Hera was usually pretty good at keeping her focus no matter what distractions were around her. So the heavy thud that sounded from the back of the Ghost wasn't what drew her attention away from the holographic blueprints of their next target floating above her head. It was the loud string of curses in Basic and other languages that did. Closing down the holoprojector with an audible sigh, Hera reluctantly raised her seat from its reclined position and stood.
The cursing had lessened a bit by the time she got to her shipmate's bunk, but was no less loud. Chopper stood outside the door, meeting each foul word with a series of beeps and other sounds that seemed to the Twi'lek to be his own versions of curses. Poking her head around the corner, she saw why he was agitated.
Kanan Jarrus, Jedi-turned-smuggler-turned activist, lay in a wriggling heap on the floor, one leg still on his bed. Looking down at him, Hera was immediately reminded of a blue-ring crab of Naboo: when they got flipped onto their backs they had a hell of a time righting themselves without assistance. The picture was just as pathetic and pitiful as it was hilarious. Except in this case, the humor was quickly drained by the sight of the empty liquor bottles littering the area around the bed. Hera didn't even want to think about how many might be hidden underneath. Indulging in alcohol was the man's only vice (well, that and resorting to settling disagreements with his fists most of the time), but this was a lot even for him.
He'll never forgive himself for that explosion, will he. Their last mission had ended in catastrophe for the innocent employees of a mining firm who'd had no idea they'd been working for the Empire while simultaneously destabilizing their own tiny planet; the ore they had been harvesting not only went to developing new war machines for the Empire, but also kept the planet steady on its axis. Theirs was not a scientific culture, neither enlightened nor interested in the mechanics of what kept their world spinning. Hera and Kanan had tried explaining just what their work was doing, but their words had fallen on deaf ears. When the Imperial agent they'd been monitoring had caught wind of them, he'd made sure of two things: first, that every employee, supervisor, and board member was in the building when the bombs he'd planted as insurance went off, and two, that the act was blamed on anti-Empire rebels.
Kanan had taken it especially hard. He hadn't left his bunk since returning to the Ghost. He hadn't been at this as long as Hera, hadn't seen as much horror and atrocity as she had. Not yet.
Chopper let out another aggravated noise, but made no move to get closer to the still-struggling Kanan. "Shoo," Hera said gently, nudging the droid aside with her booted foot. "Go find something to do." The squat little mech turned his photoreceptor to her, then back to Kanan, then down the hallway, all the while continuing his sardonic symphony. Hera ignored his sassing and stepped into the tiny bunk. She towered over her companion, hands on her hips, lekku swaying as she shook her head in half-mock disappointment. "Did the floor attack you again?"
Kanan kept trying to pull himself back onto his bed, but each handful of the sheets he managed to grab only slid him back to the floor. His unbound hair was a mess, telling Hera that more had happened than a simple overdoing it on the alcohol. "It 'it meh furst," he mumbled.
"The floor hit you first. Uh-huh." Now more sadistically curious than upset, Hera crouched down to Kanan's level, elbows on her knees. "And just what did you do to provoke the floor?"
Kanan flopped onto his back and stayed there, breathing as if he'd just sprinted the distance of the Kessel Run. "Di'n't do nut'in. 'S mindin' muh own bisnis."
Another heavy sigh found its way out of the captain's mouth, this one more out of resigned frustration than anything else. "Well, let's get you back in bed so you can sleep off this nonsense. Again."
She had just grabbed his arm when Kanan turned his head and stared at her. Despite the obvious drunken stupor he was entrenched in, there was an intensity in his eyes that made her pause in her hefting effort. She went stone-still when a grin spread across his face. "Knew ya jus' wan'ed ta get meh in bed."
Hera rolled her eyes and made a face. "Yep, you caught me," she said as she summoned all her strength to lift the heavier human partially onto the small bed. She wished he would help her out just a little on this. Grab the other edge of the mattress for leverage, remember how his legs worked, something. "That was my evil plan all along. But you're in no position to challenge me right now, are you." Whatever he'd said (or tried to) was muffled when she gave up trying to lift him and opted to roll him onto the mattress instead, his face buying itself in his near-flat pillow. "What was that?" she asked only half-seriously as she turned him over so he wouldn't suffocate.
