notallofus | Entries tagged with tl: prime canon

Hera hasn't met his eyes since they parted from Phoenix Squadron. She occupies herself with briefing Zeb and Sabine, talking to Chopper – she sounds calm enough, but Kanan can feel the tension vibrating off her every time she passes him. It's not like anything he's ever felt from her before, and it's only been getting worse the longer they've worked on these blockade runs. Usually he finds Hera's presence comforting and stable, even in the most stressful situations. But right now, Kanan feels like he might not mind a few hours away from her whirring anxiety.

They're still on their way to Shantipole when Hera leaves him and Chopper in the cockpit. She murmurs something having Zeb and Sabine run pre-flight checks on the Phantom, and exits still without looking to him. Chopper's not any better company, so Kanan waits a few minutes, and then follows her. By the time he makes it down, the others are climbing up into the shuttle. He nods to Zeb and Sabine, but steps into Hera's path before she can reach the ladder.

This doesn't seem to surprise her. She finally meets his eyes - and starts to speak her mind. "I can't believe you volunteered me for this reckless mission." Kanan's sure she's been waiting to say that since the minute they left Sato's command center. "After what happened, the fleet needs me now more than ever."

"True, the fleet needs a solution," he answers. "But one that neither you nor Agent Kallus are able to see."

Given her mood, it probably hadn't been the best approach. She raises her eyebrows, and takes a step back from him. "Oh. Are we talking in riddles now? Is that it?"

Kanan sighs. "Fine. You want me to spell it out for you? We can't beat that blockade, not without a better ship, with better firepower, and the best pilot at the controls."

"Even if this ship turns out to be everything we hope it is, I still might not make it back in time to help!"

He moves to walk past her. "Then you better hurry."

It's not like Kanan's trying to let Rex get under his skin, but if the clo -- guy -- could just keep his opinions about what makes a good Jedi to himself, this would all be a lot easier. Not that Kanan's jealous of him trying to mentor Ezra, there's nothing wrong with that.

Nothing.

Just --

"You really think wit's going to get you out of every hole you dig yourself into?" He finds himself asking Rex, halfway through heating up a protein pack in the galley. "I thought you couldn't fly by the seat of your pants in the army."

Rex folds his arms across his chest, scoffing out loud. "You have to have heard the one about battle plans surviving enemies. Maybe you didn't remember it, in all the time you spent off the front lines, but surely you heard it somewhere."

It's good to be home again, and, oddly enough, on the newly-repurposed Phoenix Home, too. Kanan feels less exposed, which he wasn't expecting. But support, back-up, and more people on the lookout for important resources means somewhat less scrambling, and the odds can be stacked a little higher before doom is a foregone conclusion.

He guesses, anyway. But --

But he also feels sick to his stomach. There are clones on board, and although they're older than the ones he saw last -- Grey and Styles, Soot and Big-Mouth -- but maybe that's what his soldiers -- his friends would have grown into, if they'd been given the chance. If they hadn't betrayed -- no, they'd been betrayed, no matter how it looked from the outside. If Rex is right . . .

It's so hard to hold onto that, though. Harder than he wants it to be. They're good men, Rex and Wolfe and Gregor, but they've got the faces of his nightmares, and that's . . .

Maybe if he gets out of his own head a little, maybe . . . maybe that'll make this better. Somehow. Which is why he pulls himself away from the mess and goes looking for Hera. She'll be on the Ghost, he knows, and --

And that's probably better for him, too. More hands always help turn a slapdash field repair into something that'll last.

Here on the bridge of Phoenix Home, Kanan keeps expecting to see trooper armor, to hear Grey’s voice teasing him about all the questions he's not asking right now, to hear Styles weigh in on the discussion of objectives, to bring his frontline experience to bear on the Rebellion's problems. The bridge isn't as sparkling clean as he remembers bridges being, back when the Republic still existed, when all the wars were new, but the space is right, the lines and curves and angles of each and every corridor, of the comm boards and holo displays, the mess and the bunks and -- everything really. It makes his stomach hurt, makes his neck and shoulders tense, brings a sharp twist of headache to the back of his skull. He looks up suddenly, attention primed for the mention of Imperials, then bleeding into now and all he can feel is relief. Which he knows is going to change very shortly, but --

Some things can't be helped.

