A/N: I'm really, horribly, awfully behind on writing "Skin Deep," so heartfelt apologies to those of you who are following that one. Writing oneshots for Rebels has been the only way to get past the blockage, and even this has taken weeks to get out of my head. I admit the length ran away with me. Constructive criticism is quite welcome.

Wounds

Hera wasn't Force-sensitive, but she'd always had a sixth sense about things. Her intuition had gotten her far in life and she relied on it to make decisions that would keep herself and her crew—her family—safe. When uneasiness stirred in the pit of her stomach, she always took heed.

It was stirring now.

Her hands fell still on the controls she was cleaning. Unable to sleep, she stayed up long after the others had gone to bed. It was nearly zero-three-hundred hours now, but Hera was still wide awake. Fear and grief and heartache gnawed at her and she thought that occupying her hands would bring some relief. It didn't. Her instincts were screaming and she needed to move. She felt the neurotic impulse to check on her crew even though she knew they were all safe and sleeping. Ahsoka's death had shaken her deeply. So had Kanan's injury. Barely two standard days ago, he'd promised her that they'd see each other again and now...

On silent feet, she moved from the cockpit and stepped quickly toward the crew sleeping quarters. She passed her own cabin and stood in front Sabine's, listening intently. Within, she heard the faint sounds of speaking; Sabine sometimes slept with a radio frequency open just for noise. It quieted her mind, Hera knew. She moved on, crossing the hall and hovering for just a second in front of Zeb and Ezra's cabin. She heard raucous snoring, as per usual. It was difficult to tell which one of them was louder. A small smile touched her lips.

The smile faded when she stopped in front of Kanan's cabin. She heard him thrashing and mumbling, crying out against dangers only his mind's eye could see. Without hesitation, she opened the door and stepped inside. When it slid shut behind her, the whoosh of air made her shiver. She hesitated now as Kanan continued to talk and thrash in his sleep. This was a nightmare the likes of which he hadn't had in years. In the past, he'd woken on his own as soon as she entered, or he came and sought her out, but she felt this was different. His mind was under siege, and not just from the nightmare. Should she wake him, or wait it out?

As she debated with herself, his mumbling escalated to shouting.

"Master, we have to run—we have to run now!" He reached out as if to take Depa Billaba's hand. "The clones are shooting at us! But I can't see them—I can't see them!"

Hera decided to act. "Kanan," she said firmly as she knelt by his bunk. "Kanan, wake up." She laid her hand on his shoulder and that was enough to jolt him awake. Lurching violently, he sat up and swung his arm out, delivering a hard, back-handed slap to Hera's face. She stifled a cry as the contact knocked her onto her back. She lay dazed for a moment. She could feel her cheek beginning to bruise and swell, stinging. She heard the familiar snap-hiss of Kanan's lightsaber igniting, and she sat up quickly, scrambling back.

The room was bathed in the lightsaber's blue glow, but Hera knew Kanan could only see darkness. "Who's there?" He demanded, breathing raggedly, disoriented.

"It's me," she said quickly. Her voice sounded thick and strange even to herself; emotion was choking her. "It's Hera."

His grip on the saber faltered. "Hera? Where are you?"

She turned on the cabin light for her own sake and winced as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her cheek throbbed where he'd hit her. Kanan didn't move. She closed the distance between them and knelt by his bed once more. He still held the thrumming lightsaber in a two-handed grip, sitting on the edge of his bunk, ready to spring into action. She pulled her gloves off and threw them in the floor, closing her hands over his. His muscles tensed.

"I'm right here," she said gently.

The blade died down and Hera took the hilt from him, placing it beside her on the floor. Relief flooded through her; she wasn't used to being on the wrong side of Kanan's weapon. She held his hands in hers and she could feel him shaking. "You're alright," she told them both. "Just breathe."

"Hera." His voice broke. "I thought there were—I'm sorry—it seemed so—"

"Real," she finished quietly. "I know, Kanan, I know. But you're alright. I'm here. I'm not leaving."

He nodded, processing. He disentangled his fingers from hers and flexed one hand over and over as if it was bothering him. Hera saw it was red from where he'd slapped her.

"My hand," he said. She held her breath. "Did I…hit something?"

"The wall," she lied, keeping her voice even.

"Oh." A pause. "What time is it?"

"A little after zero-three-hundred."

He sighed deeply and hung his head. "I'm sorry to have woken you."

"You didn't." She laid a hand on his knee. His fingers found hers again. "I was up working on the Ghost."

