"General Syndulla, can you hear me?"
Hera opened her eyes. She tried to move, but she couldn't feel her body.
"General Syndulla? Can you speak?"
She couldn't. Her eyes searched the room and the face just within her line of sight; the face was one she didn't recognize, and the room looked to be one inside a med center.
What happened? I remember...
She remembered the Ghost taking the critical hit from that Star Destroyer, she remembered the klaxons blaring and Chopper's garbled warnings. She saw the sands of Jakku rushing up, too fast, much too fast. There wasn't enough time. Brace for impact!
She felt her ship slam into the sand, shuddering and breaking apart around her; she heard all the horrifying noises it made. She felt pain- too much pain. And above all of it, she heard his voice, calling her name.
Then, nothing.
Nothing, until now- and now, suddenly, she felt everything. Her body came back to her as shocking, searing, unbearable pain.
She screamed. The sound tore at her throat as it ripped out of her. The unknown face above her instantly disappeared, and a second later, appeared again.
"Something for the pain," the man murmured, and a moment later, the terrible agony began to abate.
Hera's eyelids drifted closed. She could hear a steady pounding inside her skull, and just beyond that, faint voices. She only caught bits and pieces of what they said:
"...lucky to be alive. The droid saved her..."
"...she has burns over ninety percent of her body. We're prepping the bacta tank now that she's more stable..."
"...could be months of recovery and physical therapy..."
She drifted in and out of consciousness, detached from whatever the voices around her were saying about her- and then something caught her full attention.
"...kept mentioning someone named Kanan. Is that someone we can contact?"
Now she heard a voice she recognized- Zeb's. Relief washed over her, but only for a moment.
"No." Zeb's voice was rough. "Not unless you can contact someone who's been dead for years."
Now the pain that pierced through her came from the inside, and in many ways, this misery was far worse than the physical pain she felt. There were no painkillers, no bacta tanks, that could ever relieve it. The dull ache in her heart would be there as long as she breathed.
For just one brief moment, Hera wished that she had broken apart along with her ship. She wished Chopper had not saved her. She was so tired; tired of fighting, tired of missing him. Tired of pain, and sleepless nights, and unshed tears.
But Hera was a fighter; she had endured so much, and she would endure more before it was all over. Her mind rejected the idea of giving up almost as quickly as the thought occurred.
Besides, she had other reasons to keep going.
Exhausted, she drifted further away from consciousness now, and strayed into memories of her childhood on Ryloth, and of her mother and father. She saw herself learning to fly, and then fighting with her father and leaving home. And then she was back on Ryloth again, many years later, and the sun was rising as her body was turned inside out by pain. More memories sped past her, of her father sitting in the setting sun on one of her frequent trips to her home planet, and of one beloved face, over and over.
Her memories shifted, and she was in the caverns on Cynda, watching Kanan. A darkened street, a seedy bar, a catwalk crashing down on her, and Kanan. Kanan's face, his voice, his laugh, as she flashed through a million memories of their life together.
She was suddenly overwhelmed, overcome, and her heart was breaking all over again. Had it ever stopped breaking? She didn't know. And then she was sitting in the cockpit of the Ghost, as it floated in some lonely corner of space. She was alone on the ship; she stared out into the sparkling expanse, as the pain she had never really let herself feel grew inside her, unchecked. The lump in her throat began to ache, and her eyes burned; she could not hold it back any longer. Hera burst into tears, wracked with anguish and weeping uncontrollably. This was no memory; she had never allowed herself to mourn for Kanan like this. When the grief was fresh, it had seemed to her like a bottomless, black chasm. She stood on the precipice, terrified that one step over the edge would cause her to fall in and, outwardly, to fall apart. Breaking down was simply not an option; it was never an option. So she'd stepped back from the edge, and some of the people around her thought her cold. They didn't understand what it cost her, to put Kanan behind her and move forward like that.
Hera sat there, weeping and hugging herself, for what seemed like it might have been days, or perhaps months.
And then she heard footsteps moving up the corridor towards the cockpit. She had believed she was alone; she quieted herself, listening. In shock, she realized that she knew those footsteps as well as she knew her own. It couldn't be...