Sato, hands folded across his chest in a posture of thoughtfulness and determination, is laying out the scenario. "-- scouted in this area are usually made up of three hauler freighters with docking ports for two fighters each. Even with our smaller squad of A-wings, we believe we could successfully combat their defenses. But we've previously lacked a freighter large and maneuverable enough to pick up any cargo we could free. Could the Ghost accomplish this?"

Ask a stupid question, Kanan does not say. Of course the Ghost can do it. Well -- the Ghost by itself, no, but with Hera piloting --

Hera, herself, speaks up at this point, nothing but respect and professionalism in her voice. "Yes sir, we can use a magnetic lock to pick up the crates."

She's better than Kanan at that, too, especially these days. Especially today, maybe. It shouldn't be like that, and Kanan knows it, but all of this remains far too familiar and that's . . . maybe that's always going to be disturbing.

Meanwhile, Sato and Hera are collaborating on the plan, and it's a good one, Kanan can't even deny that, either.

"All right, Captain Syndulla," Sato says, "In that case, Phoenix squad can clear a path for you."

Hard on the heels of that comes Hera, filling in the gaps as easily as breathing. "With the A-wings busy with the fighters, the Phantom should be used to free the cargo."

Kanan doesn't even need to look to know how pleased Sabine is to be tasked with a pivotal role, he doesn't even need the tone of her voice as she says, "I can do that."

"Good, Sato says, pointing to the holomap. Kanan can't help the way he leans forward to look more closely, and somewhere within him the Caleb-that-was is momentarily resentful.

"They use a position here to shift hyperspace lanes. Once they fall out of hyperspace, we estimate it will take them between ten and fifteen minutes to calculate their next jump."

"Short window," one of the other pilots mutters, and Kanan is already shaking his head. It's like they don't know what the Ghost's crew is capable of, at all.

Hera, of course, sets them straight. "We can manage it if we get the drop on them. Especially if we let at least one ship launch TIEs, they'll have to redock before jumping."

Another voice in the crowd has their own idea to contribute. "In that case it sounds like we should be waiting for them."

Sato, like a good commander, considers this point of view just like he has all the others, saying, "I agree."

Then, like they planned it, Ahsoka pushes herself away from the wall, emerging from the shadows to offer her own piece of the puzzle. "Their next shipment should be within one cycle. You should all take the time to prep yourselves and your ships before we get in position."

And just like that, they're dismissed. It shouldn't get his hackles up, Kanan knows that, but it does, all the same. He keeps a weather eye on Hera, waiting to see what direction she commits to before falling in alongside her. It's the one comforting thing he can find in this whole mess, and maybe if he holds onto it (and her) tightly enough, he'll be able to pull himself through.

Kanan can always hope.

It helps, a little, that, as they turn off the main corridor of the command ship, the door opens up into somewhere that's not full of military types.

But it's still a problem.

Kanan can feel his neck muscles tightening, his stomach clenching down with the weight of bad memories. He hates being at odds with Hera, hates it utterly, but --

But this --

He can't be okay with this. He wouldn't know how, even if he wanted to try. (And he doesn't want to try at all.)

Maybe Hera can tell, because she doesn't make a move to stop him, keeping pace with him as he strides through the cantina part, and out the back door.

Kanan only starts slowing down when they reach the far edge of the lake, taking a deep breath and turning around. Finally.

He still hasn't figured out what he wants to say.

Every nerve is aching still, phantom pains from the Inquisitor's interrogation -- and the more brutally physical one that came before -- still stinging up and down his legs, his arms, making his lungs ache when he breathes.

Ezra's gone.

It's too much for pain, a great gaping coldness there at the heart of him, rising up to swallow everything else, and --

This is why Master Billaba told me to run

For the first time, maybe, he understands her impulse, understands what he spared her from by fleeing, even if he also left her to die. He would rather Ezra had run.

Part of him had rather they'd all run, really, while at the same time being incredibly grateful they didn't.

Ezra's dead.

It's the worst thing he could think of, dreams of failing his apprentice haunting the night hours for days, weeks, months -- maybe even longer, with some nebulous face filling in for Ezra until he'd actually met the boy.

