A/N: This was inspired by Hera's line in the S3 premiere: "It's good to have you back." The way that she delivers it really hit me; you can tell there's been so much heartbreak and struggle, for both the crew and for Kanera specifically. This is not a "kiss and make up" fic, but rather a "bringing the conflict to its height so that we can move past it and back to having a chance at being a happy spacefamily once again" piece, set during the S3 (which has been amazing so far) premiere.

So. Here we go.

Raising her hand to knock was easy, but it took Hera a moment to force her knuckles to meet the door.

"Come in."

When she entered, Kanan was standing, facing the wall, as she found him doing sometimes. It hadn't been long since she had been here, but it had been far too long since she had been here without feeling like an intruder.

She hated that: feeling like an intruder on her own ship, with her own partner. Malachor had changed things, had changed everything, and most of it for the worse. Kanan had needed her so desperately in those first few weeks, but as he adjusted, he had started spending more time alone. He needed to process, needed to grieve, and she understood that.

It didn't mean she liked it.

He turned to face her.

"It's me," she said softly. Hera had a feeling that Kanan already knew, but she proceeded with the formality anyway.

He nodded at her, but said nothing.

Hera cleared her throat. "I didn't mean to accuse you, earlier. About Ezra."

"I know."

"I… I heard you talked to him."

He stiffened, and when he spoke, his voice was flat. "Are you here to tell me that you don't need me either?"

"Love," Hera sighed and moved into the room, letting the door shut behind her. "He said that out of anger, you know that—"

"Exactly. Out of anger. Just like a Sith."

Hera's eyes widened. "I think that's a strong word to just be tossing around, don't you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," he said. "Everything's changed."

She sighed. "So it has."

Kanan made no reply. He was facing her, blatant and unmoving, the eyes of the mask level. Hera shifted her weight, opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. She hated that she couldn't read him as well as she once could.

Another minute of stiff, unforgiving silence passed, and something rose within her.

"Kanan, take the mask off. Please, I… I need to see you."

"Do you? Do you really?" His voice was worse than mocking, it was sardonic, bitter. Though he had been still all that time, Kanan now rose like a coiled snake. "Wouldn't that be nice, to look at the person you love?"

"I…" She sighed. "Love, don't be like that."

"Don't be what? Blind?"

He sounded—no, he was, angry, and knowing that cracked a deep sadness open within her. She took a step closer to him even though she knew he couldn't see it.

Hera reached out and touched his arm. "Talk to me," she whispered.

He shrugged her hand off and turned away from her, his shoulders defiant. "There's nothing to say."

Hera's heart was breaking. "He needs you, Kanan. He didn't mean it."

"Does it matter, Hera?" He whirled back around, charged with intensity. "Does it matter, whether or not he meant it? Isn't it bad enough that he said it? Isn't is bad enough that he had that… that thing, and that he's been using it? Because the fact that he doesn't need me seems pretty damn inconsequential when you put it next to all of that."

She stayed silent until he heaved an exhale, and then moved next to him and wove her fingers through his own. Hera sat on the bunk behind them, guiding him to do the same.

"He does need you," she said softly.

Kanan scoffed, but all the anger had gone out of his voice. "Who would need a washed-up, half-trained, handicapped Jedi like me?"

"You know the answer to that. We all do." She rubbed his hand as she spoke. "Zeb needs a comrade. Sabine needs a father. Ezra… Ezra needs all of the above."

"And you? I can't exactly be your copilot anymore." His voice was sharp. She took a deep breath and let it out slow.

"I… I need Kanan. Not the Jedi, not the blinded warrior, not the copilot." She lowered her voice. "I need the charming, roguish gunslinger I met so many years ago on Gorse."

Hera ran her thumb over the lines of his hand, speaking to it as if it were a direct line to his heart. "Someone took him from me," she said softly. "And I want him back."

It took ages for Kanan to reply.

"I think they might have taken him along with his sight."

All the fight had drained from his voice, but she found some in her own.

"Kanan, don't do this to yourself. Don't let it define you—"

"I don't—"

"Then why do you keep it covered up?"

Hera surprised herself with her intensity, but didn't apologize for it.

He hesitated. "It's… It's bad for morale."

"From me, Kanan. Why do you keep it covered up from me?" She found herself pleading with him. "If it doesn't define you, if it doesn't haunt you, if it doesn't wake you up screaming in the middle of the night, like I know it does… then why are you hiding it from me?"

He was heartbreakingly silent.

"Kanan, we tell each other everything. We've been together for so long… you know me better than I know myself!" She was fervent now, overbearingly so, but she couldn't stop herself. As long-buried emotions bubbled to the surface, she gripped the sides of his face, the same way she had when he had first returned. "And this… this piece, of metal… is driving us apart. All of us."

The Jedi was still.

"I just…" Hera dropped her hands. She leaned into him and pressed her forehead against the mask; it was cold. "I need to see you. And I know that's unfair, but I need to."

When he finally spoke, he sounded hoarse.

"Turn the lights off."

"Kanan—"

"Turn, the lights, off." His voice, raw and painful as a fresh wound, cut her to the bone. Hera touched his hand and stood up to do so.

The room was dim, but she could make out the faint outline of his body, could hear the soft thump of the mask hitting the bunk. She went to him and somehow knew to sit in his lap, his arms draped around her waist to pull her closer. It was a familiar position, but as they took it, both realized it had been too long since they'd held each other like this. She brought her hands to the sides of his face once more, this time without hindrance, and silently touched his scarred flesh, her fingertips gentle as feathered wings. Hera moved inward, tracing in toward his eyes and then below, across the bridge of his nose and back up his forehead. She dropped his eyelids closed and kissed each one with lips gentle as her breath on his cheeks, and that was when he lost it and pulled her into him, clinging desperately. She buried her face in his neck and just felt him, felt his warm, scratchy skin and the soft bristles of his beard, felt the smooth skin on his face, felt his eyelashes tickle her brow and felt the pulse in his neck beating against her own. She had hated the mask before, but now she loathed it with the fire of a thousand stars, and she realized that she couldn't remember the last time she had touched him like this.

Finally, when she had drunk in every last sensation of him, he nudged her just far away enough to kiss her lips, long and sweet. Then she let her head return to his shoulder, and they stayed like that, holding each other.

"I know I've been distant. And I know it wasn't the right way to handle this. And I'm sorry for that."

She could feel his voice hum throughout her body as he spoke.

"Nobody's been the role model for handling it well, love," Hera whispered.

"I know, but I should have been—"

"Shhh…" She took one hand, untied his ponytail, and started combing her fingers through the locks. "You made your choices. We all have. Now forget all that and choose to be here with me, like I'm choosing to be here with you."

He sighed and leaned further into her, savoring it for a few minutes before he spoke.

"How long has it been since we did this?"

"Too long," she murmured.

"Ah. I'm sorry."

She gave a gentle shrug against him. "Nobody to blame."

He pulled her a little tighter, and she nestled further into him, both feeling more at peace with the world than they had in a long time. After a moment, he spoke again.

"You'll never give up on me, will you?"

This time, it was her laughter that vibrated through his chest.

"Kanan, you should have known that when you joined me back on Gorse."

He chuckled, and it had been far too long since she had heard that, that typical Kanan laugh, and Hera pressed herself against him and felt his chest shake against her, felt his laughter through her entire being as the pulsating, vibrant hum of hope.