"Hera."
She did not turn, but she let out an involuntary sob at hearing his voice again. The footsteps came up behind her seat.
"You're not here," she said, her voice thick with tears.
"Neither are you. Turn around."
Using her feet, she slowly swiveled the chair. Her eyes fell on his boots, and she could not make herself look up. And then he dropped to his knees in front of her.
Kanan still had a beard, but his eyes were as they had been before Maul blinded him. Blue-green, and shining with love for her.
She sobbed again, but this time, the pain was combined with joy at seeing his face.
"You're not blind anymore," she gasped, reaching for him.
He pulled her right out of her seat and into his arms, hugging her tightly. "I know," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "It's really nice to be able to see you again."
This started her crying anew, and he held her until she calmed down.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his neck.
"For what? For crying? Look at me, Hera."
She looked up; Kanan's face was wet with tears, too. Their eyes locked, and moment later, he pulled her even closer and crushed his lips against hers. Hera could taste the salt of their mingled tears on her tongue, and the warm, familiar scent of him filled her nostrils. She clung to him tightly, wishing she could merge their beings into one, so that she would never have to be without him again.
Time passed, or maybe it didn't; Hera didn't know, and didn't care. She would have stayed there with him forever, sitting on the floor of her ship, floating in this mysterious place.
She told him so.
"You can't stay here, Hera," he told her, looking down at her fondly. "You don't belong here. Not yet."
She wanted to protest, but she knew that he was right- there was one very good reason why she could not stay. She hesitated for a moment, and then looked away from his gaze and haltingly said, "There's something I have to tell you."
Kanan let out a breath, as if he'd been holding it in. "You know what's interesting about this place?" he asked. "I can see anything I want to see, go wherever I want to go. You won't be surprised to hear that I watch you a lot." He paused, and then in a low tone full of feeling, he said, "I watch him, too."
Hera looked up at him, her eyes wide. "How did you...? Kanan...I didn't know...before."
"I know you didn't. But I was there with you, Hera. I was there, that morning on Ryloth, when you gave birth to our son."
Her emotions were too raw to hold back more tears; they ran freely down her face. She found that she could not speak.
Kanan wiped at her tears, and the smile he gave her was pure joy, mingled with terrible sadness. "And you even named him after me," he said. "Caleb Syndulla is a good name- a little bit of me, and a little bit of you."
"That's what he is," she said, sniffling. Hera's heart ached. Looking at Kanan, she felt a keen sense of loss on behalf of her child; he would never know his father, and he barely knew his mother.
"I haven't been a very good parent," she admitted. "I visit and call as often as I can, but it's not enough. I can only hope he'll forgive me for not being around...and for leaving him with my father."
"He will. He'll understand, Hera. Maybe not until he's older, but he will. And Cham may not have had a great track record as a father, but he's done really well as a grandfather," Kanan chuckled. "Although he does seem pretty put out about the amount of destruction Caleb causes."
The corner of Hera's mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile. "I guess he takes after both of us, in that regard. He's too young to really understand that levitating objects isn't normal, and he's a little too smart for his own good."
"Just like his mother," Kanan said, smirking a little.
She raised an eyebrow at him, but ignored his comment; something else was worrying her. "I can't teach him the way you would have, Kanan," she said.
"Maybe not, but you can still teach him a lot- and I know that you will. I would give anything to be there with you, to help you."
The pain in his face was too much to bear, and Hera's eyes filled with tears again. "I know you would," she told him, hugging him. He tightened his embrace as she settled against him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted.
"What's it like, being here?" she murmured, wanting to give him a break from the subject of the child he'd never know.
"It's not that bad. Time doesn't mean much. Like I said, I spend most of it watching Caleb, and watching you- watching all the amazing things you do, and have done. I'm so proud of you, Hera."
"It would've been easier if you'd been beside me," she said, and the moment the words passed her lips, she regretted them. All this time, she had believed herself alone in her grief. She had never imagined that there was any possibility that, wherever he was, Kanan suffered along with her.