Even though his eyes were covered by a thick bandage, Hera could see his brows rise. "At this time of night?"

She shrugged lightly. "A captain's work is never finished."

"You mean you were worried about me," he amended. "You're a bad liar, Hera, but I'm grateful." He hesitated. "I…don't think I can go back to sleep."

"I know," she said simply. "Come stay with me, Kanan. You don't have to be alone."

He clenched his jaw. "I know."

"Besides," she said, struggling to keep her tone light as she slipped his arm around her shoulders, "I have some wire that needs spooling. You can help me with that."

"Fat chance," he said, smiling wanly. They stood and he leaned on her for support.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, giving him a chance to orient himself to his surroundings, Hera guided them out of his room. "We're in the hall now," she said, "Just a few steps forward."

They reached her door, and she guided Kanan's hand to the control panel to open it. Just as they were about to step inside, Hera heard Sabine's door slide open.

"Hera?" She called with concern, her voice heavy with sleep. "Is everything okay?"

Hera turned to Sabine and Kanan turned away. "Yes," she said. Her tone was assuring, but it carried a note of urgency. "Go back to sleep, Sabine."

The young Mandalorian's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh, Hera," she breathed, horrified, bringing a hand up to touch her own cheek. "You're—"

Hera pursed her lips and shook her head, cutting off any further comment. "Go back to sleep, Sabine," she repeated firmly. Sabine understood and wordlessly retreated to her cabin.

"What was that about?" Kanan asked as he and Hera entered her cabin. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and helped him sit on the edge of her bed.

"She was probably surprised to see us coming in here together at this hour," she murmured suggestively. She was thankful he couldn't see the lie on her face. "Here." She paused, slipping her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and gently pulling upward.

He gasped at the unexpected feel of her skin against his. "Hera…"

"You're drenched with sweat, Kanan. And I think you have a fever." She pressed her lips to his forehead and decided that their body temperature was the same, which concerned her; the base temperature of a Twi'lek was four degrees or more higher than that of a human. She carefully pulled his shirt over his eyes and above his head, discarding it beside her. Suddenly, her mouth twitched into something like a playful smile. "Did you think I was trying to take advantage of you?"

He smiled in return, playing along. "I wouldn't complain too much."

She pressed their foreheads together. "Did you want me to?"

He tried to laugh. "Ask me again sometime."

"Sorry, flyboy." She ran her fingers along his cheek. "One-time offer."

"We'll see about that." He started to grin, but his face fell when he heard his own slip-of-the-tongue. "Well," he backtracked slowly, "I guess one of us will."

Hera's throat clogged. "Lie down," she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. He covered her hand with one of his, but she slipped from his grasp and started rummaging around the room.

"What are you doing?"

Did he sound uneasy, not having her nearby, or was she just feeling uneasy herself? She couldn't tell.

"I need my medpack." She tried to keep her voice as bright and normal as possible, and it was growing more and more difficult. She ratted through drawer after drawer before she found what she was looking for. Silently, she climbed into the bunk beside Kanan, folding her legs beneath her. She unzipped the medpack and laid it out on his chest. His arm wound around her waist and he absently traced circles on her back.

"You're tense," he said.

Hera made no reply, but released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She threaded her fingers through Kanan's hair, carefully avoiding his temples. At this angle, she could see the burns beneath the bandages.

"Are you in pain?" She asked tentatively.

He hesitated a moment before conceding, "Some."

A lot, then. Her eyes stung. "I'm going to have a look at that wound, alright?"

He nodded and she slowly, gently unwound the bandage. She felt his muscles go rigid and his breathing accelerate as she finally removed the last layer. It had started to stick to his skin. "Done," she murmured, squeezing his hand. He nodded again, relaxing.

Cupping his forehead and his chin, Hera looked down into Kanan's face. Maul's blade had done nasty work. A jagged burn, raw and angry, extended across both eyes, stopping just shy of his hairline on either side. She could feel heat emanating from it still. If Kanan hadn't been able to block the attack with his own lightsaber…

Suddenly, she was the one breathing unevenly. She felt dizzy as she pulled a cotton pad out of the medpack and doused it with an antiseptic liquid. Fatigue was catching up to her and her mind was finally starting to process everything. Kanan almost died. You almost lost him.

"Hey," he said, snapping her back to the moment, "I think something is leaking."

Hera blinked. "What?" She looked down and saw drops of liquid on his cheeks and nose, but the cotton pad was barely damp. "I'm sorry, Kanan, I must have—"

"Hera," he interrupted as realization dawned, "you're crying."

