It had been a long mission, one of their worst. He'd only seen Hera covered in that much blood in his nightmares. He hadn't fared much better—gashes crisscrossed his body, and there was definitely something wrong with his ankle, but it didn't stop him from supporting her as they hobbled back to the Ghost. Hera, always so unwilling to lean, always so reluctant to ask for help, was stumbling and heavy against his side.
By the time they made it to the med-bay, his own clothing was sticky with her blood. Hera could hardly keep her eyes open, but she still pulled herself off him and weakly gestured to the medical cot.
"You first," she managed. He gave her a look that undeniably said No, and Hera was too exhausted to fight him.
She could barely heave herself onto the cot. Kanan went to work immediately, hooking up an IV and pumping blood and fluids back into her system. When he looked up at her, Hera's eyes were shut, and he felt a bolt of panic.
"Hey. Hey," Kanan put a hand on her left shoulder—the only part of her that had escaped injury—and her eyes fluttered open. He looked at her with intense seriousness. "Hera, you need to stay with me, okay?"
Hera's fatigued eyes met his. Her lips moved, and he only heard the faintest exhale, but it was enough.
"Good," Kanan nodded. He kept an eye on her as he started patching up her wounds. They'd been in way over their heads this time—pirates who fought with swords, rather than blasters, and who fought with them dirty. They'd been lucky to escape in the state they were in. His lightsaber training had saved him, but Hera, accustomed to hand-to-hand combat and blasters rather than swordsmanship, had taken the worst of it. Her entire body was covered with gashes and bruising—there was no code of honor amongst the men they'd encountered. He attended to the deepest cuts first, working his way up from there. It pained him, not to use bacta on her, but he knew she'd inflict worse injuries on him if he did.
The thought brought a wry smile to his face, but only for a fleeting second. The situation was too grim for lasting amusement. Maybe it would be a story they told far down the road, trading laughter and showing their scars.
He didn't know if he'd still be here, far down the road.
In the Force, Hera's signature was muted—thankfully, still beating with life, but dim. Nothing compared to the shining beam of light she usually was. But her eyes were half-open, and she was watching him with some degree of awareness, so that was good. Satisfied with his work on her wounds, Kanan folded open a second cot and sat down, ready to attend to his own.
He cursed to find that the injuries had already started healing—no matter how hard he tried to renounce it, the Force always looked out for its children. Still, he patched up the worst of it and put his ankle in a splint.
Hera's eyes had closed again. Worry turned his stomach, and he stood up on his good ankle, to set his hand with a feather-light touch on her shoulder.
She looked at him, and recognition lit her eyes. "Kanan," she mumbled. The twi'lek looked exhausted, but a faint hue of color had returned to her skin.
"You're gonna be fine, Hera," he assured her.
"Kanan," she said again, more forcefully.
He furrowed his brow and glanced at the monitor—all her vitals were fine. "What is it?"
With a pained look, Hera reached out and touched his arm. He looked down in surprise at her hand, green and spotted with blood, resting on his forearm. It was almost unrecognizable, without her gloves, but he would have known it anywhere, would have been able to distinguish that tiny source of warmth from a thousand. It was the most intimate touch they'd shared.
"Stay with me," she whispered. Her fingers pressed on his arm, and the look in her eyes was one of honest, naked need. The words slipped into his chest and curled around his heart, filling him with golden light.
"Okay," he nodded, his mind numb with elation. Kanan sat down on the cot next to her.
"No, Kanan…" She shook her head and tried to reach for him, only to wince in pain. Hera gritted her teeth in a scowl, either frustrated with him or with her damaged body's unwillingness to cooperate, likely both.
He was on his feet in an instant, and touched her shoulder once more. "Hey, Hera, take it easy," Kanan said, and tried to nudge her as gently as possible back to rest on the cot. This time, her hand wrapped around his forearm and gripped it with a strength he didn't think she could possess at this hour. He blinked at her in surprise, and was even more shaken to find that her eyes were blazing with determination.
"Stay," she said again, as forcefully as she could manage.
He looked at her in confusion. "Now?"
"Now. Forever."
The words hit him like a stone to his chest, and the warmth that had been there drained out, replaced by an icy terror. When he spoke, his own voice sounded strangled. "Hera…"
The effort those words had taken had drained her, and she had already sunk back against the cot, but the sincere, steadfast look in her eyes assuaged the fear in his own. He felt like the room had shrunk to just large enough to hold the two of them.
"Stay," she repeated solemnly. Her gaze was magnetic.
He was still stunned, but the word found its way out of his dry mouth anyways. "Okay."
Hera smiled and closed her eyes, and his shaky legs brought him to rest on the cot next to hers.
"Okay," Kanan repeated to himself, as he willed his heart to stop pounding. "Okay."
Forever.
He'd never allowed himself to think about forever. He was a transient, had been ever since Order 66. Staying meant getting close; staying meant connections, traceability, danger. No gig, no setup, no person, had ever been worth that.
Until now.
He glanced over at Hera, who, pale, bloodied and scraped, was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, through his own eyes and the light of the Force. He thought about what they'd fought for today, what she continued to fight for every day. He pictured the determind grin she wore whenever they received a new mission against the Empire, the crinkle of concentration in her forehead when she flew, and the hope that lit her eyes when she spoke of her vision for the galaxy. His mind rolled through a thousand little moments: sipping caf in the kitchen, bickering about Chopper's latest antics, jibes and banter exchanged in the midst of battle. Competing with their blasters to see who the best shot was (always him, but he'd let her win now and again), and how indignant she'd be once she realized he was going easy on her.
He was gently tugged from reverie when her hand slipped down, from his forearm to his wrist to his palm, and she entwined her fingers with his own. The touch was soft and warm and felt like home somehow, even though he'd never known one, and as soon as their fingers were knitted he knew he would follow this woman to the end of the galaxy. They stayed like that until they'd both fallen asleep, with their hands still woven together in a promise.