Kanan's grin hadn't abated in the least. He lifted a hand to point a finger at her. "Can t'ink o' a few positions we c'uld be in, tho'."
Hera paused for a beat, then shook her head. "You're such an idiot when you drink." Once she was sure he wasn't going to roll off the bed again, she moved down to take his boots off; one thing she hated was shoes on the bed. "Well, you're an idiot when you're sober, but it's worse when you're drunk."
Boots now stowed at the foot of the bed, Hera shook out the crumpled sheet before laying it over him. "Ya luv meh an'way," he slurred.
"You have your uses," she replied casually. In truth, she didn't know what she'd do without him. She wondered how she had even made it this far before she'd recruited him. But she wasn't about to tell him that, especially not when he was hopped up on booze. She patted his arm and said, "Nighty night, moron."
She made it two steps to the door before a surprisingly strong hand gripped her wrist. Momentarily startled, Hera looked back at Kanan with widened eyes. Although still clouded from his binge, there was a kind of clarity in his blue gaze that held her in place just as well as the hand on her arm. "Yo're beau'iful, H'ra." She blinked. He chuckled. "Ah mean it. Beau'iful, smart, fun'y. An' ya don' take my crap. Mighta lef' the Je'i fo' ya if we'd met back then."
Now she knew he was talking nonsense. "Sure you would have. And I might have become a stripper if not for this damn stubborn streak. You know, determined to help innocent people and all that." She tried to take her hand back, but Kanan just turned on his side and took her with him.
"'S why Ah like ya. Plen'y o' sass."
Hera stared at the back of his head for a long moment, debating what to make of all that. She knew he thought she was attractive; plenty of people of plenty of species found Twi'leks desirable on principle alone. But he'd never given her reason to believe he thought of her as something more than just a pretty face (well, and his partner in this suicide mission known as 'fighting against the Empire').
Hera shook her head clear of those thoughts. Those were just the ramblings of a drunk man. Nothing more, nothing less. And besides, neither of them could afford anything past mutual partner- and friendship anyway, not if they wanted to live to see the tyranny of the Empire fall. She tried yanking her hand back, but Kanan's grip remained strong. A huff blew out from between her lips as her knees hit the floor. Apparently he didn't want her going anywhere yet. And since he'd already fallen asleep, if the light snores were any accurate indication, she didn't have to worry about anymore nonsensical ramblings. Plus, he might fall out of bed again. She might as well stay for a bit to make sure that didn't happen; she'd rather not have to deal with a concussed Kanan.
Her eyes slid to his messy hair. Along with shoes on the bed, she couldn't stand disheveled hair. Her free hand reached up and began gently combing through the ebony strands. She didn't have hair of her own, but she recalled others who did mentioning how nice it felt to have fingers run through it. And given the little sigh she heard from him, it must have been true. A tiny smile bloomed on her lips as she continued. A brief moment of peace in the chaos that was their lives was always welcome...even if booze was to blame for it.
A sharp whistle from the doorway stilled her hand, but she didn't remove it from his head. She didn't need to turn to know Chopper was giving her as close to an irritated look as he could. "Didn't I tell you to go do something?" she said quietly so as not to wake Kanan. Chopper beeped lowly at her. "Don't give me that tone, you rusty bucket of bolts." The gradually decreasing volume of his responding noises, which sounded an awful lot like mocking mimicry, told her that the droid had moved on down the hall, leaving her alone with the sleeping Jedi.
Well, if he wasn't going to release her hand anytime soon, she might as well try to get some rest. Thankfully, Kanan's bed was low enough to the floor that she could lay her head on it without too much discomfort. Once she found a nice spot for her cheek, Hera slipped into a light doze, her fingertips softly and lazily grazing Kanan's wrist and the small smile still on her face.
She'd make him clean up his bunk later.
Crappy title is crappy, but eh.