notallofus | (no subject)

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Breathe.

Just breathe.

Once, this was a meditation room. There was one Master Billaba had preferred, after her months in a coma. A creek bed was built into its floor, winding a path through the room, dark water trickling over the smooth stones set beneath. The windows were tinted, hiding the city lights of Coruscant beyond, and a constant garden of lycandis, zeka grass, and honeyblossoms was cultivated to blanket the floor. Entering was like walking into a forest glen on a warm night, and it was easy to find peace there. Or to drift to sleep in the sweet-smelling grass. It was hard to think of the blasterfire raining down on other planets, or even the explosions that had rocked the Jedi Temple around them.

Something that makes you feel safe –

It was ashes now. He could only imagine that. The creek was dry, the stones cracked, honeyblossoms dust. Maybe the Empire had transformed it into something else entirely. He could only imagine – Kanan doubted he would ever see that place again. Maybe he even knew he would never see it. Like Master Billaba. That place could no longer protect him. He couldn't feel safe there.

a person, a place, a situation

This room is small, simple, bare. Not entirely unlike his quarters as an apprentice in the Jedi Temple, but he didn't think on that. There was a door along the far wall, just a few meters from him. Low benches lined the walls on either side of him, and two bunks were built into the back. He's sitting on the thin bedding of the lower bunk, his fingers curled gently along the edge. No windows, stale recycled oxygen with the tinny scent of steel. Beneath his boots, the floor vibrated faintly.

focus on that image

There's a flicker of movement to his right. A shadow on the floor, along the wall.

I'll . . . try to get in -

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Kanan swallows.

"Maybe not," he answers. "I probably would've - stayed in the Temple."

"Not the Agricorps?"

Hera's voice is mild, even as the ship's vibrations increase in intensity. Her fingertips, where they touch the back of Kanan's hand, are less cool than they were just a few moments ago.

"I don't think anyone could see you as a farmer."

His eyes fall, watching her fingers over his.

"No," he says, forcing himself to smile again. "No, no one'd want me in charge of all that."

"I don't know, love. You've done well with Ezra. With Sabine, even."

Her smile warms around the edges, as do her fingertips as she runs them over the knuckles of his hand.

"Less so with Zeb and Chopper, but that's pretty much the truth for everyone with those two. "

He wants to lift his hand to take hers - but something stops him. Maybe he'll lose his balance, as the ship rocks, if he lets go now.

But he does lean in, a closer to her.

"Did well," he murmurs.

"You really think this is the end?"

Her eyebrow is up now, and her lekku twitch, something Kanan has doubtless seen from Hera before when she's making fun of him.

"Maybe I am the only one who understands this 'hope' thing after all."

"The Jedi said there was wisdom in accepting death when the time came."

He feels her movement, more than he sees it. "But not that it meant the end."

"And if I say it isn't time yet?"

There's more heat under her skin now, and the temperature in the room has gone up by several degrees.

"I'm still your Captain. And I've got Chop on lookout at the door."

Kanan takes a sudden, sharp breath. For a second, the lights in the cabin flash overbright.

"Sorry Captain," he says. "Don't know if I'm going to get a say in it."

Her hand clamps down on his, grip tight and strong.

"No apologies needed, we knew this could happen. But you've got to try."

The lights stabilize, but one corner of the bunk is beginning to rust.

For a few seconds, Kanan just breathes. He moves in closer still to her, resting his head against hers.

"'s no try."

She stares at him from such a tiny distance it might as well not be one at all, eyes a brilliant green.

"So do. Until you can't. I'll still be here."

Hera lets her eyes drift closed, her skin cool again, if only where Kanan touches it.

"Like a lot of things."

"Not many facts, though," he gets out, lungs aching in the room's suddenly-thick air.

His left hand has gone numb.

"'s a good plan. Killing time."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She lifts one hand from his, running it up against his arm, to his shoulder.

"But you have to stay here."

"Part two of the plan. I know."

He sags against her a little, eyes drifting closed. It helps him focus on the here and now, the vibration beneath his feet, the scratchy blankets that are the only kind he ever wants, Hera's warmth --

"I didn't forget."

She moves her arm around his shoulders, holding him against her.

"Maybe it'll help to think about something else."