He winced, and Hera wanted to kick herself. "But I wasn't, and you did what you had to do anyway. You never needed me the way I needed you," he said, smiling. It was a smile that made her heart hurt, but she tried to memorize it anyway."I needed you just as much. But I never felt like I was allowed to want those things- not until the Empire was defeated. I never really gave you what you needed, though, did I? I didn't give you what you really wanted, and I regret that now," she told him.
"I just wanted to be with you," he said, looking away from her gaze.
"You wanted more than that, Kanan, and I'm sorry I could never give it to you. You never wanted to be a part of the Rebellion; if I'd just said the word, you would have happily run off to Wild Space with me."
He chuckled softly and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I might have; that sounds great. But I knew you were never going to say that word. And I knew you were right not to."
Hera sighed. "Fighting was the right thing to do, but I don't know that I wouldn't just walk away, if I could do it all over- just to be with you. Caleb would have had a father."
"If you could do it over, you wouldn't just walk away, and you know it," Kanan said. "There's no need for regrets. We didn't get the chance we deserved, and I didn't get to meet my kid- those are the only thing I'm truly sorry about. But you still have a chance to be happy, Hera...and I want you to use it."
She nodded slowly. "The fight isn't over yet, though."
"And until it is, you'll never stop trying to protect them- all of them- the whole Galaxy. You're a better Jedi than I ever was, that's for sure."
She raised an eyebrow as she ran her fingers through his beard. "That's not true."
He squeezed her. "You always knew how to make me feel better. Promise me that when the fight is over, you won't waste your chance to be happy."
"I won't," she promised. After all she'd been through, though, she doubted that she'd ever be able to be truly happy again, even if the fight ended. Especially if the fight ended. Who was Hera Syndulla, if she wasn't fighting for something?
They sat on the floor in the cockpit of the Ghost, the place where they'd fallen in love, cradled in each other's arms for a long time. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his cheek pressed against the top of her head. They reminisced in soft murmurs about their first few years together, laughing at their more ridiculous adventures, and all the things they'd once taken so seriously. She told him all about their son. Eventually, Hera felt her eyelids grow heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake.
"I love you, Hera," Kanan said, in a gentle tone. "I'll be here, waiting for you, when the time is right."
"I love you, too, Kanan...and I always will," she whispered. The light around them was dimming, and soon, she felt as though she was drifting among the stars, still wrapped in his arms...
Hera's eyes flew open, and immediately filled with fluid. She blinked, trying to clear it, and then she realized that she was floating in it. Bacta, she thought. And then-
Kanan! Oh, stars, let me go back...let me go back...
Someone tapped on the glass. A med droid. Hera tried to gesture-
Put me back under! Whatever it was you gave me, give it to me again! The thoughts screamed painfully through her mind, but she couldn't speak due to the respirator in her mouth. She was completely insensible; she had finally stepped into the black chasm, and grief and longing tore her to pieces.
One of the medics came in, and seeing her agitation, had the med droids pull her out of the tank. She ripped the respirator out of her mouth.
"Put me back!" she shouted. "I need to go back!"
The poor medic looked utterly baffled. "You want to go back into the tank?"
"Yes!" Hera yelled. "He was there! I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to say goodbye!"
The medic nodded at one of the droids, who quickly administered something to Hera to calm her. "You'll feel better soon," he told her, in a kind voice.
"No..." she moaned.
You still have a chance to be happy, Hera...and I want you to use it.
The days went by, and Hera's injuries slowly healed. She excelled at physical therapy and threw herself fully into any task they gave her. Chopper had been completely repaired, and he was there by her side. Friends came and went, and they found her much the same as they always had. She spoke to Caleb every day, knowing her holo-image didn't quite betray how battered and broken she still was. She and her father had decided that it was best to wait until she was more fully herself before seeing him again; still, she longed to feel his small arms around her neck, and see his blue-green eyes twinkling up at her.
Only her psychiatrist knew the truth about how Hera was really feeling.
Dr. Granta seemed to see right through her. She was a calm, cool Chandrilan, and she sat across from Hera with her hands resting on the arms of her chair, and her legs crossed. "Tell me about Kanan."
