A/N: Another post-Malachor bit. Sorry kinda. This is very short, but it was intended to be. I just needed something tender between Ezra and Hera, okay? In
Motherless Child
From where Ezra was standing in the galley, he could see Hera sitting at the dejarik table, head leaning on her hands as she read from a datapad. Her eyes seemed heavy, and, in Ezra's opinion, she looked like she'd lost a little weight. The grim set of her mouth told him she was probably looking at a supply inventory or a personnel manifest; they'd taken some hits in both departments lately. Yet he knew that wasn't what was really bothering her—not under the surface, anyway. Her presence in the Force was…off. She wasn't quite herself—no one was, really—but in times of crisis, Hera was usually the one strong and level. This was definitely a crisis—Kanan barely came out of his room these days—and Hera was definitely not level.
He could tell that by the way her face lit up like a supernova when Kanan walked into the common room, and how it cratered when he brushed off her entreaties to sit and talk.
She sat staring blankly at her datapad as Kanan left, and Ezra could have sworn he saw a single tear rolling down each cheek. But then she swiped the back of her hand across her face and squared her shoulders and set her jaw, turning her attention back to her datapad.
Ezra felt a sudden spike of anger and he fought to control his pulse, fists clenching at his sides. It sucked enough that Kanan was ignoring him—but that made sense, at least, after everything that happened on Malachor—but ignoring Hera? Was it absolutely karking necessary for her to be hurting, too?
It took a few moments, but Ezra calmed down to a point where he didn't feel like finding Kanan and punching him in the teeth, then he shuffled into the common room. He stood in front of the dejarik table and Hera, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Hey," he said.
She looked up, eyes glassy, and pasted a smile on. "Hey."
"So…are you good? I mean, you look good—I wasn't implying—it just seemed like you have something on your mind, that's all. Are you…worried about Kanan?"
She sighed, a half-dozen expressions crossing her face. "Yes," she admitted, "and worried about you." She tilted her head questioningly.
"Me?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm good. I mean, Rex cleaned me out in sabacc again, but—" He stopped, seeing her reproving glare. Apparently, his attempt at humor was going unappreciated. "I'm fine, Hera. Really. The uhh…" He dropped his eyes to the floor. "The nightmares stopped, so."
Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled genuinely. "I'm glad, Ezra."
"Yeah." He paused, hesitating. "Are you really okay, though? I saw you and Kanan just now." Another pause. "If it's bothering you, we could talk…if you want."
The subtext was, It's bothering me.
But for the first time since he'd known her, Hera wasn't listening for subtext. She sat up a little straighter and folded her arms over her chest, a clear and probably unconscious signal that she was done with this conversation. "It's nothing—we're fine."
"O…kay." For a bare second, Ezra felt angry again—angry that yet another person on this ship wanted to ignore banthas in the room. He was coming to expect that from Kanan, but not from Hera. He turned to walk away, desperate to clear out before he had a chance to open his mouth and spew the darkness that was building in his chest.
"Ezra," Hera called suddenly. He jerked around immediately because she sounded so…tired.
"Yeah?"
"When you came in, I wasn't really thinking about Kanan, I—" Her face flushed dark green, surprised by her own openness. "I was thinking how I miss my mother."
Ezra's anger evaporated in half a second, and his brows pulled together in empathy.
"I—sometimes there are just things I wish I could talk to her about," Hera continued. She glanced in the direction Kanan had gone and then dropped her gaze to the floor.
Ezra was stunned into silence. He'd never heard Hera say something so personal before, never seen her looking so young and vulnerable and empty. And how old was she, really? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, maybe? Too young to look like her entire world had been pulled out from under her when Kanan brushed her off the way he had. Too young to carry her burden of responsibility and private pain as gracefully as she always did.
"I'm sorry, Hera." He was, and he knew exactly how she felt.
"It's just…" She trailed off, waving a hand. "one of those things. But…" Her voice was deep and raw. "To tell you the truth, the older I get, the more I feel like a motherless child."
Before he really processed what he was doing, Ezra crossed the room in a few quick strides and sat down beside her on the bench, pulling her into a fierce hug. "Yeah, well," he mumbled over her shoulder, "I don't."