Night had fallen on Atollon. Hera was curled into Kanan's side, as awake as she had been when they'd laid down two hours ago. To his credit, he was sleeping soundly—it made sense, given the intensity with which he and Ezra had been training, but there was a small, selfish part of her that resented him for not sharing her distress. She tucked her head against his chest, hoping the slow rustle of his breathing and metronome of his heartbeat would lull her to sleep, when another noise cut in.
Hera was intimately and sadly familiar with the sounds that came when someone on her ship was having a nightmare. The muffled cries, the thumping and thrashing—she'd heard it through Kanan, through Zeb, through Sabine and now through Ezra. She was often the first responder in these situations, but every so often, Kanan's bond with Ezra would summon him first.
She unwrapped herself from his arms and crept to the doorway, slipping into the corridor. It was Sabine this time—that much was clear. Hera opened her door; the girl was twisting around on her bed, her head tossing from side to side. Mumbles and cries alternated from her lips, and Hera approached her cautiously, holding out a hand.
"Sabine…" She murmured. "Sabine, wake up."
With one hand near Sabine's shoulder, and the other ready to grab the blaster from under her pillow, Hera gave her shoulder a gentle tap. She ducked down, pulling the blaster with her, as the girl reacted with a swing, then brought her head back up as Sabine, only half-awake, scrabbled for her blaster.
"Sabine, it's me. It's Hera. You're okay," she said. She had to repeat the phrases multiple times before Sabine finally stilled. "You're on the Ghost, there's nobody here, you're okay."
Sitting straight up in her bunk, Sabine took a deep breath. Hera returned the blaster to her hand, and she clutched it tightly, rubbing a thumb along the grip for security.
"Sorry," she managed a shaky breath. Hera shook her head.
"You don't have to apologize. What happened?"
Sabine squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing still ragged. "The krykna—they were everywhere. Attacking the base, swarming the ship, crawling all over me." She shuddered. Hera sat next to her on the bed and put a hand on her back.
"And they had Rex, and th-there was nothing I could do about it—" Sabine trailed off, her voice quiet. "It was horrible."
Her gaze shifted to briefly meet Hera's eyes, then dropped back down. "Sorry I woke you up."
"No need to be sorry. I was awake anyway." Hera stroked her hair. Sabine didn't believe her, but the repetitive touch was soothing on her scalp.
They sat in silence for a few moments, but Hera could sense there was something still weighing the girl down.
"Was that all of it?" she asked.
Sabine's face fell. "No."
Hera waited.
"You and Kanan were fighting, too," Sabine finally mumbled.
Hera furrowed her brow. "What's this got to do with me and Kanan?"
Sabine's expression shifted. "Nothing."
Unease grew in Hera's stomach. "What is it?"
Sabine ducked her head and pushed a strand of hair away. "Nothing, just… I mean…"
"What?"
The girl took a deep breath and heaved it out.
"He's doing something that will help the rebellion, and you don't want him to leave," she finally said. Sabine looked up at her with wide eyes. "That's terrifying, Hera. That you of all people aren't supporting this mission definitely means they shouldn't go."
Hera's features grew solemn, and she stared down at her hands. The silence in the room grew thicker and thicker until she spoke.
"The rebellion isn't the only thing that's important to me, you know," she said quietly.
Sabine's stomach twisted with guilt.
"Oh, kriff, Hera, I didn't mean it like that," she said hastily.
"I know. But I can see what you mean," Hera sighed. "Frankly, Sabine, it's not about the mission, it's about them going alone."
"Well… why are they going alone?" Sabine asked, turning to face Hera curiously. "Did you talk to him about it?"
Hera's face was unreadable. "We're where we need to be," she said. Her voice sounded stiff.
Sabine peered up at her. "Do you really believe that?"
Hera sighed, sounding broken and bitter. "Does it matter?"
Hearing something so devoid of hope come from Hera was like hearing two dissonant chords clash in the air. Sabine's expression must have showed her surprise, because the captain sighed and brought a hand to her forehead.
"I'm sorry, Sabine, I didn't mean it like that," she said. "I just—…"
Hera fell silent, as she realized that she hadn't known what she meant.
"They're going to be okay," she said, unconvincingly. "We just have to trust that. To trust them."
They both fell silent. Unease filled Sabine's body like someone was pouring it in. The silence in the room swelled until she thought it might suffocate her.
"I'm worried about them," she finally said, voicing her concerns into the darkness of her cabin. Hera leaned back against the bulkhead, and when Sabine followed suit, she settled an arm around her.
"Me too, love," she murmured. "Me too."
Sabine looked up at the Twi'lek through her lashes—in the shadows, Hera looked tired and defeated, her gaze listless as she stared at the wall. She must have noticed Sabine staring, as she quickly blinked, and gave her a bright but wavering smile. Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them, as solid and supportive as a tidal wave. She reached down to squeeze Hera's hand. Hera pulled Sabine's blanket up around them, and Sabine nestled into her side and closed her eyes.