"I'm—what?" She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and it came away wet. "I guess so."

Acknowledging it made it harder for her to keep herself together. And why was she crying, exactly? The word overwrought sprang to mind. Everything had happened so fast; finding the base, setting up command, preparing for Kanan to leave. She'd braced herself for a lot of different outcomes, but seeing him walk down the Phantom's ramp, broken, wasn't one of them.

Hera found herself thinking, If this is what fighting the Empire costs, I've had enough.

She bit her lip, bottling the emotion, and set to work gently swabbing Kanan's burn with the antiseptic. But try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from rolling off her chin and dripping on the both of them.

"Stop," he finally said, catching her wrist. "Talk to me, Hera."

His voice was steadfast and deep, and it made her eyes well anew.

What was she supposed to say? Did he want her to tell him how heartbroken she was for him? Or how it made her feel to see his scarred eyes and know that he'd come within a hair's breadth of dying? She could tell him how devastated she was that she'd never again turn to find him studying her with an intimate and wanting gaze. She was aching to confide in him the nakedness she felt knowing that he wouldn't be able to be her true co-pilot any more.

She couldn't find the words to say any of it.

She shifted in the bunk so that his head and shoulders were in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair over and over, silently, trying to calm herself down. Her face tingled. Karabast, she was tired.

"Hera," he said again after several minutes. He held her hands still. "I need you to talk to me. I need you."

She shook her head, blinking. "I—" She opened her mouth and closed it again, hesitating, vacillating, not sure she trusted her lips to form the right words. She gave up trying to keep the tears at bay. "Have I ever told you about the last conversation I had with my mother?"

A look of surprise flicked across his face. "No."

"That's because I don't remember." She stopped, taking a shaky breath. "The blast that killed her threw me against a wall and knocked me out. I had a bad concussion and I just don't remember."

"You never told me that." Slowly, Kanan sat up and turned to face Hera, sitting knee-to-knee with her.

"It bothers me," she admitted. She slipped her hands into Kanan's, needing to touch him. "I made peace with everything else, but that bothers me."

Studying his face, she picked up a burn salve from the forgotten medpack and gingerly swirled her fingers in the gel-like substance. "I'm going to finish treating your burn. This should help with the pain," she said wearily. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, swallowing. Fingertips coated with the salve, she reached for his burn. He stiffened at her touch even though it was feather-light. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can stop if you need me to."

"Keep going," he said through clenched teeth. "It is starting to help." He laid a hand on her knee, reassuring her. "Keep talking to me. What else about your mother?"

She pursed her lips. "I just—I hate to think that I left things unsaid."

"Like what?"

"Lots of things," she sighed. Finished putting the salve on his burn, she closed the jar and swiped her hand across her thigh to get rid of the excess. She looked at the greasy stain and something about it had her eyes tearing up again. A sudden and terrible heat gnawed at her insides and she felt like she couldn't breathe, like maybe she was going to suffocate and die. "I have to change clothes," she choked.

She didn't miss how Kanan's mouth formed a tight line, but she climbed out of the bunk anyway. Standing in the middle of the room, she stripped her garments off, piece by piece. Her goggles were the first thing to go. She yanked them backward, letting them slide over her lekku and clatter to the floor. She worked frantic fingers underneath the front of her cap and started to pull it off, but when the cabin's cool air met with her burning skin, her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She clenched them together and left her cap in place. She kicked her boots off, socks after that, stumbling slightly and fighting against her ragged breathing. There was a rough, strange sound in the room and her throat was raw.

"Hera."

Kanan's voice sounded firm and far away. She shook her head, ignoring him. Her slacks were the next to go. Trembling hands undid the belt at her waist and unbuttoned her slacks from her vest. She shimmied to get them down to her ankles and then kicked them away from her, hands already pulling her vest over her head, dropping it beside her feet. Her shirt was last, thrown with some force against the wall and then she, usually-serene Hera Syndulla, stood there shaking and nearly naked.

She didn't know how many minutes passed before the shaking and sobbing—she realized the strange sound she heard was her own torrential sobbing—finally stopped.

"Better?" Kanan asked gently. She looked into his face and found nothing but unwavering compassion there.

She blinked, hot shame flooding her face. She was supposed to be taking care of him, for kriff's sake! "Yes."

"Good." He lifted one hand and his forgotten tunic came drifting from the floor and into his waiting grasp. He tossed it to her and she fumbled to catch it. "Put that on," he instructed. "You're cold."