"I'd rather not."
"The first time we met, you were quite adamant that you talked to him while you were in the bacta tank. You've refused to discuss it since. Why?"
"It didn't really happen, that's why." Hera scowled, fervently wishing she'd never mentioned it. The woman endlessly asked questions about it, and all the questioning only succeeded in dredging up more pain.
"Did it feel real? " Dr. Granta asked.
"Yes, but my understanding is that those painkillers they were giving me can cause hallucinations."
Dr. Granta smiled. "That's true. But it doesn't make it any less real."
Hera raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but I don't see the logic in that."
"You might be surprised to learn that you're not the first patient I've spoken to who has encountered a loved one after his or her death, and truly believed the interaction was real."
"How can that be?" Hera asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea. But that doesn't make it impossible or untrue. Kanan's connection to the Force could have been a factor. There are many things we don't know about this universe. My point is, if you felt that it was real, then perhaps it was real," Dr. Granta paused, studying Hera's face. "The more logical conclusion is that your brain created the interaction because you compartmentalized and ignored your grief for so many years."
Hera narrowed her eyes. "I had to," she said, with a hard edge to her voice.
"Yes. I agree. I'm not judging you. And because you made that sacrifice, you were able to help defeat the Empire," Dr. Granta said. "It's okay to feel a little compassion towards yourself, though, now that it's all over."
"What do you mean?" Hera asked.
"I mean, it's alright to let yourself feel grief over Kanan, and all the other people you lost, too. We all lost people. We're all grieving. Allowing ourselves to feel that grief is a necessary part of the healing process." Dr. Granta smiled sadly at Hera. "Don't worry about whether seeing Kanan was real, or just in your mind. Let yourself feel that pain, and then let yourself move on from it."
"It doesn't really matter if it was real or not, anyway," Hera sighed. "Even if it's something my own mind created, he told me to live, and that's what I'm going to do."
Dr. Granta tapped one finger on her armrest thoughtfully. "On that first visit, you were still reeling from whatever you experienced in that bacta tank, and you told me that 'he already knew' about your son, but you were unwilling to discuss that further, at the time. Would you be willing to elaborate now?"
"I found out I was pregnant after he died," Hera said shortly.
Dr. Granta said nothing, clearly trying to bait her into saying more. She decided, against her better judgment, to play along for once.
"It was a bad time. It was...an accident. Not intentional; I never planned to have any children. At least, not until the war was over. And I never expected to survive long enough to see the end of it."
"These things happen," Dr. Granta reminded her. "But you feel guilty, don't you?"
Hera sighed. "I was...upset. I wasn't happy about it. I can't even say that I would have been that much happier about it, if Kanan had lived- I didn't want to bring another life into the Galaxy, with everything being the way it was. I didn't want him to be born into war, the way I was. And I didn't want to leave the fight." She paused, and considered stopping this painful train of thought. But, if she was being honest with herself, it felt good to tell someone all the things she had been keeping to herself for so many years. After losing the one person she'd shared nearly everything with, she'd closed herself off to anyone else. And she suddenly felt overwhelmed by the burden of it all.
"His father was dead, and I was devastated- barely holding it together," Hera continued, her voice hard. "I didn't know how to feel about the pregnancy, and I didn't want to figure it out, either. For awhile, I just ignored it. I put him at risk, until my superiors realized what was going on, and stopped sending me on dangerous missions. I went to Ryloth to give birth among my family, and then, after a few weeks with him, I went back to the fight. You're right...I do feel guilty. I shouldn't have left him with my father. I should have stayed with him, protected him myself. I justified it by telling myself that he would never be safe, as long as the Empire existed, and I owed it to him to do something about it."
"Given the fact that Caleb inherited his father's gifts, that's perfectly logical," Dr. Granta said.
"Maybe," Hera replied. "But I've made a lot of decisions at the expense of the people I loved, and even though those decisions were difficult, and sometimes very painful, they were nothing compared to this."
"Many people sacrificed their lives to save those they loved, Hera. Including Kanan. If you had not survived, your son would eventually come to understand why you did what you did."
