A/N: Def not my finest, but here's a rough little scene featuring Cham. Having read "Lords of the Sith," I know that Cham was a pretty well-connected and shrewd guy and I imagine that, were this to be addressed in canon, he would have heard about the failed Lothal attack and Hera's arrest through some of his intelligence channels. HOWEVER, I decided to make it more personal for him and pour on the angst because I'm a sucker. This is trash. Enjoy if you can.

A Reason to Drink

Cham woke in the middle of the night with a horrible, pressing sense of dread, a sick feeling that had latched in to his very soul.

Somewhere, somehow, Hera was in trouble.

He couldn't chalk it up to the Force, or premonition, or unreasonable anxiety; this was raw parental instinct. He'd heard stories of this kind of thing before—where parents would be plagued with sudden worry for their children only to find that something horrible had happened, or had nearly happened. Cham was feeling that now. He knew that something was very, very wrong.

It took him a few days to find out what. He went through contact after contact, tried to reach out to the Alliance—to no avail. He tried getting a transmission through to the Ghost and no one answered. He listened to channels of Imperial back-chatter, scoured the Holo-Net and black-sites for any mention of…anything.

He finally found his answer in a Cornet City bar.

He only ducked in because it had started to rain—a freak thing at this time of year to begin with. And it was a cold rain at that, so he decided maybe a shot of whiskey was in order. Maybe it would warm up his insides and make him forget, if temporarily, about the anxiety gnawing at him. He stepped up to the bar to order and not far from him were two human males, heads together as they spoke in hushed voices. This was what got Cham's attention:

"You hear what happened on Lothal?" One of the men asked the other.

It was a strange sentence to hear, because no one was concerned about anything other than their own homeworld these days. Even fewer people were concerned about Lothal—except for Hera and her crew.

The older of the two men shook his head. "Empire burned it up. Same as every other karking place out here."

The man who'd first spoken threw darting glances over his shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Rebellion tried to bust the blockade."

"What?"

"Squadron of X-Wings. Made it through to the upper atmosphere."

Cham's stomach clenched; that stunt had Hera's name written all over it.

"And?"

"And that sick kark Thrawn was there waiting for 'em."

Thrawn. The man who had pillaged his belongings for art, had taken the family kalikori, had nearly killed his daughter twice before.

"Kriff. They all die?"

"Most." The man threw his head back and finished his drink, ordering another. Cham's own drink was untouched in his hand, clenched tightly. "My cousin is in the trooper corps out there, right? He told me there was a woman, a pilot—"

Cham couldn't breathe.

"—crawled out of her burning ship and gave 'em the runaround for hours before they picked her up."

He couldn't take it anymore.

"The woman," Cham interjected roughly, turning toward the pair. "The woman—"

The two men regarded him warily. The one looked him up and down and said, "Twi'lek, like you."

Cham knew they wanted him gone, but he was desperate. "Do you know anything else about her?"

"Why should I tell you anything? I don't know who you are, or what you want. For all I know—"

"My daughter. My daughter is a pilot—please, I beg you."

Cham Syndulla had never begged anyone for anything, ever, because he was a fiercely proud man. But time and loss had softened him just enough. He knew there was naked desperation in his eyes, and he didn't care.

Maybe the man had children himself. Maybe he understood. He sighed. "She was green-skinned, I heard. Young."

Cham swallowed. "Dead?"

"Arrested."

As good as dead, then. Cham nodded jerkily and slid a few credits on the counter, leaving his still-untouched drink and the humans behind. He stepped outside and hardly knew which way he was walking. It was raining harder now, and he felt like the frigid drops were cutting him to pieces and bleeding him dry. For the first time in years, he was thinking only of Hera—his only child—and not of Ryloth, and he was thinking it was too little too late, he was thinking he wished he'd spent more time with her—

A frantic beeping shook him from his musings and he fumbled to pull his holo-com from his pocket. He sprinted down an alleyway and took shelter under a small awning before he put the unit in his palm and activated it. He stared in confusion as the image coalesced—it was Kanan, but the man was clean-shaven and short-haired. He looked tired and grim and there was an air of determined finality around his shoulders.

"Cham," the Jedi began without preamble. "It's Hera. She's—"

"I know." He nodded, dragging his free hand over his eyes. "I know."

"It isn't good, Cham. She's alive, but I can sense…"

Cham's blood ran cold. "They've—they've tortured her?"

Kanan nodded slowly. "I think it's likely."

Cham swore. "Do whatever it takes," he hissed. "You do whatever it takes to get her out."

"You know that I will." There was something in Kanan's face, in his voice, and Cham knew suddenly that this was the last time they'd ever speak.

"Kanan—thank you. For standing with her these last ten years—thank you."

Kanan swallowed, and their eyes seemed to meet. "I'll get her back to you, Cham," he said. "I promise."

Cham remembered what it was like when he lost his wife, what he'd felt, how he'd been determined to draw Imperial blood and have a reckoning. Kanan's voice carried undertones of that, and of something else. Cham nodded solemnly. "I know you will. May the Force be with you, Master Jedi."

He watched the small holo-image fade to darkness and he relaxed just infinitesimally—by some means or another, Hera's captivity would end tonight.

And Force help whatever Imperials had laid their hands on her.

As he turned out of the alleyway, Cham almost laughed. Things were about to go very badly, and if something happened to Kanan, the man would make sure somebody paid for it first, and paid for what they'd done to Hera.

Grimly satisfied, Cham headed back to the bar; that was something he could drink to.