A/N: An absolutely pointless, stupid, imperfect little fic I just had to write. Got the idea when I saw a bit of ESB the other day. Hope there's something in here you can enjoy!

Cannot Tell a Lie

The organics had complained over and over about the climate on this planet being cold; in fact, they never stopped complaining. No matter what time of day, no matter where he was or where he was going, it never failed that Chopper passed some being, either muttering to itself or complaining to a companion, who was remarking on the low temperature. Zeb certainly said it a lot, using choice phrases and interjecting his opinions about the higher-ups who'd picked this Force-blasted iceball for a base—and that's usually when Hera would come in, arch an eyebrow in that menacing way she was better at than anyone else and pierce the Lasat with her gaze and: "You were saying?" And that was usually the end of the discussion.

Chopper, for his part, didn't mind the temperature. He couldn't feel the cold, of course, but he was well aware that the shock in his left strut was considerably less stick-y under these conditions than hotter, more humid ones. That suited him just fine. Easier to skulk about unnoticed if you weren't squeaking like a child's toy.

Speaking of child—

Chopper didn't want to say he missed having Hera's youngling about, but days did seem longer without the boy's laughter and squeals and occasional tantrums and constant barrage of mostly-intelligible chatter. He'd grown fond of the child and grateful for his existence, even; how delightful that Hera didn't have to stare down a lifetime of loneliness in the absence of her mate. (He'd been worried about that in those first few weeks after Kanan's death, before he'd noticed the odd, growing curvature of Hera's belly.) Less delightful was the way her eyes had looked red and bleary for hours after she'd left the little one on Lothal with Sabine for safekeeping.

"Hoth," she said firmly and repeatedly, "is no place for a toddler."

No one was disagreeing with her; Chopper wondered why Hera felt the need to keep reiterating that fact.

He meant to ask her about it. Was this something she thought everyone had forgotten and therefore needed to keep reminding them of? Or—and he felt this was more likely—was she trying to convince herself she'd done the right thing? She seemed to do that a lot. Well, she needed to stop. Of course she'd done the right thing. And anyway, they'd inhabited Echo Base for a month now. It wasn't like she'd dropped Jacen off yesterday. That hidden, sad look in her eyes was getting old.

Chop had a few ideas about how to put a little spark back into those eyes. It would be at his own considerable peril, but he determined the benefits would outweigh the risks this time. Besides, she wouldn't do any lasting damage if she decided to lay hands on him; the Ghost's navi-computer had gotten finnicky—too much time sharing hangar bays with the blasted Falcon, he thought— and Chopper had learned to deal with its quirks better than Hera had. That was a state of affairs which would, no doubt, be rectified in short order, but ensured Chopper's temporary safety.

He devised a plan, plotted a series of annoyances that would make Hera's head spin in absolutely no time at all.

He changed his mind, though, when he discovered Hera was in a truly testy mood. There was a Not Good Situation on base currently. Commander Skywalker was missing and nightfall was approaching, and that meant another good pilot was about to die. Leaving Jacen on Lothal notwithstanding, nothing bothered Hera more than losing a pilot. And Skywalker was an exceptional one, and a Jedi, too. (Chop suspected he reminded her a bit of Ezra, but she didn't talk about it.)

His nefarious mission aborted, Chop rolled through the hangar bay, headed for the command center. He stopped when he saw a fellow astromech keeping watch at the blast door, sensor array extended and swiveling. R2-D2. He was Skywalker's droid. Or Leia Organa's? Unclear; he was loyal to both, at any rate. And he was no doubt scanning the barren planet's surface for any sign of Skywalker.

Now, Chopper wasn't particularly fond of Artoo—and even less so of the droid's insufferable counterpart—but worrying for the wellbeing of one's master…he remembered when Hera had been in Thrawn's captivity, fate unknown. He could empathize—as far as his circuits and programming allowed.

He whistled a greeting, stopped next to the blue-domed droid. Having any luck?

You think I'd be here if I was? It's karking cold. Artoo's reply was tinged with bitter impatience.

Chopper swiveled his dome, giving Artoo the droid equivalent of a flat glare. Kriff you, too.

He turned away and Artoo grumbled an electronic sigh before he said, I've had several masters. But Luke—my first master—he's her son. I owe it to her to—

And he didn't say anything else.

If Chopper could experience a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach—as he'd heard organics describe—he'd have been feeling one after he heard that. He tried to imagine if the roles were reversed and that was Jacen out there, lost with little chance of surviving.

(He couldn't let himself think about Ezra. Hera had asserted her belief over and over that the dark-haired youth was out there somewhere and doing just fine. Chopper had to believe that or else go crazy.)

He rattled off a string of curses as he wished Artoo the very best of luck. Very suddenly, he'd started to understand Hera's constant worry over her offspring. Anything could kriffing happen to him. And that was…horrifying? unsettling? the worst thing imaginable?

Chopper wasted no time making his way to Hera's on-base quarters. There was some…business he wanted to take care of.

When the door slid open, Hera looked up from her datapad—technically, it was the middle of her night-cycle and she should have been asleep, but she was studying charts and reports instead—and she frowned. A threatening finger pointed in his direction. "It's been twenty-three years and I know when you're up to something, so whatever you—"

Can we call and check on Jacen? He interrupted.

Her eyes widened and then she squinted, acting like she didn't understand. As if he hadn't just spoken to her in plain binary. "Can we what?"

The child, he rephrased saucily, whom you conceived and carried after relations with—

"Stop immediately." And there was that flash and fire on her face. He wasn't sure whether her glare was more likely to melt the base's icy walls or add another layer of frost to them. "What are you on about?" She demanded.

Well—can we? He knew she hadn't forgotten the initial question.

She kept right on staring at him, but the longer she did, the more her expression modified; first into something soft, and then into something smug. "You miss him," she said at last. Her lips parted with what could only be called a smirk. "Don't you? You want to check on him."

I don't know what you're talking about, he snapped back. Droids aren't programmed to 'miss' organics. It only seems logical that you would want to check on him, given that it's been seventy-five hours, forty-eight minutes, and seventeen seconds since you last did so.

There was a grandiose eyeroll, a trace of a smile, and a muttered something that sounded a lot like krayt spit before Hera said, "Alright." A pause. "We'll have to wait a couple hours—it's only just now sunrise on Lothal."

Chopper accepted this with a cool acknowledgment and plugged in for a short re-charging cycle. He knew Hera was watching him. If she intended to heckle him over this, it seemed she wasn't going to do it right away. Generous of her, he thought; he knew she hadn't fallen for his act.

I was talking to Artoo, he said after a prolonged silence. Hera looked up questioningly. You organics are too fragile.

She hummed thoughtfully. "You're not wrong." He noticed how she glanced at her footlocker, where she kept her kalikori. Then she looked back at him. "But our crew—the Spectres. We're all okay, even Jacen."

For now, he amended darkly.

Her eyes rolled again. "Thank you for that."

Statistically—

"Chop?"

What?

She pretended to read whatever was on the datapad she held. "Jacen misses you, too."

He made an aggravated noise. I do not—

And then he shut up. Because Chopper was a lot of things, but a liar wasn't one.