Kanan Jarrus (
notallofus) wrote2018-09-04 06:33 pm
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The last of the refugees have been escorted off the Ghost and onto Gatalenta, along with all the belongings and supplies that Hera and Kanan could muster for them, too. There were handclasps and some weeping, and children that seemed reluctant to step out onto a new planet after all the troubles that happened to them on the old, or on the hyperlanes. Slavers have never been anything but ruthless. Fortunately the Cloud Riders can be ruthless, too, and they'll see to it that these refugees are well-protected, at least for a while.
It's something.
There's an ache in Kanan's shoulders from hauling things around, along with a faint line of tension reflected through the Force, as no one on the ship was particularly happy most of the time. He understands, but it's . . . hard to keep all of that out, not in such close quarters.
(Time in the cargo bay with the boy was a blessing on several front, honestly.)
"Do you want me to get some caf brewing while you get us into hyperspace?" Kanan asks Hera, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
They could all use some time to gather themselves, it seems to him. But he wants to check, just in case he's wrong.
It's something.
There's an ache in Kanan's shoulders from hauling things around, along with a faint line of tension reflected through the Force, as no one on the ship was particularly happy most of the time. He understands, but it's . . . hard to keep all of that out, not in such close quarters.
(Time in the cargo bay with the boy was a blessing on several front, honestly.)
"Do you want me to get some caf brewing while you get us into hyperspace?" Kanan asks Hera, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.
They could all use some time to gather themselves, it seems to him. But he wants to check, just in case he's wrong.
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He wants to know all about her, but at the same time he hates to intrude.
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"They must've told me how they made their choices. And I remember they wouldn't give me ideas. They made a point of it, that I had to decide for myself."
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Nice is a mild word for it.
"Was your mother part of the Free Ryloth movement, too?"
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Again, a smile flutters over her face, but this time only briefly.
"In the movement, they all knew her. But outside it – they didn't talk about her. She avoided anything too public, especially with off-worlders."
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Hera.
" . . . something else? She sounds great."
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She goes quiet, then, her eyes flickering down, her shoulders suddenly tensed, and tight, as she holds her breath.
It had slipped out. 'Us.'
Hera closes her eyes, swallows, and makes herself roll through it.
"One of them would have to be visible. And anyone connected to them, if others knew about them -"
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Us, she said. Which means -- something. And he could ask, but . . . it doesn't seem much like she wants him to. Not now, anyway.
"It'd put you in danger. They were trying to let you have lives, to grow up . . . without having to lose anything. Or at least, as much as she could keep that loss away?"
The plural isn't an accident, but he's still not asking.
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"There was no way to do that."
Low, but not bitter. It's only the truth.
"But I'm sure they didn't want to make it worse."
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Kanan matches her mirthless laugh with a wry and tired smile. He knows what he doesn't know, especially about things like this. Not from the inside, anyway.
"Everything I've ever heard about parents suggests they'd probably want to try. Even if there wasn't a point. But -- that's all just stories. But you seemed to like your childhood? At least when you talk about it, sometimes. I -- "
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"And before the war, I must've felt safer."
Hera can't really remember that feeling. But she remembers more climbs up along the mountains, and the canyons. Her parents even coming along, sometimes, instead of always pulling them back inside.
"But they didn't hide things from me. They always told the truth, about Ryloth, about our history. About what a war meant."
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"They didn't really tell us, you know? Even when we were in the field, they didn't give the larger context, not -- not like that. In hindsight, I don't think that was wise. Kind, maybe, but not wise."
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That surprises her, but then, "Or - the histories of the places where you..."
Fought? Traveled to? She's not sure how to describe a Jedi's work.
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He doesn't smile.
"I wonder if they thought about it that way, too, somehow. But it doesn't seem likely."
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She wouldn't have - well, Hera doesn't know what she would have thought of the Jedi. Of how they would have taught war, or seen it. They all had to make their own power in it, and strength in it, from anything they could. And she'd never experienced like what the Jedi had.
In a different time.
"When things were really bad, if the bombings were close, if we hadn't eaten in days - my father used to say these words. In Basic it'd be something like, they can only kill us, they can't break our will to be free."
Hera takes a breath. "We'd repeat like it mantra. Somehow, it worked." She glances back up. "It used to help me sleep."
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"Like maybe the war didn't really end, but here we still are. Does it still help you, or do you need something . . . something else, now?"
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Defiance in the face of death weighs heavier when it's not just your life that you're responsible for. Hera had learned that, too.
"But sometimes it still helps keep my focus. It's easier when the stakes are clear."
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"There's always so much potential for collateral damage, every time we do something. Well, almost every time."
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She knows he didn't ask. But it's a loud current, running beneath their words.
"When I was thirteen, they ran this mission to break into an Imperial prison. This was the early years of the Empire, when they were still taking over. But on Ryloth, they didn't waste any time hunting down any dissidents. Orn Free Taa wouldn't complain, and no one else would care."
Her mouth curls into a bitter smile at that, but this fades quickly.
"My mother managed to recruit a Twi'lek working in the prison. It was almost impossible for a group of them to sneak into an Imperial compound, but with unlocked doors and knowledge of the guards' rounds, they managed it. The alarm didn't sound until they were escaping. They made it to the outer fence - it was a stun fence, but they'd deactivated a section of it. My father led the way, climbing up and over it. My mother stayed behind to ensure all the prisoners got out."
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"Is that when you lost her?"
He's not sure he was supposed to say that out loud, but --
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Her voice has has grown soft, her eyes still down. "And that was it."
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He's not sure whether it helps to have seen it, or if it's better not to have.
So he says nothing, instead.
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"You can't control the damage."
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"You really can't."
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"And it's not the only kind of loss."
They both knew that. And they saw it again today.
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"But we can at least give people room to get something back."
Some of the time, anyway.
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