She realized that he was right and that she was shivering. Goosebumps crawled all over her skin, but she started feeling more like herself when she donned his tunic. It hung loosely on her frame, which was just fine. She rubbed her temples. She felt calmer now, more in control, but there was an empty, awful numbness in her veins. She opened her mouth to speak and no words came.

Kanan filled the silence. "Come here. Let me hold you."

There was something in his voice that told Hera he needed her as desperately as she needed him and she moved without hesitation. His arms reached for her and she folded herself into his lap, draping one arm around him and resting her forehead in the curve of his neck and shoulder. One hand on his chest, she could feel him breathing, measure his heartbeat under her palm.

"We left things unsaid, Kanan," she whispered hoarsely, "You could have died and we left things unsaid."

"'Could have' isn't the same as 'did,' Hera."

"And what about the next time?" She asked, more sharply than she meant to. She felt his jaw flex against her forehead and he took a measured breath, but didn't respond. She sat up, carefully laying her hands on his face. "I love you, Kanan Jarrus. It's taken me all this time to say it, but I love you."

He blinked in surprise. "Say that again."

She smoothed his hair back from his face and then brushed her fingers along his collarbone. "I love you," she repeated slowly, firmly.

A range of emotions played around his mouth, which finally settled into something like a smile. "I love you, too, Hera."

Coming from his lips, her name sounded like music and she shivered. "Say that again."

"Hera," he whispered, lips against her jaw, "I love you."

All at once, her mouth was on his. She kissed him tenderly, carefully, tasting him, breathing him in. He pulled her on top of him and his hands roamed her body, hungrily tracing the curves of her hips, her waist, her arms, her neck, her jaw, her brow bone.

Then his fingers found her cheeks and—curse it all—she remembered that bruise just as the pressure of Kanan's touch sent white-hot pain shooting down the side of her face. Her head snapped back on its own and she inhaled through her teeth, managing not to yelp in surprise at the pain.

She didn't need the Force to sense the seismic shift in the room after that.

Kanan's eyebrows pulled together and his face darkened. He didn't say anything, but reached forward, searching for her face, and she held perfectly still as he very gently probed her cheek, fingers feeling over the swollen plane.

"What is this?" He asked, an unmistakable edge in his voice. Hera's heart fell into the soles of her feet.

"Nothing," she said quickly, "an accident."

He pulled his hand back from her face and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. She was just as shocked as he was to realize that his fingertips were coated with her blood. Now she understood Sabine's horror-stricken expression from earlier.

"You don't have accidents, Hera," Kanan said tightly.

She grasped for an easy lie. "I slipped and fell coming down from the turret—"

"I did this." The words were a low rumble in his chest. "Didn't I? When you came in and woke me up from that nightmare. I thought—" He stopped, mouth clamping shut, and Hera could almost see the storm clouds building in his mind. "I thought you were someone—or some thing—else and I hit you. Didn't I?"

A heavy silence hung between them before she finally said, "Yes."

His posture went rigid and for the first time in years, Hera couldn't read him. Panic welled inside her. "But listen, Kanan," she pleaded, "remember that time I shot you? That was on purpose and this isn't half as bad as that! Just one little bacta patch and you won't even be able to see the scar."

The words fell out of her mouth in a rush and she wished she could put them back. Kanan sighed. "No," he agreed heavily, "I won't."

She could see him close in on himself and she knew she'd lost him. The hand resting on her knee withdrew. He shifted forward, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk and Hera felt hollow. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Don't go, Kanan. Don't do this—don't shut me out. Talk to me."

He sat still for a moment, mouth opening and closing over and over. He lifted her hand from his shoulder and kissed her palm. "You need to go take care of that cut, Hera," he said finally.

She scrambled up and grabbed her medpack, standing in front of Kanan. "Don't go, alright? Not yet. Just give me a minute."

He nodded reluctantly and she ran out, bolting for the fresher. She gasped at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her right cheek was bruised and swollen, already a lurid shade of purple. There was a small gash, maybe two centimeters long, high on her cheek bone. She poked it and the skin tore open again, oozing blue blood and watery plasma. A dark, thin trail of dried blood reached down to her jaw.

She was really, really glad Kanan couldn't see it.

Hera sighed and turned on the tap, unzipped the medpack, and laid it on the small vanity. It was fortunate, she thought wryly, that she had a lot experience taking care of wounds like this one. Her deft hands made quick work of washing her face, dabbing it dry with a square of gauze, and smoothing a tiny bacta patch over the laceration. The bright blue of the bacta had a ridiculous effect against the purple bruise and her green skin, but she didn't care.