It burns. But if he's learned nothing in all the years since Caleb ran, since he let that guilt eat him alive and turn him into someone else completely --

Kanan has learned that some flames purify. And here and now, if he keeps the Inquisitor focused on him, if he defeats him --

Nothing else has to be lost here. And for the first time since Kaller, Kanan Jarrus the Jedi is truly unafraid.

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 -

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 -- "

This had proved to be one of the smoothest jobs they'd ever run. Hera, acting as a graduate assistant who had ended up at the administrative building when she'd meant to get to the xenobiologly labs on the other side of campus, had distracted the guards long enough for Kanan to slip in and out of the Imperial liaison's office without any trouble at all. Then again, neither the office nor the files inside were overly protected – the Empire didn't seem too concerned with anyone slipping away with their notes on Bar'leth University's faculty. It wasn't a weapon, or some exploitable resource, so maybe that wasn't surprising. But there were contacts in the rebellion who could use the information on which academics might be sympathetic, and which might be in imminent danger from the Empire.

And so they finish far ahead of their scheduled rendezvous with the Ghost. Kanan changes out of his maintenance uniform disguise, though Hera keeps her civilian clothes, and with little else to do in the meantime, they wander along the edge of the campus, its famous natural and cultural history museum looming not far in the distance. Most students and faculty have cleared out by now, but the paths and column-lined buildings are illuminated with white lanterns, keeping the campus bright as the cool evening sets in. The paths are lined with flower beds, and ahead of them is a wide pond, still enough to reflect the gymnasium just beyond it.

It's a very peaceful place, on the surface. But they had already read enough of the files they'd recovered to find that under that surface, it's anything but.

The sound of crates clattering from a neat stack into a haphazard pile resounds from the cargo bay, followed shortly after by contentious voices -- and bleeps -- raised in a chorus of 'he did it'.

Kanan rests his face in his hand for a moment, eyes closed.

"Do you think they'll clean it up, or are they going to pretend we couldn't hear them and have no idea who could have made the mess?"

They can get back to mission planning in a minute, and should. But --

Right. So now that Ezra's Jedi education is underway, there should be some kind of formalized feedback, right?

An . . . exam of some sort. Or maybe not as formal as an exam, but --

No, probably an exam. Which means Kanan needs to come up with said exam, and whether it's written or physical or both, and what criteria count as success, and --

"Uh."

While thinking all this, Kanan has subconsciously made his way to the cockpit, pausing just inside the door as if only now thinking to check if Hera is currently less-than-busy.

"Do you have a minute?"

It's the unexpected resurgence of old loss that stings, and he can't seem to shake it. Even knowing about the existence of the Inquisitor, and that he's not going to stop coming for them -- for Ezra -- lacks some immediacy in the upwelling of a fresh feeling of being alone in the galaxy.

He'd thought for a minute that someone else was out there, someone experienced, a leader who could --

Admit it, Jarrus. You wanted someone who could take over for you, so you could go back to being a padawan, or maybe not even that.

It's going to stick with him, that frustration with both the situation and himself, and in order to try to do something productive with it, he goes to find Hera.

(He always goes to find Hera.)

"Did we get a signal out yet?"

Zeb is still grumbling about having to share his room. The kid is annoyed at having to share a room with Zeb. And Chopper is blaring on about - something. Kanan hasn't been paying much attention. He watches Zeb and the kid badger each other, and Chopper flail his arms around, but he's only half-listening. All of it was probably inevitable, and there's a lot they'll all have to get used to now. And at the moment, he's not sure he has it in him to referee all of this. It's been a very, very long day.

So after another minute or so, Kanan shakes his head, turning out of the galley.

But rather than heading for his own room, he moves toward the bow of the ship. He climbs up into the cockpit, and as he expected, he finds Hera sitting in the pilot's chair, leaning over the controls.

"How does it look?"

There's a lot to think about on the walk back from finishing the deal with Vizago: plans to free the Wookies, how they're going to be able to eke out the most resupply from their halved reward of credits, and . . . the kid.

Kanan scrubs his hand through his hair as soon as the thought crosses his mind, wishing desperately that this problem could have happened to someone else, but --

He also doesn't. Which is why he turns to look at Hera, hoping that doing that will let the words actually come.

Or convince her to drag them out of him.

Kanan's gotten out of the habit of carrying every burden alone.