notallofus | (no subject)

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.

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"We got some precis on the current conflicts, but history was for our Masters to tell us or not. Mine was fond of history, and if we'd had more regular missions and fewer battle-oriented ones, I'm sure . . . but no. I'm . . . I was thinking more about war, and what it really costs, and what it really means. I remember we all thought it was a kind of adventure, in the crèche. Ca -- I thought about it like that for a long while after, too. Until it was too late."

He doesn't smile.

"I wonder if they thought about it that way, too, somehow. But it doesn't seem likely."

Her eyes fall again. She watches the light along the metal floor, her boots against it.

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."

Edited 2018-09-11 02:58 (UTC)

"I feel like that might sometimes help me sleep now," Kanan says, very quietly. There's a softness to his face, a weariness and a sadness for the child Hera was, for all the children on Ryloth, and elsewhere.

"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?"

"It doesn't comfort me the way it did then."

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."

Edited 2018-09-11 14:48 (UTC)

"I hear you on that," Kanan says, voice still a little weary.

"There's always so much potential for collateral damage, every time we do something. Well, almost every time."

Hera stays silent, at first, eyes low again.

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."

"Is that when you lost her?"

He's not sure he was supposed to say that out loud, but --

"My father said she was climbing the fence, and a sniper hit her."

Her voice has has grown soft, her eyes still down. "And that was it."

"I'm sorry," Kanan says.

He's not sure whether it helps to have seen it, or if it's better not to have.

So he says nothing, instead.

She glances back at him, and then away, with a small nod.

"You can't control the damage."

"No," he agrees, shaking his head in an equally small gesture.

"You really can't."

Hera takes a breath.

"And it's not the only kind of loss."

They both knew that. And they saw it again today.

"No," Kanan says, exhaling heavily.

"But we can at least give people room to get something back."

Some of the time, anyway.

"We can," she agrees. "We have. I just -"

Hera glances away again, deciding whether to say it.

"I think about that. Being taken before you have a name."

He's quiet for a second, watching her. Then --

"And having to choose a name that's always going to remind you that . . . that it happened."

"Or maybe that he came back."

It's the more hopeful view. But he had survived, after all. So there was still hope.

"That would be a lot better. And . . . he can do that now, right? Since he hasn't . . ."

Hasn't chosen yet, that is.

"If that's what he wants."

It's another few seconds but Hera looks back at Kanan, and even allows herself a flickering smile.

"He'll have a community again."

Kanan smiles back, just a little.

"A community of three and a half counts, too. I think so, anyway."

Her smile widens slightly.

"Who's the half here?"

"The Ghost," Kanan says, smile gone crooked.

"At least until she decides to talk to me."

"Good. Because Chopper never would've let you hear the end of it if you meant him."

"I would never!" Kanan protests.

And then --

"I like my shins un-bruised!"

Edited 2018-09-12 01:29 (UTC)

"And your hair un-singed."

Finally, Hera lifts her cup again. The caf has gone a little cool, but she doesn't mind too much.

"I'm willing to sacrifice my eyebrows, though."

He lifts up his own caf at that, taking a small sip.

It'll do.

"I don't think I look rakish enough."

Edited 2018-09-12 01:40 (UTC)

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