Disclaimer: Still don't own Star Wars or Rebels.

Author's note: I thought I was done with this, but I got to thinking about Kanan and alcohol and well...here we are.

Drunk

The next time Zeb and Kanan went into Jho's Old Pit Stop, Jho pulled Zeb aside to show him a special purchase he'd made: Wookiee brandy. It wasn't quite the same as Lasat, but it packed a bigger kick than the average ale legally sold. "Thought you might like to try this."

Kanan watched Zeb haggle with Jho over an appropriate price. Eventually they settled on a price and Zeb sat down next to Kanan with four bottles of Wookiee brandy. He laughed and showed it to Kanan.

"Good deal," Kanan muttered and ordered a drink. It was a good deal; Wookiee brandy would cost three times that amount from most black market vendors. Most of Wookiee alcohol was highly regulated as its potency made messes out of the average humanoid. The Empire didn't want its soldiers to be able to buy it, if they had it, their troops would be even more of an embarrassment than they already were.

"Yeah, it's closer to Lasat made," Zeb's victory tone was laced with bitterness. Kanan didn't blame him. Zeb twisted open one of the bottles and when Jho came over with Kanan's drink, Zeb held the bottle out towards Kanan. "Want to try it?"

Kanan threw the ordered drink back and then held out the glass for a sample of Zeb's purchase. Zeb poured the bright green liquid into the glass and the smell alone made Kanan wince. Jho remarked to Zeb that only legally purchased drinks could be consumed on the premises, after this drink, they'd have to put the brandy away – out of sight.

Kanan held his breath and downed the brandy in one gulp. Fire burned its way through Kanan's mouth, down his throat, and settled in his stomach. He exhaled sharply. "Wow!"

Hello, alcohol, my old friend. It's been a while. Kanan smiled and turned to Jho. " 'Nother round, my friend! Your best stuff!"

Hera looked up from the cards and pushed a few chips into the pot. "I'll raise you five credits."

Sabine looked at her cards and matched Hera's bet.

"Spectre-4 to Ghost," Zeb's voice came over the comms.

"Not now, Spectre-4," Hera grumbled. "I'm about to win this pot."

"You wish," Sabine scoffed.

"Uh…it can wait," Zeb agreed.

"No! I want him out of my cantina now!" That was Jho's voice and he did not sound pleased. Hera sighed and put a plan together.

"Where are you?" Hera asked, just to make sure.

"Jho's –"

"I'll be right there," Hera tossed down her cards. "Chopper, record my cards and record Sabine's. I've got to go see what the problem is."

She borrowed one of the bikes (Sabine's) and sped over to Jho's cantina. She knew that if it had been urgent, Zeb would have sounded more urgent and less ashamed. But Jho's anger had been easy to detect. The cantina came into view quickly at the speed Hera drove and she parked outside.

Zeb met her at the door and he rubbed his bicep in an unconscious move of nervousness. "I can explain…" He sounded just like he had when he'd used Chopper to cover a bet.

"I just want him out of here!" Jho snapped at Hera. She studied Zeb suspiciously. Clearly it wasn't something that Zeb had done personally, but he'd had a hand in it somehow, somewhere along the lines. She pushed her way inside the cantina and saw why Jho was so angry and Zeb so uneasy.

Most of the tables were tipped over, chairs helter-skelter, broken glasses and plates all over the floor, shiny, wet puddles of who knew exactly what mix of liquor. Food lay in various states – smashed, ground, whole – on the floor as well.

But what really got her attention was the huddled figure of Kanan, crouched behind a table he'd thrown up as a barricade, blaster clutched tightly in his hands, pointed and ready to fire whenever necessary. His hair was half out of his ponytail, his eyes wide and wild.

"Kanan?" Hera asked cautiously, taking a slow step forward. She was careful to make her movements as obvious and telegraphed as possible. She didn't want to spook him. "Kanan, it's me, it's Hera."

Kanan turned his head to look at her. Recognition did not flash on any of his features. He did not relax his grip on the blaster.

"Zeb, what happened?" Hera asked, taking another step forward.

"I…uh…bought some Wookiee brandy and let Kanan have some. He…uh…"

"I'LL tell you what happened!" Jho broke into Zeb's agonizingly timid explanation. "Your friend there got drunk and then got into a fight with two of my patrons! That's when I had him call you!" Jho gestured angrily at Zeb who shrugged.

Hera nodded and then stepped closer to Kanan. "Kanan," there were two steps between them. "Kanan, do you recognize me?"

Kanan stared at her. "No, but you've got beautiful eyes, has anyone ever told you that?" He tipped his head to the side, the wariness fading out from his eyes, replaced by a wistfulness. "Eyes as bright as the night skies/the jewel of Coruscant's horizon/a voice of a bird that sings as it flies – "

"And now he's reciting terrible poetry," Zeb sighed. "He's a very strange drunk."

