Based off of angies-team's drawing of Kanan and Hera on Tumbler, for an art/fic exchange (art blog: angie-draws-art)
A nagging feeling of discord burned at the back of Hera's mind. Something was very off, something that she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't the harried movement of pilots and mechanics rushing to their craft; the flight line always teetered on the edge between order and chaos, even before the most carefully planned and scheduled missions. Starfighters were complex systems of machinery, always seeming to spring new faults at the worst possible moments and requiring their crew's careful attention up to the very moment of launch. Mechanics and service droids darted under and between craft, dancing to avoid pilot's ladders and fuel hoses.
It wasn't the sound, either. Engines whined in fevered pitches as they burned to life. Impact wrenches cried out in short bursts as housing panels and maintenance hatches were sealed shut, a dull metallic groan following as the operator ensured the bolt's tight hold. The metal grating of the deck rattled and strained under the footsteps of men and machines completing their assigned duties. A hovercart sped past, its repulsors straining under the load of concussion missiles stacked atop it. As it came to a halt near its assigned craft, a loader droid gently lifted the deadly cargo from the cart, sliding the missile into the ship's magazine until it locked into place with a gentle thump.
The muffled sound of a call over the base's loudspeakers finally identified the problem in Hera's mind: there were no voices. Whether they were preparing for a training run or scrambling to assist a mission, echoes of conversations usually joined in the cacophony of the pad. Today there were no shouts of frustration or bursts of laughter. The crews worked in near-silence, exchanging words in hushed tones. Pilots studied briefing notes as they walked, looking up only to salute her as they passed solemnly towards their fighters. Each face bore the same look of anxiety that Hera felt marking her own features, the apprehension towards the impending confrontation clearly shared throughout the entire squadron.
Hera peered up at the opaque clouds gathering in the Atollonian sky. Somewhere beyond them, Thrawn's fleet was drawing ever closer. In a matter of hours, the storied Seventh Fleet would encircle the tiny base, seeking to snuff out the infant rebellion in its cradle. Had it not been for Fulcrum's desperate warning call, Thrawn would certainly have caught the squadron flat-footed and unable to escape. Hera doubted the larger ships would be ready even with the additional time, leaving it to her small squadron to buy enough time for the rest of the fleet to escape.
As she boarded the Ghost, the sounds of the preparations taking place outside slowly faded, leaving her alone in the quiet of the empty ship. Sabine's return home and Ezra's unplanned departure manifested itself in an uneasy stillness aboard the freighter, and had stretched her already-undermanned squadron to the breaking point. Though the tactician in her said that the two were desperately needed for the upcoming fight, she found herself subtly thankful that the teens were far, far away from the system. At least they'd have a chance to carry on, no matter the outcome of the battle.
Sliding into her pilot's seat, she set the dormant ship back into motion. As her fingers fluttered over the controls, she willed the tasks to take her mind off the mounting worries. Unfortunately, the preflight checks and services had long ago burned into her subconscious, allowing the noxious doubts to creep back into the forefront of her mind. Perhaps they should have relocated the base after the first close encounter with the Imperial probe. Maybe they should have paid closer attention to their targets and tried to strike more randomly. Were her pilots even ready to engage capital ships? They had focused primarily on dogfighting in the last few training runs, but now it seemed that targeted bombing would have been the more prudent task…
Primary stabilizer servo failure. Boot launch aborted.
The flashing notification shocked Hera out of her thoughts, the red text flashing mockingly across the system health display. She keyed a series of commands, shaking her head and promising to lecture Ezra about proper maintenance the next time she saw him, in this life or the next.
Primary stabilizer servo failure. Boot launch aborted.
Lekku fidgeting in frustration, she powered down the diagnostic interface, crossing her arms as the display faded to black and reset. The screen flashed back to life, small white text running along the bottom as the system returned to operation. Just as it completed its sequence, the red lettering reappeared, its rapid flashing only exceeded by Hera's rising heart rate.
Primary stabilizer servo failure. Boot launch aborted.
Frustration boiled over into anger as her vision tunneled onto the display. Failure seemed to brighten with every flash, a prophecy and a condemnation of her meager skills as a leader. At her wit's end, she slammed her fist down onto the metal panel near the edge of the display.
"Karabast!"
Her voice echoed throughout the cockpit and back in her own ears, slowly fading as her heavy breaths once again dominated the quiet craft. As she slowly opened her eyes, no crimson light flashed from the console. Instead, the display held its usual steady green, white aurebesh script gently scrolling across it.
Setup complete. No faults found, awaiting command.
