "And I don't know if I have that in me tonight."

Edited 2018-04-13 00:44 (UTC)

In that case --

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

He tries to relax, and fails.

"Nightmares aren't -- "

Hera closes her eyes again, her hands slamming flat on the console.

"No, I mean I wish you'd stop being so kriffing scared and actually say something."

There's no relief in the sudden break of tension, because he knows that isn't all of it, and at the same time it probably isn't even helping her at all.

"I messed up," he says. "I messed up so badly, and you ended up being in a situation you never wanted to be in, bought and sold and treated like a thing -- Zeb and I can't undo it, and that kriffing Calrissian -- "

He breaks off.

"It won't happen again."

Hera abruptly rises from the pilot's chair. She doesn't move to leave the cockpit, but steps up to the wall behind her chair, her arms folded tightly against her chest.

"What am I supposed to do here? I can't be mad at you, at Zeb, I can't be angry at Calrissian for acting exactly how a two-timing swindler would, I let that slaver scum walk -"

She turns, for the first time looking back to him. "- I can't even be angry at the Empire, because they didn't do this to me, Kanan."

He wants to say something about them hunting down that slaver scum, or at least putting the word out among their contacts, but --

Well. He can tell that isn't really the point. His stomach is still tight, and his brain is spinning endlessly, looking for a way to fix something, anything, but --

"It wasn't just circumstance, either, though. And I don't see why you can't be angry at me and Zeb."

"Because hurting you isn't going to make me feel better."

She looks away, her stance tighter, her lekku twitching in frustration. "And because I can't be your captain like that. What you did wrecked this crew, I can get angry at you for that. But this - "

But this isn't really just about that.

"It's personal," he says, and that's an understatement. This might not help, either, (nothing can really help), but --

It's probably better than silence. And he can't find it in himself to leave her completely alone.

"An old, old fear that you learned how to put out of the forefront of your mind, and now you can't."

Hera goes still, down to her lekku. When she speaks, even her voice is flat.

"It was easier when it was happening. I didn't have time to think about anything but getting off that ship. Getting us all to safety."

"Now all there is is time," Kanan says. His throat feels frozen.

"Until the next job."

She stays quiet, and still, for nearly a minute. But slowly, her fingers, still on the pilot's chair, begin to loosen.

"Azmorigan's a useless, easy mark of a crime lord," she says, her voice softer now. "I - I know it would've turned out like this, one way or another. And I know it shouldn't - it doesn't matter to me what a - lelg no krolp like that thinks of me."

Kanan exhales quietly.

“Except he’s not the only one, and while all of the rest are lelg no krolp, too, not everyone around them always realizes it.”

He wishes she didn’t have to. Hell, he wishes all Twi’leks didn’t have to, on some level, always be waiting for the next piece of shit to say something . . . well, shitty.

Edited 2018-04-14 01:29 (UTC)

"Sometimes I just feel like I'm outrunning it."

Her eyes fall, down to the ship's controls, but she's looking at them. Her lekku twist slightly, her fingers tightening on the chair again, but her voice stays steady.

"Like one day they'll finally come back, and - then they'll take me too."

Maybe yesterday, saying, ‘they won’t, or ‘we won’t let them’ would have meant something. Since they, in point of fact, did — today, not so much.

“We’d find you, if they did. And you’d probably get yourself out of there, first.”

"I don't know, Kanan."

She closes her eyes again, shakes her head, because that's not what she means to say. "I'm not asking you to comfort me. I know you'd come after me, I know I can fight back. But I'm not different from anyone who hasn't been found, or who can't escape. There's no reason for me to be here and them to be there."

“No, there isn’t,” Kanan agrees. “Because no one should be there. It’s random chance, and happenstance, and pure bad luck. None of it is a sign of worthiness, or of lack of worth. It’s just the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong company.”

He spreads his hands helplessly.

“It’s the same reason I’m here and not Master Depa, or Master Secura, or General Kenobi. Blind luck, mine and not theirs. But you’re fighting to make them free, and to make a galaxy that will help them do that, unlike the one we have now. Wouldn’t those who are captive now do the same, if they could? You’re doing what you can to get them the choice.”

Edited 2018-04-14 20:45 (UTC)