"That's not reciting," Jho scoffed. "No one would publish that terrible work."

"Kanan," Hera knelt down, her right knee unfortunately touched some of the spilled alcohol and she grimaced. "Kanan, that's a very nice poem. You need to come home with me now."

"We're going back to the Temple, General?" he asked.

"No," Hera shook her head. What temple? As far as she knew, Kanan wasn't religious. The Force was about as religious as Kanan got.

"Where's my Master?" Kanan asked her.

"Kanan…"

"I think you have me confused for someone else."

It clicked. Not quite who he thought she was, but the "temple" and "master". "No, it's you, Caleb. I've come to take you home. We're going to the Temple."

He held out a shaking hand and she took it. "Come on," she stood and pulled him gently to his feet. "Zeb," she whispered. "Pay Jho for the damages."

"I don't have that much on me," Zeb whispered back.

"Put it on our tab," Hera bit back the frustration that rose. They didn't have the funds to completely cover the damages and continue to be in business if they didn't find a job soon. But Hera wasn't sure taking a job so soon was wise, especially with Kanan…well…not being his usual self.

Jho grumbled about never serving Kanan again and the trio left on the bikes.

"General, this doesn't look like a Republic ship," Kanan commented as they dismounted the bikes.

"It isn't," Zeb stared at Kanan. "Didn't the fresh air help you, Kanan?"

"Who's Kanan?" Kanan asked.

"Come on, Caleb," Hera pushed the Jedi up the ramp. "You need to get to bed before your master sees." Actually, Hera hoped they could avoid Kanan's padawan. She steered him towards the ladder and worried he wouldn't be able to climb it. Drunk humans had terrible depth perception.

"If this isn't a Republic vessel, then are you Separatists?" Kanan's hand itched towards his blaster.

"No, we're Republic," Hera pushed his hand away from the weapon. "It's just…we're a transport vessel, taking supplies to the general."

Kanan accepted this. "Where's the sergeant? Shouldn't he be here to accept the supplies? Or are you sufficient, General?"

Zeb whispered to Hera, "Just who does he think you are?"

Kanan heard. "This is General Aayla Secura! Just where have you been? There's a war going on!"

Hera nudged Kanan and watched as he climbed the ladder. Thankfully, he managed to make it up without a mistake. Thank the Force!

But then she saw Ezra and Sabine were waiting up to find out what the fuss had been over. Kanan paused. "A Mandalorian," he noted. "In Mandalorian armor! Is she allied with Death Watch?!"

"Real funny, Kanan," Sabine laughed hollowly. Ezra opened his mouth to ask something – probably what Death Watch was – but Hera raised a hand. Ezra closed his mouth.

"Caleb here," she took hold of Kanan's arm. "Really needs to go to bed. There's an early shift for you, padawan." Kanan nodded, accepting her words as orders. Ezra's mouth opened once again. Hera shook her head quickly and marched Kanan down to his quarters, leaving Zeb to explain the situation.

Once inside Kanan's cabin, she undid the armor on his shoulder and pushed him onto the bed. His rough hand came up to brush her cheek softly. "You're so beautiful," he whispered and she knew he didn't think she was General Secura. "You're like a star, burning so brightly I sometimes can't bear to look at you." Oh, if it weren't so worrisome, she would have fun with this. "You're a sun, bringing warmth everywhere you go." He leaned in close and almost touched her lips with his, but then leaned back. "I'd rather die than lose you again."

"I'm not lost, Kanan," she assured him, yanking a boot off his foot. "And you do need to get some sleep."

"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force. There is no you, there is no me." She looked up at him, unsure where he was going with this. "You saved me, Hera. You. I owe you my life, such as it is."

She pulled off his second boot. "Go to sleep."

Kanan never said stuff like this. Jokes and sarcasm were more his thing. Flirtatious, and occasionally salacious, he could be but mushy he was not.

He obeyed her command and crawled under the covers. "Sleep," she pulled the elastic from his hair and smoothed the strands. "You won't remember this in the morning."

She left his room and walked to the common area where the rest of the crew was talking. She could hear them as she approached; Zeb described the fight and Ezra made noises of impressed approval. Then Zeb mentioned the bottles of alcohol he'd purchased. "Garazeb Orellios!" Hera raised her voice. "You know this is a dry ship!"

"Kanan was ok with it," Zeb shrugged. "Besides, it's never been a problem before."

Hera pinched the bridge of her nose. "This ship has been a dry ship since the day Kanan stepped onboard! It's for his own good! And because this ship is dry, it's never been an issue! But you…you take him on a supply run and stop for a drink and he comes home drunk!"

"Why has this ship been a dry ship since Kanan came on board? I would have thought it was a dry ship all the time." Sabine frowned.

"…Kanan…used to have a problem with drinking."