"If you're the one swearing, then the situation must be pretty bad." The unexpected voice set the hundreds of fine hairs on the length of Hera's lekku on end, prompting her to wheel her seat around. In the doorway, Kanan stood propped against the bulkhead, a cool smile turning his lips towards the plastoid visor covering his eyes. A dull throbbing began in the blade of her hand where it had impacted the console. As she cradled it against her chest, she found herself thankful that he wouldn't be able to see the gesture, lest she appear more childish and unprepared than she already felt.
"The Ghost's being temperamental again. Sometimes you just have to intimidate it into cooperating," she explained, hoping her tone would be enough to convince him that nothing was wrong. He nodded slowly, the smile drooping into a reflective look. He wasn't buying it.
"You're worried. About the mission." Her jaw tightening, Hera turned the chair back towards the instrument panels, trying to return her focus back to preparing the ship.
"You know I don't like it when you read my mind." An amused snort came in reply, followed by a few soft footsteps as Kanan quietly eased himself into the seat beside hers.
"I was trained as a Jedi, not a psychic. And I don't need the Force to tell when something's on your mind." Pursing her lips, Hera looked up from the instrument panel to the transparisteel windows, then over to Kanan. The Jedi sat with his legs hung over the side of the chair facing her, his forearms resting on his thighs as he leaned forwards towards her. If he still had his sight, she would have thought he was studying her. Even so, she couldn't rule that out as a possibility. "Talk to me." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she rose from the seat and walked to the navicomputer, back turned to Kanan.
"This isn't a mission; this is a shot in the dark. It never should have come to this, having to delay a fleet with a handful of old fighters. I should have had us leave weeks ago, when that first probe arrived." Kanan sat back in his chair, listening as Hera began to jam her fingers into the console with increasing force. "Now, I've got a dozen-odd old ships, with pilots barely old enough to have speeder licenses let alone combat spacecraft. Half of them won't even have a full load of missiles, no one will have frigate support, going up against the entire Seventh Fleet. And I'm supposed to stand there, and lie to them and tell them that everything's going to be okay?" Kanan crossed his arms, his chin raising to face Hera directly.
"No."
"No?" Hera spun around, unsure if she should be confused or angry at the Jedi's sparse words.
"You don't lie to them." Hera's shoulders slumped in resignation, her arms falling to her sides.
"Then what do I say?"
"The truth." Rising from the seat, Kanan stepped forward to a breath's distance from her. Gently taking her still-throbbing hand his, he gently began feeling his fingers down the bones of her hands, his brow hung low as if it was the sole focus of his attention. "They've all heard what's happening. They know the situation. They don't want false promises. They want to know that what they're doing matters." His head rose again, the false eyes of the mask level with hers. "So you tell them what they need to do. And you tell them that what they do today won't be in vain. That their fight will let others carry on."
Hera stared at the bearded man before her, the anxiety and frustration replaced with a small sense of wonderment. The Jedi bared little resemblance to the rogue she had met on Gorse so long ago. She still occasionally heard the plucky lilt in his voice or saw the cocked half-smile, but the often rash, sometimes foolhardy gunslinger had grown into a patient leader and wise counselor. Running a finger along the buffed plastoid of his mask, she felt the course white paint of the jaig eyes. The markings of a warrior, the adornments symbolized everything she had come to love about the man: tenacity, will, courage, resilience.
Slowly drawing closer to him, she felt his arms encircle her, a gentle but firm barrier between her and the coming fight. Nestling her chin into the hollow of his shoulder, she let the firm cadence of his heart rate guide her breathing, letting the war slip away from her mind for a brief moment. The gentle touch of his fingers traced down her lekku, sending a small spike of warmth racing down her spine. The quiet of the Ghost no longer felt empty; now, the stillness radiated a gentle serenity that filled her with a fresh reserve of strength.
Gently unwinding his arms from around her, Kanan rested his hands on her shoulders, a gentle smile crossing his face. Outside the transparisteel windows, pilots and crews were gathering in a small group as a wave of shimmering blue energy arched through the sky, the shield generator enveloping the base within its protective dome.
"Your troops are ready for you, ma'am," Kanan said, the slight teasing lilt returning to his voice. With a half-grin and a gentle punch to his upper arm, Hera made her way out of the cockpit. Determination written across her face, Captain Syndulla set to the task of readying her squadron for the coming hour.
Author's note: A heartfelt thanks to angies-team for the support and inspiration for this story, this was the first real opportunity I've had to explore a little more of Kanan and Hera's relationship, as well as Hera's struggles as a leader. Thank you for your readership, and as always, comments and critique are much appreciated!
All the best,
JA