Even as she says it, the scent of the room gets heavier, and something starts to tap against the bunk above them, along the floor, picking up as it goes on, into a rainstorm somehow gathering around them.

"Like Rion."

"Rion was good," Kanan acknowledges, tilting his head back so the rain can fall directly on his face. The rhythm is almost as comforting as the noise of the Ghost's engines.

"Should get back there someday. 's a nice dream, right?"

"Maybe even when it's not monsoon season," she says, her lekku twitching again.

"Might be that now," he mutters, turning away from the water to bury his face in her shoulder.

There's a pain in his head, and it won't --

"Good timing, I guess."

"But I wouldn't say no to that caf now."

The rain doesn't stop, but the strong, bitter smell of the caf mixes in with it.

"It's been a really long day."

"'s not over yet," he agrees wearily.

"Save the caf for breakfast."

There's the hissing sound of oil on a griddle.

"C'n make a protein scramble, too."

Kanan breathes out, and it almost sounds like a quiet chuckle.

"'ll add mynock to yours."

Hera lets out a laugh.

"When was the last time you made me breakfast?"

Kanan smiles against her shoulder, lifting up his still-numb hand to rest clumsily on top of hers.

"Ow. Probably the last time we actually kept to anything like a planetary schedule."

Is that the smell of ozone? He'd like the caf back, please.

She presses her fingers, hard, into his hand.

"Must've been a long time ago then. Before the kids."

There's a moment where the snap-hiss of a lightsaber echoes above the sound of Hera's voice, but it fades, turning into the low crackle of electric current, and then dying away altogether.

"Maybe when we were kids. Feels like that, today."

"When were we kids?"

Her voice is quieter. And beneath it, there's the soft trickle of water over smooth stones.

"What if I'd met you when you were a kid?"

"Never, see? 's the whole point."

When in doubt, joke. And while Kanan is trying seriously hard not to be in doubt right now --

"Uh. Are we both on the same planet in this hypothetical? Because I vote we pick Rion. Or maybe Alderaan. Def'nitely not Pamarthe. Or Coruscant."

The sound of water on stone is louder, less a trickle and more a distant waterfall.

"Alderaan's beautiful."

The air grows cooler. Where there had been rain, it's now soft, dappled sunlight, and the rushing of the distant waterfall is joined by a low hum of bird song.

"Maybe I went there when I was a teenager. When I was running transport jobs."

"Not a lot of downtime, on that kind of run. But you made it count. I tried, when it was me."

He shifts on the bunk, fingers clenching and releasing the scratchy blanket, imagining the feel of grass --

No. This is still the Ghost, everything's still fine --

"Maybe after Rion. And breakfast."

"Kanan."

She lifts her still lowered hand, pressing it to his face again. The forest sounds have dissipated back to the quiet clicks and vibrations of the ship. The air is warm, recycled oxygen.

Her hand is cool on his face. "Stay here."

Edited 2018-06-03 05:47 (UTC)

Kanan nods, though it's more like a shudder that runs through him, his forehead still pressed against her jaw, her skin still cool on his again. The light in the cabin is too bright, it stings in his eyes even as he keeps them lowered.

It's only a matter of time -

"I don't -"

He breaks off, breathing again, forcing his his breaths to stay slow, and even. "I don't regret anything, but I - I wish -"

Her hand comes up to gently press her fingertips to his mouth, stopping the words up.

"There's still time for that. For all of it. You just have to stay. You can do this. I know you can."

He swallows, then nods, shaking off her fingers.

"t's not the time -"

It wouldn't mean anything here.

"Not for us," she agrees, smile still clear in her voice.

Her hand falls away, cool fingers tangling with his.

"But if it will help, I'll listen."

Again, he goes quiet, as he focuses on his breathing.

"It's - it's what I'd really have to say to you."

And he can't do that now.

"I'll wait."

Her voice is quiet now, and she leans forward to whisper it in his ear.

"Until neither of us can anymore. It's the only promise we have, now."

He wants to reach out to her, wants to hold onto her again. But his hands are at his sides on the -

"I think -"

- on the bunk. He can't move them. The room's grown so much brighter. And beneath it, sliding across the floor -

"- I think I need to -"

- a shadow approaches them.

Hera reaches out to rest her hand against the center of his chest.

"Wake up."

Then she shoves him, hard, straight off the bunk and onto the hard, cold, metal --

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