General Secura smiled warmly at Depa Billaba. "It is good to see you again, Depa, I'm sorry it has to be under such circumstances."

"Wherever the Separatists take us, we must go," Master Billaba said reservedly. "I'm sorry to hear you passed on the opportunity to take on a padawan." Master Secura ducked her head, as if she were the padawan. Caleb watched her, her lekku bobbing with her movements.

"I just don't think a battlefield is an appropriate training ground."

The clones moved past them, shift changes, tending to the ship and the war. They faded into the background, into the background of austere gray durasteel with lights from squares and rectangle shapes with curved corners. Caleb avoided looking at them, the surroundings sent shivers down his spine.

Instead he focused on the two masters. First there was General Secura, her green skin oddly out of place, but he couldn't figure out why. Her outfit spoke volumes about her personality: no nonsense, simple, efficient. His Master's outfit was plainer, but just as simple. She wore pale robes, her only ornamentation on her face, representation of her Chalactan species. They might have been plain, but Caleb knew that they were of very high quality. He'd slept more than once under her cloak when she'd expressed concern over his well being.

Master Billaba's hand came to rest on Caleb's back. "I don't think Caleb has suffered in his training." Caleb tried to suppress the pride he felt, but he knew both of them could see it, could feel it.

"Yes, well, you always were the more adaptable," Master Secura said wryly. "Now, about the Separatist forces – we're to meet up with Master Windu and push a three fold attack. Padawan Dume, would you mind going to retrieve the telemetry from the deck?"

"Yes, Master Secura," he agreed and walked away.

"Speak your mind, Aayla," his master said to the Twi'lek as Caleb walked away.

"It's the Separatist General, I'm worried about taking your padawan into battle against him. I worry the Pauan will destroy him."

"I have the utmost faith in my padawan," Depa replied. "I will take care of him. Now, let's discuss the battle plans."

Caleb closed his eyes ask he walked, trying to hide from the ship's design. He opened his eyes to see a young human boy with dark hair and two cuts on his face. Caleb stopped. Just who was this? And what was he doing here? He opened his mouth to yell for the clones, but the clones came rushing past him. They walked right through the boy and continued on by Caleb.

"Hey!" Caleb called after them. "I need the telemetry reports!"

But they didn't hear him, it seemed. But then he heard blaster fire and he took off after them. They might need him.

Aayla Secura lay dead, her outfit changed to pilot overalls and her lightsaber gone, replaced by a blaster.

Burned blaster marks marred her face, a blaster burn on the middle of her forehead, a burn through her throat, four others on her chest. He could smell the stench of charred flesh and flight suit. It made him wrinkle his nose.

"Caleb! Run!"

He looked at his master and his eyes widened as a Pau'an stood there, crimson lightsaber blade to her throat. "Yes," the Pau'an agreed. "Run. But you know, I'll find you."

"RUN!" Depa screamed and the Pau'an severed her head from her body. It landed on the floor with an odd noise and then rolled to Caleb's feet. His master's eyes were open still, staring at Caleb.

"M-master?" he asked and bent down to pick her head up. Her skin was warm; the edges of the cut burned his fingertips.

"What are you doing?" her severed head screeched. "RUN!"

Kanan rolled over, awake, and vomited. "Whoa, there, love," Hera gently eased him into a sitting position, but that only served to make his head spin and his stomach rise up to his throat again. He bolted for the 'fresher and emptied his stomach's contents into the toilet.

Hera followed and filled a glass with water and then held a washcloth under the faucet. Wordlessly, she passed him the glass of water and he rinsed his mouth. He sat and leaned against the cool wall of the 'fresher. His head throbbed with pain, his mouth was dry, but he didn't want to drink anything just yet. Even the thought of water made him want to heave again. Kanan closed his eyes and focused on regulating his breathing.

The cool, wet washcloth touched his face as Hera cleaned him up. He felt like a child.

"Bad dreams?" she asked, her voice soft and low. He felt even worse than if she had spoken at a regular volume. Somehow she knew he was hung over. He hadn't had a drink in years, tempering his turbulent emotions with meditation instead of alcohol.

"I dreamt you were Master Secura," Kanan whispered. "I dreamt you and my master were killed." He wouldn't go into details. He couldn't. Instead he opened his eyes and forced himself to suffer through the pain the light brought. The light's were bright, but the sight of Hera soothed his nerves. She was alive. She was here with him.

"Aayla Secura and I don't look a thing alike," Hera sounded offended. "Do all Twi'lek's look alike to you?"

Kanan closed his eyes, content with the knowledge that she was still alive. His master's death – from his dream, not reality – flashed through his mind and he shuddered. "No, you don't," he told Hera, trying to focus on her.

There was silence between them for a while and it was nice. Hera stood up and he reached out for her, his hand catching hold of her leg. "Don't go," he begged. "Stay with me."

"I will," she promised. "But first, you need to have those sheets changed."