The first time Kanan opened his eyes and saw nothing, he was completely prepared for it. After all, he had been living with it for weeks already, teaching himself how to navigate without vision, learning the layout of places that he had once thought familiar, relearning how to do everyday tasks. He was… not used to it per se, but the darkness that shrouded his world was beginning to feel like less of an insurmountable obstacle.
Hera had accompanied him to the medic. He hadn't exactly told her not to, but he had made it clear that he didn't need anybody to look after him. What he hadn't said, was that he hadn't wanted her - or anybody else for that matter - to see the damage. Not when he couldn't see it for himself first. He had seen lightsaber burns before, and they were rarely pretty.
Hera hung back by the door, just far enough away to give him the illusion of privacy. He could easily imagine the expression on her face; concern, worry. Caught somewhere between the urge to say something supportive and the understanding that he would prefer she didn't. He had never told her that, never even hinted at it, at least as far as he remembered; it was just something that she knew. He offered up a silent thanks to the Force that it had not been Sabine or, worse, Ezra, who had chosen to accompany him.
He had no expectation of vision as the medic droid peeled back the bandages. None at all. Still, he couldn't help the bitter stab of disappointment when he tentatively allowed the lids that had been held closed for all that time to open. They felt stiff as though from disuse, swollen from the still healing injury. It was a miracle that they were still intact; that he still had eyes at all. That was what he had been told within moments of the medic droid examining him on his return to the base, but it was something that he had already known. He had seen the damage a lightsaber could do. He had known his sight was lost to him, had known it since Malachor.
Apparently despite everything, somewhere deep inside of him, he was still an optimist after all. Or had been, until that moment.
"Kanan?" Hera's voice cut through his thoughts, and he blinked. She took a step closer, then another one. He heard her, rather than felt her movement through the Force. He should be able to do that, and sometimes he could, but his ability to do so was patchy. It worked only occasionally, and never, ever when he tried to call upon it. It was like some colossal practical joke the the Force was playing on him, and it was by far the most frustrating thing about the whole situation. He needed to be able to rely on it, or it was useless.
Just like him.
"Kanan," Hera said again. "He asked you a question."
He shook his head. "Sorry, what?"
"I said, are you experiencing any pain?" The droid asked him. Its slightly corrupted personality files were obvious in its hurried pace and the tone of voice that always seemed to suggest that it had something more pressing to be attending to. A byproduct of working for the resistance movement, Kanan supposed. Its empathy circuits were worn out. It didn't leave it with much of a bedside manner.
Kanan shrugged. "A little sore. Nothing I can't deal with." He took a breath and exhaled slowly. He wondered when he would be used to this, if he ever would be. "Can't see," he added, pointlessly.
"Did you expect to?"
Kanan didn't answer. He hadn't, but at the same time some faulty logic appeared to have convinced him that when the bandages were gone and he could open his eyes again… Not perfect vision, definitely not that, but a hint of light perhaps; some way of differentiating day from night. Anything.
Denied.
As he had expected. Known.
"You've healed as well as could be expected. I was clear from the start, any healing would be purely superficial. I prevented the wounds getting infected, mitigated the noticeable damage, but the damage to the eyes and the optic nerve is too great. You will never see again."
Kanan nodded. There was one good thing about relying on a grumpy droid for your medical care rather than a sentient person, it didn't worry about hurting his feelings. There had been nothing the droid, or anybody else, could have done. Even if he had received medical care within moments of the injury. That flash of red was always going to be that last thing he would ever see.
"My programming dictates I refer you on to a specialist at this stage for assistance in day to day living. However, I do not know of any such person. You should make your own inquiries. You can go now."
"Yeah. Great." He allowed himself to slide down from the examination table onto the solid ground, but as he stood, he realized that he felt unsteady on his feet. He touched the edge of the table with one hand to steady himself, gripping tightly, feeling the smooth metal beneath his fingers.
"Kanan…"
He could hear apprehension in Hera's voice, as though she was uncertain of what to do, or what to say. It wasn't like her, and hearing it made him cringe inside. She was closer to him now than she had been earlier, having crossed the room without his noticing. She was standing right in front of him, just a few feet away.
She was looking right at him.
He blinked into the nothing before his useless eyes, suddenly feeling ridiculously self conscious. Without the bandages to disguise the damage, he felt exposed, naked, his injury laid bare for everyone to see. Everyone but himself. He resisted the urge to touch it, to explore the damage with his fingertips. That could wait until he was alone.
Instead, he closed his eyes and faced his gaze - such as it was - downward and away, in an attempt to disguise the injury a little, then turned and took a few steps in the direction of the door, he felt unsteady on his feet in a way that he had not when he had walked into the room minutes earlier.
"Hey," Hera said, irritation coloring her tone now. That was better; that was more like the Hera he knew. "Just going to ignore me?" She had moved again, again she was right in front of him.
He was going to have to learn to pay better attention, he couldn't allow himself to get distracted just because his emotions had managed to get the better of him. For that matter, he couldn't allow his emotions to get the better of him at all. That was something that he had been taught since early childhood, and something he had been allowing himself to forget far too frequently recently.
"Hey," she said again, softly this time. Hera reached for him, took his hand in one of hers, then with her other, slowly lifted his chin, raising his nonexistent gaze as though his eyes could meet hers. He kept them closed. It was easier that way. "It looks fine," she told him.
Kanan smiled. "Easy for you to say," he said, then winced. It had been intended as a joke, but the words had come out bitter and miserable. He shook his head. "Sorry," he added. He bit his lip, toying with the idea of asking for a description of exactly how it did look. He remained silent. That was a question for another time. Or more likely another person; somebody who would give an honest answer not filtered through concern for his feelings. He trusted Hera, but he didn't know whether that was within her abilities.
"Are you okay?" she asked him
"Yeah." He shook his head. "No. I don't know. I think I'm going to go…" he tailed off, uncertain of the end of that sentence. His instinct was to be alone somewhere, to sit, to mourn. To wallow. It wouldn't help anything. He had already done it, two weeks ago when he had returned from Malachor and it hadn't helped. He was going to do it anyway. "…meditate," he finished.
He could sense Hera's hesitation. He could feel it in the way she stilled, hand still holding onto his. She leaned in a little closer, wrapped an arm around him and squeezed lightly. "Okay."
Kanan nodded. He waited until she released him from her embrace and disappeared once again into the nothing that surrounded him. The sudden loss of contact was jarring, and he resisted the urge to reach for her, to keep her close. Without sight, he was finding it easy to feel isolated. During his time on the Ghost, he had begun to re-learn what it was like to let people in, and blindness was like a barrier separating him from his family.
A wave of hopelessness washed over him, so powerful that it almost brought him to his knees. "I don't know how to do this," he whispered, speaking more to himself that to Hera.
In an instant, she was back; one hand applying a gentle pressure to his arm, the other snaking around his back, pulling him in again. "I know, but I'm going to help you," she promised him.
She was wrong. The only person that could help him was himself, and he didn't have even the faintest idea how to begin.
For a moment, he allowed himself to stand there feeling her closeness, then he stepped away. He backed off just half a step, and she was gone once again. With one hand reaching out ahead of him for any unanticipated obstacles, he began to slowly make his way out of the room.
She didn't try to stop him.