As she walked back to her cabin, she knew that she was going to open the door and find the room empty. She was halfway right. The door was already open, Kanan leaning in the frame, arms crossed. The burn on his face looked horrible in this light, and so did the dark fatigue under his eyes.

"I had my lightsaber out," he said flatly.

"Yes." Hera tilted her head, eyes narrowing, gauging him.

"The state I was in…" His voice trailed off and he rubbed the back of his neck, agitated. "I could have killed you! You understand that, don't you?"

"No, I don't!" She countered, bewildered.

"Hera!" His voice raised to a shout and he drew himself fully upright, dwarfing her. "It was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from! I couldn't see, I couldn't hear anything except my own heart pounding, I couldn't even sense you in the room! And I was handling a weapon! Tell me how that wasn't dangerous for you."

"You could never—"

"Hurt you?" His voice came quietly now and his fingers brushed her cheek. She flinched. He laid his hands on either side of her neck, stroking her jaw with this thumbs. "What if it happens again, Hera?"

She gripped his elbows. "Then we face it together."

He exhaled slowly. "No." He wrapped his arms around her, held onto her like she was his only lifeline, kissed her forehead, and let her go. "I have to face it alone first."

He walked past her and new tears sprang up in her eyes. She rubbed them away. "Promise you'll come back to me, love."

"I promise." His door opened and she could have sworn she'd turned on the light earlier, but his cabin was dark now and he stepped inside. The darkness swallowed him whole.

Hera rocked on her heels for a moment, and then walked back to her own bunk. She straightened the blankets, pulling them taut. Then she picked her clothes up from the floor and wadded them into her laundry hamper. She eased Kanan's tunic over her head and folded it neatly, tucking it into one of her drawers. She pulled out a fresh set of her own clothes and dressed slowly, tugging everything into place. Her boots dragged ever so slightly as she walked down the corridor to the cockpit. Her body ached for sleep, but her mind wasn't ready.

She dropped into the pilot's seat and ran over her mental list of things she needed to work on around the ship. One of them wheeled through the door.

"Come on, Chop," she said, hauling herself to her feet. "Let's go fix that squeaky strut."

He followed her to the common room with only minimal complaining and she smiled a little bit. She got out a wrench and some grease and sat against the wall, Chopper in front of her. He wiggled to show her where the squeak was coming from and she got to work.

Chopper barked his surprise at seeing her awake and alone, and articulated exactly what he thought she might have been doing instead. She frowned, one eyebrow arching. "Would you like to rephrase that?"

He did. Satisfied, Hera answered. "Kanan's doing fine. He's asleep, I hope." Her mouth tightened after Chopper's subsequent line of questioning. "No," she sighed, "not in my room."

Chopper made a noise that sounded very much like a surprised, "Oh."

"After everything that's happened, he just needs some time, Chop," she explained, talking to herself as much as she was to him. He queried again and Hera shook her head. "As long as it takes. His eyes aren't all that has to heal."

He whistled and warbled and then projected a holo-image for Hera to see. It was Kanan's face, smiling, probably at her, beautiful teal eyes looking clear and sharp. Hera looked into them, resting her chin on one drawn-up knee. "No," she murmured distantly. "Never."

The hologram faded and Chopper made a mournful sound. He rolled next to Hera and used one of his manipulators to pat her shoulder. It may well have been the only time the droid had ever or would ever give a gentle touch to anyone, and the action warmed Hera's heart unspeakably. "I won't tell anyone you did that," she said with a genuine smile. She leaned against the droid, arms hugging her knees. Her eyes drooped and she let them close. "Thanks for not letting me be alone," she mumbled.

Hera was lulled to sleep by the sound of Chopper's internal gears whirring and the familiar noises of things clanging and scraping in the Ghost's pipes. She slept deeply and couldn't quite open her eyes when she felt herself being lifted off the ground and cradled against a broad chest. She tried to string together a few words, mostly in protest, but she was rebuffed with a gentle shh. The next thing she knew, her head met her pillow and she sank deeper into sleep, but she was aware of soft lips brushing her temple.

"I do love you, Hera."

She forced her eyes open and saw Kanan climbing in the bunk next to her. He lay on his side and she curled into him. "I thought you needed to face it alone?"

The lights turned off and darkness covered them. Kanan held her tightly. His breath was hot on her neck, slow and rhythmic.

"Tomorrow," he said.