"That's what Kanan told me, when I was in the bacta tank" Hera sighed. "Or, at least, it's what I imagined he told me."
"Perhaps if you did only imagine it, it's because you knew that's what he would tell you, if he could," Dr. Granta suggested.
"Yes, that's what he would tell me."
"What else did he tell you?"
Hera hesitated. She was reluctant to share too much; every word she shared felt like an intrusion on her memory of it. "Just that he was watching us, that he loves us. That he would give anything to be here. He tried to reassure me that I can teach Caleb what he needs to know. But I'm...not a Jedi."
Dr. Granta nodded. "Maybe you should consider speaking with Luke Skywalker."
"That's what I've been thinking about doing; unfortunately, when I contacted his sister, she told me that she didn't know where he was, or when he would be back," Hera said. "Until he returns- if he returns- I'm on my own."
"My suspicion," Dr. Granta said, "is that you have plenty to teach your son, with or without the help of a Jedi to train him. And now that the Empire is finally finished- thanks to you and the other brave warriors who fought on Jakku- you'll have the opportunity to do so."
Hera smiled, thinking of her promise to Kanan. She had no intention of wasting an opportunity to be happy.
Author note:
My original idea was that Hera does end up having a kid with this other Rebel pilot guy (who obviously is no Kanan, but he's still a pretty good guy), a few years after the Battle of Jakku, and names him Caleb. I was planning to complete the original version this way, but as I worked on it, I kept saying to myself: "It would just be such a revoltingly angsty reveal, if it turned out this kid was somehow really Kanan's." I love angst, clearly, and the more I thought about it, the more opportunities for angst I saw...so I rewrote it.
Honestly, though, I've never been a big fan of the idea of Hera and Kanan having biological kids together. Aside from the fact that they already have a family, I strongly dislike it when babies (or marriage, or relationships) are pushed on female characters as a the only way for them to achieve "happily ever after" (which does not exist anyway). Marriage and children does not equal happily ever after. That's reflected in this version. Hera was always going to be Hera, and the idea of her having this very conflicted motherhood was one I liked, and also felt was true to her personality; not just because Kanan died, but because she really didn't necessarily want a kid- at least, not right then. She leaves him on Ryloth to keep him safe, and then she goes back to the fight because she's Hera, and that's what she does- only now, she's got the added incentive of securing a safe future for this Force sensitive kid of hers. This isn't a story about a woman who achieves happily ever after because of her kid. It's about a woman who has to come to terms and make peace with everything FOR her kid.
The kid himself fascinated me, too. We saw half Twi'lek, half human kiddos in TCW, but they weren't Force-sensitive. The more I thought about him, the more I loved him. Going forward, I'm thinking about Luke Skywalker, and about that Jedi Temple of his. I know what YOU'RE thinking about now- I thought about it, too. I can't do that to Hera. But Caleb is about 5 years older than Ben Solo, who is 23 at the time of "Bloodline", making Caleb about 28. He would be 30 or more when the massacre happens, which gives me any number of plausible explanations for him being elsewhere. But...that also means that, like his father, he'd be one of the few survivors of yet another Jedi purge. YEAH I KNOW.
There's yet another version of Hera's future in my mind, where she doesn't have any kids. She's a flight instructor, and she just keeps right on collecting strays to be part of her family. And maybe she falls in love again...or maybe she doesn't. It doesn't really matter to me which version is true, as long as she gets to experience some semblance of happiness. From a writing standpoint, though, the above version is probably the most interesting one.
p.s. Hera seems like the type who would be on the ball about birth control, but the kind of stress she and Kanan are under...well, it makes people forgetful, and stress does strange things to hormones and ovulation. That's assuming that they ever get any alone time- and if he really does die, I kind of hope that's at least implied. BECAUSE COME ON. They deserve a little adult fun.
p.p.s. Not explaining where Sabine and Ezra are- especially Ezra- is hard. I feel like HK would at least discuss Ezra in the bacta tank afterlife. But I really don't have any idea what's going to happen to Ezra (esp. if Kanan dies), and I can't bring myself to speculate about it.